(x) V Z] in II2 that are falsi-
+
+fied by .'I'. (Compare the proof of Lemma I in Note E, p. 574 below.)]
+
+61 [See Note F, p. 577 below.] 62 [In the French text the paragraph begins: "En mettant !es propositions sous une forme normale, on peut mettre la propriete *B* sous une forme simple". The translators found it advisable to
+
+variables dominating the general variable with which the function is correlated. In the matrix of *P* we replace each restricted variable by an element arbitrarily chosen in [the union of] Oi, 0 2, ••• , and *OP;* then we replace each general variable y by the value of the corresponding index function *fy(ai,, ai* 2 , ••• , ai.), the arguments *ai,,* ai 2 , ••• , *ain* being the elements by which the restricted variables dominating y have been replaced; from the resulting proposition we eliminate each descriptive function by replacing it with its value. We now form the disjunction of all the elementary propositions that are thus obtained when we replace the restricted variables in all possible ways. To say that P has property B of order *p* amounts to saying that this disjunction is an identity; we can see this by simply going back to the definition of property Band applying it to a prenex form of *P.* This disjunction will henceforth be called *the .first*
+
+*disjunction of order p associated with P.*
+
+To show that *P* has property Owe would now consider index functions that have superior [restricted] variables as arguments and we would construct the domains generated by the descriptive functions and these index functions. On *P* we would perform the same operations as above, but now we would replace each general variable y by the value of the corresponding index function *fy(ai,,* a; 2 , ••• , a;.), where the arguments *ai,•* a 12 , ••• , *a;.* are the elements by which we replaced the restricted variables preceding yin the prefix (for these are the [restricted] variables superior to y in the prenex form). We thus obtain *the second disjunction of order p associated with* P, and
+
+this disjunction must be an identity if Pis to have property 0. 63
+
+3.5. We shall now make some very important remarks about properties Band 0
+
+(the arguments are the same for both).
+
+**3.51. (1)** *The number of elements in the domain* 0 1*is immaterial* (hence we can in
+
+general take it equal to **1).**
+
+(a) We can increase the number. For let Oi, 0 2 , ••• , Op, ... be any domains, and assume that 0 1 has *n* elements, *a1 , a2 , ••• , an-* Let *I'1 , I'2 , .* •• , *I'p, ...* be some other domains generated by the same functions, and assume that *I'1* has *m* elements, *a1 , a2 ,* ••• , *am.* Assume that *m* < *n.* The elements of *I';* are denoted by the same letters as certain elements ofO;, so that a functionf(a; 1 , a, 2 , ••• , a;.) will have the same value on *I'i* as on *0* 1• Then the terms of the first associated disjunction of order *p* that corresponds to the domains *I'i* are some of the terms of the first associated disjunction of order *p* that corresponds to the domains *Ci;* hence, if the former is an identity, so is
+
+the latter, since 1-A ::i (A v B).
+
+63 [Since we know (see Note F, p. 577 below) that for an arbitrary proposition P, even if P has property C of order p, no prenex form of P need have property C of order p, to obtain a correct definition of the second disjunction of order *p* associated with *P* we must replace the second sen-
+
+tence of this paragraph by the following sentence:
+
+On *P* we would perform the same operations as above, but now we would replace each general variable *y* by the value of the corresponding index function *fy(a, 1 ,* a, 2 , .•• , a,.}, where the arguments *a,,,* a 12 , ... , *a,.* are the elements by which we replaced the restricted variables *whose quantifiers have within their scopes the quantifier of y* ( for these variables are the restricted variables
+
+superior to y).
+
+But, when thus emended, the second disjunction of order *p* associated with *P* is what in Note E, p. 572 below, is called the standard expansion of *P* of order p. So, to avoid confusion in footnotes below, we shall preserve the term "second disjunction of order *p* associated with P" for the nonemended notion. (Note, however, that, if Pis in prenex form, the (nonemended) second disjunction
+
+(b) We can decrease the number. Let us use the same notation. We can pass from *C1* to *I'1* by equating (3.11; 3.211) *am+* 1 , *am+* 2 , ••. , *an* to, say, a 1 . In the first associated disjunction of order *p* that corresponds to the domains G1 we replace am+i, *am+z, ... , an* by a 1 . We see immediately that the disjuncts thus obtained are disjuncts of the first associated disjunction of order *p* that corresponds to the domains *I'*1and are in fact all of these disjuncts. Hence, if the former disjunction is an identity, so is the
+
+latter, as we see by Remark 3.31 of Chapter 1.64
+
+3.52. (2) *Without modifying properties Band C, we can assume that the domains that we construct in order to show that a proposition has property B, or property C, are generated not only by the functions introduced above but also by other functions (called "fictitious functions").* We can, in particular, introduce *fictitious* real variables, and this will lead
+
+to the introduction of fictitious *constants* (3.2).
+
+Let ,p1{x1 , *x* 2 , •• • , *xn),* with i = **1,** 2, ... , *a,* be the new functions that are introduced; let *ifiixv x2 , ••• , Xm1),* with *j* = **1,** 2, ... , fl, be the original functions; let 0 1 , 0 2 , ... , Gp, ... be the domains generated by the *'Pt* and the *'Pi•* We equate all the elements that are values of the functions ,p1*(at a~, ... , a~,)* to some element of 0 1 . We thus obtain the domains 0 1 , I'2 , I'3 , ••• , *I'p,* generated by the functions *'Pi•* By the argument used above in (b [rather, *a])* we see that, if the first associated disjunction of order *p* obtained by means of the former [rather, latter] domains is an identity, so is the
+
+disjunction obtained by means of the latter [rather, former] domains.
+
+3.53. (3) *[For every* p,] *if both P and Q have property B [of order* p], *then P* & *Q has*
+
+*property B [of order* p]. 65
+
+Let us construct the domains that correspond to the proposition *P* & Q, namely 0 1 , 0 2 , ••• , Gp, .... In these domains the first disjunction of order *p* associated with P
+
+is of the form
+
+where each P1 results from the matrix of P by the operations described in 3.4. According to 3.52, this first disjunction is an identity. Similarly, the disjunction associated
+
+with *Q* is of the form
+
+Now, clearly, the disjunction associated with *P* & *Q* contains all terms of the form
+
+*P*1 & *Qi;* according to Chapter **1,** 5.34,47 it is an identity.
+
+3.54. (4) *For every p, if a proposition P has property B, or property C, of order p, then*
+
+*P has property B, or property C, of order q for every q greater than p.* 66
+
+The domains considered are in one case 0 1 , 0 2 , ••• , *GP* and in the other *G~,* C~, ... , c;, ... , C~. Let us use the same letters for the elements of c;, **1** ~ i ~ p, as for those of C1• Then the disjuncts of the first disjunction of order *p* associated with P are
+
+64 [" Since *1-p* = *(p* y p), we can always in a true8 [quantifier-free] proposition replace *p* y *p*
+
+by p, and conversely."]
+
+65 [Using the standard expansion of order *p* of *P* and that of Q, we can similarly prove: If both P and Q have property C of order p, then P & Q has property C of order p. (This is needed for the proof of Lemma 3 in 5.3 below.)] 66 [To appreciate the simplicity gained by the use of the notion of standard expansion compare the argument that Herbrand now gives for this result with the argument that is implicit in Her-
+
+among those of the first disjunction of order q associated with *P;* hence, if the former disjunction is an identity, so is the latter (by virtue of the identity 1--A ::i (A v B)). 3.6. Consider the following example of a proposition assumed to have property O of
+
+order 2:
+
+*(x)([i[y)(z)P(x, y, z,f(y, z)),* where *f(y, z)* is an elementary descriptive function; this proposition is of height 1. Two index functions have to be introduced: *'Px,* with no argument, for *x* and *,pz(y)*
+
+for *z.*
+
+The domain 0 1 will consist of a 1 .
+
+The domain O 2 will consist of a 2 , which will be *'Px,*
+
+*as,* which will be *,pz(a1 ),* and a 4 , which will be f (a1 , a 1 ).
+
+The domain Os will consist of
+
+*a5 ,* a 6 , *a7 ,* which will be *,pz(a2 ),* q:,2 (as), *,pz(a4 ), as,* a 9 , a 10, which will be *f* (a2 , a 2 ), *f* (as, as), *f* (a4 , a 4 ), a 11 , a 12 , a 1 s, which will be *f(a* 1 , a 2 ), *f(a* 1 , as), *f* (a1 , a 4 ), a 14 , a 15 , a 16 , which will be *f(a2 ,* as), *f(a2 ,* a 4 ), *f(as,* a 4 ), *a~ 1 , a~ 2 , a~s,* which will be *f* (a2 , a 1 ), *f* (as, a 1 ), *f* (a4 , a 1 ), *a~ 4 , a~ 5 , a~ 6 ,* which will be *f* (as, a 2 ), *f* (a4 , a 2 ), *f* (a4 , as)-
+
+In 0 4 we consider only am which will bef(as, a 6 ), a 1s, which will bef(a4 , a 7 ), and
+
+a 19, which will be f (a2 , *a*5 ).
+
+For y we have to take successively a 1 , a 2 , *as,* and a 4 •
+
+The disjunction of order 2 is
+
+We see that *as,* a 9 , a 10, a 11 , a 1 s, a 14 , *a*15 , a 16 [and *a~ca~* 6] play no role. If the rules of passage permit us to put the proposition into the form
+
+*(x)(z)([i[y)P(x, y, z,f(y, z)),*
+
+then we have to equate *as, a5 ,* a 6 , and *a7 •*
+
+4. THE INFINITE DOMAINS
+
+We now introduce the fundamental notion of *infinite domain.*
+
+4.1. Let 0 1 be a domain consisting of the elements a 1 , a 2 , ••. , *an1 ,* and let us assume that we have a certain number of descriptive functions, index functions, and atomic propositional functions. We shall say that we have an *infinite domain* if we have a definite procedure for correlating with every number *p:* first, a domain *O'* that contains 0 1 ; then, for the functions, a system of values (3.1) in *O'* that permits us to obtain in *O'* the value of any function of height not greater than *p* whenever the arguments are taken in O 1 ; and, finally, a system of logical values that are assigned to the atomic propositional functions whenever the variables of these functions are replaced by elements of O'. These functions, propositional functions, and logical values will be said
+
+We shall sometimes consider also domains to which no propositional functions or logical values are attached; we shall always indicate explicitly when this is the
+
+case.
+
+It is quite obvious that generally the number of elements of *C'* increases with *p.* We shall say that *C'* is the *domain of order* pin the infinite domain; 0 1 is the *domain*
+
+*of order 0.*
+
+We observe that this definition differs from the definition that would seem the most natural only in that, as the number *p* increases, the new domain C' and the new values need not be regarded as forming an "extension" [" prolongement "] of the previous ones. Clearly, if we know *C'* and the values for a given number p, then for each smaller number we know a domain and values that answer to the number; but only a "principle of choice" could lead us to take a fixed system of values in an infinite domain. 67 We now start from a proposition *P* of height *h,* with no real variables. With each restricted variable y of *P* we correlate an index function whose arguments are the general variables that *dominate* y. Let us consider an infinite domain for which the attached functions are these index functions and the elementary [rather, descriptiveL functions of P, and the attached propositional functions are the atomic propositional functions occurring in *P;* let 0 1 be the domain of order 0, *DP* the domain of order p. [We delete all quantifiers and] in the matrix of *P* we replace each restricted variable of *P* by the corresponding index function. We thus obtain a proposition *P'.* Replacing its variables by some elements of Dp, we obtain another proposition, P". We try to eliminate all the functions that occur in P" by replacing them with their values. We thus obtain a proposition *JI.* (This is not always possible. But we carry out this replacement whenever we can, and we always can if pis greater than the height of the proposition P, for then it suffices to take elements of 0 1 as arguments of the functions.) We shall say that Pis *true in the infinite domain* if for every number *p* we have a procedure enabling us to verify that each of the propositions [ obtained over *DP* in the way *II* was] has "true" as its logical value (derived from the logical values that its
+
+atomic propositions take in the domain).
+
+Let us start again from *P;* but now with each general variable y we correlate an index function whose arguments are the restricted variables that dominate *y.* We construct an infinite domain as above, using the new index functions instead of the old ones; in the matrix of *P* we now replace each general variable by the corresponding index function and perform the same operations as above; if all the propositions thus obtained have the logical value "false", we shall say that Pis *false in this infinite*
+
+*domain.*
+
+It is absolutely necessary to adopt such definitions ifwe want to give a precise sense to the words "true in an infinite domain", words that have frequently been used without sufficient explanation, and also if we want to justify a proposition proved by Lowenheim,68 a proposition to which many refer without clearly seeing that
+
+67 [See 6.2, Remark 3 in 6.4, page 4 in *Herbrand 1931b* (below, p. 623, lines 8-11), and especially page 53 with its footnote in *Herbrand 1931.* From this last reference it seems clear that by a "principle of choice" Herbrand meant the axiom of choice and not an argument such as Skolem's *(1922;* above, p. 294), nor an application of Konig's infinity lemma *(1926, 1927)* such as Godel's *(1930a;* below, p. 589). See the introductory note to *Skolem 1928* (above, p. 510) and also Note H,
+
+Lowenheim's proof is totally inadequate for our purposes (see 6.2 69 ) and that, indeed, the proposition has no precise sense until such a definition has been given. 4.11. We observe at once that, if Pis true in an infinite domain, ~Pis false in it
+
+and, if P is false in it, ~ P is true in it.
+
+4.2. To clarify the notion of infinite domain let us for the moment ignore the associated logical values; we can then classify the elements of *Dv* in the following manner: first we take the elements of C 1 ; then we take all the elements that are values of the functions of height 1 when the arguments of these functions are chosen in *C* 1 ; these elements form a domain I'2 (which may have elements in common with 0 1 ); then we take all the elements that are values of the functions of height 2 when the arguments of these functions are chosen in 0 1 ; they form *I'3;* we thus form I'1 , I'2 , *I'3, ... , I'v, ....* We shall have at least *p* terms; but, clearly, this sequence will terminate when
+
+some domain is entirely contained in the previous ones. 70
+
+Let us now look again at the domains considered in 3.21 for the proposition *P;* if we take 0 1 as the first domain, we see that I'2 can be regarded as resulting from 0 2 when some elements of 0 2 are equated to some elements of 0 1 or 0 2 (see the conventions of 3.21 l); we see that in general *I'k* results from *Ck* when some elements of *Ck* are equated
+
+to some elements of 01, 02, ... , ck-1> or ck.
+
+If we recall the theorem of Chapter 1, 5.21, 52 we obtain the following two basic
+
+theorems:
+
+4.21. (1) *A proposition P that is false in some [infinite] domain cannot [for any* p]
+
+*have property B [of order* p].
+
+(2) *If [for every* p] *a proposition P does not have property B* [ *of order p* ], *we can con-*
+
+*struct an infinite domain in which P is false.*
+
+The first theorem follows from the fact that for [the union of] 0 1 , 0 2 , ••• , and Cv+n+l we can immediately obtain from the infinite domain a system oflogical values that gives the logical value "false" to the first disjunction of order *p* associated with *P* (see 3.4). The second theorem follows from the fact that Cv determines precisely the domain of order pin the infinite domain that we are trying to find and that.the logical values assigning the value "false" to this disjunction (according to Chapter 1, 5.2152 )
+
+yield the attached logical values. 71
+
+To simplify we shall say (the meaning of the assertion being determined by The-
+
+orems (1) and (2) above):
+
+*The necessary and sufficient condition for a proposition not to have property B is that it*
+
+*be false in some infinite domain.* 72
+
+4.3. The preceding considerations show that we need concern ourselves only with infinite domains of the following kind. Let 0 1 be an arbitrary domain (consisting, for example, of one element). Let *Ck* be, for each *k* > 1, the domain obtained when, as in 3.21, with each function of height *k* - 1 that can be constructed from the elementary functions at our disposal and whose arguments are taken in 0 1 we correlate one-to-one some element, which will be the value of the function. It then suffices, in defining the truth (or falsity) of a proposition of height h, to assume that the domain of order pin
+
+the infinite domain is given by the union of 0 1 , 0 2 , ••• , *CP+h+l* (the attached functions being the descriptive functions and the index functions mentioned in 4.1) and by a system of logical values for the propositional functions having arguments in these domains. Such an infinite domain will be called a *reduced* domain. All the previous results still hold when the words "infinite domain" are replaced by "reduced domain". For we can always assume that two different functions have different values: if two different functions have an element *b* as their common value, we replace *b* by two other elements, *b1* and *b2 ;* the value of the first function will be *bu* that of the second *b2 ;* and we stipulate that, for every atomic propositional function 2 ,* x *3 ,* ••• , xn) and *rp(b 2 ,* x *2 ,* x *3 ,* ••• , xn) will be the same as that of *rp(b,* x *2 ,* x *3 ,* ••• , xn)- We can similarly assume that any function
+
+takes different values for different arguments.
+
+4.31. We can even start from several propositions; to define their truth we construct the domains *Ck* that correspond to their logical product (to define their falsity, those that correspond to their logical sum); we see immediately that, if each proposition is true in a reduced domain associated with their product (or false in a reduced domain associated with their sum), this product (or sum) is true (or false) in this domain, and conversely.
+
+5. FUNDAMENTAL THEOREM 5. THEOREM. (1) *If for some number pa proposition P has property B of order p, the*
+
+*proposition Pis true.* 8*Once we know any such p, we can construct a proof of P.*
+
+(2) *If we have a true* 8 *proposition P, together with a proof of P, we can, from this proof,*
+
+*derive a number p such that P has property B of order p.*
+
+We shall say: *The necessary and sufficient condition for a proposition P to be true* 8*is*
+
+*that for some p the proposition P have property B of order p.*
+
+5.1. LEMMA 1. *A proposition P that [for some* p] *has property C [of order* p] *has*
+
+*property A.*
+
+This will be proved when we have stated a scheme, a type, and a set of equations
+
+associated with the proposition *P* (see Section 2).
+
+Assume that P has property C of order *p* [ and is of height h]; let N be the number of elements in [the union of all the domains up to and including] *OP* (same notation as in 3.21). Consider some prenex form of *P* without real variables, and take property *C* in the form of 3.4. 73We shall construct a scheme associated with *P* (2.2) such that each restricted variable [ of the scheme] is immediately behind a brace joining *N* rows; 74 we shall say that the restricted variable occurring in the ith row immediately 73 [Since, if Pis not in prenex form, no prenex form of P need have property C of order *p* (see Note F, p. 577 below), to carry through the argument that Herbrand is about to give we must be able to calculate from the number *p* and the proposition *P* some number *q* such that some prenex form of P has property C of order *q.* Hence in the light of 3.31' of Note F the first two sentences in
+
+the present paragraph should be replaced by the following paragraph:
+
+Let *P* contain *j* quantifiers and *d* descriptive functions, the maximum height of these functions being *h,* and assume that *P* has property *C* of order *p.* Let *P'* be a prenex form of *P* without real variables. Then *P'* has property *C* of order *q* = *8(i, d, p,* n 1 ). Let *N* be the number of elements in
+
+*a.,* and let us consider the second disjunction of order q associated with *P'.*
+
+74 [To Herbrand's definition of a scheme (above, p. 531) we must add here the stipulation that the dominant variables of the scheme are joined by an initial brace. A row should not be
+
+on the right of the brace is *attached* to the element a;. Hence, in an arbitrary line of the
+
+scheme, each restricted variable is attached to an element a;, with i ~ N.
+
+We shall now define a correspondence between the elements of all the domains [up to and including Cq+h+iTI and the general variables of the scheme (and descriptive functions of such variables, if any). 75We stipulate that each general variable y shall correspond to the element that is the value *offy(a;1 ,* a;2 , ••• , a;.), wherefy is the index function of *y,* and a;1 , a; 2 , ••• , a;" are the elements attached to the restricted variables that occur on the same line as y but to its left. With the elements of 0 1we correlate fictitious (in the sense of 2.1) general variables. Finally, with each element of the domains [up to and including Cq+h+iTI we correlate either a general variable, in accordance with the preceding rule, or a descriptive function of general variables, stipulating that for a *descriptive* functionf, if a; 1 , a; 2 , ••• , a;" correspond to the general variables or to the functions rp1 , rp2 , ••• , *'Pn* of general variables, 75 the value of f(a; 1 , a;2 , •.• , a;") in the domains corresponds to the function f(rp1 , rp2 , ••• , *'Pnl•* We readily see that to each element of the domains there thus corresponds one and *only*
+
+*one* general variable or function of general variables.
+
+Let the order of a line [in the scheme] be the greatest of the orders of the domains
+
+of any of the elements that correspond to the restricted variables of that line.
+
+We obtain the associated type by selecting, one after another, all the variables occurring in the lines of order 1, then all those occurring in the lines of order 2, then all those occurring in the lines of order 3, and so on up to and including order p. We obtain the associated equations by equating each restricted variable to the general variable, or the function of general variables, that corresponds to the element attached to the restricted variable. We see that a restricted variable is always equated to a general variable, or to a function of general variables, occurring in lines whose order is less than its own; hence these equations yield associated equations that are
+
+compatible with the type considered.
+
+Now we only have to see that the disjunction thus obtained is an identity. But, clearly, this disjunction comes from the second disjunction of order *p* associated with *P* **(3.4) 76**when each element of the domains is replaced by its corresponding general variable or function of general variables ( each line of the scheme corresponds to a dis-
+
+junct of this identity). 77
+
+COROLLARY. *A proposition that [for some number* p] *has property B [of order* p] *is*
+
+*true.* 8
+
+confused with a line of the scheme. A row consists of just one signed letter immediately to the right
+
+of abrace.
+
+Let us note that, if *P* contains *r* restricted quantifiers, the scheme now being constructed has *N'*
+
+lines and is what in footnote 25 was called a reduced scheme.]
+
+75[See footnote 30, p. 539 above.]
+
+76[Rather, of order q associated with *P'* (see footnote 73).]
+
+77[Thus, under the correspondence between elements of *Gq+h* +1and members of the associated scheme, the standard expansion of the prenex proposition P' (see footnotes 63 and 73) yields the identity associated with P, hence shows that P has property A. But, then, a far more informative way of correcting Herbrand's argument for Lemma 1 than that given in footnote 73 would be to use the generalized notion of generating scheme mentioned in footnote 22 above, p. 537. For we would not need to consider a second disjunction of order q associated with *P* (that is, the standard expansion of *P'* of order q); rather, we would be able to set up a correspondence between the elements of *GP+h+* 1and members of the new scheme such that the standard expansion of *P* of order *p*
+
+For we have seen that
+
+**(1)** Property *B* is equivalent to property *C* (3.31) 61 and (2) A proposition that has property A is true (2.3). 23
+
+This proves the first part of the theorem.
+
+5.2. To prove the second part of the theorem we proceed by recursion on the proof
+
+of the proposition.
+
+**(1)** [For every p,] if *P* V *P* has property *B* [of order p], then *P* has property *B* [ of order *p* ]. This is seen at once from the definition [ of property B] given in 3.22. (2) [For every p,] if (x) has property B [of order p], then (x)(x) has property B [of order p]. For, as we saw in 3.2, in order to construct the expansions of (x) and (x)(x), we must first replace each of these propositions by the same proposition
+
+(Y1, *Y2, ... , Yn,* x)(x), where y1, *y2, ..* . , *Yn* are the real variables of (x)(x).
+
+LEMMA 2. *Property C is preserved when the second rule of generalization* (in *the form*
+
+*given in Chapter 3,* 1.478 ) *is used.79*
+
+[This second rule of generalization is:] If *t* is an individual that depends upon
+
+[possibly fictitious] real variables, we can go from 1-(t) to 1-({i[x)(x).
+
+Let us take property *C* in the form given in 3.4. 80
+
+We know (3.221) that to the real variables there will correspond some fixed elements of 0 2 ; so the element that will correspond *tot* will be in *Ck* for some *k* ~ 2; let us call this element *a*1• Suppose that the first proposition has property C of order p. For the second proposition we consider the second associated disjunction (see 3.4) of order *p*+ k- 1, and in this disjunction we consider only the disjuncts in which x is replaced by *a* 1• We see immediately that their disjunction constitutes a second disjunction of order *p* associated with the proposition (t), the first domain being 0 1; hence
+
+it is a propositional identity; but then so is the original disjunction.
+
+5.3. LEMMA 3. *For every p, if the propositions P and P* ::i *Q have property C of order*
+
+*p, then Q has property C of order p.* 81
+
+According to 3.53, P & (P ::i *Q)* has property C of order p. 82 We put P and *Q* into
+
+prenex form; they are then written
+
+( ± Y1, ± *Y2,* · · ·, ± *Y,)M(yi, Y2, ·••,Yr>* X1, *X2,* • • •, *Xn)*
+
+and
+
+respectively, if we exhibit all the real variables (some may be fictitious (3.52) in *P* or in Q). The conjunction *P* & ( *P* ::i Q) can be written, when transformed according to
+
+the rules of passage,
+
+(-yf1, *+y~-«1, -y~2, +y~-«2, ..* . , *-y~r, +y:-a,,* ±z1, ±z2, ... , ±zs) *{M(y~, yg, ... , Y~, Xi, X2, ... , Xn)* & [M(yL *Y~,. ••,Yi,* X1, X2, ... , *Xn)*
+
+::J N(z1, z2, ... , *z.,* x1, x2, ... , xn)J}.
+
+78 [" If 1 ,* x 2 , ••• , x.) is true."]
+
+79 [In general the order does not remain invariant. If t is of height k ~ 2 and 83 ). For the proposition in question we take property C in the form given in 3.4. We therefore have domains C1 , C2 , ... , *Ck, ... , Cv+h* +l generated by the descriptive and index functions of the proposition. We transform them into domains c~, c;, ... , C~, ... , c~ +h + 1 as follows. First, c~ is C1 • Then, for each *k* > 1, *C~* is obtained from *Ck* thus: letf I be the index function of the [general] variable t; for each value of yf•, we consider the elements of *Ck* that are values off Yf -"' ( yf,, y~2, ... , yf,) for all possible values of yf 1, y~2, ... , yf *!...* --i', and [in C1 u C2 u • • • u *Ck]* we equate all these elements to the value of yf •; moreover, for each system of values of *zu,, zu2 , ••• , zu1 ,* we consider the elements of *Ck* that are values of f2/ yf1, y~2, ... , y~,, *zu,, zu*2, ... , *zu*1) for all possible values of yf 1, y~2, ... , y~, and
+
+[in C1 u *C*2u • • • u *Ck]* we equate all these elements to one of them.
+
+Clearly, these new domains are the very domains that are generated from C1 by the descriptive and index functions of Q. And we see, once the equating just presented is taken into account, that the second disjunction of order *p* associated with P & ( P:) Q)
+
+[over the original domains] becomes the identity
+
+where *Pi* and *Qi,* 1 ~ i ~ y, are the propositions obtained when the operations described in 3.4 are carried out over these new domains on the matrices of *P* and Q.
+
+Moreover,
+
+(II)
+
+differs from the [second] disjunction of order *p* associated with *Q* only in that certain
+
+disjuncts are repeated several times. 84
+
+Now, Theorem 5.21 of Chapter 1 52 shows that the truth of the disjunction (I) implies that of the disjunction (II), since, for each given system of logical values, there is an i such that the logical value "true" is assigned to *Pi* & (Pi:) Qi), hence to
+
+*Pi:) Qi,* hence to *Qi,* and hence to the disjunction (II).
+
+If *P* should contain descriptive functions not occurring in Q, we would use Remark
+
+3.52.
+
+5.31. We now recall that
+
+(1) Identities of the first kind, that is, with no apparent variables, have property B,
+
+(2) Property Band property Care equivalent (3.31), 61 and
+
+(3) For every p, if a proposition *P* has property *B* of order p, then *P* has property
+
+*B* of order *q* for every *q* greater than *p* (3.54).
+
+Therefore, Lemma 2, Lemma 3,81 the lemma of 3.3, 60 and the remarks of 5.2 prove
+
+the second part of the Fundamental Theorem.
+
+REMARKS. (1) Properties A, B, and Care therefore equivalent 85 and can be said 83[If the quantifier (x) occurs positively, xis general; if it occurs negatively, xis restricted; the
+
+84 [Throughout this last paragraph the prenex forms of P, Q, and P & ( P :J Q) should be understood when Herbrand speaks simply of P, Q, and P & ( P :J *Q);* see Note G, p. 578 below. However,
+
+to be necessary and sufficient for the truth 8 of a proposition. The preceding theorem then shows that the proof of any true proposition can be reduced to a canonical form, namely, one in which the proposition is obtained from its associated identity (2.3) (which is the [second] disjunction of order *p* associated with the proposition). 86 (2) We could easily show that, if in the proof of a proposition *P* the second rule of generalization is used *n* times, for individuals of heights h1 , *h*2 , •• • , *hn,* then *P* has
+
+property *B* of an order at most equal to h1 + *h*2 + • · · + *hn* + *n.* 87
+
+(3) If there should be more than one type in the proposition under study, we would have to distinguish, in each domain, elements of different types (the value of a function, in particular, is of the type of that function) and replace a variable only by elements of the same type. But, aside from these points, nothing would be changed in the previous considerations. (An index function is taken to be of the same type as the
+
+variable to which it is attached.) 88
+
+**6.** CONSEQUENCES *A. Consequences concerning the decision problem* **6.1.** COROLLARY I. We have seen 89 that the rule of implication is not necessary for the proof of a proposition having property A, provided we replace the rule of simpli-
+
+fication by the following
+
+GENERALIZED RULE OF SIMPLIFICATION. *If in a true 6 proposition the subproposition*
+
+*P* V *P is replaced by P, we obtain another true proposition.*
+
+Now, from our theorem and Lemma 1 in 5.1 it follows that *every true* 6 *proposition has property A.* Hence the only rules of reasoning that are needed are the rules of passage, the two rules of generalization and the generalized rule of simplification. The rule of
+
+implication drops out.
+
+Because of the difficulties that the rule of implication might create in certain [metamathematical] demonstrations that proceed by recursion on [formal] proofs, we consider this result most important. It shows, moreover, that the rule of implication, whose origin, after all, is in the classical syllogism, is not necessary in building logic. (The rule remains necessary, however, in mathematical theories, which contain
+
+hypotheses.)
+
+6.2. The theorems stated in Section 5 and in 4.21 permit us to set forth the follow-
+
+ing results:
+
+THEOREM I. *If Pis an identity, ~Pis not true in any infinite domain;*
+
+THEOREM 2. *If Pis not an identity, we can construct an infinite domain in which* ~ *P*
+
+*is true.*
+
+Similar results have already been stated by Lowenheim (1915), but his proofs, it seems to us, are totally insufficient for our purposes. First, he gives an intuitive 86 [In this canonical form for a proof of *P,* some prenex form *P'* of *Pis* first proved, and then *P* is obtained by use of the rules of passage. Hence the associated identity (2.3) of Pis indeed a second disjunction associated with P, for it is the standard expansion of P' (see footnotes 63 and 73).
+
+meaning to the notion '' true in an infinite domain'', hence his proof of Theorem 2 does not attain the rigor that we deem desirable (indeed the [required] proof is contained in the considerations of Section 4 and of 5.1). Then-and this is the gravest reproachbecause of the intuitive meaning that he gives to this notion, he seems to regard Theorem **1** as obvious. This is absolutely impermissible; such an attitude would lead us, for example, to regard the consistency of arithmetic as obvious. **On** the contrary, it is precisely the proof of this theorem (of which the lemma of 3.3 is a part) that pre-
+
+sented us with the greatest difficulties.
+
+We could say that Lowenheim's proof was sufficient in mathematics; but, in the present work, we had to make it "metamathematical" (see Introduction 90 ) so that it
+
+would be of some use to us.
+
+6.3. The two theorems that we just stated provide us with a method for investigating the decision problem. By means of this method we have succeeded in obtaining new solutions for all the particular cases already solved and even in somewhat extending these cases. 91 Moreover, we can now deal with a case that is essentially different from those already known, namely, the case of *a proposition whose matrix is a disjunction of atomic propositions and negations of atomic propositions* (the atomic propositions may contain descriptive functions). A proposition is an identity if and only if it has property *A;* in the present case, whether a proposition has property *A* can readily
+
+be decided by the use of 2.34 and 2.4.
+
+6.4. REMARK **1.** We see without difficulty that a proposition true in some finite domain (Chapter 2, 8.3 92 ) is also true in some infinite domain (here there is a bound, namely, the number of elements in the finite domain, on the number of elements in each field *Dn* in the infinite domain); hence the theorem of Chapter **2,** Section 8, 93
+
+immediately follows from Theorem **1.**
+
+REMARK 2. The notion "satisfiability" (" Erfiillbarkeit ") that Ackermann used in *1928a* does not seem to us to be defined in a sufficiently complete manner, for we have not been given a precise stipulation that would permit us to state that a proposition is "satisfiable" .94 Theorem 1 immediately allows us to remove this objection.
+
+Now, let *P* be a proposition of the form
+
+(x1, X2, • • •, Xn)([i[z)(y1, Y2, • • •, YP)A(x1, X2, • • •, Xn, z, Yv Y2, • • •, YP). If *P* is not an identity, we can construct an infinite domain in which ~ *P* is true; 90 [In the Introduction to his thesis, on page 6, Herbrand presents the distinction between mathematics and metamathematics. Here he suggests that the set-theoretic notion of satisfiability
+
+is not a proper object of metamathematical investigations.]
+
+91 For example, to the case of a disjunction of propositions of the form
+
+(x1, X2,, , , , Xn)({![y)(z1, Z2,,, , , Zp)A(x1, X2,,, , , Xn, y, Z1, Z2,,, , , Zp)• 92 [In Section 8 of Chapter 2 Herbrand stipulates that a proposition is *true in a finite domain* if and only if the common expansion (see footnote 41) of the proposition over the domain is truthfunctionally valid. Here, however, he apparently uses "true in a finite domain" to mean that the common expansion of the proposition is truth-functionally satisfiable. The same shift in meaning
+
+occurs on page 60 of the thesis.]
+
+93 [" If ( *y,,* y2 , .•• , y.) is a true 8 proposition containing only y1 , y2 , ••• , *y.* as real variables, the [common] expansion of (y1 , y2 , ... , y.)(yi, y2 , ... , y.) [over any finite domain], which no longer contains any apparent variable, is, relative to its atomic propositions, a propositional identity of the first kino . .''] 94 [Herbrand is here contrasting Ackermann's intuitive (that is, set-theoretic) notion "satisfiable" with his own metamathematical (that is, finitistic) notion "true in an infinite domain", which by Theorems 1 and 2 of 6.2 is equivalent to the notion "irrefutable in *QH"·* Herbrand *isnot*
+
+clearly, merely by repeating Ackermann's argument, we see that there is also a finite domain, consisting of a known number of elements, in which ~Pis true. 92 On the other hand, if *P* is an identity, ~ *P* cannot be true in such a finite domain (according to Chapter 2, 8.1 93); we therefore have a criterion that enables us to decide whether Pis
+
+an identity or not.
+
+Moreover, it is possible, and simpler, to show by a similar argument that, if a proposition P of the form considered has property C, it has this property with an order that we can determine in advance; and this provides a criterion equivalent to the
+
+previous one. 95
+
+REMARK 3. We see the following: ifto our rules ofreasoning, listed at the beginning of Chapter 2, 96 we were to adjoin other rules that could not be derived from them, then we would be led to regard as true [th!J,t is, provable] some propositions that are in fact false in some infinite domain. We must acknowledge that such a consequence would be difficult to accept. This fact corresponds to what the Germans call the *V ollstandigkeit* of our system of rules. (If we could *prove* that these additional rules lead us to regard as true a proposition *P* that, without them, would not be so, then, as we can readily see, the inconsistency of classical mathematics would follow, because we could
+
+construct a denumerable set over which *P* would be false.) 97
+
+REMARK 4. We can view the theorem of Section 5 as giving us a canonical form for every mathematical proof; for, if we know the order *p* with which a proposition has property B, we can, according to 5.1, specify the proof of this proposition. 86More generally, we can say that, if a theorem Pis true [that is, provable] in a theory on the basis of hypotheses (containing no apparent variables98 ) whose logical product is H, the proof of *P* can be obtained in the following manner (according to 6.2 and Chapter 3, 2.4 99): *we try to construct an infinite domain in which H* :::i *Pis false, and after acertain number of operations we see that the construction is impossible. 100*Thus we can say demanding that a decision procedure for satisfiability be given. Indeed, he is objecting to Ackermann's use of "satisfiability" with respect to a class *K* of propositions for which he knows that
+
+Ackermann *(1928a)* has shown that
+
+For each proposition P in K, there is effectively obtainable a number *n* such that ~ P is satisfiable if and only if the common expansion of ~ *P* over a domain of cardinality *n* is
+
+truth-functionally satisfiable.
+
+Rather, Her brand is demanding that the notion "satisfiability" not be used in metamathematics. (Of course, Herbrand permits "truth-functional satisfiability".) Hence, in this first paragraph of
+
+Remark 2, Herbrand exploits Ackermann's argument to prove that
+
+For each proposition *P* in *K,* there is effectively obtainable a number *n* such that *P* is provable inQH if and only if the common expansion of~ *P* over a domain of cardinality *n* is not
+
+truth-functionally satisfiable.]
+
+95 [See Herbrand's treatment of this solvable case *(1931,* pp. 45-46); see also *Dreben 1962.]* 96 [These are the rules of Herbrand's system of quantification theory, see above, p. 528.] 97 [See Note H, p. 578 below.] 98 [Rather, containing no real variables. Herbrand's argument here rests upon his version of the
+
+deduction theorem (see footnote 99 and Note I, p. 580 below).]
+
+99 [In this article Herbrand states and proves the deduction the01·em in the following form: Let P be a proposition in a theory having only a finite number of hypotheses; let H be the product of these hypotheses. If H does not contain any real variable, P is provable in the theory if and only if *H*::i Pis provable in Herbrand's QH.] 100 [See the "no-counterexample" proof techniques of Beth *(1955)* and Hintikka *(1955);* see also *Skolem 1928* and *1929,* § 5. Kreisel *(1958,* p. 36) pointed out that Beth's constructive argument for modus ponens elimination *(1956a,* pp. 38-40; see also *1959,* pp. 278-280) contains an error. But it should be noted that no argument that proceeds, as does Beth's, just by recursion on the construc-
+
+that, if the proposition is indeed a theorem, we can always give a proof of it that does not use any artifice, the role of artifices being only to make proofs shorter. 101
+
+*B. Consequences concerning the investigation of mathematical theories* 6.5. The theorems obtair..ed in the previous sections have many applications; they provide a general method for the investigation of mathematical theories. We shall briefly point out some of these applications, laying stress on the most important of
+
+them, the consistency of ordinary arithmetic.
+
+(1) *If all the hypotheses of a theory are true in some infinite domain (4.31), the theory is*
+
+*consistent* (Chapter 3, 2.1 102). 103
+
+For, if a theory is inconsistent, we see immediately that we can find hypotheses H 1 , *H*2 , •• • , *Hn,* which can always be assumed to contain no apparent variables, 98 such that ~ (H 1 & H 2& · · · & H n) is an identity, hence has property B. But, according to 4.11, this is impossible, since H 1& H 2& • • • & *Hn,* by 4.31, is true in some infinite domain, and so ~(H1 & *H*2& • • • & *Hn)* is false [in this infinite
+
+domain].
+
+(2) *If a theory is consistent and has only a finite number of hypotheses,* 104 *we can con-*
+
+*struct an infinite domain in which these hypotheses are true. 105*
+
+It suffices, as we see immediately by virtue of 4.3, to make the logical product of
+
+these hypotheses true in a reduced domain (4.3).
+
+We shall now briefly present some immediate consequences [of (1) and (2)]. But first we note that, if a theory contains constants, that is, descriptive functions of 0 argument, we shall have to represent these constants in the infinite domains by certain
+
+elements that we include in the domain of order 1.
+
+6.6. The theorems stated in 6.5 can be used to show that no proposition [ written in the notation of but] unprovable in a given theory becomes provable when certain
+
+changes are made in the theory. 106
+
+Let us assume, for example, that we have a theory with a certain number of types; for each type we can introduce the propositional function *x* = y, of arguments *x* and *y,* to be read *"x* is equal to *y* ", in which *x* and *y* will be of the type considered (hence we shall have different propositional functions, represented by arrays of signs that
+
+differ only in the type of the variables).
+
+101 [See *Gentzen 1934,* p. 177; in particular, consider Gentzen's "Er macht keine Umwege ".] 102 [" A theory is said to be *consistent* if it does not contain any proposition *Z* such that both *Z*
+
+and *~Z* are true [that is, provable in the theory]."]
+
+103 [This is· one of the most important consequences of Herbrand's Fundamental Theorem and supplies much of the motivation for it; indeed, the present statement (1) greatly simplifies the Hilbert-Ackermann-von Neumann approach to proving the consistency of theories (see 6.8 below, *Ackermann 1924, Hilbert 1925* and *1927, Bernays 1927, von Neumann 1927,* also Bernays's discussion of this point *(1934a; 1936,* remark 1, pp. 115-116; *Hilbert and Bernays 1939,* pp. 38 and 48)
+
+as well as *Kleene 1952,* pp. 475-476).]
+
+104 It is easy but unnecessary to remove the latter restriction.
+
+105 This proposition is the "metamathematical" form of the proposition known as the "Skolem paradox"; for one should observe that [ metamathematical] arguments about infinite domains, when translated into mathematical arguments, become arguments about denumerable sets. [See footnote 67, p. 552 above.] 106 [Compare 6.6 with ~§ 5-6 in *Skolem 1929* and with *Herbrand 1931,* pp. 30-33. Also, compare
+
+We add the following hypotheses, hereafter denoted by ( **1):**
+
+x = x, (x = y) :J (y = x), and [(x = y) & (y = z)] :J (x = z)
+
+for each type,
+
+[(x1 = Y1) & (x2 = Y2) & · · · & (xn = Yn)] :J [(x1, X2, • • •, Xn) :J **(** Y1, Y2, • • •, Yn)J
+
+for each atomic propositional function (xi, x2 , ••• , xn), and
+
+for each elementary descriptive function f(x1 , x2 , ••• , xn)-
+
+Clearly, the last two formulas of (1) can be proved in the extended theory for every
+
+propositional function and every descriptive function.
+
+Let us further assume that the hypotheses (1), together with the original ones, bring about the truth [that is, the provability in the theory] of a certain proposition P, which does not contain the new propositional function and was not true [that is, provable in the theory] before the introduction of this new propositional function. Let H 1 , H 2 , ... , *H n* be the hypotheses of the original theory that are necessary for the proof of *P;* then the hypotheses *Hi,* H 2 , ••• , *Hn,* and *~P,* which were conjointly consistent, become inconsistent when taken together with the hypotheses (1). Now, we can construct an infinite domain in which H 1 , H 2 , ••• , *Hn,* and ~Pare true; moreover, to make the hypotheses (1) true in this infinite domain we merely have to agree that a; = *a1* (where a; and *a1* are elements of the domain) has the logical value "true" just if the letters *a*1 and *a*1 are the same. But, since the hypotheses *H 1 ,* H 2 , ••• , *Hn,* ~ P, and (1)
+
+are true in some infinite domain, they cannot be conjointly inconsistent.
+
+Therefore, *if a proposition is not true [that is, provable] before equality has been intro-*
+
+*duced, it cannot be so afterward.*
+
+We could show by the same method that it is also possible to introduce into a theory
+
+the notion "couple", *107
+
+Let us now go back to the case in which equality was introduced and see how we can obtain a proof of a proposition P, not containing equality, in a theory without equality [ once we have a proof of *P* in the extension of the theory obtained by ad junction
+
+of equality]. Let us assume that the proposition
+
+where His the product of those hypotheses (1) that we are using, has property *B* of order p. If we look at the proof of the results obtained in 4.21 and 4.3, we can conclude
+
+that
+
+6.7. According to Lowenheim (1915), the decision problem would be solved for the general case if it were solved for the case in which each [atomic] propositional function has only two arguments; the proof, which rested on his insufficiently established
+
+results, is now completely justified. 108We can even go further and:
+
+(a) Prove that we can restrict ourselves to the case in which there is no longer any constant or descriptive function. For this we use, primarily, Russell and Whitehead's theory of descriptions. It would suffice first to introduce equality as in 6.6, and then to replace each descriptive function *f(x 1 ,* x2 , ••• , *xn)* by apropositional function *x1 , x2 , .•• , *xn),* which is to be taken as *y* =*f(x 1 ,* x2 , •.• , *xn),* and add the hy-
+
+potheses *([i[z)(y)[x1 , x2 , ••• , *xn)* ~ *(y* = *z)].*
+
+(b) Prove that we can restrict ourselves to the case in which either there is only one propositional function of three arguments [rather, one ternary predicate letter] or there are no more than three propositional functions of two arguments [rather, three
+
+binary predicate letters].
+
+(c) Prove easily that we can dispense with apparent variables if, following Hilbert, we introduce the "logical function" ( each proposition will give rise to such a function, with the real variables as arguments, and to a corresponding axiom; see *Hilbert* 1927). In particular, we can always assume that the hypotheses of a theory contain only real
+
+variables. 109
+
+6.8. *Consistency of arithmetic\_l1°* The results of 6.5 enable us to solve the problem of the consistency of arithmetic much more completely [that is, for more extensive
+
+subsystems] than we did in Chapter 4.
+
+Let us recall that in arithmetic there is one atomic propositional function, x = *y,* one primitive descriptive function, x + 1, and one primitive constant, 0; we can, moreover, introduce new descriptive functions, which are defined by recursion (Chap-
+
+ter 4, 8.5 111 ). 112
+
+Let the domain *A* be the unbounded sequence of letters *a*0 , a 1 , a 2 , ••• , *an, .* .. ; we stipulate that *a*0shall be the constant 0. With these letters we shall form the domains that we need; we stipulate that *ai* = *ai* shall have the logical value "true" just if the
+
+subscripts i and *j* are identical.
+
+Let *j(x1 ,* x2 , ••• , *xn)* be a (descriptive or index) function; we shall say that we know its value in the domain A if we have a procedure that enables us to assign a value to
+
+*f(ai 1 , ai2 , ••* • , *ai.)* for each system of arguments taken in the domain.
+
+*A* proposition *P* will be said to be *true in the domain A* if, after correlating with each restricted variable x of Pan index function whose arguments are the general variables superior to *x* and the real variables, we can so assign values in the domain A to these functions that the proposition obtained when the restricted variables of *P* are
+
+108[See *Herbrand 1931,* pp. 33-41, for Herbrand's new proof of this result of Lowenheim and also
+
+for his proofs of the results announced here in (a) and (b).] 109[See footnote 33, p. 541 above, and Note I, p. 580 below.]
+
+uo [See Note J, p. 580 below.]
+
+111[This article extends Theory 3 (see Note J) by introducing functions defined by primitive recursion. But the consistency proof that Her brand is about to give works just for the unextended
+
+u 2[In the next five paragraphs of the text Her brand gives anew and very simple proof, based on Theorem 1 of 6.5, of the consistency of Theory 3 (see Note J); this proof, however, does not show
+
+replaced by their index functions has the logical value (calculated as in 4.1) "true", no matter which elements of the domain A are put for the general [ and real]
+
+variables.
+
+Clearly, if several propositions are true in the domain A, then A yields an infinite
+
+domain in which these propositions are true.
+
+Now, if we stipulate that the value of a; + **1** is ai+i, we can immediately see that all the axioms of Section 5 of Chapter 4 110 are true in the domain *A;* moreover, the domain A yields an infinite domain once we agree that for each *p* the domain [Dp] of order pin this infinite domain consists of a 0, a 1 , ... , aP. Hence these axioms are con-
+
+sistent.
+
+But now we can go further. 113
+
+I. *Introduction of recursive definitions.* Proceeding in a more general way than in Chapter 4, 8.5, 114 we shall assume that to the theory considered 115 we can adjoin new descriptive functions and new hypotheses in the following manner: we assume that the modifications introduced above [in 6.6] have already led to a theory *T* whose hypotheses are true in the domain *A;* we introduce a new descriptive function
+
+J ( *y,* x1 , ••• , *xn),* of arguments *y,* x1 , •.• , *xn,* and add hypotheses of the form
+
+*1 , ... , *xn)* = *f(y', x~, ... , x~)],* (3)
+
+provided that the propositions
+
+([![ x)(x) (4)
+
+and
+
+( y)([i[ x) 1P( y, x) (5)
+
+are true [that is, provable] in the theory *T* (117 ) that propositions of the form
+
+{<1>(0) & (x)[(x) :J *(y) (6)
+
+must be added to the hypotheses.11 8
+
+When we attempt to prove the consistency of the theory thus obtained, 119 we are confronted with difficulties that we shall not try to resolve here, our goal being only to show the fruitfulness of the notion '' infinite domain''. If hypotheses of the form ( 6) are introduced among the hypotheses [referred to at the end of the preceding paragraph], we shall prove the consistency [ of the theory thus obtained] only in either of the following two cases (which, however, as can easily be seen, are the principal cases
+
+in which the axiom of mathematical induction is used).
+
+*(a) Case in which* 120*Let us now assume that to the hypotheses we add all the propositions P 1 , P 2 , ••• , *Pm* obtained when in (6) we successively substitute <1>1 (x), <1> 2 (x), ... , *i(x, Y1, Y2, · · ·, Yn,)-)
+
+[For an arbitrary *p* ~ **l]** let Ebe the [set of] individuals of height not greater than *p* that are constructed from the constant 0, the original descriptive functions, and the
+
+new index functions.
+
+We now have to construct an infinite domain in which all the hypotheses will come out true. The domain of order 0 will consist of *a*0 , and for each *k* the domain of order *k* will consist ofletters from the domain *A.* Let I'be the domain of order *p* [in the infinite domain to be constructed]; every element of *I'* is to be the value of an individual of E, and conversely every individual of E is to have a value in *I'.* The hypotheses
+
+117 [This article in"roduces the axiom schema of mathematical induction.]
+
+118 [These hypotheses are the first six axioms of Theory 3 (see Note J), together with proposi-
+
+tions (1), (2), and (3) just given for the introduction of primitive recursive functions.]
+
+119 [This theory is Theory 4 (see Note J) with primitive recursive functions added. It is full elementary number theory. To understand the difficulties with which "we are confronted", of whose true nature Herbrand had as yet no inkling, see *Godel 1931* and *Herbrand 1931b,* § 4 (below, pp. 626-628); see also *Gentzen 1936* and *1938, Ackermann 1940,* and *Schutte 1951* and *1960.]* 120 [Although in *1931b* (below, pp. 623-626) Herbrand gives a much simpler proof of this result, the argument that he sketches here, once clarified, can be extended so as to establish the consistency of full elementary number theory (see *Dreben and Denton 1967).* Moreover, the present
+
+under consideration will be true in the infinite domain provided the following two
+
+conditions hold:
+
+(1) The original descriptive functions have the same values as in A, and the proposi-
+
+tional function x = y has the same logical value as in *A;*
+
+(2) For each given sequence of ni elements, u1 , u2 , ••• , *un,,* in *I',* the function
+
+*fi(ui,* u2 , ••• , *un,)* has the value 0 [that is, a 0] unless there is a *j* > 0 such that
+
+(a) *a;* and a;+ 1 are in *I',*
+
+(/3) *cJ>i(a;,* u1 , *u* 2 , •• • , *un,)* has the logical value "true", and (y) *c1> 1(a;+ 1 ,* u1 , *u2 , ••. , un,)* has the logical value "false", in which case the function *f;(u1 , u 2 , ••• , un,)* has the value *a;.*
+
+Thus to actually construct the domain *I'* we need only find the values that the new
+
+index functions have to take in *I'.*
+
+Every function (of whatever height) obtained from the original elementary descriptive functions will be called a function of the first kind; the new index functions
+
+(which are all of height **1)** will be called functions of the second kind.
+
+On any domain C [ contained in A] in which the values of certain individuals of E are known, we shall perform, whenever possible, the following [two-step] operation: (i) For each function of the first kind that is a function of individuals of *E* whose values in C are known, we add to C the value that this function has in the domain A (this value may or may not already occur in *C;* if it does, we simply have one more
+
+individual of E whose value in C is known);
+
+(ii) Once this is done, for each function *Ji(* y1 , y2 , ••• , Yn,) of the second kind that is a function of individuals of *E* whose values u1 , *u* 2 , ••• , *un,* in Care known, we proceed thus: (a) If *cJ>i(0,* u1 , *u* 2 , ••• , *un)* is false in *A,* we assign the value Oto *f* 1*(u1 ,* u 2 , ••• , *un,);* (b) If there is aj > 0 such that *a;* and a;+ 1 are in *C* and *cJ>;(a;,* u1 , u2 , ••• , *un,)* has the logical value "true" but *c1>*1*(a;+ 1 ,* u1 , *u* 2 , •• • , *un,)* has the logical value "false",
+
+then we assign the value *a;* to *f* 1*(ui, u* 2 , •• • , *un,).*
+
+So let us start from the domain consisting of *a*0 and perform the preceding operation a sufficient number of times; we obtain larger and larger domains, in which an everincreasing number of individuals of *E* have values. It is quite obvious that we shall reach a point (after a number of operations at most equal to the number of individuals of E) where we have a domain *I'* in which it is no longer possible to perform the pre-
+
+ceding operation. The individuals of *E* will then fall into three sets: **(1)** e1 , [the set of] those that have a value in the domain *I';*
+
+(2) e2 , [the set of] those that are functions of the second kind of elements of e1 but
+
+do not satisfy either (a) or (b) above;
+
+(3) e3 , [the set of] those that are functions of elements of e2 .
+
+To the elements of *e*2 we assign the value 0. The elements of e3 are functions of elements of e2 ; in these functions we replace the elements of e2 by 0. The elements of e3 remain individuals of E, and their heights are not increased. To each of these elements of e3 that thus become elements of e1 or e2 we assign the value of the individual of *E* into which it is transformed. For those that become other elements of
+
+Thus we finally assign values in *I'* to all the individuals of E. Hence we obtain the domain of order *p* that we were looking for. We observe immediately that this domain
+
+satisfies conditions **(1)** and (2) stated above [on page 566]; and so we come to the end
+
+of our proof.
+
+This proof is a characteristic application of our method. We hope that our theorems will also enable us to prove the consistency of the theory that is obtained when the type of classes (Chapter 3, 2.3 121 ) and the corresponding axioms are added to arithmetic; the difficulties that we have encountered in this direction are similar to those presented by the general case of the axiom of mathematical induction and are, it seems to us, closely related to the questions raised by Hilbert's Lemma I *(1925;* [ above, p. 385]). We believe, moreover, that it may be possible by this approach to arrive at a general theorem of which a particular case would be: *transcendental methods will not enable us to prove in arithmetic any theorem that cannot be proved without their help. 122* Our theorem of Section 5, which provides a canonical form for every proof, would then enable us to give the purely arithmetic proof of these [arithmetic] theorems. In the present Section 6 we have given some simple applications of our theorems. We hope that in a paper soon to be written we shall be able to show their usefulness in the study of" completely determined" theories (Chapter 3, 2.1 123) and in that of the
+
+constructibility of mathematical objects. 124
+
+But it is quite certain that the most interesting line to pursue, and no doubt the most difficult, would be the one in which we search for a solution of the decision problem. 125 The solution of this problem would yield a general method in mathematics and would enable mathematical logic to play with respect to classical mathematics
+
+the role that analytic geometry plays with respect to ordinary geometry.
+
+[The following ten Notes, A through J, were written by Burton Dre hen. Each Note is connected with a particular passage of the text and, were it not for its length, would be appended there as a footnote.
+
+The passage to which a Note is attached is indicated by a footnote, and this is the footnote mentioned below the title of each Note. There are, moreover, cross references between footnotes and Notes.]
+
+Note A *(Footnote 15, p. 535 above)*
+
+In Chapter 2, 4.1, Herbrand proves the following statement:
+
+Let A (p1 , ... , Pn) be an identity of the first kind in the distinct atomic propositions
+
+121 [There, as an example of a theory with an infinite number of hypotheses, Herbrand presents "the simplest case of' set theory': there are two types, the type of elements and the type of classes, and one atomic propositional function, *x e a,* in which the variable *x* is of the type of elements and the variable *a* of the type of classes; the hypotheses are all the propositions obtained when in *(!il a)(x)[x ea* = 1 , •.. , cI>n) results from *A(p1 , ••• , Pn)* when each *Pi* is replaced by a nonelementary proposition *cI>i,* then *A(* c1>1 , •.. , *cI>n)* is an identity of the second kind. Herbrand's argument for this statement is inductive and rests upon repeated use
+
+of the following:
+
+For some i = 1, ... , *n,* put *cI>i* into prenex form, say ([i[x)cI>;(x), and, if *Pi* occurs twice in *A(p1 , ••• , Pn),* let ([i[x)c1>1(x) be the positive occurrence and {[i[y)cI>;(y) the negative occurrence of ([i[x)c1>1(x) in A(c1>1 , ..• , ([i[x)c1>1(x), ([i[y)cI>;(y), ... , *cI>n)* (this formula displays the two different substitutions for the two occurrences of Pi). Now assume that *A(* c1>1 , ... , c1>;(y), c1>;(y), ... , *cI>n)* is provable. Then, by existential generalization, ([i[x)A(;(x), cI>;(y), ... , *cI>n)* is provable; then, by universal generalization, (y)([i[x)A(c1>1 , ... , c!>;(x), c1>;(y), ... , cI>n) is provable; hence, by the rules of
+
+passage, A(;(y), ... , *cI>n)* is provable.
+
+The requirement that in *A(p1 , •* •• , *Pn)* each *Pt* occurs at most once positively and once negatively is essential to the proof just given. For take A(p) to be (p V p) :J p. It is obviously an identity of the first kind; but a quick check shows that the sub-
+
+stitution instance
+
+[(x)([i[y)F(x, y) v (x)([i[y)F(x, y)] :i (x)([i[y)F(x, y), although an identity of the second kind (see Note B below) is *not* anormal identity.
+
+Note B *(Footnote 17,* p. *536 above)* It is important to note that, for an arbitrary proposition P, not only is the proposition (P v P) = P provable in Herbrand's system *Qm* but also each of the propositions P :::i (P v P) and (P v P) :J P is provable in QH without the use of modus ponens (see Note D below; also compare the following argument with 5.3 in the text).
+
+Assume that *P* has the prenex form
+
+( ± x1 ) ..• ( ±xn)M(xi, ... , xn)- **(1)** We shall first see that P :i (P V P) is a normal identity, hence is provable in QH without the use of modus ponens (see footnote 11 above). Using the rules of passage,
+
+we turn P :i (P v P) into the provably equivalent prenex proposition Q:
+
+{M(x~, xg, .. . , x~) :i [M(xL X§, . .. , x,;) V M(xr, ... , x~)]},
+
+where ai ( i = 1, ... , n) is O or 1 according as xi is restricted or general in P.
+
+But clearly *Q* is a normal identity. For we get an elementary identity *II* associated with *Q* simply by deleting all quantifiers, replacing each restricted variable xf-°', by the general variable xf•, and replacing each restricted variable among the xf by the
+
+general variable x~1.
+
+*[{[M(x~, .. -,x~)* V *M(y~, ... ,y~)]::iM(x½, ... ,x\*l)* V
+
+{[M(xi, ... , *x~)* v *M(yt ... , y~)]* ::i *M(yL ... ,* Ym],
+
+where *ai* is O or **1,** and *xr* is general or restricted, according as *xi* is restricted or general in *P,* and *f3i* is O or **1,** and *Yt* is general or restricted, according as *xi* is restricted or
+
+general in *P.*
+
+Here we get an elementary identity *II* associated with *R* by deleting all quantifiers, replacing each restricted variable x} - *a,* by the general variable xf, and each restricted variable yf-n, by the general variable yf,, and replacing each restricted variable
+
+among the *xr* and the *yr* by the general variable xf1. (Thus *II* has the form
+
+[(p V q) ::i p] V [(r V s) ::i q].)
+
+Now, by the rules of passage R is equivalent to
+
+[( *P* V *P)* ::i *P]* V [( *P* V *P)* ::i *P].*
+
+But then by the rule of simplification we get *(P* V *P)* ::i *P.*
+
+Note C *(Footnote 19,* p. *536 above)* Herbrand's argument in this paragraph is ingenious but rather briefly expressed. Since it plays an essential role in his proof that modus ponens is eliminable from quantification theory (see 6.1 on p. 558 above as well as Note **D** below), it merits
+
+expansion.
+
+Let *P* be any proposition that contains *n* ;;; 1 bound variables ± x1 , ••• , ± *xn,* let *M(x 1 , ••• , xn)* be the matrix of *P,* and let *P'* be any proposition derived from *P*
+
+by a scheme *I:.* Then P = P' is provable in QH.
+
+*Proof.* Assume that the scheme *J;* has *k* ;;; 1 lines, each containing *n* signed letters. For each i ~ *k* let the ith line of *J;* be ± *xL* ... , ± *x;,,* ± *x~,* + 1 , ••. , ± *x:.,* where the initial segment ± *xL ... ,* ± *x;,,* 0 ~ *ri* < *n,* is the longest initial segment common to both the ith and the (i - l)th lines of *I:.* (Take r 1 = 0. Footnote **21** shows why
+
+nondisjoint lines are being considered.)
+
+Now let *J;i* be the subscheme of *J;* that consists of the first i lines of *I:,* and let *Pi* be a proposition derived from *P* by *J;i·* Then the matrix *Mi* of the prenex proposition
+
+*Pi* has the form
+
+*M(xL xt ... , x~)* V *M(xi, x~, ... , x;2 , x;2* + i, ••. , *x~)* V · · · V
+
+*M(xl, x&, ..* . , *x;,,* x;,+ 1 , ••• , *x:.),*
+
+and the type *T* 1(that is, the prefix) of *Pi* can be taken to be
+
+Moreover, for *r* > 0, the initial segment ± *xi,* ± *xk, ... ,* ± *x;* of the ith line is identical with the initial segment *±Xi+* 1, ± *xk* + 1, ... , ± *xt* + 1 of the ( i + I )th line and lies in the type *Ti.* So, if *r* ~ *r* i = *s,* by using the rules of passage first to turn *P* 1 into canonical form and then to pull the quantifiers ± *xL* ... , ± *x;,* out again, we can turn the proposition Pi into the provably equivalent proposition Pl of the form
+
+and we can turn the proposition Pi+l into the provably equivalent proposition
+
+Pl+ 1 of the form
+
+*(±xL ±xt ... , ±x!)[A(x1,xk, ... ,x;)* V *(±x~+i, .. ,,* ±x!i)MM, ... ,x!,) V
+
+( ± *x;* t L ... , ± *x!i* + 1 ) *M* (Xi+ 1, ... , *x!i* + 1 )].
+
+And if r > ri = s, then, similarly, Pi can be turned into Pf of the form
+
+and Pt +1 turned into Pf+ 1 of the form
+
+But, by once again using the rules of passage, we can make the disjunct ( ± *x;* t L ... ,
+
+±x!i+ 1)M(xi+1, ... , x!,+ 1) identical with the disjunct
+
+( *±x!+v ..* . , *x!i)M(xL ... ,* x!i). But then Pf+i becomes provably equivalent to the proposition Pf+ 1 of the form
+
+(±xL ... , ±x;)[A(xl, ... ,x;) V (±x!+ 1 , ... , ±x!i)M(xL ... ,x!i) V
+
+(±x!+i,. ,',, ±x!,)M(xL ... , x!i)].
+
+(A strictly analogous transformation of Pf+i takes place if r > ri = s.) But, for any Q, 1-(Q V Q) = Q (see Note B, p. 568 above). Hence, by the theorem of Chapter 2, 6.1
+
+(see footnote 18),
+
+hence, by the rules of passage,
+
+1-Pt = Pt+v
+
+hence, by induction on the number of lines in *,E,*
+
+1-P = P'. Note that, by an argument similar to the one given in part I of Note B, P ::JP' can easily be shown to be a normal identity, and hence provable in QH. Thus Herbrand's primary concern in the present argument is to show that P' ::J P is provable
+
+Note D *(Footnote 23, p. 537 above)* If a proposition P has property A, then there is, in Herbrand's system *Qm* a formal proof of *P* that can be divided into two parts. Part 1 is a proof of some prenex normal identity P'. Part 2 is a proof of P from P'. (In general, P' is assumed to be derivable from *P* by some scheme .E. But any such derivation is not part of the formal proof of
+
+Pin *Qw)*
+
+Now we know-see footnote 11-that part 1 can always be put into a simple standard form consisting of a quantifier-free identity followed by the results of
+
+successive applications of the rules of generalization.
+
+However, the discussion in Note C shows us that we can also give part 2 a standard form ifto the system QH we add, as a new primitive rule of inference (seep. 558 above),
+
+the following *generalized rule of simplification:*
+
+If a proposition R is like a proposition *Q* except for containing an occurrence of the subproposition P where *Q* contains an occurrence of the subproposition P V P, then
+
+from *Q* we can infer *R.*
+
+For assume that Pr+i is proved in QH (see Note C). It has the form
+
+(±Xi, ... , ± x,)[A(xi, . .. , x,) V ( ± x,+1, .. . , ± xn)M(xi, .. . , xn) V
+
+( ±x,+1, .. . , ±xn)M(xi, .. . , Xn)J.
+
+Hence, by the generalized rule of simplification, we prove Pf of the form
+
+(±xi,···, ±x,)[A(xi,••·,x,) V (±x,+i,••·, ±xn)M(xi,•··,xn)J. But then, as Herbrand says in **6.1,** a proposition P that has property A can be proved from a quantifier-free identity just by the use of the two rules of generalization, the rules of passage, and the generalized rule of simplification. The rule of implication (that is, modus ponens) is not needed. (In Section 5, pp. 554-558 above, Herbrand shows constructively that a proposition is provable in QH if and *only if* it has property *A.* Hence QH is equivalent to a system Q~ that is just like QH except for containing the generalized rule of simplification in place of both the rule of simplification and the rule of implication. This constructively proved equivalence between QH and Q~ is the
+
+basic result of Herbrand's thesis.)
+
+Note E *(Footnote 60, p. 548 above)* The following example, taken from *Dreben, Andrews, and Aanderaa 1963,* shows that the first half of (c) is false. Indeed, it shows that to calculate, in general, a number *q* from a number *p* such that P 2has property O of order *q* when Pi has property O of order p we must know more about Pi than just the number p. (P2
+
+contains (x)[(x) V Z] in one place where Pi has (x)(x) v Z.)
+
+let *P1 ,P* be
+
+*AP* V (.'il X1)(.'ilx2) ~ [ ~ *W(xi,* X2) V *(x)* ~ *H(x1, x)* V *WY1)H(x2,* Y1)J,
+
+and let *P*2 ,P be
+
+*AP* V (.'ilx1)(.'ilx2)~{~W(x1,x2) V *(x)[~H(x1,x)* V (.'ily1)H(x2,Y1)]}, Now, for each *p* ~ 3, P 1 • *P* has property C of order 3 and P 2 • *P* has property C of order
+
+*p* but of *no* smaller order.
+
+We shall soon see, however, that the only additional information needed about P 1 to obtain q is the number of quantifiers and descriptive functions occurring in P 1 • For, by combining Herbrand's argument with certain ideas of Hilbert, Ackermann, and Bernays (see *Hilbert 1927, Bernays 1927, Hilbert and Bernays 1939,* pp. 93-130, and *Ackermann 1940,* as well as pp. 485-486 and 565-567 above), we can prove: (c') Let P1 be any proposition that contains no real variable but does contain *j* quantifiers and d descriptive functions,j, d ~ 0. Let P2 be like P1 except for containing *(x)[(x)* V ZJ in one negative occurrence where P1 contains *(x)(x)* v Z. Assume that P 1 has property C of order *p.* Then P 2 has property C of some order less than or equal to p(l + *Ni)P,* where *N* = *nv* is the cardinality of G~1l = C11 Ju • • • u C~1l. But then, since *N* can obviously be bounded by a primitive recursive function ,(j, *d,* n1 ), where n 1 is the cardinality of C11J, there is a primitive recursive function *y(j,* d, p, n 1 ) such that, if P 1 has property C of order p, then P 2 has property C of some order less
+
+than or equal to *y(j,* d, p, n1 ).
+
+*Proof* (adapted from *Dreben and Denton 1966).* We begin by defining the notion
+
+of a *standard expansion of a proposition.*
+
+DEFINITION I. Let *P* be any proposition of height *h* ~ 0. If y is any real or general variable of *P,* and *xt ... , xr.,* with *ry* ~ 0, are the restricted variables of *P* superior
+
+*toy,* callfy(xr, ... , *xr.)* the *superiority index function correlated with y.*
+
+Let *E(P)* be the elementary proposition that we obtain from *P* by deleting all the quantifiers of *P* and replacing each real and each general variable of *P* with its correlated superiority index function. Call *E(P)* the *elementary proposition associated with*
+
+*P* and note that the real variables of *E(P)* are the restricted variables of *P.*
+
+For each c ~ 1, let *G(P,* c) be the union of the domains 0 1 , 0 2 , •.• , *Cc* generated by a set of functions among which are all the descriptive functions of *P* and all the superiority index functions correlated with the general variables of P. (In the present
+
+Note we write *G(P,* c) rather than *Ge.)*
+
+Let *K* be either *E(P)* or a subproposition of *E(P).* A *substitution instance of Kover G(P,* p) is the elementary proposition that we obtain from *K* by first replacing each real variable of *K* with some member of *G(P,* p) and then replacing each function in the resulting expression with its value in *G(P, p* + h + **1).** If x1 ... , *xk* are all the real variables of *K* and a1, .. . , ak are any (not necessarily distinct) members of *G(P, p),* then write *K[a1 , .* •• , *ak]* for the substitution instance of *K* that we obtain by
+
+replacing xi with a; for i = **1,** ... , k.
+
+Now let *R(P, p)* be the disjunction (in some order henceforth assumed fixed) of all the distinct substitution instances of *E(P)* over *G(P,* p), and call *R(P,* p) the *standard expansion of P over G(P, p),* or the *standard expansion of P of order p.* (End
+
+On pages 25-27 and in footnote 1 on page 42 of a paper *(1931)* that he wrote shortly after his thesis, Herbrand introduced both the notion of an elementary proposition associated with P and that of a standard expansion of P. (The expression" elementary proposition associated with *P"* comes from Her brand. He had no name for a standard expansion; but see footnote 63 above and Note H below.) Herbrand did not show that the (far more perspicuous) notion of standard expansion is interchangeable with the notion of expansion given on pages 543-544 above. But, if we take into account the associative and distributive laws, it is not hard to see that the standard expansion of *P* over G(P, p) is truth-functionally equivalent to the second expansion of P over G(P, p). (For the term "second expansion of P" see footnote 44 above.) Hence a proposition P has property C of order p if and only if R(P, p) is an identity. But then to prove (c') above it suffices to prove that, if R(Pi, p) is an identity, R(P2 , u), where
+
+*u* = p(l + *Ni)P,* is also an identity.
+
+Let r;;;; 1 be the number ofrestricted quantifiers in P 1 and let n;;;; 0 be the number of restricted quantifiers ± x1 , ... , ± Xn in P 1within whose scopes (x)1 )* and E(P*2 )* are identical, and so P 2obviously has property C of order p.) Let us write <1>1v **Z1** for what (x)(x) V **Z** becomes in E(P1), and *<1>2* V *Z2* for what (x)[(x) V ZJ becomes in E(P*2 ).* When we wish to exhibit the real variables of <1>1 and *<1>2 ,* <1>1 will be written 1(x1, ... ,Xn,X,Xn+i,···,xn+tl and *<1>2* will be written *2* (x1, ... ,Xn,x, Xn + i, ••• , Xn + t)- Finally, if Sis any set, let us write [SJ" for the k-fold Cartesian product of S, k;;;; 0 ([S] 0is the unit set of the null set, and an ordered 0-tuple is the null set). By hypothesis, R(P*1 ,* p) is an identity. Let q = p(l + *Nn)P.* Since n ~ r ~ j, to prove (c') is suffices to prove that R(P2 , q) is an identity. This we shall now do. The argument turns on three main definitions and two lemmas. (In what follows, the term "truth value" is used for Herbrand's "logical value", the term "truth-value assignment" for Her brand's "system of logical values", and the sign "I" for the first
+
+element of C11l = C12l.)
+
+DEFINITION II. Let *A* be any truth-value assignment to R(P2 , q + p). *A* function *a* from [G(P2 , q + p)]n into G(P2 , q) is said to be *A-admissible* if and only if, for each ordered n-tuple in [G(P2, q)]t such that A falsifies the
+
+substitution instance
+
+of 2 ,* q + p)r into G(P*2 ,* q) a unique one-to-one mapping *Lia* of G(Pi, *p* + h + **1)** into G(P2 , *q* + *p* + h) that satisfies the following three con-
+
+(i) Assume that ± y1does not occur **in Z.** If *bi, ... , br",* are any *ry1* members
+
+of *G(P1, p)* and if *b* = *fy1(b 1, ... , bry,),* then *Lla(b)* = *fy 2[Lla(b1), ... , Lla(br",)].*
+
+(ii) Assume that ± y1does occur in Zand lies within the scopes of *sy1* restricted quantifiers also occurring in *Z.* If b1 , ... , *bn, bn* +1 , ... , *bn +sy,* are any *n*+ *sy1* members
+
+of *G(P1 ,* p) and if
+
+then
+
+*Lla(b)* = *fy2[Lla(b1),,,,, Lla(bn), (3, Lla(bn+1),,,* , , *Lla(bn+sy1)],*
+
+where *(3* = *a[Lla(b1),* ... , *Lla(bn)J.*
+
+(3) Let *f(x 11 , ... , x 18 )* be any descriptive function of height *v*~ h occurring in P 1 . If *bi, ... , b9*are any members of *G(Pi, p)* and if *b* = *f(b 1, ... , b9 ),* then *Lla(b)* =
+
+.f[Ll"(b1 ), ... , *Ll"(b9 )].*
+
+DEFINITION III. For each A-admissible function *a,* call the one-to-one mapping *Lia* of G( P 1 , *p* + h + **1)** into G( P 2 , *q* + *p* + h) that satisfies the above three conditions an
+
+*A-admissible a-mapping.*
+
+Note that, since **LI"** maps *G(P1, p* + h + I) into *G(P2, q* + *p* + h), **LI"** maps
+
+*G(P1, p* + **1)** into *G(P2, q* + *p)* and not merely into *G(P2, q* + *p* + **1).**
+
+We now come to our basic definition.
+
+DEFINITION IV. An A-admissible a-mapping **LI"** is said to be an *A-resolvent* if and
+
+only if the following two conditions are satisfied: **(1)** *Lia* maps *G(P1, p* + h + **1)** into *G(P2 , q* + h);
+
+(2) For each ordered n-tuple 1 , ... , *bn)* in *[G(P1, p)]n,* if *A* falsifies 2[Lla(b1 ), ... , *Lla(bn), Lla(b\*), a!, ... , ar]* for some element *b\** in *G(P1,* p) and for some ordered t-tuple *2 , *q)]t,* then *A* falsifies 2 (Lla(b1 ), ••• , *Lla(bn), (3, ai,* ... , *at]* for *(3* = *a[Lla(b1),* ... , *Lla(bn)J* and for some ordered t-tuple 1 , ••• , *at)* in *[G(P* 2 , *q)J.* LEMMA I. Let *R(Pi, p)* be an identity. Let *A* be any truth-value a,ssignment to
+
+*R(P2, q* + *p).* If *A* possesses an A-resolvent *Lia,* then *A* verifies *R(P2, q).*
+
+*Proof.* Let *A(Lla)* be the truth-value assignment induced on *R(P1,* p) by A and **LI"** thus: for each k-adic predicate letter *W* of P 1and any *k* members b1 , ... , *bk* of *G(P1 , p*+ h + **1),** *A(Lla)* assigns to the atomic proposition *W[b 1, ... , bk]* the same truth value that *A* assigns to *W[Lla(bi), ... ,Lla(bk)].* By hypothesis, *R(P1,p)* isanidentity. But it is also a disjunction. Hence *A(Lla)* must verify at least one disjunct of *R(P1, p),* say the substitution instance E(P1 )[b1 , ••• , *brJ·* Using E(P1 )[b1 , ••. , *br]* and *Lia,* we
+
+shall specify a disjunct of *R(P*2 , q) that *A* verifies.
+
+Let
+
+abbreviated ~ V *ZL* be the substitution instance of <1> 1V Z1that occurs m E(P1 )[b1 , ..• , *brJ·* Consider now the substitution instance *E(P2)[Lla(bi), ... , Lla(br)]* of
+
+abbreviated ! V *Z!,* is the substitution instance of **<1'>2** V Z2 that occurs in E(P2 )[Lla(bi), .. . , Lla(br)J. We see at once that ! takes the same truth value under
+
+A as } takes under A(Lla)- More generally, we see at once that
+
+(t) If 1 )[b1 , ... , br] not occurring just in Z½ and if xis any homologously occurring atomic proposition in E(P 2 )[Lla{b1 ), ••• , Lla(br)J,
+
+then A assigns to x the same truth value as A(Lla) assigns to rp.
+
+However, we cannot see at once that A assigns to Z! the same truth value as A(Lla) assigns to *Z½.* For, by Definition III, A(Lla) assigns to *Z½* the same truth value
+
+as A assigns to
+
+where *f3* = a[Lla(bc 1 ), .•. , Lla(bc.)], and we have no right to assume that Lla(b\*) = */3.* Nevertheless, it follows from (t) that A verifies E{P2)[Lla(bi), ... , Lla(br)J provided that A assigns to ! V Z! the same truth value as A(Lla) assigns to ½ V Z}. Moreover, it follows from (t) that *A* verifies E(P2)[Lla(b1 ), •.. , Lla(br)J provided that *A* falsifies ! v Z! and A(Lla) verifies ½ V Z}. For, since <1'> 1V **Z1** occurs negatively in E(Pi), the substitution instance ½ V *Z½* occurs negatively in E(P1 )[b1 , ••• , brJ. Hence, if we replace ½ v Z½ in E{P1 )[b1 , .•• , br] by any proposition that is false under A(Lla), the resulting proposition e is still true under A(Lla)- But then, since *!* V *Z!* occurs negatively in E{P2)[Lla{b1 ), ... , Lla(br)J and is assumed to be false under A, the propositions e and E{P2)[Lla{b1 ), ... , Lla(br)J will agree in truth value.
+
+Hence A verifies E(P 2 )[Lla(bi), ... , Lla(br)J.
+
+Thus we need consider only the case in which A(Llal falsifies ½ v Z½ but A verifies ! v Z~. But here A falsifies ! and also Z~. Hence, since Lia is an A-resolvent,
+
+A falsifies some substitution instance, namely
+
+1 ), • • •, Lla(bc.), */3, ai, ... , at],* where (a1 , ..• , *at)* is some ordered t-tuple in [G(P2, *q)]t* and */3* = a[Lla(bc1 ), ••• , Lla(bc.)J. Obviously, A falsifies ~ V Z~. So, let E\*{P2) be the substitution instance of E{P2) over G(P2 , q) that results from E{P2)[Lla(b1 ), ... , Lla(br)J when we put ~ V **Z~**
+
+for ~ v Z~. But then we see from (t) that A verifies E\*{P2 ). Q. e. d.
+
+LEMMA II. Let A be any truth-value assignment to R(P2 , q + p). Then A possesses
+
+an A-resolvent Lia.
+
+*Proof.* We shall construct by induction a sequence *a=* (a1 , a 2 , •.• , *aq* 1*p)* of *q/p* (not necessarily distinct) A-admissible functions and then show that for some z < *q/p*
+
+there is a function *az* in *a* that determines an A-resolvent.
+
+If *a* is any A-admissible function and Lia is the mapping determined by *a,* let 7/a be the maximum of the orders of the elements in the range of *a,* and let 8a be the maximum of the orders of those elements in the range of Lia that are images of elements in G{P1 , *p* + I). Call 7/a the *order* of *a,* and Sa the *order* of Lia. Now 7/a ~ *q.* So 8a ~ 7/a + *p* ~ *q* + *p.* (For the remainder of the proof of Lemma II we shall write Lia, 7/a, and Sa in place of Lia., 7/a•' and Saa' respectively, when d = I, ... , *q/p.)* Begin the construction of *a* by letting a 1 be the A-admissible function that assigns I to all n-tuples in [G{P2 , *q* + *pW.* Since I is of order 1, the mapping Ll 1 has the
+
+order *p* + I. Continue inductively as follows.
+
+Consider successively each g < *q/p* and assume that the A-admissible function *ag* has an order *TJg* ~ *p(g* - 1) + 1. Then the mapping *L1g* has an order *8g* ~ *p(g* - 1) + **1** + *p =pg+* l.Butg < *q/p.Sopg* + **1** ~ qandthen8g ~ q.IfLlgisanA-resolvent, let *ag+I* = *ag.* Then *L1g+I* coincides with *L1g* and is also an A-resolvent. If, however, *L1 g* is not an A-resolvent, since *8g* ~ *q,* there must be an ordered n-tuple 1 ,* p)]n such that,
+
+**(1)** For some element *b\** in G(P*1 ,* p) and some ordered t-tuple * 2[L1g(b1), ... , *L1g(bn), L1g(b\*), af, ... , at],* but
+
+(2) For *(3* = *ag[L1g(b1), ... , L1g(bn)J* and *each* ordered n-tuple 2 , ••• , *uq* 1*p)* just constructed, a function *ag* is identical with the function *ag* + 1 if and only if the mapping *L1 g* is an A-resolvent. Hence, to complete the proof of Lemma II, we have only to show that there is at
+
+least one *az* in *a* such that *az* = *az+I·*
+
+For each *g* ~ *q/p* and each *k* ~ *p,* let *f(g,* k) be the number of ordered n-tuples 1 ,* p)r such that
+
+but
+
+Moreover, the functions *ag* and *ag+I* agree on all other ordered n-tuples in [G(P2 , *q*+ p)t- Hence, by the construction of an A-admissible a-mapping, if *k* ~ *p* is the maximum of the orders of b1, ... , *bn,* then, for each element *b* in G(P*1,* k),
+
+*L1g(b)* = *L1g+1(b).* Therefore, for allj < *k, f(g* + l,j) = *f(g,j).* Also,
+
+*Ug+1[L1g(b1), ... , L1g(bn)J* = Ug+1[Llg+1(b1), ... , L1g+1(bn)J =/= I.
+
+So *f(g* + **1,** *k)* < *f(g, k),* and ind(a 9 +1) < ind(a 9 ). Thus(\*) holds.
+
+But from (\*) Lemma II is proved. For there are fewer than **(1** + *Nn)P* = *q/p* different possible indices. Hence, for some z < *q/p, az* = *uz+I·* But then *L1z* is an
+
+A-resolvent. **Q.** e. d.
+
+Thus, with Lemmas I and II, we have proved that, if R(P*1 ,* p) is an identity, every truth-value assignment to R(P*2 ,* q) verifies R(P*2 ,* q). But then R(P*2 ,* q) is an identity.
+
+Note F *(Footnote 61,* p. *548 above)* Corollary 3.31 is false, since the lemma in 3.3. is false with respect to property C. Indeed, the following argument, based on an example due to Stal Aanderaa, shows that for each *p* ~ 3 and each *q* ~ *p* we can construct a proposition *PP,* q that has property *C* of order *p* but no prenex form of which has property *C* of order less than *q.*
+
+For *q* ~ *p* let Pq be the proposition
+
+(Y2HYa), .. (yq)[[G(y2,Ya) &G(ya,Y4) & ··· &G(yq-1,Yq)]
+
+:i {[([i[x*8* )([i[x*9* )M(yq, *X 8 ,* X 9 ) & W(z)] V [([i[x*6* )([i[x*7* )~M(y2, x*6 ,* x7 ) & ~ W(z)]
+
+V [([i[x1o)~M(y2, Y2, X1 0 ) & W(z)] V [([i[x*11* )M(yq, x11 , yq)
+
+& ~ W(z)J}] V ([i[x1 )([i[x2 )[G(x1 , x2 ) & ([i[x){[([i[x3 )M(x1, x, x3 ) V~ W(z)]
+
+& [(y)M(x1, x, y) V W(z)J} & ([i[x4){[(y1)~M(x2, y1 , x4 ) V ~ W(z)]
+
+& [([i[x*5* )~M(x2, x*5 ,* x4) V W(z)]}].
+
+The proposition Pq has property *C* of order 3, but no prenex form of Pq has property *C* of an order less than *q.* Now, for each *p* ~ 3 and each *q ~p* let *PP.* q be the conjunction Pq & P2,p, where P2,P is the proposition defined at the beginning of Note E, p. 572 above. Then *PP, q* has property *C* of order p, but no prenex form of *PP, q* has property *C*
+
+of an order less than *q.*
+
+Thus, whenever Corollary **3.31** is cited in Herbrand's text, it should be replaced
+
+by the relevant part of the following:
+
+**3.31'.** Let P containj quantifiers and d descriptive functions, and let the cardinality of 0 1be n 1~ 1. Let *y(j, d,* p, *ni)* be the primitive recursive function introduced in Note E, p. 572 above, and let *8(j, d,* p, *ni)* be the primitive recursive function defined
+
+thus:
+
+For every i ~ 1, let
+
+riU, *d,* p, n1) = *y(j, d,* p, n1),
+
+Y;+1(j, d, p, n1) = *y(j,* d, *y;(j,* d, p, n1), n1);
+
+then set
+
+*8(j, d,* p, n1 ) = *yj2(j, d,* p, n 1 ).
+
+(i) If *P* has property *C* of order *p,* it has property *B* of order *p.*
+
+(ii) If P has property C of order p, any prenex form of P has property C of some
+
+order less than or equal to *8(j, d, p,* n1 ).
+
+(iii) If *P* has property *B* of order p, it has property *C* of some order less than or
+
+equal to *8(j, d,* p, n1 ).
+
+Part (i) of 3.31' follows at once from the correct part of the lemma in 3.3 (in its original statement by Herbrand). Part (ii) follows from the lemma in 3.3 as emended (see Note E, p. 572 above) and the fact that to get any prenex form of *P* we need no more than .i 2 crucial passages from (x)(x) V *Z* occurs negatively and *Z* contains a general quantifier. (We are also using the fact that, if a proposition has property C of order p, it has property C of order *q* for each *q* greater than *p.* But this was justified in footnote 56.) Part (iii)
+
+follows from part (ii), the correct part of the lemma in 3.3 (as stated by Herbrand), and the fact that properties *B* and *C* are identical for a proposition in canonical form.
+
+Note G *(Footnote 81, p. 556 above)* Lemma 3 in 5.3 is false, and unlike the lemma in 3.3 it remains false even when property *B* replaces property *C.* For consider the following example (adapted from Example 2 in *Dreben and Aanderaa 1964),* in which properties Band *C* coincide:
+
+For each s ~ 4 let P. be
+
+[(Y1)~H1(Y1) V ([i[xi)H1(X1)J & [(Y2)~H2(Y2) V ([i[x2)H2(X2)J & · · ·
+
+& [(y.)~H.(y.) V ([ilx.)H.(x.)],
+
+and let Q. be
+
+([i[x)(y){H.(y) V ~H*1* (y) V [H1(x) & ~H2 (y)]
+
+V [H2(x) & ~H3 (y)] V · · · V [H.\_ 1(x) & ~H.(y)]}.
+
+Now, for each s ~ 4, P. has property C of order 2, P. :J Q. has property C of order 3,
+
+and Q. has property *C* of orders but of no smaller order.
+
+Herbrand's argument for the lemma, however, goes wrong in only one point. Relying on the false Corollary 3.31 (see Note F, p. 577 above), Herbrand assumes that, since the conjunction P & (P ::i *Q)* has property C of order p, a certain prenex form of this conjunction has property *C* of order *p* (see the second and third sentences of his argument). So Herbrand does succeed in proving the very interesting sublemma: 5.3'. If a certain prenex form (specified in the third sentence of his argument) of
+
+P & (P ::i Q) has property C of order q, then *Q* has property C of order q.
+
+Hence, if we now use part (ii) of 3.31' (see Note F), then from 5.3' we obtain as a
+
+replacement for Lemma 3 in 5.3:
+
+5.3". Let *P* contain *j* quantifiers and *d* descriptive functions. Let *Q* contain *k* quantifiers and *e* descriptive functions. (Both *P* and *Q* are assumed to contain no real variables.) If both P and P :J *Q* have property C of order p, then *Q* has property C
+
+of some order less than or equal to o(2j + k, 2d + *e,* p, n1 ).
+
+Note H *(Footnote 97, p. 560 above)* Herbrand *(1931,* p. 54) states the following theorem: "If we assume that the decision problem has been solved and if we do not wish R + Infin Ax + Mult Ax to be inconsistent, we must not add any rule of reasoning to those already considered." (" R+ Infin Ax + Mult Ax" is Herbrand's name for his version of the simple
+
+theory of types together with the infinity and multiplicative axioms.)
+
+Immediately after the theorem Her brand writes: "This theorem corresponds to what the Germans call the *V ollstandigkeit* of our system of rules". (The French text of this sentence differs from that of the third sentence in Remark 3, on page 560
+
+than September 1929. After Herbrand became acquainted with Godel's incompleteness results (see *Godel 1931),* Herbrand added an appendix dated April 1931, and in
+
+this appendix, on page 56, he restates the theorem above as follows:
+
+"If the decision problem is solved for a proposition P, if the solution is formalizable in R + Infin Ax + Mult Ax ( as it is for all the particular cases of the decision problem
+
+solved up to now) and if Pis not an identity, then
+
+(1) No new rule of reasoning that makes Pan identity can be added without en-
+
+tailing a contradiction in R + Infin Ax + Mult Ax;
+
+(2) *P* cannot be true [that is, provable] in *R* + Infin Ax + Mult Ax."
+
+Thus it seems clear that by "Vollstandigkeit" Her brand did not primarily mean what has come to be called "semantic completeness", that is, the notion of completeness specified in *Hilbert and Ackermann 1928,* p. 68, which for our purposes is best
+
+formulated thus:
+
+I. Every proposition of quantification theory either is provable in Herbrand's system QH or can be given a falsifying interpretation over a denumerable universe. (For a discussion of this notion of completeness see above, pp. 508-511, and below,
+
+pp. 582-583.)
+
+Rather, the theorem quoted in the first paragraph of the present Note and the argument that Herbrand sketches for it *(1931,* pp. 52-54) should be compared with Problem Vin *Hilbert 1928a,* pp. 140-141, and also with the discussion in *Hilbert and Bernays 1939,* pp. 234-253, of what is there called a finitistic sharpening of Godel's
+
+completeness theorem (see also *Kleene 1952,* p. 395, Theorem 36).
+
+Nevertheless, Herbrand's text contains an argument for the semantic completeness of his system QH. For, by 4.1 (see footnote 67), if a proposition is false in some infinite domain, then by *nonconstructive* means it can be given a falsifying interpretation over a denumerable universe. Moreover, by 4.21, either a proposition has property *B* or it is false in some infinite domain. But, by the corollary in 5.1 (above, p. 555), a proposition that has property Bis provable. Hence every proposition either is provable or can be given a falsifying denumerable interpretation. (Naturally,
+
+this argument is not "metamathematical"; see 6.2 and footnote 94 above.)
+
+Note, however, that the corollary in 5.1. rests upon the lemma in 3.3. So we cannot say that with the preceding argument Herbrand *proved* the semantic completeness of his system, unless we include in Herbrand's argument footnotes 51, 59, and especially Note E (or the alternative proof of Lemma 1 in 5.1 suggested in footnote 77). But, if we make one change in the definition, given above on page 552, of "false in an infinite domain"-a change that Herbrand himself makes later *(1931,* pp. 25-27)-we can
+
+say that Herbrand has proved the following:
+
+II. Every *prenex* quantificational proposition either is provable in QH or can be
+
+given a falsifying denumerable interpretation.
+
+For, if we replace the sentence of lines **30-31,** on page 552 above, by "Let us start again from *P;* but now with each general variable y we correlate an index function whose arguments are the restricted variables that are *superior* to *y* ", then we can
+
+Let *P* be any prenex proposition. By considerations strictly analogous to those in 4.21, P either has property C or is false in some infinite domain. But by Lemma 1 in 5.1, if *P* has property *C,* it has property *A.* (Note that for *prenex* propositions
+
+Herbrand's proof of Lemma 1 does *not* depend upon 3.3, hence is correct.) By 2.3 (see Note D, p. 571 above), if P has property A, it is provable. So P either is provable or is false in some infinite domain. But, if Pis false in some infinite domain, it can be given a falsifying denumerable interpretation (again see footnote 67). Hence every prenex
+
+proposition either is provable or has a falsifying denumerable interpretation.
+
+Now, by the rules of passage every proposition can be turned into a prenex one. But this, by itself, permits us to say only that Herbrand has shown that every proposition either is provable or is provably equivalent to a prenex proposition that has a falsifying denumerable interpretation. To establish proposition I, Herbrand has to show that, if a prenex proposition *P* has a falsifying interpretation, any proposition obtained from *P* solely by the rules of passage also has a falsifying interpretation. Of course, it is not hard to give semantic arguments showing this. And one such argument is easily extracted from *Hilbert and Ackermann 1928,* a book to which
+
+Herbrand refers in his thesis.
+
+Note I *(Footnote 109, p. 563 above)* Let *P* be any proposition. The *Herbrand functional form* of *P* is the proposition *F( P)* that we obtain from *P* by deleting all restricted quantifiers of *P* and replacing each occurrence of each restricted variable y of *P* by an occurrence of the index functionfy(xy,, ... , *xYm),* where *xy,, .* .. , *xYm* are all the general variables of *P* superior to *y;* the *strict Herbrand functional form of P* is that quantifier-free proposition .'?T(P) that we obtain by deleting all (general) quantifiers of *F(P).* (Thus the strict Herbrand functional form is a generalization of the Skolem functional form of *P,*
+
+since *P* need not be prenex; seep. 508 above.)
+
+Call any proposition *proper* if it contains no index functions. Clearly, if Pis any proposition and R is any proper proposition, the same elementary proposition can be associated with both *P* :::i Rand *F(P)* :::i *R.* (For the notion "elementary proposition associated with a proposition" see Definition I in Note E, p. 572 above. Note that, if a proposition *P* contains no real variables, the elementary proposition associated with *P* is the strict Herbrand functional form of ~ P.) Hence, if *R* is proper, *P* :::i *R* is provable in Herbrand's QH if and only if *F(P)* :::i *R* is provable in QH. But *F(P)* :::i ffe(P) is obviously provable in QH, and *F(P)* is provable in QH + ffe(P). Thus, for any *proper* theory T, that is, the system QH with proper propositions added as hypotheses, we can constructively find an inessential extension all of whose hypotheses are quantifierfree, namely, the theory T' that we obtain from T by replacing each hypothesis with its strict Herbrand functional form. (See the discussion of *symbolische Aufiosung* in
+
+*Hilbert and Bernays 1939,* pp. **1-18** and 130-137.)
+
+Note J *(Footnote 110, p. 563 above)* In Chapter 4 of his thesis Herbrand used what has come to be called the method of "elimination of quantifiers" (see *Presburger 1929, Tarski 1948* and *1951,* and *Hilbert and Bernays 1934,* pp. 234--238) to show that the following subsystem of
+
+elementary number theory is consistent, formally complete (or, as Herbrand says, "completely determined"), and decidable (or, as Herbrand says, "resoluble"):
+
+I. The primitive signs of the system, which Herbrand calls Theory 3, are (besides punctuation signs) truth functions, variables, quantifiers, the constant "0 ", the descriptive function *"x* + 1 ", and the atomic propositional function *"x* = y ".
+
+II. A numeral is defined as "0 + **1** + 1 + • • • + **1** ", where " 1 " occurs zero or
+
+more times.
+
+III. The axioms of Theory 3 are
+
+**1.** X = X,
+
+2. (x = y) :::i ( y = x),
+
+3. [(x = y) & (y = z)] :::i (x = z), 4. (x = y) = (x + 1 = y + 1 ),
+
+5. *x* + 1 =/- 0,
+
+6. *x =I- x* + a for any numeral a *=I-* 0, 7. (x = 0) v ({f[y)(x = y + 1).
+
+On page 73 of his thesis Herbrand states that von Neumann *(1927)* showed the consistency of Theory 3, but claims rightly that his argument in Chapter 4 is much simpler than von Neumann's. Moreover, on pages 81-82 Herbrand shows that Theory 3 is equivalent to another theory-call it Theory 4-consisting of the first five axioms of Theory 3 and the following axiom schema of mathematical induction
+
+8. {<1>(0) & (x)[aThe degree was granted on 6 February
+
+1930.
+
+also in every consistent system S that remains consistent when the axioms of number theory, as well as any verifiable formulas of the theory, are added to the axioms of S (p. 252 ; see also Theorem 36
+
+in *Kleene 1952,* p. 395).
+
+This proof-theoretic form of Godel' s completeness theorem was extended to the case of infinitely many formulas by Wang *(1951;* see also *1950,* p. 449, Theorem 5, and *1962,* pp. 345-352) and modified so as to give a sharp form of the Lowenheim-Skolem theorem. If Con(L') is the usual formula expressing the consistency of a first-order system *L',* the result, called Bernays's lemma by Wang, says that, if we add Con(L') to number theory as a new axiom, we can prove in the resulting system arithmetic translations of all theorems of *L'.* This lemma has been applied in several directions (see, for
+
+instance, *Wang 1952* and *1955).*
+
+The Lowenheim-Skolem theorem shows that, if the predicates assigned to predicate letters in accordance with the definition of validity are just numbertheoretic predicates, the class of formulas
+
+that turn out to be always true coincides with the class of valid formulas. Kleene *(1952,* pp. 394-395), making explicit some results obtained by Hilbert and Bernays in their arithmetization of Godel's completeness proof, showed that the predicates can be further restricted to the class 172 n II2 (in the hierarchy of arithmetic predicates). Putnam *(1961* and *1965)* refined Kleene's result; he restricted the predicates to the class *L'f,* the smallest class that contains the recursively enumerable predicates and is closed under truth functions ; earlier Kreisel *(1953)* and Mostowski *(1955)* had shown that the predicates could not be restricted to the class of recursive predicates, and Putnam *(1956)* that they could not be re-
+
+stricted to the class 171 u II1 .
+
+Another proof of the completeness of first-order logic, along lines somewhat different from those of Godel's proof, was
+
+given by Henkin *(1949).*
+
+The translation is by Stefan Bauer-Mengelberg, and it is printed here with the kind permission of Professor Godel
+
+and Springer Verlag.
+
+Whitehead and Russell, as is well known, constructed logic and mathematics by initially taking certain evident propositions as axioms and deriving the theorems of logic and mathematics from these by means of some precisely formulated principles of inference in a purely formal way (that is, without making further use of the meaning of the symbols). Of course, when such a procedure is followed the question at once arises whether the initially postulated system of axioms and principles of inference is complete, that is, whether it actually suffices for the derivation of every true logicomathematical proposition, or whether, perhaps, it is conceivable that there are true propositions (which may even be provable by means of other principles) that cannot be derived in the system under consideration. For the formulas of the propositional calculus the question has been settled affirmatively; that is, it has been shown2 that every true formula of the propositional calculus does indeed follow from the axioms given in *Principia mathematica.* The same will be done here for a wider realm of formulas, namely, those of the "restricted functional calculus" ;3 that is, we shall
+
+prove
+
+3In terminology and symbolism this paper follows *Hilbert and Ackermann 1928.* According to that work, the restricted functional calculus contains the logical expressions that are constructed from propositional variables, X, Y, Z, ... , and functional variables (that is, variables for properties and relations) of type **1,** F(x), G(x, y), H(x, y, z), ... , by means of the operations V (or), - (not),
+
+THEOREM I. *Every valid*4 *formula of the restricted functional calculus is provable.*
+
+We lay down the following system of axioms5 as a basis:
+
+Undefined primitive notions: V, -, and (x). (By means of these, &, -+, ~, and
+
+*(Ex)* can be defined in a well-known way.)
+
+Formal axioms :
+
+I.XV *X-+X,* 4. *(X-+Y)-+[Z* V *X-+Z* VY],
+
+2. *X-+X* VY, 5. *(x)F(x)* -+ *F(y),*
+
+3. XV *Y-+ Y* V *X,* 6. (x)[X V *F(x)]-+ X* V *(x)F(x).*
+
+Rules of inference :6
+
+1. The inferential schema: From *A* and *A* -+ *B, B* may be inferred; 2. The rule of substitution for propositional and functional variables;
+
+3. From *A(x), (x)A(x)* may be inferred;
+
+4. Individual variables (free or bound) may be replaced by any others, so long as this does not cause overlapping of the scopes of variables denoted by the same sign. For what follows, it will be expedient to introduce some abbreviated notations. (P), (Q), (R), and so on mean prefixes constructed in any way whatever, that is,
+
+finite sequences of signs of the form *(x)(Ey), (y)(x)(Ez)(u),* and the like.
+
+Lower-case German letters, 6, i), u, tJ, and so on, mean n-tuples of individual variables, that is, sequences of signs of the form *x,* y, *z,* or x2 , *x1 ,* x2 , x3 , and the like, where the same variable may occur several times. The signs (6), (E6), and so on are to be understood accordingly. Should a variable occur several times in 6, we must,
+
+of course, think of it as written only once in (6) or (E6).
+
+Furthermore we require a number of lemmas, which are collected here. The proofs
+
+are not given, since they are in part well known, in part easy to supply.
+
+1. For every n-tuple f
+
+are provable.
+
+(a) (6)F(6) -+ (E6)F(f), (b) (f)F(f) & (Ef)G(f)-+ (Ef)[F(f) & G(f)], (c) (6)F(6) ~ (E(f)F(f))
+
+2. If f and f' differ only in the order of the variables, then
+
+is provable.
+
+(x) (for all), (Ex) (there exists), with the variable in the prefixes (x) or (Ex) ranging over individuals *only, not* over functions. A formula of this kind is said to be valid (tautological) if a true proposition results from every substitution of specific propositions and functions for X, Y, Z, . .. and F(x),
+
+G(x, y), .. . , respectively (for example, (x)[F(x) V F(x)]).
+
+4To be more precise, we should say "valid in every domain of individuals", which, according to well-known theorems, means the same as "valid in the denumerable domain of individuals". For a formula with free individual variables, A(x, y, .. . , w), "valid" means that (x)(y) ... (w)A (x, y, ... , w) is valid and "satisfiable" that (Ex)(Ey) . .. (Ew)A(x, y, .. . , w) is satisfiable, so that the following holds without exception: *"A* is valid" is equivalent to *"A* is not satisfiable". 5It coincides (except for the associative principle, which P. Bernays proved to be redundant) with that given in *Whitehead and Russell 1910,* \*' and \*10. 6Although Whitehead and Russell use these rules throughout their derivations, they do not
+
+3. If ! consists entirely of distinct variables and if !' has the same number of
+
+terms as !, then
+
+is provable, even when a number of identical variables occur in!'.
+
+4. If (p1) means one of the prefixes (x1) or *(Ex*1) and if (q1) means one of the prefixes
+
+(y1) or *(Ey*1), then
+
+(P1HP2) · · · *(Pn)F(X1, X2,* · · ·, *Xn)* & (q1)(q2) · · · *(qm)G(y1, Y2,* • • •, *Ym)*
+
+~ (P)[F(x1, *X2,,,,, Xn)* & *G(y1, Y2,* • • •, Ym)J
+
+is provable 7 for every prefix (P) that is formed from the (p1) and the (q1) and satisfies the condition that, for i < k ~ *n,* (p1) precedes (pk) and, for i < k ~ *m,* (q,) precedes
+
+(qk),
+
+5. Every expression can be brought into normal form; that is, for every expression
+
+A there is a normal formula N such that A~ N is provable. 8
+
+6. If *A*~ *B* is provable, so is l'r(A) ~ l'r(B), where l'r(A) represents an arbitrary expression containing *A* as a part (see *Hilbert and Ackermann 1928,* chap. 3, § 7). **7.** Every valid formula of the propositional calculus is provable; that is, Axioms
+
+1-4 form a complete axiom system for the propositional calculus. 9
+
+We now proceed to the proof of Theorem I and first note that the theorem can also
+
+be stated in the following form :
+
+THEOREM II. *Every formula of the restricted functional calculus is either refutable10 or satisfiable* (and, moreover, satisfiable in the denumerable domain of individuals). That I follows from II can be seen as follows : Let A be a valid expression; then A is not satisfiable, hence according to II it is refutable ; that is, *A* is provable and,
+
+consequently, so is *A.* The converse is as apparent.
+
+We now define a class Sf of expressions *K* by means of the following stipulations:
+
+I. *K* is a normal formula ;
+
+2. *K* contains no free individual variable;
+
+3. The prefix of *K* begins with a universal quantifier and ends with an existential
+
+quantifier.
+
+Then we have
+
+THEOREM III. *If every Sf-expression is either refutable or satisfiable,* 11 *so is every*
+
+*expression.*
+
+*Proof.* Let *A* be an expression not belonging to Sf. Let it contain the free variables f. As is immediately obvious, the refutability of *(Ei)A* follows from that of *A,* and conversely (by Lemma l(c), and either Rule of inference 3 or, for the converse, Axiom 5); the same holds, according to the stipulation in footnote **4,** for satisfiability.
+
+Let *(P)N* be the normal form of *(Ei)A,* so that.
+
+*(Ei)A* ~ *(P)N* **(1)**
+
+7An analogous theorem holds with V instead of &. 8See *Hilbert and Ackermann 1928,* chap. 3, § 8.
+
+is provable. Further let
+
+*B* = *(x)(P)(Ey)[N* & *{F(x)* v *F(y)}]. 12*
+
+Then
+
+*(P)N,...., B* (2)
+
+is provable (on the basis of Lemma 4 and the provability of *(x)(Ey)[F(x)* V *F(y)]). B* belongs to *Sf* and thus according to the assumption is either satisfiable or refutable. But, by (1) and (2), the satisfiability of B entails that of (Ei)A, hence also that of A; the same holds for refutability. Thus A, too, is either satisfiable or refutable.
+
+Because of Theorem III, therefore, it suffices to show that
+
+*Every Sf-expression is either satisfiable or refutable.*
+
+For this purpose we define the degree of a Sf-expression13 to be the number of blocks in its prefix that consist of universal quantifiers and are separated from each
+
+other by existential quantifiers, and we first prove
+
+THEOREM IV. *If every expression of degree k is either satisfiable or refutable, so is*
+
+*every expression of degree k* + l.
+
+*Proof.* Let *(P)A* be a Sf-expression of degree *k* + l. Let *(P)* = (i)(Et))(Q) and let (Q) = (u)(Ei.J)(R), where (Q) is of degree *k* and (R) of degree *k* - I. Further let *F* be
+
+a functional variable not occurring in *A.* If we now put14
+
+and
+
+then a double application of Lemma 4 in combination with Lemma 6 yields the
+
+provability of
+
+(3)
+
+furthermore,
+
+B--+ *(P)A* (4)
+
+is obviously valid. Now C is of degree k and by assumption is therefore either satisfiable or refutable. Ifit is satisfiable, so is *(P)A* (by (3) and **(4)).** If it is refutable, so is *B* (by **(3));** that is, Bis then provable. In that case, if we substitute (Q)A for Fin *B,*
+
+it follows that
+
+(i')(EtJ')(Q)A & (i)(tJ)[(Q)A--+ (Q)A]
+
+is provable.
+
+But since, of course
+
+(!)(tJ)[(Q)A--+ (Q)A] is provable, so is (f)(EtJ')(Q)A; that is, in that case (P)A is refutable. (P)A is there-
+
+fore indeed either refutable or satisfiable. 12 The variables *x* and *y* must not occur in (P).
+
+14An analogous procedure was used by Skolem (1920) in proving Lowenheim's theorem. 15 The variable-sequences~, ~', t), t)', u, bare, of course, assumed to be pairwise disjoint.
+
+It now remains only to prove
+
+THEOREM V. *Every formula of degree 1 is either satisfiable or refutable.*
+
+A few definitions are required for the proof. Let (i)(Et) )A(!; t)) (abbreviated as (P)A) be any formula of degree **1.** Let ! stand for an r-tuple and t) for ans-tuple of variables. We think of the r-tuples taken from the sequence *x* 0 , x1 , x2 , ••• , X;, ••• as forming a sequence ordered according to increasing sum of the subscripts [and for
+
+equal sums according to some convention] :
+
+and so forth; we now define a sequence {An} of formulas derived from (P)A as
+
+follows:
+
+A1 = A(!1 ; Xv x2, ... , x.),
+
+A2 = A(!2; Xs+V Xs+2, ... , X2s) & A1,
+
+Let the s-tuple x1 , F 2 , ••• , *Fk* and the propositional variables X 1 , X 2 , ••. , *Xi* occur in A. Then An consists of elementary components of the
+
+form
+
+compounded solely by means of the operations V and -. With each An we associate a formula *Bn* of the propositional calculus by replacing the elementary components of An by propositional variables, making certain that different components (even if they differ only in the notation of the individual variables) are replaced by different propositional variables. Furthermore, we understand by "satisfying system of level *n* [Erfullungssystem n-ter Stufe] of (P)A" a system of functions nn), ftl, ... , fkn) defined in the domain of integers *z* (0 ~ *z* ~ *ns)* as well as of truth values *w'tl, w~ni,* ... , *w\nl* for the propositional variables **X1 ,** X 2 , ••• , *Xi* such that a true proposition results if in An the *F;* are replaced by the f?l, the xi by the numbers i, and the **X 1**by the corresponding truth values *w1nl.* Satisfying systems of level *n* obviously exist if and
+
+only if *Bn* is satisfiable.
+
+Each *Bn,* being a formula of the propositional calculus, is either satisfiable or
+
+refutable (Lemma 7). Thus only two cases are conceivable:
+
+1. At least one *Bn* is refutable. Then, as we can easily convince ourselves (Rules of inference 2 and 3, Lemma l(c)), the corresponding (Pn)An is refutable also, and
+
+consequently, because of the provability of (P)A--+ (Pn)An, so is (P)A.
+
+2. No *Bn* is refutable; hence all are satisfiable. Then there exist satisfying systems of every level. But, since for each level there is only a finite number of satisfying systems (because the associated domains of individuals are finite) and since furthermore every satisfying system of level *n* + I contains one of level *n* as a part1 6(as is clear from the fact that the An are formed by successive conjunctions), it follows by
+
+familiar arguments16a that in this case there exists a sequence of satisfying systems S1 , S2 , •• • , S1c, ... (S" being of level k) such that each contains the preceding one as a part. We now define in the domain of *all* integers ~ 0 a system *S* = {tp1 , *tp*2, .. . , 'Pk;
+
+a 1 , *a* 2 , • •• , a 1} by means of the following stipulations:
+
+1. 'PP(a1, ... , a 1) **(1** ~ *p* ~ k) holds if and only if for at least one *Sm* of the sequence
+
+above (and then for all subsequent ones also) fJm)(ai, ... , *at)* holds;
+
+2. *a,* = wjm) **(1** ~ i ~ l) for at least one *Sm* (and then also for all those that follow). Then it is evident at once that S makes the formula (P)A true. In this case, therefore, (P)A is satisfiable, which concludes the proof of the completeness of the system of axioms given above. Let us note that the equivalence now proved, "valid = provable", contains, for the decision problem, a reduction of the nondenumerable to the denumerable, since "valid" refers to the nondenumerable totality of functions, while "provable" presupposes only the denumerable totality of formal proofs.
+
+Theorem I, as well as Theorem II, can be generalized in various directions. First, it is easy to bring the notion of identity (between individuals) into consideration by
+
+adding to Axioms 1-6 above two more:
+
+7. X = X, 8. *x* = *y--+* [F(x)--+ *F(y)].* An analogue of what we had above now holds for the extended realm of formulas
+
+too:
+
+THEOREM VII. *Every formula of the extended realm is provable if it is valid* (more
+
+precisely, if it is valid in every domain of individuals),
+
+and, equivalent to VII,
+
+THEOREM VIII. *Every formula of the extended realm is either refutable or satisfiable*
+
+(and, moreover, satisfiable in a finite or denumerable domain of individuals).
+
+For the proof, let A denote an arbitrary formula of the extended realm. We construct a formula Bas the product (conjunction) of *A, (x)(x* = x), and all the formulas that we obtain from Axiom 8 by substituting for *F* the functional variables occurring
+
+in A, that is, more precisely,
+
+*(x)(y){x* = *y--+* [F(x)--+ F(y)]}
+
+for all singulary functional variables of A,
+
+(x)(y)(z){x = *y--+ [F(x,* z)--+ *F(y, z)]}* & *(x)(y)(z){x* = *y--+ [F(z,* x)--+ *F(z,* y)]} for all binary functional variables of A (including "=" itself), and corresponding formulas for the n-ary functional variables of *A* for which *n* ~ 3. Let *B'* be the formula resulting from *B* when the sign "=" is replaced by a functional variable *G* not otherwise occurring in *B.* Then the sign "=" no longer occurs in the expression B', which, therefore, according to what was proved above, is either refutable or satisfiable. If it is refutable, so is B, since it results from B' through the substitution of"=" for *G.* But *B* is the logical product of *A* and a subformula that is obviously provable from Axioms 7 and 8. In this case, therefore, A is also refutable. Let us now assume that B' is satisfiable in the denumerable domain *J;* of individuals for a certain system *S* of functions. 17 From the way in which *B'* is formed it is clear that g (that is, 16• [Apparently by Konig's infinity lemma *(1926,* p. 120; see also *1927),* which was becoming
+
+the function of the system S that is to be substituted for G) is a reflexive, symmetric, and transitive relation; hence it generates a partition of the elements of IJ, in such a way, moreover, that a function occurring in the system S continues to hold, or not to hold, as the case may be, when elements of the same class are substituted for one another. If, therefore, we identify with one another all elements belonging to the same class (perhaps by taking the classes themselves as elements of a new domain of individuals), then g goes over into the identity relation and we have a satisfying system of *B,* hence also of *A.* Consequently, *A* is indeed either satisfiable 18 or
+
+refutable.
+
+We obtain a different generalization of Theorem I by considering denumerably infinite sets of logical expressions. For these, too, an analogue of Theorems I and II
+
+holds, namely
+
+THEOREM IX. *Every denumerably infinite set of formulas of the restricted functional calculus either is satisfiable* (that is, all formulas of the system are simultaneously
+
+satisfiable) *or possesses a finite subsystem whose logical product is refutable.*
+
+**IX** follows immediately from
+
+THEOREM X. *For a denumerably infinite system of formulas to be satisfiable it is*
+
+*necessary and sufficient that every finite subsystem be satisfiable.*
+
+Concerning Theorem X we first note that in proving it we can confine ourselves to systems of normal formulas of degree I, for, by repeated application of the procedure used in the proofs of Theorems III and IV to the individual formulas, we can specify for every system *};* of formulas a system *};'* of normal formulas of degree 1 such that the satisfiability of any subsystem of}; is equivalent to that of the corresponding
+
+subsystem of IJ'. Thus let
+
+be a denumerable system}; of normal expression of degree I, and let *ft* be an *rt-tuple,* t); an Bi-tuple of variables. Let fi, ik, ... , !~, ... be the sequence of all rt-tuples taken from the sequence *x 0 ,* x1 , *x 2 , ••• , xn, .* .. and ordered according to increasing sum of the subscripts [and for equal sums according to some convention]; furthermore, let t)/. be an *st-tuple* of variables, of the sequence above, such that the sequence of
+
+variables
+
+becomes identical with the sequence x1 , *x 2 , ..* . , *Xn, •.•* if every tJk is replaced by the corresponding s1-tuple of the *x.* Further we define, in a way analogous to what was
+
+done above, a sequence { *Bn}* of formulas by means of the stipulations
+
+B1 = A1M; tJl:), *Bn* = *Bn-1* & A1(!~; t)~) & A2(!~-1; tJ~-1) & ·. · & An-1(!~-i; tJa- 1) & *An(!~;* t)~). We can easily see that *(Pn)Bn* (that is, the formula that results from *Bn* when all
+
+individual variables occurring in it are bound by existential quantifiers) is a consequence of the first *n* expressions of the system *J;* given above. If, therefore, every finite subsystem of 1J is satisfiable, so is every *Bn-* But, if every *Bn* is satisfiable, so is the entire system *J;* (as follows by the argument used in the proof of Theorem V (seep. 588)), and Theorem Xis thus proved. Theorems **IX** and X can be extended without difficulty, by the procedure used in the proof of Theorem **VIII,** to systems
+
+of formulas containing the sign "= ".
+
+We can also give a somewhat different turn to Theorem IX if we confine ourselves to systems of formulas without propositional variables and regard them as systems of axioms whose primitive notions are the functional variables occurring in them. Then Theorem **IX** clearly asserts that every finite or denumerable axiom system in whose axioms "all" and "there exists" never refer to classes or relations but only to individuals19 either is inconsistent (that is, a contradiction can be constructed in a
+
+finite number of formal steps) or possesses a model [Realisierung].
+
+Finally, let us also discuss the question of the independence of Axioms **1-8.** So far as Axioms 1-4 (those of the propositional calculus) are concerned, it has already been shown by P. Bernays20 that none of them follows from the other three. That their independence is not affected even by the addition of Axioms 5-8 can be shown by means of the very same interpretations that Bernays uses, provided that, in order to extend them to formulas containing functional variables and the sign "= ", we make
+
+the following stipulations:
+
+1. The prefixes and individual variables are omitted;
+
+2. In what remains of each formula the functional variables are to be treated just
+
+like propositional variables;
+
+3. Only "distinguished" values may ever be substituted for the sign "= ". To demonstrate the independence of Axiom 5, we associate with each formula
+
+another one, which we obtain by replacing components of the form
+
+(x)F(x), (y)F(y), ... ; (x)G(x), (y)G(y), ... ; ... , 21 should such occur, by X V X. Then Axioms 1-4 and 6-8 go over into valid formulas, and the same holds, as we can convince ourselves by mathematical induction, of all formulas derived from these axioms by Rules of inference 1-4; Axiom 5, however, does not possess this property. The independence of Axiom 6 can be shown in exactly the same way, except that here (x)F(x), (y)F(y), ... , and so on must be replaced by X & X. To prove the independence of Axiom 7 we note that Axioms 1-6 and 8 (and therefore also all formulas derived from them) remain valid if the identity relation is replaced by the empty relation, whereas this is not the case for Axiom 7. Similarly, the formulas derived from Axioms **1-7** remain valid when the identity relation is replaced by the universal relation, whereas this is not the case for Axiom 8 (in a domain of at least two individuals). We can also readily see that none of the Rules of inference **1-4** is redundant, but we shall not look into this more closely here.
+
+*Some metamathematical results on completeness and*
+
+*consistency.,*
+
+*On formally undecidable propositions* ef
+
+**Principia mathematica** *and related systems I.,*
+
+**and**
+
+*On completeness and consistency*
+
+KURT GODEL ( 1930b, 1931, and 1931 a)
+
+The main paper below (1931), which was to have such an impact on modern logic, was received for publication on 17 November 1930 and published early in 1931. An abstract (1930b) had been presented on 23 October 1930 to the Vienna Academy of Sciences by Hans
+
+Hahn.
+
+Godel's results are now accessible in many publications, but his original paper has not lost any of its value as a guide. It is clearly written and does not assume any previous result for its main line of argument. It is, moreover, rich in interesting details. We now give some indications of its contents and structure. Section **1** is an informal presentation of the main argument and can be read by the nonmathematician; it shows how the argument, by dealing with the proposition that states of itself "I am not provable", instead of the proposition that states of itself "I am not true", skirts the Liar paradox, without falling into it. Godel also brings to light the relation that his argument bears to Cantor's diagonal procedure and Richard's paradox (Herbrand, on pages 626-628 below, and Weyl *(1949,* pp. 219-235) particularly stress this aspect of Godel's argu-
+
+ment; see also above, p. 439).
+
+Section 2, the longest, is the proof of Theorem VI. The theorem states that in a formal system satisfying certain precise conditions there is an undecidable proposition, that is, a proposition such that neither the proposition itself nor its negation is provable in the system. Before coming to the core of the argument, Godel takes a number of prepar-
+
+atory steps:
+
+**(1)** A precise description of the system *P* with which he is going to work. The variables are distinguished as to their types and they range over the natural numbers (type 1), classes of natural numbers (type 2), classes of classes of natural numbers (type 3), and so forth. The logical axioms are equivalent to the logic of *Principia mathematica* without the ramified theory of types. The arithmetic axioms are Peano's, properly transcribed. The identification of the individuals with the natural numbers and
+
+the adjunction of Peano's axioms (instead of their derivation, as in *Principia)* have the effect that every formula has an interpretation in classical mathematics and, if closed, is either true or false in that interpretation; moreover, proofs
+
+are considerably shortened.
+
+(2) An assignment of natural numbers to sequences of signs of *P* and a similar assignment to sequences of sequences of signs of P. The first assignment is such that, given a sequence, the number assigned to it can be effectively calculated, and, given a number, we can effectively decide whether the number is assigned to a sequence and, if it is, actually write down the sequence; similarly for the second assignment. By means of these assignments we can correlate number-theoretic predicates with metamathematical notions used in the description of the system ; for example, to the notion "axiom" corresponds the predicate Ax(x), which holds precisely of the numbers x that are assigned to axioms (the "Godel numbers" of axioms,
+
+we would say today).
+
+**(3) A** definition of primitive recursive functions (Godel calls them recursive functions) and the derivation of a few theorems about them. These functions had already been used in foundational research (for example, by Dedekind (1888), Skolem (1923), Hilbert (1925, 1927), and Ackermann (1928)); Godel gives a precise definition of them, which
+
+has become standard.
+
+(4) The proof that forty-five numbertheoretic predicates, forty of them associated with metamathematical no-
+
+tions, are primitive recursive.
+
+(5) The proof that every primitive recursive number-theoretic predicate is numeralwise representable in *P.* That is, the predicate holds of some given numbers if and only if a definite formula of *P* is provable whenever its free variables are replaced by the symbols that repre-
+
+Godel can then undertake to prove Theorem VI. The scope of the theorem is enlarged by the addition of any w-consistent primitive recursive class *K* of formulas to the axioms of P. For each such *K*a different system is thus obtained (in the present note, *"P* ,c'', a notation not used by Godel, will denote the system corresponding to a given K). After the proof Godel makes a number of important
+
+remarks:
+
+(a) He points out the constructive con-
+
+tent of Theorem VI.
+
+(b) He introduces predicates that are *entscheidungsdefinit* (in the translation below these are called *decidable* predicates, at the author's suggestion). If we take into account the few lines added in proof at the end of a later note of Godel's (1934a), these predicates are in fact those that today we call recursive (that is, general recursive) predicates. Godel somewhat extends the result of Theorem VI by assuming only that *K* is decidable, and not that it is primitive
+
+recursive.
+
+(c) If *K* is assumed to be merely consistent, instead of w-consistent, the proof yields the existence of a predicate whose universalization is not provable but for which no counterexample can be given ; P"' is w-incomplete, as we would say
+
+today.
+
+(d) The adjunction of the undecidable formula Neg(l 7 Gen r) to *K* yields a consistent but w-inconsistent system.
+
+(e) Even with the adjunction of the axiom of choice or the continuum hypothesis the system contains undecidable
+
+propositions.
+
+The section ends with a review of the properties of *P* that are actually used in the proof and the remark that all known axiom systems of mathematics, or of any substantial part of it, have these prop-
+
+erties.
+
+Section **3** presents two supplementary undecidability results. Godel establishes (Theorem VII) that a primitive recursive number-theoretic predicate is *arithmetic,*
+
+that is, can be expressed as a formula of first-order number theory (this yields a stronger result than the numeralwise representability of such predicates, as it was introduced and used in Section 2). Hence every formula of the form (x)F(x), with F(x) primitive recursive, is equivalent to an arithmetic formula; moreover, this equivalence is provable in P,c: one can review the informal proof presented by Godel and check that *P* ,c is strong enough to express and justify each of its steps. Since the proposition that was proved to be undecidable in Theorem VI is of the form (x)F(x), with F(x) primitive recursive, P,c contains undecidable *arithmetic* propositions (Theorem VIII). For all its strength, the system *P* ,c cannot decide every first-order number-theoretic proposition. Theorem X states that, given a formula (x)F(x), with F(x) primitive recursive, one can exhibit a formula of the *pure* first-order predicate calculus, say A, that is satisfiable if and only if (x)F(x) holds. Moreover, since P,c contains a set theory, the equivalence (x)F(x) = (A is satisfiable) is expressible in *P* ,c and, as one can verify by reviewing Godel's informal argument, provable in P,c. Therefore (Theorem IX) there are formulas of the pure first-order predicate calculus whose validity is
+
+undecidable in *P* ,c•
+
+In Section 4 an important consequence of Theorem VI is derived. The statement "there exists in P,c an unprovable formula", which expresses the consistency of *P* ,c, can be written as a formula of *P* ,c; but this formula is not provable in P,c (Theorem XI). The main step in the demonstration of this result consists in reviewing the proof of the first half of Theorem VI and checking that all the statements made in that proof can be expressed and proved in *P* ,c• It is clear that this is the case, and Godel does not go through the details of the demonstration. The section ends with various remarks on Theorem XI (its constructive
+
+character, its applicability to set theory and ordinary analysis, its effect upon Hilbert's conception of mathematics). Godel's paper immediately attracted the interest of logicians and, although it caused some momentary surprise, its results were soon widely accepted. A number of studies were directly inspired by it. By using a somewhat more complicated predicate than "is provable in P", Rosser (1936) was able to weaken the assumption of w-consistency in Theorem VI to that of ordinary consistency. Hilbert and Bernays (1939, pp. 283-340) carried out in all details the proof of the analogue of Theorem **XI** for two standard systems of number theory, *Zµ.* and *Z,* and this proof can be transferred almost literally to any system containing Z. As Godel indicates in a note appended to the present translation of his paper, Turing's work (1937) gave to the notion of formal system its full generality. The notes of Godel's Princeton lectures (1934) contain the most important results of the present paper, in a more succinct form ; they also make precise the notion of (general) recursive function, already suggested by Herbrand (see below, p. 618). In developing the theory of these functions, Kleene (1936) obtained undecidability results of a somewhat different character from those presented here. Godel's work led to Church's negative solution (1936) of the decision problem for the predicate calculus of first order. Tarski (1953) developed a general theory of undecidability. The device of the "arithmetization" of metamathematics became an everyday tool of the research worker in foundations. Godel's results, finally, led to a profound revision of Hilbert's program (on that point see, among other texts, *Bernays*
+
+1938, 1954 and Godel 1958).
+
+These indications are far from giving a full account of the deep influence exerted in the field of foundations of mathematics by the results presented in the paper below and the methods used to
+
+obtain them. There is not one branch of research, except perhaps intuitionism, that has not been pervaded by this
+
+influence.
+
+The translation of the paper is by the editor, and it is printed here with the kind permission of Professor Godel and Springer Verlag. Professor Godel approved the translation, which in many places was accommodated to his wishes. He suggested, in particular, the various phrases used to render the word "inhaltlich ". He also proposed a number of short interpolations to help the reader, and these have been introduced in the text below between square brackets. Below, on page **601,** the author shows how a number-theoretic predicate can be associated with a given metamathematical notion and then used to represent the notion. In the German text such a predicate is denoted by the same word as the original notion, except that the word is printed in italics. Since in English italics are used for emphasis (while the German text uses letter spacing for that purpose), the translation below uses SMALL CAP-ITALS for the names of these predicates. This scheme of italicization (or small-
+
+capitalization), however, is used for only some of the number-theoretic predicates in question. According to Professo, Godel, "the idea was to use the notation only for those metamathematical notions that had been defined in their usual sense before, namely, those defined on pp. 599- 601. From p. 607 up to the general considerations at the end of Section 2, and again in Section 4, every metamathematical term referring to the system *P* is supposed to denote the corresponding arithmetic one. But, of course, because of the complete isomorphism the distinction in many cases is entirely irrelevant". Before the main text the reader will find a translation, by Stefan Bauer-Mengelberg, of its abstract *(1930b);* in that translation, at the author's suggestion, '' entscheidungsdefinit '', when referring to an axiom system, has been translated by "complete", and "Entscheidungsdefinitheit" by "completeness". A translation, by the editor, of *1931a,* a note dated 22 January 1931 and closely connected with *1931,* follows the main text. Both translations are printed here with the kind permission
+
+of Professor Godel.
+
+SOME METAMATHEMATICAL RESULTS ON COMPLETENESS AND CONSISTENCY *(1930b)* If to the Peano axioms we add the logic of *Principia mathematica1* (with the natural numbers as the individuals) together with the axiom of choice (for all types),
+
+we obtain a formal system S, for which the following theorems hold:
+
+I. The system *S* is *not* complete [ entscheidungsdefinit]; that is, it contains propositions A (and we can in fact exhibit such propositions) for which neither A nor A is provable and, in particular, it contains (even for decidable properties *F* of natural numbers) undecidable problems of the simple structure (Ex)F(x), where x ranges
+
+over the natural numbers. 2
+
+II. Even if we admit all the logical devices of *Principia mathematica* (hence in particular the extended functional calculus1 and the axiom of choice) in metamathematics, there does *not* exist a *consistency proof* for the system *S* (still less so if we
+
+restrict the means of proof in any way). Hence a consistency proof for the system S can be carried out only by means of modes of inference that are not formalized in the system S itself, and analogous results hold for other formal systems as well, such as
+
+the Zermelo-Fraenkel axiom system of set theory. 3
+
+III. Theorem I can be sharpened to the effect that, even if we add finitely many axioms to the system S (or infinitely many that result from a finite number of them by "type elevation"), we do *not* obtain a complete system, provided the extended system is w-consistent. Here a system is said to be w-consistent if, for no property
+
+F(x) of natural numbers,
+
+F(l), F(2), ... , F(n), ... ad infinitum
+
+as well as
+
+(Ex)F(x) are provable. (There are extensions of the system S that, while consistent, are not
+
+w-consistent.)
+
+IV. Theorem I still holds for all w-consistent extensions of the system S that are obtained by the addition of *infinitely many* axioms, provided the added class of axioms is decidable [entscheidungsdefinit], that is, provided it is metamathematically decidable [entscheidbar] for every formula whether it is an axiom or not (here again we suppose that the logic used in metamathematics is that of *Principia mathematica).* Theorems I, III, and IV can be extended also to other formal systems, for example, to the Zermelo-Fraenkel axiom system of set theory, provided the systems in question
+
+are w-consistent.
+
+The proofs of these theorems will appear in *Monatsheftefiir Mathematik und Physik.* 3This result, in particular, holds also for the axiom system of classical mathematics, as it has
+
+been constructed, for example, by von Neumann *(1927).*
+
+ON FORMALLY UNDECIDABLE PROPOSITIONS OF *PRINCIPIA MATHEMATICA* AND RELATED SYSTEMS P (1931) **1** The development of mathematics toward greater precision has led, as is well known, to the formalization of large tracts of it, so that one can prove any theorem using nothing but a few mechanical rules. The most comprehensive formal systems that have been set up hitherto are the system of *Principia mathematica (P M)* 2on the one hand and the Zermelo-Fraenkel axiom system of set theory (further developed by J. von Neumann)3 on the other. These two systems are so comprehensive that in
+
+1 See a summary of the results of the present paper in *Godel 1930b.*
+
+2*Whitehead and Russell 1925.* Among the axioms of the system *PM* we include also the axiom of infinity (in this version: there are exactly denumerably many individuals), the axiom of
+
+reducibility, and the axiom of choice (for all types).
+
+3See *Fraenkel 1927* and *von Neumann 1925, 1928,* and *1929.* We note that in order to complete the formalization we must add the axioms and rules of inference of the calculus of logic to the set-theoretic axioms given **in** the literature cited. The considerations that follow apply also to the formal systems (so far as they are available at present) constructed **in** recent years by Hilbert and his collaborators. See *Hilbert 1922, 1922a, 1927, Bernays 1923, von Neumann 1927,* and
+
+them all methods of proof today used in mathematics are formalized, that is, reduced to a few axioms and rules of inference. One might therefore conjecture that these axioms and rules of inference are sufficient to decide *any* mathematical question that can at all be formally expressed in these systems. It will be shown below that this is not the case, that on the contrary there are in the two systems mentioned relatively simple problems in the theory of integers4 that cannot be decided on the basis of the axioms. This situation is not in any way due to the special nature of the systems that have been set up but holds for a wide class of formal systems; among these, in particular, are all systems that result from the two just mentioned through the addition of a finite number of axioms, 5provided no false propositions of the kind
+
+specified in footnote 4 become provable owing to the added axioms.
+
+Before going into details, we shall first sketch the main idea of the proof, of course without any claim to complete precision. The formulas of a formal system (we restrict ourselves here to the system *PM)* in outward appearance are finite sequences of primitive signs (variables, logical constants, and parentheses or punctuation dots), and it is easy to state with complete precision *which* sequences of primitive signs are meaningful formulas and which are not. 6Similarly, proofs, from a formal point of view, are nothing but finite sequences of formulas (with certain specifiable properties.) Of course, for metamathematical considerations it does not matter what objects are chosen as primitive signs, and we shall assign natural numbers to this use. 7Consequently, a formula will be a finite sequence of natural numbers, 8and a proof array a finite sequence of finite sequences of natural numbers. The metamathematical notions (propositions) thus become notions (propositions) about natural numbers or sequences of them ;9 therefore they can (at least in part) be expressed by the symbols of the system *PM* itself. In particular, it can be shown that the notions "formula", "proof array", and "provable formula" can be defined in the system *PM;* that is, we can, for example, find a formula *F(v)* of *PM* with one free variable *v* (of the type of a number sequence) 10 such that *F(v),* interpreted according to the meaning of the terms of *PM,* says: vis a provable formula. We now construct an undecidable proposition of the system *PM,* that is, a proposition *A* for which neither *A* nor *not-A* is provable,
+
+in the following manner.
+
+4That is, more precisely, there are undecidable propositions in which, besides the logical constants - (not), V (or), (x) (for all), and = (identical with), no other notions occur but + (addition) and . (multiplication), both for natural numbers, and in which the prefixes (x), too,
+
+apply to natural numbers only.
+
+5In *PM* only axioms that do not result from one another by mere change of type are counted
+
+as distinct.
+
+6Here and in what follows we always understand by "formula of *PM"* a formula written without abbreviations (that is, without the use of definitions). It is well known that [in *PM]* definitions serve only to abbreviate notations and therefore are dispensable in principle.
+
+7That is, we map the primitive signs one-to-one onto some natural numbers. (See how this is
+
+done on page 601.)
+
+8That is, a number-theoretic function defined on an initial segment of the natural numbers.
+
+(Numbers, of course, cannot be arranged in a spatial order.)
+
+9In other words, the procedure described above yields an isomorphic image of the system *PM* in the domain of arithmetic, and all metamathematical arguments can just as well be carried out in this isomorphic image. This is what we do below when we sketch the proof; that is, by "formula'', ''proposition'', ''variable'', and so on, *we must always understand the corresponding objects*
+
+A formula of PM with exactly one free variable, that variable being of the type of the natural numbers (class of classes), will be called a *class sign.* We assume that the class signs have been arranged in a sequence in some way, 11 we denote the *nth* one by R( n), and we observe that the notion "class sign", as well as the ordering relation R, can be defined in the system PM. Let *ex* be any class sign; by [ex; *n]* we denote the formula that results from the class sign *ex* when the free variable is replaced by the sign denoting the natural number *n.* The ternary relation *x* = [y; *z],* too, is seen to be definable in PM. We now define a class *K* of natural numbers in the following way:
+
+*n e K* = Bew *[R(n); n]* (1)
+
+(where Bew x means: xis a provable formula)\_lla Since the notions that occur in the definiens can all be defined in PM, so can the notion *K* formed from them; that is, there is a class sign S such that the formula [S; *n* ], interpreted according to the meaning of the terms of PM, states that the natural number *n* belongs to K. 12 Since
+
+Sis a class sign, it is identical with some R(q); that is, we have
+
+S = R(q) for a certain natural number q. We now show that the proposition [R(q); q] is undecidable in P M. 13 For let us suppose that the proposition [R(q); q] were provable; then it would also be true. But in that case, according to the definitions given above, q would belong to K, that is, by **(1),** Bew [R(q); q] would hold, which contradicts the assumption. If, on the other hand, the negation of [R(q); q] were provable, then q e K, 13a that is, Bew [R(q); q], would hold. But then [R(q); q], as well as its negation,
+
+would be provable, which again is impossible.
+
+The analogy of this argument with the Richard antinomy leaps to the eye. It is closely related to the "Liar" too; 14 for the undecidable proposition [R(q); q] states that q belongs to K, that is, by (1), that [R(q); q] is not provable. We therefore have before us a proposition that says about itself that it is not provable [in *P M].1* 5The method of proof just explained can clearly be applied to any formal system that, first, when interpreted as representing a system of notions and propositions, has at
+
+11 For example, by increasing sum of the finite sequence of integers that is the "class sign",
+
+and lexicographically for equal sums. 11a. The bar denotes negation.
+
+12 Again, there is not the slightest difficulty in actually writing down the formula *S.*
+
+13 Note that *"[R(q); q]"* (or, which means the same, "[S; *q]* ") is merely a *metamathematical description* of the undecidable proposition. But, as soon as the formula *S* has been obtained, we can, of course, also determine the number *q* and, therewith, actually write down the undecidable proposition itself. [This makes no difficulty in principle. However, in order not to run into formulas of entirely unmanageable lengths and to avoid practical difficulties in the computation of the number *q,* the construction of the undecidable proposition would have to be slightly modified, unless the technique of abbreviation by definition used throughout in PM is adopted.]
+
+13a[The German text reads *n e* K, which is a misprint.]
+
+14 Any epistemological antinomy could be used for a similar proof of the existence of un-
+
+decidable propositions.
+
+15 Contrary to appearances, such a proposition involves no faulty circularity, for initially it [only] asserts that a certain well-defined formula (namely, the one obtained from the *qth* formula in the lexicographic order by a certain substitution) is unprovable. Only subsequently (and so to speak by chance) does it turn out that this formula is precisely the one by which the proposition
+
+its disposal sufficient means of expression to define the notions occurring in the argument above (in particular, the notion "provable formula") and in which, second, every provable formula is true in the interpretation considered. The purpose of carrying out the above proof with full precision in what follows is, among other things, to replace the second of the assumptions just mentioned by a purely formal
+
+and much weaker one.
+
+From the remark that *[R(q); q]* says about itself that it is not provable it follows at once that *[R(q); q]* is true, for *[R(q); q] is* indeed unprovable (being undecidable). Thus, the proposition that is undecidable *in the system PM* still was decided by metamathematical considerations. The precise analysis of this curious situation leads to surprising results concerning consistency proofs for formal systems, results that will
+
+be discussed in more detail in Section 4 (Theorem XI).
+
+2 We now proceed to carry out with full precision the proof sketched above. First we give a precise description of the formal system *P* for which we intend to prove the existence of undecidable propositions. Pis essentially the system obtained when the logic of *PM* is superposed upon the Peano axioms 16 (with the numbers as indi-
+
+viduals and the successor relation as primitive notion). The primitive signs of the system *P* are the following :
+
+I. Constants:"~" (not)," V" (or), *"II"* (for all), "O" (zero), "f" (the successor
+
+of), " ( ", " ) " (parentheses) ;
+
+II. Variables of type 1 (for individuals, that is, natural numbers including 0):
+
+" " " " ,, " X1 , Y1 , Z1 , • • • ;
+
+Variables of type 2 (for classes of individuals): *"x2 ", "y2 ",* "z2 ", ••• ;
+
+Variables of type 3 (for classes of classes of individuals): *"x3 ", "y3 ",* "z3 ", ••• ;
+
+And so on, for every natural number as a type. 17
+
+Remark: Variables for funct~ons of two or more argument places (relations) need not be included among the primitive signs since we can define relations to be classes of ordered pairs, and ordered pairs to be classes of classes; for example, the ordered pair a, *b* can be defined to be ((a), (a, b)), where (x, y) denotes the class whose sole
+
+elements are x and *y,* and (x) the class whose sole element is x. 18
+
+By a *sign of type* I we understand a combination of signs that has [any one of] the
+
+forms
+
+*a, fa, ff a, fff a,* ... , and so on, where *a* is either O or a variable of type **1.** In the first case, we call such a sign a *numeral.* For *n* > I we understand by a *sign of type n* the same thing as by a *variable of type n.* **A** combination of signs that has the form *a(b),* where *b* is a sign of type *n* 16 The addition of the Peano axioms, as well as all other modifications introduced in the system
+
+*PM,* merely serves to simplify the proof and is dispensable in principle.
+
+17 It is assumed that we have denumerably many signs at our disposal for each type of
+
+18 Nonhomogeneous relations, too, can be defined **in** this manner; for example, a relation between individuals and classes can be defined to be a class of elements of the form ((x2 ), ((x1 ), x2 )). Every proposition about relations that is provable in *PM* is provable also when treated in this
+
+and *a* a sign of type *n* + I, will be called an *elementary formula.* We define the class of *formulas* to be the smallest class 19 containing all elementary formulas and containing ~ *(a), (a)* V *(b), xll(a)* (where *x* may be any variable) 18awhenever it contains *a* and *b.* We call (a) v (b) the *disjunction* of *a* and *b,* ~ (a) the *negation* and *xll(a)* a *generalization* of *a.* A formula in which no free variable occurs *(free variable* being defined in the well-known manner) is called a *sentential formula* [Satzformel]. A formula with exactly *n* free individual variables (and no other free variables) will be
+
+called an *n-place relation sign* ; for *n* = I it will also be called a *class sign.*
+
+By Subst a(t) (where a stands for a formula, v for a variable, and *b* for a sign of the same type as *v)* we understand the formula that results from *a* if in *a* we replace *v,* wherever it is free, by b. 20 We say that a formula *a* is a *type elevation* of another formula *b* if *a* results from *b* when the type of each variable occurring in bis increased
+
+by the same number.
+
+The following formulas (I-V) are called *axioms* (we write them using these abbreviations, defined in the well-known manner: . , :J, =, (Ex), = ,21 and observing the
+
+usual conventions about omitting parentheses) :22
+
+I. **1.** ~ *(fx 1*= 0),
+
+2. *fx1* = *fY1* :J X1 = Y1,
+
+3. x2 (0) .x1ll(x2 (x1 ) :J x2 (fx1 )) :J x111(x2 (x1 )).
+
+II. All formulas that result from the following schemata by substitution of any
+
+formulas whatsoever for *p, q,* r:
+
+**1.** p V p :Jp, **3.** *p* V *q* :J *q* V *p,*
+
+**2.** *p* :::ip V *q,* 4. (p :J q) :J (r V p :Jr V q).
+
+III. Any formula that results from either one of the two schemata
+
+**1.** *vll(a)* :J Subst *a(~),* 2. *vll(b* v *a)* :::i *b* V *vll(a)*
+
+when the following substitutions are made for *a, v,* b, and *c* (and the operation
+
+indicated by "Subst" is performed in 1):
+
+For *a* any formula, for *v* any variable, for *b* any formula in which *v* ·does not occur free, and for *c* any sign of the same type as *v,* provided *c* does not contain any variable
+
+that is bound in *a* at a place where *v* is free. 23
+
+19 Concerning this definition (and similar definitions occurring below) sf'c *Lukasieu•icz and*
+
+*Tarski 1930.*
+
+18• Hence *xil(a)* is a formula even if *x* docs not occur in *a* or is not free in *a.* In this case, of
+
+course, *xIJ(a)* means the same thing as *a.*
+
+20 In case v does not occur in a as a free variable we put Subst a(g) = a. Note that "Subst"
+
+is a metamathematical sign.
+
+21 x1 = y 1 is to be regarded as defined by *x 2 Il(x2 (x;)* ::i x2 (y1 }}, as in *PM* (I, \*13) similarly for
+
+higher types).
+
+22 In order to obtain the axioms from the schemata listed we must therefore
+
+(1) Eliminate the abbreviations and (2) Add the omitted parentheses
+
+23 Therefore *c* is a variable or 0 or a sign of the form *f .* . *. Ju,* where *u* is either 0 or a variable of type I. Concerning the notion "free (bound) at a pla<'e in *a",* sec I A 5 in *von Neumann 1927.*
+
+IV. Every formula that results from the schema
+
+**l.** *(Eu)(vII(u(v)* = *a))*
+
+when for *v* we substitute any variable of type *n,* for *u* one of type *n* + **1,** and for *a* any formula that does not contain *u* free. This axiom plays the role of the axiom of
+
+reducibility (the comprehension axiom of set theory).
+
+V. Every formula that results from
+
+1. *X1II(x2(x1)* = Y2(X1)) ::i *X2* = *Y2*
+
+by type elevation (as well as this formula itself). This axiom states that a class is
+
+completely determined by its elements.
+
+A formula *c* is called an *immediate consequence* of *a* and *b* if it is the formula ( ~ (b)) v (c), and it is called an *immediate consequence* of *a* if it is the formula *vII(a),* where *v* denotes any variable. The class of *provable formulas* is defined to be the smallest class of formulas that contains the axioms and is closed under the relation
+
+'' immediate consequence''. 24
+
+We now assign natural numbers to the primitive signs of the system *P* by the
+
+following one-to-one correspondence:
+
+**"0" "f"** **1**
+
+3 " **V** "
+
+5 7 *"II"* . . . 9 "(" **11** ")" **13;**
+
+to the variables of type *n* we assign the numbers of the form *pn* (where pis a prime number > **13).** Thus we have a one-to-one correspondence by which a finite sequence of natural numbers is associated with every finite sequence of primitive signs (hence also with every formula). We now map the finite sequences of natural numbers on natural numbers (again by a one-to-one correspondence), associating the number 2n1 . 3n2 ..... *P~",* where *P1c* denotes the *kth* prime number (in order of increasing magnitude), with the sequence *n 1 , n2 , ••* • , *n1c,* A natural number [out of a certain subset] is thus assigned one-to-one not only to every primitive sign but also to ·every finite sequence of such signs. We denote by (J)(a) the number assigned to the primitive sign (or to the sequence of primitive signs) *a.* Now let some relation (or class) *R(ai, a*2 , ••• , *an)* between [ or of] primitive signs or sequences of primitive signs be given. With it we associate the relation (or class) *R'(x1, x2, ..* . , *xn)* between [or of] natural numbers that obtains between *x 1 , x 2 , ••• , Xn* if and only if there are some *av a2, ... , an* such that X; = (J)(a1) (i = **1,** 2, ... , *n)* and *R(av a*2 , ••• , *an)* hold. The relations between (or classes of) natural numbers that in this manner are associated with the metamathematical notions defined so far, for example, "variable", "formula", "sentential formula", "axiom", "provable formula", and so on, will be denoted by the same words in SMALL CAPITALS. The proposition that there are undecidable problems in the system P, for example, reads thus : There are SENTENTIAL FORMULAS *a* such
+
+that neither *a* nor the NEGATION of *a* is a PROVABLE FORMULA.
+
+We now insert a parenthetic consideration that for the present has nothing to do 24 The rule of substitution is rendered superfluous by the fact that all possible substitutions have already been carried out in the axioms themselves. (This procedure was used also by *von*
+
+with the formal system *P.* First we give the following definition: A number-theoretic function25 cp(x1 , x2 , ••• , *xn)* is said to be *recursively defined in terms of* the number-
+
+theoretic functions *ip(Xi,* x2 , ••• , *Xn\_ 1)* and µ,(x1 , x2 , ••• , *Xn+i)* if
+
+*2 , ••• , *Xn)* = *µ,(k, 26
+
+A number-theoretic function 1 , .•• , *xn)* such that, for all x1 , x2 , ••. , *xn,*
+
+*R(x1, ... , Xn)* ,....\_, [1 ,* ••• ,
+
+29 Whenever formulas are used to express a meaning (in particular, in all formulas expressing metamathematical propositions or notions), Hilbert's symbolism is employed. See *Hilbert and*
+
+Theorem I follows at once from the definition of "recursive". Theorems II and III
+
+are consequences of the fact that the number-theoretic functions
+
+o:(x), fJ(x, y), y(x, y),
+
+corresponding to the logical notions-, v, and =, namely,
+
+o:(O) = 1, o:(x) = 0 for *x* # 0, fJ(O, x) = fJ(x, 0) = 0, fJ(x, y) 1 when x and y are both '#-0, y(x, y) = 0 when x = y, y(x, y) = 1 when x # y, are recursive, as we can readily see. The proof of Theorem IV is briefly as follows.
+
+By assumption there is a recursive p(x, i)) such that
+
+R(x, iJ) ,..\_, [p(x, iJ) = O]. We now define a function x(x, iJ) by the recursion schema (2) in the following way: x(O, iJ) = 0, x(n + 1, iJ) = (n + l).a + x(n, iJ).o:(a), 31 where *a=* o:[o:(p(O,iJ))J.o:[p(n + l,iJ)J.o:[x(n,iJ)]. Therefore x(n + l,iJ) is equal either *ton* + l (if *a* = **l)** or to x(n, tJ) (if *a* = 0). 32 The first case clearly occurs if and
+
+only if all factors of *a* are **1,** that is, if
+
+R(O, iJ) & R(n + l, tJ) & [x(n, iJ) = OJ holds. From this it follows that the function x(n, i)) (considered as a function of n) remains O up to [but not including] the least value of n for which R(n, i)) holds and, from there on, is equal to that value. (Hence, in case R(O, i)) holds, x( *n,* i)) is constant
+
+and equal to 0.) We have, therefore,
+
+*ifi(',;,* iJ) = x(ip(f), iJ), S(f, iJ) ,..\_, R[ifa(!, iJ), iJ]. The relation *T* can, by negation, be reduced to a case analogous to that of *S.* Theorem
+
+IV is thus proved.
+
+The functions x + y, x . y, and xY, as well as the relations x < y and x = y, are recursive, as we can readily see. Starting from these notions, we now define a number of functions (relations) 1-45, each of which is defined in terms of preceding ones by the procedures given in Theorems I-IV. In most of these definitions several of the steps allowed by Theorems I-IV are condensed into one. Each of the functions (relations) 1-45, among which occur, for example, the notions" FORMULA", "AXIOM",
+
+and "IMMEDIATE CONSEQUENCE"' is therefore recursive.
+
+I. x/y = (Ez)[z ~ x & x = y.z], 33
+
+xis divisible by y. 34
+
+31 We assume familiarity with the fact that the functions *x* + *y* (addition) and *x* . *y* (multi-
+
+plication) are recursive.
+
+32*a* cannot take values other than O and l, as can be seen from the definition of *a.*
+
+33 The sign = is used in the sense of "equality by definition" ; hence in definitions it stands for
+
+either = or ~ (otherwise, the symbolism is Hilbert's).
+
+34 Wherever one of the signs *(x), (Ex),* or *ex* occurs in the definitions below, it is followed by a bound on *x.* This bound merely serves to ensure that the notion defined is recursive (see Theorem IV). But in most cases the *exten8ion* of the notion defined would not change if this bound were
+
+RELATION SIGN *r (with tlte* FREE VARIABLES38 u 1, u 2, ... , *un) such that for all n-tuples*
+
+*of numbers* (x1 , •.• , *xn) we have*
+
+(3)
+
+(4)
+
+We shall give only an outline of the proof of this theorem because the proof does not present any difficulty in principle and is rather long. 39 We prove the theorem for all relations *R(x1 ,* ••• , *xn)* of the form x1 = 40*(where 1 , ... , 'Pk (substitution and recursive definition) can both be formally reproduced in the system *P.* If this is done, a new RELATION SIGN *r* is obtained from r 1 , ... , rk, 41 and, using the induction hypothesis, we can prove without difficulty that (3) and (4) hold for it. A RELATION SIGN r assigned to a recursive relation42 by this
+
+procedure will be said to be recursive.
+
+We now come to the goal of our discussions. Let *K* be any class of FORMULAS. We denote by Flg(K) (the set of consequences of K) the smallest set of FORMULAS that contains all FORMULAS of *K* and all AXIOMS and is closed under the relation "IMMEDI-ATE CONSEQUENCE". *K* is said to be w-consistent if there is no CLASS SIGN *a* such that *(n)[Sb(az/'nJ) e* Flg(K}] & [Neg(v Gen *a)] e* Flg(K),
+
+where V is the FREE VARIABLE of the CLASS SIGN *a.*
+
+Every w-consistent system, of course, is consistent. As will be shown later,
+
+however, the converse does not hold.
+
+The general result about the existence of undecidable propositions reads as follows: Theorem VI. *For every w-consistent recursive class K of* FORMULAS *tltere are recursive* CLASS SIGNS *r such that neither v* Gen *r nor* Neg(v Gen r) *belongs to* Flg(K) (where *v* is
+
+the FREE VARIABLE of r).
+
+*Proof.* Let *K* be any recursive w-consistent class of FORMULAS. We define
+
+*Bw"(x)* = *(n)[n* ~ *l(x)* ----,,. *Ax(n Gl x)* V *(n Gl x) e K* v
+
+*(Ep,* q){O < *p, q* < *n* & *Fl(n Gl x, p Gl x, q Gl x)}]* & *l(x)* > 0 (5)
+
+38 The VARIABLES *ui, .* .. , *un* can be chosen arbitrarily. For example, there always is an *r* with the
+
+FREE VARIABLES 17, 19, 23, ... , and so on, for which (3) and (4) hold.
+
+39 Theorem V, of course, is a consequence of the fact that in the case of a recursive relation R it can, for every n-tuple of numbers, be decided *on the basis of the axioms of the system P* whether
+
+the relation R obtains or not.
+
+4° From this it follows at once that the theorem holds for every recursive relation, since any such relation is equivalent to O = cp(x1 , ... , *Xn),* where cp is recursive. 41 When this proof is carried out in detail, *r,* of course, is not defined indirectly with the help of
+
+(see the analogous notion 44),
+
+x BK y = BwK(x) & [l(x)] Gl x = BewK(x) = (Ey)y BK x
+
+(see the analogous notions 45 and 46).
+
+We obviously have
+
+and
+
+(x)[Bew(x)--,,. BewK(x)].
+
+We now define the relation
+
+(6) (6.1)
+
+(7)
+
+(8)
+
+**(8.1)**
+
+Since x BK y (by **(6)** and (5)) and Sb(y}~y>) (by Definitions **17** and **31)** are recursive, so is *Q(x,* y). Therefore, by Theorem **V** and (8) there is a RELATION SIGN *q* (with
+
+the FREE VARIABLES 17 and 19) such that
+
+and
+
+We put
+
+*p* = **17** Gen *q*
+
+(pis a CLASS SIGN with the FREE VARIABLE **19)** and
+
+r = Sb(q}~P>)
+
+(r is a recursive CLASS SIGN43 with the FREE VARIABLE **17).**
+
+Then we have
+
+Sb(p}~P>) = Sb([l 7 Gen q]}~p)) = **17** Gen Sb(q}~P>)
+
+(by **(11)** and **(12))** ;44 furthermore
+
+Sb(q1Yx) irp)) = Sb(r}Yx>l
+
+(9)
+
+(10)
+
+(11)
+
+(12)
+
+17 Gen *r* (13)
+
+(14)
+
+(by (12)). If we now substitute *p* for y in (9) and (10) and take (13) and (14) into
+
+account, we obtain
+
+x BK (17 Gen r)--,,. BewK[Sb(rlix>)], x BK (17 Gen r)--,,. BewK[Neg(Sb(r½Yxi))].
+
+This yields :
+
+(15) (16)
+
+I. 17 Gen r is not K-PROVABLE. 45 For, if it were, there would (by **(6.1))** be an n such 43 Since *r* is obtained from the recursive RELATION SIGN *q* through the replacement of a VARIABLE by a definite number, *p.* [Precisely stated the final part of this footnote (which refers to a side remark unnecessary for the proof) would read thus: "REPLACEMENT of a VARIABLE by the NUMERAL for
+
+that *n*BK (17 Gen *r).* Hence by (16) we would have *Bew"[Neg(Sb(r!Znil)],* while, on the other hand, from the K-PROV ABILITY of **17** Gen *r* that of *Sb( rHn>)* follows. Hence,
+
+*K*would be inconsistent (and a fortiori w-inconsistent).
+
+2. Neg(l7 Gen r) is not K-PROVABLE. Proof: As has just been proved, **17** Gen r is not K-PROVABLE; that is (by (6.1)), (n)nB"(l7Genr) holds. From this, *(n)Bew"[Sb(r!inl)]* follows by (15), and that, in conjunction with Bew"[Neg(l **7** Gen *r)],*
+
+is incompatible with the w-consistency of K.
+
+**17** Gen *r* is therefore undecidable on the basis of K, which proves Theorem VI. We can readily see that the proof just given is constructive ;45athat is, the following has been proved in an intuitionistically unobjectionable manner: Let an arbitrary recursively defined class *K* of FORMULAS be given. Then, if aformal decision (on the basis of *K)* of the SENTENTIAL FORMULA **17** Gen *r* (which [for each *K]* can actually be
+
+exhibited) is presented to us, we can actually give
+
+I. A PROOF of Neg(l **7** Gen r);
+
+*2.* For any given *n,* a PROOF of *Sb(r!Znil-*
+
+That is, a formal decision of **17** Gen *r* would have the consequence that we could
+
+actually exhibit an w-inconsistency.
+
+We shall say that arelation between (or a class of) natural numbers *R(xi, ..* . , *xn)* is *decidable* [ *entscheidungsdefinit]* if there exists an n-place RELATION SIGN *r* such that (3) and (4) (see Theorem V) hold. In particular, therefore, by Theorem V every recursive relation is decidable. Similarly, a RELATION SIGN will be said to be *decidable* if it corresponds in this way to adecidable relation. Now it suffices for the existence of undecidable propositions that the class *K* be w-consistent and decidable. For the decidability carries over from *K* to x *B"* y (see (5) and (6)) and to Q(x, y) (see **(8.1)),** and only this was used in the proof given above. In this case the undecidable proposition has the form *v*Gen *r,* where *r* is a decidable CLASS SIGN. (Note that it even
+
+suffices that *K* be decidable in the system enlarged by *K.)*
+
+If, instead of assuming that *K* is w-consistent, we assume only that it is consistent, then, although the existence of an undecidable proposition does not follow [by ·the argument given above], it does follow that there exists a property (r) for which it is possible neither to give a counterexample nor to prove that it holds of all numbers. For in the proof that **17** Gen *r* is not K-PROV ABLE only the consistency of K was used (seep. 608). Moreover from Bewx:(17 Gen r) it follows by (15) that, for every number *x, Sb(r}Ixi)* is K-PROVABLE and consequently that *Neg(Sb(riix>))* is not K-PROVABLE for
+
+any number.
+
+If we adjoin Neg(l 7 Gen r) to K, we obtain a class of FORMULAS K' that is consistent but not w-consistent. *K'* is consistent, since otherwise **17** Gen *r* would be K-PROVABLE. However, *K'* is not w-consistent, because, by Bewx:(17 Gen r) and (15), *(x)Bew"Sb(r1ix>)* and, a fortiori, *(x)Bew",Sb(r1ix>)* hold, while on the other hand, of
+
+course, Bew".[Neg(l7 Gen r)] holds. 46
+
+We have a special case of Theorem VI when the class *K* consists of a finite number of FORMULAS (and, if we so desire, of those resulting from them by TYPE ELEVATION). 45 " Since all existential statements occurring in the proof are based upon Theorem V, which, as
+
+46Of course, the existence of classes *K* that are consistent but not w-consistent is thus proved only on the assumption that there exists some consistent *K* (that is, that *P* is consistent).
+
+Every finite class *K* is, of course, recursive. 46aLet *a*be the greatest number contained
+
+in K. Then we have for K
+
+x e K ,...\_, (Em, n)[m ~ x& n~a & n e K & x= m Th n]. Hence *K* is recursive. This allows us to conclude, for example, that, even with the help of the axiom of choice (for all types) or the generalized continuum hypothesis, not all propositions are decidable, provided these hypotheses are w-consistent.
+
+In the proof of Theorem VI no properties of the system *P* were used besides the
+
+following:
+
+**1.** The class of axioms and the rules of inference (that is, the relation "immediate consequence") are recursively definable (as soon as we replace the primitive signs in
+
+some way by natural numbers);
+
+2. Every recursive relation is definable (in the sense of Theorem V) in the system *P.* Therefore, in every formal system that satisfies the assumptions **1** and 2 and is w-consistent there are undecidable propositions of the form (x)F(x), where F is a recursively defined property of natural numbers, and likewise in every extension of such asystem by a recursively definable w-consistent class of axioms. As can easily be verified, included among the systems satisfying the assumptions **1** and 2 are the Zermelo-Fraenkel and the von Neumann axiom systems of set theory, 47as well as the axiom system of number theory consisting of the Peano axioms, recursive definition (by schema (2)), and the rules oflogic. 48Assumption **1** is satisfied by any system that has the usual rules of inference and whose axioms (like those of P) result from a
+
+finite number of schemata by substitution. 48 a
+
+3 We shall now deduce some consequences from Theorem VI, and to this end we give
+
+the following definition :
+
+A relation (class) is said to be *arithmetic* if it can be defined in terms of the notions + and . (addition and multiplication for natural numbers) 49and the logical constants V, -, (x), and =, where (x) and = apply to natural numbers only. 50 The notion "arithmetic proposition" is defined accordingly. The relations "greater than"
+
+and "congruent modulo *n",* for example, are arithmetic because we have
+
+x> y ,...\_, (Ez)[y = x+ z], x=y(modn),...\_,(Ez)[x = y + z.n Vy= x + z.n]. 4 sa [On page 190, lines 21, 22, and 23, of the German text the three occurrences of *a*are mis-
+
+prints and should be replaced by occurrences of K.]
+
+47The proof of assumption 1 turns out to be even simpler here than for the system P, since there
+
+is just one kind of primitive variables (or two in von Neumann's system).
+
+48See Problem III in *Hilbert 1928a.*
+
+4 sa As will be shown in Part II of this paper, the true reason for the incompleteness inherent in all formal systems of mathematics is that the formation of ever higher types can be continued into the transfinite (see *Hilbert 1925,* p. 184 [above, p. 387]), while in any formal system at most denumerably many of them are available. For it can be shown that the undecidable propositions constructed here become decidable whenever appropriate higher types are added (for example, the type *w* to the system P). An analogous situation prevails for the axiom system of set theory.
+
+50The definiens of such anotion, therefore, must consist exclusively of the signs listed, variables for natural numbers, *x, y,* ... , and the signs O and 1 (variables for functions and sets are not permitted to occur). Instead of x any other number variable, of course, may occur in the prefixes.
+
+We now have
+
+Theorem VII. *Every recursive relation is arithmetic.*
+
+We shall prove the following version of this theorem: every relation of the form *x* 0= cp(x1 , ... , *xn),* where **1).** Then we have either
+
+1. *0= *p(y1, .* .. , *Ym)* and *y* = x1(x1 , ••• , *xn),* respectively. Hence
+
+in this case *x*0 = cp(x1 , ... , *xn)* is arithmetic.
+
+In the second case we use the following method. We can express the relation *x*0 = cp(x1 , ••. , *xn)* with the help of the notion "sequence of numbers" (!) 52 in the
+
+following way:
+
+*X*0= cp(x1, ... , *Xn)* ,....., *(Ef){fo* = 1f(X2, ... , *xn)* & *(k)[k* < X1 ----+-
+
+*fk+* 1 = *µ(k,fk,* X2, · · ., *Xn)]* & *Xo* = *fxJ·*
+
+If *S(y, x2,* ... , *xn)* and *T(z,* x1 , ... , *Xn* + 1 ) are the arithmetic relations, existing by the induction hypothesis, that are equivalent to *y* = 'f(X2, ... , *xn)* and z = *µ(xi,* ... ,
+
+*Xn* + 1 ), respectively, then
+
+*X*0 = *k
+
+terms.
+
+*Proof.* Let *l* be the maximum of the numbers k, *f* 0 , Ji, ... , *fk-l•* Let us determine
+
+an *n* such that
+
+*n* = f 1[mod(l + (i + l)l!)] for i = 0, **1, ..** . , *k* - **1,** which is possible, since any two of the numbers **1** + (i + l)l! (i = 0, **1, ... ,** *k* - **1)**
+
+are relatively prime. For a prime number contained in two of these numbers would also be contained in the difference (i1 - i 2 )l! and therefore, since li1 - i 2 I < l, in l!;
+
+but this is impossible. The number pair *n,* l! then has the desired property.
+
+Since the relation x = [n]P is defined by
+
+*x* = *n* (modp) & *x* < *p*
+
+and is therefore arithmetic, the relation P(x0 , x1 , ... , xn), defined as follows:
+
+is also arithmetic. But by (17) and Lemma **1** it is equivalent to x 0= g,(x1 , ... , xn) (the sequence f enters in (17) only through its first x1 + **1** terms). Theorem VII is
+
+thus proved.
+
+By Theorem VII, for every problem of the form (x)F(x) (with recursive F) there is an equivalent arithmetic problem. Moreover, since the entire proof of Theorem VII (for every particular F) can be formalized in the system P, this equivalence is
+
+provable in P. Hence we have
+
+Theorem VIII. *In any of the formal systems mentioned in Theorem VI53 there are*
+
+*undecidable arithmetic propositions.*
+
+By the remark on page 610, the same holds for the axiom system of set theory and
+
+its extensions by w-consistent recursive classes of axioms.
+
+Finally, we derive the following result:
+
+Theorem IX. *In any of the formal systems mentioned in Theorem VI53 there are undecidable problems of the restricted functional calculus54* (that is, formulas of the restricted functional calculus for which neither validity nor the existence of a
+
+counterexample is provable).55 This is a consequence of
+
+Theorem X. *Every problem of the form* (x)F(x) *(with recursive* F) *can be reduced to the question whether a certain formula of the restricted functional-calculus is satisfiable* (that is, for every recursive *F* we can find a formula of the restricted functional cal-
+
+culus that is satisfiable if and only if (x)F(x) is true.
+
+By formulas of the restricted functional calculus (r. f. c.) we understand expressions formed from the primitive signs -, V, (x), =, x, *y,* ... (individual variables), F(x), G(x, y), H(x, y, z), . .. (predicate and relation variables), where (x) and = apply to individuals only.56 To these signs we add a third kind of variables, g,(x), if,(x, y),
+
+53 These are the w-consistent systems that result from *P* when recursively definable classes of
+
+axioms are added.
+
+54 See *Hilbert and Ackermann 1928.*
+
+In the system *P* we must understand by formulas of the restricted functional calculus those that result from the formulas of the restricted functional calculus of PM when relations are replaced
+
+by classes of higher types as indicated on page 599.
+
+55 In *1930a* I showed that every formula of the restricted functional calculus either can be proved to be valid or has a counterexample. However, by Theorem IX the existence of this counterexample is not always provable (in the formal systems we have been considering). 56 Hilbert and Ackermann *(1928)* do not include the sign = in the restricted functional calculus. But for every formula in which the sign = occurs there exists a formula that does not contain this
+
+K(x, *y,* z), and so on, which stand for object-functions[Gegenstandsfunktionen] (that is, cp(x), tf;(x, y), and so on denote single-valued functions whose arguments and values are individuals).57 A formula that contains variables of the third kind in addition to the signs of the r. f. c. first mentioned will be called a formula in the extended sense (i.e. s.).58 The notions "satisfiable" and "valid" carry over immediately to formulas i.e. s., and we have the theorem that, for any formula Ai. e. s., we can find a formula B of the r. f. c. proper such that A is satisfiable if and only if Bis. We obtain B from A by replacing the variables of the third kind, cp(x), tf;(x, y), ... , that occur in A with expressions of the form (1z)F(z, x), (1z)G(z, x, y), ... , by eliminating the" descriptive" functions by the method used in *PM* (I, \*14), and by logically multiplying59 the formula thus obtained by an expression stating about each *F, G, .* .. put in place of some cp, if;, . .. that it holds for a unique value of the first argument [for any choice
+
+of values for the other arguments).
+
+We now show that, for every problem of the form (x)F(x) (with recursive F), there is an equivalent problem cc,mcerning the satisfiability of a formula i. e. s., so that, on
+
+account of the remark just made, Theorem X follows.
+
+Since Fis recursive, there is a recursive function 1 , 59a
+
+(x1, ... ' xm)[(x) = OJ holds, (Ex0 )0 is satisfiable. For the functions <1>1 , 2 , ••• , n obviously yield a true proposition when substituted for ,:p1 , ,:p*2 ,* ••• , *'Pn* in (Ex*0* )0);
+
+2. If (Ex0 )0 is satisfiable, (x)[(x) = OJ holds.
+
+*Proof.* Let ipi, if,2 , ••• , 'Pn be the functions (which exist by assumption) that yield a true proposition when substituted for ,:p1 , ,:p*2 , ••• , 'Pn* in (Ex*0* )0. Let *ks* be their domain of individuals. Since (Ex0 )0 holds for the functions if,1, there is an individual *a* (in ~) such that all of the formulas (18)-(22) go over into true propositions, (18')-(22'), when the i are replaced by the 'Pi and O by *a.* We now form the smallest subclass of *ks* that contains *a* and is closed under the operation if,1 (x). This subclass(~') has the property that every function 'Pi, when applied to elements of~,, again yields elements of *ks'.* For this holds of if,1 by the definition of *ks',* and by (18'), **(19'),** and (20') it carries over from 'Pi with smaller subscripts to 'Pi with larger ones. The functions that result from the *if,,* when these are restricted to the domain *ks'* of individuals will be denoted by *if,{.* All of the formulas (18)-(22) hold for these functions also (when we
+
+replace O by a and i by if,{).
+
+Because (21) holds for *if,~* and *a,* we can map the individuals of *ks'* one-to-one onto the natural numbers in such a manner that *a* goes over into O and the function *if,~* into the successor function <1> 1 . But by this mapping the functions *if,[* go over into the functions <1> *1,* and, since (22) holds for *if,~* and a, (x)[n(x) = OJ, that is, (x)[(x) = OJ,
+
+holds, which was to be proved. 61
+
+Since (for each particular F) the argument leading to Theorem X can be carried out in the system P, it follows that any proposition of the form (x)F(x) (with recursive F) can in P be proved equivalent to the proposition that states about the corresponding formula of the r. f. c. that it is satisfiable. Hence the undecidability of one
+
+implies that of the other, which proves Theorem **IX. 62**
+
+4 The results of Section 2 have a surprising consequence concerning a consistency
+
+proof for the system *P* (and its extensions), which can be stated as follows:
+
+Theorem XI. *Let* K *be any recursive consistent*63 *class of* FORMULAS ; *then the* SENTEN - TIAL FORMULA *stating that K is consistent is not* K-PROVABLE; in particular, the consistency of Pis not provable in P, 64 provided Pis consistent (in the opposite case, of
+
+course, every proposition is provable [in PJ).
+
+The proof (briefly outlined) is as follows. Let *K* be some recursive class of FORMULAS chosen once and for all for the following discussion (in the simplest case it is the
+
+61 Theorem X implies, for example, that Fermat's problem and Goldbach's problem could be
+
+solved if the decision problem for the r. f. c. were solved.
+
+62 Theorem IX, of course, also holds for the axiom system of set theory and for its extensions by recursively definable w-consistent classes of axioms, since there are undecidable propositions
+
+empty class). As appears from 1, page 608, only the consistency of *K* was used in
+
+proving that 17 Gen *r* is not K-PROVABLE ;65 that is, we have
+
+Wid(K) - Bew"(l 7 Gen r), (23)
+
+that is, by (6.1),
+
+Wid(K) - (x) x *B"* (17 Gen r).
+
+By (13), we have
+
+hence
+
+that is, by (8.1),
+
+Wid(K) - (x)Q(x), p). (24)
+
+We now observe the following: all notions defined (or statements proved) in Section 2, 66 and in Section 4 up to this point, are also expressible (or provable) in P. For throughout we have used only the methods of definition and proof that are customary in classical mathematics, as they are formalized in the system P. In particular, *K* (like every recursive class) is definable in *P.* Let *w* be the SENTENTIAL FORMULA by which Wid(K) is expressed in *P.* According to (8.1 ), (9), and (10), the relation Q(x, y) is expressed by the RELATION SIGN q, hence Q(x, p) by r (since, by (12), r = Sb(q½f P))),
+
+and the proposition (x)Q(x p) by 17 Gen r.
+
+Therefore, by (24), *w* Imp (17 Gen r) is provable in P67 (and a fortiori K-PROVABLE). If now *w* were K-PROV ABLE, then **17** Gen *r* would also be K-PROV ABLE, and from this
+
+it would follow, by (23), that *K* is not consistent.
+
+Let us observe that this proof, too, is constructive; that is, it allows us to actually derive a contradiction from K, once a PROOF of *w* from K is given. The entire proof of Theorem XI carries over word for word to the axiom system of set theory, M, and to that of classical mathematics, 68A, and here, too, it yields the result: There is no consistency proof for M, or for A, that could be formalized in M, or A, respectively, provided M, or A, is consistent. I wish to note expressly that Theorem XI (and the corresponding results for Mand A) do not contradict Hilbert's formalistic viewpoint. For this viewpoint presupposes only the existence of a consistency proof in which nothing but finitary means of proof is used, and it is conceivable that there exist finitary proofs that *cannot* be expressed in the formalism of P (or of M or A).
+
+Since, for any consistent class K, *w* is not K-PROVABLE, there always are propositions (namely w) that are undecidable (on the basis of K) as soon as Neg(w) is not K-PROVABLE; in other words, we can, in Theorem VI, replace the assumption of w-consistency by the following: The proposition "K is inconsistent" is not K-PROV-ABLE. (Note that there are consistent *K* for which this proposition is K-PROVABLE.)
+
+65 Of course, *r* (like p) depends on "·
+
+66From the definition of "recursive" on page 602 to the proof of Theorem VI inclusive. 67 That the truth of *w* Imp (17 Gen r) can be inferred from (23) is simply due to the fact that the undecidable proposition 17 Gen *r* asserts its own unprovability, as was noted at the very
+
+In the present paper we have on the whole restricted ourselves to the system P, and we have only indicated the applications to other systems. The results will be stated and proved in full generality in a sequel to be published soon. 68 aIn that paper,
+
+also, the proof of Theorem XI, only sketched here, will be given in detail.
+
+*Note added 28 August 1963.* In consequence of later advances, in particular of the fact that due to A. M. Turing's work69 a precise and unquestionably adequate definition of the general notion of formal system70 can now be given, a 11ompletely general version of Theorems VI and XI is now possible. That is, it can be proved rigorously that in *every* consistent formal system that contains a certain amount of finitary number theory there exist undecidable arithmetic propositions and that, moreover, the consistency of any such system cannot be proved in the system.
+
+68• [This explains the "I" in the title of the paper. The author's intention was to publish this sequel in the next volume of the *Monatshejte.* The prompt acceptance of his results was one of the
+
+reasons that made him change his plan.] 69 See *Turing 1937,* p. 249.
+
+70 In my opinion the term "formal system" or "formalism" should never be used for anything but this notion. In a lecture at Princeton (mentioned in *Princeton University 1946,* p. 11 [see *Davis 1965,* pp. 84-88]) I suggested certain transfinite generalizations of formalisms, but these are something radically different from formal systems in the proper sense of the term, whose characteristic property is that reasoning in them, in principle. can be completely replaced by
+
+mechanical devices.
+
+ON COMPLETENESS AND CONSISTENCY *(1931a)* Let *Z* be the formal system that we obtain by supplementing the Peano axioms with the schema of definition by recursion (on one variable) and the logical rules of the *restricted* functional calculus. Hence *Z* is to contain no variables other than variables for individuals (that is, natural numbers), and the principle of mathematical induction must therefore be formulated as a rule of inference. Then the following
+
+hold:
+
+**1.** Given any formal system S in which there are finitely many axioms and in which the sole principles of inference are the rule of substitution and the rule of implication, if S contains1 Z, Sis incomplete, that is, there are in S propositions (in 1 That a formal system *S* contains another formal system *T* means that every proposition
+
+expressible (provable) in *T* is expressible (provable) also in *S.*
+
+[Remark by the author, 18 May 1966 :]
+
+[This definition is not precise, and, if made precise in the straightforward manner, it does not yield a sufficient condition for the nondemonstrability in *S* of the consistency of *S.* A sufficient condition is obtained if one uses the following definition : *"S* contains *T* if and only if every meaningful formula (or axiom or rule (of inference, of definition, or of construction of axioms)) of *Tis a* meaningful formula (or axiom, and so forth) of *S,* that is, if Sis an extension of *T".* Under the weaker hypothesis that Z is recursively one-to-one translatable into S, with demonstrability preserved in this direction, the consistency, even of very strong systems S, *may* be provable in S and even in primitive recursive number theory. However, what can be shown to be unprovable in S is the fact that the rules of the equational calculus applied to equations, between primitive recursive terms, demonstrable in S yield only correct numerical equations (provided that S possesses the property that is asserted to be unprovable). Note that it is necessary to prove this "outer" consistency of S (which for the usual systems is trivially equivalent with consistency) in order to "justify", in the sense of Hilbert's program, the transfinite axioms of a
+
+particular, propositions of Z) that are undecidable on the basis of the axioms of S, provided that S is w-consistent. Here a system is said to be w-consistent if, for no property *F* of natural numbers, *(Ex)Fx* as well as all the formulas *F(i),* i = 1, 2, ... ,
+
+are provable.
+
+2. In particular, in every system S of the kind just mentioned the proposition that Sis consistent (more precisely, the equivalent arithmetic proposition that we obtain
+
+by mapping the formulas one-to-one on natural numbers) is unprovable.
+
+Theorems I and 2 hold also for systems in which there are infinitely many axioms and in which there are other principles of inference than those mentioned above, provided that when we enumerate the formulas (in order of increasing length and, for equal length, in lexicographical order) the class of numbers assigned to the axioms is definable and decidable [entscheidungsdefinit] in the system Z, and that the same holds of the following relation *R(xi, x*2 , ••• , *xn)* between natural numbers: "the formula with number x1follows from the formulas with numbers x 2 , •• • , Xn by a single application of one of the rules of inference". Here arelation (class) *R(x1 , x 2 ,* ••• , *xn)* is said to be decidable in *Z* if for every n-tuple (k1 , k2 , ••• , *kn)* of natural numbers either *R(k1 , k2 , ••* • , *kn)* or *R(k1 , k2 , ••* • , *kn)* is provable in *Z.* (At present no decidable number-theoretic relation is known that is not definable and decidable already in Z.) If we imagine that the system **Z** is successively enlarged by the introduction of variables for classes of numbers, classes of classes of numbers, and so forth, together with the corresponding comprehension axioms, we obtain a sequence (continuable into the transfinite) of formal systems that satisfy the assumptions mentioned above, and it turns out that the consistency (w-consistency) of any of those systems is provable in all subsequent systems. Also, the undecidable propositions constructed for the proof of Theorem I become decidable by the adjunction of higher types and the corresponding axioms; however, in the higher systems we can construct other undecidable propositions by the same procedure, and so forth. To be sure, all the propositions thus constructed are expressible in *Z* (hence are number-theoretic propositions); they are, however, not decidable in Z, but only in higher systems, for example, in that of analysis. In case we adopt a type-free construction of mathematics, as is done in the axiom system of set theory, axioms of cardinality (that is, axioms postulating the existence of sets of ever higher cardinality) take the place of the type extensions, and it follows that certain arithmetic propositions that are undecidable in *Z* become decidable by axioms of cardinality, for example, by the axiom that there exist sets whose cardinality is greater than every *an,* where *a* 0= ~0, an+l = 2"'n.
+
+system *S.* (" Rules of the equational calculus" in the foregoing means the two rules of substituting primitive recursive terms for variables and substituting one such term for another to which it
+
+The last-mentioned theorem and Theorem 1 of the paper remain valid for much weaker systems than Z, in particular for primitive recursive number theory, that is, what remains of Z if quantifiers are omitted. With insignificant changes in the wording of the conclusions of the two theorems they even hold for any recutsive translation into S of the equations between primitive recursive terms, under the sole hypothesis of w-consistency (or outer consistency) of S in this translation.] *On the consistency cf arithmetic*
+
+JACQUES HERBRAND (1931b)
+
+Dated "Gottingen, 14 July 1931", this paper was sent by Herbrand for publication (to the *Journal fur die reine und angewandte Mathematik)* just before he left for a vacation trip in the Alps. The paper was received on 27 July and on that day Herbrand was killed in a
+
+fall.
+
+The paper presents a consistency proof for a segment of arithmetic and was intended, no doubt, to be a contribution to the realization of the Hilbert school's program. Consistency is proved for an arithmetic in which the well-formed formula that can be substituted in the induction schema does not contain any bound variable (or, if it does, does not contain any function but the successor function). Consistency proofs likewise requiring some restriction on the induction axiom schema had been presented by Ackermann *(1924)* and von Neumann *(1927).* Herbrand's proof remains relatively simple and straightforward because he has at his disposal his powerful fundamental theorem *(1930).* § I consists of a very clear presentation of this
+
+theorem.
+
+Throughout his work Her brand applies the word "intuitionistic" to the methods that he considers admissible in metamathematics, and, although there may be some variations in the meaning that he gives to the term, this meaning is on the whole much closer to that of Hilbert's word "finitary" ("fl.nit") than to "intuitionistic" as applied to Brouwer's doctrine. Herbrand writes, for instance, that Hilbert had undertaken to solve metamathematical problems "exclusively through intuitionistic arguments" (" uniquement par des raisonnements intuitionnistes ", *1931a,* p. **187),** and in the paper below (p. 622, line **lu)** he writes that the statement and the proof of his fundamental theorem are "intuitionistic ". The identification of "intuitionistic" with "finitary" was then current among members of the Hilbert school (see, for example, *van Neumann 1927,* p. 2 ; the distinction between the two notions was to be made explicit a few years later *(Hilbert and Bernays 1934,* pp. 34 and 43, *Bernays 1934a, 1935,* and
+
+*1938).*
+
+A key part of Herbrand's proof is the elimination of the induction axiom schema (with no apparent variables) through the introduction of functions; the definition conditions for each of these functions are such that, for every set of arguments, a well-determined number can be proved in a finitary way to be the value of the function (Group C of hypotheses). The functions are, in fact, (general) recursive functions, and here is the first appearance of the notion of recursive (as opposed to primitive recursive) function. It is interesting to see how, a few months earlier, Herbrand had been led to this notion by his conception of "intuitionism ". (Let us note in passing that, it seems, Herbrand's knowledge of Brouwer's ideas is not first-hand, but
+
+derived from Hilbert.) He writes *(1931a,* p. **187):** "In its extreme form this theory [intuitionism] allows only arguments dealing with the integers (or with objects that can actually be numbered by means of integers) and satisfying the following conditions : all the functions that are introduced must be actually computable for all values of their arguments, by means of operations that are completely described in advance; every time that we come to say 'A proposition is true for every integer', this means 'We can actually verify it for every integer' ; every time that we come to say 'There exists an integer x that has such and such a property', this means implicitly 'In what precedes we gave a means of
+
+constructing such an *x'* ".
+
+Godel (1934, p. 26) gives, as "suggested by Her brand", the following definition of a recursive function : "If a precise definition of general recursiveness possible. Unfortunately I do not find Herbrand's letter among my papers. It probably was lost in Vienna during World War II, as many other things were. But my recollection is very distinct and was still very fresh in 1934."
+
+Herbrand's consistency proof for a fragment of arithmetic still belongs to the period that preceded Godel's famous result *(1931).* He probably started to write his paper before Godel's paper reached him. But he had ample opportunity to examine Godel's result and he wrote a last section dealing with it. Herbrand explains very clearly why this result does not hold for the fragment of arithmetic that he considers: whatever functions may be introduced by definition conditions of Group E, these functions never include a function that enumerates them (this is shown by a diagonal argument), hence the metamathematical description of the system cannot be
+
+projected into the system.
+
+The translation is by the editor, and it is printed here by permission of Walter
+
+de Gruyter and Co.
+
+When published, Herbrand's text was preceded by a bibliographical note written by Hans Hasse in German. Here is its
+
+translation :
+
+"Jacques Her brand, born on 12 February 1908 in Paris, had afatal accident on 27 July 1931 while mountain climbing in the Alps. The same day the editors received the manuscript published below. "He spent the last six months of his life at German universities, in close contact with anumber of German mathematicians and engaged in a lively
+
+exchange of ideas with them. They were all profoundly impressed by his noble personality, which was endowed with rich scientific gifts. With him an extraordinarily gifted mind has perished in the bloom of youth. The beautiful and important results that he found in the field of number theory and of mathematical logic and the fruitful ideas that he expressed in mathematical conversations justified the greatest hopes. The science of mathematics has suffered a severe and irreparable loss by his un-
+
+timely death."
+
+In two previous papers1 we stated and proved a general theorem that makes it possible to solve many problems in metamathematics, and we gave some applications of it. In the present· paper we wish to apply it to the problem of the consistency of arithmetic more completely than we did in D I. The fundamental result is stated at
+
+the beginning of§ **3.**
+
+§ 1. STATEMENT OF A GENERAL THEOREM
+
+Let us first recall the statement of the theorem in question.
+
+**(a)** We use Russell's signs, with slight changes: V, ~, x (and), --+ (for implication), =, (Ex) (instead of Russell's inverted E), and (x), 2 as well as Russell's rules of inference, which we have slightly modified. In particular, we shall not use Hilbert's logical *e* function in propositions, and instead of his transfinite axiom we shall use the axioms and rules of Russell that are equivalent to it. We complete Russell's formal system by allowing the use of functions (in the ordinary sense of the word) ; the functions of O variable are the constants. For more details see D I, chaps. **1** and **3.** In a given theory we have certain elementary propositions and functions, and all propositions considered within the theory are combinations of logical signs with elementary propositions and functions. We have, moreover, certain propositions called *hypotheses,* and the propositions true in the theory are those that we can obtain
+
+from the hypotheses by applying the rules of inference.
+
+If a proposition can be proved by application of these rules without the use of any hypothesis, we call it an *identity.* If a proposition Pis true in a given theory, there exist certain hypotheses H 1 , H 2 , ••• , *Hn* such that H 1 x H 2 x • · · x *Hn.--+* Pis an identity; and conversely (see **DI,** chap. 3, 2.4), if this is the case, Pis true in the
+
+theory in question.
+
+The part of a proposition on which a logical sign operates is called the *scope* of the 1*1930, 1931.* In what follows these papers are denoted by DI and D II. We take advantage
+
+of the present opportunity to make the following two remarks about them.
+
+(a) The theorem in chap. 3, 3.3, of DI is correct only if A(x) contains no restricted variables
+
+(only under this condition is the expansion of (x)A(x) true).
+
+(b) In D II, at the bottom of p. 32, we point out that the elements of a domain can be ''equated". This calls for a clarification, since the values of the index functions are not well-determined in the new domain. Among all elements cx 1 equal to a given one, we choose one, *f3.* These *f3* form the new domain. In this domain the value of a functionf(f31 , *{3* 2 , ••• , *f3n)* (which may be either an elementary descriptive function or an index function) will be the *f3* equal to the value of *f(f3 1 ,* {32 , ••• , *f3n)* in the former domain. We thus see that every proposition true in the former domain remains true
+
+2We recall that the signs x, ->-, and = can be defined by means of the signs V and ~, these alone being taken as primitive. Let us recall their meaning. V , ~, x , ->-, =, (Ex), (x) mean:
+
+sign. Thus in (x) ~ A(x, y) . v. (Ey) ~ B(y) the scope of (x) is ~ A(x, y), that of (Ey) is ~B(y), that of the first~ is A(x, y), that of the second~ is B(y). Instead of
+
+the scope of (x) or (Ey) we shall also speak of the scope of x or y.
+
+The variables that occur in signs of the form (x) or (Ex) are said to be *apparent;*
+
+the others are said to be *real.*
+
+An apparent variable x occurring either in a sign (Ex) that is within the scope of an even number of signs ~ or in a sign (x) within the scope of an odd number of signs ~ is said to be *restricted.* Otherwise, it is said to be *general.* Thus in ~ (x)A(x, x) . V.
+
+(Ey) ~ ~ (z)A(y, z), x and y are restricted, z is general.
+
+**(b)** When a proposition contains neither apparent variables nor functions, there is
+
+a simple criterion that enables us to decide whether or not it is an identity.
+
+Let us consider the elementary propositions occurring in this proposition (they may or may not contain variables; of course, we consider those that contain the same variables in the same order to be identical); let us assign to each of them a *logical value,* that is, let us associate with each of them one of the signs *V* or *F,* and let us agree that to all propositions without apparent variables formed from these propositions we assign a logical value according to the following rules (see footnote 2): (a) If F (or V) is associated with P, then V (or F) is associated with ~ P; ({3) Fis associated with P v Q only if Fis associated with P and with Q.
+
+It can then be proved (DI, chap. **1,** 5.21) that *P* is an identity if and only if *P* has the logical value V whatever may be the logical values assigned to the elementary propositions. Hence, if *P* contains *n* distinct elementary propositions, we need *2n*
+
+trials to decide the truth of P.
+
+(c) Let us consider an arbitrary proposition *P* (we assume that all the variables are represented by different letters). We shall apply the remarks that follow to the proposition (x)(Ey).A(x, y), which we shall take as an example (A is a proposition with no variable other than x and *y,* formed from elementary propositions and
+
+functions).
+
+We shall consider functions that include, first, the elementary functions occurring in *P* and, then, new functions obtained as follows (it should be clear that by a function we understand a mere logical sign and that we are not concerned, at least for the time being, with its "values") : with every restricted variable [ x] of *P* we associate a function whose arguments are the real variables of *P* and the general variables having a scope containing a quantifier in x, (x) or (Ex); if there are no such real or genera12a variables, the function has O argument (and is a constant). For example, for
+
+(x)(Ey).A(x, y) we have the function cp(x) associated with y.
+
+Let us now consider all the distinct elementary propositions occurring in *P* (here two elementary propositions differing only in their variables are considered identical), denoting them by Ai(x*1 ,* x2 , ••• , xn,); let us also consider all distinct functions (elementary functions as well as those just introduced, with the same convention), denoting them by fi(xi, x2, ••• , xmJ For example, if A(x, y) is B(x, x) x B(y, y) . V. ~B(x, y), we have B(x, y) as the only elementary proposition and cp(x) as the only
+
+*domains;* let us assume that we assign a" value" to each *fi(aa1 , aa2 ,* ••• , *aa.,),* that is, we associate one of the *ai* with this collection of signs. Let us assume that this has
+
+been done for some of the *fi(aa1 , aa2 ,* ••• , *a«.,)* (not necessarily for all).
+
+From our elementary functions we can construct other functions by "substitution"; for example, from the functions *f 1* (x), *f 2* (x), and *f 3* (x, y) we can construct f *3 (J2* (x), f *1* (y)), and so on. What we should understand by the value of such a function is clear. Let us denote by *F* 1(x*1 ,* x2 , ••• , xv,) any one of these functions (old or new). To every function we assign a *height* in the following way: elementary functions have height 1; if the maximum of the heights of *Fu1 , Fu2 , ••• , Fum,* (the variables are
+
+omitted) is h, then the height off,(Fu1 , *Fu* 2 , •• • , *Fum)* is h+ 1.
+
+Ifin the domain there exist values of a sufficient number of the *fi(aa1 , aa2 , ••• , a«m,)* for us to compute the values of all *F 1(a0 , a0 , ••• ,* a 0 ) of at most height *h* and if *h* is the greatest number having this property, the domain is said to be of order h, and *a*0
+
+is the *initial element* (this element is not always uniquely determined).
+
+In our example let us set cp1(x) = cp(x), cp2 (x) = cp(cp(x)), .. . , 1 , *a2 , ••• , ah* if to cp(a1) we assign the value ai+ 1(to express this we shall often write cp(a1) = ai+l· We see that *cp(ah)* has no value
+
+in the domain.
+
+Let us now associate a logical value with every *A 1(aa1 , aa2 , ••• , aa.)·*
+
+Let us consider P, delete in it all signs of the form (x) and (Ex), and then replace each restricted variable by the associated function. We thus obtain a certain proposi-
+
+tion without apparent variables (for example, A(x, cp(x)).
+
+Let us replace the variables by some of the *a*1 in any way whatsoever and, in the expression thus obtained, let us replace the functions of the form *F 1(aa1 , aa2 , ••* • , *a«.,)* by their values. (This is not possible for every choice of the *a,;* in our example
+
+we obtain *A(a1,* a1+ 1 ), and the operation is impossible if we replace *x* by *ah.)*
+
+Since the *A;(aa1 , aa2 , ••• , a«.,)* have a logical value, the same holds of the proposition obtained. If this logical value is always V, in whatever way the variables are replaced by the *a;,* then P is said to be true in the domain of order h considered. (We see that this domain is characterized by the values of the functions and the logical
+
+values of the *A 1(aa1 , aa2 , ••* • , *a«.,-)*
+
+We then have the following fundamental theorem:
+
+*(a) If P is an identity, we can find, given the proof of P, a number h such that* ~ *P*
+
+*is not true in any domain of order h;*
+
+(/1) *If Pis not an identity, for every h we can construct a domain of order h in which*
+
+*~Pis true.*
+
+The statement and the proof of this theorem are intuitionistic. 3
+
+3By an intuitionistic argument we understand an argument satisfying the following conditions: in it we never consider anything but a given finite number of objects and of functions; these functions are well-defined, their definition allowing the computation of their value in a univocal way; we never state that an object exists without giving the means of constructing it; we never consider the totality of all the objects *x* of an infinite collection; and when we say that an argument (or a theorem) is true for all these *x,* we mean that, for each *x* taken by itself, it is possible to repeat the general argument in question, which should be considered to be merely the prototype
+
+**(d)** lffor every *h* we can construct a domain of order *h* in which Pis true, we say that there is an *infinite domain* in which Pis *true.* We say that *P* is *false* in an infinite domain if ~ *P* is true in it. (This expression "infinite domain" is merely an abbreviation; in order to have the intuitionistic meaning of the statements we have
+
+to return to the precise statements {a) and (/3).) We can then state:
+
+*P is not an identity if and only if there exists an infinite domain in which P is false.* In this form the theorem is a more precise statement of the well-known Lowenheim-Skolem theorem ;4 in fact, if there exists, in our sense, an infinite domain in which Pis true, we can easily obtain from it by nonintuitionistic procedures a denumerable set in which Pis true for certain values of the functions, that is, a model [realisation]
+
+of P, and conversely. But
+
+{a) Our statement is completely intuitionistic; we even have the means, once *P* has been proved, of finding a number h such that in the "partial" domain of order h, that is, at the *hth* step in the construction of the infinite domain, it is impossible to
+
+make *P* false ;
+
+(/3) We do not restrict ourselves to propositions in canonical form, as Lowenheim
+
+and, even more, Skolem do;
+
+{y) Lowenheim and Skolem implicitly assume that, once we have a model of ~ P, *P* cannot be proved; but this means that the consistency of mathematics (or at least of arithmetic) is implicitly assumed; our theorem, on the contrary, will allow us to
+
+investigate the consistency of arithmetic.
+
+(e) Let us now consider a theory with given hypotheses.
+
+*If we can determine an infinite domain such that all the hypotheses of the theory are*
+
+*true in it, the theory is not contradictory.*
+
+For, if the theory were contradictory, there would be *n* hypotheses H1 , *H*2 , •• • , *Hn* such that ~.H1 x *H*2 x • · · x *Hn* would be an identity (see **DI,** chap. 5, 6.5 [above, p. 561]). But, since H 1 , *H*2 , ••• , *Hn* are true in the infinite domain, H 1 x *H2* x • • • x *Hn* would also be true in it (this is easy to see); hence ~ .H1 x *H2* x
+
+• • • x *Hn* would be false in it, which is impossible if it is an identity.
+
+The foregoing theorems have a large number of applications (see DI and especially
+
+D II). In particular they allow us
+
+(1) To solve many special cases of the decision problem;
+
+(2) To prove rigorously (intuitionistically, which Lowenheim did not do) that the decision problem can always be reduced to the case in which there are only *three*
+
+*elementary propositions of two variables* or *one of three variables.*
+
+By means of them we shall deal with the consistency of arithmetic (see already
+
+DI, chap. 5, 6.8 [above, pp. 563-567]).
+
+§ 2. THE AXIOMS OF ARITHMETIC The theory that we shall study, which is the formal translation of classical arithmetic, has only one elementary proposition (of two variables), *x* = y; it has one constant, 0, one function of one variable, x + 1, and other functions that we shall
+
+The hypotheses are the following :
+
+X= X, ) X = *y* .-. *y* = X, X= *y* X *y* = Z.-. X= Z, *X*= *y* ·=. *X* + **1** = *y* + **1,**
+
+*~.x* + **1** = 0.
+
+Then come all the hypotheses obtained when in
+
+(Group A)
+
+(O) x : (x). *(x)* - *(x* + 1) :-. *(x)(x) (x)* is replaced by any proposition containing the variable *x* (Group B, mathematical
+
+induction).
+
+We can also introduce any number of functions *f* 1*(x* 1, *x* 2 , ••• , *xn,)* together with hypo-
+
+theses such that
+
+(a) *The hypotheses contain no apparent variables;*
+
+(b) *Considered intuitionistically,*5 *they make the actual computation of the f* 1*(xi, x* 2 , ... , *xn,) possible for every given set of numbers, and it is possible to prove intuitionisti-*
+
+*cally that we obtain a well-determined result* (Group C).
+
+As a specific example, let us assume that we have already introduced a certain number of such functions; then a new one, *f(x),* can be introduced, together with the
+
+new hypotheses
+
+*f(O)* = *a, f(x* + **1)** = *(3(f(x)), a* and *(3(y)* being functions formed from previously introduced functions. This is the
+
+ordinary schema of definition by recursion.
+
+But we can introduce much more complicated definition schemata, for example, multiple recursions on several variables. Thus we can introduce Hilbert's function6
+
+together with the hypotheses
+
+*6See *Hilbert 1925* [above, p. 388]. 7 See *Hilbert 1930,* p. 491.
+
+The proof is very simple.
+
+For every *2 , ... , *Yn),* the Y; being the variables of * *e(x* + **1)** = *x* + **1** *e(x* + 1) = *e(x)*
+
+if *e(x)* = 0, if *e(x)* =I= 0.
+
+Let us then take *e(x* + **1)** = y + 1. By E(4) we have
+
+*e(y* + 1) = *y* + I, *e(y)* = 0. Because of E(2) and E(3), this entails that ~ *x*= 0 . V . *(Ey)(x* = *y*+ **1)** is true. However, we have shown in **DI** (chap. 4, **8.1)** that the propositions of the form x =I- x+ **1** + 1 + • • • + **1** follow from some hypotheses of Group B in which the *8
+
+§ 4. COMPARISON WITH A THEOREM OF GoDEL'S
+
+Following 'Godel's argument, we can prove that9
+
+*The consistency of a theory cannot be proved by arguments formalizable in the theory,*
+
+*whenever the theory contains arithmetic.*
+
+The exact meaning of this proposition is easy to understand. For the details one
+
+8Bernays drew our attention to the fact that, if an arithmetic containing hypotheses A, B, and, as functions, those occurring in A(x) and B(x, y), as well as addition and multiplication, were proved consistent, it would follow that we could add the new hypotheses without contradiction, for any argument carried out with the new function *f(x)* could be carried out in the arithmetic
+
+just described.
+
+9See *Godel 1931.* To understand this proposition, one has to imagine that all signs occurring in metamathematics are represented by objects of the theory being considered, for example, by integers in arithmetic; the properties of these signs and the relations among them will then be represented by certain propositions of the theory; every argument in the theory in question carried out with these objects and these propositions will correspond to a metamathematical argument,
+
+can consult Godel's paper, where the theorem is proved for the system of Russell and
+
+Whitehead. Let us recall briefly the essence of his argument.
+
+We can intuitionistically number all the propositions containing just one real variable and all the proofs of the theory considered. Let *P(x,* y, z) be a proposition, intuitionistically defined, whose meaning is: proof number xis a proof of proposition number y for the value z of its variable. (In his paper Godel effectively constructs this function for the theory he considers.) Let us observe that the computation that we have to do in order to check whether *P(x, y,* z) is true or false for given *x, y,* and z-a computation that is intuitionistically carried out-can also be formally carried out in the theory; hence, if *P(x,* y, z) is true, it is provable in the theory. Let us assume that the theory is consistent. Then, if *f3* is the number of the proposition (x). ~ *P (x, y,* y), the proposition *P(x, {3,* {3) cannot be true, for it would mean that proof number *x* is a proof of (x). ~ *P(x, {3,* {3); hence ~ *P(x, {3,* {3) could be proved in the theory, and we would have a contradiction. Moreover, (x). ~ *P(x, {3,* {3) is not provable in the theory, for, if proof number y were a proof of it, P(y, *{3,* {3) would be true (by definition); hence, because of what we have said, it would be provable in theory, and we would again have a contradiction. If we formalize the foregoing considerations in the theory (and they are intuitionistic), we obtain the following result: *w* being the translation10 of the proposition "The theory is consistent", *w* - ~ *P(x, {3,* {3) is a true proposition of the theory (x being a variable). If *w* were provable in the theory so would be ~ *P(x, {3,* {3), hence also (x). ~ *P(x, {3,* {3), and we have just seen that this
+
+would make the theory inconsistent. Hence *w is unprovable.*
+
+Let us apply this method to the arithmetic that contains the hypotheses A, B, and C (leaving out the hypotheses D for the sake of simplicity). Our arguments, as well as those necessary to establish the fundamental theorem, are formalizable in this theory. But, if we want to carry out Godel's argument, we have to consider a definite theory. In Group C we merely have a description of the hypotheses that may be introduced. We must consider a definite group of schemata of hypotheses of type C, say, Group C'. We shall see that, if we wish to carry out Godel's argument, we must introduce other schemata for the definition of functions; it is therefore impossible to
+
+apply his considerations to our arithmetic.
+
+One could object that it is perhaps possible to describe at once all the schemata that are included in C for the construction of functions. This would mean that it is possible to describe outright all intuitionistic procedures for the construction of number-theoretic functions. But this is impossible. For, if this were the case, we could, by an intuitionistic procedure, number all the functions of just one variable, f1 (x), *f* 2 *(x), ... , fn(x), ...* ; then *fx(x)* + 1 would be an intuitionistically defined function that would not be among the functions previously listed, hence a contradiction. Let us apply this result to all functions definable by C' and those obtained by compounding these functions with one another and with x + I. The function *fx(x)* + 1 cannot be among these functions. But, to carry out Godel's argument, we have to number all objects occurring in proofs; we are thus led to construct the function of two variables *fy(x);* this justifies what we were saying above, namely, that it is impossible, in an arithmetic containing the hypotheses C', to formalize
+
+Let us make two more remarks.
+
+(a) Every intuitionistic argument can always be carried out with ordinary integers, because we can always replace the objects considered in the argument by ordinary integers, for example, if we number them. It seems to us almost certain that every intuitionistic argument can then be carried out in an arithmetic containing the hypotheses A, B, and C [only]. But the justification of this point (a *proof,* in the mathematical sense of the word, is obviously impossible, just as it is for any statement involving the totality of *all* intuitionistic arguments) would lead us to a detailed discussion, which we shall perhaps undertake some other time. It would show that
+
+the hypotheses of Group D follow from those that precede them.
+
+(b) It seems to us impossible, contrary to Godel's opinion, 11 that there could be intuitionistic arguments not formalizable in ordinary analysis. Thus we believe that the arithmetic containing the hypotheses **A, B,** C, and **D** is a part of ordinary analysis. It seems to us probable that the question stands as follows: it will never be possible to give an example of an intuitionistic argument not formalizable in ordinary analysis, and also it will always be impossible to prove that there exists no such argument; for we have shown that it is impossible to describe all intuitionistic procedures of reasoning (since it is impossible to describe all procedures for the construction of functions). *There might be some sort of logical postulate here.* It would
+
+follow that it is impossible to prove the consistency of ordinary analysis.
+
+It is not even impossible that every intuitionistic argument could be carried out in an arithmetic containing the hypotheses A and **B** and allowing in C only ordinary addition and multiplication. 12 If this were so, the consistency of ordinary arithmetic
+
+would already be unprovable.
+
+*References*
+
+Throughout this volume, an author's name followed by a year number, both in italics, denotes an entry in the present list of references. Thus *"Herbrand 1928"* denotes the first publication listed under Herbrand in this list. v\'hen the context leaves no doubt as to the author, the year number alone is used. For papers that originally were addresses or lectures, the year indicated is that in which they were delivered; for communications to learned societies, it is that in which they were made; for other papers, it is that of the complete volume of the periodical in which they appear (there are a few exceptions, with irregular publications-any compiler of a bibliography knows that no rule is without exception). For one author, additional titles in the same year are distinguished by *a, b,* and so on; an attempt has been made to follow the actual chronological order. A star in front of an entry indicates that the publication is included in the present volume. When a book had several editions or when a paper was subsequently reprinted, the fact is
+
+indicated only when this indication is considered a real service to the reader.
+
+Aanderaa, Stal
+
+See Dreben, Burton, and Stal Aanderaa; also Dreben, Burton, Peter Andrews, and Stal
+
+Aanderaa. Ackermann, Wilhelm
+
+*1924* Begriindung des "tertium non datur" mittels der Hilbertschen Theorie der
+
+Widerspruchsfreiheit, *Mathematische Annalen 93,* 1-36.
+
+*1928* \*Zurn Hilbertschen Aufbau der reellen Zahlen, *ibid. 99,* 118-133 (493-507 of the
+
+*1928a 1940 1954*
+
+present volume).
+
+Ober die Erfiillbarkeit gewisser Zahlausdriicke, *ibid. 100,* 638-649. Zur Widerspruchsfreiheit der Zahlentheorie, *ibid. 117,* 162-194.
+
+*Solvable cases of the decision problem* (North-Holland, Amsterdam); 2nd printing
+
+1962.
+
+See Hilbert, David, and Wilhelm Ackermann.
+
+Addison, John West
+
+*1958* Separation principles in the hierarchies of classical and effective descriptive set
+
+theory, *Fundamenta mathematicae 46,* 123-135.
+
+--- Leon Henkin, and Alfred Tarski
+
+*1963* (eds.) *The theory of models, Proceedings of the 1963 International Symposium at*
+
+*Berkeley* (North-Holland, 1965).
+
+Aleksandrov, Pavel Sergeievich (IlaBeJI Cepreeaw1 AJie1,can).l;poa)
+
+*1916* Sur la puissance des ensembles mesurables B, *Oomptes rendus hebdomadaires des*
+
+*seances de l'Academie des sciences* (Paris) *162,* 323-325.
+
+Andrews, Peter
+
+See Dreben, Burton, Peter Andrews, and Stal Aanderaa.
+
+Artin, Emil, and Otto Schreier
+
+Baire, Rene
+
+See Borel, Emile, *1905a.* Bar-Hillel, Yehoshua
+
+See Fraenkel, Abraham A., and Yehoshua Bar-Hillel.
+
+Bauer-Mengelberg, Stefan
+
+*1965* Review of *Godel 1962, The journal of symbolic logic 30,* 359-362.
+
+*1966* Review of Elliott Mendelson's translation of *Godel 1931* in *Davis 1965, ibid. 31,*
+
+486-489.
+
+Behmann, Heinrich
+
+*1922* Beitrage zur Algebra der Logik, insbesondere zum Entscheidungsproblem,
+
+*Mathematische Annalen 86,* 163-229.
+
+Belinfante, Maurits Joost
+
+*1929* Uber einen Grenzwertsatz aus der Theorie der unendlichen Folgen, *Mathe-*
+
+*matische Annalen 101,* 312-315.
+
+*1929a* Zur intuitionistischen Theorie der unendlichen Reihen, *Sitzu11gsberichte der*
+
+*Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,* 639-660.
+
+*1930* Uber eine besondere Klasse von non-oszillierenden Reihen, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Proceedings of the section of sciences 33,*
+
+1170-1179.
+
+*1930a* Absolute Konvergenz in der intuitionistischen Mathematik, *ibid.,* 1180-
+
+1184.
+
+*1931* Die Hardy-Littlewoodsche Umkehrung des Abelschen Stetigkeitssatzes in der
+
+intuitionistischen Mathematik, *ibid. 34,* 401-412.
+
+*1931a* Uber die Elemente der Funktionentheorie und die Picardschen Satze in der
+
+intuitionistischen Mathematik, *ibid.,* 1395-1397.
+
+*1932* Uber den intuitionistischen Beweis der Picardschen Siitze, *Verhandlungen des Internationalen Mathematiker-Kongresses Zurich 1932* (Orell Fiissli, Zurich and
+
+Leipzig), vol. 2, 345-346.
+
+*1939* Das Riemannsche Umordnungsprinzip in der intuitionistischen Theorie der
+
+unendlichen Reihen, *Compositio mathematica 6,* 118-123.
+
+*1939a* Der Levysche Umordnungssatz und seine intuitionistische -Obertragung, *ibid.,*
+
+124-135.
+
+*1941* Elemente der intuitionistischen Funktionentheorie, *N ederlan1906*Reponse a la note 2549, *L'intermediaire des mathematiciens 13,* **18.**
+
+Brouwer, Luitzen Egbertus Jan
+
+*1907 Over de grondslagen der wiskunde* (Maas and van Suchtelen, Amsterdam and
+
+*1908*
+
+*1912*
+
+*1912a*
+
+*1914 1917*
+
+*1918*
+
+*1919*
+
+*1919a 1919b*
+
+*1920*
+
+Leipzig; Noordhoff, Groningen).
+
+De onbetrouwbaarheid der logische principes, *Tijdschrift voor wijsbegeerte 2,*
+
+152-158; reprinted in *Brouwer 1919a,* 5-12.
+
+*Intuitionisme en formalisme* (Noordhoff, Groningen); reprinted in *Brouwer*
+
+*1919a,* 5-29.
+
+Intuitionism and formalism, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 20*
+
+(1913), 81-96; reprinted in *Benacerraf and Putnam 1964,* 66-77.
+
+Review of *Schoenflies 1913, Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker- Vereini-*
+
+*gung 23,* 2nd section, 78-83.
+
+Addenda en corrigenda over de grondslagen der wiskunde, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Verslagen van de gewone vergaderingen der wis- en natuurkundige afdeeling 25,* 1418-1423; reprinted in *Nieuw archief*
+
+*voor wiskunde,* 2nd series, *12* (1918), 439-445.
+
+Begriindung der Mengenlehre unabhangig vom logischen Satz vom ausgeschlossenen Dritten. Erster Teil: Allgemeine Mengenlehre, *Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam,* 1st section, *12,* no. 5;
+
+errata on last page of *Brouwer 1919.*
+
+Begriindung der Mengenlehre unabhangig vom logischen Satz vom ausgeschlossenen Dritten. Zweiter Tei!: Theorie der Punktmengen, *ibid.,* no. 7.
+
+*Wiskunde, waarheid, werkelijkheid* (Noordhoff, Groningen).
+
+Intuitionistische Mengenlehre, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker-Vereinigung 28,* 1st section, 203-208; reprinted in *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Proceedings of the section of sciences 23* (1922),
+
+949-954.
+
+Besitzt jede reelle Zahl eine Dezimalbruchentwickelung?, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Verslag van de gewone vergaderingen der wis- en natuurkundige afdeeling 29* (1921), 803-812; also *Proceedings of the section of sciences 23* (1922), 955-964; reprinted in *Mathematische Annalen* 83 (1921),
+
+Begri.indung der Funktionenlehre unabhangig vom logischen Satz vom ausgeschlossenen Dritten. Erster Tei!: Stetigkeit, Messbarkeit, Derivierbarkeit, *Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam,* 1st
+
+Brouwer, Luitzen Egbertus *Jan-contd.*
+
+*1923a* Over de rol van het principium tertii exclusi in de wiskunde, in het bijzonder
+
+in de functietheorie, *Wis- en natuurkundig tijdschrift 2,* **1-7.**
+
+*1923b* \*Ober die Bedeutung des Satzes vom ausgeschlossenen Dritten in der Mathematik, insbesondere in der Funktionentheorie, *Journal fur die reine und ange-*
+
+*wandte JJ;Jathematik 154,* 1-7 (334-341 of the present volume).
+
+*1923c* Die Rolle des Satzes vom ausgeschlossenen Dritten in der Mathematik, *Jahres-*
+
+*bericht der Deutschen Mathematiker- Vereinigung 33* (1925), 2nd section, 67-68
+
+(abstract of *Brouwer 1923b).*
+
+*1923d* Intuitionistische Zerlegung mathematischer Grundbegriffe, *ibid.,* 1st section,
+
+251-256.
+
+*1924*
+
+*1924a*
+
+*1924b*
+
+*1924c*
+
+*1925*
+
+*1925a*
+
+*1926 1926a*
+
+*1926b*
+
+*1927*
+
+*1927a*
+
+*1927b*
+
+*1928 1928a 1942*
+
+*1947*
+
+Bewijs, dat iedere volle functie gelijkmatig continu is, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Verslag van de gewone vergaderingen der wis-*
+
+*en natuurkundige afdeeling 33,* **189-193.**
+
+Beweis, dass jede volle Funktion gleichmassig stetig ist, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Proceedings of the section of sciences 27,* 189-193. 0pmerkingen aangaande het bewijs der gelijkmatige continuiteit van volle functies, *Koninlijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Verslag van de*
+
+*gewone vergaderingen der wis- en natuurkundige afdeeling 33,* 646-648.
+
+Bemerkungen zum Beweise der gleichmassigen Stetigkeit voller Funktionen, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Proceedings of the*
+
+*section of sciences 27,* 644-646.
+
+Zur Begriindung der intuitionistischen Mathematik I, *Mathematische Annalen*
+
+*93,* 244-257; Berichtigung, *ibid. 95,* 4 72.
+
+Zur Begriindung der intuitionistischen Mathematik II, *ibid. 95,* 453-472;
+
+Berichtigung, *ibid. 96,* 488.
+
+Zur Begriindung der intuitionistischen Mathematik III, *ibid. 96,* 451-488. De intuitionistische vorm van het theorema van Heine-Borel, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Verslag van de gewone vergaderingen*
+
+*der afdeeling natuurkunde 35,* 677-678.
+
+Die intuitionistische Form des Heine-Borelschen Theorems, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Proceedings of the section of sciences 29,*
+
+866-867.
+
+\*Ober Definitionsbereiche von Funktionen, *Mathematische Annalen 97,* 60-75
+
+(446-463 of the present volume).
+
+\*Intuitionistische Betrachtungen iiber den Formalismus, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Proceedings of the section of sciences 31* (1928), 37 4-379 ( 490-492 of the present volume); also, with slight variations, *Sitzungsberichte der Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Physikalisch-mathe-*
+
+*matische Klasse* (1928), 48-52.
+
+Intuitionistische Betrachtungen iiber den Formalismus, *Koninklijke Akademie van wetenschappen te Amsterdam, Verslag van de gewone vergaderingen der*
+
+*afdeeling natuurkunde 36,* 1189 (abstract of *Brouwer 1927a).*
+
+Mathematik, Wissenschaft und Sprache, *Monatshefte fur Mathematik und*
+
+*Physik 36* (1929), 153-164.
+
+*Die Struktur des Kontinuums* (Gistel, Vienna).
+
+Zurn freien Werden von Mengen und Funktionen, *Nederlandsche Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 4,5,* 322-323; also *Indaga-*
+
+*tiones mathematicae 4,* 107-108.
+
+Richtlijnen der intuitionistische wiskunde, *Koninklijke N ederlandsche Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 50,* 339; also *Indaga-*
+
+Brouwer, Luitzen Egbertus *Jan-contd.*
+
+*1948a* Essentieel-negatieve eigenschappen, *Koninklijke Nederlandsche Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 51,* 963-964; also *Indaga-*
+
+*tiones mathematicae 10,* 322-323.
+
+*1948b* Opmerkingen over het beginsel van het uitgesloten derde en over negatieve asserties, *Koninklijke Nederlandsche Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 51,* 1239-1243; also *Indagationes mathematicae 10,* 383-
+
+**387.**
+
+*1949*
+
+*1949a*
+
+*1950 1950a 1951*
+
+*1952*
+
+*1952a*
+
+*1953 1954*
+
+*1954a*
+
+*1954b*
+
+*1954c*
+
+De non-aequivalentie van de constructieve en de negatieve orderelatie in het continuum, *Koninklijke Nederlandsche Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 52,* 122-124; also *Indagationes mathematicae 11,*
+
+**37-39.**
+
+Contradictoriteit der elementaire meetkunde, *Koninklijke Nederlandsche Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 52,* 315-316; also
+
+*Indagationes mathematicae 11,* 89-90.
+
+Remarques sur la notion d'ordre, *Comptes rendus hebdomadaires des seances de*
+
+*l'Academie des sciences* (Paris) *230,* 263-265.
+
+Sur la possibilite d'ordonner le continu, *ibid.,* 349-350.
+
+On order in the continuum, and the relation of truth to non-contradictority, *Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 54,* series A, Mathematical sciences, 357-358; also *Indagationes*
+
+*mathematicae 13,* 357-358.
+
+Historical background, principles and methods of intuitionism, *South African*
+
+*Journal of science 49,* **139-146.**
+
+Over accumulatiekernen van oneindige kernsoorten, *Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 55,* series **A,** Mathematical sciences, 439-441; also *Indagationes mathematicae 14,* 439-441.
+
+Points and spaces, *Canadian Journal of rnathematics 6* (1954), 1-17.
+
+\* Addenda en corrigenda over de rol van het principium tertii exclusi in de wiskunde, *KoninkliJke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 57,* series A, Mathematical sciences, 104-105 (341-342 of the
+
+present volume); also *Indagationes mathematicae 16,* 104-105.
+
+\*Nadere addenda en corrigenda over de rol van het principium tertii exclusi in de wiskunde, *KoninkliJke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences,* series A, Mathematical sciences, 109-111 (342-345 of
+
+the present volume); also *Indagationes mathernaticae 16,* 109-111.
+
+Intuitionistische differentieerbaarheid, *Koninklijke N ederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences,* series A, Mathematical
+
+sciences, 201-204; also *Indagationes mathematicae 16,* 201-204.
+
+An example of contradictority in classical theory of functions, *Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences,* series A, Mathematical sciences, 204-206; also *Indagationes mathematicae 16,*
+
+204-206.
+
+Burali-Forti, Cesare
+
+*1894* Sulle classi ordinate e i numeri transfiniti, *Rendiconti del Circolo matematico di*
+
+*Palermo 8,* 169-179. *1894a Logica matematica* (Milan).
+
+*1896* Le classi finite, *Atti dell'Accademia di Torino 32,* 34-52. *1896a* Sopra un teorema del sig. G. Cantor, *ibid.,* 229-237.
+
+*1897* \*Una questione sui numeri transfiniti, *Rendiconti del Circolo matematico di*
+
+Cantor, *Georg-contd.*
+
+*1883* Ueber unendliche, lineare Punktmannichfaltigkeiten, *Mathematische Annalen 21,* 545-591; also printed as *Grundlagen einer allgemeinen Mannichfaltigkeitslehre, ein mathematisch-philosophischer Ver such in der Lehre des U nendlichen*
+
+(Leipzig); reprinted in *Cantor 1932,* 165-209.
+
+*1887* Mitteilungen zur Lehre vom Transfiniten, *Zeitschriftfur Philosophie und philosophische Kritik,* new series, *91,* 81-125, 252-270; *92* (1888), 240-265; reprinted
+
+in *Cantor 1932,* 378-439.
+
+*1895* Beitriige zur Begri.indung der transfiniten Mengenlehre (Erster Artikel), *Mathematische Annalen 46,* 481-512; reprinted in *Cantor 1932,* 282-311. *1895a* Contribuzione al fondamento della teoria degli insiemi transfiniti, *Rivista di*
+
+*matematica 5,* 129-162.
+
+*1897* Beitriige zur Begri.indung der transfiniten Mengenlehre (Zweiter Artikel), *Mathematische Annalen 49,* 207-246; reprinted in *Cantor 1932,* 312-356. *1899* \*Cantor an Dedekind, in *Cantor 1932,* 443-447, 451 (113-117 of the present
+
+volume).
+
+*1932 Gesammelte Abhandlungen mathematischen und philosophischen lnhalts,* edited by Ernst Zermelo (Springer, Berlin); reprinted 1962 (Olms, Hildesheim).
+
+See Noether, Emmy, and Jean Cavailles.
+
+Cavailles, Jean
+
+See Noether, Emmy, and Jean Cavailles.
+
+Chang, Chen Chung
+
+*1964* Some new results in definability, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society*
+
+*70,* 808-813.
+
+Church, Alonzo
+
+*1936* A note on the Entscheidungsproblem, *The journal of symbolic logic 1,* 40-41;
+
+*1956*
+
+*1955 1957* correction, *ibid.,* 101-102; reprinted in *Davis 1965,* 110-115.
+
+*Introduction to mathematical logic* (Princeton University Press, Princeton, New
+
+Jersey), vol. 1.
+
+Review of *Berkeley 1954, The journal of symbolic logic 20,* 286-287.
+
+Binary recursive arithmetic, *Journal de mathematiques pures et appliquees,*
+
+series 9, *36,* 39-55.
+
+*1957a* Application of recursive arithmetic to the problem of circuit synthesis, *Sum-*
+
+*maries of talks presented at the Summer Institute for symbolic logic, Cornell University 1957,* 2nd ed. (Institute for Defense Analyses, Princeton, New
+
+Jersey, 1960), 3-50.
+
+Cohen, Paul
+
+*1963 The independence of the axiom of choice* (mimeographed, Stanford University). *1963a* The independence of the continuum hypothesis, *Proceedings of the National*
+
+*Academy of Sciences of the U.S. A. 50,* 1143-1148.
+
+*1964* The independence of the continuum hypothesis, II, *ibid. 51,* 105-110.
+
+Couturat, Louis
+
+*1899* La logique mathematique de M. Peano, *Revue de metaphysique et de morale 7,*
+
+616-646.
+
+*1905 L'algebre de la logique* (Gauthier-Villars, Paris).
+
+*1906*Pour la logistique (Reponse a M. Poincare), *Revue de metaphysique et de morale*
+
+14, 208-250.
+
+Craig, William
+
+*1956* Review of *Beth 1953, The journal of symbolic logic 21,* 194-195.
+
+*1957* Linear reasoning. A new form of the Herbrand-Gentzen theorem, *ibid. 22,*
+
+Craig, *William-contd.*
+
+*1963* An implicit definition of satisfaction inn-th order theory, *ibid. 28,* 301; abstract of a paper presented at the 28 December 1963 session of a meeting of the Associa-
+
+tion for Symbolic Logic.
+
+Curry, Haskell Brooks
+
+*1929* An analysis of logical substitution, *American journal of mathematics 51,* 363-
+
+384.
+
+*1930 1941*
+
+Grundlagen der kombinatorischen Logik, *ibid. 52,* 509-536, 789-834.
+
+A formalization of recursive arithmetic, *American journal of mathematics 63,*
+
+263-282. --- and Robert Feys
+
+*1958 Combinatory logic* (North-Holland, Amsterdam), vol. 1.
+
+Davis, Martin (ed.)
+
+*1965 The undecidable. Basic papers on undecidable propositions, unsolvable problems,*
+
+*and computable functions* (Raven Press, Hewlett, New York).
+
+de Bouvere, Karel Louis
+
+*1959 A method in proofs of undefinability* (North-Holland, Amsterdam).
+
+Dedekind, Richard
+
+*1888 Was sind und was sollen die Zahlen?* (Brunswick).
+
+*1890* lJber den Begriff des Unendlichen, unpublished manuscript in the Niedersach-
+
+sische Staats- und Universitatsbibliothek, Gottingen (Cod. Ms. Dedekind 3,
+
+folder 1), dated 8 February 1890.
+
+*1890a* \*Letters to Keferstein, 9 February, 27 February (the latter in the present volume, 98-103), 1 April, 23 December 1890, copies in Dedekind's hand in the Niedersachsische Staats- und Universitatsbibliothek, Gottingen (Cod. Ms.
+
+*1893 1911 1932* Dedekind 13).
+
+2nd ed. of *Dedekind 1888,* unchanged but for an additional preface. 3rd ed. of *Dedekind 1888,* unchanged but for a third preface.
+
+*Gesammelte mathematische Werke,* edited by Robert Fricke, Emmy Noether,
+
+Oystein Ore (Vieweg, Brunswick), vol. 3.
+
+See Noether, Emmy, and Jean Cavailles.
+
+Denton, John
+
+*1963* Applications of the Herbrand theorem (thesis, Harvard University).
+
+See Dreben, Burton, and John Denton.
+
+Dijkman, Jacobus Gerhardus
+
+*1948* Recherche de la convergence negative dans !es mathematiques intuitionnistes, *Koninklijke N ederlandsche Akademie van W etenschappen, Proceedings of the section of sciences 51,* 681-692; also *Indagationes mathematicae 10,* 232-243.
+
+Dixon, Alfred Cardew
+
+*1906* On "well-ordered" aggregates, *Proceedings of the London Mathematical Society,*
+
+2nd series, 4, 18-20.
+
+Dreben, Burton
+
+*1952* On the completeness of quantification theory, *Proceedings of the National*
+
+*Academy of Sciences of the U.S. A. 38,* 1047-1052.
+
+*1961* Solvable Suranyi subclasses: An introduction to the Herbrand theory, *Pro-*
+
+*ceedings of a Harvard symposium on digital computers and their applications, 3-6 April 1961* (The annals of the Computation Laboratory of Harvard University *31;* Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts), 32-47 (1962). *1963* Corrections to Herbrand, *American Mathematical Society, Notices 10,* 285; abstract presented by title at the 29 April-3 May 1963 meeting of the American
+
+Dreben, *Burton-contd.*
+
+--- Peter Andrews, and Stal Aanderaa
+
+*1963* Errors in Herbrand, *American Mathematical Society, Notices 10,* 285; abstract presented by title at the 29 April-3 May 1963 meeting of the American Mathe-
+
+matical Society.
+
+*1963a* False lemmas in Herbrand, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 69,*
+
+699-706. --- and John Denton
+
+*1966* A supplement to Herbrand, *The journal of symbolic logic 31,* 393-398. *1967 The Herbrand theorem and the consistency of number theory,* forthcoming.
+
+Feys, Robert
+
+See Curry, Haskell Brooks, and Robert Feys.
+
+Finsler, Paul
+
+*1923* Gibt es Widerspri.iche in der Mathematik?, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathe-*
+
+*matiker- Vereinigung 34* (1925), 1st section, 143-155.
+
+*1926* \*Formale Beweise und die Entscheidbarkeit, *Mathematische Zeitschrift 25,* 676-
+
+682 (438-445 of the present volume).
+
+*1927* -Ober die Losung von Paradoxien, *Philosophischer Anzeiger 2,* 183-192. *1944* Gibt es unentscheidbare Satze ?, *Oommentarii mathematici helvetici 16,* 310-320.
+
+Fraenkel, Abraham A.
+
+*1921* -Ober die Zermelosche Begri.indung der Mengenlehre, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen*
+
+*Mathematiker- Vereinigung 30,* 2nd section, 97-98.
+
+*1922* Axiomatische Begri.indung der transfiniten Kardinalzahlen I, *Mathematische*
+
+*Zeitschrift 13,* 153-188.
+
+*1922a* Zu den Grundlagen der Cantor-Zermeloschen Mengenlehre, *Mathematische*
+
+*Annalen 86,* 230-237.
+
+*1922b* \*Der Begriff "definit" und die Unabhangigkeit des Auswahlsaxioms, *Sitzungsberichte der Preussischen Akademie der W issenschaften, Physikalisch-mathema-*
+
+*tische Klasse,* 253-257 (284-289 of the present volume).
+
+*1922c* Zu den Grundlagen der Mengenlehre, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker-*
+
+*Vereinigung 31,* 2nd section, 101-102.
+
+*1923 Einleitung in die Mengenlehre,* 2nd ed. (Springer, Berlin).
+
+*1923a* Die Axiome der Mengenlehre, *Scripta Universitatis atque Bibliothecae Hierosoly-*
+
+*mitanarum, Mathematica et physica 1,* VI.
+
+*1923b* Die neueren Ideen zur Grundlegung der Analysis und Mengenlehre, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker-Vereinigung 33* (1924), 1st section, 97-103. *1925* Untersuchungen i.iber die Grundlagen der Mengenlehre, *Mathematische Zeit-*
+
+*schrift 22,* 250-273.
+
+*1927 Zehn Vorlesungen iiber die Grundlegung der Mengenlehre* (Teubner, Leipzig and
+
+Berlin).
+
+*1935* Sur la notion d'existence dans !es mathematiques, *L'enseignement mathematique*
+
+*34,* 18-32.
+
+*1937* Ueber eine abgeschwaechte Fassung des Auswahlsaxioms, *The journal of sym-*
+
+*bolic logic 2,* 1--25.
+
+See Bernays, Paul, *1958.* --- and Y ehoshua Bar-Hillel
+
+*1958 Foundations of set theory* (North-Holland, Amsterdam).
+
+Frege, Gottlob
+
+*1873 Ueber eine geometrische Darstellung der imaginaren Gebilde in der Ebene,* Inau-
+
+*1874 Rechnungsmethoden, die sich auf eine Erweiterung des Grossenbegriffes griinden,* Dissertation zur Erlangung der venia docendi bei der philosophischen Fakultat
+
+Frege, *Gottlob-contd.*
+
+*1878* Ueber eine Weise, die Gestalt eines Dreiecks als complexe Grosse aufzufassen, *Sitzungsberichte der Jenaischen Gesellschaft fur Medicin und Naturwissenschaft*
+
+*fur das Jahr 1878* (1879), 18.
+
+*1879* \* *Begriffsschr~ft, eine der arithmetischen nachgebildete Formelsprache des reinen Denkens* (Halle) (1-82 of the present volume); reprinted in *Frege 1964. 1879a* Anwendungen der Begriffsschrift, *Sitzungsberichte der J enaischen Gesellschaft fur Medicin und Naturwissenschaft fur das Jahr 1879,* 29-33; reprinted in *Frege*
+
+*1964,* 89-93.
+
+*1881* Ueber den Briefwechsel Leibnizens und Huygens mit Papin, *Sitzungsberichte der Jenaischen Gesellschaft fur Medicin und Naturwissenschaft fur das Jahr 1881,*
+
+29-32; reprinted in *Frege 1964,* 93-96.
+
+*1882* Ueber den Zweck der Begriffsschrift, *Sitzungsberichte der Jenaischen Gesell-*
+
+*schaft fur Medicin und Naturwissenschaft fur das Jahr 1882* (1883), 1-10;
+
+reprinted in *Frege 1964,* 97-106.
+
+*1882a* Ueber die wissenschaftliche Berechtigung einer Begriffschrift, *Zeitschrift fur Philosophie und philosophische Kritik,* new series, *81,* 48-56; reprinted in *Frege*
+
+*1962,* 89-95, and in *Frege 1964,* 106-114.
+
+*1883* Geometrie der Punktpaare in der Ebene, *Sitzungsberichte der Jenaischen Gesellschaft fur Medidn und Naturwissenschaft fur das Jahr 1883* (1884), 98-
+
+102.
+
+*1884*
+
+*1885*
+
+*1891*
+
+*1892*
+
+*1892a*
+
+*1893*
+
+*1895*
+
+*1896*
+
+*1896a*
+
+*1902 1903 1950*
+
+*Die Grundlagen der Arithmetik, eine logisch-mathematische Untersuchung uber den Begriff der Zahl* (Breslau); reprinted 1934 (Marcus, Breslau) and in *Frege*
+
+*1950.*
+
+Ueber formale Theorien der Arithmetik, *Sitzungsberichte der Jenaischen Gesellschaft fur Medicin und Naturwissenschaft fur das Jahr 1885,* 94-104.
+
+*Function und Begriff. Vortrag gehalten in der Sitzung vom 9. Januar 1891 der Jenaischen Gesellschaft fur Medicin und Naturwissenschaft* (Jena); reprinted in
+
+*Frege 1962,* 16-37; English translation in *Frege 1952,* 21-41.
+
+Ueber Begriff und Gegenstand, *Vierteljahrschrift fur wissenschaftliche Philosophie 16,* 192-205; reprinted in *Frege 1962,* 64-78; English translation in
+
+*Frege 1952,* 42-55.
+
+-0-ber Sinn und Bedeutung, *Zeitschrift fur Philosophie und philosophische Kritik,* new series, *100,* 25-50; reprinted in *Frege 1962,* 38-63; English transla-
+
+tion in *Frege 1952,* 56-78.
+
+*Grundgesetze der Arithmetik, begriffsschriftlich abgeleitet* \_(Jena), vol. 1; reprinted
+
+1962 (Olms, Hildesheim); partial translation in *Frege 1964a.*
+
+Kritische Beleuchtung einiger Punkte in E. Schroder's Vorlesungen iiber die Algebra der Logik, *Archiv fur systematische Philosophie 1,* 433-456; reprinted
+
+in *Frege 1966,* 92-112.
+
+Ueber die Begriffsschrift des Herrn Peano und meine eigene, *Berichte uber die Verhandlungen der Koniglich Sachsischen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu*
+
+*Leipzig, Mathematisch-physikalische Klasse 48,* 361-378.
+
+Lettera del sig. G. Frege all'editore, *Revue de mathematiques 6* (1898), 53-59;
+
+reprinted in *Peano 1958,* 288-294.
+
+\*Letter to Russell (first published in the present volume, 126-128).
+
+*Grundgesetze der Arithmetik, begriffsschr~ftlich abgeleitet* (Pohle, Jena), vol. 2;
+
+reprinted 1962 (Olms, Hildesheim); partial translation in *Frege 1964a.*
+
+*The foundations of arithmetic, A logico-mathematical enquiry into the concept of number,* English translation of *Frege 1884,* with the German text, by John Langshaw Austin (Blackwell, Oxford; Philosophical Library, New York); 2nd revised ed., 1953; reprinted, but without the German text, 1960 (Harper, New
+
+Frege, *Gottlob-contd.*
+
+*1962 Funktion, Begriff, Bedeutung. Funf logische Studien,* edited by Gunther Patzig (Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, Gottingen); 2nd ed., revised, 1965. *1964 Begriffsschrift und andere Aufsatze,* edited by Ignacio Angelelli (Olms, Hildesheim); contains reprints of *Frege 1879, 1879a, 1881, 1882,* and *1882a. 1964a The basic laws of arithmetic. Exposition of the system,* translated and edited, with an introduction, by Montgomery Furth (University of California Press, Berkeley
+
+and Los Angeles, California).
+
+*1966 Logische Untersuchungen,* edited, with an introduction, by Gunther Patzig
+
+(Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, Gottingen).
+
+Gentzen, Gerhard
+
+*1934* Untersuchungen uber das logische Schliessen, *Mathematische Zeitschrift 39,*
+
+176-210, 405-431.
+
+*1936* Die Widerspruchsfreiheit der reinen Zahlentheorie, *Mathematische Annalen 112,*
+
+493-565.
+
+*1938*
+
+*1943*
+
+Neue Fassung des Widerspruchsfreiheitsbeweises fiir die *Forschungen zur Logik und zur Grundlegung der exakten*
+
+series, no. 4, 19-44.
+
+reine Zahlentheorie, *W issenschaften,* new
+
+Beweisbarkeit und Unbeweisbarkeit von Anfangsfallen der transfiniten Induktion in der reinen Zahlentheorie, *Mathematische Annalen 119,* 140-161.
+
+Gergonne, Joseph Diez
+
+*1817* Essai de dialectique rationnelle, *Annales de mathematiques pures et appliquees 7*
+
+(1816-1817), 189-228.
+
+Godel, Kurt
+
+*1930* -0-ber die Vollstiindigkeit des Logikkalkuls (thesis, University of Vienna). *1930a* \*Die Vollstiindigkeit der Axiome des logischen Funktionenkalkuls, *Monatshefte fur Mathematik und Physik 37,* 349-360 (582-591 of the present volume). *1930b* \*Einige metamathematische Resultate uber Entscheidungsdefinitheit und Widerspruchsfreiheit, *Anzeiger der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien, Mathematisch-naturwissenschaftliche Klasse 67,* 214-215 (communicated on 23
+
+October 1930 by Hans Hahn; 595-596 of the present volume).
+
+*1931* \*-0-ber formal unentscheidbare Siitze der Principia mathematica und verwandter Systeme I, *Monatshefte fur Mathematik und Physik 38,* 173-198 (596-616 of the present volume); English translations in *Godel 1962,* 35-72,. and in *Davis*
+
+*1965,* 5-38 (but see *Bauer-Mengelberg 1965* and *1966).*
+
+*1931a* \*-0-ber Vollstiindigkeit und Widerspruchsfreiheit, *Ergebnisse eines mathematischen*
+
+*1934*
+
+*Kolloquiums 3* (1932), **12-13** (616-617 of the present volume).
+
+*On undecidable propositions of formal mathematical systems,* lecture notes by Stephen Cole Kleene and John Barkley Rosser (The Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, New Jersey); reprinted with corrections, emendations, and a
+
+postscript in *Davis 1965.*
+
+*1934a* -0-ber die Liinge von Beweisen, *Ergebnisse eines mathematischen Kolloquiums 7*
+
+*1938*
+
+*1939 1940*
+
+*1947*
+
+(1936), 23-24; English translation in *Davis 1965,* 82-83.
+
+The consistency of the axiom of choice and of the generalized continuumhypothesis, *Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 24,* 556-557. Consistency-proof for the generalized continuum-hypothesis, *ibid. 25,* 220-224. *The consistency of the continuum hypothesis* (Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey); 2nd printing 1951; 3rd printing 1953. ("In the second and third printings several misprints and slight errors **in** the first printing have been corrected and some new Notes have been added at the end of the book.") What is Cantor's continuum problem?, *The American mathematical monthly, 54,* 515-525; revised and expanded version **in** *Benacerraf and Putnam 1964,* 258-
+
+Godel, *Kurt-contd.*
+
+*1962 On formally undecidable propositions of Principia mathematica and related systems;* English translation of *Godel 1931* by **B.** Meltzer, with an introduction
+
+by **R. B.** Braithwaite (Oliver and Boyd, Edinburgh and London).
+
+Gonseth, Ferdinand (ed.)
+
+*1938 Les entretiens de Zurich sur les fondements et la methode des sciences mathe-*
+
+*matiques, 6-9 decembre 1938* (Leemann, Zurich, 1941).
+
+Goodman, Nelson
+
+*1942* Sequences, *The journal of symbolic logic 6,* 150-153.
+
+Goodstein, Reuben Louis
+
+*1941* Function theory in an axiom-free equation calculus, *Proceedings of the London*
+
+*Mathematical Society,* 2nd series, *48* (1945), 401-434.
+
+*1957 Recursive number theory. A development of recursive arithmetic in a logic-free*
+
+*equation calculus* (North-Holland, Amsterdam).
+
+Grassmann, Hermann
+
+*1861 Lehrbuch der Arithmetik fur hohere Lehranstalten* (Berlin).
+
+Hadamard, Jacques
+
+*1897* Sur certaines applications possibles de la theorie des ensembles, *Verhandlungen des ersten Internationalen Mathematiker-Kongresses in Zurich vom 9. bis 11.*
+
+*August 1897* (Leipzig, 1898), 201-202.
+
+See Borel, Emile, *1905a.*
+
+Hamel, Georg
+
+*1905* Eine Basis aller Zahlen und die unstetigen Losungen der Funktionalgleichung:
+
+*f (x* + y) = *f* (x) + *f* (y), *Mathematische Annalen 60,* 459-462.
+
+Hardy, Godfrey Harold
+
+*1904* A theorem concerning the infinite cardinal numbers, *The quarterly journal of*
+
+*pure and applied mathematics 35,* 87-94.
+
+Hausdorff, Felix
+
+*1908* Grundziige einer Theorie der geordneten Mengen, *Mathematische Annalen 65,*
+
+435-505.
+
+*1914 Grundzuge der Mengenlehre* (Veit, Leipzig); reprinted 1949 (Chelsea, New York).
+
+Henkin, Leon
+
+*1949* The completeness of the first-order functional calculus, *The journal of symbolic*
+
+*logic 14,* 159-166.
+
+See Addison, John West, Leon Henkin, and Alfred Tarski.
+
+Herbrand, Jacques
+
+*1928* Sur la theorie de la demonstration, *Oomptes rendus hebdomadaires des seances de*
+
+*l'Academie des sciences* (Paris) *186,* 1274-1276.
+
+*1929* Non-contradiction des axiomes arithmetiques, *ibid. 188,* 303-304.
+
+*1929a* Sur quelques proprietes des propositions vraies et leurs applications, *ibid.,*
+
+1076-1078.
+
+*1929b 1930*
+
+*1930a*
+
+Sur le probleme fondamental des mathematiques, *ibid. 189,* 554-556, 720. \* *Recherches sur la theorie de la demonstration,* Thesis at the University of Paris; also Prace Towarzystwa Naukowego v,,arszawskiego, Wydzial III, no. 33 (chap.
+
+5, 525-581 of the present volume).
+
+Les bases de la logique hilbertienne, *Revue de metaphysique et de morale 37,*
+
+243-255.
+
+*1931* Sur le probleme fondamental de la logique mathematique, *Sprawozdania z posiedzen Towarzystwa Naukowego Warszawskiego, Wydzial III, 24,* 12-56. *1931a* Unsigned note on *Herbrand 1930, Annales de l'Universite de Paris 6,* 186-189. *1931b* \*Sur la non-contradiction de l'arithmetique, *Journal fur die reine angewandte*
+
+*1906* Grundbegriffe der Mengenlehre, *Abhandlungen der Fries'schen Schule,* new series, 1, 479-706; separate reprint 1906 (Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, Gottingen).
+
+Hessenberg, Gerhard-contd.
+
+*1910* Kettentheorie und Wohlordnung, *Journal fur Mathematik 135,* 81-133.
+
+Heyting, Arend
+
+*1929* De telbaarheidspraedicaten van Prof. Brouwer, *Nieuw archief voor wiskunde,*
+
+2nd series, *16,* 47-58.
+
+*1934 Mathematische Grundlagenforschung. Intuitionismus. Beweistheorie* (Springer,
+
+Berlin).
+
+*1955 Les fondements des mathematiques. Intuitionnisme. Theorie de la demonstration* (Gauthier-Villars, Paris; Nauwelaerts, Louvain); French translation, with
+
+additions, of *Heyting 1934.*
+
+*1956 Intuitionism. An introduction* (North-Holland, Amsterdam).
+
+*1957* (ed.) *Oonstructivity in mathematics, Proceedings of the colloquium held at Amster-*
+
+*dam, 1957* (North-Holland, Amsterdam, i959).
+
+Hilbert, David
+
+*1896* **Zur** Theorie der aus *n* Haupteinheiten gebildeten complexen Gr6J3en, *N achrichten von der Koniglichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Gottingen,* Mathematisch-
+
+physikalische Klasse, **179-183.** *1899 Grundlagen der Geometrie* (Leipzig).
+
+*1900* -0-her den Zahlbegriff, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker- Vereinigung 8,*
+
+*1900a*
+
+*1900b*
+
+*1903 1904*
+
+*1922a 1922b 1923 1925*
+
+180-194; reprinted in *Hilbert 1909,* 256-262; *1913,* 237-242; *1922b,* 237-242;
+
+*1923,* 237-242; *1930a,* 241-246.
+
+Mathematische Probleme. Vortrag, gehalten auf dem internationalen Mathematiker-Kongress zu Paris 1900, *Nachrichten von der Koniglichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Gottingen,* 253-297; reprinted with some additions as *Hilbert 1900b* and in *Hilbert 1935,* 290-329; French translation, with emendations and additions, in *Oompte rendu du Deuxieme congres international des mathematiciens tenu* a *Paris du 6 au 12 aout 1900* (Gauthier-Villars, Paris, 1902),
+
+58-114.
+
+Mathematische Probleme. Vortrag, gehalten auf dem internationalen Mathematiker-Kongress zu Paris 1900, *Archiv der Mathematik und Physik,* 3rd series,
+
+*1* (1901), 44-63, 213-237.
+
+*Grundlagen der Geometrie,* 2nd ed. (Teubner, Leipzig).
+
+\*lJber die Grundlagen der Logik und der Arithmetik, *Verhandlungen des Dritten Internationalen Mathematiker-Kongresses in Heidelberg vom 8. bis 13. August 1904* (Teubner, Leipzig, 1905), 174-185 (129-138 of the present volume); reprinted in *Hilbert 1909,* 263-279; *1913,* 243-258; *1922b,* 243-258; *1923,* 243-
+
+258; *1930a,* 247-261.
+
+On the foundations of logic and arithmetic, *The monist 15,* 338-352; English
+
+translation of *Hilbert 1904* by George Bruce Halsted.
+
+*Grundlagen der Geometrie* (Teubner, Leipzig and Berlin), 3rd ed.
+
+---4th ed.
+
+Axiomatisches Denken, *Mathematische Annalen 78* (1918), 405-415; reprinted
+
+in *Hilbert 1935,* 146-156.
+
+Neubegriindung der Mathematik (Erste Mitteilung), *Abhandlungen aus dem mathematischen Seminar der Hamburgischen Universitat 1,* 157-177; reprinted in
+
+*Hilbert 1935,* 157-177.
+
+Die logischen Grundlagen der Mathematik, *Mathematische Annalen 88* (1923),
+
+151-165; reprinted in *Hilbert 1935,* 178-191.
+
+*Grundlagen der Geometrie* (Teubner, Leipzig and Berlin), 5th ed.
+
+--6th ed.
+
+\*lJber das Unendliche, *Mathematische Annalen 95* (1926), 161-190 (367-392 of the present volume); reprinted in abbreviated form as *Hilbert 1925a* and also in abbreviated form, but with minor emendations and additions, in *Hilbert 1930a,*
+
+Hilbert, David-contd.
+
+*1925a* -0-ber das Unendliche, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker- Vereinigung 36*
+
+(1927), 1st section, 201-215.
+
+*1927* \*Die Grundlagen der Mathematik, *Abhandlungen aus dem mathematischen*
+
+*1928*
+
+*Seminar der Hamburgischen Universitat 6* (1928), 65-85 (464-479 of the present
+
+volume); reprinted in *Hilbert 1928,* 1-21; *1930a,* 289-312.
+
+*Die Grundlagen der Mathematik,* mit Zusiitzen von Hermann Weyl and Paul Bernays, Hamburger Mathematische Einzelschriften 5 (Teubner, Leipzig);
+
+contains reprints of *Hilbert 1927, Weyl 1927,* and *Bernays 1927. 1928a* Probleme der Grundlegung der Mathematik, *Atti del Oongresso internazionale dei matematici, Bologna 3-10 settembre 1928* (Bologna, 1929), vol. 1, 135-141; reprinted, with emendations and additions, in *Mathematische Annalen 102* ( 1929),
+
+*1930*
+
+*1930a 1930b 1931*
+
+1-9, and in *Hilbert 1930a,* 313-323.
+
+Die Grundlegung der elementaren Zahlenlehre, *1'.1.athematische Annalen 104*
+
+(1931), 485-494; reprinted in part in *Hilbert 1935,* 192-195. *Grundlagen der Geometrie* (Teubner, Leipzig and Berlin), 7th ed. Naturerkennen und Logik, *Die Naturwissenschaften 18,* 959-963.
+
+Beweis des Tertium non datur, *.Nachrichten van der Gesellschaft der W,issen-*
+
+*schaften zu Gottingen,* Mathematisch-physikalische Klasse, 120-125.
+
+*1935 Gesammelte Abhandlungen* (Springer, Berlin), vol. 3.
+
+--- and Wilhelm Ackermann
+
+*1928 Grnndzuge der theoretischen Logik* (Springer, Berlin).
+
+*1938* --- 2nd ed. --- and Paul Bernays
+
+*1934 Grundfogen der Mathematik* (Springer, Berlin), vol. **1.**
+
+*1939* --- vol. **2.** Hintikka, **K.** Jaakko **J.**
+
+*1955* Form and content in quantification theory, *Acta philosophica Jennica 8,* 7-fi/i.
+
+Hobson, Ernest William
+
+*1906* **On** the arithmetic continuum, *Proceedings of the London Jl[athernatical Society,*
+
+2nd series, 4, 21-28.
+
+*1921 The theory of functions of a real variable and the theory of Fourier's series,* 2nd ed. (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, England), vol. 1.
+
+*1926* --- vol. 2.
+
+Howard, William A., and Georg Kreisel
+
+*1966* Transfinite induction and bar induction of types zero and one, and the role of continuity in intuitionistic analysis, *The Journal of symbolic logic 31,* 325-358.
+
+Huntington, Edward Vermilye
+
+*1904* Sets of independent postulates for the algebra of logic, *Transactions of the*
+
+*American Mathematical Society 5,* 288-309.
+
+Jevons, William Stanley
+
+*1879 The principles of science, a treatise on logic and scientific method,* 3rd ed. (London).
+
+*1883* ---stereotyped reprint.
+
+,Johansson, Ingebrigt
+
+*1936* Der Minimalkalki.il, ein reduzierter intuitionistischer Formalismus, *Oompositio*
+
+*mathematica 4,* 119--136.
+
+Jourdain, Philip Edward Bertrand
+
+*1904* On the transfinite cardinal numbers of well-ordered aggregates, *Philosophical*
+
+*magazine,* series 6, *7,* 61-75.
+
+*1904a* On the transfinite cardinal numbers of number classes in general, *ibid.,* 294-303. *1905* On transfinite cardinal numbers of the exponential form, *ibid. 9,* 42-56. *1905a* On a proof that every aggregate can be well-ordered, *Mathematische Annalen*
+
+*1912* The development of the theories of mathematical logic and the principles of mathematics, *The quarterly journal of pure and applied mathematics 43,* 219-314.
+
+Kahr, Andrew Seth, Edward Forrest Moore, and Hao Wang
+
+*1961* Entscheidungsproblem reduced to the V:3:V case, *Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 48* (1962), 365-377.
+
+Kalmar, Laszlo
+
+*1932* Ein Beitrag zum Entscheidungsproblem, *Acta litterarum ac scientiarum Regiae Universitatis Hungaricae Francisco-Josephinae, Sectio scientiarum mathematica-*
+
+*rum 5,* 222-236.
+
+*1932a* Zurn Entscheidungsproblem der mathematischen Logik, *Verhandlungen des lnternationalen Mathematiker-Kongresses Zurich 1932* (Orell Fi.issli, Zurich and
+
+Leipzig), vol. 2, 337-338.
+
+*1934* Ober einen Lowenheimschen Satz, *Acta litterarum ac scientiarum Regiae Universitatis Hungaricae Francisco-Josephinae, Sectio scientiarum mathematicarum 7,*
+
+112-121.
+
+*1936* Zuri.ickfi.ihrung des Entscheidungsproblem auf den Fall von Formeln mit einer einzigen, binaren, Funktionsvariablen, *Compositio mathematica 4* (1937), 137-
+
+144.
+
+*1951* Contributions to the reduction theory of the decision problem. Fourth paper. Reduction to the case of a finite set of individuals, *Acta mathematica Academiae*
+
+*scientiarum hungaricae 2,* 125-142.
+
+Keferstein, Hans
+
+*1890* Ober den Begriff der Zahl, *Festschrift herausgegeben van der Mathematischen Gesellschaft in Hamburg anldsslich ihres 200jahrigen Jubeljestes 1890, Zweiter Teil: Wissenschaftliche Abhandlungen* (Teubner, Leipzig), 119-125 (this book is considered volume 2 of *Mitteilungen der Mathematischen Gesellschaft in Ham-*
+
+*burg).*
+
+*1890a* Letters to Dedekind dated 14 February, 19 March, 19 December 1890; originals in the Niedersachsische Staats- und Universitatsbibliothek, Gottingen (Cod.
+
+Ms. Dedekind 13).
+
+*1890b* Erwiderung auf vorstehende Abhandlung, unpublished reply dated 17 November 1890 to *Dedekind 1890,* copy in Dedekind's hand in the Niedersachsische Staats- und Universitatsbibliothek, Gottingen (Cod. Ms. Dedekind 13).
+
+Kleene, Stephen Cole
+
+*1936* General recursive functions of natural numbers, *Mathematische Annalen 112,* 727-742; for an erratum and a simplification see *Kleene 1938,* footnote 4, *Peter 1937a,* and *The }ournal of symbolic logic 4,* iv; for an addendum see *Davis*
+
+*1965,* 253. Reprinted in *Davis 1965,* 237-253.
+
+*1938* On notation for ordinal numbers, *The}ournal of symbolic logic 3,* 150-155. *194.J* On the forms of the predicates in the theory of constructive ordinals, *American*
+
+*journal of mathematics 66,* 41-58.
+
+*1952 Introduction to metamathematics* (Van Nostrand, New York and Toronto;
+
+North-Holland, Amsterdam; Noordhoff, Groningen).
+
+*1.95,5* On the forms of the predicates in the theory of constructive ordinals (Second
+
+paper), *American journal of mathematics 77,* 405-428.
+
+*1%5a* Arithmetical predicates and function quantifiers, *Transactions of the American*
+
+*Mathematical Society 79,* 312-340.
+
+*1958* Extension of an effectively generated class of functions by enumeration,
+
+*Colloquium mathematicum 6,* 67-78.
+
+--~ and Richard Eugene Vesley
+
+*1965 The foundations of intuitionistic mathematics, especially in relation to recursive*
+
+*Junctions* (North-Holland, Amsterdam).
+
+Konig, *Denes-contd.*
+
+*1927* 1Jber eine Schlussweise aus dem Endlichen ins Unendliche, *Acta litterarum ac*
+
+*1936*
+
+*scientiarum Regiae U niversitatis H ungaricae Francisco-J osephinae, Sectio scien-*
+
+*tiarum mathematicarum 3,* 121-130.
+
+*Theorie der endlichen und unendlichen Graphen* (Akademische Verlagsgesell-
+
+schaft, Leipzig); reprinted 1950 (Chelsea, New York).
+
+Konig, Julius (Gyula)
+
+*1904* Zurn Kontinuum-Problem, *Verhandlungen des Dritten Internationalen Mathematiker-Kongresses in Heidelberg vom 8. bis 13. August 1904* (Teubner, Leipzig,
+
+*1905*
+
+1905), 144--147.
+
+Zurn Kontinuum-Problem, *Mathematische Annalen 60,* 177-180; Berichtigung,
+
+*ibid.,* 462.
+
+*1905a* \*1Jber die Grundlagen der Mengenlehre und das Kontinuumproblem, *ibid. 61,*
+
+*1906*
+
+156-160 (145-149 of the present volume).
+
+1Jber die Grundlagen der Mengenlehre und das Kontinuumproblem (Zweite
+
+Mitteilung), *ibid. 63,* 217-221.
+
+*1914 Neue Grundlagen der Logik, Arithmetik und Mengenlehre* (Veit, Leipzig).
+
+Kolmogorov, Andrei Nikolaevich (AH11:petl: HxmoJiaCBH'I KoJIMoropoB)
+
+*1925* \*O rrp.HHI.\.HIIe tertium non datur, *Mame.uamu11ecx;uu c6opnuK 32,* 646-667 (414-437
+
+of the present volume).
+
+Kreisel, Georg
+
+*1953* Note on arithmetic models for consistent formulae of the predicate calculus II,
+
+*1958 1963* *Actes du XIeme Congres international de philosophie, Bruxelles, 20-26 aout 1953*
+
+(North-Holland, Amsterdam; Nauwelaerts, Louvain), vol. 14, 39-49. Review of *Beth 1956a, The journal of symbolic logic 23,* 35-37.
+
+*Reports of the seminar on foundations of analysis, Stanford University, Summer 1963* (mimeographed, Stanford University, Stanford, California); contains
+
+contributions by others. *1964* --- vol. 2, Introduction. See Howard, William A., and Georg Kreisel.
+
+Kummer, Ernst Eduard
+
+*1835* 1Jber die Convergenz und Divergenz der unendlichen Reihen, *Journal fur die*
+
+*reine und angewandte Mathematik 13,* 171-184.
+
+Kuratowski, Kazimierz
+
+*1921* Sur la notion d'ordre dans la theorie des ensembles, *Fundamenta mathematicae*
+
+*2,* 161-171. Langford, Cooper Harold
+
+*1926* Some theorems on deducibility, *Annals of mathematics,* 2nd series, *28* (1927),
+
+16-40.
+
+*1926a* Theorems on deducibility (Second paper), *ibid.,* 459-471.
+
+Lebesgue, Henri
+
+*1905* Sur Jes fonctions representables analytiquement, *Journal de mathematiques*
+
+*pures et appliquees,* 6th series, *1,* 139-216.
+
+See Borel, Emile, *1905a.* Lennes, Nels Johann
+
+*1922* On the foundations of the theory of sets, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 28,* 300; abstract of a paper read at a session of the 14-15 April 1922
+
+meeting of the American Mathematical Society.
+
+Levi, Beppo
+
+Lewis, Clarence Irving
+
+*1918 A survey of symbolic logic* (University of California Press, Berkeley); reprinted 1960 with the omission of chaps. V and VI (Dover, New York).
+
+Lindenbaum, Adolf
+
+See Tarski, Alfred, and Adolf Lindenbaum.
+
+--- and Andrzej Mostowski
+
+*1938* Uber die Unabhangigkeit des Auswahlaxioms und einiger seiner Folgerungen, *Sprawozdania z posiedzen Towarzystwa Naukowego Warszawskiego, Wydzial III,*
+
+*31,* 27-32.
+
+Lowenheim, Leopold
+
+*1910* Uber die Auflosung von Gleichungen im logischen Gebietekalkul, *Mathematische*
+
+*Annalen 68,* 169-207.
+
+*1915* \*Uber Moglichkeiten im Relativkalkiil, *ibid. 76,* 447-470 (228-251 of the present
+
+*1940*
+
+volume).
+
+Einkleidung der Mathematik in Schroderschen Relativkalkul, *The journal of*
+
+*symbolic logic 5,* 1-15.
+
+Lukasiewicz, Jan
+
+*1920* 0 logice tr6jwartosciowej, *Ruch filozoficzny 5,* 170-1 71.
+
+*1929* 0 znaczeniu i potrzebach logiki matematycznej, *Nauka polska 10,* 604-620. *1929a Elementy logiki matematycznej,* authorized lecture notes prepared by Mojzesz
+
+*1958 1963* Presburger (\Varsaw University, Warsaw).
+
+--- 2nd ed. (PWN, Warsaw).
+
+*Elements of mathematical logic,* English translation of *Lu,kasiewicz 1958* by Olgierd Wojtasiewicz (PWN and Pergamon, Oxford; Macmillan, New York).
+
+--- and Alfred Tarski
+
+*1930* Untersuchungen iiber den Aussagenkalkiil, *Sprawozdania z posiedzen Towar-*
+
+*zystwa Naukowego Warszawskiego, Wydzial III, 23,* 30-50; English translation
+
+in *Tarski 1956,* 38-59.
+
+Luzin, Nikolai Nikolaevich (Lusin, H.1nwJiail: HHROJiaemi:q JiyaHH)
+
+*1927* Sur !es ensembles analytiques, *Fundamenta mathematicae 10,* 1-95.
+
+*1928* Sur les voies de la theories des ensembles, *Atti del Congresso internazionale dei matematici, Bologna 3-10 settembre 1928* (Zanichelli, Bologna, 1929) vol. 1,
+
+295-299.
+
+*1930 1933*
+
+*1935 1953*
+
+*1958 1958a* *Lerons sur les ensembles analytiques et leurs applications* (Gauthier-Villars, Paris). Sur Jes classes des constituantes des complementaires analytiques, *Annali della, Reale Scuola normale superiore di Pisa, Scienze fisiche e matematiche,* 2nd series,
+
+*2,* 269-282.
+
+Sur !es ensembles analytiques nuls, *Fundamenta mathematicae 25,* 109-131. Jlen4uu 06 aHa.J1,umu,iecnux .MHOJJCecmeax u ux npu.i1,0J1CeHUR,X, edited with a preface and notes by L. V. Keldysh and P. S. Novikov (I'ocyAapCTB8HHOe H3AaTeJibCTB0,
+
+Moscow).
+
+Co6paHue co>tuHeHuu (l1aAaTeJibCTBO ARaAeMHH HayR CCCP, Moscow), vol. 1. Jlem\_\HH 06 attaJIHTHqecRHX MH0lR8CTBaX H HX rrpHJI0iR8HHIIX, in *Luzin 1958,* 9-
+
+269.
+
+*1958b* O IIYTHX pa3BHTHH Teopmi: MH0mecTB, in *Luzin 1958,* 464-469.
+
+*1958c* O RJiaccax R0HCT.IITyaHT aHaJI.IITHqecR.IIX A0II0JIH8HHil:, in *Luzin 1958,* 627-641.
+
+*1958d* O rrycTblX attaJIHTll:'IeCR.IIX MH0iR8CTBax, in *Luzin 1958,* 662-680.
+
+--- and Waclaw Sierpinski
+
+*1918* Sur quelques proprietes des ensembles (A), *Bulletin international de l'Academie des sciences de Cracovie, Classe des sciences mathematiques et naturelles, serie A:*
+
+MacColl, Hugh
+
+*1877* The calculus of equivalent statements and integration limits, *Proceedings of the*
+
+*London Mathematical Society 9,* 9-20.
+
+*187 8* The calculus of equivalent statements (Second paper), *ibid.,* 177-186. *1878a* The calculus of equivalent statements (Third paper), *ibid. 10,* 16-28. *1880* The calculus of equivalent statements (Fourth paper), *ibid. 11,* 113-121.
+
+McKinsey, John Charles Chenoweth
+
+*1935* On the independence of undefined ideas, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical*
+
+*Society 41,* 291-297.
+
+*1940* Postulates for the calculus of binary relations, *The journal of symbolic logic 5,*
+
+85-97.
+
+Makkai, M.
+
+*1964* On a generalization of a theorem of E. W. Beth, *Acta mathematicae Academiae*
+
+*scientiarum hungaricae 15,* 227-235.
+
+Maltsev, Anatolii Ivanovich (Malcev, AtiaTOJIHfi llBaHOBHq MaJibl.\eB)
+
+*1936* Untersuchungen aus dem Gebiete der mathematischen Logik, *Mame.uamu'teci.uu*
+
+*c6opHui. 1,* 323-336.
+
+Mendelson, Elliott
+
+*1956* The independence of a weak axiom of choice, *The J°ournal of symbolic logic 21,*
+
+350-366.
+
+Menger, Karl
+
+*1928* Bemerkungen zu Grundlagenfragen, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker-*
+
+*Vereinigung 37,* 1st section, 213-226.
+
+Mirimanoff, Dimitry
+
+*1917* Les antinomies de Russell et de Burali-Forti et le probleme fondamental de la theorie des ensembles, *L'enseignement mathematique 19,* 37-52.
+
+Montague, Richard
+
+*1956* Zermelo-Fraenkel set theory is not a finite extension of Zermelo set theory, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 62,* 260; abstract of a paper presented at the 25 February 1956 meeting of the American Mathematical Society. *1961* Fraenkel's addition to the axioms of Zermelo, *Essays on the foundations of mathematics dedicated to A. A. Fraenkel on his seventieth anniversary* (Magnes Press, Jerusalem; distributed by North-Holland, Amsterdam), 91-113.
+
+Moore, Edward Forrest
+
+See Kahr, Andrew Seth, Edward Forrest Moore, and Hao Wang.
+
+Mostowski, Andrzej
+
+*1939* -0-ber die Unabhangigkeit des Wohlordnungssatzes vom Ordnungsprinzip,
+
+*Fundamenta mathematicae 32,* 201-252.
+
+*1948* On the principle of dependent choices, *ibid. 35,* 127-130.
+
+*1955* A formula with no recursively enumerable model, *ibid. 42,* 125-140. See Lindenbaum, Adolf, and Andrzej Mostowski; also Tarski, Alfred, *1953.*
+
+Miiller, Eugen
+
+See Schroder, Ernst, *1909, 1910.*
+
+Nicod, Jean
+
+*1916* A reduction in the number of primitive propositions of logic, *Proceedings of the Cambridge Philosophical Society 19* (1917-1920), 32-41 (received 30 October
+
+1916).
+
+Noether, Emmy, and Jean Cavailles (eds.)
+
+*1937 Briefwechsel Cantor-Dedekind* (Hermann, Paris).
+
+Padoa, Alessandro
+
+*1900* \*Essai d'une theorie algebrique des nombres entiers, precede d'une introduction logique a une theorie deductive quelconque, *Bibliotheque du Congres international de philosophie, Paris, 1900* (Armand Colin, Paris, 1901), vol. 3, 309-
+
+Padoa, Alessandro-contd.
+
+*1900a* Un nouveau systeme irreductible de postulats pour l'algebre, *Compte rendu du Deuxieme congres international des mathematiciens tenu* a *Paris du 6 au 12 aout*
+
+*1900* (Gauthier-Villars, Paris, 1902), 249-256.
+
+*1903* Le probleme no. 2 de M. David Hilbert, *L'enseignement mathematique 5,* 85-91.
+
+Peano, Giuseppe
+
+*1888 Calcolo geometrico secondo l'Ausdehnungslehre di H. Grassmann, preceduto dalle Operazioni della logica deduttiva* (Turin); partly reprinted in *Peano 1958,* 3-19. *1889 \*Arithmetices principia, nova methodo exposita* (Turin) (83-97 of the present
+
+*1890 1891*
+
+volume); reprinted in *Peano 1958,* 20-55.
+
+Demonstration de l'integrabilite des equations differentielles ordinaires, *Mathematische Annalen 37,* 182-288; reprinted in *Peano 1957,* 119-170. Principii di logica matematica, *Rivista di matematica 1,* 1-10; reprinted in
+
+*Peano 1958,* 92-101.
+
+*1891a* Formole di logica matematica, *Rivista di matematica 1,* 24-31, 182-184;
+
+reprinted in *Peano 1958,* 102-113.
+
+*1891b* Sul concetto di numero, *Rivista di matematica 1,* 87-102, 256-267; reprinted in
+
+*1894*
+
+*1895 1897 1897a*
+
+*1906a*
+
+*1957 1958 1959* Peano *1959,* 80-109.
+
+*Notations de logique mathematique. Introduction au formulaire de mathematique*
+
+**(Turin).**
+
+*Formulaire de mathematiques* (Turin), vol. **1.**
+
+vol. **2,** § **1.**
+
+Studii di logica matematica, *Atti della Reale Accademia delle scienze di Torino*
+
+*32,* 565-583; reprinted in *Peano 1958,* 201-217.
+
+Riposta, *Revue de mathematiques 6,* 60-61; reprinted in *Peano 1958,* 295-296.
+
+*Formulaire de mathematiques* (Turin), vol. 2, § 2.
+
+--§3. ---vol. 3.
+
+Note 2549, *L'intermediaire des mathematiciens 10,* 70; see Brocard, Henri, *1906.*
+
+*Formulaire de mathematiques* (Bocca, Turin; Clausen, Turin), vol. 4.
+
+Super theorema de Cantor-Bernstein, *Rendiconti del Circolo matematico di Palermo 21,* 360-366; also *Revista de mathematica 8,* 136-143; reprinted m
+
+*Peano 1957,* 337-344.
+
+Additione, *Revista de mathematica 8,* 143-157; reprinted in *Peano 1957,* 344-
+
+358.
+
+*Opere scelte* (Edizioni cremonese, Rome), vol. **1.**
+
+---vol. 2 ---vol. 3.
+
+Peirce, Charles Sanders
+
+*1870* Description of a notation for the logic of relatives, resulting from an amplifica-
+
+*1880*
+
+*1882 1883*
+
+*1885*
+
+tion of the conceptions of Boole's calculus of logic, *Memoirs of the American Academy of arts and sciences 9,* 317-378; reprinted in *Peirce 1933,* 27-98. On the algebra of logic, *American journal of mathematics 3,* 15-57; reprinted in
+
+*Peirce 1933,* 104-157.
+
+Brief description of the algebra of relatives, in *Peirce 1933,* 180-186.
+
+A theory of probable inference. Note B. The logic of relatives, *Studies in logic by members of the Johns Hopkins University* (Boston), 187-203; reprinted in
+
+*Peirce 1933,* 195-209.
+
+On the algebra of logic: a contribution to the philosophy of notation, *American*
+
+*journal of mathematics 7,* 180-202; reprinted in *Peirce 1933,* 210-238.
+
+*1932* Rekursive Funktionen, *Verhandlungen des Internationalen Mathematiker-Kongresses Zurich 1932* (Orell Fiissli, Zurich and Leipzig), vol. 2, 336-337.
+
+Peter, R6zsa (Politzer)-contd.
+
+*1934* lJber den Zusammenhang der verschiedenen Begriffe der rekursiven Funktion,
+
+*1935 1937* *Mathematische Annalen 110,* 612-632.
+
+Konstruktion nichtrekursiver Funktionen, *ibid. 111,* 42-60.
+
+lJber die mehrfache Rekursion, *ibid. 113,* 489-527. *1937a* Review of *Kleene 1936, The journal of symbolic logic 2,* 38.
+
+*1951 Rekursive Funktionen* (Verlag der Ungarischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,
+
+Budapest).
+
+*1951a* Probleme der Hilbertschen Theorie der h6heren Stufen von rekursiven Funktionen, *Acta mathematica Academiae scientiarum hungaricae 2,* 247-274. *1953* Rekursive Definitionen, wobei frtihere Funktionswerte von variabler Anzahl
+
+verwendet werden, *Publicationes mathematicae 3,* 33-70.
+
+*1956* Die beschriinkt-rekursiven Funktionen und die Ackermannsche Majorisierungs-
+
+methode, *ibid. 4,* 362-375. *1957* 2nd, enlarged ed. of *Peter 1951.*
+
+Pieri, Mario
+
+*1906* Sur la compatibilite des axiomes de l'arithmetique, *Revue de metaphysique et de*
+
+*morale 14,* 196-207.
+
+Poincare, Henri
+
+*1905* Les mathematiques et la logique, *Revue de metaphysique et de morale 13,* 815-
+
+835; *14* (1906), 17-34.
+
+*1906* Les mathematiques et la logique, *ibid.,* 294-317. *1906a* A propos de la logistique, *ibid.* 866-868. *1908 Science et methode* (Flammarion, Paris).
+
+Post, Emil Leon
+
+*1920* Introduction to a general theory of elementary propositions, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 26,* 437; abstract of a paper presented at the 24
+
+April 1920 meeting of the American Mathematical Society.
+
+*1920a* Determination of all closed systems of truth tables (abstract of a paper pre-
+
+sented at the 24 April 1920 meeting of the American Mathematical Society),
+
+*ibid.*
+
+*1921* \*Introduction to a general theory of elementary propositions, *American journal*
+
+*of mathematics 43,* 163-185 (264-283 of the present volume).
+
+*1921a* On a simple case of deductive systems (abstract of a paper read by title at the 23 April 1921 meeting of the American Mathematical Society), *Bulletin of the*
+
+*American Mathematical Society 27,* 396-397.
+
+*1936* Finite combinatory processes, formulation I, *The journal of symbolic logic 1,*
+
+103-105; reprinted in *Davis 1965,* 288-291.
+
+*1941 The two-valued iterative systems of mathematical logic* (Annals of mathematics series, no. 5, Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey). *1941a* Absolutely unsolvable problems and relatively undecidable propositions.
+
+Account of an anticipation, in *Davis 1965,* 340-433.
+
+*1943* Formal reductions of the general combinatorial decision problem, *American*
+
+*journal of mathematics 65,* 197-215.
+
+Presburger, Mojzesz
+
+*1929* lJber die Vollstiindigkeit eines gewissen Systems der Arithmetik ganzer Zahlen, in welchem die Addition als einzige Operation hervortritt, *Sprawozdanie z I Kongresu matematyk6w kraj6w slowia1'iskich, Warszawa 1929* (Warsaw, 1930),
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+Putnam, Hilary
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+*1956* Arithmetic models for consistent formulas of quantification theory, *The journal*
+
+*1961*
+
+*1965*
+
+*of symbolic logic 22* (1957), 110-111; abstract of a paper presented at the 27
+
+December 1956 meeting of the Association for Symbolic Logic.
+
+*Trial and error predicates and the solution to a problem of Mostowski's* (New
+
+York University, New York).
+
+Trial and error predicates and the solution to a problem of Mostowski, *The*
+
+*journal of symbolic logic 30,* 49-57. See Benacerraf, Paul, and Hilary Putnam.
+
+Quine, Willard Van Orman
+
+*1940 Mathematical logic* (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts);
+
+revised edition 1951; reprinted 1962 (Harper, New York). On ordered pairs, *The journal of symbolic logic 10,* 95-96. *Methods of logic* (Holt, New York); see *Quine 1955b.*
+
+*1945 1950*
+
+*1955* On Frege's way out, *Mind 64,* 145-159; reprinted in *Quine 1966,* 146-158. *1955a* A proof procedure for quantification theory, *The journal of symbolic logic 20,*
+
+141-149; reprinted in *Quine 1966,* 196-204.
+
+*1955b Appendix. Completeness of quantification theory. Lowenheim's theorem,* enclosed
+
+*1956 1960* as a pamphlet with part of the third printing (1955) of *Quine 1950* and incorpo-
+
+rated in the revised edition (1959), 253-260.
+
+Unification of universes in set theory, *The journal of symbolic logic 21,* 267-279. Variables explained away, *Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society*
+
+*104,* 343-347; reprinted in *Quine 1966,* 227-235.
+
+*1963 Set theory and its logic* (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts).
+
+*1966 Selected logic papers* (Random House, New York).
+
+Ramsey, Frank Plumpton
+
+*1925* The foundations of mathematics, *Proceedings of the London Mathematical*
+
+*1931*
+
+*Society,* series 2, *25,* 338-384, reprinted in *Ramsey 1931,* 1-61.
+
+*The foundations of mathematics and other logical essays,* edited by Richard Bevan Braithwaite (Paul, Trench, Trubner, London; Harcourt, Brace, New York);
+
+reprinted 1950 (Humanities Press, New York).
+
+Rasiowa, Helena, and Roman Sikorski
+
+*1950* A proof of the completeness theorem of Godel, *Fundamenta mathematicae 37,*
+
+193-200.
+
+Richard, Jules
+
+*1905* \*Les principes des mathematiques et le probleme des ensembles, *Revue generale des sciences pures et appliquees 16,* 541 ( 142-144 of the present volume). *1906* Lettre a Monsieur le redacteur de la Revue generale des sciences, *Acta mathe-*
+
+*matica 30,* 295-296.
+
+*1907* Sur un paradoxe de la theorie des ensembles et sur l'axiome Zermelo, *L'enseigne-*
+
+*ment mathematique 9,* 94-98.
+
+Robinson, Abraham
+
+*1955* A result on consistency and its application to the theory of definition, *Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van wetenschappen, Proceedings,* series A, Mathematical sciences *59* (1956), 47-58; also *lndagationes mathematicae 18,* 47-58.
+
+Robinson, Raphael Mitchel
+
+*1937* The theory of classes, a modification of von Neumann's system, *The journal of*
+
+*symbolic logic 2,* 29-36.
+
+*1947* Primitive recursive functions, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 53,*
+
+925-942.
+
+Rose, Harvey Ernest-contd.
+
+*1962* Ternary recursive arithmetic, *Mathematica scandinavica 10,* 210-216.
+
+Rosser, John Barkley
+
+*1936* Extensions of some theorems of Godel and Church, *The journal of symbolic*
+
+*logic 1,* 87-91; reprinted in *Davis 1965,* 231-235.
+
+Russell, Bertrand
+
+*1902* \*Letter to Frege (first published in the present volume, 124-125).
+
+*1903 The principles of mathematics,* vol. 1 (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge,
+
+England; 2nd ed., Norton, New York, no date).
+
+*1905* On denoting, *Mind,* new series, *14,* 479-493; reprinted in *Russell 1%6,* 41-56. *1905a* On some difficulties in the theory of transfinite numbers and order types, *Proceedings of the London Mathematical Society,* 2nd series, *4* (1907), 29-53.
+
+*1906* The theory of implication, *American journal of mathematics 28,* 159-202. *1906a* Les paradoxes de la logique, *Revue de metaphysique et de morale 14,* 627-650.
+
+*1908* **Mr.** Haldane on infinity, *Mind,* new series, *17,* 238-242.
+
+*1908a* \*Mathematical logic as based on the theory of types, *American journal of mathe-*
+
+*1919*
+
+*1944 1956* *matics 30,* 222-262 (150-182 of the present volume); reprinted in *Russell*
+
+*1956,* 59-102.
+
+*Introduction to mathematical philosophy* (Allen and Unwin, London; Macmillan,
+
+New York).
+
+My mental development, *The philosophy of Bertrand Russell,* edited by Paul
+
+Arthur Schilpp (Tudor, New York), 3-20.
+
+*Logic and knowledge, Essays 1901-1950,* edited by Robert Charles Marsh (Allen
+
+and Unwin, London).
+
+See Whitehead, Alfred North, and Bertrand Russell.
+
+Schonfinkel, Moses
+
+*1924* \*-U-ber die Bausteine der mathematischen Logik, *Mathematische Annalen 92,*
+
+305-316 (355-366 of the present volume).
+
+See Bernays, Paul, and Moses Schonfinkel.
+
+Schoenflies, Arthur
+
+*1905* -U-ber wohlgeordnete Mengen, *Mathematische Annalen 60,* 181-186.
+
+*1913 Allgemeine Theorie der unendlichen Mengen und Theorie der Punktmengen* (Teubner, Leipzig and Berlin), published as first half of *Entwickelung der Mengenlehre und ihrer Anwendungen* gemeinsam mit Hans Hahn herausgegeben von
+
+Artur Schoenflies (second half never published).
+
+*1921* Zur Axiomatik der Mengenlehre, *Mathematische Annalen 83,* 173-200. *1922* Bemerkung zur Axiomatik der GroI3en und Mengen, *ibid. 85,* 60-64.
+
+*1922a* Zur Erinnerung an Georg Cantor, *Jahresbericht der Deutschen Mathematiker-*
+
+*Vereinigung 31,* 1st section, 97-106.
+
+*1928* Georg Cantor, *Mitteldeutsche Lebensbilder 3,* 548-563.
+
+Schreier, Otto
+
+See Artin, Emil, and Otto Schreier.
+
+Schroder, Ernst
+
+*187 3 Lehrbuch der Arithmetik und Algebra .fur Lehrer und Studirende. Erster Band:*
+
+*1877 1880 1890* *Die sieben algebraischen Operationen* (Leipzig). *Der Operationskreis des Logikkalkuls* (Leipzig).
+
+Review of *Ji'rege 1879, Zeitschri.ft .fur Mathematik und Physik 25,* Historisch-
+
+literarische Abtheilung, **81-94.**
+
+*Vorlesungen uber die Algebra der Logik (exakte Logik)* (Leipzig), vol. **1;** reprinted
+
+in *Schroder 1966.*
+
+*1895* --- vol. **3,** *Algebra und Logik der Relative,* part **1;** reprinted in *Schroder 1966. 1909 Abriss der Algebra der Logik,* edited by Eugen Miiller (Teubner, Leipzig and
+
+Schutte, Kurt
+
+*1951* Beweistheoretische Erfassung der unendlichen Induktion in der Zahlentheorie,
+
+*1960 1962* *Mathematische Annalen 122,* 369-389.
+
+*Beweistheorie* (Springer Verlag, Berlin, Gottingen, and Heidelberg).
+
+Der Interpolationssatz der intuitionistischen Pradikatenlogik, *Mathematische*
+
+*Annalen 148,* 192-200.
+
+Schwabhauser, Wolfram
+
+*1954* Zur Definition des geordneten Paares von Mengen beliebiger Stufe, *Mathe-*
+
+*matische N achrichten 11,* 81-84.
+
+Sheffer, Henry Maurice
+
+*1913* A set of five independent postulates for Boolean algebras, with applications to logical constants, *Transactions of the American Mathematical Society 14,* 481-
+
+488. Shepherdson, John Cedric
+
+*1951-* Inner models for set theory, *The journal of symbolic logic 16,* 161-190; *17*
+
+*1953* (1952), 225-237; *18,* 145-167.
+
+*1963* Non-standard models for fragments of number theory, in *Addison, Henkin, and*
+
+*Tarski 1963,* 342-358.
+
+Sierpinski, Waclaw
+
+*1958 Cardinal and ordinal numbers* (Panstwowe wydawnictwo naukowe, Warsaw);
+
+2nd ed. 1965.
+
+See Luzin, Nikolai Nikolaevich, and Waclaw Sierpinski.
+
+Sigwart, Christoph
+
+*1904 Logik,* **3rd** ed. (Mohr, Ti.ibingen), vol. 1.
+
+*1908 JloeuKa,* vol. 1, Russian translation of *Sigwart 1904* by I. A. Davidov (06nw-
+
+CTB8HHaR I1oJib3a and Tipomrn,~iH, Saint Petersburg).
+
+Sikorski, Roman
+
+See Rasiowa, Helena, and Roman Sikorski.
+
+Skolem, Thoralf
+
+*1919* Untersuchungen iiber die Axiome des Klassenkalkuls und i.iber Produktations-
+
+und Surnmationsprobleme, welche gewisse Klassen von Aussagen betreffen, *Videnskapsselskapets skrifter, I. Matematisk-naturvidenskabelig klasse,* no. 3. *1920* \*Logisch-kombinatorische Untersuchungen i.iber die Erfi.illbarkeit oder Beweisbarkeit mathematischer Satze nebst einem Theoreme i.iber dichte Mengen, *ibid.,*
+
+no. 4 (§ 1, 252-263 of the present volume).
+
+*1922* \*Einige Bemerkungen zur axiomatischen Begri.indung der Mengenlehre, *Mate-*
+
+*matikerkongressen* i *Helsingfors den 4-7 Juli 1922, Den femte skandinaviska matematikerkongressen, Redogorelse* (Akademiska Bokhandeln, Helsinki, 1923),
+
+217-232 (290-301 of the present volume).
+
+*1923* \*Begri.indung der elementaren Arithmetik durch die rekurrierende Denkweise ohne Anwendung scheinbarer Veranderlichen mit unendlichem Ausdehnungsbereich, *V idenskapsselskapets skrifter, I. M atematisk-naturvidenskabelig klasse,*
+
+no. 6 (302-333 of the present volume).
+
+*1928* \*-0-ber die mathematische Logik, *Norsk matematisk tidsskrift* JO, 125-142 (508-
+
+524 of the present volume).
+
+*1928a* Review of *Ackermann 1928, Jahrbuch 11ber die Fortschritte der Mathematik 54*
+
+(for 1928, published 1932), 56-57. *1928b* Review of *Ackermann 1928a, ibid.,* 57.
+
+*1929* -0-ber einige Grundlagenfragen der Mathematik, *Skrifter utgitt av Det Norske Videnskaps-Akademi* i *Oslo, I. Matematisk-naturvidenskapelig klasse,* no. 4. *1929a* -0-ber die Grundlagendiskussionen in der Mathematik, *Den syvende skandinaviske matematikerkongress* i *Oslo 19-22 August 1929* (Broggers, Oslo, 1930),
+
+Skolem, Thoralf-contd.
+
+*1933* Uber die Unmoglichkeit einer vollstandigen Charakterisierung der Zahlenreihe
+
+mittels eines endlichen Axiomensystems, *Norsk matematisk forenings skrifter,*
+
+series 2, no. 10, 73-82.
+
+*1934* Uber die Nicht-charakterisierbarkeit der Zahlenreihe mittels endlich oder
+
+abzahlbar unendlich vieler Aussagen mit ausschliesslich Zahlenvariablen,
+
+*Fundamenta mat"h:ematicae 2 3,* 150-161.
+
+*1935* Ein Satz iiber Zahlausdriicke, *Acta litterarum ac scientiarum Regiae Universi-*
+
+*tatis Hungaricae Francisco-Josephinae, Sectio scientiarum mathematicarum 7,*
+
+**193-199.**
+
+*1935a* Uber die Erfiillbarkeit gewisser Zahlausdriicke, *Skrifter utgitt av Det N orske*
+
+*Videnskaps-Akademi* i *Oslo, I. Matematisk-naturv1:denskapelig klasse,* no. 6.
+
+*1936* Utvalgte kapitler av den matematiske logikk, *Ohr. Michelsens Institutt for*
+
+*Videnskap og A.ndsfrihet, Beretninger 6,* no. 6.
+
+*1938* Sur la portee du theoreme de Lowenheim-Skolem, in *Gonseth 1938,* 25--47;
+
+Discussion, 4 7-52.
+
+*1946* Den rekursive aritmetikk, *Norsk matematisk tidsskrift 28,* **1-12.**
+
+*1946a* The development of recursive arithmetic, *Den 10. skandinaviske matematiker-*
+
+*kongress* i *K@benhavn 26.-30. August 1946,* 1-46.
+
+*1950* Some remarks on the foundation of set theory, *Proceedings of the International*
+
+*Congress of Mathematicians, Cambridge, Massachussets, U.S. A., August 30- September 6, 1950* (American Mathematical Society, Providence, Rhode Island,
+
+1952), vol. 1, 695-704.
+
+*1962 Abstract set theory* (University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, Indiana).
+
+Specker, Ernst
+
+*1957* Zur Axiomatik der Mengenlehre (Fundierungs- und Auswahlaxiom), *Zeit-*
+
+*schrif t f iir mathematische Logik und Grundlagen der Mathematik 3,* 173-210.
+
+Spector, Clifford
+
+*1955* Recursive well-orderings, *The journal of symbolic logic 20,* 151-163.
+
+*1961* Provably recursive functionals of analysis: A consistency proof of analysis by
+
+an extension of principles formulated in current intuitionistic mathematics,
+
+*Recursive function theory, Proceedings of symposia in pure mathematics* (American
+
+Mathematical Society, Providence, Rhode Island, 1962), vol. 5, 1-27.
+
+Sudan, Gabriel
+
+*1927* Sur le nombre transfini w<'->, *Bulletin mathematique de la Societe roumaine des*
+
+*sciences 30,* 11-30.
+
+Suslin, Mikhail Iakovlevich (Souslin, MMxauJI HHOBJieBMq CycJIHH)
+
+*1917* Sur une definition des ensembles mesurables B sans nombres transfinis, *Comptes*
+
+*rendus hebdomadaires des seances de l'Academie des sciences* (Paris) *164,* 88-91
+
+(session of 8 January 1917).
+
+Svenonius, Lars
+
+*1959* A theorem on permutations in models, *Theoria* (Lund) *25,* 173-178.
+
+Tarski, Alfred
+
+*1934* Z badan metodologicznych nad definiowalnosc& termin6w, *Przeglqd filozo-*
+
+*1935*
+
+*1941 1948* *ficzny 37,* 438-460) (see Bibliographical Note in *Tarski 1956,* 296).
+
+Einige methodologische Untersuchungen iiber die Definierbarkeit der Begriffe,
+
+*Erkenntnis 5,* 80-100; English translation in *Tarski 1956,* 296-319.
+
+On the calculus of relations, *The journal of symbolic logic 6,* 73-89.
+
+*A decision method for elementary algebra and geometry* (Rand Corporation,
+
+Tarski, *Alfred-contd.*
+
+*1953 Undecidable theories,* in collaboration with Andrzej Mostowski and Raphael M.
+
+Robinson (North-Holland, Amsterdam).
+
+*1956 Logic, semantics, metamathematics* (Oxford University Press, Oxford).
+
+See Addison, John West, Leon Henkin, and Alfred Tarski; also Lukasiewicz, Jan, and
+
+Alfred Tarski.
+
+--- and Adolf Lindenbaum
+
+*1926* Sur l'independance des notions primitives dans les systemes mathematiques,
+
+*A nnales de la Societe polonaise de mathematique 5,* 111-113.
+
+--- and Robert Lawson Vaught
+
+*1956* Arithmetical extensions of relational systems, *Compositio mathematica 13,*
+
+**81-102.**
+
+Trendelenburg, Adolf
+
+*1867 Historische Beitrage zur Philosophie* (Berlin), vol. 3, Vermischte Abhandlungen.
+
+Turing, Alan Mathison
+
+*1937* On computable numbers, with an application to the Entscheidungsproblem,
+
+*Proceedings of the London Mathematical Society,* 2nd series, *42,* 230-265; cor-
+
+rection, *ibid. 43,* 544-546; reprinted in *Davis 1965,* 116-154.
+
+Ulam, Stanislaw
+
+*1958* John von Neumann, *Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 64,* no. 3,
+
+part **2, 1-49.**
+
+Vaught, Robert Lawson
+
+See Tarski, Alfred, and Robert Lawson Vaught.
+
+Veblen, Oswald
+
+*1904* A system of axioms for geometry, *Transactions of the American Mathematical*
+
+*Society 5,* **343-384.**
+
+Vesley, Richard Eugene
+
+See Kleene, Stephen Cole, and Richard Eugene Vesley.
+
+Vieler, Heinrich
+
+*1926* Untersuchungen iiber Unabhangigkeit und Tragweite der Axiome der Mengen-
+
+lehre in der Axiomatik Zermelos und Fraenkels (thesis, University of Marburg).
+
+Vivanti, Giulio
+
+*1893* Lista bibliografica della teoria degli aggregati, *Rivista di matematica 3,* **189-192.**
+
+von Neumann, John
+
+*1923* \*Zur Einfuhrung der transfiniten Zahlen, *Acta litterarum ac scientiarum Regiae*
+
+*Universitatis Hungaricae Francisco-Josephinae, Sectio scientiarum mathemati-*
+
+*caru,m 1,* 199-208 (346-354 of the present volume); reprinted in *von Neumann*
+
+*1961,* 24-33.
+
+*1925* \*Eine Axiomatisierung der Mengenlehre, *Journal fur die reine und angewandte*
+
+*Mathematik 154,* 219-240; Berichtigung, *ibid. 155,* 128 (393-413 of the present
+
+volume) ; reprinted in *von Neumann 1961,* 34-56.
+
+*1926* Az altalanos nalmazelmelet axiomatikus folepitese (thesis, University of
+
+Budapest).
+
+*1927* Zur Hilbertschen Beweistheorie, *Mathematische Zeitschrift 26,* 1-46; reprinted
+
+in *von Neumann 1961,* 256-300.
+
+*1928* -Ober die Definition durch transfinite Induktion und verwandte Fragen der
+
+allgemeinen Mengenlehre, *Mathe1natische Annalen 99,* 373-391; reprinted in
+
+*von Neumann 1961,* 320-338.
+
+*1928a* Die Axiomatisierung der Mengenlehre, *Mathematische Zeitschrift 27,* 669-752;
+
+Wang, Hao
+
+*1949* On Zermelo's and von Neumann's axioms for set theory, *Proceedings of the*
+
+*National Academy of Sciences of the U.S. A. 35,* 150-155.
+
+*1950* Remarks on the comparison of axiom systems, *ibid. 36,* 448-453.
+
+*1951* Arithmetic models for formal systems, *Methodos 3,* 217-232.
+
+*1952* Truth definitions and consistency proofs, *Transactions of the American Mathe-*
+
+*1955*
+
+*1957*
+
+*1962*
+
+*matical Society 7 3,* 243-27 5; reprinted with revisions as Chapter 18 of *Wang*
+
+*1962.*
+
+Undecidable sentences generated by semantic paradoxes, *The journal of sym-*
+
+*bolic logic 20,* 31-43; reprinted with revisions as Chapter 22 of *lVang 1962.*
+
+The axiomization of arithmetic, *The Journal of symbolic logic 22,* 145-157;
+
+reprinted as Chapter 4 of *Wang 1962.*
+
+*A survey of mathematical logic* (Science Press, Peking; distributed by North-
+
+Holland, Amsterdam).
+
+See Kahr, Andrew Seth, Edward Forrest Moore, and Hao Wang.
+
+Weierstrass, Karl
+
+*1884* Zur Theorie der aus *n* Haupteinheiten gebildeten complexen Grossen, *N ach-*
+
+*richten von der Koniglichen Gesellschaft der lVissenschaften zu Gottingen,* 395-419.
+
+Wernick, William
+
+*1942* Complete sets of logical functions, *Transactions of the American Mathematical*
+
+*Society 51,* 117-132.
+
+Weyl, Hermann
+
+*1910* Uber die Definitionen der mathematischen Grundbegriffe, *Mathematisch-natur-*
+
+*1918*
+
+*1920*
+
+*wissenschaftliche Blatter 7,* 93-95, 109-113.
+
+*Das Kontinuum. Kritische Untersuchungen iiber die Grundlagen der Analysis* (Veit, Leipzig); reprinted 1932 (de Gruyter, Berlin and Leipzig) and ,vithout
+
+date (Chelsea, New York).
+
+Uber die neue Grundlagenkrise der Mathematik, *Mathematische Zeitschrift 10*
+
+**(1921),** 39-79.
+
+*1927* \*Diskussionsbemerkungen zu dem zweiten Hilbertschen Vortrag iiber die
+
+Grundlagen der Mathematik, *Abhandlungen aus dem Mathematischen Seminar der Hamburgischen Universitat 6* (1928), 86-88 (480-484 of the present volume);
+
+*1949*
+
+reprinted in *Hilbert 1928,* **22-24.**
+
+*Philosophy of mathematics and natural science* (Princeton University Press,
+
+Princeton, New Jersey).
+
+Whitehead, Alfred North
+
+*1898 A treatise of universal algebra ivith applications* (Cambridge University Press,
+
+*1902 1906* Cambridge, England), vol. 1.
+
+On cardinal numbers, *American journal of mathematics 24,* 367-394.
+
+On mathematical concepts of the material world, *Philosoph,ical transactions of*
+
+*the Royal Society of London,* series A, *205,* 465-525.
+
+--- and Bertrand Russell
+
+*1910* \* *Principia mathematica* (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, England),
+
+*1912*
+
+*1913*
+
+*1925 1927*
+
+*1927a*
+
+vol. 1 (sec. (1) of chap. III, 216-223 of the present volume).
+
+vol. 2.
+
+---vol. 3.
+
+--- 2nd ed., vol. **1.**
+
+--- vol. 2.
+
+--- vol. 3.
+
+Wiener, Norbert
+
+Young, William Henry, and Grace Chisholm Young
+
+*1929* Review of *Hobson 1921* and *1926,* Second notice, *The mathematical gazette 14,*
+
+98-104.
+
+Zermelo, Ernst
+
+*1904* \*Beweis, daI3 jede Menge wohlgeordnet werden kann, *Mathematische Annalen 59,*
+
+514-516 (139-141 of the present volume).
+
+*1908* \*Neuer Beweis fiir die Moglichkeit einer Wohlordnung, *ibid. 65,* 107-128 (183-
+
+198 of the present volume).
+
+*1908a* \*Untersuchungen iiber die Grundlagen der Mengenlehre I, *ibid.,* 261-281 (199-
+
+215 of the present volume).
+
+*1908b* U eber die Grundlagen der Arithmetik, *Atti del I* Jl *Congresso internazionale dei*
+
+*matematici, Roma, 6-11 Aprile 1908* (Accademia dei Lincei, Rome, 1909), vol. 2,
+
+**8-11.**
+
+*1909* Surles ensembles finis et le principe de !'induction complete, *Acta mathematica*
+
+*32,* **183-193.**
+
+*1929* Uber den Begriff der Definitheit in der Axiomatik, *Fundamenta mathematicae*
+
+*14,* **339-344.**
+
+*1930* Uber Grenzzahlen und Mengenbereiche, *ibid. 16,* 29-47.
+
+See Cantor, Georg, *1932.*
+
+Zylinski, Eustachy
+
+*1925* Some remarks concerning the theory of deduction, *Fundamenta mathematicae*
+
+*7,* 203-209.
+
+MacColl, Hugh, 86, 157
+
+Macfarlane, Alexander, 512
+
+Mach, Ernst, 484
+
+Mc Kinsey, John Charles Chenoweth, 118
+
+Makkai, M., 119
+
+Maltsev, Anatolii I vanovich, 254 Many-valued logics, 264, 279-283
+
+Mathematical induction, 4, 62, 98, 100-101, 292,300,319,320,472,473, 480-483, 565
+
+Meinong, Alexius, 216 Mendelson, Elliott, 285 Minimal calculus, 414
+
+Mirimanoff, Dimitry, 404 Moore, Edward Forrest, 252 Moschovakis, Y iannis, 453
+
+Mostowski, Andrzej, 285, 394, 510, 583
+
+Muller, Eugen, 231, 240, 241
+
+Nicod, Jean, 266, 275 Noether, Emmy, 113
+
+Nonpredicative, 190-191, 292, 297 Novikov, Piotr Sergeievich, 415, 436
+
+Oliver, Louis, 142
+
+Ordinal numbers, 180-182, 346-354, 374, 375
+
+Padoa, Alessandro, 118, 119
+
+Paradoxes, 3,130,153, 200-202, 375,393,395, 440, 475; Berry's, 145, 153, 155, 166; Burali-Forti's, 104-112, 124, 142, 148, 150, 154, 155, 167, 182, 191, 198, 199, 393, 394, 398; Konig's, 142, 145-149; Liar, 153, 154, 166, 439, 440, 592, 598; of finite definability, 441- 443; Richard's, 142-145, 153, 155, 202, 395, 438, 439, 592, 598; Russell's, 104, 113, 124- 128, 129, 142, 150, 199, 200, 375, 393, 395
+
+Parsons, Charles, 453 Pascal, Blaise, 119 Patzig, Gunther, 1
+
+Peano, Giuseppe, 3, 83-87, 105, 118, 119, 122, 124-127, 139, 142, 152, 153, 157, 169, 174- 178, 186-193, 199, 201, 209, 216, 228, 483,
+
+512
+
+Peirce, Charles Sanders, 86, 152, 228, 235, 355,
+
+512
+
+Peirce's law, 416
+
+Peter, R6zsa (Politzer), 369, 493, 494
+
+Pieri, Mario, 129
+
+Poincare, Henri, 105, 118, 129, 142, 153, 163, 190, 191, 198, 209, 300, 395, 473, 479-481,
+
+491
+
+Post, Emil Leon, 264, 265, 273, 277
+
+Predicative, 165-16 7
+
+Predicative function, 151, 152
+
+Presburger, Mojzesz, 580 Pringsheim, Alfred, 340 Putnam, Hilary, 583
+
+Quine, Willard Van Orman, 4, 126, 152, 217, 224, 231, 290, 346, 347, 356, 357, 394, 482,
+
+508, 509
+
+Ramsey, Frank Plumpton, 152, 512 Reduction problems, 232, 245-252
+
+Rkhard,Ju~s, 142,145,153,192,395,438,439
+
+Robinson, Abraham, 118
+
+Robinson, Raphael Mitchel, 346, 34 7, 394, 494
+
+Rose, Harvey Ernest, 303 Rosser, John Barkley, 594
+
+Russell, Bertrand, 3, 4, 10, 104, 118, 124-129, 150-152, 155, 189, 191, 195, 199-201, 217, 224, 228, 246, 260, 265, 267, 270, 284, 291, 297, 303-305, 320, 332, 333, 346, 358, 375, 395, 397, 405, 413, 417, 473, 479, 509, 512,
+
+526,567, 582-584, 596,620,627
+
+Schmidt, Erhard, 139, 141, 191, 286 Schonfinkel, Moses, 355-357, 511, 512 Schoenflies, Arthur, 187, 192-198, 395
+
+Schreier, Otto, 581
+
+Schroder, Ernst, 2, 15, 83-86, 113, 119, 152, 191, 201, 203, 209, 224, 226-235, 240, 242, 248, 249, 254, 255, 261, 267, 269, 292-294,
+
+304, 310, 312, 513 Schutte, Kurt, 119, 565
+
+Schwabhauser, Wolfram, 224
+
+Sequence, logical definition of, 1, 55-81
+
+Sheffer, Henry Maurice, 266, 355, 358, 366
+
+Sheperdson, John Cedric, 394, 581
+
+Sierpinski, Waclaw, 452, 510
+
+Sigwart, Christoph, 420
+
+Skolem, Thoralf, 199, 229-232, 252-254, 285, 291, 302, 303, 368, 394, 405, 409, 413, 493, 508-514, 526, 552, 560, 561, 582, 586, 593,
+
+623
+
+Species, 448, 454 Specker, Ernst, 285
+
+Spector, Clifford, 450, 453 Spread, 447-449, 453,492 Subformula property, 509
+
+Sudan, Gabriel, 495
+
+Suslin, Mikhail Iakovlevich, 452
+
+Svenonius, Lars, 119
+
+Tarski,Alfred, 118,229,254,510,580,581,594,
+
+600
+
+Trendelenburg, Adolf, 1
+
+Turing, Alan Mathison, 594, 616
+
+Types, theory of, 150-182, 199, 405; ramified,
+
+151, 152, 592
+
+Ulam, Stanislaw, 393
+
+van Dalen, Dirk, 335, 453, 529
+
+van Heijenoort, Jean, 127
+
+Variable, 10, 151
+
+Vaught, Robert Lawson, 254
+
+Veblen, Oswald, 411
+
+Venn, John, 267
+
+Vesley, Richard Eugene, 450, 453
+
+Vivanti, Giulio, 105
+
+von Neumann, John, 113, 129, 199, 346, 347, 393, 394, 486, 512, 561, 581, 596, 600, 601,
+
+615, 618
\ No newline at end of file
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diff --git a/lit-marker2/martin-heidegger-the-question-concerning-technology/martin-heidegger-the-question-concerning-technology.md b/lit-marker2/martin-heidegger-the-question-concerning-technology/martin-heidegger-the-question-concerning-technology.md
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@@ -0,0 +1,2839 @@
+The Question
+
+Concerning Technology
+
+� and Other Essays X;
+
+MARTIN HEIDEGGER
+
+Translated and with an Introduction by WILLIAM LOVITT
+
+GARLAND PUBLISHING, INC. New York & London 1977
+
+THE QUESTION CONCERNING TECHNOLOGY AND OTHER ESSAYS. English translation copyright @ 1977 by Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022. Published simultaneously in Canada by Fitzhenry &
+
+Whiteside Limited, Toronto. Designed by Eve Callahan
+
+This edition published by arrangement with Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc.
+
+LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING IN PUBLICATION DATA
+
+Heidegger, Martin, 1889-1976.
+
+The question concerning technology, and other essays. Translations of essays which Originally appeared in Die Technik und die Kehre, Holzwege, and Vortrage und
+
+Aufsatze.
+
+CONTENTS: The question concerning technology.-The turning.-The word of Nietzsche: "God is dead". [etc.] 1. Ontology-Addresses, essays, lectures. 2. Tech-
+
+nology-Addresses, essays, lectures. 1. Title. B3279.H48Q47 1977 193 77-87181
+
+ISBN 0-8240-2427-3
+
+Acknowledgments
+
+Preface
+
+Introduction
+
+Contents
+
+PART I
+
+The Question Concerning Technology
+
+The Turning
+
+PART II
+
+The Word of Nietzsche: "God Is Dead"
+
+PART III
+
+The Age of the World Picture
+
+Science and Reflection
+
+vii ix xiii
+
+> 3 36
+
+53
+
+115 155 Acknowledgments
+
+I am greatly indebted to Professor J. Glenn Gray for initiating me into the demanding art of translating Heidegger and for our close association over the past two years, in the course of which his meticulous reviewing of my translations for this volume has rescued me from many dangers but left me largely free to build
+
+my own way.
+
+To Professor Gray, as well as to Professor Heidegger himself, lowe thanks for access to the unpublished transcripts of two seminars conducted by Heidegger in France: "Seminaire tenu par Ie Professeur Heidegger sur Ie Differenzschrift de Hegel" and "Semina ire tenu au Thor en septembre 1969 par Ie Professeur Martin Heidegger." The latter has helped provide the perspective for my Introduction, and both have enhanced my understanding
+
+of the five essays included here.
+
+Those on the faculty and staff at California State University, Sacramento, who have helped and supported me in my work on this volume are too numerous to be acknowledged each individually, but I am particularly grateful to my colleague in German, Professor Olaf K. Perfler, for hours of intense conversation in which many secrets of the German idiom were revealed to me. To Moira Neuterman, who was my typist from the beginning of this project almost to the last, and to Mary Ellyn McGeary,
+
+her successor, are due my special thanks for exceptional skill and
+
+care.
+
+Every page of this book owes its final shaping in very large measure to the imaginative and rigorous scrutiny of my wife, Dr. Harriet Brundage Lovitt, who, though trained in another discipline, has now become indisputably a scholar and interpreter
+
+of Heidegger in her own right.
+
+WILLIAM LOVITT
+
+Preface
+
+The essays in this book were taken with Heidegger's permission from three different volumes of his works: Die Technik und die Kehre (Pfullingen: Gunther Neske, 1962); Holzwege (Frankfurt: Vittorio Klostermann, 1952); and Vortriige und Aufsiitze (Pfullingen: Gunther Neske, 1954). liThe Question Concerning Technology" is contained in both Die Technik und die Kehre and
+
+Vortriige und Aufsiitze.
+
+In Die T echnik und die Kehre the following prefatory note appears regarding the two essays, "The Question Concerning Technology" ("Die Frage nach der Technik") and "The Turning"
+
+("Die Kehre"):
+
+Under the title "Insight into That Which Is," the author gave, on December 1, 1949, in the Club at Bremen, four lectures, which were repeated without alterations in the spring of 1950 (March 2S and 26) at Biihlerhohe. The titles were "The Thing ["Das Ding"], "Enframing" ["Das Gestell"], "The Danger" ["Die Gefahr"], "The
+
+Turning" ["Die Kehre"]. \*
+
+The first lecture was given in an expanded version on June 6, 1950, before the Bavarian Academy of Fine Arts. (See Vortriige und
+
+Aufsiitze, 1954, pp. 163 ff.)t
+
+\* Throughout the translations in this volume parenthetical elements interpolated by me are shown in brackets, while those present in the
+
+The second lecture was given on November 18, 1955, also in an expanded version, under the title "The Question Concerning Technology," in the series entitled "The Arts in the Technological Age." (See Vortriige und Aufsiitze, 1954, pp. 13 ff.). The present volume
+
+repeats this text unaltered.
+
+The third lecture remains still unpublished.
+
+The fourth lecture, "The Turning," is published here for the first
+
+time according to the first unaltered version.
+
+At the end of Holzwege Heidegger makes the following observations concerning "The Word of Nietzsche : 'God Is Dead' " ("Nietzsches Wort 'Gott ist tot' It) and "The Age of the World
+
+Picture ("Die Zeit des Weltbildes") :
+
+"The Word of Nietzsche : 'God Is Dead' ": The major portions were delivered repeatedly in 1943 for small groups. The content is based upon the Nietzsche lectures that were given between 1936 and 1940 during five semesters at the University of Freiburg im Breisgau. These set themselves the task of understanding Nietzsche's thinking as the consummation of Western metaphysics from out of Being. "The Age of the World Picture": The lecture was given on June 9, 1938, under the title "The Establishing by Metaphysics of the Modern World Picture," as the last of a series that was arranged by the Society for Aesthetics, Natural Philosophy, and Medicine at Freiburg im Breisgau, and which had as its theme the establishing of the modern world picture. The appendixes were written at the
+
+same time but were not delivered.
+
+Of all the essays in Holzwege Heidegger remarks:
+
+In the intervening time these pieces have been repeatedly revised and, in some places, clarified. In each case the level of reflection and the structure have remained, and so also, together with these, has
+
+the changing use of language.
+
+And at the end of Vortriige und Aufsiitze Heidegger gives the
+
+following notes:
+
+"The Question Concerning Technology" ["Die Frage nach der Technik"]: Lecture held on November 18, 1955, in the main auditorium of the Technische Hochschule, Munich, in the series "The Arts in the Technological Age," arranged by the Bavarian Academy of Fine Arts under the leadership of President Emil Preetorius; published in volume III of the Yearbook of the Academy (ed. Clemens Graf Podewils), R. Oldenbourg, Munich, 1954, pp. 70 ff.
+
+"Science and Reflection" ["Wissenschaft und Besinnung"J: Lecture, in its present version given in August, 1954, before a small group, in preparation for the above-mentioned conference in Munich.
+
+WILLIAM LOVITT
+
+Sacramento, California
+
+Introduction
+
+To read Heidegger is to set out on an adventure. The essays in this volume-intriguing, challenging, and often baffling the reader-call him always to abandon all superficial scanning and to enter wholeheartedly into the serious pursuit of thinking. Every philosopher demands to be read in his own terms. This is especially true of Heidegger. One must not come to him with ready-made labels, although these are very often given. Thus Heidegger is not an "existentialist." He is not concerned centrally or exclusively with man. Rather he is centrally concerned with the relation between man and Being, with man as the openness to which and in which Being presences and is known. Heidegger is not a "determinist." He does not believe that man's actions are completely controlled by forces outside him or that man has no effective freedom. To Heidegger man's life does indeed lie under a destining sent from out of Being. But to him that destining can itself call forth a self-orienting response of man that is real and is a true expression of human freedom. Again, Heidegger is not a "mystic." He does not describe or advocate the experiencing of any sort of oneness with an absolute or infinite. For him both man and Being are finite, and their relationship never dissolves in sheer oneness. Hence absolute, infinite, or the One can appear to him only as abstractions of man's thinking, and
+
+Heidegger is not a "primitive" or a "romantic." He is not one who seeks escape from the burdens and responsibilities of contemporary life into serenity, either through the re-creating of some idyllic past or through the exalting of some simple experience. Finally, Heidegger is not a foe of technology and science. He neither disdains nor rejects them as though they
+
+were only destructive of human life.
+
+The roots of Heidegger's thinking lie deep in the Western philosophical tradition. Yet that thinking is unique in many of its aspects, in its language and in its literary expression. In the development of his thought Heidegger has been taught chiefly by the Greeks, by German idealism, by phenomenology, and by the scholastic theological tradition. These and other elements have been fused by his genius of sensitivity and intellect into
+
+very individual philosophical expression.
+
+In approaching Heidegger's work the reader must ask not only what he says, but how he says it. For here form and content are . inextricably united. The perceptive reader will find at hand in the literary form of each one of these essays many keys to unlock its meaning. He will also find the content of each continually shaping for itself forms admirably suited to its particular ex-
+
+pression.
+
+For Heidegger true thinking is never an activity performed in abstraction from reality. It is never man's ordering of abstractions simply in terms of logical connections. Genuine thinking is, rather, man's most essential manner of being man. Rigorously demanding and but rarely attained, it manifests the relation between man and Being. In true thinking man is used by Being, which needs man as the openness that provides the measure and the bounds for Being's manifesting of itself in whatever is. Man in thinking is called upon to lend a helping hand to Being. Indeed, Heidegger can refer to thinking as handcraft. As such, thinking is man's fundamental responding to whatever offers itself to him. Informed by recollection, it brings forth into awareness and efficacy whatever is presented to it to know. It is the caretaking hand that receives and holds and shapes everything that truly comes to be and to be known. Through that receiving and shaping of whatever is present, thinking, as belonging to
+
+Introduction xv
+
+and needed by Being, cooperates in the handing out of limits
+
+and the setting of bounds.
+
+Here Being is in no sense to be thought of as an entity of some sort. Nor is it to be simply identified with any element or aspect or totality of the reality that we ordinarily know. Rather Being is the Being of whatever is. Ruling in whatever is, yet transcending and governing the latter in the particularity of its presencing, Being may perhaps best be said to be the ongoing manner in which everything that is, presences; i.e., it is the manner in which, in the lastingness of time, everything encounters man and comes to appearance through the openness that man provides. Hence for Heidegger Being is the very opposite of an abstraction fashioned by human thought. Rather it is "what is given to thinking to think." True thinking should not concern itself with some arcane and hidden meaning, but with "something lying near, that which lies nearest," which, in virtue of that very nearness, man's thinking can readily fail to notice at all (WN 111). \* Being rules in whatever is-in the particular and in the far-ranging complexity of the whole-thereby constantly approaching and concerning man. "In the 'is,' " spoken of anything
+
+real whatever, " 'Being' is uttered" (T 46).
+
+Being manifests itself continually anew. In keeping with this, thinking can never be for Heidegger a closed system. Rather it is the traveling of a road. Each thinker goes along a way that is peculiarly his own. In a fundamental sense it is the way and not the individual that assembles what is thought, that provides bounds and lets everything stand in relation to everything else. Heidegger's writings exemplify this centrality of the way for
+
+\* The five essays in this volume are referred to in the Introduction and
+
+in the footnotes with the following symbols : QT : "The Question Concerning Technology"
+
+T: "The Turning"
+
+WN: "The Word of Nietzsche: 'God Is Dead' " AWP : "The Age of the World Picture"
+
+SR : "Science and Reflection"
+
+The abbreviation "Pr. Iden." refers to the essay "The Principle of Identity," in Heidegger's Identity and Difference, trans. Joan Stambaugh (New York : Harper & Row, 1969), pp. 23 ff. In all quotations from this work slight modifications of the translation have been made. "Sem" refers to the unpublished transcript of the "Seminaire tenu au Thor en septembre 1969 par
+
+xvi Introduction
+
+him. Characteristically he writes essays, excursions of thought. Each of the five essays in the present volume is of this nature. The five center around the theme of technology and the modern age, yet in reading each of them we travel a particular path. Each is distinctive and self-contained, and must be read in and for itself. In each, innumerable details of word and phrase and structure at once both arise from and reveal what Heidegger is saying. Heidegger is primarily a teacher. He does not wish to travel alone and then report what he has seen, nor does he wish to go as a guide merely pointing out objects along the road. He wishes the reader to accompany him on the way, to participate with him, and even to begin to build his own way through thinking, and
+
+not merely to hear about what it is or should be.
+
+Being approaches and concerns us in whatever is, yet Being characteristically conceals itself even in so doing. Hence thinking cannot readily find it out. The way through thinking to that place where man can open himself to the ruling of Being is difficult. It leads often through unfamiliar and even perilous country. We modern men are far from that open clearing. We are trapped and blinded by a mode of thought that insists on grasping reality through imposed conceptual structures. We cannot and will not come to that place where we can let what is, be. We do not perceive that the way by which true thinking proceeds can itself prove to be the source of that unity which we, often frenziedly, strive after in our philosophy, in our science, and in every aspect
+
+of our activity.
+
+In order to prepare us truly to think, Heidegger, in keeping with the best speculative tradition, often carries us beyond our facile conceiving to seek the ground of our thinking. But he does more. He confronts us repeatedly with an abyss. For he strives to induce us to leap to new ground, to think in fresh ways. Hence, again and again, as we travel with him through these essays some preejpice will confront us. One must often clamber through dark sayings and scale absurdities if one would follow on these paths. This is a daunting prospect. Yet Heidegger has hope for those who go with him. For the ground he seeks to achieve belongs fundamentally to man as man. Hence he calls
+
+Heidegger's writing is intrinsically sequential, always moving in some particular direction. Therefore one must discover meaning as one moves forward. One must experience the turnings of these paths just where they happen. No element can properly be excerpted and considered in isolation, and none can properly be left out of account; for each element plays its part in the forward movement. Words and sentences must always be read in context
+
+if one hopes to apprehend the meaning that they bear.
+
+In this building forward of thinking there is always a pattern. Sometimes it is closely and intricately woven, as in "The Turning." Sometimes, as in "The Question Concerning Technology" or "The Word of Nietzsche : 'God Is Dead,' " it is far-ranging, involVing long, complex discussions whose interconnections can be hard to discern. At times bewilderment may seize even the thoughtful reader. Yet he must remember that, on each particular path, Heidegger himself never loses his way and never forgets in what direction he is going. He never abandons the sequence of his themes, never forgets what he has previously said, and never forsakes the pattern of his work. Everything fits, often with great precision, into that pattern. For Heidegger is always working out of the wholeness provided by the delimiting way
+
+pursued.
+
+Heidegger must build and is content to build finitely. However intricate the relationships to be expressed, however manifold the given meaning, he must set forth one facet at a time. There is tremendous rigor in his work. Therefore he makes great demands on those who follow him. Yet the reader who perseveres may hope to experience the excitement of discovery as he finds
+
+himself intimately engaged in the pursuit of thinking.
+
+Because Heidegger is eager that the reader should follow him and sensible that the way is hard, again and again he speaks so as to evoke a response that will carry his companion forward. Often at some key point he will ask a question, seeking to force the reader to come to grips with what is being said, to think, to reply, and then to listen for an answer that will send the discussion forward : "Does this mean that man, for better or worse, is helplessly delivered over to technology?" (T 37). "In what does the essence of modern science lie?" (AWP 117) . "What is hap-
+
+pening to Being?" (WN 104) . When we come upon such questions we must listen alertly. A question may be answered in an immediately ensuing sentence, or its answer may emerge only after an involved exposition. But an answer will come. And it
+
+will be important to the whole discussion.
+
+Sometimes Heidegger speaks with sharp emphasis, to indicate that a point must be heard: "never can it be sufficiently stressed .. . " (SR 160), "a confrontation with Christendom is absolutely not in any way ... " (WN 64), "never does the Being of that which is consist ... " (AWP 130). Such words demand
+
+our closest attention.
+
+Again, Heidegger has many devices for catching the reader up and jolting him from his habitual frame of mind. "But where have we strayed to?" he will ask, after a sequence of thought has drawn to an expected conclusion (QT 12). Or he will interject some sharp assertion: "for centuries we have acted as though the doctrine of the four causes had fallen from heaven as a truth as clear as daylight" (QT 6)-and he thereby calls in question our unconsidered assumptions. At one point he will echo what we are thinking, only to amplify it with a word that moves it into another dimension: Yes, the instrumental definition of technology is "correct"; it is "indeed so uncannily correct" -and the word "uncanny," even if forgotten, hangs over the portrayal of the skeletal power into whose domain we look in words that eventually follow (QT 5, 19 ff.) . At another point he will thrust at the foundations of our thinking with a quick reversal of thought, hoping to dislodge us and bring us to new ground: "Modern physics is called mathematical because, in a remarkable way, it makes use of a quite specific mathematics. But it can proceed mathematically in this way only because, in a deeper sense, it is already itself mathematical" (A WP 118)-and we are compelled to ask, What is he saying with this puzzling assertion? Sometimes such thrusts are all but beyond our comprehension: "The essence of technology is by no means anything technological" (QT 4) ; "Physics as physics can make no assertions about physics" (SR 176). Such words may even, when heard superficially, sound like mere cleverness or arrogant nonsense. More seriously confronted, such statements may fairly halt the reader in dismay and exasperation. "I know this man must be
+
+wrong," he may protest, "if he says that the essence of technology has nothing to do with technology. He can't be saying that. But what is he saying? I am willing to do as I was asked, to follow, to question, to build a way. But what can I do with an opaque statement like that? 'The essence of technology is by no means anything technological'!" Yet in such opaque statements the meaning of the way is often most deeply lodged. Again the reader has been forced to ask, to look for the ranges of meaning within seemingly familiar words. Never should it be thought that at such junctures Heidegger is merely playing with words. For him, rather, language plays with us. The swiftly turned phrase is not a roadblock. It is another, if enigmatic, signpost. It is a statement opaque only by reason of fullness, intended to guide the reader forward in search of the meaning that it bodies
+
+forth.
+
+Access to the way to which Heidegger wishes to introduce us, the way to thinking and to a free relationship with Being, lies through language. For thinking is man's according with and responding to Being, and "language is the primal dimension" in
+
+which that responsive corresponding takes place (T 41).
+
+Heidegger has a poet's ear for language and often writes in a poetic way. For him the proper function of words is not to stand for, to signify. Rather, words point to something beyond themselves. They are translucent bearers of meaning. To name a thing is to summon it, to call it toward one. Heidegger's words are rich in connotation. Once inclined to invent words to carry needed meanings, he has more recently become concerned with the rehabilitation of language, with the restoring of its original,
+
+now obliterated force.
+
+Repeatedly he tells us of the ancient and fundamental meanings of words, carefully setting forth nuances or tracing historical changes that took place as thought passed from one language to another. Our word "technology," we learn, rests back upon the Greek techne. Our "cause," from the Latin causa, translates the Greek aition, which has a very different meaning. "Essence," "theory," "reflection," the "real"-word after word is searched out to its roots and defined and used according to its latent meanings. In all this Heidegger is of course no mere antiquarian.
+
+He has said that language is the house of Being. The reciprocal relation between Being and man is fulfilled through language. Hence to seek out what language is, through discovering what was spoken in it when it first arose and what has been and can be heard in it thereafter, is in fact to seek out that relationship. It is to endeavor to place oneself where the utterance of Being
+
+may be heard and expressed.
+
+Heidegger chooses-he himself might say "discovers"-words that are as expressive as possible. Often he defines them with great precision. Sometimes he points out facets of meaning that are clearly present in a German word, as in verschulden (to be responsible or indebted), wirken (to work or bring about), or besinnen (to reflect; from sinnen, to scent out or sense) QT 7; SR 159, 180). Sometimes he presses a word forward to encompass new meanings that he hears within it, as with Bestand (stock, now become standing-reserve), or Gestell (frame, now become Enframing), or Geschick (fate, now become the self-adaptive
+
+destining of Being) (QT 17, 19, 24; T 37-38).
+
+Heidegger's use of words is very often peculiar to himself. It is characteristically demanding and often strange to our thought. The words that meet us in his essays are not intended to mystify his readers or to attract devotees who will facilely repeat esoteric speech. Yet Heidegger is acutely aware that his words may well be seized upon and used in just such ways : we must, he says, keep from "hastily recasting the language of the thinker in the coin of a terminology," immediately repeating some new and impressive word "instead of devoting all our efforts to thinking
+
+through what has been said."l
+
+Since words are in no sense abstractions, but rather show the Being of that of which they speak, Heidegger can and does employ them variously so as to bring out particular aspects of their meaning at particular points. But he uses them consistently according to his understanding of the meaning that they carry; and nuances that fall away at any given time nevertheless always remain alive and must be continually heard. We must read Heidegger's definitions and study his ways of using words with care. For these alone, and not our own preconceptions and ingrained notions of meaning, will tell us what words like "truth" 1. "The Onto-theo-IogicaI Constitution of Metaphysics," in Identity and
+
+Difference, pp. 73-74.
+
+or "essence" or "technology" or "metaphysics" are conveying
+
+here.
+
+In this situation the non-German reader is of course at a peculiar disadvantage. A translator is inexorably forced to choose among many aspects of connotation for word upon word and to recast sentence after sentence into a very different mold. Parallel words and even rather lengthy phrases have sometimes been used here to render single German words in order to display adequately their breadth of meaning. Every attempt has been made to maintain consistency in the translation of given words and to mirror as faithfully as possible the inner emphases of construction resident in the German text. Yet despite all such efforts, the evocative power of the original word, as often of the original stress and turn of phrase, can scarcely be preserved for the English-speaking reader. In these essays, footnotes and citations of the original German have been provided to help the reader at crucial points. The essays have been translated with care, and it is hoped that much of Heidegger's meaning lies within these pages, even though the fullness of the original German must be lacking. It goes without saying that anyone who wishes to know Heidegger's work well must read and study the German
+
+text.
+
+When all this has been said, it must be added that the first problem of the reader of this English volume is apt to lie, not in the fact that he is reading Heidegger in translation, but in the fact that in reading Heidegger he is encountering words that he must learn to let come to him with fresh meaning. Definition and context remain to give considerable aid. Moreover, even in the language of translation the expressiveness of many of Heidegger's words can reach us with genuine power. If we can learn, with whatever difficulty, to think truth as unconcealment or essence as the manner in which something endures in coming to presence; if we can let words like "technology" or "destining" or "danger" sound with the meaning Heidegger intends, then
+
+sorr,ething of that power will be present for us.
+
+Very often Heidegger uses words that point to realities or relations beyond those of which they immediately speak. On occassion a pair of words will be found, each of which, if we are truly listening, more or less clearly suggests and reenforces the other. Words like "unconcealing" and "concealing," "presxxii Introduction
+
+encing" and "withdrawing," are intended variously to act in this way. More importantly, such words, like many others, also have a two-wayness that permits them to point at once to Being and to man. Thus "presencing" and "revealing" speak simultaneously of a moving into presence or un concealment and of one toward whom that movement takes place, while "concealing" and "withdrawing" tell of a movement away and remind of one who is being deprived of that which might be present or revealed. Often this breadth of expressiveness possessed by Heidegger's language can help the attentive reader to make his way through difficult passages. In "The Turning," for example, throughout the especially difficult sequence in which we are told of what comes to pass in the turning of the danger that is the essence of technology, almost no overt allusion is made to the role of man (T 41-47). That role is set forth in the opening pages of the essay (pp. 36-41), but it could easily be let slip from view as the reader follows the intricate discussion. Throughout that very discussion, however, a whole series of words-"light," "inflashing," "glance," "insight" -appears. And these can serve to remind one of a: lighting up that both shines forth and is seen. These words speak specifically of what happens in the turning within Being itself. But they also sustain for us, if but hiddenly, the memory of man's necessary involvement in what is coming to pass, until the human role is again taken up and brought
+
+forward (T 47).
+
+Heidegger makes particular use of prepositions and adverbs, standing either alone or as components of verbs, to speak thus of fundamental relations, even when those relations themselves are not under discussion. Such words as "into," "from out of," "toward," "forth," "out," and "hither" will be met with frequently in these pages. They should be carefully noted, for they can embody with peculiar force the apprehension of reality out
+
+of which Heidegger is speaking.
+
+Poet that he is, Heidegger often speaks the same words again and again and again. Repetition gives emphasis. A word introduced at one point and then taken up only later into full discussion gains in richness through that early introduction, for its presence threads all but unnoticed through the pattern of intervening thought. The same phrases are used now, then used again;
+
+Introduction xxiii
+
+yet they are not really the same. The later phrase is always fuller in meaning by reason of all that has been said since its words were first spoken. This cumulative power of repetition can be seen strikingly when Heidegger returns at the close of an essay to words and themes that sound toward its beginning (cf. T, WN). Such words speak with new eloquence when we find them
+
+thus at the conclusion of an arduous path.
+
+Above all, the reader must not grow deaf to Heidegger's words; he must not let their continual repetition or their appearance in all but identical phrases lull him into gliding effortlessly on, oblivious to the subtle shifts and gatherings of meaning that are
+
+constantly taking place.
+
+A number of terms that we have used thus far point to fundamental characteristics in Heidegger's thinking that must become integral to one's own outlook if one would enter into and gain some understanding of his work. We have spoken of the "way" that "assembles" and relates things to one another. We have alluded to "wholeness," to "pattern," to the expressing of facets of thought in finite "sequence." We have discussed the "twowayness" of particular words, and the "richness of connotation" inherent in Heidegger's language generally. All these are but particular manifestations of a thinking that is essentially inclusive and essentially rooted in the discerning of relations. On the ground where Heidegger moves, reality does not appear as composed of discrete elements or aspects that are linked by cause and effect connections. For Heidegger thinking is not primarily deductive, although he often shows himself to be a master at elu�idating the implications of a statement or thought. For him the primary question to be asked is always how and never why. His is descriptive and evocative thinking, in the sense that it tells us of what is and of what is taking place, and seeks to bring it before us. The reality described is manifold. Aspects impinge upon one another. Movements and interactions are what must
+
+fundamentally be recounted.
+
+But these interrelations always involve some intricate unity. The inherence of something in something else or the manifestation in the present of what has long been present, the sameness of various and even opposite manifestations or the oneness of xxiv Introduction
+
+subtly diverse occurrences-such things are here to be met with
+
+at every turn.
+
+Once more the reader may be tempted to say, "What nonsense!" One should be wary, however, of leaping hastily to any such conclusion. So pervasively does unitive, relational thinking inform every aspect of Heidegger's work that one who dismissed such thinking out of hand would risk extinguishing for himself any hope of understanding what Heidegger is saying. The reader must in fact become so alert to inclusive complexities of thought that he will be sensitive to their presence even when they do not
+
+manifestly appear.
+
+Heidegger, as is typical of him, is concerned in the essays before us with the understanding of Western history and Western thought. We ordinarily think of the modern age, "the age of science and technology," as one that began a few centuries ago and that is unquestionably new. Heidegger too can speak of a new departure in the modern age ; yet for him to say this is to point at the same time to the coming into overt expression of a tendency whose true origin lies decisively if hiddenly in Greek
+
+antiquity.
+
+The fundamental Greek experience of reality was, Heidegger believes, one in which men were immediately responsive to whatever was presencing to them. They openly received whatever
+
+spontaneously met them (AWP 131).
+
+For the Greeks the coming into the "present" out of the "notpresent" was poisesis (QT 10). This "bringing forth" was manifest first of all in physis, that presencing wherein the burstingforth arose from within the thing itself. Techne was also a form of this bringing forth, but one in which the bursting-forth lay not in the thing itself but in another. In techne, through art and handcraft, man participated in conjunction with other contributing elements-with "matter," "aspect," and "circumscribing bounds" -in the bringing forth ofa thing into being (QT 7-8). Moreover the arts of the mind were called techne also (QT 13). Greek man openly received and made known that which offered itself to him. Yet nevertheless he tended in the face of the onrush of the revealing of Being in all that met him to seek to master it. It is just this tendency toward mastery that shows itself in Greek philosophy. Philosophy sprang from the fundaIntroduction xxv
+
+mental Greek experience of reality. The philosopher wondered at the presencing of things and, wondering, fixed upon them. (That, Heidegger remarks, is why Thales tumbled into a well! [Sem 11]). The philosopher sought to grasp and consider reality, to discover whatever might be permanent within it, so as to know what it truly was. But precisely in so doing he distanced himself from Being, which was manifesting itself in the presencing of all particular beings. For in his seeking, he reached out not simply to receive with openness, but also to control. Here, to Heidegger's thinking, lies the real origin of the modern technological age. T echne was a skilled and thorough knowing that disclosed, that was, as such, a mode of bringing forth into presencing, a mode of revealing. Philosophy, as a thinking that considered reality and therewith made it manifest in its Being, was techne also in its own way. In the Western tradition, the metaphysical thinking born of that philosophy carried forward the expression
+
+of techne into modern times.
+
+Heidegger finds Christian theology to be wholly dominated by metaphysics during the centuries after the beginning of the Christian era. In the medieval period men were preoccupied with the question of how they might be in right relationship with God, how they might be assured of salvation, i.e., how they might find enduring security. At the close of that period the overt theological undergirding of these questions fell away, but the quest for security remained. Man needed a new basis for his self-assurance, his assurance of rightness. The work of Descartes, itself an expression of the shift in men's outlook that had already taken place, set forth that basis in philosophical terms (WN 88-90). In the' ego cogito [ergo] sum of Descartes, man found his selfcertainty within himself. Man's thinking (cogitare), which Heidegger says was also a "driving together" (co-agitare), was found to contain within itself the needed sureness. Man could represent reality to himself, that is, he could set it up over against himself, as it appeared to him, as an object of thought. In so doing, he felt assured at once of his own existence and of the existence of
+
+the reality thus conceived (AWP 131).
+
+It is in this that Heidegger sees the focal point for the beginning of the modern age. The tendency present in metaphysics from its inception here begins to come to fulfillment. Man, once xxvi Introduction
+
+concerned to discover and decisively to behold the truly real, now finds himself certain of himself; and he takes himself, in that self-certainty, to be more and more the determining center of
+
+reality.
+
+This stance of man in the midst of all that is bespeaks the fact that man has become " subject." The phenomenon of the "sub- . ject" is itself not new. It was present among the Greeks. But there subject, hypokeimenon, that-which-lies-before (for the Greeks, that which looms up, e.g., an island or mountain), meant the reality that confronted man in the power of its presence (cf.' Sem. 7). With Descartes at the beginning of the modern period, this meaning of hypokeimenon, subject, was decisively trans-
+
+formed.
+
+Descartes fixed his attention not on a reality beyond himself, but precisely on that which was present as and within his own consciousness. At this point human self-consciousness became subject par excellence, and everything that had the character of subject-of that-which-lies-before-came to find the locus and manner of its being precisely in that self-consciousness, Le., in the unity of thinking and being that was established by Descartes in his ego cogito [ergo] sum, through which man was continually seeking to make himself secure. Here man became what he has been increasingly throughout our period. He became subject, the self-conscious shaper and guarantor of all that comes to him
+
+from beyond himself (AWP 147 ff.).
+
+Modern science is for Heidegger a work of man as subject in this sense. Modern man as scientist, through the prescribed procedures of experiment, inquires of nature to learn more and more about it. But in so doing he does not relate himself to nature as the Greek related himself to the multitudinous presencing of everything that met him spontaneously at every turn. He does not relate to nature in the openness of immediate response. For the scientist's "nature" is in fact, Heidegger says, a human construction. S<;:ience strikingly manifests the way in which modern man as subject represents reality. The modern scientist does not let things presence as they are in themselves. He arrests them, objectifies them, sets them over against himself, precisely by representing them to himself in a particular way. Modern theory, Heidegger says, is an "entrapping and securing refining Introduction xxvii
+
+of the real" (5R 167) . Reality as "nature" is represented as a manifold of cause and effect coherences. 50 represented, nature becomes amenable to experiment. But this does not happen simply because nature intrinsically is of this character; rather it happens, Heidegger avers, specifically because man himself represents nature as of this character and then grasps and investigates it according to methods that, not surprisingly, fit
+
+perfectly the reality so conceived.
+
+Here, science (Wissenschaft) means any discipline or branch of knowledge. In speaking of science, Heidegger can refer as often to the discipline of history, with its representing of historical events as causal sequences, as he does to physics and its related disciplines with their respective ways of representing
+
+nature.
+
+The intricate system of techniques and apparatus that we call modern technology belongs essentially to this same realm. In it contemporary man's inveterate drive to master whatever confronts him is plain for all to see. Technology treats everything with "objectivity." The modern technologist is regularly expected, and expects himself, to be able to impose order on all data, to "process" every sort of entity, nonhuman and human alike, and to devise solutions for every kind of problem., He is
+
+forever getting things under control.
+
+Heidegger's portrayal of the beginnings of the modern age and of its characteristic phenomena often so sharply stresses the self-exalting and restrictive role of man that his thinking can seem not unlike that of those who unconditionally condemn "Cartesian abstraction" and decry the pernicious tendency of science and technology to cut man off from vital awareness of the real (AWP 118 ff., 5R 169 ff.). But for Heidegger that simple stress never stands alone. Its seeming simplicity in fact masks a concomitant hidden truth that actually belies any such simplicity. Always for Heidegger-even when he most vividly describes how man as subject has brought the modern age into being and how he now shapes and dominates its phenomenathe primal relationship between man and Being lies as near at hand and demands as much to be taken into account as it does when he speaks of the ancient Greeks and of their immediate responsiveness to the ruling of Being in whatever was presencing
+
+xxviii Introduction
+
+to them. However extensiveLy Heidegger may speak about man, his thinking and his doing, he never loses sight of the truth that
+
+"in the 'is' /I of everything that is, " 'Being' is uttered."
+
+Modern technology, like ancient techne, from which it springs -and like science and metaphysics, which are essentially one with it-is a mode of revealing. Being, through its manner of
+
+ruling in all that is, is manifesting itself within it.
+
+That which has come to fruition in Descartes and in all of us, his modern successors, not only took its rise long before in a temporal sense. It also took its rise long in advance from beyond man (QT 14). For in its fulfillment Heidegger sees the holdingsway of a "destining" or "sending forth" of Being, that has come
+
+upon man and molded him and his world (QT 24).
+
+In the time of the Greeks the philosophers did not simply impose categories like idea upon reality so as to make it accessible to themselves in the way they wished. Rather, that which everywhere met them in its Being so offered itself as to call forth their thought in just those ways. In the same manner, in the modern "Cartesian" scientific age man does not merely impose his own construction upon reality. He does indeed represent reality to himselt refusing to let things emerge as they are. He does forever catch reality up in a conceptual system and find that he must fix it thus before he can see it at all. But man does this both as his own work and because the revealing now holding sway at once in all that is and in himself brings it about that he should do so. This simultaneous juxtaposing of the destining of Being and the doing of man is absolutely fundamental for Heidegger's
+
+thinking.
+
+We ordinarily understand modern technology as having arisen subsequently to science and as subordinate to it. We consider it to be a phenomenon brought about through scientific advance. Heidegger points out that, on the contrary, modern science and machine technology are mutually dependent upon one another. More importantly, technology, in its essence, precedes and is more fundamental than science. This is no mere statement concerning chronological priority, for the "essence of technology" is the very mode of Being's revealing of itself that is holding sway in all phenomena of the modern age. Man's arrogation to himself of the role of subject in philosophy; his objectifying of Introduction xxix
+
+nature, life, and history in dealing with them in 'the sciences; and his calculating and cataloguing and disposing of all manner of things through machine technology-all these alike are expressions of that essence and of that revealing. Technology, so understood, is in no sense an instrument of man's making or in his control. It is rather that phenomenon, ruled from out of Being itself, that is centrally determining all of Western history. Modern technology in its essence is a "challenging revealing." It involves a contending with everything that is. For it "sets
+
+upon" everything, '
+
+imposing upon it a demand that seizes and
+
+requisitions it for use. Under the dominion of this challenging
+
+revealing, nothing is allowed to appear as it is in itself.
+
+The rule of such a way of revealing is seen when man becomes subject, when from out of his consciousness he assumes dominion over everything outside himself, when he represents and objectifies and, in objectifying, begins to take control over everything. It comes to its fulfillment when, as is increasingly the case in our time, things are not even regarded as objects, because their only important quality has become their readiness for use. Today all things are being swept together into a vast network in which their only meaning lies in their being available to serve some end that will itself also be directed toward getting everything under control. Heidegger calls this fundamentally undifferentiated supply of the available the "standing-reserve"
+
+(QT 17).
+
+The ordering of everything as standing-reserve, like objectifying itself, is once more a manifestation of a destining. It is first of all the bringing to fruition of a way of appearing that is given to everything that is, from out of Being itself. But as such, it does not, of course, take place simply outside of or apart from man. The same destining that gives this mode of appearing to whatever is also rules in him, provoking him to order everything in just this way, as standing-reserve. The challenging claim that now summons man forth, that "gathers man thither to order the self-revealing as standing-reserve," Heidegger calls das Ge-stell (Enframing) (QT 19). As "Enframing," that claim ceaselessly brings both men and things to take their places in the stark configuration that is being wrought out through ordering for use. This challenging summons, ruling in modern technology, is xxx Introduction
+
+a mode of Being's revealing of itself. Yet in it, also, Being withdraws, so that the summons that thus "enframes" is all but devoid of Being as empowering to be. Compelled by its claim, ordered and orderer alike are denuded. All that is and man himself are gripped in a structuring that exhibits a mere skeleton of their Being, of the way in which they intrinsically are. In all
+
+this the essence of technology rules.
+
+The dominion of Enframing as the essence of modern technology and the concomitant presence of the standing-reserve are most clearly seen in the realm of machine technology, where no object has significance in itself and where the "orderability" of everything, from energy and statistics to machines and persons, is all-important. It can be found also, Heidegger says, in the sphere of science, namely, in modern physics. There again, the object, otherwise the hallmark of the sciences, has disappeared. In its stead the relation between subject and object comes to the fore and "becomes a standing-reserve" to be controlled (SR 173). In metaphysics too the rule of the essence of technology appears. Perhaps rather surprisingly, Heidegger finds in Nietzsche the culmination �f the movement of modern metaphysics begun in Descartes and carried forward by subsequent thinkers. Standing within the modern metaphysical outlook, Nietzsche, in asking concerning the reality of the real, found the will to be fundamentally determinative. The self-consciousness of the subject, which Descartes established as normative, is raised in Nietzsche to full metaphysical expression. Self-consciousness is here the self-consciousness of the will Willing itself. The will to power, fundamental for Nietzsche, is no mere human willing. It is the mode of Being now ruling in everything that is, which must find
+
+accomplishment through man (WN 96-97).
+
+In striving ever forward in and to greater power, the will to power must-indeed in the most extreme manner-act in the very way that Heidegger finds characteristic of metaphysical thinking as such. In positing for itself the preservation-enhancement conditions of life that attend its own necessary advance, the will to power cannot and does not receive what comes to it and leave it to its spontaneously flowing presencing. Rather it must arrest it, delimit it, make it into a constant reserve, into that on the basis of which it itself moves forward (WN 83 ff.). Introduction xxxi
+
+The establishing of the conditions necessary for the will to power's willing of itself is thought of by Nietzsche as value-
+
+positing.
+
+Nietzsche designates as "nihilism" the devaluing of the transcendent values imposed on man by traditional metaphysical thinking; and he calls "completed nihilism" the "revaluing," accomplished in his own thinking, that at once guards against a slipping back into those former values and provides an affirmative basis for the positing of new values. For Heidegger, Nietzsche actually displays in his "completed nihilism" a yet more extreme form of nihilism whose character he does not himself suspect. Despite his desire to overcome metaphysics, Nietzsche stands squarely in the metaphysical tradition, for he continues to think in terms of valuing. He can indeed take Being to be a value, a condition posited in the will to power for its own preservation and enhancement. The Being of everything, far from being a revealing presencing to be freely received, becomes a determinative aim in view that must lead always to some further end. Here self-consciousness-which as subject sets itself and everything present to it before itself, that it may make itself securecomes, in the mode of the will to power, to take disposal, in its
+
+value-positing, even over Being.
+
+It is just this thinking that is for Heidegger in the highest degree "nihilistic." In it Being has been degraded into a value (d. WN 102-104); Being cannot be Being; i.e., the power of everything whatever to presence directly in its Being has been destroyed by a thinking that would find every aspect and characteristic of reality to be at the disposal and service of the final expression of the subjectness of the subject as self-securing selfconsciousness-the will to power. Nietzsche's anticipated "overman," embodying in himself the determining power once supposed to lie in the realm of transcendent values, would actualize
+
+this subjectness.
+
+In this way Heidegger sees in Nietzsche's philosophy the completion and consummation of metaphysics, and that must mean also the consummation of the essence of technology. Nietzsche's overman might be said to be technological man par excellence. The name "overman" does not designate an individual. Rather it names that humanity which, as modern humanity, is now bexxxii Introduction
+
+ginning to enter upon the consummation of the modern age (cf. WN 96) . Overman would consciously will and would have dominion and disposal over all things as the one fully manifesting
+
+the will to power.
+
+Once again the thinking that degrades Being and in effect destroys it as Being is not a merely human doing. Indeed, Heidegger sees in the fact that Nietzsche's work, for all its bold newness, only brings to culmination tendencies present in metaphysics from its beginning, striking evidence that the obstructing, yes, the very absence, of Being in its manifestation in Western thinking derives from Being itself. Precisely as with the challenging revealing of Enframing, the power that, even in his highest metaphysical thinking, thrusts man forward as value-positing and hence fundamentally as "ordering for use"-and that simultaneously brings it about that nothing that is can appear as it is in itself, and that man must conceive and determine everything in this controlling way-is the very destining of Being itself that is holding sway more and more pervasively in the modern
+
+age.
+
+Heidegger sees every aspect of contemporary life, not only machine technology and science but also art, religion, and culture understood as the pursuit of the highest goods, as exhibiting clear marks of the ruling essence of technology that holds sway in the dominion of man as self-conscious, representing subject. Everywhere is to be found the juxtaposing of subject and object and the reliance on the experience and the evaluating judgment of the subject as decisive. The presencing of everything that is has been cut at its roots. Men speak, significantly enough, of a "world picture" or "world view." Only in the modern age could they speak so. For the phrase "world picture" means just this: that what is, in its entirety-i.e., the real in its every aspect and element-now is "taken in such a way that it first is in being and only is in being to the extent that it is set up by man, who represents and sets forth" (AWP 129-130, italics mine). Were contemporary man seriously to become aware of this character of his life and of his thinking, he might, with the modern physicist, well say, "It seems as though man everywhere and always en-
+
+Introduction xxxiii
+
+Such a judgment would, however, be a delusion. Man in fact "can never encounter only himself" (QT 27). For man is summoned, claimed, in the challenging revealing of Enframing even when he knows it not, even when he thinks himself most alone or most dreams of mastering his world. Man's obliviousness to that claim is itself a manifestation of the rule of Enframing. 50 completely has he been drawn into that dominion that he is actually cut off from awareness of his own essence. For he is estranged from Being even while Being, in the self-withdrawnness of its challenging self-revealing, is so encountering him that he is in fact being constrained to bring about the dominion of that revealing-i.e., is being claimed by it. For this reason, man does not know himself as the one who is being brought into relation to Being; that is, he does not know himself as man. Ruled in this way, man today, despite what seems true to him,
+
+never encounters himself, i.e., his essence.
+
+Man needs above all in our age to know himself as the one who is so claimed. The challenging summons of Enframing "sends into a way of revealing" (QT 24). 50 long as man does not know this, he cannot know himself; nor can he know himself in relation to his world. As a consequence he becomes trapped in one of two attitudes, both equally vain: either he fancies that he can in fact master technology and can by technological meansby analyzing and calculating and ordering-control all aspects of his life; or he recoils at the inexorable and dehumanizing control that technology is gaining over him, rejects it as the work of the devil, and strives to discover for himself some other way of life apart from it. What man truly needs is to know the destining to which he belongs and to know it as a destining, as the disposing power that governs all phenomena in this technological
+
+age.
+
+A destining of Being is never a blind fate that simply compels man from beyond himself. It is, rather, an opening way in which man is called upon to move to bring about that which is taking place. For man to know himself as the one so called upon is for him to be free. For Heidegger freedom is not a matter of man's Willing or not willing particular things. Freedom is man's opening himself-his submitting himself in attentive awareness-to the
+
+xxxiv Introduction
+
+summons addressed to him and to the way on which he is already being sent. It is to apprehend and accept the dominion of Being already holding sway, and so to be "taken into a freeing claim"
+
+(QT 26).
+
+The truth of modern man's situation must become known to him. This does not mean at all that man can be presented with some "truth" that, if it were once brought to his attention, he might then grasp, assent to, and act upon. For Heidegger such "truth," the corresponding of a statement with a situation, would be mere correctness. Truth is unconcealment. That is not to say that it is something immediately accessible. Un concealment is simultaneously concealment. Un concealment, truth, is never nakedly present to be immediately known. The truth of modern man's situation is a revealing that comes upon him, but it comes
+
+upon him veiled.
+
+Enframing is a mode of revealing, a destining of Being. Yet precisely under its dominion nothing whatever, including man himself, appears as it intrinsically is; the truth of its Being remains concealed. Everything exists and appears as though it
+
+were of man's making.
+
+Because Enframing, as a revealing of Being, rules in this way, it is a danger beyond any danger that man otherwise knows. The essence of Enframing, its manner of coming to presence, "is that setting-upon gathered into itself which entraps the truth of its own coming to presence with oblivion. This entrapping disguises itself, in that it develops into the setting in order of everything that presences as standing-reserve, establishes itself in the standing-reserve, and rules as the standing-reserve" (T 37-38). In this "oblivion" that blocks the self-manifesting of Being, man's danger lies. The danger is real that every other way of revealing will be driven out and that man will lose his true relation to himself and to all else. Language, the primal mode through which man may experience and think and know whatever is, in its Being, may be bereft of its power, to become only a mere instrument of information. And man may be divested of his true essence and become one who "manufactures himself" (Sem. 34 ; cf. QT 26 ff.). Man himself, through whom the ordering characteristic of Enframing takes place, may even be wholly sucked up into the standing-reserve and may come to exist not as the
+
+Introduction xxxv
+
+"openness-for-Being" ("Da-sein"), but as a merely self-conscious being knowing himself only as an instrument ready for use.2 Yet this stark eventuality need not befall man. for Enframing necessarily and intrinsically rules not merely as danger but also as that which saves. These are not two discrete aspects of its holding sway. The danger "is the saving power" (T 42). Enframing is a revealing. It manifests first of all the withdrawnness of Being. It estranges man from Being. Yet it remains a revealing. In it Being is still confronting man. Therefore Enframing bears within itself simultaneously with its endangering of man that other possibility, that man will be delivered from his estrangement and that it will be granted to him to come into an essential relationship with Being, recollectingly to receive what is present to him in all that is and thoughtfully to guard it (QT 32 ff.). In this twofoldness of Enframing as danger and saving power, and not in any merely human effort, lies the possibility that technology may be overcome. This does not mean that technology will be done away with. It means, rather, that technology will be surmounted from within itself, in such a way as to be restored to and fulfilled in its own essence. The unconcealment, the truth, concealed in the rule of technology will flash forth in that very concealing. Being will reveal itself in the very ongoing of technology, precisely in that flashing. But not without man. for man is needed for this as for every revealing of Being. Man must come to that place where, through language, through thinking, this revealing may come to pass. Yet man cannot bring it about, and
+
+he cannot know when it will take place (T 39, 41-42).
+
+What comes to pass happens suddenly. Heidegger speaks of it as a "turning." It is a turning within Enframing, within the essence of technology as the danger. It is the entrapping of the truth of Being in oblivion, i.e., in concealment. The truth, the unconcealment, of Being, is, in the very instant of its revealing,
+
+2. In a letter to Professor J. Glenn Gray (October 10, 1972) concerning this work, Heidegger states : "Everything that I have attempted is misunderstood without the turning from 'consciousness' into the 'openness-far-Being' that was being prepared in Being and Time." ("Ohne die in Sein und Zeit sich anbahnende Wendung vom 'Bewusstsein' in das 'Da-sein' wird alles, was ich versuchte, missverstanden.") Heidegger has emphatically expressed his preference for "openness" and his disapprobation of "there" as a trans-
+
+lation of da in Dasein.
+
+xxxvi Introduction
+
+caught up in concealing. Yet the revealing of the truth of Being is concealed as revealing. Hence, "when this entrapping-withoblivion does come expressly to pass, then oblivion as such turns in and abides"; that is, concealment is revealed as concealment (T 43)-for it conceals that which is itself simultaneously shown
+
+as being concealed.
+
+Here Enframing, a destining of Being that denies to everything its Being, becomes simultaneously that which saves, that which bestows Being. For in it the truth of Being, Being's own unconcealment, turns about and enters into whatever is (d. T 41). In this "turning," Being reveals itself solely from out of itself; yet it necessarily does so in such a way as to reach man. For without man, Being cannot come freely into the open, as the Being of what is. This turning about of concealing and unconcealing, which so closely involves Being and man, is a granted gift. The sudden flashing of the truth of Being into once truthless Being, which comes to pass in the essence of technology, in Enframing, is an "entering flashing look," is "insight into that which is" -i.e., into Being itself (T 46). This is no human looking, no human seeing. Quite to the contrary, it is Being's disclosing of itself. In it men are the ones beheld in their essence, so that they behold (cf. T 47). Heidegger uses for that in-flashing which is the self-revealing turning within Being itself the word Ereignis. It is a disclosing bringing to pass, a "bringing to sight that brings into its own" (T 45, 38 n. 4). Taking place within Being, it returns Being to itself-here, restoring the essence of technology to itself as a revealing-and it simultaneously brings man, glimpsed in his essence, to glimpse the revealing given
+
+appropriately to him.
+
+This disclosing brings itself to pass always uniquely. Being and man belong together. The disclosing here named is the fulfilling of that relation. It brings man and Being into their own in entrusting them to one another. It is a "letting belong together"
+
+of man and Being (Pr. Iden. 39).
+
+Enframing and the "disclosing that brings into its own" are in truth one. Heidegger can speak of Enframing as the "photographic negative" of that disclosing (Sem. 42). In enframing, Being and man confront each other, but they meet in estrangement. In the unique disclosing that brings them into their own, Introduction xxxvii
+
+they meet in the very same relationship; but now, instead of and yet within the skeletal darkness of Enframing, there flashes also the light of that disclosing which brings them to belong together,
+
+which grants them what is truly their own.
+
+Here there can be disclosed to modern man something beyond what was known to the Greeks. The Greeks knew the togetherness of man and Being. But now, in our age, it can be possible to "glimpse a first oppressing flash" of the disclosing bringing-topass that brings man and Being into a constellation that is new and newly known (Pr. Iden. 38). In Enframing, precisely in its character as "the mutual challenge of man and Being to enter upon the calculating of the calculable," that newness of relationship appears (Pr. Iden. 40). When we catch sight of the turning in the essence of Enframing, we do not simply catch sight of the belonging together of man and Being. We do more : "We witness a belonging together of man and Being in which the letting belong first determines the manner of the 'together' and its unity" (Pr. Iden. 38, second italics mine). Within and beyond the looming presence of modern technology there dawns the possibility of a fuller relationship between man and Being-and hence
+
+between man and all that is-than there has ever been.
+
+In looking upon the present, our thinking can hope to see, over and beyond the immediate, evident situation of man, the relation of Being and man "from out of that which gives them to belong to one another, from out of the disclosing bringing-topass that brings them into their own" (Pr. Iden. 40). Such thinking is completely different from the sort of instantaneous calculating on which we more and more rely. It is a thinking within the sphere of tradition, a learning through what has been thought. As such, it is freed by tradition from being a mere thinking back, to become a thinking forward that is totally re-
+
+moved from planning, ordering, and setting up for use.
+
+It has sometimes been said that Heidegger exhibits in his philosophical work extreme arrogance. True, he does not, like Descartes, put forth his thinking as possessed of the compelling certainty of self-evident truth; nor does he, like Hegel, believe himself capable of surveying and expressing the truth about all human history and all reality. But does he not consider himself xxxviii Introduction
+
+to have insight into reality such as none before him has ever had? It is a fact that his thinking is confined to Western history and Western thought. But within that scope does he not, as in his treatment of Nietzsche, believe himself able on the basis of that insight to think that which is "unthought" in the thought of others, to discover the true meaning that those before him could not themselves see? He does. Yet is this arrogance, or is there
+
+insight here?
+
+Surely Heidegger himself would say that whatever insight he has is not of his own discovering but comes to him from out of reality itself. Clearly he continually feels himself summoned to respond to the revealing that comes to him and to call others to the same path. Deeply conscious as he is of his place within a tradition, Heidegger doubtless regards what seems to some like the proud reinterpreting of others' work as being, rather, the discovery in that work of far more meaning than those before him who accomplished it were given to see. Certainly, although Heidegger speaks with assurance of his insight, and though it ranges far, he also holds it to be but a glimpse, a beginning, an entering of modern man upon a thinking that, in its own time, may be granted to see far more clearly and to see anew (d. WN 55-56). In his philosophical work he has moved forward and ever forward, not bound by any given formulation of his thought. To Heidegger true thinking always remains a revealing, and he must follow where that revealing leads. The openness of his thinking shows itself fittingly enough in the fact that each of the essays in this volume ends, not with a declarative statement of what is incontrovertibly true, but with actual questions or with a pointing to some way or reality needed beyond what is now known. Each essay, whole though it be in itself, remains a part of an unfinished way. Where Descartes built glass palaces inviolable and Hegel a mansion finished for all time, Heidegger builds, as it were, sandcastles, ready to be reshaped or swept away in the
+
+next responsive on-working of thought.
+
+Heidegger has written:
+
+At the close of a lecture called "The Question Concerning Technology," given some time ago, I said : "Questioning is the piety of thinking." "Piety" is meant here in the ancient sense : obedient, or Introduction xxxix
+
+submissive, and in this case submitting to what thinking has to think about. One of the exciting experiences of thinking is that at times it does not fully comprehend the new insights it has just gained, and does not properly see them through. Such, too, is the case with the sentence just cited that questioning is the piety of thinking. The lecture ending with that sentence was already in the ambience of the realization that the true stance of thinking cannot be to put questions, but must be to listen to that which our questioning vouchsafes-and all questioning begins to be a questioning
+
+only in virtue of pursuing its quest for essential Being.3
+
+This is Heidegger's own way and his guest. This is the intriguing adventure to which he summons us in the essays that follow. Has he glimpsed truth that might lighten our stricken age? To judge of that we must pursue with him the paths of his own
+
+thinking.
+
+3. "The Nature of Language," in On the Way to Language, trans. Peter
+
+D. Hertz (New York : Harper & Row, 1971), p. 72.
+
+Part I
+
+The Question
+
+Concerning Technology
+
+In what follows we shall be questioning concerning technology. Questioning builds a way. We would be advised, therefore, above all to pay heed to the way, and not to fix our attention on isolated sentences and topics. The way is a way of thinking. All ways of thinking, more or less perceptibly, lead through language in a manner that is extraordinary. We shall be questioning concerning technology, and in so doing we should like to prepare a free relationship to it. The relationship will be free if it opens our human existence to the essence of technology.1 When we
+
+1. "Essence" is the traditional translation of the German noun Wesen. One of Heidegger's principal aims in this essay is to seek the true meaning of essence through or by way of the "correct" meaning. He will later show that Wesen does not simply mean what something is, but that it means, further, the way in which something pursues its course, the way in which it remains through time as what it is. Heidegger writes elsewhere that the noun Wesen does not mean quidditas originally, but rather "enduring as presence" (das Wiihren als Gegenwart). (See An Introduction to Metaphys ics, trans. Ralph Manheim [New York : Doubleday, 1961], p. 59.) Wesen as a noun derives from the verb wesen, which is seldom used as such in modern German. The verb survives primarily in inflected forms of the verb sein (to be) and in such words as the adjective anwesend (present). The old verbal forms from which wesen stems meant to tarry or dwell. Heidegger repeatedly identifies wesen as "the same as wiihren [to last or endure]." (See p. 30 below and SR 161.) As a verb, we5en will usually be translated
+
+can respond to this essence, we shall be able to experience the
+
+technological within its own bounds.
+
+Technology is not equivalent to the essence of technology. When we are seeking the essence of "tree," we have to become aware that That which pervades every tree, as tree, is not itself a tree that can be encountered among all the other trees.
+
+Likewise, the essence of technology is by no means anything technological. Thus we shall never experience our relationship to the essence of technology so long as we merely conceive and push forward the technological, put up with it, or evade it. Everywhere we remain unfree and chained to technology, whether we passionately affirm or deny it. But we are delivered over to it in the worst possible way when we regard it as something neutral; for this conception of it,2 to which today we particularly like to do homage, makes us utterly blind to the essence
+
+of technology.
+
+According to ancient doctrine, the essence of a thing is considered to be what the thing is. We ask the question concerning technology when we ask what it is. Everyone knows the two statements that answer our question. One says: Technology is a means to an end. The other says: Technology is a human activity. The two definitions of technology belong together. For to posit ends and procure and utilize the means to them is a human activity. The manufacture and utilization of equipment, tools, and machines, the manufactured and used things themselves, and the needs and ends that they serve, all belong to what tech-
+
+here with "to come to presence," a rendering wherein the meaning "endure" should be strongly heard. Occasionally it will be translated "to essence," and its gerund will be rendered with "essencing." The noun Wesen will regularly be translated "essence" until Heidegger's explanatory discussion is reached. Thereafter, in this and the succeeding essays, it will often be translated with "coming to presence." In relation to all these renderings, the reader should bear in mind a point that is of fundamental importance to Heidegger, namely, that the root of wesen, with its meaning "to dwell," provides one integral component in the meaning of the verb sein (to be).
+
+(Cf. An Introduction to Metaphysics, p. 59.)
+
+2. "Conception" here translates the noun Vorstellung. Elsewhere in this volume, Vorstellung will usually be translated by "representation," and its related verb vorstellen by "to represent." Both "conception" and "representation" should suggest a placing or setting-up-before. Cf. the discussion
+
+of Vorstellung in AWP 131-132.
+
+nology is. The whole complex of these contrivances is technology. Technology itself is a contrivance, or, in Latin, an
+
+instrumentum.3
+
+The current conception of technology, according to which it is a means and a human activity, can therefore be called the instrumental and anthropological definition of technology.
+
+Who would ever deny that it is correct? It is in obvious conformity with what we are envisioning when we talk about technology. The instrumental definition of technology is indeed so uncannily correct that it even holds for modern technology, of which, iil other respects, we maintain with some justification that it is, in contrast to the older handwork technology, something completely diHerent and therefore new. Even the power plant with its turbines and generators is a man-made means to an end established by man. Even the jet aircraft and the highfrequency apparatus are means to ends. A radar station is of course less simple than a weather vane. To be sure, the construction of a high-frequency apparatus requires the interlocking of various processes of technical-industrial production. And certainly a sawmill in a secluded valley of the Black Forest is a primitive means compared with the hydroelectric plant in the
+
+Rhine River.
+
+But this much remains correct: modern technology too is a means to an end. That is why the instrumental conception of technology conditions every attempt to bring man into the right relation to technology. Everything depends on our manipulating technology in the proper manner as a means. We will, as we say, Uget" technology "spiritually in hand." We will master it. The will to mastery becomes all the more urgent the more technology
+
+threatens to slip from human control.
+
+But suppose now that technology were no mere means, how would it stand with the will to master it? Yet we said, did we
+
+3. Instrumentum signifies that which functions to heap or build up or to arrange. Heidegger here equates it with the noun Einrichtung, translated "contrivance," which can also mean arrangement, adjustment, furnishing, or equipment. In accordance with his dictum that the true must be sought by way of the correct, Heidegger here anticipates with his identification of technology as an il1strumentum and an Einrichtul1g his later "true" characterization of technology in terms of setting-in-place, ordering, Enframing,
+
+not, that the instrumental definition of technology is correct? To be sure. The correct always fixes upon something pertinent in whatever is under consideration. However, in order to be correct, this fixing by no means needs to uncover the thing in question in its essence. Only at the point where such an uncovering happens does the true come to pass.4 For that reason the merely correct is not yet the true. Only the true brings us into a free relationship with that which concerns us from out of its essence. Accordingly, the correct instrumental definition of technology still does not show us technology's essence. In order that we may arrive at this, or at least come close to it, we must seek the true by way of the correct. We must ask : What is the instrumental itself? Within what do such things as means and end belong? A means is that whereby something is effected and thus attained. Whatever has an effect as its consequence is called a cause. But not only that by means of which something else is effected is a cause. The end in keeping with which the kind of means to be used is determined is also considered a cause. Wherever ends are pursued and means are employed, wherever
+
+instrumentality reigns, there reigns causality.
+
+For centuries philosophy has taught that there are four causes: (1) the causa materialis, the material, the matter out of which, for example, a silver chalice is made ; (2) the causa formalis, the form, the shape into which the material enters; (3) the causa finalis, the end, for example, the sacrificial rite in relation to which the chalice required is determined as to its form and matter; (4) the causa efficiens, which brings about the effect that is the finished, actual chalice, in this instance, the silversmith. What technology is, when represented as a means, discloses itself when
+
+we trace instrumentality back to fourfold causality.
+
+But suppose that causality, for its part, is veiled in darkness with respect to what it is? Certainly for centuries we have acted as though the doctrine of the four causes had fallen from heaven as a truth as clear as daylight. But it might be that the time has come to ask, Why are there just four causes? In relation to the aforementioned four, what does "cause" really mean? From
+
+whence does it come that the causal character of the four causes
+
+is so unifiedly determined that they belong together?
+
+So long as we do not allow ourselves to go into these questions, causality, and with it instrumentality, and with the latter the accepted definition of technology, remain obscure and
+
+groundless.
+
+For a long time we have been accustomed to representing cause as that which brings something about. In this connection, to bring about means to obtain results, effects. The causa efficiens, but one among the four causes, sets the standard for all causality. This goes so far that we no longer even count the causa finalis, telic finality, as causality. Causa, casus, belongs to the verb cadere, "to fall," and means that which brings it about that something falls out as a result in such and such a way. The doctrine of the four causes goes back to Aristotle. But everything that later ages seek in Greek thought under the conception and rubric "causality," in the realm of Greek thought and for Greek thought per se has simply nothing at all to do with bringing about and effecting. What we call cause [Ursache] and the Romans call causa is called aition by the Greeks, that to which something else is indebted [das, was ein anderes verschuldetJ .5 The four causes are the ways, all belonging at once to each other, of being responsible for something else. An example can clarify this. Silver is that out of which the silver chalice is made. As this matter (hyle), it is co-responsible for the chalice. The chalice is indebted to, i.e., owes thanks to, the silver for that out of which it consists. But the sacrificial vessel is indebted not only to the silver. As a chalice, that which is indebted to the silver appears in the aspect of a chalice and not in that of a brooch or a ring. Thus the sacrificial vessel is at the same time indebted to the aspect (eidos) of chaliceness. Both the silver into which the aspect is admitted as chalice and the aspect in which the silver appears are in their respective ways co-responsible for the
+
+sacrificial vessel.
+
+5. Das, was ein anderes verschuldet is a quite idomatic expression that here would mean to many German readers "that which is the cause of something else." The verb verschulden actually has a wide range of meanings-to be indebted, to owe, to be gUilty, to be responsible for or to, to cause. Heidegger intends to awaken all these meanings and to have connotations of mutual interdependence sound throughout this passage.
+
+But there remains yet a third that is above all responsible for the sacrificial vessel. It is that which in advance confines the chalice within the realm of consecration and bestowal.6 Through this the chalice is circumscribed as sacrificial vessel. Circumscribing gives bounds to the thing. With the bounds the thing does not stop; rather from out of them it begins to be what, after production, it will be. That which gives bounds, that which completes, in this sense is called in Greek telos, which is all too often translated as "aim" or "purpose/' and so misinterpreted. The telos is responsible for what as matter and for what as aspect
+
+are together co-responsible for the sacrificial vessel.
+
+finally there is a fourth participant in the responsibility for the finished sacrificial vessel's lying before us ready for use, i.e., the silversmith-but not at all because he, in working, brings about the finished sacrificial chalice as if it were the effect of a
+
+making; the silversmith is not a causa efficiens.
+
+The Aristotelian doctrine neither knows the cause that is named by this term nor uses a Greek word that would corre-
+
+spond to it.
+
+The silversmith considers carefully and gathers together the three aforementioned ways of being responsible and indebted. To consider carefully [iiberlegen] is in Greek legein, logos. Legein is rooted in apophainesthai, to bring forward into appearance. The silversmith is co-responsible as that from whence the sacrificial vessel's bringing forth and resting-in-self take and retain their first departure. The three previously mentioned ways of being responsible owe thanks to the pondering of the silversmith for the "that" and the "how" of their coming into appearance and into play for the production of the sacrificial vessel. Thus four ways of being responsible hold sway in the sacrificial vessel that lies ready before us. They differ from one another, yet they belong together. What unites them from the beginning? In what does this playing in unison of the four ways of being
+
+6. Literally, "confines into"-the German preposition in with the accusative. Heidegger often uses this construction in ways that are unusual in German, as they would be in English. It will ordinarily be translated here by "within" so as to distinguish it from "in" used to translate in with the
+
+responsible play? What is the source of the unity of the four causes? What, after all, does this owing and being responsible
+
+mean, thought as the Greeks thought it?
+
+Today we are too easily inclined either to understand being responsible and being indebted moralistically as a lapse, or else to construe them in terms of effecting. In either case we bar to ourselves the way to the primal meaning of that which is later called causality. So long as this way is not opened up to us we shall also fail to see what instrumentality, which is based on
+
+causality, actually is.
+
+In order to guard against such misinterpretations of being responsible and being indebted, let us clarify the four ways of being responsible in terms of that for which they are responsible. According to our example, they are responsible for the silver chalice's lying ready before us as a sacrificial vessel. Lying before and lying ready (hypokeisthai) characterize the presencing of something that presences. The four ways of being responsible bring something into appearance. They let it come forth into presencing [An-wesen V They set it free to that place and so start it on its way, namely, into its complete arrival. The principal characteristic of being responsible is this starting something on its way into arrival. It is in the sense of such a starting something on its way into arrival that being responsible is an occasioning or an inducing to go forward [V er-an-lassen] . 8 On the
+
+7. By writing An-wesen, Heidegger stresses the composition of the verb anwesen, translated as "to presence." The verb consists of wesen (literally, to continue or endure) with the prepositional prefix an- (at, to, toward) . It is man who must receive presencing, man to whom it comes as enduring. Cf. On Time and Being, trans. Joan Stambaugh (New York : Harper & Row,
+
+1972), p. 12.
+
+8. Ver-an-Iassen is Heidegger's writing of the verb veranlassen in noun form, now hyphenated to bring out its meaning. Veranlassen ordinarily means to occasion, to caUSe, to bring about, to call forth. Its use here relates back to the use of anlassen (to leave [something] on, to let loose, to set going), here translated "to start something on its way." Anlassen has just been similarly written as an-lassen so as to emphasize its composition from lassen (to let or leave) and an (to or toward). One of the functions of the German prefix ver- is to intensify the force of a verb. Andre Preau quotes Heidegger as saying: "Ver-an-Iassen is more active than an-lassen. The ver-, as it were, pushes the latter toward a doing [vers un faire]." Cf. Martin Heidegger, Essais et Conferences (Paris : Gallimard, 1958), p. 16 n.
+
+basis of a look at what the Greeks experienced in being responsible, in aitia, we now give this verb "to occasion" a more inclusive meaning, so that it now is the name for the essence of causality thought as the Greeks thought it. The common and narrower meaning of "occasion" in contrast is nothing more than striking against and releasing, and means a kind of second-
+
+ary cause within the whole of causality.
+
+But in what, then, does the playing in unison of the four ways of occasioning play? They let what is not yet present arrive into presencing. Accordingly, they are unifiedly ruled over by a bringing that brings what presences into appearance. Plato tells us what this bringing is in a sentence from the Symposium (20sb) : he gar toi ek tau me onton eis to on ionti hotoioun aitia pasa esti poiesis. "Every occasion for whatever passes over and goes forward into presencing from that which is not presencing
+
+is poiesis, is bringing-forth [Her-vor-bringen] ."9 "..,
+
+It is of utmost importance that we think bringing-forth in its full scope and at the same time in the sense in which the Greeks thought it. Not only handcraft manufacture, not only artistic and poetical bringing into appearance and concrete imagery, is a bringing-forth, poiesis. Physis also, the arising of something from out of itself, is a bringing-forth, poiesis. Physis is indeed poiesis in the highest sense. For what presences by means of physis has the bursting open belonging to bringing-forth, e.g., the bursting of a blossom into bloom, in itself (en heautoi). In contrast, what is brought forth by the artisan or the artist, e.g.,
+
+9. The full gamut of meaning for the verb hervorbringen, here functioning as a noun, includes to bring forth or produce, to generate or beget, to utter, to elicit. Heidegger intends that all of these nuances be heard. He hyphenates the word in order to emphasize its adverbial prefixes, her (here or hither) and vor- (forward or forth). Heidegger elsewhere makes specific the meaning resident in H er-vor-bringen for him by utilizing those prefixes independently. Thus he says (translating literally), "Bringing-forthhither brings hither out of concealment, forth into unconcealment" (d. below, p. 11); and-after identifying working (wirken) and her-vor-bringenhe says that working must be understood as "bringing hither-into unconcealment, forth-into presencing" (SR 161). Because of the awkwardness of the English phrase "to bring forth hither," it has not been possible to include in the translation of her-vor-bringen the nuance of meaning that
+
+the silver chalice, has the bursting open belonging to bringingforth not in itself, but in another (en alloi), in the craftsman or
+
+artist.
+
+The modes of occasioning, the four causes, are at play, then, within bringing-forth. Through bringing-forth, the growing things of nature as well as whatever is completed through the crafts and the arts come at any given time to their appearance. But how does bringing-forth happen, be it in nature or in handwork and art? What is the bringing-forth in which the fourfold way of occasioning plays? Occasioning has to do with the presencing [Anwesen] of that which at any given time comes to appearance in bringing-forth. Bringing-forth brings hither out of concealment forth into unconcealment. Bringing-forth comes to pass only insofar as something concealed comes into un concealment. This coming rests and moves freely within what we call revealing [das Entbergen] .10 The Greeks have the word
+
+10. The verb entbergen (to reveal) and the allied noun Entbergung (revealing) are unique to Heidegger. Because of the exigencies of translation, entbergen must usually be translated with "revealing," and the presence of Entbergung, which is rather infrequently used, has therefore regrettably been obscured for want of an appropriate English noun as alternative that would be sufficiently active in meaning. Entbergen and Entbergung are formed from the verb bergen and the verbal prefix ent-. Bergen means to rescue, to recover, to secure, to harbor, to conceal. Ent- is used in German verbs to connote in one way or another a change from an existing situation. It can mean "forth" or "out" or can connote a change that is the negating of a former condition. Entbergen connotes an opening out [rom protective concealing, a harbOring forth. For a presentation of Heideggcr's central tenet that it is only as protected and preserved-and that means as enclosed and secure-that anything is set free to endure, to continue' as that which it is, i.e., to be, see "Building Dwelling Thinking" in Pocl ry, Language, Thought, trans. Albert Hofstadter (New York : Harper & Row,
+
+1971), p. 149, and cf. p. 25 below.
+
+Entbergen and Entbergung join a family of words all formed from /,,'rgctl -verbergen (to conceal), Verborgenheit (concealment), das Verborgenc (the concealed), Unverborgenheit (unconcealmentl, das Unverborgcne (the unconcealed)-of which Heidegger makes frequent use. The lack of viable English words sufficiently numerous to permit a similar use of but one fundamental stern has made it necessary to obscure, through the use of "reveal," the close relationship among all the words just mentioned. None of the English words used-"reveal," "conceal," "unconceal"-evinces with any adequacy the meaning resident in bergen itself; yet the reader should be constantly aware that the full range of connotation present in bergen
+
+aletheia for revealing. The Romans translate this with veritas. We say "truth" and usually understand it as the correctness of
+
+an idea.
+
+But where have we strayed to? We are questioning concerning technology, and we have arrived now at aletheia, at revealing. What has the essence of technology to do with revealing? The answer : everything. For every bringing-forth is grounded in revealing. Bringing-forth, indeed, gathers within itself the four modes of occasioning-causality-and rules them throughout. Within its domain belong end and means, belongs instrumentality.l1 Instrumentality is considered to be the fundamental characteristic of technology. If we inquire, step by step, into what technology, represented as means, actually is, then we shall arrive at revealing. The possibility of all productive manufactur-
+
+ing lies in revealing.
+
+Technology is therefore no mere means. Technology is a way of revealing. If we give heed to this, then another whole realm for the essence of technology will open itself up to us. It is the
+
+realm of revealing, i.e., of truth.12
+
+This prospect strikes us as strange. Indeed, it should do so, should do sO' as persistently as possible and with so much urgency that we will finally take seriously the simple question of what the name "technology" means. The word stems from the Greek. Technikon means that which belongs to techne. We must observe
+
+11. Here and elsewhere "belongs within" translates the German gehort in with the accusative (literally, belongs into), an unusual usage that Heidegger often employs. The regular German construction is gehort zu (belongs to). With the use of "belongs into," Heidegger intends to suggest a relationship
+
+involving origin.
+
+12. Heidegger here hyphenates the word Wahrheit (truth) so as to expose its stem, wahr. He points out elsewhere that words with this stem have a common derivation and underlying meaning (SR 165). Such words often show the connotations of attentive watchfulness and guarding that he there finds in their Greek cognates, horao, ora, e.g., wahren (to watch over and keep safe) and bewahren (to preserve). Hyphenating Wahrheit draws it overtly into this circle of meaning. It points to the fact that in truth, which is unconcealment (Unverborgenheit), a safekeeping carries itself out. Wahrheit thus offers here a very close parallel to its companion noun Entbergung (revealing; literally, harboring forth), built on bergen (to rescue, to harbor, to conceal). See n. 10, above. For a further discussion of
+
+two things with respect to the meaning of this word. One is that techne is the name not only for the activities and skills of the craftsman, but also for the arts of the mind and the fine arts. T echne belongs to bringing-forth, to poiesis; it is something
+
+poietic.
+
+The other point that we should observe with regard to techne is even more important. From earliest times until Plato the word techne is linked with the word episteme. Both words are names for knowing in the widest sense. They mean to be entirely at home in something, to understand and be expert in it. Such knowing provides an opening up. As an opening up it is a revealing. Aristotle, in a discussion of special importance (Nicomachean Ethics, Bk. VI, chaps. 3 and 4), distinguishes between episteme and techne and indeed with respect to what and how they reveal. Techne is a mode of aletheuein. It reveals whatever does not bring itself forth and does not yet lie here before us, whatever can look and turn out now one way and now another. Whoever builds a house or a ship or forges a sacrificial chalice reveals what is to be brought forth, according to the perspectives of the four modes of occasioning. This revealing gathers together in advance the aspect and the matter of ship or house, with a view to the finished thing envisioned as completed, and from this gathering determines the manner of its construction. Thus what is decisive in techne does not lie at all in making and manipulating nor in the using of means, but rather in the aforementioned revealing. It is as revealing, and not as manufactur-
+
+ing, that techne is a bringing-forth.
+
+Thus the clue to what the word techne means and to how the Greeks defined it leads us into the same context that opened itself to us when we pursued the question of what instrumental-
+
+ity as such in truth might be.
+
+Technology is a mode of revealing. Technology comes to presence [West] in the realm where revealing and unconcealment
+
+take place, where aletheia, truth, happens.
+
+In opposition to this definition of the essential domain of technology, one can object that it indeed holds for Greek thought and that at best it might apply to the techniques of the handcraftsman, but that it simply does not fit modern machine-powered technology. And it is precisely the latter and
+
+it alone that is the disturbing thing, that moves us to ask the question concerning technology per se. It is said that modern technology is something incomparably different from all earlier technologies because it is based on modern physics as an exact science. Meanwhile we have come to understand more clearly that the reverse holds true as well : Modern physics, as experimental, is dependent upon technical apparatus and upon progress in the building of apparatus. The establishing of this mutual relationship between technology and physics is correct. But it remains a merely historiographical establishing of facts and says nothing about that in which this mutual relationship is grounded. The decisive question still remains: Of what essence is modern technology that it happens to think of putting
+
+exact science to use?
+
+What is modern technology? It too is a revealing. Only when we allow our attention to rest on this fundamental characteristic does that which is new in modern technology show itself to us. And yet the revealing that holds sway throughout modern technology does not unfold into a bringing-forth in the sense of poiesis. The revealing that rules in modern technology is a challenging [Herausfordern],13 which puts to nature the unreasonable demand that it supply energy that can be extracted and stored as such. But does this not hold true for the old windmill as well? No. Its sails do indeed turn in the wind; they are left entirely to the wind's blowing. But the windmill does not unlock energy
+
+from the air currents in order to store it.
+
+In contrast, a tract of land is challenged into the putting out of coal and ore. The earth now reveals itself as a coal mining district, the soil as a mineral deposit. The field that the peasant formerly cultivated and set in order [bestellte] appears differently than it did when to set in order still meant to take care of and 13. Herausfordern means to challenge, to call forth or summon to action, to demand positively, to provoke. It is composed of the verb fordern (to demand, to summon, to challenge) and the adverbial prefixes her- (hither) and aus- (out). The verb might be rendered very literally as lito demand out hither." The structural similarity between herausfordern and her-vorbringen (to bring forth hither) is readily apparent. It serves of itself to point up the relation subsisting between the two modes of revealing of which the verbs speak-modes that, in the very distinctive ways peculiar to them, occasion a coming forth into unconcealment and presencing. See
+
+to maintain. The work of the peasant does not challenge the soil of the field. In the sowing of the grain it places the seed in the keeping of the forces of growth and watches over its increase. But meanwhile even the cultivation of the field has come under the grip of another kind of setting-in-order, which sets upon [stellt] natureY It sets upon it in the sense of challenging it. Agriculture is now the mechanized food industry. Air is now set upon to yield nitrogen, the earth to yield ore, ore to yield uranium, for example; uranium is set upon to yield atomic energy, which can be released either for destruction or for peace-
+
+ful use.
+
+This setting-upon that challenges forth the energies of nature is an expediting [Fordern], and in two ways. It expedites in that it unlocks and exposes. Yet that expediting is always itself directed from the beginning toward furthering something else, i.e., toward driving on to the maximum yield at the minimum expense. The coal that has been hauled out in some mining district has not been supplied in order that it may simply be present somewhere or other. It is stockpiled; that is, it is on call, ready to deliver the sun's warmth that is stored in it. The sun's warmth is challenged forth for heat, which in turn is ordered to deliver steam whose pressure turns the wheels that keep a
+
+factory running.
+
+14. The verb stellen (to place or set) has a wide variety of uses. It can mean to put in place, to order, to arrange, to furnish or supply, and, in a military context, to challenge or engage. Here Heidegger sees the connotations of herausfordern (to challenge, to call forth, to demand out hither) as fundamentally determinative of the meaning of stellen, and this remains true throughout his ensuing discussion. The translation of stellen with "to set upon" is intended to carry this meaning. The connotations of setting in place and of supplying that lie within the word stellen remain strongly present in Heidegger's repeated use of the verb hereafter, however, since the "setting-upon" of which it speaks is inherently a setting in place so as to supply. Where these latter meanings come decisively to the fore, stellen has been translated with "to set" or "to set up," or, rarely, with "to supply." Stellen embraces the meanings of a whole family of verbs : bestellen (to order, command; to set in order), vorstellen (to represent), sicherstellen (to secure), nachstellen (to entrap), verstellen (to block or disguise), herstellen (to produce, to set here), darstellen (to present or exhibit), and so on. In these verbs the various nuances within stellen are reinforced and made specific. All these meanings are gathered together in Heidegger's unique use of the word that is pivotal for him, Ge-stell (Enframing). Cf. pp. 19 ff.
+
+The hydroelectric plant is set into the current of the Rhine. It sets the Rhine to supplying its hydraulic pressure, which then sets the turbines turning. This turning sets those machines in motion whose thrust sets going the electric current for which the long-distance power station and its network of cables are set up to dispatch electricity.15 In the context of the interlocking processes pertaining to the orderly disposition of electrical energy, even the Rhine itself appears as something at our command. The hydroelectric plant is not built into the Rhine River as was the old wooden bridge that joined bank with bank for hundreds of years. Rather the river is dammed up into the power plant. What the river is now, namely, a water power supplier, derives from out of the essence of the power station. In order that we may even remotely consider the monstrousness that reigns here, let us ponder for a moment the contrast that speaks out of the two titles, "The Rhine" as dammed up into the power works, and "The Rhine" as uttered out of the art work, in Holderlin's hymn by that name. But, it will be replied, the Rhine is still a river in the landscape, is it not? Perhaps. But how? In no other way than as an object on call for inspection by a tour
+
+group ordered there by the vacation industry.
+
+The revealing that rules throughout modern technology has the character of a setting-upon, in the sense of a challengingforth. That challenging happens in that the energy concealed in nature is unlocked, what is unlocked is transformed, what is transformed is stored up, what is stored up is, in turn, distributed, and what is distributed is switched about ever anew. Unlocking, transforming, storing, distributing, and switching about are ways of revealing. But the revealing never simply comes to an end. Neither does it run off into the indeterminate. The revealing reveals to itself its own manifoldly interlocking paths, through regulating their course. This regulating itself is, for its part, everywhere secured. Regulating and securing even become the
+
+chief characteristics of the challenging revealing.
+
+15. In these two sentences, in order to show something of the manner in which Heidegger gathers together a family of meanings, a series of stellen verbs-stellen (three times), herstellen, bestellen-have been translated with verbal expressions formed around "set." For the usual meanings of these
+
+What kind of unconcealment is it, then, that is peculiar to that which comes to stand forth through this setting-upon that challenges? Everywhere everything is ordered to stand by, to be immediately at hand, indeed to stand there just so that it may be on call for a further ordering. Whatever is ordered about in this way has its own standing. We call it the standing-reserve [Bestand] .16 The word expresses here something more, and something more essential, than mere "stock." The name "standingreserve" assumes the rank of an inclusive rubric. It designates nothing less than the way in which everything presences that is wrought upon by the challenging revealing. Whatever stands by in the sense of standing-reserve no longer stands over against
+
+us as object.
+
+Yet an airliner that stands on the runway is surely an object. Certainly. We can represent the machine so. But then it conceals itself as to what and how it is. Revealed, it stands on the taxi strip only as standing-reserve, inasmuch as it is ordered to ensure the possibility of transportation. For this it must be in its whole structure and in every one of its constituent parts, on call for duty, i.e., ready for takeoff. (Here it would be appropriate to discuss Hegel's definition of the machine as an autonomous tool. When applied to the tools of the craftsman, his characterization is correct. Characterized in this way, however, the machine is not thought at all from out of the essence of technology within which it belongs. Seen in terms of the standing-reserve, the machine is completely unautonomous, for it has its standing
+
+only from the ordering of the orderable.)
+
+The fact that now, wherever we try to point to modern technology as the challenging revealing, the words "setting-upon," "ordering," "standing-reserve," obtrude and accumulate in a dry, monotonous, and therefore oppressive way, has its basis in what
+
+is now coming to utterance.
+
+16. Bestand ordinarily denotes a store or supply as "standing by." It carries the connotation of the verb bestehen with its dual meaning of to last and to undergo. Heidegger uses the word to characterize the manner in which everything commanded into place and ordered according to the challenging demand ruling in modern technology presences as revealed. He wishes to stress here not the permanency, but the orderability and substitutability of objects. Bestand contrasts with Gegenstand (object; that which stands over against). Objects indeed lose their character as objects when they are caught up in the "standing-reserve." Cf. Introduction, p. xxix.
+
+Who accomplishes the challenging setting-upon through which what we call the real is revealed as standing-reserve? Obviously, man. To what extent is man capable of such a revealing? Man can indeed conceive, fashion, and carry through this or that in one way or another. But man does not have control over unconcealment itself, in which at any given time the real shows itself or withdraws. The fact that the real has been showing itself in the light of Ideas ever since the time of Plato, Plato did not bring about. The thinker only responded to what addressed
+
+itself to him.
+
+Only to the extent that man for his part is already challenged to exploit the energies of nature can this ordering revealing happen. If man is challenged, ordered, to do this, then does not man himself belong even more originally than nature within the standing-reserve? The current talk about human resources, about the supply of patients for a clinic, gives evidence of this. The forester who, in the wood, measures the felled timber and to all appearances walks the same forest path in the same way as did his grandfather is today commanded by profit-making in the lumber industry, whether he knows it or not. He is made subordinate to the orderability of cellulose, which for its part is challenged forth by the need for paper, which is then delivered to newspapers and illustrated magazines. The latter, in their turn, set public opinion to swallOWing what is printed, so that a set configuration of opinion becomes available on demand. Yet precisely because man is challenged more originally than are the energies of nature, i.e., into the process of ordering, he never is transformed into mere standing-reserve. Since man drives technology forward, he takes part in ordering as a way of revealing. But the un concealment itself, within which ordering unfolds, is never a human handiwork, any more than is the realm through which man is already passing every time he as a subject relates
+
+to an object.
+
+Where and how does this revealing happen if it is no mere handiwork of man? We need not look far. We need only apprehend in an unbiased way That which has already claimed man and has done so, so decisively that he can only be man at any given time as the one so claimed. Wherever man opens his eyes and ears, unlocks his heart, and gives himself over to meditating
+
+and striving, shaping and working, entreating and thanking, he finds himself everywhere already brought into the unconcealed. The unconcealment of the unconcealed has already come to pass whenever it calls man forth into the modes of revealing allotted to him. When man, in his way, from within unconcealment reveals that which presences, he merely responds to the call of unconcealment even when he contradicts it. Thus when man, investigating, observing, ensnares nature as an area of his own conceiving, he has already been claimed by a way of revealing that challenges him to approach nature as an object of research, until even the object disappears into the objectlessness of
+
+standing-reserve.
+
+Modern technology as an ordering revealing is, then, no merely human doing. Therefore we must take that challenging that sets upon man to order the real as standing-reserve in accordance with the way in which it shows itself. That challenging gathers man into ordering. This gathering concentrates man upon or-
+
+dering the real as standing-reserve.
+
+That which primordially unfolds the mountains into mountain ranges and courses through them in their folded togetherness is
+
+the gathering that we call FlGebirgFl [mountain chain].
+
+That original gathering from which unfold the ways in which we have feelings of one kind or another we name FlGemiit" [dis-
+
+position].
+
+We now name that challenging claim which gathers man thither to order the self-revealing as standing-reserve : FlGe-stell"
+
+[En framing] .17
+
+We dare to use this word in a sense that has been thoroughly
+
+unfamiliar up to now.
+
+17. The translation "Enframing" for Ge-stell is intended to suggest, through the use of the prefix "en-," something of the active meaning that Heidegger here gives to the German word. While following the discussion that now ensues, in which Enframing assumes a central role, the reader should be careful not to interpret the word as though it simply meant a framework of some sort. Instead he should constantly remember that Enframing is fundamentally a calling-forth. It is a "challenging claim," a demanding summons, that "gathers" so as to reveal. This claim enframes in that it assembles and orders. It puts into a framework or configuration everything that it summons forth, through an ordering for use that it is
+
+According to ordinary usage, the word Gestell [frame] means some kind of apparatus, e.g., a bookrack. Gestell is also the name for a skeleton. And the employment of the word Ge-stell [Enframing] that is now required of us seems equally eerie, not to speak of the arbitrariness with which words of a mature language are thus misused. Can anything be more strange? Surely not. Yet this strangeness is an old usage of thinking. And indeed thinkers accord with this usage precisely at the point where it is a matter of thinking that which is highest. We, late born, are no longer in a position to appreciate the significance of Plato's daring to use the word eidos for that which in everything and in each particular thing endures as present. For eidos, in the common speech, meant the outward aspect [Ansicht] that a visible thing offers to the physical eye. Plato exacts of this word, however, something utterly extraordinary: that it name what precisely is not and never will be perceivable with physical eyes. But even this is by no means the full extent of what is extraordinary here. For idea names not only the nonsensuous aspect of what is physically visible. IS Aspect (idea) names and is, also, that which constitutes the essence in the audible, the tasteable, the tactile, in everything that is in any way accessible. Compared with the demands that Plato makes on language and thought in this and other instances, the use of the word Gestell as the name for the essence of modern technology, which we now venture here, is almost harmless. Even so, the usage now required remains some-
+
+thing exacting and is open to misinterpretation.
+
+Enframing means the gathering together of that setting-upon which sets upon man, i.e., challenges him forth, to reveal the real, in the mode of ordering, as standing-reserve. Enframing means that way of revealing which holds sway in the essence of modern technology and which is itself nothing technological. On the other hand, all those things that are so familiar to us and are standard parts of an assembly, such as rods, pistons, and chassis, belong to the technological. The assembly itself, however, together with the aforementioned stockparts, falls within
+
+the sphere of technological activity; and this activity always merely responds to the challenge of Enframing, but it never
+
+comprises Enframing itself or brings it about.
+
+The word stellen [to set upon] in the name Ge-stell [Enframing] not only means challenging. At the same time it should preserve the suggestion of another Stellen from which it stems, namely, that producing and presenting [Her- und Dar-stellen] which, in the sense of poiesis, lets what presences come forth into unconcealment. This producing that brings forth-e.g., the erecting of a statue in the temple precinct-and the challenging ordering now under consideration are indeed fundamentally different, and yet they remain related in their essence. Both are ways of revealing, of aletheia. In Enframing, that un concealment comes to pass in conformity with which the work of modern technology reveals the real as standing-reserve. This work is therefore neither only a human activity nor a mere means within such activity. The merely instrumental, merely anthropological definition of technology is therefore in principle untenable. And it cannot be rounded out by being referred back to some meta-
+
+physical or religious explanation that undergirds it.
+
+It remains true, nonetheless, that man in the technological age is, in a particularly striking way, challenged forth into revealing. That revealing concerns nature, above all, as the chief storehouse of the standing energy reserve. Accordingly, man's ordering attitude and behavior display themselves first in the rise of modern physics as an exact science. Modern science's way of representing pursues and entraps nature as a calculable coherence of forces. Modern physics is not experimental physics because it applies apparatus to the questioning of nature. Rather the reverse is true. Because physics, indeed already as pure theory, sets nature up to exhibit itself as a coherence of forces calculable in advance, it therefore orders its experiments precisely for the purpose of asking whether and how nature reports itself
+
+when set up in this way.
+
+·k But after all, mathematical physics arose almost two centuries . before technology. How, then, could it have already been set upon by modern technology and placed in its service? The facts testify to the contrary. Surely technology got under way only
+
+when it could be supported by exact physical science. Reckoned chronologically, this is correct. Thought historically, it does not
+
+hit upon the truth.
+
+The modern physical theory of nature prepares the way first not simply for technology but for the essence of modern technology. For already in physics the challenging gathering-together into ordering revealing holds sway. But in it that gathering does not yet come expressly to appearance. Modern physics is the herald of Enframing, a herald whose origin is still unknown. The essence of modern technology has for a long time been concealing itself, even where power machinery has been invented, where electrical technology is in full swing, and where atomic tech-
+
+nology is well under way.
+
+All coming to presence, not only modern technology, keeps itself everywhere concealed to the lastY) Nevertheless, it remains, with respect to its holding sway, that which precedes all: the earliest. The Greek thinkers already knew of this when they said : That which is earlier with regard to the arising that holds sway becomes manifest to us men only later. That which is primally early shows itself only ultimately to men.20 Therefore, in the realm of thinking, a painstaking effort to think through still more primally what was primally thought is not the absurd wish to revive what is past, but rather the sober readiness to be
+
+astounded before the coming of what is early.
+
+Chronologically speaking, modern physical science begins in the seventeenth century. In contrast, machine-power technology develops only in the second half of the eighteenth century. But modern technology, which for chronological reckoning is the later, is, from the point of view of the essence holding sway
+
+within it, the historically earlier.
+
+19. "Coming to presence" here translates the gerund Wesende, a verbal form that appears, in this volume, only in this essay. With the introduction into the discussion of "coming to presence" as an alternate translation of the noun Wesen (essence), subsequent to Heidegger's consideration of the meaning of essence below (pp. 30 ff.), occasionally the presence of das
+
+Wesende is regrettably but unavoidably obscured.
+
+20. "That which is primally early" translates die anfiingliche Fruhe. For a discussion of that which "is to all present and absent beings ... the earliest and most ancient at once"-i.e., Ereignen, das Ereignis-see "The Way to Language" in On the Way to Language, trans. Peter D. Hertz (New
+
+York : Harper & Row, 1971), p. 127.
+
+If modern physics must resign itself ever increasingly to the fact that its realm of representation remains inscrutable and incapable of being visualized, this resignation is not dictated by any committee of researchers. It is challenged forth by the rule of Enframing, which demands that nature be orderable as standing-reserve. Hence physics, in all its retreating from the representation turned only toward objects that has alone been standard till recently, will never be able to renounce this one thing : that nature reports itself in some way or other that is identifiable through calculation and that it remains orderable as a system of information. This system is determined, then, out of a causality that has changed once again. Causality now displays neither the character of the occasioning that brings forth nor the nature of the causa efficiens, let alone that of the causa formalis. It seems as though causality is shrinking into a reporting-a reporting challenged forth-of standing-reserves that must be guaranteed either simultaneously or in sequence. To this shrinking would correspond the process of growing resignation that Heisenberg's lecture depicts in so impressive a manner.\* Because the essence of modern technology lies in Enframing, modern technology must employ exact physical science. Through its so doing, the deceptive illusion arises that modern technology is applied physical science. This illusion can maintain itself only so long as neither the essential origin of modern science nor indeed the essence of modern technology is adequately found
+
+out through questioning.
+
+We are questioning concerning technology in order to bring to light our relationship to its essence. The essence of modern technology shows itself in what we call Enframing. But simply to point to this is still in no way to answer the question concerning technology, if to answer means to respond, in the sense of
+
+correspond, to the essence of what is being asked about.
+
+Where do we find ourselves brought to, if now we think one step further regarding what Enframing itself actually is ? It is nothing technological, nothing on the order of a machine. It is the way in which the real reveals itself as standing-reserve. \* W. Heisenberg, "Das Naturbild in der heutigen PhYSik," in Die Kiinste
+
+im technischen Zeitalter (Munich, 1954), pp. 43 ff.
+
+Again we ask: Does this revealing happen somewhere beyond all human doing? No. But neither does it happen exclusively in
+
+man, or decisively through man.
+
+Enframing is the gathering together that belongs to that setting-upon which sets upon man and puts him in position to reveal the real, in the mode of ordering, as standing-reserve. As the one who is challenged forth in this way, man stands within the essential realm of Enframing. He can never take up a relationship to it only subsequently. Thus the question as to how we are to arrive at a relationship to the essence of technology, asked in this way, always comes too late. But never too late comes the question as to whether we actually experience ourselves as the ones whose activities everywhere, public and private, are challenged forth by Enframing. Above all, never too late comes the question as to whether and how we actually admit ourselves into that wherein Enframing itself comes to
+
+presence.
+
+The essence of modern technology starts man upon the way of that revealing through which the real everywhere, more or less distinctly, becomes standing-reserve. "To start upon a way" means "to send" in our ordinary language. We shall call that sending-that-gathers [versammelde Schicken] which first starts man upon a way of revealing, destining [Geschick] .21 It is from out of this destining that the essence of all history [Geschichte] is determined. History is neither simply the object of written chronicle nor simply the fulfillment of human activity. That activity first becomes history as something destined. \* And it is only the destining into objectifying representation that makes the historical accessible as an object for historiography, i.e., for a science, and on this basis makes possible the current equating
+
+of the historical with that which is chronicled.
+
+Enframing, as a challenging-forth into ordering, sends into a way of revealing. Enframing is an ordaining of destining, as is
+
+21. For a further presentation of the meaning resident in Geschick and the related verb schicken, d. T 38 ff., and Introduction, pp. xxviii ff.
+
+every way of revealing. Bringing-forth, poiesis, is also a destining
+
+in this sense.
+
+Always the unconcealment of that which is22 goes upon a way of revealing. Always the destining of revealing holds complete sway over man. But that destining is never a fate that compels. For man becomes truly free only insofar as he belongs to the realm of destining and so becomes one who listens and hears [Horender] , and not one who is simply constrained to obey
+
+[Horiger] .
+
+The essence of freedom is originally not connected with the
+
+will or even with the causality of human willing.
+
+Freedom governs the open in the sense of the cleared and lighted up, i.e., of the revealed.23 It is to the happening of revealing, i.e., of truth, that freedom stands in the closest and most intimate kinship. All revealing belongs within a harboring and a concealing. But that which frees-the mystery-is concealed and always concealing itself. All revealing comes out of the open, goes into the open, and brings into the open. The freedom of the open consists neither in unfettered arbitrariness nor in the constraint of mere laws. Freedom is that which conceals in a way that opens to light, in whose clearing there shimmers that veil that covers what comes to presence of all truth and lets the veil appear as what veils. Freedom is the realm of the destining that
+
+at any given time starts a revealing upon its way.
+
+The essence of modern technology lies in Enframing. Enframing belongs within the destining of revealing. These sentences express something different from the talk that we hear more frequently, to the effect that technology is the fate of our age, where "fate" means the inevitableness of an unalterable course. But when we consider the essence of technology, then we experience Enframing as a destining of revealing. In this way we are already sojourning within the open space of destining, a destining that in no way confines us to a stultified compulsion to push on blindly with technology or, what comes to the same 22. des sen was ist. On the peculiar significance of das was ist (that
+
+which is), see T 44 n. 12.
+
+23. "The open" here translates das Freie, cognate with Freiheit, freedom. Unfortunately the repetitive stress of the German phrasing cannot be reproduced in English, since the basic meaning of Freie-open air, open space
+
+thing, to rebel helplessly against it and curse it as the work of the devil. Quite to the contrary, when we once open ourselves expressly to the essence of technology, we find ourselves un-
+
+expectedly taken into a freeing claim.
+
+The essence of technology lies in Enframing. Its holding sway belongs within destining. Since destining at any given time starts man on a way of revealing, man, thus under way, is continually approaching the brink of the possibility of pursuing and pushing forward nothing but what is revealed in ordering, and of deriving all his standards on this basis. Through this the other possibility is blocked, that man might be admitted more and sooner and ever more primally to the essence of that which is unconcealed and to its unconcealment, in order that he might experi-
+
+ence as his essence his needed belonging to revealing.
+
+Placed between these possibilities, man is endangered from out of destining. The destining of revealing is as such, in every one
+
+of its modes, and therefore necessarily, danger.
+
+In whatever way the destining of revealing may hold sway, the unconcealment in which everything that is shows itself at any given time harbors the danger that man may quail at the unconcealed and may misinterpret it. Thus where everything that presences exhibits itself in the light of a cause-effect coherence, even God can, for representational thinking, lose all that is exalted and holy, the mysteriousness of his distance. In the light of causality, God can sink to the level of a cause, of causa efficiens. He then becomes, even in theology, the god of the philosophers, namely, of those who define the unconcealed and the concealed in terms of the causality of making, without ever
+
+considering the essential origin of this causality.
+
+In a similar way the unconcealment in accordance with which nature presents itself as a calculable complex of the effects of forces can indeed permit correct determinations i but precisely through these successes the danger can remain that in the midst
+
+of all that is correct the true will withdraw.
+
+The destining of revealing is in itself not just any danger, but
+
+Yet when destining reigns in the mode of Enframing, it is the supreme danger. This danger attests itself to us in two ways. As soon as what is unconcealed no longer concerns man even as
+
+object, but does so, rather, exclusively as standing-reserve, and man in the midst of objectlessness is nothing but the orderer of the standing-reserve, then he comes to the very brink of it precipitous fall; that is, he comes to the point where he himself will have to be taken as standing-reserve. Meanwhile man, precisely as the one so threatened, exalts himself to the posture of lord of the earth. In this way the impression comes to prevail that everything man encounters exists only insofar as it is his construct. This illusion gives rise in turn to one final delusion: It seems as though man everywhere and always encounters only himself. Heisenberg has with complete correctness pointed out that the real must present itself to contemporary man in this way. \* In truth, however, precisely nowhere does man today any longer encounter himself, i.e., his essence. Man stands so decisively in attendance on the challenging-forth of Enframing that he does not apprehend Enframing as a claim, that he fails to see himself as the one spoken to, and hence also fails in every way to hear in what respect he ek-sists, from out of his essence, in the realm of an exhortation or address, and thus can never encounter
+
+only himself.
+
+But Enframing does not simply endanger man in his relationship to himself and to everything that is. As a destining, it banishes man into that kind of revealing which is an ordering. Where this ordering holds sway, it drives out every other possi- ( bility of revealing. Above all, Enframing conceals that revealing which, in the sense of poiesis, lets what presences come forth into appearance. As compared with that other revealing, the setting-upon that challenges forth thrusts man into a relation to that which is, that is at once antithetical and rigorously ordered. Where Enframing holds sway, regulating and securing of the standing-reserve mark all revealing. They no longer even let their own fundamental characteristic appear, namely, this re-
+
+vealing as such.
+
+Thus the challenging Enframing not only conceals a former way of revealing, bringing-forth, but it conceals revealing itself and with it That wherein unconcealment, i.e., truth, comes to
+
+Enframing blocks the shining-forth and holding-sway of truth. The destinil1g that sends into ordering is consequently the extreme q.afiger. What is dangerous is not technology. There is no d<::m6nry of technology, but rather there is the mystery of its : essence. The essence of technology, as a destining of revealing, is the danger. The transformed meaning of the word "Enframing" will perhaps become somewhat more familiar to us now if we
+
+think Enframing in the sense of destining and danger.
+
+The threat to man does not come in the first instance from the potentially lethal machines and apparatus of technology. The actual threat has already affected man in his essence. The rule of Enframing threatens man with the possibility that it could be denied to him to enter into a more original revealing and
+
+hence to experience the call of a more primal truth.
+
+Thus, where Enframing reigns, there is danger in the highest
+
+sense.
+
+But where danger is, grows The saving power also.
+
+Let us think carefully about these words of H6lderlin. What does it mean "to save"? Usually we think that it means only to seize hold of a thing threatened by ruin, in order to secure it in its former continuance. But the verb "to save" says more. "To save" is to fetch something home into its essence, in order to Q[,ing the essence for the first time into its genuine appearing. If the essence of technology, Enframing, is the extreme danger, and if there is truth in H6lderlin's words, then the rule of Enframing cannot exhaust itself solely in blocking all lighting-up of every revealing, all appearing of truth. Rather, precisely the essence of technology must harbor in itself the growth of the saving power. But in that case, might not an adequate look into what Enframing is as a destining of revealing bring into appear-
+
+ance the saving power in its arising?
+
+In what respect does the saving power grow there also where the danger is? Where something grows, there it takes root, from thence it thrives. Both happen concealedly and quietly and in their own time. But according to the words of the poet we have no right whatsoever to expect that there where the danger is we
+
+should be able to lay hold of the saving power immediately and without preparation. Therefore we must consider now, in advance, in what respect the saving power does most profoundly take root and thence thrive even in that wherein the extreme danger lies, in the hdlding sway of Enframing. In order to consider this, it is necessary, as a last step upon our way, to look with yet clearer eyes into the danger. Accordingly, we must once more question concerning technology. For we have said that in
+
+technology's essence roots and thrives the saving power.
+
+But how shall we behold the saving power in the essence of technology so long as we do not consider in what sense of "essence" it is that Enframing is actually the essence of tech-
+
+nology?
+
+Thus far we have understood "essence" in its current meaning. In the academic language of philosophy, "essence" means what something is; in Latin, quid. Quidditas, whatness, provides the answer to the question concerning essence. For example, what pertains to all kinds of trees-oaks, beeches, birches, firs-is the same "treeness." Under this inclusive genus-the "universal" fall all real and possible trees. Is then the essence of technology, Enframing, the common genus for everything technological? If that were the case then the stearn turbine, the radio transmitter, and the cyclotron would each be an Enframing. But the word "En framing" does not mean here a tool or any kind of apparatus. Still less does it mean the general concept of such resources. The machines and apparatus are no more cases and kinds of Enframing than are the man at the switchboard and the engineer in the drafting room .. Each of these in its own way indeed belongs as stockpart, available resource, or executer, within Enframing; but Enframing is never the essence of technology in the sense of a genus. Enframing is a way of revealing having the character of destining, namely, the way that challenges forth. The revealing that brings forth (poiesis) is also a way that has the character of destining. But these ways are not kinds that, arrayed beside one another, fall under the concept of revealing. Revealing is that destining which, ever suddenly and inexplicably to all thinking, apportions itself into the revealing that brings forth and that also challenges, and which allots itself to man. The challenging reveal-
+
+ing has its origin as a destining in bringing-forth. But at the same time Enframing, in a way characteristic of a destining,
+
+blocks poiesis.
+
+Thus Enframing, as a destining of revealing, is indeed the essence of technology, but never in the sense of genus and essentia. If we pay heed to this, something astounding strikes us: It is technology itself that makes the demand on us to think in another way what is usually understood by "essence." But in
+
+what way?
+
+If we speak of the "essence of a house" and the "essence of a state," we do not mean a generic type; rather we mean the ways in which house and state hold sway, administer themselves, develop and decay-the way in which they "essence" [Wesen]. Johann Peter Hebel in a poem, "Ghost on Kanderer Street," for which Goethe had a special fondness, uses the old word die Weserei. It means the city hall inasmuch as there the life of the community gathers and village existence is constantly in play, i.e., comes to presence. It is from the verb wesen that the noun is derived. Wesen understood as a verb is the same as wiihren [to last or endure], not only in terms of meaning, but also in terms of the phonetic formation of the word. Socrates and Plato already think the essence of something as what essences, what comes to presence, in the sense of what endures. But they think what endures as what remains permanently [das Fortwiihrende] (aei on). And they find what endures permanently in what, as that which remains, tenaciously persists throughout all that happens. That which remains they discover, in turn, in the aspect
+
+[Aussehen] (eidos, idea), for example, the Idea "house."
+
+The Idea "house" displays what anything is that is fashioned as a house. Particular, real, and possible houses, in contrast, are changing and transitory derivatives of the Idea and thus belong
+
+to what does not endure.
+
+But it can never in any way be established that enduring is based solely on what Plato thinks as idea and Aristotle thinks as to ti en einai (that which any particular thing has always been), or what metaphysics in its most varied interpretations thinks as
+
+All essencing endures. But is enduring only permanent enduring? Does the essence of technology endure in the sense of
+
+the permanent enduring of an Idea that hovers over everything technological, thus making it seem that by technology we mean some mythological abstraction? The way in which technology essences lets itself be seen only from out of that permanent enduring in which Enframing comes to pass as a destining of revealing. Goethe once uses the mysterious word fortgewiihren [to grant permanently] in place of fortwiihren [to endure permanently] . \* He hears wiihren [to endure] and gewiihren [to grant] here in one unarticulated accord?4 And if we now ponder more carefully than we did before what it is that actually endures and perhaps alone endures, we may venture to say: Only what is granted endures. That which endures primally out of the earliest
+
+beginning is what grants.25
+
+As the essencing of technology, Enframing is that which endures. Does Enframing hold sway at all in the sense of granting? No doubt the question seems a horrendous blunder. For according to everything that has been said, Enframing is, rather, a destining that gathers together into the revealing that challenges forth. Challenging is anything but a granting. 50 it seems, so long as we do not notice that the challenging-forth into the ordering of the real as standing-reserve still remains a destining that starts man upon a way of revealing. As this destining, the coming to presence of technology gives man entry into That which, of himself, he can neither invent nor in any way make. For there is no such thing as a man who, solely of himself, is only man. But if this destining, Enframing, is the extreme danger, not only for man's coming to presence, but for all revealing as such, should this destining still be called a granting? Yes, most emphat-
+
+\* "Die Wahlverwandtschaften" [Congeniality], pt. II, chap. 10, in the novelette Die wunderlichen Nachbarskinder [The strange neighbor's chil-
+
+dren].
+
+24. The verb gewiihren is closely allied to the verbs wiihren (to endure) and wahren (to watch over, to keep safe, to preserve). Gewiihren ordinarily means to be surety for, to warrant, to vouchsafe, to grant. In the discussion that follows, the verb will be translated simply with "to grant." But the reader should keep in mind also the connotations of safeguarding and
+
+guaranteeing that are present in it as well.
+
+25. Nur das Gewiihrte wiihrt. Das anfiinglich aus der Fruhe Wiihrende ist das Gewiihrende. A literal translation of the second sentence would be, "That which endures primally from out of the early .... " On the meaning
+
+icalIy, if in this destining the saving power is said to grow. Every destining of revealing comes to pass from out of a granting and as such a granting. For it is granting that first conveys to man that share in revealing which the coming-to-pass of revealing needs.26 As the one so needed and used, man is given to belong to the coming-to-pass of truth. The granting that sends in one way or another into revealing is as such the saving power. For the saving power lets man see and enter into the highest dignity of his essence. This dignity lies in keeping watch over the unconcealment-and with it, from the first, the concealment-of all coming to presence on this earth. It is precisely in Enframing, which threatens to sweep man away into ordering as the supposed single way of revealing, and so thrusts man into the danger of the surrender of his free essence-it is precisely in this extreme danger that the innermost indestructible belongingness of man within granting may come to light, provided that we, for our part, begin to pay heed to the coming to presence of
+
+technology.
+
+Thus the coming to presence of technology harbors in itself what we least suspect, the possible arising of the saving power. Everything, then, depends upon this: that we ponder this arising and that, recollecting, we watch over it. How can this happen? Above all through our catching sight of what comes to presence in technology, instead of merely staring at the technologicarSo long as we represent technology as an instrument, we remain held fast in the will to master it. We press on past
+
+the essence of technology.
+
+When, however, we ask how the instrumental comes to presence as a kind of causality, then we experience this coming to
+
+presence as the destining of a revealing.
+
+When we consider, finally, that the coming to presence of the essence of technology comes to pass in the granting that needs and uses man so that he may share in revealing, then the follow-
+
+ing becomes clear :
+
+26. Here and subsequently in this essay, "coming-to-pass" translates the noun Ereignis. Elsewhere, in "The Turning," this word, in accordance with the deeper meaning that Heidegger there finds for it, will be translated with "disclosing that brings into its own." See T 45; see also Introduction, pp.
+
+The essence of technology is in a lofty sense ambiguous. Such ambiguity points to the mystery of all revealing, i.e., of truth. On the one hand, Enframing challenges forth into the frenziedness of ordering that blocks every view into the coming-to-pass of revealing and so radically endangers the relation to the essence
+
+of truth.
+
+On the other hand, Enframing comes to pass for its part in the granting that lets man endure-as yet unexperienced, but perhaps more experienced in the future-that he may be the one who is needed and used for the safekeeping of the coming to presence of truth.:n Thus does the arising of the saving power
+
+appear.
+
+The irresistibility of ordering and the restraint of the saving power draw past each other like the paths of two stars in the course of the heavens. But precisely this, their passing by, is the
+
+hidden side of their nearness.
+
+When we look into the ambiguous essence of technology, we
+
+behold the constellation, the stellar course of the mystery.
+
+The question concerning technology is the question concerning the constellation in which revealing and concealing, in which
+
+the coming to presence of truth, comes to pass.
+
+But what help is it to us to look into the constellation of truth? We look into the danger and see the growth of the saving power. Through this we are I).ot yet saved. But we are thereupon summoned to hope in the growing light of the saving power. How can this happen? Here and now and in little things, that we may foster the saving power in its increase. This includes holding
+
+always before our eyes the extreme danger.
+
+The coming to presence of technology threatens revealing, threatens it with the possibility that all revealing will be consumed in ordering and that everything will present itself only in the unconcealedness of standing-reserve. Human activity can never directly counter this danger. Human achievement alone can never banish it. But human reflection can ponder the fact that
+
+27. "Safekeeping" translates the noun Wahrnis, which is unique to Heidegger. Wahrnis is closely related to the verb wahren (to watch over, to keep safe, to preserve), integrally related to Wahrheit (truth), and closely akin to wiihren (to endure) and gewiihren (to be surety for, to grant). On
+
+all saving power must be of a higher essence than what is en-
+
+dangered, though at the same time kindred to it.
+
+But might there not perhaps be a more primally granted revealing that could bring the saving power into its first shining forth in the midst of the danger, a revealing that in the techno-
+
+logical age rather conceals than shows itself?
+
+There was a time when it was not technology alone that bore the name techne. Once that revealing that brings forth truth into
+
+the splendor of radiant appearing also was called techne.
+
+Once there was a time when the bringing-forth of the true into the beautiful was called techne. And the poiesis of the fine arts
+
+also was called techne.
+
+In Greece, at the outset of the destining of the West, the arts soared to the supreme height of the revealing granted them. They brought the presence [Gegenwart] of the gods, brought the dialogue of divine and human destinings, to radiance. And art was simply called techne. It was a single, manifold revealing. It was pious, promos, i.e., yielding to the holding-sway and the
+
+safekeeping of truth.
+
+The arts were not derived from the artistic. Art works were not enjoyed aesthetically. Art was not a sector of cultural ac-
+
+tivity.
+
+What, then, was art-perhaps only for that brief but magnificent time? Why did art bear the modest name techne? Because it was a revealing that brought forth and hither, and therefore belonged within poiesis. It was finally that revealing which holds complete sway in all the fine arts, in poetry, and in everything poetical that obtained poiesis as its proper name.
+
+The same poet from whom we heard the words
+
+says to us:
+
+But where danger is, grows The saving power also.
+
+... poetically dwells man upon this earth. The poetical brings the true into the splendor of what Plato in the Phaedrus calls to ekphanestaton, that which shines forth most purely. The poetical thoroughly pervades every art, every
+
+Could it be that the fine arts are called to poetic revealing? Could it be that revealing lays claim to the arts most primally, so that they for their part may expressly foster the growth of the saving power, may awaken and found anew our look into that
+
+which grants and our trust in it?
+
+Whether art may be granted this highest possibility of its essence in the midst of the extreme danger, no one can tell. Yet we can be astounded. Before what? Before this other possibility: that the frenziedness of technology may entrench itself everywhere to such an extent that someday, throughout everything technological, the essence of technology may come to presence
+
+in the coming-to-pass of truth.
+
+Because the essence of technology is nothing technological, essential reflection upon technology and decisive confrontation with it must happen in a realm that is, on the one hand, akin to the essence of technology and, on the other, fundamentally
+
+different from it.
+
+Such a realm is art. But certainly only if reflection on art, for its part, does not shut its eyes to the constellation of truth
+
+after which we are questioning.
+
+Thus questioning, we bear witness to the crisis that in our sheer preoccupation with technology we do not yet experience the coming to presence of technology, that in our sheer aestheticmindedness we no longer guard and preserve the coming to presence of art. Yet the more questioningly we ponder the essence of technology, the more mysterious the essence of art
+
+becomes.
+
+The closer we come to the danger, the more brightly do the ways into the saving power begin to shine and the more question-
+
+ing we become. For questioning is the piety of thought.
+
+The Turning
+
+The essence1 of Enframing is that setting-upon gathered into itself which entraps the truth of its own coming to presence with oblivion.2 This entrapping disguises itself, in that it develops
+
+1. Throughout this essay the noun Wesen will sometimes be given its traditional translation "essence," but more often it will be translated with "coming to presence." For Heidegger the essence of anything is its "enduring as presence." As such, it is the manner in which anything in its enduring comports itself effectually as what it is, i.e., the manner in which it "holds sway" through time (see QT 30; 3, n. 1). Thus in this essay the Wesen of that enframing summons-"Enframing," das Ge-stell-which governs the modern age is the "challenging setting-upon" (Stellen) that sets everything in place as supply, ruling in modern technology (d. QT 15, n. 14; 19, n. 17); the Wesen of modern technology is Enframing itself; the Wesen of Being is the manner in which Being endures, at any given time, as the Being of whatever is (d. p. 38) ; the Wesen of man is that dwelling in openness, accomplished through language and thinking, wherein Being can be and is preserved and set free into presence (d. pp. 39-42 and "Time and Being" in On Time and Being, trans. Joan Stambaugh [New York : Harper & Row,
+
+1972], p. 12) .
+
+2. Vergessenheit (obliVion) is not to be confused with the propensity to forget things or with a lapse of memory. In this essay, as for Heidegger generally, Vergessenheit is to be understood in the positive sense of the Greek lethe. It is that concealedness which is the source and foundation of all unconcealedness or truth (aletheia). There can be no unveiling unless there is concealment from whence it comes. The words of Heraclitus, physis kryptesthai philei-ordinarily translated "nature loves to hide"-would be rendered by Heidegger approximately as "concealedness is the very heart of coming into appearance" (from the transcript of the "Seminaire tenu au Thor en septembre 1969 par Ie Professeur Martin Heidegger," p. 21).
+
+The Turning 37
+
+into the setting in order of everything that presences as standingreserve, establishes itself in the standing-reserve, and rules as
+
+the standing-reserve.
+
+Enframing comes to presence as the danger. But does the danger therewith announce itself as the danger? No. To be sure, men are at all times and in all places exceedingly oppressed by dangers and exigencies. But the danger, namely, Being itself endangering itself in the truth of its coming to presence, remains veiled and disguised. This disguising is what is most dangerous in the danger. In keeping with this disguising of the danger through the ordering belonging to Enframing, it seems time and time again as though technology were a means in the hands of man. But, in truth, it is the coming to presence of man that is now being ordered forth to lend a hand to the coming to pres-
+
+ence of technology.
+
+Does this mean that man, for better or worse, is helplessly delivered over to technology? No, it means the direct opposite ; and not only that, but essentially it means something more than
+
+the opposite, because it means something different.
+
+If Enframing is a destining of the coming to presence of Being itself, then we may venture to suppose that Enframing, as one among Being's modes of coming to presence, changes. for what gives destining its character as destining is that it takes place so as suitably to adapt itself to the ordaining that is ever one.3 To take place so as to adapt means to set out in order to adjust fittingly to the directing already made apparent-for which another destining, yet veiled, is waiting. That which has the character of destining moves, in itself, at any given time, toward a special moment that sends it into another destining, in which, however, it is not simply submerged and lost. We are still too
+
+3. "Destining" translates Geschick, which ordinarily means skill, aptitude, fitness, as well as fate or destiny, and is here regularly rendered by "destining." The expressions "ordaining" and "takes place so as suitably to adapt itself" render words closely allied to Geschick. "Ordaining" translates Schickung, meaning providential decree, dispensation. "To take place so as suitably to adapt" translates the verb sich schicken, which means to corne to pass or happen, to suit or be fit, to accommodate oneself, to agree with, to match or blend. In this essay, where Heidegger's central concern is with turning about, a changing of direction, the connotations of aptness, fitness, and self-adapting brought forward for Geschick in this passage should
+
+inexperienced and thoughtless to think the essence of the historical from out of destining and ordaining and taking place so as to adapt. We are still too easily inclined, out of habit, to conceive that which has the character of destining in terms of happening, and to represent the latter as an expiration, a passing away, of events that have been established historiographically. We locate history in the realm of happening, instead of thinking history in accordance with its essential origin from out of destining. But destining is essentially destining of Being, indeed in such a way that Being itself takes place so as to adapt itself, and ever comes to presence as a destining and, accordingly, changes in the manner of a destining. If a change in Beingi.e., now, in the coming to presence of Enframing-comes to pass, then this in no way means that technology, whose essence lies in Enframing, will be done away with.4 Technology will not be struck down; and it most certainly will not be destroyed. If the essence, the coming to presence, of technology, Enframing as the danger within Being, is Being itself, then technology will never allow itself to be mastered, either positively or negatively, by a human doing founded merely on itself. Technology, whose essence is Being itself, will never allow itself to be overcome by men. That would mean, after all, that man was the
+
+master of Being.
+
+Nevertheless, because Being, as the essence of technology, has adapted itself into Enframing, and because man's coming to presence belongs to the coming to presence of Being-inasmuch as Being's coming to presence needs the coming to presence of man, in order to remain kept safe as Being in keeping with its own coming to presence in the midst of whatever is, and thus
+
+4. The phrase "comes to pass" renders the German verb sich ereignet (from sich ereignen, to happen or take place). The noun Ereignis usually means, correspondingly, event. Later in this essay (p. 45), Heidegger points to the fact that Ereignis, and with it necessarily sich ereignen, embodies the meanings of the two verbs eignen (to be one's own, to suit, to belong to), and the archaic eriiugnen (to bring before the eyes, to bring to sight). He says : Ereignis ist eignende Eriiugnis ("Disclosing coming-to-pass is bringing-to-sight that brings into its own") (p. 45). Although the introduction of this fullness of meaning for sich ereignen and Ereignis has been reserved in the translation for the point at which Heidegger's definitive statement is made, that meaning clearly informs the argument of the essay throughout
+
+as Being to endure as present-for this reason the coming to presence of technology cannot be led into the change of its destining without the cooperation of the coming to presence of man. Through this cooperation, however, technology will not be overcome [iiberwunden] by men. On the contrary, the coming to presence of technology will be surmounted [verwunden] in a way that restores it into its yet concealed truth. This restoring surmounting is similar to what happens when, in the human realm, one gets over grief or pain. But the surmounting of a destining of Being-here and now, the surmounting of Enframing-each time comes to pass out of the arrival of another destining, a destining that does not allow itself either to be logically and historiographically predicted or to be metaphysically construed as a sequence belonging to a process of history. For never does the historical-let alone happening itself as represented historiographically-determine destining; but rather happening, together with the representation of the constancy assigned to it, is already in each instance that which, belonging
+
+to a destining of Being, has the character of destining.
+
+Man is indeed needed and used for the restorative surmounting of the essence of technology. But man is used here in his essence that corresponds to that surmounting. In keeping with this, man's essence must first open itself to the essence of technology. This opening is, in terms of that coming-to-pass which discloses, something quite different from the event of man's affirming technology and its means and promoting them. However, in order that man in his essence may become attentive to the essence of technology, and in order that there may be founded an essential relationship between technology and man in respect to their essence, modern man must first and above all find his way back into the full breadth of the space proper to his essence. That essential space of man's essential being receives the dimension that unites it to something beyond itself solely from out of the conjoining relation [V er-hiiltnis] that is the way in which the safekeeping of Being itself is given to belong to the essence of man as the one who is needed and used by Being. Unless man first establishes himself beforehand in the space proper to his essence and there takes up his dwelling, he will not be capable of anything essential within the destining
+
+now holding sway. In pondering this let us pay heed to a word of Meister Eckhart, as we think it in keeping with what is most fundamental to it. It reads: "Those who are not of a great essence, whatever work they perform, nothing comes of it"5
+
+(Reden der Unterscheidung, No. 4).
+
+It is toward the great essence of man that we are thinking, inasmuch as man's essence belongs to the essence of Being and is needed by Being to keep safe the coming to presence of Being
+
+into its truth.
+
+Therefore, what is necessary above all is this: that beforehand we ponder the essence of Being as that which is worthy of thinking; that beforehand, in thinking this, we experience to what extent we are called upon first to trace a path for such experiencing and to prepare that path as a way into that which
+
+till now has been impassable.
+
+All this we can do only it before considering the question that is seemingly always the most immediate one and the only urgent one, What shall we do? we ponder this: How must we think? For thinking is genuine activity, genuine taking a hand, if to take a hand means to lend a hand to the essence, the coming to presence, of Being. This means: to prepare (build) for the coming to presence of Being that abode in the midst of whatever isH into which Being brings itself and its essence to utterance in language. Language first gives to every purposeful deliberation its ways and its byways. Without language, there would be lacking to every doing every dimension in which it could bestir
+
+5. Die nitt von grossem wesen sind, was werk die wirken, da wirt nit us. 6. inmitten des Seienden. "Whatever is" here translates Seienden, the present participle of the German verb sein (to be) used as a noun. The necessity in English of translating Sein, when it appears as a noun, with "Being" precludes the possibility of the use of the most obvious translation, "being," for Seiendes. A phrase such as the "Being of being" or "Being in the midst of being" would clearly present unacceptable difficulties. Heidegger does not intend das Seiende to refer primarily to any mere aggregate of entities or beings, let alone to a particular being. The word connotes for him, first of all, the intricately interrelated entirety of all that is, in whose "is" Being is made manifest. The verbal force of the participle is always significantly present. In these essays, the translation of das Seiende will vary according to the demands of particular contexts. The translations "what is," "whatever is," "that which is," "what is in being," "whatever is
+
+itself and be effective. In view of this, language is never primarily the expression of thinking, feeling, and willing. Language is the primal dimension within which man's essence is first able to correspond at all to Being and its claim, and, in corresponding, to belong to Being. This primal corresponding, expressly carried out, is thinking. Through thinking, we first learn to dwell in the realm in which there comes to pass the restorative surmounting of the destining of Being, the surmounting of En-
+
+framing.
+
+The coming to presence of Enframing is the danger. As the danger, Being turns about into the oblivion of its coming to presence, turns away from this coming to presence, and in that way simultaneously turns counter to the truth of its coming to presence. In the danger there holds sway this turning about not yet thought on. In the coming to presence of the danger there conceals itself, therefore, the possibility of a turning in which the oblivion belonging to the coming to presence of Being will so turn itself that, with this turning, the truth of the coming to presence of Being will expressly turn in-turn homeward-into
+
+whatever is.7
+
+Yet probably this turning-the turning of the oblivion of Being into the safekeeping belonging to the coming to presence of Being-will finally come to pass only when the danger, which is in its concealed essence ever susceptible of turning, first comes expressly to light as the danger that it is. Perhaps we stand already in the shadow cast ahead by the advent of this turning. When and how it will come to pass after the manner of a destining no one knows. Nor is it necessary that we know. A knowl-
+
+7. "Will turn in-turn homeward-" translates einkehrt. The verb einkehren means to turn in, to enter, to put up at an inn, to alight, to stay. The related noun Einkehr, translated in this essay as "in-turning," means putting up at an inn; an inn or lodging. Einkehren and Einkehr speak of a thorough being at home that yet partakes of the transiency belonging to the ongoing. Both words suggest the Heimkehr (homecoming) important in Heidegger's earlier H6lderlin essays. The allusion to a transient abiding made here in these words leads toward Heidegger's culminating portrayal of the turning within Being as a self-clearing, i.e., a se]f-opening-up, as which and into which Being's own self-lighting that is a self-manifesting entering brings itself to pass. Cf. pp. 44-45, where we find, in immediate conjunction with Einkehr, the introduction of the nouns Einblick (entering,
+
+edge of this kind would even be most ruinous for man, because his essence is to be the one who waits, the one who attends upon the coming to presence of Being in that in thinking he guards it. Only when man, as the shepherd of Being, attends upon the truth of Being can he expect an arrival of a destining of Being
+
+and not sink to the level of a mere wanting to know.
+
+But what happens there where the danger comes to pass as the danger and is thus for the first time unconcealedly danger? That we may hear the answer to this question, let us give heed to the beckoning sign that is preserved in some words of Holderlin. At the beginning of the later version of his Hymn UPatmos/'
+
+the poet says:
+
+But where danger is, grows The saving power also.\*
+
+If now we think these words still more essentially than the poet sang them, if we follow them in thought as far as they go, they say : Where the danger is as the danger, there the saving power is already thriving also. The latter does not appear incidentally. The saving power is not secondary to the danger. The selfsame danger is, when it is as the danger, the saving power. The danger is the saving power, inasmuch as it brings the saving power out of its-the danger's-concealed essence that is ever susceptible of turning. What does Uto save" mean? It means to loose, to emancipate, to free, to spare and husband, to harbor protectingly, to take under one's care, to keep safe. Lessing still uses the word "saving" emphatically, in the sense of vindication, i.e., to put something back into what is proper and right, into the essential} and to keep it safe therein. That which genu-
+
+inely saves is that which keeps safe, safekeeping.9
+
+\* Von Hellingrath, ed., IV, 227.
+
+8. in das Rechte, wesenhafte zuruckstellen.
+
+9. The preceding three sentences make plain with peculiar force the meaning that Heidegger intends for the verb wahren (to keep safe) and the noun Wahrnis (safekeeping). His equating here of these two words with das Rettende (the saving-power) draws into them all the connotations of freeing and safeguarding that he has just established for the latter. Wahren, ordinarily understood as to watch over, to keep safe, to preserve--and with it Wahrnis-clearly carries, Simultaneously, connotations of freeing, i.e., of allOWing to be manifest. The same connotations are resident in all the The Turning 43
+
+But where is the danger? What is the place for it? Inasmuch as the danger is Being itselt it is both nowhere and everywhere. It has no place as something other than itself. It is itself the placeless dwelling place of all presencing. The danger is the
+
+epoch of Being coming to presence as Enframing.10
+
+When the danger is as the danger, then its coming to presence expressly comes to pass. But the danger is the entrapping that is the way in which Being itself, in the mode of Enframing, pursues with oblivion the safekeeping belonging to Being. In the entrapping, what comes to presence is this, that Being dismisses and puts away its truth into oblivion in such a way that Being denies its own coming to presence. When, accordingly, the danger is as the danger, then the entrapping that is the way Being itself entraps its truth with oblivion comes expressly to pass. When this entrapping-with-oblivion does come expressly to pass, then oblivion as such turns in and abides. Thus rescued through this abiding from falling away out of remembrance, it is no longer oblivion. With such in-turning, the oblivion relating to Being's safekeeping is no longer the oblivion of Being; but rather, turning in thus, it turns about into the safekeeping of Being. When the danger is as the danger, with the turning about of oblivion, the safekeeping of Being comes to pass; world comes to pass. \* That world comes to pass as world, that the thing things, this is the
+
+distant advent of the coming to presence of Being itself.
+
+The self-denying of the truth of Being, which entraps itself with oblivion, harbors the favor as yet ungranted, that this selfentrapping will turn about; that, in such turning, oblivion will turn and become the safekeeping belonging to the coming to
+
+words built on wahr. They should be heard in Wahrheit (truth), which, in the discussion now in progress, is often used-sometimes all but interchangeably-with Wahrnis. For the common derivation of wahren and Wahrheit, and hence of other words built on the stem wahr, and for the fundamental
+
+meaning therein, cf. 5R 164-165.
+
+10. Heidegger never intends "epoch" simply in the sense of "era" or "age." "Epoch" always carries for him the meaning of the Greek epoche, i.e., withholding-to-self (Ansichhalten). Cf. "Time and Being," On Time and Being, p. 9. Here, then, the meaning is that the danger is the self-withhold-
+
+ing of Being enduring as present in the mode of Enframing.
+
+presence of Being, instead of allowing that coming to presence to fall into disguise. In the coming to presence of the danger there comes to presence and dwells a favor, namely, the favor of the turning about of the oblivion of Being into the truth of Being. In the coming to presence of the danger, where it is as the danger, is the turning about into the safekeeping, is this safekeeping
+
+itself, is the saving power of Being.
+
+When the turning comes to pass in the danger, this can happen only without mediation. For Being has no equal whatever. It is not brought about by anything else nor does it itself bring anything about. Being never at any time runs its course within a cause-effect coherence. Nothing that effects, as Being, precedes the mode in which it-Being itself-takes place so as to adapt itself; and no effect, as Being, follows after. Sheerly, out of its own essence of concealedness, Being brings itself to pass into
+
+its epoch. Therefore we must pay heed :
+
+The turning of the danger comes to pass suddenly. In this turning, the clearing belonging to the essence of Being suddenly clears itself and lights up. This sudden self-lighting is the lightning-flash. It brings itself into its own brightness, which it itself both brings along and brings in. When, in the turning of the danger, the truth of Being flashes, the essence of Being clears and lights itself up. Then the truth of the essence, the
+
+coming to presence, of Being turns and enters in.
+
+Toward where does in-turning bring itself to pass? Toward nowhere except into Being itself, which is as yet coming to presence out of the oblivion of its truth. But this same Being comes to presence as the coming to presence of technology. The coming to presence of technology is Enframing. In-turning, as the bringing to pass of the turning about of oblivion, turns in into that which now is the epoch of Being. That which genuinely iS,ll is in no way this or that particular being. What genuinely is, i.e., what expressly dwells and endures as present in the "is," is uniquely Being. Only Being "is," only in Being and as Being does that which the "is" names bring itself to pass; that which
+
+is, is Being from out of its essence.12
+
+"To flash [blitzenJ, in terms both of its derivation and of what it designates, is "to glance" [blicken] . In the flashing glance and as that glance, the essence, the coming to presence, of Being enters into its own emitting of light. Moving through the element of its own shining, the flashing glance retrieves that which it catches sight of and brings it back into the brightness of its own looking. And yet that glancing, in its giving of light, simultaneously keeps safe the concealed darkness of its origin as the unlighted. The in-turning [EinkehrJ that is the lightningflash of the truth of Being is the entering, flashing glanceinsight [EinblickJ . We have thought the truth of Being in the worlding of world as the mirror play of the fourfold of sky and earth, mortals and divinities. \* When oblivion turns about, when world as the safekeeping of the coming to presence of Being turns in, then there comes to pass the in-flashing [EinblitzJ of world into the injurious neglect of the thing.13 That neglect comes to pass in the mode of the rule of Enframing. In-flashing of world into Enframing is in-flashing of the truth of Being into truthless Being. In-flashing is the disclosing coming-to-pass within Being itself. Disclosing coming-to-pass [Ereignis J is bringing to sight that brings into its own [eignende Eriiugnis J.
+
+any German reader to think afresh; by specifically distinguishing das was ist from any use of the present participle Seiendes for "this or that particular being," he can set forth a distinction apparent in the words themselves. For the English-speaking reader of this volume, however, a different and more difficult problem remains. Since das Seiende is very often translated in these essays with "what is," "whatever is,'' and "that which is," confusion could easily result in the present context. Only in the discussion now underway, in two related passages in QT (pp. 25, 27), and in one other instance (WN 97) will "that which is" translate forms of das was ist; das Seiende will be translated variously as "what is," "what is in being," and
+
+"that which is in being."
+
+\* Cf. Poetry, Language, Thought, 165ff.
+
+13. "Injurious neglect" translates Verwahrlosung. Doubtless we should hear in Verwahrlosung-a noun built on the verb verwahren (to keep, guard, secure, protect) with the negating prefix 10s- -connotations that go beyond its ordinary meaning of neglect and injury caused by neglect, and that accord with those of manifesting that Heidegger finds resident in the stem wahr (d. p. 42, n. 9). In this and in the following sentence in the text, the reader should be reminded of the character of Enframing as that "setting-upon that challenges forth" which sets everything in place as supply, which orders everything as standing-reserve and hence keeps nothing safe,
+
+Insight into that which is-this designation now names the disclosing that brings into its own that is the coming-to-pass of the turning within Being, of the turning of the denial of Being's coming to presence into the disclosing coming-to-pass of Being's safekeeping. Insight into that which is, is itself the disclosing that brings into its own, as which the truth of Being relates itself and stands in relation to truthless Being. Insight into that which is-this names the constellation in the essence of Being. This constellation is the dimension in which Being
+
+comes to presence as the danger.
+
+From the first and almost to the last it has seemed as though "insight into that which is" means only a glance such as we men throw out from ourselves into what is. We ordinarily take "that which is" to be whatever is in being. For the "is" is asserted of what is in being. But now everything has turned about. Insight does not name any discerning examination [Einsicht] into what is in being that we conduct for ourselves; insight [Einhlick] as in-flashing [Einhlitz] is the disclosing coming-topass of the constellation of the turning within the coming to presence of Being itself, and that within the epoch of Enframing. That which is, is in no way that which is in being. For the "it is" and the "is" are accorded to what is in being only inasmuch as what is in being is appealed to in respect to its Being. In the "is," "Being" is uttered : that which "is," in the sense that
+
+it constitutes the Being of what is in being, is Being.14
+
+The ordering belonging .to Enframing sets itself above the thing, leaves it, as thing, unsafeguarded, truthless.1fi In this way Enframing disguises the nearness of world that nears in the thing. Enframing disguises even this, its disguising, just as the forgetting of something forgets itself and is drawn away in the wake of forgetful oblivion. The coming-to-pass of oblivion not only lets fall from remembrance into concealment; but that falling itself falls simultaneously from remembrance into con-
+
+cealment, which itself also falls away in that falling.
+
+14. On the relation between das Sein (Being) and das Seiende (what is) see "The Onto-theo-logical Constitution of Metaphysics," in Identity and Difference, trans. Joan Stambaugh (New York : Harper & Row, 1969), pp. 64,
+
+The Turning 47
+
+And yet-in all the disguising belonging to Enframing, the bright open-space of world lights up, the truth of Being flashes. At the instant, that is, when Enframing lights up, in its coming to presence, as the danger, i.e., as the saving-power. In Enframing, moreover, as a destining of the coming to presence of Being, there comes to presence a light from the flashing of Being. Enframing is, though veiled, still glance, and no blind destiny in
+
+the sense of a completely ordained fate.
+
+Insight into tha�, which is-thus do we name the sudden flash
+
+of the truth of Bei'ng into truthless Being.
+
+When insight comes disclosingly to pass, then men are the ones who are struck in their essence by the flashing of Being.
+
+In insight, men are the ones who are caught sight of.
+
+Only when man, in the disclosing coming-to-pass of the insight by which he himself is beheld, renounces human self-will and projects himself toward that insight, away from himself, does he correspond in his essence to the claim of that insight. In thus corresponding man is gathered into his own [ge-eignet]/6 that he, within the safeguarded element of world, may, as the
+
+mortal, look out toward the divine.
+
+Otherwise not; for the god also is-when he is-a being and stands as a being within Being and its coming to presence, which brings itself disclosingly to pass out of the worlding of worldP
+
+16. The translation "gathered into his own" for ge-eignet takes cognizance of the prefix ge-, which Heidegger has separated from the verb eignen (to be one's own). Heidegger repeatedly stresses the force of ge- as meaning "gathering." Cf. e.g., QT 19. Here the suggestion of gathering points to man's belonging within the wholly mutual interrelating of the fourfold of sky and earth, divinities and mortals. The ensuing allusions to "the divine" and "the god" bespeak the same context of thought (cf. "The Thing," Poetry, Language, Thought, pp. 178 ff.). Ge-eignet speaks specifically of that bringing into its own which is the disclosing coming-to-pass (Ereignis) of the "insight into that which is" that is the in-flashing of Being into its· own enduring as presence-the in-flashing that brings to pass, in Being's manifesting of itself to itself, the worlding of world and the thinging of the
+
+thing.
+
+17. "The god" of whom Heidegger speaks is not the god of the metaphysical-theological tradition of Christendom. Heidegger characteristically thinks of a dimension of the divine that the divinities make manifest-as among the Greeks, or for the Hebrew prophets, or in the preaching of Jesus-and toward which they beckon man. He can speak of the modern age as "the time of the gods that have fled and of the god that is coming" ("Remembrance of the Poet," Tr. Douglas Scott, in Existence and Being,
+
+Only when insight brings itself disclosingly to pass, only when the coming to presence of technology lights up as Enframing, do we discern how, in the ordering of the standing-reserve, the truth of Being remains denied as world. Only then do we notice that all mere willing and doing in the mode of ordering steadfastly persists in injurious neglect. In this same way all mere organizing of the world conceived and represented historiographically in terms of universality remains truthless and without foundation. All mere chasing after the future so as to work out a picture of it through calculation in order to extend what is present and half-thought into what, now veiled, is yet to come, itself still moves within the prevailing attitude belonging to technological, calculating representation. All attempts to reckon existing reality morphologically, psychologically, in terms of decline and loss, in terms of fate, catastrophe, and destruction, are merely technological behavior. That behavior operates through the device of the enumerating of symptoms whose standing-reserve can be increased to infinity and always varied anew. Such analyses of the "situation" do not notice that they are working only according 1;0 the meaning and manner of technological dissecting, and that they thus furnish to the technological consciousness the historiographical-technological presentation of happening commensurate with that consciousness. But no historiographical representation of history as happening ever brings us into the proper relation to destining, let alone into the essential origin of destining in the disclosing coming-to-pass of the truth
+
+of Being that brings everything into its own.
+
+--All that is merely technological never arrives at the essence of technology. It cannot even once recognize its outer precincts. Therefore, as we seek to give utterance to insight into that which is, we do not describe the situation of our time. It is the
+
+constellation of Being that is uttering itself to us.
+
+But we do not yet hear, we whose hearing and seeing are perishing through radio and film under the rule of technology. The
+
+introd. and analysis by Werner Brock [Chicago : Regnery, 1949], p. 288), and can anticipate a time when, through the fulfillment of the essence of that age, Being will make itself accessible to genuine questioning, and "ample space" will therewith be opened "for the decision as to whether
+
+The Turning 49
+
+constellation of Being is the denial of world, in the form of injurious neglect of the thing. Denial is not nothing; it is the
+
+highest mystery of Being within the rule of Enframing.
+
+Whether the god lives or remains dead is not decided by the religiosity of men and even less by the theological aspirations of philosophy and natural science. Whether or not God is God comes disclosingly to pass from out of and within the con-
+
+stellation of Being.
+
+So long as we do not, through thinking, experience what is,
+
+we can never belong to what will be.
+
+Will insight into that which is bring itself disclosingly to pass? Will we, as the ones caught sight o( be so brought home into the essential glance of Being that we will no longer elude it? Will we arrive thereby within the essence of the nearness that, in thinging the thing, brings world near? Will we dwell as those at home in nearness, so that we will belong primally within the
+
+fourfold of sky and earth, mortals and divinities?
+
+Will insight into that which is bring itself disclosingly to pass? Will we correspond to that insight, through a looking that looks into the essence of technology and becomes aware of Being itself
+
+within it?
+
+Will we see the lightning-flash of Being in the essence of technology? The flash that comes out of stillness, as stillness itself? Stillness stills. What does it still? It stills Being into the coming
+
+to presence of world.
+
+May world in its worlding be the nearest of all nearing that nears, as it brings the truth of Being near to man's essence, and so gives man to belong to the disclosing bringing-to-pass that
+
+is a bringing into its own.
+
+Part II
+
+The Word of Nietzsche:
+
+"God Is Dead"
+
+The following exposition attempts to point the way toward the place from which it may be possible someday to ask the question concerning the essence of nihilism. 1 The exposition stems from a thinking that is for once just beginning to gain some clarity concerning Nietzsche's fundamental position within the history of Western metaphysics. This pointing of the way will clarify a stage in Western metaphysics that is probably its final stage; for inasmuch as through Nietzsche metaphysics has in a certain sense divested itself of its own essential possibility, other possibilities of metaphysics can no longer appear. Through the overturning of metaphysics accomplished by Nietzsche,2 there remains for metaphysics nothing but a turning aside into its own inessentiality and disarray. The suprasensory is transformed
+
+1. "Essence" will be the translation of the noun Wesen throughout this essay. The reader should continually keep in mind that the "essence" of metaphysics or of nihilism, of the will to power or of value or of truth, always means fundamentally for Heidegger the manner in which each, in its ongoing presence, "holds sway" and prevails as whatever it is. See QT 3,
+
+n. 1, 30.
+
+into an unstable product of the sensory. And with such a debasement of its antithesis, the sensory denies its own essence. The deposing of the suprasensory does away with the merely sensory and thus with the difference between the t�o. The deposing of the suprasensory culminates in a "neither-nor" in relation to the distinction between the sensory (aestheton) and the nonsensory (noeton). It culminates in meaninglessness. It remains, nevertheless, the unthought and invincible presupposition of its own blind attempts to extricate itself from meaninglessness
+
+through a mere assigning of sense and meaning.
+
+In what follows, metaphysics is thought as the truth of what is as such in its entirety, and not as the doctrine of any particular thinker. Each thinker has at any given time his fundamental philosophical position within metaphysics. Therefore a particular metaphysics can be called by his name. However, according to what is here thought as the essence of metaphysics, that does not mean in any way that metaphysics at any given time is the accomplishment and possession of the thinker as a personality within the public framework of creative cultural activity. In every phase of metaphysics there has been visible at any particular time a portion of a way that the destining of Being prepares as a path for itself over and beyond whatever is, in sudden epochs of truth.3 Nietzsche himself interprets the course of Western history metaphysically, and indeed as the rise and development of nihilism. The thinking through of Nietzsche's metaphysics becomes a reflection on the situation and place of contemporary man, whose destiny is still but little experienced with respect to its truth. Every reflection of such a kind, however, if it is not simply an empty, repetitious reporting, remains out beyond what usually passes for reflection.4 Its going beyond is not merely a surmounting and is not at all a surpassing; moreover, it is not an immediate overcoming. The fact that we are reflecting on Nietzsche's metaphysics does not mean that, in addition to considering his ethics and his epistemology and his aesthetics, we are also and above all taking note of his metaphysics; rather it means simply that we are trying to take
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 55
+
+Nietzsche seriously as a thinker. But also, to think means this for Nietzsche : to represent what is as what is. Any metaphysical
+
+thinking is onto-logy or it is nothing at alP
+
+For the reflection we are attempting here, it is a question of preparing for a simple and inconspicuous step in thought. What matters to preparatory thinking is to light up that space within which Being itself might again be able to take man, with respect to his essence, into a primal relationship. To be preparatory is
+
+the essence of such thinking.
+
+That thinking, which is essential and which is therefore everywhere and in every respect preparatory, proceeds in an unpretentious way. Here all sharing in thinking, clumsy and groping though it may be, is an essential help. Sharing in thinking proves to be an unobtrusive sowing-a sowing that cannot be authenticated through the prestige or utility attaching to it-by sowers who may perhaps never see blade and fruit and may never know a harvest. They serve the sowing, and even before that they
+
+serve its preparation.
+
+Before the sowing comes the plowing. It is a matter of making the field capable of cultivation, the field that through the unavoidable predominance of the land of metaphysics has had to remain in the unknown. It is a matter first of having a presentiment of, then of finding, and then of cultivating, that field. It is a matter of taking a first walk to that field. Many are the ways, still unknown, that lead there. Yet always to each thinker there is assigned but one way, his own, upon whose traces he must again and again go back and forth that finally he may hold to it as the one that is his own-although it never belongs to him-and may tell what can be experienced on that one way. Perhaps the title Being and Time is a road marker belonging
+
+5. The word "onto-logy" is built from the Greek present participle ontos (being). Ontos is paralleled by Heidegger's use of the German present participle das Seiende employed as a noun, literally, being, i.e., what is, what has or is in being. The meaning of "what is" can extend from "a being" to the most inclusive encompassing of whatever is as such, in its entirety. For Heidegger connotations of inclusiveness regularly predominate. Das Seiende stands always in reciprocal and mutually determinative relation to das Sein, the German infinitive translated "Being." On this relation, see "The Onto-theo-Iogical Constitution of Metaphysics," in Identity and Difference, trans. Joan Stambaugh (New York : Harper & Row, 1969), pp.
+
+to such a way. In accordance with the essential interwovenness of metaphysics with the sciences, which are counted among metaphysics' own offspring-an interwovenness demanded by metaphysics itself and forever sought anew-preparatory thinking must move from time to time in the sphere of the sciences; for the sciences, in manifold ways, always claim to give the fundamental form of knowing and of the knowable, in advance, whether deliberately or through the kind of currency and effectiveness that they themselves possess. The more unequivocally the sciences press on toward their predetermined technological essence and its distinctive character, the more decisively does the question concerning the possibility of knowledge laid claim to in technology clarify itself-the question concerning the kind and limits of that possibility and concerning its title to rightness. An education in thinking in the midst of the sciences is part of preparatory thinking and its fulfillment. To find the suitable form for this, so that such education in thinking does not fall victim to a confusion with research and erudition, is the hard thing. This objective is in danger, then, above all when thinking is simultaneously and continually under the obligation of first finding its own abode. To think in the midst of the sciences
+
+means to pass near them without disdaining them.
+
+We do not know what possibilities the destining of Western history holds in store for our people and the West. Moreover, the external shaping and ordering of those possibilities is not primarily what is needed. It is important only that learners in thinking should share in learning and, at the same time, sharing in teaching after their manner, should remain on the way and
+
+be there at the right moment.
+
+The following exposition confines itself in its aim and scope to the sphere of the one experience from out of which Being and Time is thought. That thinking is concerned unceasingly with one single happening : In the history of Western thinking, indeed continually from the beginning, what is, is thought in reference to Being; yet the truth of Being remains unthought, and not only is that truth denied to thinking as a possible experience, but Western thinking itself, and indeed in the form of metaphysics, expressly, but nevertheless unknowingly, veils the happening of
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 57
+
+Preparatory thinking therefore maintains itself necessarily within the realm of historical reflection. For this thinking, history is not the succession of eras, but a unique nearness of the SameG that, in incalculable modes of destining and out of changing
+
+immediacy, approaches and concerns thinking.
+
+What is important to us now is the reflection pertaining to Nietzsche's metaphysics. Nietzsche's thinking sees itself as belonging under the heading "nihilism." That is the name for a historical movement, recognized by Nietzsche, already ruling throughout preceding centuries, and now determining this century. Nietzsche sums up his interpretation of it in the brief
+
+statement: "God is dead."
+
+One could suppose that the pronouncement "God is dead" expresses an opinion of Nietzsche the atheist and is accordingly only a personal attitude, and therefore one-sided, and for that reason also easily refutable through the observation that today everywhere many men seek out the houses of God and endure hardships out of a trust in God as defined by Christianity. But the question remains whether the aforesaid word of Nietzsche is merely an extravagant view of a thinker about whom the correct assertion is readily at hand: he finally went mad. And it remains to ask whether Nietzsche does not rather pronounce here the word that always, within the metaphysically determined history of the West, is already being spoken by implication. Before taking any position too hastily, we must first try to think this pronouncement, "God is dead," in the way in which it is
+
+6. For Heidegger the "Same" is a unity that-far from being abstract and simple-is rather a together that involves a reciprocal relation cif belonging. That unity of belonging together springs out of the disclosing bringinginto-its-own (Ere ignis) that is the unique bringing-to-pass that takes place within Being itself (d. T 45 ff.). It holds sway in the primal relatings of-Being and what is, and of Being and man. Thus the Same is that very difference, that separating-between (Unter-Schied), out of which Being and what is endure as present in their differentiating, which is an indissoluble relating. And again, "thinking and Being belong together into the Same and from out of the Same." (See "The Principle of Identity," in Identity and Difference, pp. 27 ff., 90 ff.) Thus the Same of which Heidegger here speaks is the Same in the sense of the belonging together that rules in the modes of the destining of the Being of what is, and that concerns a thinking that apprehends that Being as determined out of that unity which gives distinctiveness while uniting. (See "The Onto-theo-logical Constitution of Meta-
+
+intended. To that end, therefore, we would do well to put aside all premature opinions that immediately obtrude for us at this
+
+dreadful word.
+
+The following reflections attempt to elucidate Nietzsche's pronouncement in a few essential respects. Once again let it be emphasized : The word of Nietzsche speaks of the destining of two millennia of Western history. We ourselves, unprepared as we are, all of us together, must not suppose that through a lecture on the word of Nietzsche we can alter this destining or even simply learn to know it adequately. Even so, this one thing is now necessary: that out of reflection we receive instruction, and
+
+that on the way of instruction we learn to reflect.
+
+Every exposition must of course not only draw upon the substance of the text; it must also, without presuming, imperceptibly give to the text something out of its own substance. This part that is added is what the layman, judging on the basis of what he holds to be the content of the text, constantly perceives as a meaning read in, and with the right that he claims for himself criticizes as an arbitrary imposition. Still, while a right elucidation never understands the text better than the author understood it, it does surely understand it differently. Yet this difference must be of such a kind as to touch upon the Same toward
+
+which the elucidated text is thinking.
+
+Nietzsche spoke the word "God is dead" for the first time in the third book of his work The Gay Science, which appeared in the year 1882. With that work begins Nietzsche's way toward the development of his fundamental metaphysical position. Between it and his vain efforts at shaping his proposed masterpiece lies the publication of Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The proposed masterpiece was never completed. Tentatively it was to bear the title "The wm to Power" and to receive the subtitle "Attempt
+
+at a Revaluation of All Values."
+
+The strange notion of the death of a god and the dying of the gods was already familiar to the younger Nietzsche. In a note from the time of the completion of his first work, The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche writes (1870) : "I believe in the ancient German saying: 'All gods must die.' " The young Hegel, at the end of his treatise Faith and Knowledge (1802), names the "feeling on which rests the religion of the modern period-the feeling The Word of Nietzsche 59
+
+God himself is dead .... " Hegel's pronouncement carries a thought different from that contained in the word of Nietzsche. Still, there exists between the two an essential connection that conceals itself in the essence of all metaphysics. The word of Pascal, taken from Plutarch, "Le grand Pan est mort" ["Great Pan is dead"] (Pensees, 694), belongs within the same realm,
+
+even if for contrary reasons.
+
+Let us listen, to begin with, to the full text of section no. 125, from the work The Gay Science. The piece is entitled "The Mad-
+
+man" and runs:
+
+The Madman. Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place, and cried incessantly, "1 seek God ! I seek God !" As many of those who do not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Why, did he get lost? said one. Did he lose his way like a child? said another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? or emigrated? Thus they yelled and laughed. The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his
+
+glances.
+
+"Whither is God" he cried. "1 shall tell you. We have killed himyou and 1. All of us are his murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night and more night coming on all the while? Must not lanterns be lit in the morning? Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we not smell anything yet of God's decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, the murderers of all murderers, comfort ourselves? What was holiest and most powerful of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves ? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must not we ourselves become gods simply to seem worthy of it? There has never been a greater
+
+deed; and whoever will be born after us-for the sake of this deed he will be part of a higher history than all history hitherto./I
+
+Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners ; and they too were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern on the ground, and it broke and went out. "I come too early," he said then; "my time has not come yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering-it has not yet reached the ears of man. Lightning and thunder require time, the light of the stars requires time, deeds require time even after they are done, before they can be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the most distant stars-and yet they have
+
+done it themselves."
+
+It has been related further that on that same day the madman entered divers churches and there sang his requiem aeternam deo. Led out and called to account, he is said to have replied each time, "What are these churches now if they are not the tombs and
+
+sepulchers of God ?/l7
+
+Four years later (1886) Nietzsche added to the four books of The Gay Science a fifth, which is entitled "We Fearless Ones." Over the first section in that book (Aphorism 343) is inscribed "The Meaning of Our Cheerfulness." The piece begins, "The greatest recent event-that 'God is dead,' that the belief in the Christian god has become unbelievable-is already beginning to
+
+cast its first shadows over Europe."
+
+From this sentence it is clear that Nietzsche's pronouncement
+
+7. The translation of this passage is from Walter Kaufmann's The Portable Nietzsche (New York : Viking, 1968), pp. 95-96. The quotations from Nietzsche in this essay are regularly taken from Kaufmann or Kaufmann-Hollingdale translations when these are available. In some instances quotations have been revised, usually only slightly, where the context of Heidegger's thinking makes changes necessary so as to bring out the meaning that Heidegger sees in Nietzsche's words. The following is a list of passages where alterations in translation have been made; page numbers in parentheses refer to pages in this volume. From The Will to Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale (New York : Random House, 1968) : Aph 2 (p. 66), Aph. 1021 (p. 69), Aph. 28 (p. 69), Aph. 14 (p. 70), Aph. 715 (p. 71), Aph. 556 (p. 73), Aph. 715 (p. 74), Aph. 14 (p. 74), Aph. 675 (p. 77- 78), Aph. 853 (p. 85). From On the Genealogy of Morals, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York : Random House, 1967) : Third Essay, Section I (p. 79) . From Beyond Good and Evil, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York : Random House, 1967) : Aph. 23 (p. 79). From Thus Spoke Zarathustra, in The Portable Nietzsche; Close, Part I (p. 111). In all quotations, italics are
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 61
+
+concerning the death of God means the Christian god. But it is no less certain, and it is to be considered in advance, that the terms "Godn and "Christian godn in Nietzsche's thinking are used to designate the supra sensory world in general. God is the name for the realm of Ideas and ideals. This realm of the suprasensory has been considered since Plato, or more strictly speaking, since the late Greek and Christian interpretation of Platonic philosophy, to be the true and genuinely real world. In contrast to it the sensory world is only the world down here, the changeable, and therefore the merely apparent, unreal world. The world down here is the vale of tears in contrast to the mountain of everlasting bliss in the beyond. It as still happens in Kant, we name the sensory world the physical in the broader sense, then the suprasensory world is the metaphysical world. The pronouncement "God is deadn means: The suprasensory world is without effective power. It bestows no life. Metaphysics, i.e., for Nietzsche Western philosophy understood as Platonism, is at an end. Nietzsche understands his own philosophy as the countermovement to metaphysics, and that means for him a
+
+movement in opposition to Platonism.
+
+Nevertheless, as a mere countermovement it necessarily remains, as does everything "anti/' held fast in the essence of that over against which it moves. Nietzsche's countermovement against metaphysics is, as the mere turning upside down of metaphysics, an inextricable entanglement in metaphysics, in such a way, indeed, that metaphysics is cut off from its essence and, as metaphysics, is never able to think its own essence. Therefore, what actually happens in metaphysics and as metaphysics itself remains hidden by metaphysics and for meta-
+
+physics.
+
+If God as the suprasensory ground and goal of all reality is dead, if the suprasensory world of the Ideas has suffered the loss of its obligatory and above all its vitalizing and upbuilding power, then nothing more remains to which man can cling and by which he can orient himself. That is why in the passage just cited there stands this question: "Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing?n The pronouncement "God is deadn contains the confirmation that this Nothing is spreading out. "Nothingn means here : absence of a suprasensory, obligatory
+
+world. Nihilism, "the most uncanny of all guests/' is standing
+
+at the door.
+
+The attempt to elucidate Nietzsche's word "God is dead" has the same significance as does the task of setting forth what Nietzsche understands by "nihilism" and of thus showing how Nietzsche himself stands jn relation to nihilism. Yet, because this name is often used only as a catchword and slogan and frequently also as an invective intended to prejudice, it is necessary to know what it means. Not everyone who appeals to his Christian faith or to some metaphysical conviction or other stands on that account definitely outside nihilism. Conversely also, however, not everyone who troubles himself with thoughts about
+
+Nothing and its essence is a nihilist.
+
+This name is readily used in such a tone as would indicate that the mere designation "nihilist/' without one's even thinking to oneself anything specific in the word, already suffices to provide proof that a reflection on Nothing inevitably leads to a plunge into Nothing and means the establishment of the dicta-
+
+torship of Nothing.
+
+Actually, we should be asking whether the name "nihilism/' thought strictly in the sense of Nietzsche's philosophy, has only a nihilistic, i.e., a negative, meaning, one that floats off into the void of nothingness. Given the vague and arbitrary use of the word "nihilism/' it is surely necessary, before a thorough discussion of what Nietzsche himself says about nihilism, to gain the right perspective from which we may first begin to question
+
+concerning nihilism.
+
+Nihilism is a historical movement, and not just any view or doctrine advocated by someone or other. Nihilism moves history after the manner of a fundamental ongoing event that is scarcely recognized in the destining of the Western peoples. Hence nihilism is also not simply one historical phenomenon among othersnot simply one intellectual current that, along with others, with Christendom, with humanism, and with the Enlightenment-
+
+also comes to the fore within Western history.
+
+Nihilism, thought in its essence, is, rather, the fundamental movement of the history of the West. It shows such great profundity that its unfolding can have nothing but world catastrophes as its consequence. Nihilism is the world-historical moveThe Word of Nietzsche 63
+
+ment of the peoples of the earth who have been drawn into the power realm of the modern age. Hence it is not only a phenomenon of the present age, nor is it primarily the product of the nineteenth century, in which to be sure a perspicacious eye for nihilism awoke and the name also became current. No more is nihilism the exclusive product of particular nations whose thinkers and writers speak expressly of it. Those who fancy themselves free of nihilism perhaps push forward its development most fundamentally. It belongs to the uncanniness of this
+
+uncanny guest that it cannot name its own origin.
+
+Nihilism also does not rule primarily where the Christian god is disavowed or where Christianity is combated; nor does it rule exclusively where common atheism is preached in a secular setting. So long as we confine ourselves to looking only at this unbelief turned aside from Christianity, and at the forms in which it appears, our gaze remains fixed merely on the external and paltry fa<;:ades of nihilism. The speech of the madman says specifically that the word "God is dead" has nothing in common with the opinions of those who are merely standing about and talking confusedly, who "do not believe in God." For those who are merely believers in that way, nihilism has not yet asserted
+
+itself at all as the destining of their own history.
+
+So long as we understand the word "God is dead" only as a formula of unbelief, we are thinking it theologically in the manner of apologetics, and we are renouncing all claims to what matters to Nietzsche, i.e., to the reflection that ponders what has already happened regarding the truth of the suprasensory world
+
+and regarding its relation to man's essence.
+
+Hence, also, nihilism in Nietzsche's sense in no way coincides with the situation conceived merely negatively, that the Christian god of biblical revelation can no longer be believed in, just as Nietzsche does not consider the Christian life that existed once for a short time before the writing down of the Gospels and before the missionary propaganda of Paul to belong to Christendom. Christendom for Nietzsche is the historical, worIdpolitical phenomenon of the Church and its claim to power within the shaping of Western humanity and its modern culture. Christendom in this sense and the Christianity of New Testament faith are not the same. Even a non-Christian life can affirm
+
+Christendom and use it as a means of power, just as, conversely, a Christian life does not necessarily require Christendom. Therefore, a confrontation with Christendom is absolutely not in any way an attack against what is Christian, any more than a critique of theology is necessarily a critique of faith, whose interpretation theology is said to be. We move in the flatlands of the conflicts between world views so long as we disregard these
+
+essential distinctions.
+
+In the word "God is dead" the name "God," thought essentially, stands for the suprasensory world of those ideals which contain the goal that exists beyond earthly life for that life and that, accordingly, determines life from above, and also in a certain way, from without. But now when unalloyed faith in God, as determined through the Church, dwindles away, when in particular the doctrine of faith, theology, in its role of serving as the normative explanation of that which is as a whole, is curtailed and thrust aside, then the fundamental structuring, in keeping with which the fixing of goals, extending into the suprasensory, rules sensory, earthly life, is in no way thereby
+
+shattered as well.
+
+Into the position of the vanished authority of God and of the teaching office of the Church steps the authority of conscience, obtrudes the authority of reason. Against these the social instinct rises up. The flight from the world into the suprasensory is replaced by historical progress. The otherworldly goal of everlasting bliss is transformed into the earthly happiness of the greatest number. The careful maintenance of the cult of religion is relaxed through enthusiasm for the creating of a culture or the spreading of civilization. Creativity, previously the unique property of the biblical god, becomes the distinctive mark of human activity. Human creativity finally passes over into busi-
+
+ness enterprise.
+
+Accordingly, that which must take the place of the suprasensory world will be variations on the Christian-ecclesiastical and theological interpretation of the world, which took over its schema of the ordo of the hierarchy of beings from the J ewish-Hellenistic world, and whose fundamental structure was established and given its ground through Plato at the beginning of
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 65
+
+The realm for the essence and the coming-to-pass of nihilism is metaphysics itself-provided always that we do not mean by this name a doctrine, let alone only one particular discipline of philosophy, but that we think rather on the fundamental structuring of that which is, as a whole, insofar as that whole is differentiated into a sensory and a suprasensory world and the former is supported and determined by the latter. Metaphysics is history's open space wherein it becomes a destining that the suprasensory world, the Ideas, God, the moral law, the authority of reason, progress, the happiness of the greatest number, culture, civilization, suffer the loss of their constructive force and become void. We name this decay in the essence of the suprasensory its disessentializing [Verwesung] . 8 Unbelief in the sense of a falling away from the Christian doctrine of faith is, therefore, never the essence and the ground, but always only a consequence, of nihilism; for it could be that Christendom itself represents one consequence and bodying-forth of nihilism. From here we are able also to recognize the last aberration to which we remain exposed in comprehending and supposedly combating nihilism. Because we do not experience nihilism as a historical movement that has already long endured, the ground of whose essence lies in metaphysics, we succumb to the ruinous passion for holding phenomena that are already and simply consequences of nihilism for the latter itself, or we set forth the consequences and effects as the causes of nihilism. In our thoughtless accommodation to this way of representing matters, we have for decades now accustomed ourselves to cite the dominance of technology or the revolt of the masses as the cause of the historical condition of the age, and we tirelessly dissect the intellectual situation of the time in keeping with such views. But every analysis of man and his position in the midst of what is, however enlightened and ingenious it may be, remains
+
+8. The noun Verwesung in ordinary usage means decomposition, and the corresponding verb verwesen means to perish or decay. Heidegger here uses Verwesung in a quite literal sense, to refer to that ongoing event of the deposing of the suprasensory world in which the suprasensory loses its essence. As this event takes place, culminating in Nietzsche's decisive work of the overturning of metaphysics, metaphysics, as the truth of what is as such, becomes the very reverse of itself and enters into its own non-
+
+thoughtless, and engenders only the semblance of reflection 50 long as it fails to think on the place of habitation proper to man's essence and to experience that place in the truth of Being.
+
+So long as we merely take the appearances of nihilism for nihilism itself, our taking of a position in relation to nihilism remains superficial. It is not one whit less futile when, out of dissatisfaction with the world situation, or out of half-avowed despair or moral indignation, or a believer's self-righteous su-
+
+periority, it assumes a certain defensive vehemence.
+
+In contrast to this, it is important above all that we reflect. Therefore, let us now ask Nietzsche himself what he understands by nihilism, and let us leave it open at first whether with this understanding Nietzsche after all touches on or can touch nihil-
+
+ism's essence.
+
+In a note from the year 1887 Nietzsche poses the question, "What does nihilism mean?" (Will to Power, Aph. 2). He answers: "That the highest values are devaluing themselves." This answer is underlined and is furnished with the explanatory amplification: "The aim is lacking; 'Why?' finds no answer." According to this note Nietzsche understands nihilism as an ongoing historical event. He interprets that event as the devaluing of the highest values up to now. God, the supra sensory world as the world that truly is and determines all, ideals and Ideas, the purposes and grounds that determine and support everything that is and human life in particular-all this is here represented as meaning the highest values. In conformity with the opinion that is even now still current, we understand by this the true, the good, and the beautiful; the true, i.e., that which really is ; the good, i.e., that upon which everything everywhere depends; the beautiful, i.e., the order and unity of that which is in its entirety. And yet the highest values are already devaluing themselves through the emerging of the insight that the ideal world is not and is never to be realized within the real world. The obligatory character of the highest values begins to totter. The question arises: Of what avail are these highest values if they do not simultaneously render secure the warrant and the ways and means for a realization of the goals posited in them?
+
+If, however, we were to insist on understanding Nietzsche's definition of the essence of nihilism in so many words as the The Word of Nietzsche 67
+
+becoming valueless of the highest values, then we would have that conception of the essence of nihilism that has meanwhile become current and whose currency is undoubtedly strengthened through its being labeled "nihilism" : to wit, that the devaluing of the highest values obviously means decay and ruin. Yet for Nietzsche nihilism is not in any way simply a phenomenon of decay; rather nihilism is, as the fundamental event of Western history, simultaneously and above all the intrinsic law of that history. For that reason, in his observations about nihilism Nietzsche gives scant attention to depicting historiographically the ongoing movement of the event of the devaluing of the highest values and to discovering definitively from this, through calculation, the downfall of the West; rather Nietzsche thinks
+
+nihilism as the "inner logic" of Western history.
+
+With this, Nietzsche recognizes that despite the devaluing for the world of the highest values hitherto, the world itself remains; and he recognizes that, above all, the world, become value-less, presses inevitably on toward a new positing of values. After the former values have become untenable, the new positing of values changes, in respect to those former values, into a "revaluing of all values." The no to the values hitherto comes out of a yes to the new positing of values. Because in this yes, according to Nietzsche's view, there is no accommodation to or compromise with the former values, the absolute no belongs within this yes to the new value-positing. In order to secure the unconditionality of the new yes against falling back toward the previous values, i.e., in order to provide a foundation for the new positing of values as a countermovement, Nietzsche even designates the new positing of values as "nihilism," namely, as that nihilism through which the devaluing to a new positing of values that is alone definitive completes and consummates itself. This definitive phase of nihilism Nietzsche calls " completed," i.e., classical, nihilism. Nietzsche understands by nihilism the devaluing of the highest values up to now. But at the same time he takes an affirmative stand toward nihilism in the sense of a "revaluing of all previous values." Hence the name "nihilism" remains ambiguous, and seen in terms of its two extremes, always has first of all a double meaning, inasmuch as, on the one hand, it designates the mere devaluing of the highest values up to now,
+
+but on the other hand it also means at the same time the unconditional countermovement to devaluing. Pessimism, which Nietzsche sees as the prefiguration of nihilism, is already twofold also, in the same sense. According to Schopenhauer, pessimism is the belief that in this worst of worlds life is not worth being lived and affirmed. According to this doctrine, life, and that means at the same time all existence as such, is to be denied. This pessimism is, according to Nietzsche, the "pessimism of weakness." It sees everywhere only gloom, finds in everything a ground for failure, and claims to know how everything will turn out, in the sense of a thoroughgoing disaster. Over against this, the pessimism of strength as strength is under no illusion, perceives what is dangerous, wants no covering up and glossing over. It sees to the heart of the ominousness of mere impatient waiting for the return of what has been heretofore. It penetrates analytically into phenomena and demands consciousness of the conditions and forces that, despite everything, guarantee mastery
+
+over the historical situation.
+
+A more essential reflection could show how in what Nietzsche calls the pessimism of strength there is accomplished the rising up of modern humanity into the unconditional dominion of subjectivity within the subjectness of what is.9 Through pessimism 9. "Subjectness" translates Subjektitiit, a word formed by Heidegger to refer to a mode of Being's corning to presence in its reciprocal interrelation with what is, namely, that mode wherein Being manifests itself in respect to what is, appearing as subject, as subiectum, as hypokeimenon (that which lies before). As such, subjectness has ruled from ancient times, while yet it has changed with the change in the destining of Being that took place at the beginning of the modern age and has reached consummation, through Nietzsche's metaphysics, in the subjectriess of the will to power. In like manner, throughout Western history what is has been appearing as subject, though with a transformation corresponding to that change in the destining of Being. What is appeared as the hypokeimenon for the Greeks. Subsequently, the character of the hypokeimenon was transformed into the selfconscious, self-assertive subject, which, in its subjectivity, holds sway in our age. Heidegger writes elsewhere that the name "subjectness" "should emphasize the fact that Being is determined in terms of the subiectum, but not necessarily by an ego." Subjectness "names the unified history of Being, beginning with the essential character of Being as idea up to the completion of the modern essence of Being as the will to power." (The End of Philosophy, trans. Joan Stambaugh [New York : Harper & Row, 1973], pp. 46, 48. Professor Stambaugh translates Subjektitat as "subiectity.") Later in this essay (pp. 79 ff.), Heidegger will take up the discussion adumbrated in this
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 69
+
+in its twofold form, extremes become manifest. Those extremes as such maintain the ascendancy. There thus arises a situation in which everything is brought to a head in the absoluteness of an "either-or." An "in-between situation" comes to prevail in which it becomes evident that, on the one hand, the realization of the highest values hitherto is not being accomplished. The world appears value-less. On the other hand, through this making conscious, the inquiring gaze is directed toward the source of the new positing of values, but without the world's regaining
+
+its value at all in the process.
+
+To be sure, something else can still be attempted in face of the tottering of the dominion of prior values. That is, if God in the sense of the Christian god has disappeared from his authoritative position in the suprasensory world, then this authoritative place itself is still always preserved, even though as that which has become empty. The now-empty authoritative realm of the suprasensory and the ideal world can still be adhered to. What is more, the empty place demands to be occupied anew and to have the god now vanished from it replaced by something else. New ideals are set up. That happens, according to Nietzsche's conception (Will to Power, Aph. 1021, 1887), through doctrines regarding world happiness, through socialism, and equally through Wagnerian music, i.e., everywhere where "dogmatic Christendom" has "become bankrupt." Thus does "incomplete nihilism" come to prevail. Nietzsche says about the latter : "Incomplete nihilism : its forms: we live in the midst of it. Attempts to escape nihilism without revaluing our values so far : they produce the opposite, make the problem more acute" (Will
+
+to Power, Aph. 28, 1887).
+
+We can grasp Nietzsche's thoughts on incomplete nihilism more explicitly and exactly by saying : Incomplete nihilism does indeed replace the former values with others, but it still posits the latter always in the old position of authority that is, as it were, gratuitously maintained as the ideal realm of the suprasensory. Completed nihilism, however, must in addition do away even with the place of value itself, with the suprasensory as a realm, and accordingly must posit and revalue values differently. From this it becomes clear that the "revaluing of all previous values" does indeed belong to complete, consummated, and
+
+therefore classical nihilism, but the revaluing does not merely replace the old values with new. Revaluing becomes the overturning of the nature and manner of valuing. The positing of values requires a new principle, i.e., a new principle from which it may proceed and within which it may maintain itself. The positing of values requires another realm. The principle can no longer be the world of the suprasensory become lifeless. Therefore nihilism, aiming at a revaluing understood in this way, will seek out what is most alive. Nihilism itself is thus transformed into "the ideal of superabundant life" (Will to Power, Aph. 14, 1887). In this new highest value there is concealed another appraisal of life, i.e., of that wherein lies the determining essence of everything living. Therefore it remains to ask what Nietzsche
+
+understands by life.
+
+The allusion to the various levels and forms of nihilism shows that nihilism according to Nietzsche's interpretation is, throughout, a history in which it is a question of values-the establishing of values, the devaluing of values, the revaluing of values; it is a question of the positing of values anew and, ultimately and intrinsically, a question of the positing of the principle of all value-positing-a positing that values differently. The highest purposes, the grounds and principles of whatever is, ideals and the suprasensory, God and the gods-all this is conceived in advance as value. Hence we grasp Nietzsche's concept of nihilism adequately only when we know what Nietzsche understands by value. It is from here that we understand the pronouncement "God is dead" for the first time in the way in which it is thought. A sufficiently clear exposition of what Nietzsche thinks in the word "value" is the key to an understanding of his metaphysics. It was in the nineteenth century that talk of values became current and thinking in terms of values became customary. But only after the dissemination of the writings of Nietzsche did talk of values become popular. We speak of the values of life, of cultural values, of eternal values, of the hierarchy of values, of spiritual values, which we believe we find in the ancients, for example. Through scholarly preoccupation with philosophy and through the reconstructions of Neo-Kantianism, we arrive at value-philosophy. We build systems of values and pursue in ethics classifications of values. Even in Christian theology we The Word of Nietzsche 71
+
+define God, the summum ens qua summum bonum, as the highest value. We hold science to be value-free and relegate the making of value judgments to the sphere of world views. Value and the valuable become the positivistic substitute for the metaphysical. The frequency of talk about values is matched by a corresponding vagueness of the concept. This vagueness, for its part, corresponds to the obscurity of the essential origin of value from out of Being. For allowing that value, so often invoked in such a way, is not nothing, it must surely have its essence in
+
+Being.
+
+What does Nietzsche understand by value? Wherein is the essence of value grounded? Why is Nietzsche's metaphysics the
+
+metaphysics of values?
+
+Nietzsche says in a note (1887-88) what he understands by value : "The point-of-view of 'value' is the point-of-view constituting the preservation-enhancement conditions with respect to complex forms of relative duration of life within becoming"
+
+(Will to Power, Aph. 715).10
+
+The essence of value lies in its being a point-of-view. Value means that upon which the eye is fixed. Value means that which is in view for a seeing that aims at something or that, as we say, reckons upon something and therewith must reckon with something else. Value stands in intimate relation to a so-much, to quantity and number. Hence values are related to a "numerical and mensural scale" (Will to Power, Aph. 710, 1888). The question still remains : Upon what is the scale of increase and de-
+
+crease, in its turn, grounded?
+
+Through the characterization of value as a point-of-view there results the one consideration that is for Nietzsche's concept of value essential : as a point-of-view, value is posited at any given time by a seeing and for a seeing. This seeing is of such a kind that it sees inasmuch as it has seen, and that it has seen inasmuch as it has set before itself and thus posited what is sighted, as a
+
+10. Italics Heidegger's. "Point-of-view" (Gesichtspunkt) is hyphenated in order to differentiate it from its usual meaning, point of view as a subjective opinion or standpoint. The latter meaning is present in Gesichtspunkt as it is used here; but Heidegger stresses immediately that what is mainly involved in valuing for Nietzsche is, rather, a focusing on the point that is
+
+particular something. It is only through this positing which is a representing that the point that is necessary for directing the gaze toward something, and that in this way gUides the path of sight, becomes the aim in view-i.e., becomes that which matters in all seeing and in all action guided by sight. Values, therefore, are not antecedently something in themselves so that they can on
+
+occasion be taken as points-of-view.
+
+Value is value inasmuch as it countsY It counts inasmuch as it is posited as that which matters. It is so posited through an aiming at and a looking toward that which has to be reckoned upon. Aim, view, field of vision, mean here both the sight beheld and seeing, in a sense that is determined from out of Greek thought, but that has undergone the change of idea from eidos to perceptio. Seeing is that representing which since Leibniz has been grasped more explicitly in terms of its fundamental characteristic of striving (appetitus). All being whatever is a putting forward or setting forth, inasmuch as there belongs to the Being of whatever is in being the nisus-the impetus to come forward -that enjoins anything to arise (to appear) and thus determines its coming forth. The essence of everything that is-an essence thus possessed of nisus-lays hold of itself in this way and posits for itself an aim in view. That aim provides the perspective
+
+that is to be conformed to. The aim in view is value.
+
+According to Nietzsche, with values as points-of-view, "preservation-enhancement conditions" are posited. Precisely through this way of writing, in which the "and" is omitted between "preservation" and "enhancement" and replaced with a hyphen, Nietzsche wants to make clear that values as points-of-view are essentially and therefore constantly and simultaneously conditions of preservation and enhancement. Where values are posited, both ways of serving as conditions must be constantly kept in view in such a way that they remain unitively related to one another. Why? Obviously, simply because any being which, as such, represents and strives, itself so is in its essence that it requires these twofold aims in view. For what do values as points-of-view serve as conditions, if they must function simul-
+
+11. gilt. The verb gelten has a range of meaning extending from to be of worth or force; through to have influence, to pass current, and to be real or
+
+taneously as conditions of preservation as well as of enhance-
+
+ment?
+
+Preservation and enhancement mark the fundamental tendencies of life, tendencies that belong intrinsically together. To the essence of life belongs the will to grow, enhancement. Every instance of life-preservation stands at the service of lifeenhancement. Every life that restricts itself to mere preservation is already in decline. The guaranteeing of space in which to live, for example, is never the goal for whatever is alive, but is only a means to life-enhancement. Conversely, life that is enhanced heightens in turn its prior need to expand its space. But nowhere is enhancement possible where a stable reserve is not already being preserved as secure, and in this way as capable of enhancement. Anything that is alive is therefore something that is bound together by the two fundamental tendencies of enhancement and preservation, i.e., a "complex form of life." Values, as points-of-view, guide seeing "with respect to complex forms." This seeing is at any given time a seeing on behalf of a viewto-life that rules completely in everything that lives. In that it posits the aims that are in view for whatever is alive, life, in its essence, proves to be value-positing (d. Will to Power, Aph.
+
+556, 1885-86).
+
+"Complex forms of life" are oriented with reference to conditions of preserving and stabilizing, and indeed in such a way that what is stable stands fast only in order to become, in enhancement, what is unstable. The duration of these complex forms of life depends on the reciprocal relationship of enhancement and preservation. Hence duration is something comparative. It is always the "relative duration" of what is alive, i.e.,
+
+of life.
+
+Value is, according to Nietzsche's words, the "point-of-view constituting the preservation-enhancement conditions with respect to complex forms of relative duration of life within becoming." Here and in the conceptual language of Nietzsche's metaphysics generally, the stark and indefinite word "becoming" does not mean some flowing together of all things or a mere change of circumstances; nor does it mean just any development or unspecified unfolding. "Becoming" means the passing over from something to something, that moving and being moved
+
+which Leibniz calls in the Monadology (chap. 11) the changements naturels, which rule completely the ens qua ens, i.e., the ens percipiens et appetens [perceptive and appetitive being] . Nietzsche considers that which thus rules to be the fundamental characteristic of everything reat i.e., of everything that is, in the widest sense. He conceives as the "will to power" that which
+
+thus determines in its essentia whatever is.
+
+When Nietzsche concludes his characterization of the essence of value with the word "becoming," then this closing word gives the clue to the fundamental realm within which alone values and value-positing properly belong. "Becoming" is, for Nietzsche, the "will to power." The "will to power" is thus the fundamental characteristic of "life," which word Nietzsche often uses also in the broad sense according to which, within metaphysics (cE. Hegel), it has been equated with "becoming." "Will to power," "becoming," "life," and "Being" in the broadest sense-these mean, in Nietzsche's language, the Same (Will to Power, Aph. 582, 1885-86, and Aph. 689, 1888). Within becoming, life-Le., aliveness-shapes itself into centers of the will to power particularized in time. These centers are, accordingly, ruling configurations. Such Nietzsche understands art, the state, religion, science, society, to be. Therefore Nietzsche can also say : "Value is essentially the point-of-view for the increasing or decreasing of these dominating centers" (that is, with regard to their ruling
+
+character) (Will to Power, Aph. 715, 1887-88).
+
+Inasmuch as Nietzsche, in the above-mentioned defining of the essence of value, understands value as the condition-having the character of point-of-view-of the preservation and enhancement of life, and also sees life grounded in becoming as the will to power, the will to power is revealed as that which posits that point-of-view. The will to power is that which, out of its "internal principle" (Leibniz) as the nisus esse of the ens, judges and esteems in terms of values. The will to power is the ground of the necessity of value-positing and of the origin of the possibility of value judgment. Thus Nietzsche says: "Values and their changes are related to the increase in power of that which
+
+posits them" (Will to Power, Aph. 14, 1887).12
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 75
+
+Here it is clear : values are the conditions of itself posited by the will to power. Only where the will to power, as the fundamental characteristic of everything real, comes to appearance, i.e., becomes true, and accordingly is grasped as the reality of everything real, does it become evident from whence values originate and through what all assessing of value is supported and directed. The principle of value-positing has now been recognized. Henceforth value-positing becomes achievable "in principle," i.e., from out of Being as the ground of whatever is. Hence the will to power is, as this recognized, i.e., willed, principle, simultaneously the principle of a value-positing that is new. It is new because for the first time it takes place consciously out of the knowledge of its principle. This value-positing is new because it itself makes secure to itself its principle and simultaneously adheres to this securing as a value posited out of its own principle. As the principle of the new value-positing, however, the will to power is, in relation to previous values, at the same time the principle of the revaluing of all such values. Yet, because the highest values hitherto ruled over the sensory from the height of the suprasensory, and because the structuring of this dominance was metaphysics, with the positing of the new principle of the revaluing of all values there takes place the overturning of all metaphysics. Nietzsche holds this overturning of metaphysics to be the overcoming of metaphysics. But every overturning of this kind remains only a self-deluding entangle-
+
+ment in the Same that has become unknowable.
+
+Inasmuch as Nietzsche understands nihilism as the intrinsic law of the history of the devaluing of the highest values hitherto, but explains that devaluing as a revaluing of all values, nihilism lies, according to Nietzsche's interpretation, in the dominance and in the decay of values, and hence in the possibility of valuepositing generally. Value-positing itself is grounded in the will to power. Therefore Nietzsche's concept of nihilism and the pronouncement "God is dead" can be thought adequately only from out of the essence of the will to power. Thus we will complete the last step in the clarifying of that pronouncement when we explain what Nietzsche thinks in the name coined by him,
+
+in meaning that it is beyond comprehension why anyone would be at pains specifically to comment on this combination of words. For anyone can experience for himself at any time what "will" means. To will is to strive after something. Everyone today knows, from everyday experience, what power means as the exercise of rule and authority. Will "to" power is, then, clearly
+
+the striving to come into power.
+
+According to this opinion the appellation "will to power" presupposes two disparate factors and puts them together into a subsequent relation, with "willing" on one side and "power" on the other. If we ask, finally, concerning the ground of the will to power, not .in order merely to express it in other words but also simultaneously to explain it, then what we are shown is that it obviously originates out of a feeling of lack, as a striving after that which is not yet a possession. Striving, the exercise of authority, feeling of lack, are ways of conceiving and are states (psychic capacities) that we comprehend through psychological knowledge. Therefore the elucidation of the essence of
+
+the will to power belongs within psychology.
+
+The view that has just been presented concerning the will to power and its comprehensibility is indeed enlightening, but it is a thinking that in every respect misses both what Nietzsche thinks in the word "will to power" and the manner in which he thinks it. The name "will to power" is a fundamental term in the fully developed philosophy of Nietzsche. Hence this philosophy can be called the metaphysics of the will to power. We will never understand what "will to power" in Nietzsche's sense means with the aid of just any popular conception regarding willing and power; rather we will understand only on the way that is a reflection beyond metaphysical thinking, and that means at the same time beyond the whole of the history of Western
+
+metaphysics.
+
+The following elucidation of the essence of the will to power thinks out of these contexts. But it must at the same time, even while adhering to Nietzsche's own statements, also grasp these more clearly than Nietzsche himself could immediately utter them. However, it is always only what already has become more meaningful for us that becomes clearer to us. What is meaningful is that which draws closer to us in its essence. Everywhere The Word of Nietzsche 77
+
+here, in what has preceded and in what follows, everything is thought from out of the essence of metaphysics and not merely
+
+from out of one of its phases.
+
+In the second part of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, which appeared the year after the work The Gay Science (1883), Nietzsche for the first time names the "will to power" in the context out of which it must be understood : "Where I found the living, there I found will to power; and even in the will of those who serve I
+
+found the will to be master."
+
+To will is to will-to-be-master. Will so understood is also even in the will of him who serves. Not, to be sure, in the sense that the servant could aspire to leave his role of subordinate to become himself a master. Rather the subordinate as subordinate, the servant as servant, always wills to have something else under him, which he commands in the midst of his own serving and of which he makes use. Thus is he as subordinate yet a master.
+
+Even to be a slave is to will-to-be-master.
+
+The will is not a desiring, and not a mere striving after something, but rather, willing is in itself a commanding (cE. Thus Spoke Zarathustra, parts I and II; see also Will to Power, Aph. 668, 1888). Commanding has its essence in the fact that the master who commands has conscious disposal over the possibilities for effective action. What is commanded in the command is the accomplishing of that disposal. In the command, the one who commands (not only the one who executes) is obedient to that disposing and to that being able to dispose, and in that way obeys himself. Accordingly, the one who commands proves superior to himself in that he ventures even his own self. Commanding, which is to be sharply distinguished from the mere ordering about of others, is self-conquest and is more difficult than obeying. Will is gathering oneself together for the given task. Only he who cannot obey himself must still be expressly commanded. What the will wills it does not merely strive after as something it does not yet have. What the will wills it has already. for the will wills its will. Its will is what it has willed. The will wills itself. It mounts beyond itself. Accordingly, the will as will wills out beyond itself and must at the same time in that way bring itself behind itself and beneath itself. Therefore Nietzsche can say : "To will at all is the same thing as to
+
+will to become stronger, to will to grow ... " (Will to Power, Aph. 675, 1887-88).13 "Stronger" means here "more power," and that means: only power. For the essence of power lies in being master over the level of power attained at any time. Power is power only when and only so long as it remains powerenhancement and commands for itself "more power." Even a mere pause in power-enhancement, even a mere remaining at a standstill at a level of power, is already the beginning of the decline of power. To the essence of power belongs the overpowering of itself. Such overpowering belongs to and springs from power itself, in that power is command and as command empowers itself for the overpowering of its particular level of power at any given time. Thus power is indeed constantly on the way to itself, but not as a will, ready at hand somewhere for itself, which, in the sense of a striving, seeks to come to power. Moreover; power does not merely empower itself for the overpowering of its level of power at any given time, for the sake of reaching the next level; but rather it empowers itself for this reason alone : to attain power over itself in the unconditionality belonging to its essence. Willing is, according to this defining of its essence, so little a striving that, rather, all striving is only
+
+a vestigial or an embryonic form of willing.
+
+In the name "will to power" the word "power" connotes nothing less than the essence of the way in which the will wills itself inasmuch as it is a commanding. As a commanding the will unites itself to itself, i.e., it unites itself to what it wills. This gathering itself together is itself power's assertion of power. Will for itself does not exist any more than does power for itself. Hence, also, will and power are, in the will to power, not merely linked together; but rather the will, as the will to will,14 is itself the will to power in the sense of the empowering to power. But power has its essence in the fact that it stands to the will as the will standing within that will. The will to power is the essence
+
+13. Here Nietzsche italicizes "to will." Heidegger italicizes "stronger." 14. Here and subsequently the second word "will" in the phrase "will to will" (Wille zum Willen) is a noun, not a verb, a distinction impossible to show in English. "Will to will" immediately parallels "will to power"
+
+(Wille zur Macht).
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 79
+
+of power. It manifests the unconditional essence of the wilt
+
+which as pure will wills itself.
+
+Hence the will to power also cannot be cast aside in exchange for the will to something else, e.g., for the "will to Nothing"; for this latter will also is still the will to will, so that Nietzsche can say, "It (the will) will rather will Nothing, than not will"
+
+(Genealogy of Morals, 3, Section I, 1887}.15
+
+"Willing Nothing" does not in the least mean willing the mere absence of everything real; rather it means precisely willing the real, yet willing the latter always and everywhere as a nullity and, through this, willing only annihilation. In such willing, power always further secures to itself the possibility of command
+
+and the ability-to-be-master.
+
+The essence of the will to power is, as the essence of will, the fundamental trait of everything real. Nietzsche says: The will to power is "the innermost essence of Being" (Will to Power, Aph. 693, 1888). "Being" means here, in keeping with the language of metaphysics, that which is as a whole. The essence of the will to power and the will to power itself, as the fundamental character of whatever is, therefore cannot be identified through psychological observations; but on the contrary psychology itself first receives its essence, i.e., the positability and know ability of its object, through the will to power. Hence Nietzsche does not understand the will to power psychologically, but rather, conversely, he defines psychology anew as the "morphology and the doctrine of the development of the will to power" (Beyond Good and Evil, Aph. 23}.16 Morphology is the ontology of on whose morphe, transformed through the change of eidos to perceptio, appears, in the appetitus of perceptio, as the will to power. The fact that metaphysics-which from ancient times thinks that which is, in respect to its Being, as the hypokeimenon, sub-iectum-is transformed into the psychology thus defined only testifies, as a consequent phenomenon, to the essential event, which consists in a change in the beingness of what is. The ousia (beingness) of the subiectum changes into the subjectness
+
+15. Parenthesis Heidegger's.
+
+of self-assertive self-consciousness, which now manifests its essence as the will to will.17 The will is, as the will to power, the command to more power. In order that the will in its overpowering of itself may surpass its particular level at any given time, that level, once reached, must be made secure and held fast. The making secure of a particular level of power is the necessary condition for the heightening of power. But this necessary condition is not suHicient for the fact that the will is able to will itself, for the fact, that is, that a willing-to-be-stronger, an enhancement of power, is. The will must cast its gaze into a field of vision and first open it up so that, from out of this, possibilities may first of all become apparent that will point the way to an enhancement of power. The will must in this way posit a condition for a willing-out-beyond-itself. The will to power must, above all, posit conditions for power-preservation and power-enhancement. To the will belongs the positing of these
+
+conditions that belong intrinsically together.
+
+"T 0 will at all is the same thing as to will to become stronger, to will to grow-and, in addition, to will the means thereto"
+
+(Will to Power, Aph. 675, 1887-88).18
+
+The essential means are the conditions of itself posited by the will to power itself. These conditions Nietzsche calls values. He says, "In all will there is valuing ... " (XIII, Aph. 395, 1884) .19 To value means to constitute and establish worth. The will to power values inasmuch as it constitutes the conditions of enhancement and fixes the conditions of preservation. The will to
+
+17. The German noun Selbstbewusstsein means both self-assertion and self-consciousness. In all other instances of its occurrence, it will be translated simply as "self-consciousness." As the discussion here in progress shows, connotations of self-assertion should always be heard in Heidegger's
+
+references to self-consciousness.
+
+18. Heidegger italicizes "stronger" and "means."
+
+19. When, as here, Heidegger cites a work by Roman numeral, he is referring to the collection of Nietzsche's works called the Grossoktavausgabe, which was edited under the general supervision of Elizabeth Forster Nietzsche and published by Kroner in Leipzig. Heidegger's references are always to those volumes included in the second section (Volumes IX-XVI) entitled Nachlass. First published between 1901 and 1911, they contain "notes, fragments, and other materials not published by Nietzsche himself." See Walter Kaufmann, Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist (New York : Random House, 1968), p. 481. A Kaufmann translation of these
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 81
+
+power is, in its essence, the value-positing will. Values are the preservation-enhancement conditions within the Being of whatever is. The will to power is, as soon as it comes expressly to appearance in its pure essence, itself the foundation and the realm of value-positing. The will to power does not have its ground in a feeling of lack; rather it itself is the ground of superabundant life. Here life means the will to will. "Living :
+
+that already means 'to ascribe worth' " (lac. cit.).
+
+Inasmuch as the will wills the overpowering of itself, it is not satisfied with any abundance of life. It asserts power in overreaching-i.e., in the overreaching of its own will. In this way it continually comes as the selfsame back upon itself as the same.20 The way in which that which is, in its entirety-whose essentia is the will to power-exists, i.e., its existentia, is "the eternal returning of the same."21 The two fundamental terms of
+
+20. In this sentence both "selfsame" and "same" translate gleich (equal, equivalent, even, like). Subsequently in" this discussion gleich will be translated simply with "same." "Same" and "selfsame" must here be taken to carry the meaning of "equivalence." They should not be understood to connote sameness in the sense of simple identity, for they allude to an equivalence resident in the self-relating movement of what is intrinsically one. This latter meaning should be clearly distinguished from that of the "Same," namely, the identity of belonging together, which is fundamental for Heidegger's own thinking. See p. 57 n. 6 above. Because of possible confusion, "selfsame" and "same" have been used here only with reluctance, but none of the usual translations of gleich prove suitable for the
+
+phrasing of the translation.
+
+21. Nietzsche's phrase die ewige Wiederkunft des Gleichen, here translated as "the eternal returning of the same," is usually translated as "the eternal recurrence (or return) of the same." The translation "returning" has been chosen in accordance with the burden of Heidegger's present discussion of the will to power as turning back upon itself. The phrase might well
+
+be rendered here the "perpetual returning of the selfsame."
+
+The turning back of the will to power upon itself, that it may move forward as the will to power, has its correlate for Heidegger in the reflexive movement characteristic of what is as such. "The eternal returning of the same," as the existentia of the essentia, the will to power, is taken by Heidegger to speak of that mode of Being of all that is which he elsewhere calls "subjectness" (Subjektitiit). Just as the will to power, as the Being of what is, simultaneously and necessarily turns back upon itself in going beyond itself; so, correspondingly, whatever is, in its Being, simultaneously and necessarily goes out beyond itself while yet underlying itself, thereby perpetuating and securing itself. Thus, "Everywhere the Being of whatever is lies in setting-itself-before-itself and thus in setting-itself-up" (p. 100). This is that self-objectifying, self-establishing character of what is which
+
+Nietzsche's metaphysics, "will to power" and "eternal returning of the same," define whatever is, in its Being-ens qua ens in the sense of essentia and existentia-in accordance with the views that have continually guided metaphysics from ancient times. The essential relationship that is to be thought in this way, between the "will to power" and the "eternal returning of the same," cannot as yet be directly presented here, because metaphysics has neither thought upon nor even merely inquired after the origin of the distinction between essentia and existentia. When metaphysics thinks whatever is, in its Being, as the will to power, then it necessarily thinks it as value-positing. It thinks everything within the sphere of values, of the authoritative force of value, of devaluing and revaluing. The metaphysics of the modern age begins with and has its essence in the fact that it seeks the unconditionally indubitable, the certain and assured [das Gewisse], certainty.2:! It is a matter, according to the words of Descartes, of firmum et mansurum quid stabi/ire, of bringing to a stand something that is firmly fixed and that remains. This standing established as object is adequate to the
+
+is its character as "representing" and which corresponds to the will to power's Simultaneously advancing to greater power and establishing a
+
+reserve on the basis of which it can so advance.
+
+22. Gewiss (certain) and Gewissheit (certainty) are allied to the verb wissen (to know) . Both words carry a strong connotation of sureness, firmness-the sureness of that which is known. During the discussion that here ensues, the connotations of sureness should always be felt in the words "certain" and "certainty." In particular, "certainty" must never be taken to refer to some sort of merely intellectual certainty. For, as the discussion itself makes clear, the sure certainty here in question partakes of a being secure (n. 28 below). This note of "secureness" will here dominate Heidegger's presentation at length, culminating in the discussion of "justice" (pp. 89 ff.), which, as here under consideration, involves "making secure." The words "knowing" (wissen), "self-knowing-itself" (Sich-s elbstwissen), "gathering-of-knowing" (Ge-wissen [normally Gewissen, consciousness, conscience] ), "conscious" (bewusst), and "consciousness" (Bewusstsein), which Heidegger will subsequently introduce here, all originate from the same root wiss that is found in gewiss and Gewissheit, and must be seen to lie closely within the sphere of meaning just pointed out for those words. The most fundamental root meaning resident in wissen and its cognates is that of seeing, and this meaning should here also be kept in view, for it doubtless has a part in the meaning that Heidegger intends for truth -which is for him unconcealment-when he speaks of truth as certainty (Gewissheit) and of the true as the certain (das Gewisse) that is repre-
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 83
+
+essence, ruling from of old, of what is as the constantly presencing, which everywhere already lies before (hypokeimenon, subiectum). Descartes also asks, as does Aristotle, concerning the hypokeimenon. Inasmuch as Descartes seeks this subiectum along the path previously marked out by metaphysics, he, thinking truth as certainty, finds the ego cogito to be that which presences as fixed and constant. In this way, the ego sum is transformed into the subiectum, i.e., the subject becomes selfconsciousness. The subjectness of the subject is determined out
+
+of the sureness, the certainty, of that consciousness.
+
+The will to power, in that it posits the preservation, i.e., the securing, of its own constancy and stability as a necessary value, at the same time justifies the necessity of such securing in everyfhing that is which, as something that by virtue of its very essence represents-sets in place before-is something that also always holds-to-be-true. The making secure that constitutes this holding-to-be-true is called certainty. Thus, according to Nietzsche's judgment, certainty as the principle of modern metaphysics is grounded, as regards its truth, solely in the will to power, provided of course that truth is a necessary value and certainty is the modern form of truth. This makes clear in what respect the modern metaphysics of subjectness is consummated in Nietzsche's doctrine of the will to power as the "essence" of
+
+everything real.
+
+Therefore Nietzsche can say: "The question of value is more fundamental than the question of certainty : the latter becomes serious only by presupposing that the value question has already
+
+been answered" (Will to Power, Aph. 588, 1887-88).
+
+However, when once the will to power is recognized as the principle of value-positing, the inquiry into value must immediately ponder what the highest value is that necessarily follows from this principle and that is in conformity with it. Inasmuch as the essence of value proves itself to be the preservationenhancement condition posited in the will to power, the perspective for a characterization of the normative structuring of value
+
+has been opened up.
+
+The preservation of the level of power belonging to the will reached at any given time consists in the will's surrounding itself with an encircling sphere of that which it can reliably
+
+grasp at, each time, as something behind itself, in order on the basis of it to contend for its own security. That encircling sphere bounds off the constant reserve of what presences (ousia, in the everyday meaning of this term for the Greeks) that is immediately at the disposal of the will.23 This that is steadily constant, however, is transformed into the fixedly constant, i.e., becomes that which stands steadily at something's disposal, only in being brought to a stand through a setting in place. That setting in place has the character of a producing that sets before. U That which is steadily constant in this way is that which remains. True to the essence of Being (Being = enduring presence) holding sway in the history of metaphysics, Nietzsche calls this that is steadily constant "that which is in being." Often he calls that which is steadily constant-again remaining true to the manner of speaking of metaphysical thinking-"Being." Since the beginning of Western thinking, that which is has been considered to be the true and truth, while yet, in connection with this, the meaning of "being" and "true" has changed in manifold ways. Despite all his overturnings and revaluings of metaphysics, Nietzsche remains in the unbroken line of the metaphysical tradition when he calls that which is established and made fast in the will to power for its own preservation purely and simply Being, or what is in being, or truth. Accordingly, truth is a condition posited in the essence of the will to power, namely, the condition of the preservation of power. Truth is, as this condition, a value.
+
+23. "Constant reserve" renders Bestand. Cf. QT 17. Bestand does not here have the fully developed meaning of the "standing-reserve" present in that chronologically later essay, but does already approach it. "The constant reserve of what presences," i.e., of what is as such, that the will to power needs for its own preservation and enhancement, becomes, when viewed with regard to man as accepting and accomplishing the dominion of the will to power, that which must be made secure as available for man. Heidegger speaks later in this essay of a making secure of "the stably constant reserve of what is for a willing of the greatest possible uniformity and equality" (p. 102) ; and the constant reserve is secured that it may be used as a secure resource for every aspect of man's life (p. 107). Here must lie close at hand for us the thought of the standing-reserve as the undifferentiated reserve of the available that is ready for use. In keeping with this, Heidegger's discussion of man under the dominion of the will to power has a close paraIlel in his discussion of the rule of Enframing in the modern age. Cf.
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 85
+
+But because the will can will only from out of its disposal over something steadily constant, truth is a necessary value precisely from out of the essence of the will to power, for that will. The word "truth" means now neither the unconcealment of what is in being, nor the agreement of a judgment with its object, nor certainty as the intuitive isolating and guaranteeing of what is represented. Truth is now, and indeed through an essentially historical origin out of the modes of its essence just mentioned, that which-making stably constant-makes secure the constant reserve, belonging to the sphere from out of which the will to
+
+power wills itself.
+
+With respect to the making secure of the level of power that has been reached at any given time, truth is the necessary value. But it does not suffice for the reaching of a level of powerj for that which is stably constant, taken alone, is never able to provide what the will requires before everything else in order to move out beyond itself, and that means to enter for the first time into the possibilities of command. These possibilities are given only through a penetrating forward look that belongs to the essence of the will to powerj for, as the will to more power, it is, in itself, perspectively directed toward possibilities. The opening up and supplementing of such possibilities is that condition for the essence of the will to power which-as that which in the literal sense goes before-overtops and extends beyond the condition just mentioned. Therefore Nietzsche says: "But truth does not count as the supreme standard of value, even less as the supreme power" (Will to Power, Aph. 853, 1887-88). The creating of possibilities for the will on the basis of which the will to power first frees itself to itself is for Nietzsche the essence of art. In keeping with this metaphysical concept, Nietzsche does not think under the heading "art" solely or even primarily of the aesthetic realm of the artist. Art is the essence of all willing that opens up perspectives and takes possession of them : "The work of art, where it appears without an artist, e.g., as body, as organization (Prussian officer corps, Jesuit Order). To what extent the artist is only a preliminary stage. The world as a work of art that gives birth to itself" (Will to
+
+:!5
+
+The essence of art, understood from out of the will to power, consists in the fact that art excites the will to power first of all toward itself [i.e., toward the will] and goads it on to willing out beyond itself. Because Nietzsche, in fading reminiscence of the zoe and physis of early Greek thinkers, often also calls the will to power, as the reality of the reat life, he can say that art is "the great stimulant of life" (Will to Power, Aph. 851, 1888) . Art is the condition posited in the essence of the will to power for the will's being able, as the will that it is, to ascend to power and to enhance that power. Because it conditions in this way, art is a value. As that condition which-in the hierarchy of the conditioning pertaining to the making secure of a constant reserve-takes the lead and in that way precedes all conditioning, it is the value that first opens all heights of ascent. Art is the highest value. In relation to the value truth, it is the higher value. The one, ever in a fresh way, calls forth the other. Both values determine in their value-relation the unitive essence of the intrinsically value-positing will to power. The will to power is the reality of the real or, taking the word more broadly than Nietzsche usually is accustomed to using it: the Being of that which is. If metaphysics must in its utterance exhibit that which is, in respect to Being, and if therewith after its manner it names the ground of that which is, then the grounding principle of the metaphysics of the will to power must state this ground. The principle declares what values are posited essentially and in what value hierarchy they are posited within the essence of the value-positing will to power as the "essence" [Essenz] of that which is. The principle runs : "Art is worth more than truth"
+
+(Will to Power, Aph. 853, 1887-88).
+
+The grounding principle of the metaphysics of the will to
+
+power is a value-principle.
+
+It becomes clear from the highest value-principle that valuepositing as such is essentially twofold. In it, whether expressly articulated or not, a necessary and a sufficient value are always posited, although both are posited from out of the prevailing relationship of the two to one another. This twofoldness of value-positing corresponds to its principle. That from out of which value-positing as such is supported and guided is the will to power. From out of the �nity of its essence it both craves
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 87
+
+and is sufficient for the conditions of the enhancement and preservation of itself. The reference to the twofold essence of value-positing brings thinking expressly before the question concerning the essential unity of the will to power. Inasmuch as the will to power is the "essence" of that which is as such, which means moreover that it is the true of metaphysics, we are asking concerning the truth of this true when we ponder the essential unity of the will to power. With that, we attain to the highest point of this and every metaphysics. But what does "highest point" mean here? We shall explain what we mean with reference to the essence of the will to power, and shall thus remain within the bounds that have been drawn for this discussion. The essential unity of the will to power can be nothing other than the will itself. This unity is the way in which the will to power, as will, brings itself before itself. It orders the will forth into the will's own testing and sets it before the latter in such a way that in such testing the will first represents [repriisentiert] itself purely and therewith in its highest form. Here, representation [Repriisentation] is, however, in no way a presenting [Darstellung] that is supplementary; but rather the presence [Priisenz] determined from out of that presenting is the
+
+mode in which and as which the will to power is.
+
+Yet this mode in which the will is, is at the same time the manner in which the will sets itself forth into the unconcealment26 of itself. And therein lies the will's truth. The question concerning the essential unity of the will to power is the question concerning the type of that truth in which the will to power is as the Being of whatever is. This truth, moreover, is at the same time the truth of that which is as such, and it is as that truth that metaphysics is. The truth concerning which we are now asking is accordingly not that truth which the will to power itself posits as the necessary condition of that which is, as something in being; but rather it is the truth in which the condition-positing will to power as such already comes to presence [west] . This One in which the will to power comes to presence, its essential unity,
+
+concerns the will to power itself.
+
+But now of what type is this truth of the Being of whatever is? It can be defined only from out of that whose truth it is. However, inasmuch as within modern metaphysics the Being of whatever is has determined itself as will and therewith as self-willing, and, moreover, self-willing is already inherently selfknowing-itself, therefore that which is, the hypokeimenon, the subieetum, comes to presence in the mode of self-knowing-itself. That which is (subieetum) presents itself [priisentiert sieh], and indeed presents itself to itself, in the mode of the ego eogito. This self-presenting, this re-presentation [Re-priisentation] (setting-before [Vor-stellung] ), is the Being of that which is in being qua subieetum. Self-knowing-itself is transformed into subject purely and simply. In self-knowing-itself, all knowing and what is knowable for it gathers itself together. It is a gathering together of knowing, as a mountain range is a gathering together of mountains. The subjectivity of the subject is, as such a gathering together, co-agitatio (eogitatio), eonscientia, a gathering of knowing [Ge-wissen], consciousness (eonseienee).27 But the eo-agitatio is already, in itself, velle, willing. In the subjectness of the subject, will comes to appearance as the essence of subjectness. Modern metaphysics, as the metaphysics of subjectness, thinks the Being of that which is in the sense
+
+of will.
+
+It belongs to subjectness, as the primary determination of its essence, that the representing subject makes itself sure of itselfand that means makes itself sure continually also of what it represents-as a particular something. In accordance with such a making sure, the truth of that which is, as certainty [Gewissheit], has its character of secureness [Sieherheit] (eertitudo).28 The self-knowing-itself, wherein is certainty as such, remains
+
+27. The French word conscience. On the meaning of the prefix ge- as
+
+"gathering," see QT 19.
+
+28. Sicherheit (certainty, security, trustworthiness, safeguard) very closely parallels Gewissheit (certainty, sureness, certitude, firmness), although in it the connotation of making secure is present in a way not found in Gewissheit. This nuance, resident heretofore in Heidegger's discussion in the verb sichern (to make secure, to guarantee, to make safe), is now, with this use of Sicherheit-in conjunction with sich versichern (to assure oneself, to attain certainty, to insure one's life, to arrest [someone]) and Versicherung (insurance, assurance, guarantee)-brought forward into the pivotal position
+
+for its part a derivative of the former essence of truth, namely, of the correctness (rectitudo) of a representing. However, now the correct no longer consists in an assimilation to something presencing that is unthought in its presence. Correctness consists now in the arranging of everything that is to be represented, according to the standard that is posited in the claim to knowledge of the representing res cogitans sive mens [thinking thing or mind] . This claim moves toward the secureness that consists in this, that everything to be represented and representing itself are driven together into the clarity and lucidity of the mathematical idea and there assembled. The ens is the ens coagitatum perceptionis [the being that is driven together and consists in perceiving]. The representing is now correct when it is right in relation to this claim to secureness. Proved correct [richtig] in this way, it is, as "rightly dealt with" [recht gefertigt] and as at our disposal, made right, justified [gerecht-fertigt] . 29 The truth of anything that is in being, in the sense of the selfcertainty of subjectness, is, as secureness (certitudo), fundamentally the making-right, the justifying, of representing and of what it represents before representing's own clarity. Justification (iustificatio) is the accomplishing of iustitia [justice or rightness] and is thus justice [Gerechtigkeit] itself.30 Since the subject
+
+29. Note that Heidegger here brings together three words, all of which are derived from the stem recht (right). By so doing, he is able implicitly to show that much of the truth of his statement lies in the words themselves. The discussion that now ensues includes a variety of recht words that can be translated accurately in English only by introducing the stem "just." The full significance of this discussion can be appreciated only if we bear constantly in mind the intimate relationship that these recht words have to one another. Thus : richtig (correct), rechtfertigen and Rechtfertigung (to justify; justification), Gerechtigkeit (justice, rightness, or righteousness),
+
+Gerecht (right, just, righteous), das Rechte (the morally right).
+
+30. The English word "justice" carries strong connotations of an apportioning in an ethical or legal sense. Iustitia (justice), as used in medieval and Reformation theology, has a more ample meaning. It alludes to the entire rightness of man's life and the rightness of his relationship to God, i.e., his righteousness. Heidegger here points to the roots of the modern philosophical understanding of justice in this theological tradition. The German word Gerechtigkeit (justice or righteousness), because of the centrally formative influence exerted by Luther's translation of the Bible on the modern German language, inevitably carries something of this theological connotation, and the range of its meaning colors Heidegger's present
+
+is forever subject, it makes itself certain of its own secureness. It justifies itself before the claim to justice that it itself has
+
+posited.
+
+At the beginning of the modern age the question was freshly raised as to how man, within the totality of what is, i.e., before that ground of everything in being which is itself most in being (God)/n can become certain and remain certain of his own sure continuance, i.e., his salvation. This question of the certainty of salvation is the question of justification, i.e., of justice (iustitia). Within modern metaphysics it is Leibniz who first thinks the subiectum as ens percipiens et appetens [the perceptive and appetitive being] . He is the first to think clearly-in the vischaracter [force-character] of the ens-the volitional essence of the Being of whatever is. In a modern manner he thinks the truth of whatever is in being as sureness and certainty [Gewissheit] . In his Twenty-four Theses on Metaphysics, Leibniz says (Thesis 20) : lustitia nihil aliud est quam ordo seu perfectio circa mentes.:i2 The mentes, i.e., the res cogitantes [thinking things], are, according to Thesis 22, the primariae mundi unitates [primary units of the world] . Truth as certainty is the making secure of secureness; it is order (ordo) and thoroughgoing establishment, i.e., full and utter completion (per-fectio) . The making secure that characterizes that which primarily and genuinely is,
+
+in its Being, is iustitia (justice).
+
+Kant, in his laying of the critical foundations of metaphysics, thinks the ultimate self-securing of transcendental subjectivity as the quaestio iuris of the transcendental deduction. This is the legal question of the making right, the justification, of the representing subject, which has itself firmly fixed its essence in the
+
+self-justifiedness of its "I think."33
+
+In the essence of truth as certainty-certainty thought as the
+
+31. vor dem seiendsten Grund aller Seienden (Gatt).
+
+32. "Justice is nothing but the order and perfection that obtains in respect
+
+to minds."
+
+33. "Self-justifiedness" is the translation of Selbst-Gerechtigkeit. Selbstgerechtigkeit, without a hyphen, is always translated "self-righteousness." By hyphenating it here, Heidegger lets it show what in the context of this discussion might be called its more fundamental meaning of self-justified-
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 91
+
+truth of subjectness, and subjectness thought as the Being of whatever is-is concealed justice, experienced in terms of the justification having to do with secureness. Indeed, justice holds sway as the essence of the truth of subjectness, although in the metaphysics of subjectness justice is not thought as the truth of that which is. Yet, on the other hand, justice must in fact confront modern metaphysical thinking as the self-knowing Being of everything in being as soon as the Being of whatever is appears as the will to power. The latter knows itself as that which is essentially value-positing, as that which, in its positing of values as the conditions of the constant reserve belonging to its own essence, makes itself secure, and in that way perpetually becomes just and right to itself and in such becoming is justice. It is in justice and as justice that the unique essence of the will to power must represent [repriisentierenJ, and that means, when thought according to modern metaphysics: be. Just as in Nietzsche's metaphysics the idea of value is more fundamental than the grounding idea of certainty in the metaphysics of Descartes, inasmuch as certainty can count as the right only if it counts as the highest value, so, in the age of the consummation of Western metaphysics in Nietzsche, the intuitive self-certainty of subjectness proves to be the justification belonging to the will to power, in keeping with the justice holding sway in the Being of what-
+
+ever is.
+
+Already in an earlier and more generally known work, the second Untimely Meditation, "Of the Use and Disadvantage of History" (1874), Nietzsche substitutes "justice" for the objectivity of the historical sciences (fragment 6). But otherwise Nietzsche is silent on the subject of justice. Only in the decisive years 1884-85, when the "will to power" stands before his mind's eye as the fundamental characteristic of whatever is in being, does he write down two ideas on justice without publishing them. The first note (1884) bears the title : "The Ways of Freedom." It reads: "Justice, as building, separating, annihilating mode of thinking, out of value-judgments; highest representative of life
+
+itself" (XIII, Aph. 98).
+
+The second note (1885) says: "Justice, as function of a power having a wide range of vision, which sees out beyond the narrow
+
+perspectives of good and evil, thus has a wider horizon of interest -the aim, to preserve Something that is more than this or that
+
+particular person" (XIV, Aph. 158).34
+
+A thorough exposition of these thoughts would extend beyond the limits of the reflection being attempted here. An indication of the essential sphere within which the justice that is thought by Nietzsche belongs will have to suffice. To prepare ourselves for an understanding of the justice that Nietzsche has in view, we must rid ourselves of those conceptions of justice that stem from Christian, humanistic, Enlightenment, bourgeois, and socialist morality. For Nietzsche does not at all understand justice primarily as it is defined in the ethical and juridical realms. Rather, he thinks it from out of the Being of what is as a whole, i.e., from out of the will to power. The just is that which is in conformity with the right. But what is right is determined from out of that which, as whatever is, is in being. Thus Nietzsche says: "Right = the will to eternalize a momentary power relation. Satisfaction with that relation is its presupposition. Everything sacred is drawn toward it to let the right appear as eternal"
+
+(XIII, Aph. 462, 1883).
+
+With this belongs the note from the following year : "The problem of justice. What is first and most powerful, of course, is precisely the will to and the strength for suprapower. The ruler establishes 'justice' only afterward, i.e., he measures things according to his standard; if he is very powerful, he can go very far toward giving free rein to and recognizing the individual who tries" (XIV, Aph. 181). Nietzsche's metaphysical concept of justice may well seem strange when compared with our familiar conception, and this is to be expected; yet for all that, it touches squarely the essence of the justice that at the beginning of the consummation of the modern age, amidst the struggle for mastery of the earth, is already historically true, and that therefore determines all human activity in this period, whether explicitly
+
+or not, whether secretly or openly.
+
+The justice thought by Nietzsche is the truth of what iswhich now is in the mode of the will to power. And yet Nietzsche neither thought justice explicitly as the essence of the truth of
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 93
+
+what is nor brought to utterance from out of such thought the metaphysics of completed subjectness. Justice is, however, the truth of whatever is, the truth determined by Being itself. As this truth it is metaphysics itself in its modern completion. In metaphysics as such is concealed the reason why Nietzsche can indeed experience nihilism metaphysically as the history of valuepositing, yet nevertheless cannot think the essence of nihilism. We do not know what concealed form, ordained from out of the essence of justice as its truth, was reserved for the metaphysics of the will to power. Scarcely has its first fundamental principle been articulated; and when it has, it has not once been experienced in the form of a principle. To be sure, within this metaphysics the principle-character of that principle is of a peculiar kind. Certainly the first value-principle is not the major premise for a deductive system of propositions. If we take care to understand the designation "fundamental principle of metaphysics" as naming the essential ground of whatever is as such, i.e., as naming the latter in the unity of its essence, then this principle remains sufficiently broad and intricate to determine at any given time, according to the particular type of metaphysics,
+
+the way in which the latter declares that ground.
+
+Nietzsche articulated the first value-principle of the metaphysics of the will to power in still another form : "We possess art lest we perish of the truth" (Will to Power, Aph. 822).
+
+We must not, of course, understand in terms of our everyday conceptions of truth and art this principle that concerns the metaphysical relation pertaining to essence-i.e., the metaphysical value-relation-that subsists between art and truth. If that happens, everything becomes banal and, what is all the more ominous, takes from us the possibility of attempting an essential discussion with the concealed position of the metaphysics of our world age-a metaphysics now coming to completion-in order that we may free our own historical essence
+
+from being clouded by historiography and world views.
+
+In the formulation of the fundamental principle of the metaphysics of the will to power just cited, art and truth are thought as the primary forms of the holding-sway of the will to power in relation to man. How the essential relation of the truth of what is as such to man's essence is to be thought at all within meta-
+
+physics in keeping with the latter's essence remains veiled to our thinking. The question is scarcely asked, and because of the predominance of philosophical anthropology it is hopelessly confused. In any case, however, it would be erroneous were we to take the formulation of the value-principle as testimony that Nietzsche philosophizes existentially. That he never did. But he did think metaphysically. We are not yet mature enough for the rigor of a thought of the kind found in the following note that Nietzsche wrote down at about the time when he was doing the thinking for his projected masterpiece, The Will to Power: UAround the hero everything turns into tragedy; around the demi-god, into a satyr-play; and around God-what?-perhaps
+
+into 'world'?" (Beyond Good and Evil, Aph. 150, 1886).
+
+But the time has come for us to learn to perceive that Nietzsche's thinking, although it must display another mien when judged historiographically and on the basis of the label assigned it, is no less possessed of matter and substance and is no less rigorous than is the thinking of Aristotle, who in the fourth book of his Metaphysics thinks the principle of contradiction as the primary truth regarding the Being of whatever is. The comparison between Nietzsche and Kierkegaard that has become customary, but is no less questionable for that reason, fails to recognize, and indeed out of a misunderstanding of the essence of thinking, that Nietzsche as a metaphysical thinker preserves a closeness to Aristotle. Kierkegaard remains essentially remote from Aristotle, although he mentions him more often. For Kierkegaard is not a thinker but a religious writer, and indeed not just one among others, but the only one in accord with the destining belonging to his age. Therein lies his greatness, if to speak in this way is
+
+not already a misunderstanding.
+
+In the fundamental principle of Nietzsche's metaphysics the unity of the essence of the will to power is named with the naming of the essential relation between art and truth. Out of this unity of essence belonging to what is as such, the metaphysical essence of value is determined. Value is the twofold condition of the will to power itself, posited in the will to power
+
+for the will to power.
+
+Because Nietzsche experiences the Being of everything that is as the will to power, his thinking must think out toward value.
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 95
+
+Thus it is valid, everywhere and before everything else, to pose the question of value. This questioning comes to experience itself
+
+as historical.
+
+How does it stand with the highest values up to now? What does the devaluing of those values mean in relation to the revaluing of all values? Because thinking in terms of values is grounded in the metaphysics of the will to power, Nietzsche's interpretation of nihilism as the event of the devaluing of the highest values and the revaluing of all values is a metaphysical interpretation, and that in the sense of the metaphysics of the will to power. However, inasmuch as Nietzsche understands his own thinking-the doctrine of the will to power as the "principle of the new value-positing" -in the sense of the actual consummation of nihilism, he no longer understands nihilism merely negatively as the devaluing of the highest values, but at the same time he understands it positively, that is, as the overcoming of nihilism; for the reality of the real, now explicitly experienced, i.e., the will to power, becomes the origin and norm of a new value-positing. Its values directly determine human representing and in like manner inspire human activity. Being human is lifted
+
+into another dimension of happening.
+
+In the passage quoted from The Gay Science (Aph. 125), the madman says this of the act of men whereby God was killed, i.e., whereby the suprasensory world was devalued: "There has never been a greater deed; and whoever will be born after us-for the sake of this deed he will be part of a higher history than all
+
+history hitherto."
+
+With the consciousness that "God is dead," there begins the consciousness of a radical revaluing of the highest values hitherto. Man himself, according to this consciousness, passes over into another history that is higher, because in it the principle of all value-positing, the will to power, is experienced and accepted expressly as the reality of the real, as the Being of everything that is. With this, the self-consciousness in which modern humanity has its essence completes its last step. It wills itself as the executer of the unconditional will to power. The decline of the normative values is at an end. Nihilism, "that the highest values are devaluing themselves," has been overcome. The humanity which wills its own being human as the will to power,
+
+and experiences that being human as belonging within the reality determined in its entirety by the will to power, is determined by a form of man's essence that goes beyond and surpasses man
+
+hitherto.
+
+The name for this form of man's essence that surpasses the race of men up to now is "overman."35 By this name Nietzsche does not mean any isolated exemplar of man in whom the abilities and purposes of man as ordinarily known are magnified and enhanced to gigantic proportions. "Overman" is also not that form of man that first originates upon the path of the practical application of Nietzsche's philosophy to life. The name "overman" deSignates the essence of humanity, which, as modern humanity, is begining to enter into the consummation belonging to the essence of its age. "Overman" is man who is man from out of the reality determined through the will to power, and for
+
+that reality.
+
+Man whose essence is that essence which is willing, i.e., ready, from out of the will to power is overman. The willing that characterizes the essence of man that is willing in this way must correspond to the will to power as to the Being of whatever is. Therefore, simultaneously with the thinking that thinks the will to power, there necessarily arises the question: In what form must the essence of man that becomes willing from out of the Being of what is, present itself and unfold, in order that it may be adequate to the will to power and may thus be capable of receiving dominion over all that is? Unexpectedly, and above all in a way unforeseen, man finds himself, from out of the Being of what is, set before the task of taking over dominion of the
+
+35. "Overman" is the translation of der Ubermensch, which ordinarily means superhuman being, demigod, superman. The term "overman," introduced into Nietzsche translation by Walter Kaufmann, has the advantage of avoiding the misinterpretations that lie ready to hand in the usual translation as "superman." In keeping with Nietzsche's presentation of der Ubermensch in the figure of Zarathustra, Kaufmann regularly uses "the overman." Here the article has been dropped in the translation of the noun in accordance with the fact that, as Heidegger's ensuing discussion itself makes clear, Ubermensch is not intended in that discussion to refer at all to an individual man. Rather, the noun has a generic meaning-it refers to man, to humanity. Ubermensch might almost be translated "man-beyond," for overman stands in contrast with man hitherto and goes beyond (hin-
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 97
+
+earth. Has man hitherto sufficiently considered in what mode the Being of what is has meanwhile appeared? Has man hitherto assured himself as to whether his essence has the maturity and strength to correspond to the claim of that Being? Or does man hitherto simply get along with the help of expedients and detours that drive him away ever anew from experiencing that which is?36 Man hitherto would like to remain man hitherto; and yet he is at the same time already the one who, of all that is, is willingwhose Being is beginning to appear as the will to power. Man hitherto is, in his essence, not yet at all prepared for Being, which all the while has been holding complete sway over what is. In the latter there rules the necessity that man go beyond man hitherto, not out of mere desire or mere arbitrariness, but solely
+
+for the sake of Being.
+
+Nietzsche's thought that thinks overman arises from the thinking that thinks whatever is ontologically as what is in being, and it thus accommodates itself to the essence of metaphysics, yet without being able to experience that essence from within metaphysics. For this reason the respect in which the essence of man is determined from out of the essence of Being remains concealed for Nietzsche, just as it does in all metaphysics before him. Therefore, the ground of the essential connection between the will to power and the essence of overman necessarily veils itself in Nietzsche's metaphysics. Yet in every veiling there already rules simultaneously an appearing. The existentia that belongs to the essentia of whatever is, i.e., to the will to power, is the eternal returning of the same. The Being that is thought in that returning contains the relation to the essence of overman. But this relation necessarily remains unthought in its essence as that essence relates to Being. It thus remains obscure even to Nietzsche himself what connection the thinking that thinks overman in the figure of Zarathustra has with the essence of metaphysics. Hence the character of the work Thus Spoke Zarathustra as a work remains concealed. Only when some future thought is brought into the situation of thinking this "Book for All and None"
+
+36. Here, "that which is" exceptionally translates das ... was ist, rather than das Seiende. This allusion will return below (p. 102) in the question, "What is?" where the reference in question is Being itself and not any
+
+together with Schelling's Investigations on the Essence of Human Freedom (1809)-and that means at the same time also with Hegel's work The Phenomenology of Mind (1807), and also with the Monadology (1714) of Leibniz-and only when it is brought into the situation of thinking these works not only metaphysically but from out of the essence of metaphysics will there be established the right and duty as well as the foundation and horizon
+
+for an explication.
+
+It is easy but irresponsible to be indignant at the idea and figure of overman, which has clothed itself in the very misunderstanding that attaches to it, and to make this indignation pass for a refutation. It is difficult, but for future thinking it will be inescapable, to attain to the high responsibility out of which Nietzsche pondered the essence of that humanity which, in the destining of Being as the will to power, is being determined toward the assuming of dominion over the earth. The essence of overman is no license for the frenzy of self-will. It is the law grounded in Being itself of a long chain of the highest of selfconquests that are first making man mature for that which is, which, as that which is, belongs to Being-to Being that, as the will to power, is bringing to appearance its essence as will, and through that appearing is making an epoch, namely, the ultimate
+
+epoch of metaphysics.
+
+Man hitherto is called this, according to Nietzsche's metaphysics, because, although his essence is indeed determined by the will to power as the fundamental characteristic of all that is, he has still not experienced and accepted the will to power as that principal characteristic. Man who surpasses man up to now takes the will to power, as the principal characteristic of all that is, up into his own willing and in that way wills himself in the manner of the will to power. All that is, is as that which is posited within this will. That which formerly conditioned and determined the essence of man in the manner of purpose and norm has lost its unconditional and immediate, above all its ubiquitously and infallibly operative power of effective action. That suprasensory world of purposes and norms no longer quickens and supports life. That world has itself become lifeless, dead. There will be Christian faith here and there. But the love holding sway in that world is not the effectively workThe Word of Nietzsche 99
+
+ing and operative principle of what is happening now. The suprasensory ground consisting of the suprasensory world, thought as the operative, working reality of everything reat has become unrea1.37 That is the metaphysical meaning of the word "God is
+
+dead/' thought metaphysically.
+
+Will we persist in closing our eyes in face of the truth of this word, to be thought in this way? If we do so, the word will certainly not become untrue through this curious blindness. God is still not a living God when we persist in trying to master the real without taking God's reality seriously and calling it in question beforehand, and when we persist in this without pondering whether man has so matured for the essence into which, from out of Being, he is being drawn, that he may withstand and surmount that destining genuinely from out of his essence and
+
+not do so with the sham help of mere expedients.
+
+The attempt to experience the truth of that word concerning the death of God without illusions is something different from an espousing of Nietzsche's philosophy. Were the latter our intention, thinking would not be served through such assent. We show respect for a thinker only when we think. This demands that we think everything essential that is thought in his thought. When God and the gods are dead in the sense of the metaphysical experience just elucidated, and when the will to power is deliberately willed as the principle of all positing of the conditions governing whatever is, i.e., as the principle of valuepositing, then dominion over that which is as such, in the form of dominion over the earth, passes to the new willing of man determined by the will to power. Nietzsche closes the first part of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, which appeared one year after The Gay Science, in 1883, with the statement: "Dead are all gods:
+
+now we will that overman live t"
+
+We could believe, were we thinking crassly, that this pronouncement says that dominion over all that is, is passing from God to man or, even more crassly, that Nietzsche puts man in the place of God. Those who believe thus do not, of course, think
+
+37. Der iibersinnliche Grund der iibersinnlichen Welt ist, als die wirksame Wirklichkeit alles Wirklichen gedacht, unwirklich geworden. On the meaning of the "real" (das Wirkliche), as shown through the meaning of
+
+\
+
+in a very godly way about the divine essence. Never can man put himself in the place of God, because the essence of man never reaches the essential realm belonging to God. On the contrary, compared with this impossibility something far more uncanny can happen, something whose essence we have scarcely begun to consider. Thought metaphysically, the place that is peculiar to God is the place of the causative bringing about and preserving of whatever is, as something created. That place of God can remain empty. Instead of it, another, i.e., a place corresponding metaphysically, can loom on the horizon-a place that is identical neither with the essential realm belonging to God nor with that of man, but with which man comes once more into a distinctive relationship. Overman never enters at all into the place of God; rather the place into which his willing enters is another realm belonging to another grounding of what is, in its other Being. This other Being of what is, meanwhile-and this marks the beginning of modern metaphysics-has become subjectness. All that is, is now either what is real [das Wirkliche] as the object or what works the real [das Wirkende] , as the objectifying within which the objectivity of the object takes shape. Objectifying, in representing, in setting before, delivers up the object to the ego cogito. In that delivering up, the ego proves to be that which underlies its own activity (the delivering up that sets before), i.e., proves to be the subiectum. The subject is subject for itself. The essence of consciousness is self-consciousness. Everything that is, is therefore either the object of the subject or the subject of the subject. Everywhere the Being of whatever is lies in setting-itself-before-itself and thus in setting-its elf-up. Man, within the subjectness belonging to whatever is, rises up into the subjectivity of his essence. Man enters into insurrection. The world changes into object. In this revolutionary objectifying of everything that is, the earth, that which first of all must be put at the disposal of representing and setting forth, moves into the midst of human positing and analyzing. The earth itself can show itself only as the object of assault, an assault that, in human willing, establishes itself as unconditional objectification. Nature appears everywhere-because willed from out of the essence of Being-as the object of technology.
+
+Madman" originated comes this note of Nietzsche's : "The time is coming when the struggle for dominion over the earth will be carried on. It will be carried on in the name of fundamental
+
+philosophical doctrines" (XII, 441).38
+
+This does not mean that the struggle for unlimited exploitation of the earth as the sphere of raw materials and for the realistic utilization of "human material," in the service of the unconditional empowering of the will to power in its essence, would specifically have recourse to an appeal to a philosophy. On the contrary, it is to be conjectured that philosophy as the doctrine and image of culture will disappear, and that also in its present form it can disappear; for insofar as it has been genuine it has already brought the reality of the real to utterance and in that way has brought that which is as such into the history of its Being. "Fundamental philosophical doctrines" does not mean the doctrines of scholars but the language of the truth of what is as such, which truth metaphysics itself is in the form of the metaphysics of the unconditional subjectness of the will
+
+to power.
+
+The struggle for dominion over the earth is in its historical essence already the result of the fact that whatever is as such is appearing in the mode of the will to power without yet being recognized or without being understood at all as that will. At any rate, the doctrines of action and the conceptual ideologies that are commonly subscribed to never utter that which is, and which therefore is happening. With the beginning of the struggle for dominion over the earth, the age of subjectness is driving toward its consummation. To this completion belongs the fact that whatever is-which is in the manner of the will to poweris, after its fashion and in every respect, becoming certain and therefore also conscious of its own truth about itself. Making conscious is a necessary instrument of the willing that wills from out of the will to power. It happens, in respect to objectification, in the form of planning. It happens, in the sphere of the uprising of man into self-willing, through the ceaseless dissecting of the historical situation. Thought metaphysically, the "situation" is constantly the stage for the action of a subject. Every analysis
+
+of the situation is grounded, whether it knows it or not, in the
+
+metaphysics of subjectness.
+
+liThe great noon" is the time of the brightest brightness, namely, of the consciousness that unconditionally and in every respect has become conscious of itself as that knowing which consists in deliberately willing the will to power as the Being of whatever is ; and, as such willing, in rebelliously withstanding and subjugating to itself eVery necessary phase of the objectifying of the world, thus making secure the stably constant reserve of what is for a willing of the greatest possible uniformity and equality. In the willing of this will, however, there comes upon man the necessity that he concomitantly will the conditions, the requirements, of such a willing. That means : to posit values and to ascribe worth to everything in keeping with values. In such a manner does value determine all that is in its Being. This brings
+
+us to the question:
+
+What is now, in the age when the unconditional dominion of the will to power is openly dawning, and this openness and its public character are themselves becoming a function of this will? What is ? We are not asking about events and facts, for every one of which at any time, in the realm of the will to power, testimonies may always be brought forward and laid aside on
+
+demand.
+
+What is? We do not ask concerning this or that particular being, but rather we ask concerning the Being of whatever is. More especially, we are asking what is happening to Being itself. Furthermore, we do not ask at random, but with a view to the truth of what is as such, which is coming to utterance in the form of the metaphysics of the will to power. What is happening to Being in the age of the dominion, now beginning, of
+
+the unconditional will to power?
+
+Being has been transformed into a value:'l9 The making con-
+
+39. Within the highly elliptical connection between this and the following sentence in the text lies Heidegger's understanding of the complex interrelation of Being, what is, and man. That meaning might, in the context of the present discussion of the will to power, be suggested as follows. The "Being" to which Heidegger here refers is, first of all, the Being possessed by what is. The metaphysics of the will to power, which thinks Being in thinking the truth, the unconcealedness of what is, takes the Being of what is-a Being linked indissolubly with the security and certainty
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 103
+
+stant of the stability of the constant reserve40 is a necessary condition of its own securing of itself, which the will to power itself posits. Can Being possibly be more highly esteemed than through being expressly raised to a value? Yet, in that Being is accorded worth as a value, it is already degraded to a condition posited by the will to power itself. Already from of old, insofar as Being itself has been esteemed at all and thus given worth, it has been despoiled of the dignity of its essence. When the Being of whatever is, is stamped as a value and its essence is thereby sealed oft then within this metaphysics-and that means continually within the truth of what is as such during this ageevery way to the experiencing of Being itself is obliterated. Here, in speaking in such a way, we presuppose what we should perhaps not presuppose at alt that such a way to Being has at some
+
+of the objectively represented-as a value, a determining condition directing power-actualizing willing. Hence the metaphysics of the will to power can, with Nietzsche, take Being to be a value (d. p. 84) ; or it might say that to be is to have value. And it is Being itself, ruling in the modern age in the mode of the will to power, that gives itself to the thinking of metaphysics in this way. Yet, at the same time, metaphysics is not here thinking Being itself. It is not thinking Being as Being, "presencing specifically as presencing, from out of its truth" (p. 109) . Being, in manifesting itself precisely as value through the thinking belonging to the metaphysics of the will to power, is, at the same time, concealing itself as regards that
+
+which it is as Being.
+
+Metaphysics, for Heidegger, "grounds an age" (AWP 115). In interpreting or in laying out (auslegen), i.e., in thinking forth, the Being of what is precisely as a value, that is, in making Being manifest-insofar as it is given to metaphysics to apprehend and manifest Being at all in the latter's holding-sway in the mode of the will to power-the metaphysics of the will to power, as the consummation of the modern metaphysics begun with Descartes, provides the thought-out basis for the activity of modern man. And Being needs that activity, undergirded by that thinking, in order to endure as present and to rule in the manner that is now proper to it. Precisely when Being has become a value, when to be is to have value, the metaphysical basis has been consummately given for that human activity through which whatever is-offering itself in the manner governed by the will to power-is fixed as a stable reserve that has value and can be of use just in virtue of its being and of its being available for future "willing to will" and "empowering to power." And precisely through just that metaphysically grounded activity and through it alone, the holding-sway of Being-of Being now manifesting itself in the mode of the will to power-is accomplishing itself through the only open center through which it can
+
+time existed and that a thinking on Being has already thought
+
+Being as Being.
+
+Unmindful of Being and its own truth, Western thinking has since its beginning continually been thinking what is in being as such. All the while, this thinking has been thinking Being only in such truth, so that it brings the name "Beingn to utterance only with considerable awkwardness and in a manifoldness of meaning that remains confused because it is not experienced. This thinking that has remained unmindful of Being itself is the simple and all-sustaining, thus enigmatic and unexperienced, coming-to-pass [Ereignis] of that Western history which meanwhile is on the point of broadening out into world history. Finally, in metaphysics, Being has debased itself to a value. Herein lies the testimony that Being has not been accepted and
+
+acknowledged as Being. What does this mean?
+
+What is happening to Being? Nothing is happening to Being.41 But what if, precisely in that, the essence of nihilism, which has been veiled up to now, were first to proclaim itself? Would thinking in terms of values then itself be pure nihilism? But surely Nietzsche understands the metaphysics of the will to power specifically as the overcoming of nihilism. And in fact, so long as nihilism is understood only as the devaluing of the highest values, and the will to power, as the principle of the revaluing of all values, is thought from out of a re-positing of the highest values, the metaphysics of the will to power is indeed an overcoming of nihilism. But in this overcoming of nihilism value-
+
+thinking is elevated to a principle.
+
+It however, value does not let Being be Being, does not let it be what it is as Being itself, then this supposed overcoming is above all the consummation of nihilism. For now metaphysics not only does not think Being itself, but this not-thinking of Being clothes itself in the illusion that it does think Being in the most exalted manner, in that it esteems Being as a value, so that
+
+41. Wie ist es mit dem Sein ? Mit dem Sein ist es nichts. Here and in the two preceding instances of this question, the verb "happening"-usually reserved for the translation of the German verb geschehen-has been used so as to preserve the colloquial force of Heidegger's words. Subsequently this construction will be translated using the verb "befall" instead of
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 105
+
+all questions concerning Being become and remain superfluous. But if the thinking that thinks everything in terms of values is nihilism when thought in relation to Being itself, then even Nietzsche's own experience of nihilism, i.e., that it is the devaluing of the highest values, is after all a nihilistic one. The interpretation of the suprasensory world, the interpretation of God as the highest value, is not thought from out of Being itself. The ultimate blow against God and against the suprasensory world consists in the fact that God, the first of beings,42 is degraded to the highest value. The heaviest blow against God is not that God is held to be unknowable, not that God's existence is demonstrated to be unprovable, but rather that the god held to be real is elevated to the highest value. For this blow comes precisely not from those who are standing about, who do not believe in God, but from the believers and their theologians who discourse ·jn the being that is of all beings most in being,43 without ever letting it occur to them to think on Being itself, in order thereby to become aware that, seen from out of faith, their thinking and their talking is sheer blasphemy if it meddles
+
+in the theology of faith.
+
+Now, for the first time a faint light begins to penetrate the darkness enveloping the question that earlier we wanted to direct to Nietzsche while we were hearing the passage about the madman. How can it happen at all that men are ever capable of killing God? But obviously it is precisely this that Nietzsche is thinking. For in the entire passage there are only two sentences expressly placed in italics. The one reads : "We have killed him," namely, God. The other reads : "And yet they have done it themselves," which is to say men have performed the deed of killing God, even though today they have still heard nothing about it. The two italicized sentences give the interpretation for the word "God is dead." The pronouncement does not mean-as though it were spoken out of denial and common hatred-there is no god. The pronouncement means something worse : God has been killed. In this way the decisive thought first comes to appearance. Yet, nevertheless, the understanding of it becomes more difficult. For the word "God is dead" would be much more
+
+readily grasped if it declared: God himself, of his own accord, has distanced himself from his living presence. But that God should be killed by others and indeed by men is unthinkable. Nietzsche himself is astounded at this thought. It is only for that reason that immediately after the decisive words, "We have killed him-you and 1. All of us are his murderers," he allows the madman to ask : "But how have we done this?" Nietzsche elucidates the question as he repeats it, spelling out what is asked in three images : "How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What
+
+did we do when we unchained this earth from its sun?"
+
+To the last question we could answer: What men did when they unchained the earth from its sun is told in the last three and a half centuries of European history. What, then, has happened at the foundation of this history to that which is? When Nietzsche names the relationship between the sun and the earth he is not thinking merely of the Copernican revolution in the modern understanding of nature. The word "sun" at once recalls Plato's allegory. According to the latter, the sun and the realm of its light are the sphere in which that which is appears according to its visible aspect, or according to its many countenances (Ideas). The sun forms and circumscribes the field of vision wherein that which is as such shows itself.44 "Horizon" refers
+
+44. Here "forms" translates hildet. The German hilden means to form, to shape, to constitute. In this passage the meaning of "constitute" should be heard within the translation "forms" virtually with the force of "is." The word "sun" speaks, as does the word "horizon" that follows, of the self-manifesting that characterizes what is as such. It speaks of what is as being, in itself, unconcealed. In thinking in his own way Nietzsche's-and Plato's-image of the sun, Heidegger speaks here of what is, the real, as that which is looked at because it lets itself be seen. It is just this character of what is-as what gives itself to sight-that, in what here immediately follows, he sees as transformed in the modern period, so that it appears differently when, under the dominion of the will to power, everything real is transformed into value, i.e., into "point-of-view," that both is seen and permits seeing. When possessed of this new character, what is, is no longer free to show itself directly in itself. It is, rather, either as subject or as object, always at the disposal of assertive self-consciousness, and hence of that mode of Being, the will to power, ruling in the latter. Accordingly, in his discussion of the meaning of value for Nietzsche as "point-of-view," Heidegger has said above (p. 72) : "Aim, view, field of vision, mean here both the sight beheld and seeing, in a sense that is determined from out of
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 107
+
+to the suprasensory world as the world that truly is. This is at the same time that whole which envelops all and in itself includes alL as does the sea. The earth, as the abode of man, is unchained from its sun. The realm that constitutes the suprasensory, which as such, is in itself45 no longer stands over man as the authoritative light. The whole field of vision has been wiped away. The whole of that which is as such, the sea, has been drunk up by man. For man has risen up into the I-ness of the ego cogito. Through this uprising, all that is, is transformed into object. That which is, as the objective, is swallowed up into the immanence of subjectivity. The horizon no longer emits light of itself. It is now nothing but the point-of-view posited in the
+
+value-positing of the will to power.
+
+By means of the three key images (sun, horizon, and sea), which are for thinking presumably something quite other than images, the three questions elucidate what is meant by the event of the killing of God. The killing means the act of doing away with the suprasensory world that is in itself-an act accomplished through man. It speaks of the event wherein that which is as such does not simply come to nothing, but does indeed become different in its Being. But above all, in this event man also becomes different. He becomes the one who does away with that which is, in the sense of that which is in itself. The uprising of man into subjectivity transforms that which is into object. But that which is objective is that which is brought to a stand through representing. The doing away with that which is in itself, i.e., the killing of God, is accomplished in the making secure of the constant reserve by means of which man makes secure for himself material, bodily, psychic, and spiritual resources, and this for the sake of his own security, which wills dominion over whatever is-as the potentially objective-in order to correspond to
+
+the Being of whatever is, to the will to power.
+
+Making secure, as the creating of secureness, is grounded in value-positing. Value-positing has brought down and slain beneath itself-and has therefore killed as that which is for itselfall that is in itself. This ultimate blow in the killing of God is perpetrated by metaphysics, which, as the metaphysics of the
+
+will to power, accomplishes thinking in the sense of valuethinking. However, Nietzsche himself no longer recognizes this ultimate blow, through which Being is struck down to a mere value, for what the blow is when thought with respect to Being itself. And yet, does not Nietzsche himself say : U All of us are his murderers !-you and I"? Certainly. And according to this, Nietzsche also continues to understand the metaphysics of the will to power as nihilism. To be sure. But this means for Nietzsche only that that metaphysics, as the countermovement in the sense of the revaluing of all former values, brings to completion the previous U devaluing of the highest values hitherto" most
+
+radically, because definitively.
+
+And yet Nietzsche can no longer think as killing and nihilism precisely that new positing of value on the basis of the principle of all value-positing. Within the field of vision of the selfwilling will to power, i.e., within the perspective of value and value-positing, that new positing of value is no longer a de-
+
+valuing.
+
+But what happens to value-positing itself when value-positing is thought in respect to that which is as such, and that means at the same time from out of a view toward Being? Then, thinking in terms of values is radical killing. It not only strikes down that which is as such, in its being-in-itself, but it does away utterly with Being. The latter can, where it is still needed, pass only for a value. The value-thinking of the metaphysics of the will to power is murderous in a most extreme sense, because it absolutely does not let Being itself take its rise, i.e., come into the vitality of its essence. Thinking in terms of values precludes in advance that Being itself will attain to a coming to presence
+
+in its truth.
+
+But is this murdering that kills at the roots first and exclusively the way of the metaphysics of the will to power? Is it only the interpretation of Being as value that does not let Being itself be the Being that it is? If this were the case, then metaphysics before Nietzsche would have to have experienced and thought Being itself in its truth, or at least to have questioned concerning it. But nowhere do we find such experiencing of Being itself. Nowhere are we confronted by a thinking that thinks the truth of Being itself and therewith thinks truth itself as Being.
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 109
+
+This is not thought even where pre-Platonic thinking, as the beginning of Western thinking, prepares for the unfolding of metaphysics in Plato and Aristotle. The estin (eon) gar einai does indeed name Being itself. But it does not think presencing specifically as presencing, from out of its truth. The history of Being begins, and indeed necessarily, with the forgetting of Being. It is not due then to metaphysics as the metaphysics of the will to power that Being itself in its truth remains unthought. This strange remaining-away of Being is due only to metaphysics as metaphysics. But what is metaphysics? Do we know its essence? Can it itself know that essence? If it conceives it, it grasps it metaphysically. But the metaphysical concept of metaphysics constantly falls short of its essence. This holds also for every logic, assuming that logic is still at all capable of thinking what logos is. Every metaphysics of metaphysics, and every logic of philosophy, that in any way whatever attempts to climb beyond metaphysics falls back most surely beneath metaphysics, without
+
+knowing where, precisely in so doing, it has fallen.
+
+Meanwhile, at least one feature of the essence of nihilism has become clearer to our thinking. The essence of nihilism lies in history; accordingly, in the appearing of whatever is as such, in its entirety, Nothing is befalling Being itself and its truth, and indeed in such a way that the truth of what is as such passes for Being, because the truth of Being remains wanting. In the age of that completion and consummation of nihilism which is beginning, Nietzsche indeed experienced some characteristics of nihilism, and at the same time he explained them nihilistically, thus completely eclipsing their essence. And yet Nietzsche never recognized the essence of nihilism, just as no metaphysics before
+
+him ever did.
+
+But if the essence of nihilism lies in history, so that the truth of Being remains wanting in the appearing of whatever is as such, in its entirety, and if, accordingly, Nothing is befalling Being and its truth, then metaphysics as the history of the truth of what is as such, is, in its essence, nihilism. If, finally, metaphysics is the historical ground of the world history that is being determined by Europe and the West, then that world
+
+"nihilism" means that Nothing is befalling Being. Being is not coming into the light of its own essence. In the appearing of whatever is as such, Being itself remains wanting. The truth of
+
+Being falls from memory. It remains forgotten.
+
+Thus nihilism would be in its essence a history that runs its course along with Being itself. It would lie in Being's own essence, then, that Being remain unthought because it withdraws. Being itself withdraws into its truth. It harbors itself safely
+
+within its truth and conceals itself in such harboring.
+
+In looking toward this self-concealing harboring of its own essence, perhaps we glimpse the essence of that mystery in the
+
+guise of which the truth of Being is coming to presence.
+
+According to this, metaphysics itself would not be merely a neglect of a question still to be pondered concerning Being. Surely it would not be an error. Metaphysics, as the history of the truth of what is as such, would have come to pass from out of the destining of Being itself. Metaphysics would be, in its essence, the mystery of Being itself, a mystery that is unthought because withheld. Were it otherwise, a thinking that takes pains to hold to Being in what is to be thought could not unceasingly ask,
+
+"What is metaphysics?"
+
+Metaphysics is an epoch4G of the history of Being itself. But in its essence metaphysics is nihilism. The essence of nihilism belongs to that history as which Being itself comes to presence. However, provided that Nothing in whatever manner also points toward Being, the determination and defining of nihilism from out of the history of Being might well at least indicate antecedently the realm within which the essence of nihilism can be experienced in order to become something thought that concerns our thinking. We are accustomed above all to hearing a false note in the name "nihilism." However, when we ponder the essence of nihilism as belonging to the history of Being, there is at once something dubious in simply hearing a false note. The word "nihilism" indicates that nihil (Nothing) is, and is essentially, in that which it names. Nihilism means : Nothing is befalling everything and in every respect. "Everything" means whatever is, in its entirety. And whatever is stands there in
+
+The Word of Nietzsche 111
+
+every respect proper to it when it is experienced as that which is. Hence nihilism means that Nothing is befalling whatever is as such, in its entirety. But whatever is, is what it is and how it is from out of Being. Assuming that every "is" lies in Being, the essence of nihilism consists in the fact that Nothing is befalling Being itself. Being itself is Being in its truth, which truth
+
+belongs to Being.
+
+When we hear in the name "nihilism" that other note wherein sounds the essence of that which it names, then we are also hearing differently the language of that metaphysical thinking which has experienced something of nihilism without being able to think its essence. Perhaps with that other note in our ears, we will someday ponder the age of that consummation of nihilism which is now beginning in another way than we have hitherto. Perhaps then we will recognize that neither the political nor the economic nor the sociologicat nor the technological and scientific, nor even the metaphysical and the religious perspectives are adequate to think what is happening in that age. What is given to thinking to think is not some deeply hidden underlying meaning, but rather something lying near, that which lies nearest, which, because it is only this, we have therefore constantly already passed over. Through this passing over we are, without noticing it, constantly accomplishing the killing in relation to
+
+the Being of whatever is in being.
+
+In order to pay heed to it and to learn to pay heed, it can be enough for us simply to ponder for once what the madman says about the death of God and how he says it. Perhaps we will no longer pass by so quickly without hearing what is said at the beginning of the passage that has been elucidated : that the
+
+madman "cried incessantly : 'I seek God ! I seek God!' ''
+
+In what respect is this man mad? He is "de-ranged."47 For he is dis-lodged from the level of man hitherto, where the ideals of the suprasensory world, which have become unreal, are passed off for real while yet their opposite is realizing itself. This de-
+
+47. "De-ranged" translates ver-ruckt, which, unhyphenated, means mad or insane. Other adjectival translations of related past participles built on riicken (to jerk, to pull, to change the place of) follow here : "dislodged" (ausgeruckt), "carried out beyond" (hinausgeruckt), and "drawn into"
+
+ranged man is carried out beyond man hitherto. Nevertheless, in this way he has only been drawn utterly into being the predetermined essence of man hitherto, the animal rationale. The man who is deranged in this way has nothing in common with the kind of men standing about in the market place "who do not believe in God." For these men are not unbelievers because God as God has to them become unworthy of beliet but rather because they themselves have given up the possibility of belief, inasmuch as they are no longer able to seek God. They can no longer seek because they no longer think. Those standing about in the market place have abolished thinking and replaced it with idle babble that scents nihilism in every place in which it supposes its own opinion to be endangered. This self-deception, forever gaining the upper hand in relation to genuine nihilism, attempts in this way to talk itself out of its anguished dread in the face of thinking. But that dread is dread in the face of dread. The madman, on the contrary, is clearly, according to the first, and more clearly still according to the last, sentences of the passage, for him who can hear, the one who seeks God, since he cries out after God. Has a thinking man perhaps here really cried out de profundis? And the ear of our thinking, does it still not hear the cry? It will refuse to hear it so long as it does not begin to think. Thinking begins only when we have come to know that reason, glorified for centuries, is the most stiff-
+
+necked adversary of thought.
+
+Part III
+
+The Age of the
+
+World Picture
+
+In metaphysics reflection is accomplished concerning the essence of what is and a decision takes place regarding the essence of truth I Metaphysics grounds an age, in that through a specific interpretation of what is and through a specific comprehension of truth it gives to that age the basis upon which it is essentially formed? This basis holds complete dominion over all the phenomena that distinguish the age. Conversely, in order that there may be an adequate reflection upon these phenomena themselves, the metaphysical basis for them must let itself be apprehended
+
+1. "Reflection" translates Besinnung. On the meaning of the latter, see SR 155 n. 1. "'Essence" will be the translation of the noun Wesen in most instances of its occurrence in this essay. Occasionally the translation "coming to presence" will be used. Wesen must always be understood to allude .. for Heidegger, not to any mere "what ness," but to the manner in which anything, as what it is, takes its COurse and "holds sway" it. its ongoing presence, i.e., the manner in which it endures in its presencing. See QT 30, 3 n. 1. "What is" renders the present participle seiend used as a noun, das Seiende. On the translation of the latter, see T 40 n. 6. 2. der Grund seines Wesensgestalt. Heidegger exemplifies the statement that he makes here in his discussion of the metaphysics of Descartes as providing the necessary interpretive ground for the manner in which, in the subjectness of man as self-conscious subject, Being and all that is and man-in their immediate and indissoluble relation-come to presence in the
+
+116 The Question Concerning
+
+in them. Reflection is the courage to make the troth of our own presuppositions and the realm of our own goals into the things that most deserve to be called in question Appendix 1) ' One of the essential phenomena of the modern age is its science. A phenomenon of no less importance is machine technology. We must not, however, misinterpret that technology as the mere application of modern mathematical physical science to praxis. Machine technology is itself an autonomous transformation of praxis, a type of transformation wherein praxis first demands the employment of mathematical physical sdence. Machine technology remains up to noW the most visible outgrowth of the essence of modern technology, which is identical
+
+with the essence of modern metaphysics.
+
+A third equally essential phenomenon of the modern period lies in the event of art's moving into the purview of aesthetics. That means that the art work becomes the object of mere subjective experience, and that consequently art is considered to be
+
+an expression of human Hfe.4
+
+A fourth modern phenomenon manifests itself in the fact that human activity is conceived and consummated as culture. Thus culture is the realization of the highest values, through the nurture and cultivation of the highest goods of man. It lies in the essence of culture, as such nurturing, to nurture itself in its turn
+
+and thus to become the politics of culture.
+
+A fifth phenomenon of the modern age is the of the gods.5 This expression does not mean the mere doing away with the gods, gross atheism. The loss of the gods is a twofold process. On the one hand, the world picture is Christianized inasmuch as the cause of the world is posited as infinite, unconditional,
+
+3. Heidegger's explanatory appendixes begin on p. '137.
+
+4. Erlebrris, translated here as. "subjective experience" and later as "lifeexperience." is a term much used by life philosophers such as Dilthey and generaHy connotes adventure and event. It is employed somewhat pejoratively here. The term Erfahrung, which is regularly translafed in this volume as Nexptrience:' connotes discovery and learning, and also suffering and undergoing. Here and subsequently U.e., "mere religiOUS experience"'), "m�re" is inserted to maintain the distinction between Et'Iebl1.is and
+
+Erfahrul7g.
+
+5. EntgoHerung. here inadequately fE'ndered as "loss of the gods/' ac-
+
+The Age of the World Picture 117
+
+absolute. On the other hand, Christendom transfonns Christian doctrine into a world view (the Christian world view), and in that way makes itself modern and up to date. The 1055 of the gods is the situation of indecision regarding God and the gods. Christendom has the greatest share in bringing it about. But the loss of the gods is 50 far from excluding religiosity that rather only through that loss is the relation to the gods changed into mere experience." When this occurs, then the gods have fled. The resultant void is compensated for by means of historiographical and psychological investigation of myth. What understanding of what is, what interpretation of truth,
+
+lies at the foundation of these phenomena?
+
+We shaJl Ihnit the question to the phenomenon mentioned
+
+first, to science [WiS5enschaftj.
+
+In what does the essence of modern science lie?
+
+What understanding of what is and of truth provides the basis for that essence? If we succeed in reaching the metaphysical ground that provides the foundation for science as a modern phenomenon, then the entire essence of the modern age will have
+
+to let itself be apprehended from out of that ground.
+
+When we use the word "sdencel1 today,r it means something essentially different from the doctrina and scientia of the Middle Ages, and also from the Greek science was never exact, precisely because, in keeping with its essence, it could not be exact and did not need to be exact. Hence it makes no sense whatever to suppose that modern science is more exact than that of antiquity. Neither can we say that the Galilean doctrine of freely falling bodies is true and that Aristotle's teaching, that light bodies strive upward, is false; for the Greek understanding of the essence of body and place and of the relation between the two rests upon a different interpretation of beings and hence conditions a correspondingly different kind of seeing and questioning of natural events. No one would presume to maintain that Shakespeare's poetry is more advanced than that of Aeschylus. It is still more impossible to say that the modern understanding of whatever is, is more correct than that of the Greeks. Therefore, if we want to grasp the essence of modern science, we must first free ourselves from the habit of
+
+comparing the new science with the old solely in tenns of degree,
+
+from the point of view of progress.
+
+The essence of what we today call science is research. In what
+
+does the essence of research consist?
+
+In the fact that knowing [das Erkennenl establishes itself as a procedure within some realm of what is, in nature or in history. Procedure does not mean here merely method or methodology. For every procedure already requires an open sphere in which it moves. And it is precisely the opening up of such . sphere that is the fundamental event in research. This is accomplished through the projection within some realm of what is-in nature, for example-of a fixed ground plan· of natural events. The projection sketches out in advance the manner in which the knowing procedure must bind itself and adhere to the sphere opened up. This binding adherence is the rigor of research,7 Through the projecting of the ground plan and the prescribing of rigor, procedure makes secure for itself its sphere of objects within thE?' realm of Being. A look at that earliest science, which is at the same time the normative one in the modern age, namely, mathematical physics, will make clear what we mean. Inasmuch as modern atomic physics still remains phY5ks, what is essential -and only the essential is aimed at here-will hold for it also. Modem physics is called mathematical because, in a remarkable way, it makes use of a quite ,pecific mathematics. But it can proceed mathematically in this way only because, in a deeper sense, it is already itself mathematical. Ta rnathemala means for the Greeks that which man knows in advance in his observation of whatever is and in his intercourse with things ; the corporeality of bodies, the vegetable character of plants, the animality of animals, the humanness of man. Alongside these, belonging also to that which is already-known, Le., to the mathematical, are numbers. If we come upon three apples on the table, we
+
+6. Grundriss. The verb reissen means to tear, to rend, to sketch/ to design, and the noun Riss means tear, gap, outline. Hence the noun C;:YUtldri5S, first sketch, ground plan, design, connotes a fundamental sketching out: that is
+
+an opening up as well.
+
+7. "Binding adherence" here translates the noun BirJdung. The noun could also be rendered UobHgation." It could thus be said that rigor is the obliga-
+
+The Age of the World Picture 119
+
+recognize that there are three of them, But the number three, threeness, we already know, This means that number is something mathematical. Only because numbers represent. as it were, the most striking of always-already-knowns, and thus offer the most familiar instance of the mathematical, is "mathematical" promptly re""rved as a name for the numerical. In no way, however, is the essence of the mathematical defined by numberness, Physics is, in general, the knowledge of nature, and, in particular, the knuwledge of material corporeality in its motion; for that corporeality manifests itself immediately and universally in everything natural, even if in a variety of ways, If physics takes shape explicitly, then, as something mathematical, this means that, in an especially pronounced way, through it and for it something is stipulated in advance as what is already-known. That stipulating has to do with nothing less than the plan or projection of that which must henceforth, for the knowing of nature that is sought after, be nature: the self-contained system of motion of units of mass related spatiotemporally, Into this ground plan of nature, as supplied in keeping with its prior stipulation, the follOWing definitions a mong others have been incorporated : Motion means change of place, No motion or direction of motion is superior to any other. Every place is equal to every other, No point in time has preference over any other. Every force is defined according to-i.e" is only-its consequences in motion, and that means in magnitude of change of place in the unity of time, Every event must be seen so as to be fitted into this ground plan of nature, Only within the perspective of this ground plan does an event in nature become visible as such an event. This projected plan of nature finds its guarantee in the fact thai physical research, in every one of its questioning steps, is bound in advance to adhere to it. This binding adherence, the rigor of research, has its own character at any given time in keeping with the projected plan, The rigor of mathematical physical science is exactitude, Here all events, if they are to enter at all into representation as events of nature, must be defined beforehand as spatiotemporal magnitudes of motion. Such defining is accomplished through measuring, with the help of number and calculation. But mathematical research
+
+into nature is not exact because it calculates with precision; rather it must calculate in this way because its adherence to its object-sphere has the character of exactitude. The humanistic sciences), in contrast, indeed aU the sciences concerned with life, must necessarily be inexact just in order to remain rigorous. A living thing can indeed also be grasped as a spatiotemporal magnitude of motion, but then it is no longer apprehended as living. The inexactitude of the historkal humanistic sciences is not a deficiency, but is only the fulfillment of a demand essential to this type of research. It is true, also, that the projecting and securing of the object-sphere of the historical sciences is not only of another kind, but is much more difficult of execution
+
+than is the achieVing of rigor in the exact sciences.
+
+Science becomes research through the projected plan and through the securing of that plan in the rigor of procedure. Projection and rigor, however, first develop into what they are in methodology. The latter constitutes the second essential characteristic of research. If the sphere that is projected is to become objective, then it is a matter of bringing it to encounter us in the complete diversity of its levels and interweavings. Therefore procedure must be free to view the changeableness in whatever encounters it. Only within the horizon of the incessant-otherness of change does the plenitude of particularity-of facts-show itself. But the facts must become objective [gegenstiindlich]. Hence procedure must represent [vorstellm] the changeable in its changing,' must bring it to a stand and let the motion be a motion nevertheless. The fixedness of facts and the canstantness of their change as such is Nrule." The constancy of change in the necessity of its course is ulaw," It is only within the purview of rule and law that facts become dear as the facts that they are. Research into facts in the realm of nature is intrinsically the establishing and verifying of rule and law. Methodology, through which a sphere of objects comes into representation,
+
+8. Throughout this essay the literal meaning of vorstel1en, which is usually translated with "to represent," is constantly in the for�ground, so that the verb suggests specifically a setting-in-p!ace-betorc that is an ob� jeetjfying, i,e., a bringing to a stand as object. SeE.' PP, 127, 129-30, 132; d. Appendix 9, pp. 148 if. Hpjdegger frequently hyphenates "VoTsteUen in this essay and Us appendixes so as to stress the meaning that he intends.
+
+The Age of the World Picture 121
+
+has the character of clarifying on the basis of what is dear-of explanation. Explanation is always twofold. It accounts for an unknown by means of a known, and at the same time it verifies that known by means of that unknown. E)(planation takes place in investigation. In the physical sciences investigation takes place by means of experiment, always according to the kind of field of investigation and according to the type of explanation aimed at. But physical science does not first become research through experiment; rather, on the contrary, experiment first becomes possible wh�re and only where the knowledge of nature has been transformed into research. Only because modern physics is a physics that is essentially mathematical can it be experimental. Because neither medieval doctrina nor Greek ep;,femiJ is science in the sense of research, for these it is never a question of experiment. To be sure, it was Aristotle who first understood what empeir;,. (expet ientia) means : the observation of things themselves, their qualities and modifications under changing conditions, and consequently the knowledge of the way in which things as a rule behave. But an observation that aims at such knowledge, the experimentum, remains essentially different from the observation that belongs to science as research, from the research experiment; it remains essentially different even when ancient and medieval observation also works with number and measure, and even when that observation makes use of specific apparatus and instruments. For in all this, that which is decisive about the experiment is completely missing. Experiment begins with the laying down of a law as a basis. To set up an experiment means to represent or conceive [vorstellen 1 the conditions under which a specific series of motions can be made susceptible of being followed in its necessary progression, i.e., of being controlled in advance by calculation. But the establishing of a law is accomplished with reference to the ground plan of the objectsphere. That ground plan furnishes a criterion and constrains the anticipatory representing of the conditions. Such representing in and through which the experiment begins is no random imagining, That is why Newton said, hypothesis non fingo, "the bases that are laid down are not arbitrarily invented." They are developed out of the ground plan of nature and are sketched into it. Experiment is that methodology which, in its planning
+
+and execution, is supported and guided on the basis of the fundamental law laid down, in order to adduce the facts that either verify and confirm the law or deny it confirmation. The more exactly the ground plan of nature is projected, the more exact becomes the possibility of experiment. Hence the muchdted medieval Schoolman Roger Bacon can never be the forerunner of the modern experimental research scientist; rather he remains merely a successor of Aristotle. For in the meantime1 the real locus of truth has been transferred by Christendom to faith-to the infallibility of the written word and to the doctrine of the Church. The highest knowledge and teaching is theology as the interpretation of the divine word of revelation, which is set down in Scripture and proclaimed by the Church. Here, to know is not to search out; rather it is to understand dghtly the authoritative Word and the authorities proclaiming ft. Therefore, the discussion of the words and doctrinal opinions of the various authorities takes precedence in the acquiring of knowledge in the Middle Ages. The compO>!prp scripta et sermon.s, the argumentum ex verbo}} is decisive and at the same time is the reason why the accepted Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy that had been taken over nad to be transformed into scholastic dialectic. If, now, Roger Bacon demands the experimentum-and he does demand it-he does not mean the experiment of science as research; rather he wants the argumentum eX re instead of the argumentum ex verbo, the careful obserVing of things themselves, Le., Aristotelian empeirial instead of the discussion of doctrines. The modern research experiment, however, is not only an observation more precise in degree and scope, but is a methodology essentially different in kind, related to the verification of law in the framework, and at the service, of an exact plan of nature. Source criticism in the historical humanistic sciences corresponds to experiment in physical research. Here the name " source criticism" designates the whole gamut of the discovery, examination, verification, evaluation, preservation, and interpretation of sourCFS. Historiographical explanation, which is 9. "The comparing of the writings with the sayings, the argu.ment from the word." Argurnentum ex re, which follows shortly, means "argument
+
+from tht- thing."
+
+based on source criticism, does not, it is true, trace facts back to laws and rules. But neither does it confine itself to the mere reporting of facts. In the historical sciences, just as in the natural sciences, the methodology aims at representing what is fixed and stable and at making history an object. History can become objective only when it is past. What is stable in what is past, that on the basis of which historiographical explanation reckons up the solitary and the diverse in history, is the always-hasbeen-once-already, the comparable. Through the constant comparing of everything with everything, what is intelligible is found by calculation and is certified and established as the ground plan of hislory. The sphere of historiographical research extends only sO far as historiographical explanation reaches. The unique, the rare, the simple--in short, the great-in history is never se[f-1 war shows itself to be a "gigantic labor process" (gigantt'sdurr Aroeitspro- (See "Die Totale Mobilmachung" in Blatter una Steine {Hamburg: Hanseatische Verlaganstalt, 19341, p. 130,) In the evolution of Jiinger's thlnking, the meaning of the term "total mobilization" extends itself to denote the phenOmen01'L which for him is the essence of modem times: man's dominating of the earth by means of his technological will. ''Thl!: War front and the labor front are identkal" (Der Arbeiter, p. 109). Viewing Junger's thinking in the light of Nietzsche's, Heidegger understands "total mobilization" as the final realization of the metaphysks of the will to power,. or as the final phase of ��adive nihilism/' See The Question of Beil�g [Zur Seinsfrage], trans. William Klubach and Jean T. Wilde (New
+
+York; Twayne, 1958), pp. 41 ff
+
+within it; for only thus, simultaneously, is that which is most worthy of questioning experienced, i.e., that which radically carries forward and constrains a creating into the future, out beyond what is at hand, and lets the transformation of man become a necessity springing forth from Being itself. No age lets itself be done away with by a negating decree. Negation only throws the negator off the path. The modern age requires. however, in order to be withstood in the future, in its essence and on the very strength of its essence, an originality and range of reflection for which We of today are perhaps preparing somewhat,
+
+but over which we certainly can never gain mastery.
+
+2. The phrase "ongoing activity" [Betrieb] is not intended here in a pejorative sense. But bec.ause research is, in eS5ellce� ongoing activity, the industrious activity of mere "busyness" [des blossen BetriebsJ, which is always possible, gives the impression of a higher reality behind which the burrowing activity proper to research work is accomplished. Ongoing activity becomes mere busyness whenever, in the pursuing of its methodology, it no longer keeps itself open on the basis of an ever-new accomplishing of its projection-plan, but only leaves that plan behind itself as a given; never again confirms and verifies its own self .. accumulating results and the calculation of them, but simply chases after such results and calculations. Mere busyness must at all times be combated predsely because research is, in its e\$sence, ongoing actiVity. If We seek what is scientific in science solely in serene erudition, then of COurse it seems as though the disowning of practical activity also means the denying of the fact that research has the essential character of ongoing activity. It is true that the more completely research becomes ongoing activity, and in that way mounts 10 its proper level of performance, the more constantly does the danger of mere industriousness grow within it. Finally a situation arises in which the distinction between ongoing activity and busyness not only has become unrecognizable, but MS become unreal as well. Precisely this balancing out of the essential and the aberrant into the average that is the self-evident makes research as the embodiment of science, and thus makes the modem age itself, capable of enduring. But whence does reThe Age of the World Picture 139
+
+search receive the counterpoise to the mere busyness within its
+
+ongoing activity?
+
+3. The growing importance of the publishing business is not based merely on the fact that publishers (perhaps through the process of marketing their books) come to have the best ear for the needs of the public or that they are better businessmen than are authors. Rather their peculiar work takes the form of a procedure that plans and that establishes itself with a view to the way in which, through the prearranged and limited publication of books and periodicals, they are to bring the world into the picture for the public and confirm it publicly. The preponderance of collections, of sets of books, of series and pocket editions, is already a consequence of this work on the part of publishers, which in tum coincides with the aims of researchers, since the latter not only are acknowledged and given consideration more easily and more rapidly through collections and sets, but, reach-Ing a wider public, they immediately achieve their intended effect.
+
+4. The fundamental metaphysical position of Descartes is taken over historically from lhe PI.tonic-Aristotelian metaphysics and moves, despite its new beginning, within the same question: What is it to be?' That this question, formulated in this way, does not come to the fore in Descartes's Meditation. only proves how essentially the change in the answer to it already determines the fundamental position. Descartes's interpretation of what it is to be and of truth first creates the presupposition underlying the possibility of a theory of knowledge or a metaphysics of knowledge. Through Descartes, realism is first put in the position of having to prove the reality of the outer world,
+
+of haVing to save that which is as such.
+
+The essential modifications of the fundamental position of Descartes that have been attained in German thinking since Leibniz do not in any way overcome that fundamental position itself. They simply expand its metaphysical scope and create the presuppositions of the nineteenth century, still the most obscure
+
+of all the centuries of the modern age up to now. Indirectly those modifications confirm the fundamental position of Descartes in a form in which they themselves are almost unrecognizable, though they are not for that reason the less real. In contrast, mere Cartesian Scholasticism, with its rationalism, has lost all power further to shape modern times. With Descartes begins the completion and consummation of Western metaphysics. And yet, because such a consummation is only possible once again as
+
+metaphysics, modern thinking has its own greatness.
+
+With the interpretation of man as sublecturn, Descartes creates the metaphysical presupposition for future anthropology of every kind and tendency. In the rise of the anthropologies, Descartes celebrates his greatest triumph. Through anthropology the transition of metaphysics into the event of the simple stopping and setting aside of all philosophy is introduced. The fact that Dilthey disavowed metaphysics, that fundamentally he no longer even understood its question and stood helpless before metaphysical logic, is the inner consequence of his fundamental anthropological position. His "philosophy of philosophy" is an outstanding form of the anthropological abrogation- not the overcoming-of philosophy. This is why every anthropology in which previous philosophy is employed at will but is explained as superfluous qua philosophy has the advantage of seeing clearly what is required along with the affirmation of anthropology. Through this, the intellectual situation finds some clarification, while the laborious fabrications of such absurd offshoots as the national-soda list philosophies produce nothing but confusion. The world view does indeed need and use philosophical erudition, but it reqUires no philosophy, since, as world view, it has already taken over a particular interpretation and structuring of whatever is. But one thing, surely, anthropology cannot do. It cannot overcome Descartes, nor even rise up against him, for how shall the consequence ever attack the ground on
+
+which it stands?
+
+Descartes can be overcome only through the overcoming of that which he himself founded, only through the overcoming of modern, and that means at the same time Western, metaphysics. Overcoming means here, however, the primal asking of the question concerning the meaning, Le'j concerning the realm of
+
+The Age of the World Picture 141
+
+the projection or delineation, and thus concerning the truth, of Beiog-which question simultaneously unveils itself as the
+
+question concerning the Being of truth.
+
+5. The concept of world as it is developed in Being and Time is to be understood only from within the horizon of the question concerning "openness for Beiog" [Da-sein], a question that, for its part, remains closely conjoined with the fundamental question concerning the meaning of Being (not with the meaning of that
+
+which is).
+
+IS. What belongs properly to the essence of the picture is standing-together, system. By this is not meant tile artificial and external Simplifying and putting together of what is given, but the unity of strudure in that which is represented [im Vorgesteilten 1 as such, a unity that develops out of the projection of the objectivity of whatever is. In the Middle Ages a system is impossible, for there a ranked order of correspondences is alone essential, and indeed as an ordering of whatever is in the sense of what has been treated by God and is watched over as his creature. The system is still more foreign to the Greeks, even if in modem times we speak, though quite wrongly, of the Platonic and Aristotelian "systems." Ongoiog activity in research is a speCific bodying�forth and orderiog of the systematic, in Which, at the same time, the latter reciprocally determines the ordering. Where the world becomes picture, the system, and not only 10 thioking, comes to dominance. However, where the system is in the ascendancy, the possibility always exists also of its degenerating into the superficiality of a system that has merely been fabricated and pieced together. This takes place when the original power of the projecting is lacking. The uniqueness of the systematic in Leibniz, Kant, Fichte, Hegel, and Schelling-a uniqueness that is iuherently diverse-is still not grasped. The greatness of the systematic in these thinkers lies in the fact that it unfolds not as in Descartes out of the subject as ego and substantia fin ita, but either as in Leibniz out of the monad, or as in Kant out of the transcendental essence of finite understanding rooted in the imagination, or as in Behle out of the infinite I, or as in Hegel out of Spirit as absolute knowledge,
+
+or as in Schelling out of freedom as the necessity of every particular being which, as such a being, remains determined through
+
+the distinction between ground and existence.
+
+The representation of value is just as essential to the modern interpretation of that which is, as is the system. Where anything that is has become the object of representing, it first incurs in a certain manner a loss of Being. This loss is adequately perceived, if but vaguely and undearly, and is compensated for with corresponding swiftness through the fact that we impart value to the object and to that which I,. Interpreted a. objed, and that we take the measure of whatever is, solely in keeping with the criterion of value, and make of values themselves the goal of all activity. Since the latter is understood as culture, values become cultural values, and these, in turn, become the very expression of the highest purposes of creativity, in the service of man's making himself secure as subiectum. From here it is only a step to making values into objects in themselves. Value is the objectification of needs as goals, wrought by a representing self-establishing within the world as picture. Value appears to be the expression of the fact that we" in our position of relationship to itJ act to advance just that which is itself most valuable; and yet that very value is the impotent and threadbare disgUise of the objectivity of whatever is, an objectivity that has become flat and devoid of background. No one dies for mere values. We should note, for the sake of shedding light on the nineteenth century, the peculiar in-between position of Hermann Lotze, who at the same time that he WaS reinterpreting Plato's Ideas as values undertook, under the title Microcosmos, that Attempt at an AnthropolollY (1856) which still drew sustenance for the nobility and straightforwardness of its mode of thinking from the spirit of German idealism, yet also opened that thinking to positivism. Because Nietzsche's thinking remains imprisoned in value representation, he has to articulate what is essential for him in the form of a reversal, as the revaluation of all values. Only when we succeed in grasping Nietzsche's thinking independently of value representation do we come to a standing-ground from which the work of the last thinker of metaphysics becomes a task
+
+The Age of the World Picture 143
+
+assigned to questioning, and Nietzsche's antagonism to Wagner
+
+becomes comprehensible as the necessity of our history.
+
+7. Correspondence [Die Entsprechung}, thought as the fundamental characteristic of the Being of whatever is, furnishes the pattern for very specific possibilities and modes of setting the truth of this Deing, in whatever has being, into the work The art work of the Middle Ages and the absence of a world picture
+
+in that age belong together.
+
+8. But did not a sophist at about the time of Socrates dare to say, "Man is the measure of all things, of those that are [der seiel'ldel'l] , that they are,of those that are not, that they are not?" Does this statement of Protagoras not sound as though Descartes were speaking? Most importantly, is it not true that the Being of whatever is, is grasped by Plato as that which is beheld, as idea? Is the relation to what is as such not for Aristotle theoria, pure beholding? And yet it is no more the case that this sophistic statement of Protagoras is subjectivism than it is that Descartes could carry into execution nothing but the overturning or Greek thought. Certainly, through Plato's thinking and through Aristotle's questioning a decisive change takes place in the interpretation of what is and of men, but it is a change that always remains On the foundation of the Greek fundamental experience of what is. Precisely as a strnggle against sophism and therefore in dependency upon it, this changed interpretation is so deci.ive that it proves to be the end of Greek thought, an end that at the same time indirectly prepares the possibility of the modern age.22 This is why Platonic and Aristotelian thinking has been able to pass for Greek thinking per se, not only in the Middle Ages but throughout the modern age up to now, and why all pre-Platonic thinking could be considered merely a preparation for Plato. It is because from long habituation we ge� Greek thinking through a modern humanistic interpretatlon that it remains denied to us
+
+Th� Age of the World Picture 145
+
+two. What is essential in a fundamental metaphysical position
+
+embraces:
+
+1. The manner and mode in which man is man, Le., is himself; the manner of the coming to presence [Wesensart] of selfhood, which is not at all synonymous with I-ness, but rather is determined out of the relation to Being as such
+
+2. The interpretation of the coming to presence [Wes." ...
+
+auslegung] of the Being of whatever is
+
+3. The delineation of the coming to presence [Wesensent-
+
+wurfl of truth
+
+4. The sense in which, in any given instance.! man is
+
+measure
+
+None of these essential moments in a fundamental metaphysical position may be understood apart from the others. Each one always betokens, from the outset, the whole of a fundamental metaphysical position. Precisely why and in what respect these four moments sustain and structure in advance a fundamental metaphysical position as such is a question that can no longer be asked or answered from out of metaphysics and by means of metaphysics. It is a question that is already being uttered from
+
+out of the overcoming of metaphysics.
+
+To be sure, for Protagoras, that which is does remain related to man as ego. What kind of relation to the I is this? The ego tarries within the horizon of the unconcealment that is meted out to it always as this particular unconcealment. Accordingly, it apprehends everything that presences within this horizon as something that is. The apprehending of what presences is grounded in this tarrying Within the horizon of unconcealment. Through its tarrying [das Verweilen J in company with what presences, the beiongingness of the I into the midst of what presences is. This belonging to what presences in the open fixes the boundaries between that which presences and that which absents itself. From out of these boundaries man receives and keeps safe the meaSure of that which presences and that which absents. Through man's being limited to that which, at any particular time, is unconcealed, there is given to him the measure that always confines a self to this or that. Man does not, from out of some detached I-ness, set forth the measure to which
+
+The Age of the World Picture 147
+
+!ermined from out of unconcealment and presencing is determined from out of unconcealedness in its particularity. S. But just how far removed is Descartes from the beginning of Greek thinking, just how different is the interpretation of man that represents him as subject? Precisely because in the concept of the subiectum the coming to presence of Being as experienced by the Greeks-the hypokeisthai of the hypokeimenon-still re· sounds in the form of a presendng that has become unrecogniz. able and unquestioned (namely, the presenclng of that which lies fixedly before) , therefore the essence of the change in fundamental metaphysical position is to be seen from out of that
+
+coming to presence of Being.
+
+It is one thing to preserve the horizon of unconcealment that is limited at any given time through the apprehending of what presences (man as metron). It is another to proceed into the un· limited sphere of possible objectification, through the reckoning up of the representable that is accessible to every man and
+
+binding for all.
+
+All subjectivism is impossible in Greek sophism, for here man can never be subiectum; he cannot become subiectum because
+
+here Being is presencing and truth is unconceaIment.
+
+In unconcealment fantasia comes to pass: the coming-in toappearance, as a particular something, of that which presencesfor man, who himself presences toward what appears. Man as representing subject, however, "fantasizes/' i.e., he moves in imaginatio, in that his representing imagines, pictures forth,
+
+whatever is, as the objective, into the world as picture.
+
+9. How does it happen at all that that which is displays itself in a pronounced manner as subiectum/u and that as a conse-
+
+30. In this sentence Heidegger shows the whoUy mutual relation that he envisions between Being (Sein) and what is (Seienaes), i.e., between presencing and what presences, that each is fo((>ver detenuining and determined by the other. Cf. "The Onto�theo-Iogical Constitution of Metaphysics." in Identity and Difference, trans. Joan Stambaugh (New York: Harper & Row�
+
+1969), pp. 61 If., 128 If.
+
+31. Here "d�splays itself" translates sich auslegt. A'Usiegen is usually translated tn these essays with lito interpret." For Heidegger the interpreting accomplished in metaphysics js the correlate of the di.splaying of itself
+
+quence the subjective achieves dominance? For up to Descartes, and also still within his metaphysics, that which is, insofar as it is a particular being, a particular sub-iecturn (hypo-keirnenon), is something lying before from out of itself, which, as such, simultaneously lies at the foundation of its own fixed qualities and changing circumstances. The superiority of a sub-iectum (as a ground lying at the foundation) that is preeminent because it is in an essential respect unconditional arises out of the claim of man to a fU11damentum absolutum inconcussum veritatis (selfsupported, unshakable foundation of truth, in the sense of certainty). Why and how does this claim acquire its decisive authority? The claim originates in that emancipation of man in which he frees himself from obligation to Christian revelational truth and Church doctrine to a legislating for himself that takes its stand upon itself. Through this liberation, the essence of freedom, i.e., being bound by something obligatory, is posited anew. But because, in keeping with this freedom, self-liberating man himself posits what is obligatory, the latter can henceforth be variously defined. The obligatory can be human reason and its law; or whatever is, arranged and objectively ordered from out of such reason; or that chaos, not yet ordered and still to be mastered through objectification, which demands mastery in a
+
+particular age.
+
+But this liberation, although without knowing it, is always still freeing itself from being bound by the revelational truth in which the salvation of man's soul is made certain and is guaranteed for him. Hence liberation from the revelational certainty of salvation had to be intrinsically a freeing to a certainty [Gewissheit] in which man makes secure for himself the true as the known of his own knOWing [Wissens]. That was possible only through self-liberating man's guaranteeing for himself the certainty of the knowable. Such a thing could happen, however, only insofar as man decided, by himself and for himself, what, for him, should be "knowable" and what knOWing and the making secure of the known, i.e., certainty, should mean. Descartes's metaphysical task became the following: to create the metaphysical foundation for the freeing of man to freedom as the self-determination that is certain of itself. That foundation, however, had not only to be itself one that was certain, but since every standard of The Age of the World Picture 149
+
+measure from any other sphere was forbidden, it had al the same time to be of such a kind that through it the essence of the freedom claimed would be posited as self-certainty. And yet everything that is certain from out of itself must at the same time concomitantly make secure as certain that being for which such certain knowing must be certain and through which everything knowable must be made secure. The fundarnenturn, the ground of that freedom, that which lies at its foundation, the subiectum, must be something certain that satisfies the essential demands just mentioned. A subiecturn distinguished in all these respects becomes necessary. What is this something certain that fashions and gives the foundalion? The ego cogito (ergo) sum. The something certain is a principle that declares that, simultaneously (conjointly and lasting an equal length of time) with man's Ihinking, man himself is indubitably co-present, which means now is given to himself. Thinking is representing, settingbefore, is a representing relation to what is represented (idea as
+
+perceptio) '2
+
+To represent means here: of oneself to set something before oneself and to make secure what has been set in place, as SOmething set in place. This making secure must be a calculating, for calculability alone guarantees being certain in advance, and firmly and constantly, of that which is to be represented. Representing is no longer the apprehending of that which presences, within whose unconcealment apprehending itself belongs, belongs indeed as a unique kind of presencing toward that which presences that is unconcealed. Representing is no longer a self-unconcealing for .. . ,33 but is a laying hold and grasping of .... What presences does not hold sway, but rather assault rules. Representing is now, in keeping with the new freedom, a going forthfrom out of itself-into the sphere, first to be made secure, of
+
+32. Perceptio is from the Latin percipere (per + capere), thoroughly to lay hold of. The idea, that which presents itself and is viewed directly, has become the perceptio, that which is laid hold of and set in place and is
+
+thus known.
+
+33. das Sich-entbergen fur .... Sich-entbergen (self-unconcealing) might be very literally translated "self-harboring forth." The verb speaks of that accepting of bounds from out of which Greek man opened himself toward that which presenced to him. See Appendix 8, pp. 143 ff. For a discussion of entbergen and other words formed on bergen, see QT 11 n. 10.
+
+what is made secure. That which is, is no longer that which presences; it is rather that which, in representing, is first set over against, that which stands fixedly over against, which has the character of object [das Gegen-stiindige]. Representing is makingstand-over-against, an objectjfying that goes forward and masters.a, In this way representing drives everything together into the unity of that which is thus given the character of object.
+
+Representing is coagi/alio.
+
+Every relation to something-willing, taking a point of view, being sensible of [something]-is already representing; it is cogitans, which we translate as "thinking:' Therefore Descartes can cover all the modes of voluntas and of affectus, all actiones and passiones, with a designation that is at first surprising; cogitatio. In the ego cogito sum, the cogitare is understood in this essential and new sense. The subiectum, the fundamental certainty, is the being-represented-together-with-made secure at any time--of representing man together with the entity represented, whether something human or non-human, i.e., together with the objective. The fundamental certainty is the me cogitare =me esse that is at any time indubitably representable and represented. This is the fundamental equation of an reckoning belonging to the representing that is itself making itself secure. In this fundamental certainty man is sure that, as the representer of all representing}' and therewith as the realm of all repre sentedness, and hence of all certainty and truth, he is made safe and secure, i.e., is. Only because in the fundamental certainty (in the fundamentum absolutum inconcussum of the me cogitare = me esse), man is, in this way; necessarily represented-togetherwith; only because man who frees himself to himself belongs necessarily within the .ubieclum of this freedom-only for this reason can and must this man himself be transformed into an exceptional being, into a subject which, with regard to that which truly (i.e., certainly) is, which is prirnary,,36 has preeminence among all subiecta. That in the fundamental equation of certainty, and then again in the actual subiec/um, the ego is named dops not mean that man is now being defined in terms of the I
+
+The Age of the World Picture 151
+
+and egoistically. It means simply this: To be subject noW becomes the distinction of man as the thinking-representing being [Wesen]. The I of man is placed in the service of this subieclum. The certainty lying at the foundation of this subiectum is indeed subjective, i.e., is holding sway in the essence of the subiectum; but it is not egoistic. Certainly is binding for every I as such, Le., for every I .. subiecturn. In the same way, everything that intends to be established, through representing objectification, as secured and hence as: in being, is binding for every man. But nothing can elude this objectification that remains at the same time the decision concerning what must be allowed to count as an object. To the essence of the subjectivity of the subieetum and to the essence of man as subject belongs the unconditional delimiting forth [Entschriinkung] of the realm of possible objectification and the right to decide regarding objectification."T
+
+Now it has also been clarified in what sense man as subject intends to be and must be the meaSure and center of that which is, which means of objectsl of whatever stands ... over-against. Man is now no longer rnetron. in the sense of the restricting of his apprehending to the encircling sphere, particularized at any given tjme� of the unconccalment belonging to whatever presences toward which each man presences at any given time. As subi.c-Ium, man is the co-agitatio of the ego. Man founds and confirms himself 35 the authoritative measure for all standards of measure with which whatever can be accounted as certain -i.e./ as true, as in being- is measured off and measured out (reckoned up). Freedom is new as the freedom of the .ubiecturn. In the Meditationes de prima philosophia the freeing of man to the new freedom is brought onto its foundation, the .ubiecfum. The freeing of modern man does not first begin with the ego cogito ergo
+
+37. The nOun Entschriitlk'ung is peculiar to Heidegger, Related nouns mean bounds or that which is enclosed. On the prefix ilnt-, as meaning forth or out, see QT 11 n. 10. Entschrankung expresses Heidegger's view that to set bounds 1S to free what is enclosed to be What it is (d, QT 8). Heidegger is using the word in this context to point up the contrast betwe�n the position of :modern man and that of Greek man, who, far from setting limits, "accepts restriction to the horizon of uncuncealrnent that is limited {beschriinktert} after the manner of the tit and who, far from deciding about what shaH have being, "acknowledges the conceaiedness of what is and the insusceptibility of the latter's presendng or absenting to any de-
+
+ciSion." See p. 146.
+
+SUIIl, nor is the metaphysics of Descartes merely a metaphysics subsequently supplied and therefore externally built onto this freedom, in the sense of an ideology. In the co-agitatio, representing gathers all that is objective into the "all together" of representedness. The ego of the cogitare noW finds in the selfsecuring Utogether" of representedness, in con-scientia� its essence. Conscienlia is the representing setting together of whatever has the character of object, along with representing man, within the sphere of representedness safeguarded by man. Everything that presences receives from out of this representcdness the meaning and manner of its presence [Anwesenheit]-namely, the meaning and manner of presence [Praesenz]-in repraesentatio. The cOrl-scientia of the ego as the sub/ec/um of the coagitatio determines, as the subjectivity of the subiectum that is
+
+distinctive in this way, the Being of whatever is.
+
+The Meditatione. de prima plliloso�" 'ia provide the pattern for an ontology of the subiect11
+
+In keeping with a view now prevalent, let us designate the realm in which the spiritual and creative activity of man is carried out with the name "culture." As part of culture, we count science, together with its cu�tivation and organization. Thus science is ranked among the values which man prizes and toward which,
+
+out of a variety of motives, he directs his attention.
+
+But so long as we take science only in this cultural sense, we 1. "Reflection" is the translation of the noun Besinnung, which means recollection, reflection, consideration, deliberation. The corresponding reflexive verb, sich besinnen, means to recollect, to remember, to call to mind, to think on, to hit upon. Although "reflection" serves the needs of translation best in this and other essays in this volume, the word has serious inadequacies. Most importantly, reflection-from Latin reflectere, to bend back-intrinsically carries connotations uncomfortably close to those in Heidegger's use of vorstellen, to represent or set before, and could suggest the mind's observing of itself. Moreover, reflection, like the other nouns available as translations of Besinnung, lacks any marked connotation of directionality, of following after. The reader should therefore endeavor to hear in "reflection" fresh meaning. For Heidegger Besinnung is a recollecting thinking-on that, as though scenting it out, follows after what is thought. It involves itself with sense (Sinn) and meaning, and is at the same time a "calm, self-possessed surrender to that which is worthy of questioning." See below, pp. 180 ff; d. What Is Called Thinking?, trans. Fred D. Wieck and J. Glenn Gray (New York : Harper & Row, 1968), pp.
+
+will never be able to gauge the scope of its essence.2 This is equally the case for art. Even today we readily name these two together : "art and science." Art also is represented as one sphere of cultural enterprise. But then we experience nothing of its essence. Regarded in terms of its essence, art is a consecration and a refuge in which the real bestows its long-hidden splendor upon man ever anew, that in such light he may see more purely and hear more clearly what addresses itself to his essence.
+
+Science is no more a cultural activity of man than is art. Science is one way, and indeed one decisive way, in which all that is
+
+presents itself to us.
+
+Therefore we must say: The reality within which man of today moves and attempts to maintain himself is, with regard to its fundamental characteristics, determined on an increasing scale by and in conjunction with that which we call Western European
+
+science.
+
+When we ponder this ongoing event, it becomes evident that, in the Western world and during the eras of its history, science has developed such a power as could never have been met with on the earth before, and that consequently this power is ulti-
+
+mately to be spread over the entire globe.
+
+Is science, then, nothing but a fabrication of man that has been elevated to this dominance in such a way as to allow us to assume that one day it can also be demolished again by the will of man through the resolutions of commissions ? Or does a greater destiny rule here? Is there, ruling in science, still something other than a mere wanting to know on the part of man? Thus it is, in fact. Something other reigns. But this other conceals itself from us so long as we give ourselves up to ordinary
+
+notions about science.
+
+This other is a state of affairs that holds sway throughout all the sciences, but that remains hidden to the sciences themselves.
+
+2. "Essence" will be the usual translation in this essay for the noun Wesen. Occasionally Wesen will be translated with "coming to presence." The main argument of the essay is centrally concerned with the "essence" of science. In following the discussion, the reader should keep firmly in mind that for Heidegger the Wesen of science-as of anything whatever-is not simply what science is, but rather the manner in which it pursues its course through time, the manner in which it comports itself in its enduring
+
+Science and Reflection 157
+
+In order that this state of affairs may come into view for us, however, there must be adequate clarity about what science is. But how shall we come to know that? Most surely, it seems, simply by describing the scientific enterprise of our day. Such a presentation could show how, for a long time, ever more decisively and at the same time ever more unobtrusively, the sciences have been intersecting in all organizational forms of modern life : in industry, in commerce, in education, in politics, in warfare, in journalism of all kinds. To be acquainted with this intersecting is important. In order to be able to give an exposition of it, however, we must first have experienced that in which the essence of science lies. This may be expressed in one concise statement. It runs : Science is the theory of the real. This statement intends to provide neither a ready definition nor an easy formula. It contains nothing but questions. They emerge only when the statement is clarified. We must observe first of all that the name "science" [Wissenschaft] in the statement "Science is the theory of the real" always refers exclusively to the new science of modern times. The statement "Science is the theory of the real" holds neither for the science of the Middle Ages nor for that of antiquity. Medieval doctrina is as essentially different from a theory of the real as it is different when contrasted with the episteme of the ancients. Nevertheless, the essence of modern science, which has become world-wide meanwhile as European science, is grounded in the thinking of the
+
+Greeks, which since Plato has been called philosophy.
+
+With these considerations, the revolutionary character of the modern kind of knowing is in no way being weakened. Quite to the contrary, the distinctive character of modern knowing [Wissens] consists in the decisive working out of a tendency that still remains concealed in the essence of knowing as the Greeks experienced it and that precisely needs the Greek knowing in order
+
+to become, over against it, another kind of knowing.
+
+Whoever today dares, questioningly, reflectingly, and, in this way already as actively involved, to respond to the profundity of the world shock that we experience every hour, must not only pay heed to the fact that our present-day world is completely dominated by the desire to know of modern science; he must consider also, and above all else, that every reflection upon that
+
+which now is can take its rise and thrive only if, through a dialogue with the Greek thinkers and their language, it strikes root into the ground of our historical existence. That dialogue still awaits its beginning. It is scarcely prepared for at all, and yet it itself remains for us the precondition of the inevitable
+
+dialogue with the East Asian world.
+
+But a dialogue with the Greek thinkers-and that means at the same time with the Greek poets-does not imply a modern renaissance of the ancients. Just as little does it imply a historiographical curiosity about that which meanwhile has indeed passed, but which still could serve to explain some trends in the modern world chronologically as regards their origins. That which was thought and in poetry was sung at the dawn of Greek antiquity is still present today, present in such a way that its essence, which is still hidden from itself, everywhere comes to encounter us and approaches us most of all where we least suspect it, namely, in the rule of modern technology, which is thoroughly foreign to the ancient world, yet nevertheless
+
+has in the latter its essential origin.
+
+In order to experience this presence [Gegenwart] of history,3 we must free ourselves from the historiographical representation of history that still continues to dominate. Historiographical representation grasps history as an object wherein a happening transpires that is, in its changeability, simultaneously passing
+
+away.
+
+In the statement "Science is the theory of the real" there remains present what was prim ally thought, prim ally destined.4 We will now elucidate the statement from two points of view. Let us first ask, What does "the real" mean? And next, What does "theory" mean? At the same time our elucidation will show how the two, the real and the theoretical, join one another
+
+essentially.
+
+3. The German noun Gegenwart means both "presence" and "the present." It thus speaks of presence expressly in the present. In Was Heisst Denken? (Tubingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1974), Heidegger writes : Anwesen und Anwesenheit heisst: Gegenwart. Diese meint das Entgegenweilen (very literally, "Presencing and presence mean: present-time-presence. The latter means tarrying over against and toward") (p. 141). Cf. What Is Called
+
+Science and Reflection 159
+
+In order to make clear what the name "real" means in the statement "Science is the theory of the real," let us simply consider the word itself. The real [das Wirkliche] brings to fulfillment the realm of working [des Wirkenden], of that which works [wirktJ.5 What does it mean "to work"? The answer to this question must depend on etymology. But what is decisive is the way in which this happens. The mere identifying of old and often obsolete meanings of terms, the snatching up of these meanings with the aim of using them in some new way, leads to nothing if not to arbitrariness. What counts, rather, is for us, in reliance on the early meaning of a word and its changes, to catch sight of the realm pertaining to the matter in question into which the word speaks. What counts is to ponder that essential realm as the one in which the matter named through the word moves. Only in this way does the word speak, and speak in the complex of meanings into which the matter that is named by it unfolds throughout the history of poetry and
+
+thought.
+
+"To work" means "to do" [tun] . What does "to do" mean? The word belongs to the Indo-Germanic stem dhe; from this also stems the Greek thesis: setting, place, position. This doing, however, does not mean human activity only; above all it does not mean activity in the sense of action and agency. Growth also, the holding-sway of nature (physis), is a doing, and that in the strict sense of thesis. Only at a later time do the words physis and thesis come into opposition, something which in turn only becomes possible because a sameness determines them. Physis is thesis: from out of itself to lay something before, to place it here, to bring it hither and forth [her- und vor-bringen], that is, into presencing. That which "does" in such a sense is that which works; it is that which presences,6 in its presencing. The verb
+
+5. Unfortunately it is impossible to show in translation that the word rendered with "real" (Wirkliche) belongs immediately to the family of
+
+words built on the stem of the verb wirken (to work) .
+
+6. das An-wesende. Most literally, "that which endures unto." Heideggcr writes elsewhere : Die deutsche Priiposition "an" bedeutet ursprungliclz zugleich : "auf" und "in" ("The German preposition an [unto] originally means simultaneously 'toward' [auf] and 'into' [in]"). (Was Heisst Denken ?, p. 143). There, in a discussion of presencing, he says : Wesen ist hcr-bci-, ist an-wesen im Streit mit dem ab-wesen (literally, "Wesen [enduring as
+
+"to work" understood in this way-namely, as to bring hither and forth-names, then, one way in which that which presences, presences. To work is to bring hither and forth, whether something brings itself forth hither into presencing of itself or whether the bringing hither and forth of something is accomplished by man. In the language of the Middle Ages our German word wirken still means the producing [Hervorbringen] of houses, tools, pictures; later, the meaning of wirken is narrowed down to producing in the sense of sewing, embroidering, weaving. The real [Wirkliche] is the working, the worked [Wirkende, Gewirkte J; that which brings hither and brings forth into presencing, and that which has been brought hither and brought forth. Reality [Wirklichkeit] means, then, when thought sufficiently broadly : that which, brought forth hither into presencing, lies before ; it means the presencing, consummated in itself, of self-bringing-forth. Wirken belongs to the Indo-Germanic stem uerg, whence our word Werk [work] and the Greek ergon. But never can it be sufficiently stressed : the fundamental characteristic of working and work does not lie in efficere and effectus, but lies rather in this : that something comes to stand and to lie in unconcealment. Even when the Greeks-that is to say, Aristotle-speak of that which the Romans call causa efficiens, they never mean the bringing about of an effect. That which consummates itself in ergon is a self-bringing-forth into full presencing; ergon is that which in the genuine and highest sense presences [an-west] . For this reason and only for this reason does Aristotle name the presence of that which actually presences7 energeia and also entelecheia : a self-holding in consummation (i.e., consummation of presencing). These names, coined by Aristotle for the actual presencing of what presences, are, in respect to what they express, separated by an abyss from the later modern meanings of energeia in the sense of "energy" and of entelecheia in the sense of "entelechy"-talent and capacity for work.
+
+Aristotle's fundamental word for presencing, energeia, is properly translated by our word Wirklichkeit [reality] only if we,
+
+Science and Reflection 161
+
+for our part, think the verb wirken [to work] as the Greeks thought it, in the sense of bringing hither-into unconcealment, forth-into presencing.8 Wesen [to come to presence] is the same word as wiihren, to last or endure. We think presencing [Anwesen] as the enduring of that which, having arrived in unconcealment, remains there. Ever since the period following Aristotle, however, this meaning of energeia, enduring-in-work, has been suppressed in favor of another. The Romans translate, i.e., think, ergon in terms of operatio as actio, and they say, instead of energeia, actus, a totally different word, with a totally different realm of meaning. That which is brought hither and brought forth now appears as that which results from an operatio. A result is that which follows out of and follows upon an actio : the consequence, the out-come [Er-folg]. The real is now that which has followed as consequence. The consequence is brought about by the circumstance [Sache] that precedes it, i.e., by the cause [Ursache] (causa). The real appears now in the light of the causality of the causa efficiens. Even God is represented in theology-not in faith-as causa prima, as first cause. Finally, in the course of the relating of cause and effect,9 following-afterone-another is thrust into the foreground, and with it the elapsing of time. Kant recognized causality as a principle of temporal succession. In the latest works of Werner Heisenberg, the problem of the causal is the purely mathematical problem of the measuring of time. With this change in the reality of the real, however, is bound up something else no less essential. That which has been brought about [das Erwirkte], in the sense of the consequent [des Erfolgten] , shows itself as a circumstance that has been set forth in a doing10-i.e., now, in a performing and
+
+8. her-ins Unverborgene, vor-ins Anwesen.
+
+9. der Ursache-Wirkungsbeziehung.
+
+10. sich ... herausgestellt hat. The verb herausstellen means to put out in place or to expose. Sich herausstellen, in addition to serving simply as a reflexive form with the meaning to put oneself out in place, means to become manifest, to tUrn out, to prove. The main component of the verb stellen (to set or place) is fundamental to all Heidegger's characterizing of that which is taking place in the modern age (d. QT 15, AWP 129-130), while the prefix her- (hither) is regularly one of his primary vehicles for speaking of a bringing into presencing. The use of herausstellen here parallels that of her-vor-bringen above (p. 159) ; see also n. 21 below. Sid! herausstellen will be translated hereafter with either "to set itself forth" or
+
+executing. That which follows in fact and indeed from such a doing is the factual [Tatsachliche] Y The word "factual" today connotes assurance, and means the same thing as "certain" and "sure." Instead of "It is certainly 50," we say "It is in fact 50," and "It is really 50." Nevertheless, it is neither an accident nor a harmless caprice in the change in meaning of mere terms that, since the beginning of the modern period in the seventeenth century, the word "real" has meant the same thing as "certain." The "real," in the sense of what is factual, now constitutes the opposite of that which does not stand firm as guaranteed and which is represented as mere appearance or as something that is only believed to be so. Yet throughout these various changes in meaning the real still retains the more primordially fundamental characteristic, which comes less often and differently to the fore, of something that presences which sets itself forth from
+
+out of itself.
+
+But now the real presents itself in the taking place of consequences. The consequence demonstrates that that which presences has, through it, corne to a secured stand, and that it encounters as such a stand [Stand] . The real now shows itself
+
+as object, that which stands over against [Gegen-Stand] .
+
+The word Gegenstand first originates in the eighteenth century, and indeed as a Germc:n translation of the Latin obiectum. There are profound reasons why the words "object" and "ob-
+
+jectivity" [Gegenstandlich
+
+--------
+
+keit] took on special importance for
+
+-------- "to exhibit itself," depending on the exigencies of the particular context in which it appears\_ The reader should keep in mind that the self-exhibiting of which the verb speaks is a self-setting-forth that involves a setting in place. The importance of the latter nuance of meaning in sich herausstellen is shown by the fact that the verb's introduction here leads directly into a discussion of the appearing of the real as object, as that which stands over against-a connection for the verb that will be found repeatedly in the succeeding pages (see especially p. 163 below). Regrettably, none of the translations here employed can overtly suggest either the evocative force or the Wide-ranging kinship that sich herausstellen possesses in the German
+
+text.
+
+11. Das in der Tat solchen Tuns Erfolgten ist das Tatsiichliche. Tatsiichlich (actual, factual), based on the word Tat (deed), from tun (to do), here makes the connection Heidegger intends in a way that cannot be duplicated
+
+Science and Reflection 163
+
+Goethe. But neither medieval nor Greek thinking represents that which presences as object. We shall now name the kind of presence belonging to that which presences that appears in the
+
+modern age as object: abjectness [Gegenstandigkeit] P
+
+This is first of all a character belonging to that which presences itself. But how the objectness of what presences is brought to appearance and how what presences becomes an object for a setting-before, a representing [Vor-stellen], can show itself to us only if we ask: What is the real in relation to theory, and thus in a certain respect also in and through theory? We now ask, in other words : In the statement "Science is the theory of the rea!," what does the word "theory" mean? The word "theory" stems from the Greek verb theorein. The noun belonging to it is theoria. Peculiar to these words is a lofty and mysterious meaning. The verb thea rein grew out of the coalescing of two root words, thea and horao. Thea (d. theater) is the outward look, the aspect, in which something shows itself, the outward appearance in which it offers itself. Plato names this aspect in which what presences shows what it is, eidos. To have seen this aspect, eidenai, is to know [wissen] .IS The second root word in theorein, horao, means : to look at something attentively, to look it over, to view it closely. Thus it follows that theorein is thean horan, to look attentively on the outward appearance wherein what presences becomes visible and, through such sight-seeing-to
+
+linger with it.14
+
+That particular way of life (bios) that receives its determina-
+
+12. Gegenstandigkeit (objectness) is a word formed by Heidegger to characterize the peculiar mode of presencing that rules in the modern age. It is not to be confused with the familiar German word Gegenstandlichkeit (objectivity) . In accordance with what Heidegger says elsewhere about the word Subjektitat, translated in this volume as "subjectness" (cf. WN 68 n. 9), we may perhaps say that "objectness" speaks of the mode in which Being endures as present as determined by what is, as the latter presences
+
+as object.
+
+13. The verb wissen comes ultimately from the same Indo-European root weid as does the Greek eidenai. See The American Heritage Dictionary, s.v.
+
+"Indo-European Roots," p. 1548.
+
+tion from thearein and devotes itself to it the Greeks call bios theoretikos, the way of life of the beholder, the one who looks upon the pure shining-forth of that which presences. In contrast to this, bios praktikos is the way of life that is dedicated to action and productivity. In adhering to this distinction, however, we must constantly keep one thing in mind : for the Greeks, bios thearetikos, the life of beholding, is, especially in its purest form as thinking, the highest doing. Thearia in itself, and not only through the utility attaching to it, is the consummate form of human existence. For thearia is pure relationship to the outward appearances belonging to whatever presences, to those appearances that, in their radiance, concern man in that they bring the presence [Gegenwart] of the gods to shine forth. The further characterization of thearein, i.e., that it brings the archai and aitiai of what presences before man's apprehension and powers of demonstration, cannot be given here; for this would require a reflection on what Greek experience understood in that which we for so long have represented as principium and causa, ground and cause (See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Bk. VI, chap. 2,
+
+1139ff) .
+
+Bound up with the supremacy accorded theoria within Greek bios is the fact that the Greeks, who in a unique way thought out of their language, i.e., received from it their human existence,15 were also able to hear something else in the word theoria. When differently stressed, the two root words thea and oraa can read thea and Bra. Thea is goddess. It is as a goddess that Aletheia, the unconcealment from out of which and in which that which presences, presences, appears to the early thinker Parmenides. We translate aletheia by the Latin word veritas and by
+
+our German word Wahrheit [truth] .
+
+The Greek word ora signifies the respect we have, the honor and esteem we bestow. If now we think the word thearia in the context of the meanings of the words just cited, then thea ria is the reverent paying heed to the unconcealment of what presences. Theory in the old, and that means the early but by no means the 15. "Existence" translates Dasein. Written as Da-sein, it is translated as "openness-for-Being." See Introduction, p. xxxv n. 2. Cf. AWP Appendix 5, p. 141. The latter meaning should be found also in the translation of Dasein as "existence"; d. the discussion of Being's coming to presence in language
+
+through the cooperation of man given in T 40-41.
+
+Science and Reflection 165
+
+obsolete, sense is the beholding that watches over truth.16 Our old high German word wara (whence wahr, wahren, and Wahr-· heit)17 goes back to the same stem as the Greek horao, ora, wora. The essence of theory as thought by the Greeks, which is ambiguous and from every perspective high and lofty, remains buried when today we speak of the theory of relativity in physics, of the theory of evolution in biology, of the cyclical theory in history, of the natural rights theory in jurisprudence. Nonetheless, within "theory," understood in the modern way, there yet steals the shadow of the early theoria. The former lives out of the latter, and indeed not only in the outwardly identifiable sense of historical dependency. What is taking place here will become clearer when now we ask this question : In distinction from the early theoria, what is "the theory" that is named in the statement
+
+"Modern science is the theory of the real"?
+
+We shall answer with the necessary brevity, since we shall choose an ostensibly superficial way. Let us take careful note how the Greek words theorein and theoria are translated into the Latin and the German languages. Deliberately we say "words" [die Warte] and not "terms" [die Worter], in order to emphasize that, each time, in the coming to presence and holding-sway of
+
+language, it is a destining that decides.
+
+The Romans translate theorein by cantemplari, thearia by cantemplatia. This translation, which issues from the spirit of the Roman language, that is, from Roman existence, makes thai which is essential in what the Greek words say vanish at a stroke. For contemplari means : to partition something off into a separa I e sector and enclose it therein. Templum is the Greek tCHH'Il P,';, which has its origin in an entirely different experience from 11 1.1 1 out of which theorein originates. Temnein means : to ('u l, 10
+
+divide. The uncuttable is the atmeton, a-taman, atom.
+
+The Latin templum means originally a sector carvf'd 0111 III the heavens and on the earth, the cardinal point, the r('l',ioll "f the heavens marked out by the path of the sun. It is wi lil ill 11 11'
+
+16. das hutende Schauen der Wahrheit.
+
+17. This passage makes clear how these words wahr (ll"lll'), "'''/,, ,''' II" keep safe, preserve), Wahrheit (truth) all bear, in Heidcgg" r',; 11111,,1, 11 ,," 1., mental connotations of manifesting and watchful safC'gll,l I,t ! i II)" 'I I I'
+
+region that diviners make their observations in order to determine the future from the flight, cries, and eating habits of birds. (See Ernout-Meillet, Dictionnaire etymologique de la langue latine (3), 1951, p. 1202 : contemplari dictum est a templo, i.e., loco qui ab omni parte aspici, vel ex quo omnis pars videri potest, quem
+
+antiqui templum nominabant).18
+
+In theoria transformed into contemplatio there comes to the fore the impulse, already prepared in Greek thinking, of a looking-at that sunders and compartmentalizes. A type of encroaching advance by successive interrelated steps toward that which is to be grasped by the eye makes itself normative in knowing. But even now the vita contemplativa still remains dis-
+
+tinct from the vita activa.
+
+In the language of medieval Christian piety and theology, the above-mentioned distinction gains still another sense. It contrasts
+
+the meditative-monastic life with the worldly-active one.
+
+The German translation for contemplatio is Betrachtung [view or observation]. The Greek theorein, to look attentively upon the aspect of what presences, appears now as to observe or consider [Betrachten] . Theory is the viewing, the observation, of the real. But what does observation mean? We speak of a contemplative viewing in the sense of religious meditation and introspection. This kind of viewing belongs in the realm of the vita contemplativa just mentioned. We speak also of the viewing of a picture, in looking at which we find release. In such usage, the word Betrachtung [view] is close to beholding, and it still seems to be of like meaning with the early theoria of the Greeks. And yet the "theory" that modern science shows itself to be is something essentially different from the Greek theoria. Thus, when we translate "theory" by "observation" we are giving the word "observation" a different meaning, not an arbitrarily invented one, but rather the one from which it is originally descended. If we take seriously what the German Betrachtung means, we shall recognize what is new in the essence of modern
+
+science as the theory of the real.
+
+What does Betrachtung mean? Trachten [to strive] is the Latin
+
+Science and Reflection 167
+
+tractare, to manipulate, to work over or refine [bearbeitrn] yl To strive after something means : to work one's way toward something, to pursue it, to entrap it in order to secure it. Accordingly, theory as observation [Betrachtung] would be an entrapping and securing refining of the real. But this characterization of science would obviously have to run counter to science's essence. For after alt science as theory is surely "theoretical." It spurns any refining of the real. It stakes everything on grasping the real purely. It does not encroach upon the real in order to change it. Pure science, we proclaim, is "disinterested."
+
+And yet modern science as theory in the sense of an observing that strives after is a refining of the real that does encroach uncannily upon it. Precisely through this refining it corresponds to a fundamental characteristic of the real itself. The real is what presences as self-exhibiting.20 But what presences shows itself in the modern age in such a way as to bring its presencing to a stand in objectness. Science corresponds to this holding-sway of presencing in terms of objects, inasmuch as it for its part, as theory, challenges forth the real specifically through aiming its objectnessY Science sets upon the reaP2 It orders it into place
+
+19. From this point Heidegger continues to use das Wirkliche (the real), but he begins to use forms of the verb arbeiten (to execute, to work, to fashion; [intrans.] to labor) to set forth the way in which modern science, in corresponding to the manner in which the real now presents itself as object in a causal sequence, performs the doing that brings the real forth into its presencing in the modern age. Thus arbeiten and its compoundsbearbeiten (to work over or refine), zuarbeiten (to work toward), umarbeiten (to work around or recast), herausarbeiten (to work out)-are juxtaposed to wirken (to work), discussed above. It has not been possible to show this juxtaposition in the translation. Indeed, the necessity of sometimes translating the verbs formed around arbeiten with uses of the English verb "work" actually functions to obscure it altogether. Heidegger's use here of verbs formed from arbeiten recalls his previous statement : "That which has been brought about, in the sense of the consequent, shows itself as a circumstance that has been set forth in a doing,-i.e., now, in a per forming and executing" (Das Erwirkte im Sinne des Erfolgten zeigt sicll ill-; Sache, die sich in einem Tun, d.h. jetzt Leisten und Arbeiten herausgc.';fI'lIf
+
+hat) (p. 161).
+
+20. das sich herausstellcndc Anwescnde.
+
+21. "Challenges forth" translates herausfordern (literally, dem.llld·. ""I hither) . The structural parallel between the verbs herausfordcrIl .11hl i" , ausstellen bespeaks the correspondence between the refining "I II", 1" , ' I wrought by science as an executing and the real's "working" "I il· ,,·11 22. "Sets upon" translates stellen. On the meaning of thi.'; v( 'iI, . ' 'I
+
+to the end that at any given time the real will exhibit itself as an interacting network,23 i.e., in surveyable series of related causes. The real thus becomes surveyable and capable of being followed out in its sequences. The real becomes secured in its objectness. From this there result spheres or areas of objects that scientific observation can entrap after its fashion.24 Entrapping representation, which secures everything in that objectness which is thus capable of being followed out, is the fundamental characteristic of the representing through which modern science corresponds to the real. But then the all-decisive work [Arbeit] that such representing performs in every science is that refining of the real which first in any way at all expressly works the real out into an objectness through which everything real is recast in advance into a diversity of objects for the entrapping
+
+securing.
+
+The fact that what presences-e.g., nature, man, history, language-sets itself forth as the real in its objectness, the fact that as a complement to this science is transformed into theory that entraps the real and secures it in objectness, would have been as strange to medieval man as it would have been dismay-
+
+ing to Greek thought.
+
+Thus modern science, as the theory of the real, is not anything self-evident. It is neither a mere construct of man nor something extorted from the real. Quite to the contrary, the essence of science is rendered necessary by the presencing of what pres-
+
+15 n. 14. The use of herausstellen to characterize the manner in which the real exhibits and sets itself forth in the modern age has already been noted (p. 161, n. 10). A variety of stellen verbs follow here in this discussion of the conduct of modern science as theory : nachstellen (to entrap), sicherstellen (to make secure), bestellen (to order or command), feststellen (to fix or establish), vorstellen (to represent), umstellen (to encompass), er-
+
+stellen (to set forth), beistellen (to place in association with).
+
+23. "Interacting network" translates Ge-wirk. In isolating the prefix gein the ordinary noun Gewirk (web, texture, weaving), Heidegger would have us hear, in accordance with his foregoing discussion, the more fundamental meaning of a gathering of that which works and is worked. Cf. the discus-
+
+sion of ge-, QT 19.
+
+24. "Spheres or areas of objects" translates Gebiete von Gegenstiinden, a phrase that Heidegger employs only at this one point in the essay. His Gegenstandsgebiet, used frequently in the following pages, is translated as "object-area" to distinguish it from the nearly synonymous Gegenstands-
+
+Science and Reflection 169
+
+ences at the moment when presencing sets itself forth into the objectness of the real. This moment remains mysterious, as does every moment of its kind. It is not only the greatest thoughts that come as upon doves' feet; but at any given time it is the change in the presencing of everything that presences that comes
+
+thus-and before all else.
+
+Theory makes secure at any given time a region of the real as its object-area. The area-character of objectness is shown in the fact that it specifically maps out in advance the possibilities for the posing of questions. Every new phenomenon emerging within an area of science is refined to such a point that it fits into the normative objective coherence of the theory. That normative coherence itself is thereby changed from time to time. But objectness as such remains unchanged in its fundamental characteristics. That which is represented in advance as the determining basis for a strategy and procedure is, in the strict sense of the word, the essence of what is called "end" or "purpose." When something is in itself determined by an end, then it is pure theory. It is determined by the objectness of what presences. Were objectness to be surrendered, the essence of science would be denied. This is the meaning, for example, of the assertion that modern atomic physics by no means invalidates the classical physics of Galileo and Newton but only narrows its realm of validity. But this narrowing is simultaneously a confirmation of the objectness normative for the theory of nature, in accordance with which nature presents itself for representation as a spatiotemporal coherence of motion calculable in some way or other in
+
+advance.
+
+Because modern science is theory in the sense described, therefore in all its observing [Be-trachten] the manner of its strivingafter [Trachtens] , i.e., the manner of its entrapping-securing procedure, i.e., its method, has decisive superiority. An oft-cited statement of Max Planck reads : "That is real which can be measured." This means that the decision about what may pass in science, in this case in physics, for assured knowledge rests with the measurability supplied in the objectness of nature and, in keeping with that measurability, in the possibilities inherent in the measuring procedure. The statement of Max Planck is true, however, only because it articulates something that belongs to
+
+the essence of modern science, not merely to physical science. The methodology, characterized by entrapping securing, that belongs to all theory of the real is a reckoning-up. We should not, of course, understand this term in the narrow sense of performing an operation with numbers. To reckon, in the broad, essential sense, means : to reckon with something, i.e., to take it into account; to reckon on something, i.e., to set it up as an object of expectation. In this way, all objectification of the real is a reckoning, whether through causal explanation it pursues the consequences of causes, whether through morphology it puts itself into the picture in precedence over objects, or whether in its fundamental elements it secures and guarantees some coherence of sequence and order. Mathematics also is not a reckoning in the sense of performing operations with numbers for the purpose of establishing quantitative results; but, on the contrary, mathematics is the reckoning that, everywhere by means of equations, has set up as the goal of its expectation the harmonizing of all relations of order, and that therefore "reckons" in advance with one fundamental equation for all
+
+merely possible o�dering.
+
+Because modern science as the theory of the real depends on the precedence that attaches to its method, therefore it must, as a securing of object-areas, delimit these areas over against one another and localize them, as thus delimited, within compartments, i.e., compartmentalize them. The theory of the real is
+
+necessarily departmentalized science.
+
+Investigation of an object-area must, in the course of its work, agree with the particular form and modification possessed at any given time by the objects belonging to that area. Such agreement with the particular transforms the procedure of a branch of science into specialized research. Specialization, therefore, is in no way either a deterioration due to some blindness or a manifestation of the decline of modern science. Specialization is also not merely an unavoidable evil. It is a necessary consequence, and indeed the positive consequence, of the coming to presence
+
+[W esen ] of modern science.
+
+The delimiting of object-areas, the compartmentalizing of these into special provinces, does not split the sciences off from one another, but rather it first yields a border traffic between them Science and Reflection 171
+
+by means of which boundary areas are marked out. Those areas are the source of a special impetus that produces new formulations of questions that are often decisive. We know this fact. The reason for it remains enigmatic, as enigmatic as the entire
+
+essence of modern science.
+
+We have, indeed, already characterized this essence by elucidating the statement "Science is the theory of the real" according to its two principal words. This happened in preparation for our second step, which is to ask: What inconspicuous state
+
+of affairs conceals itself in the essence of science?25
+
+We shall notice this state of affairs the moment that, taking particular sciences as examples, we attend specifically to whatever is the case regarding the ordering-in any given instanceof the objectness belonging to the object-area of those sciences. Physics, which, roughly speaking, now includes macrophysics and atomic physics, astrophysics and chemistry, observes nature (physis) insofar as nature exhibits itself as inanimate. In such objectness nature manifests itself as a coherence of motion of material bodies. The fundamental trait of the corporeal is impenetrability, which, for its part, presents itself as a kind of coherence of motion of elementary objects. The elementary objects themselves and their coherence are represented in classical
+
+25. "State of affairs" translates the noun Sachverhalt. Sachverhalt might be rendered very literally "relating or conjoining of matters." Heidegger is doubtless here using this word as he does elsewhere, at the outset of the intricate discussion in "Time and Being" (see On Time and Being, trans. Joan Stambaugh [New York : Harper & Row, 1972], p. 4, where the word is translated "matter at stake") to point to the wholly singular and selfinitiating bringing-to-pass (Ereignis)-not brought about by anything from beyond itself and not bringing about anything as its consequence-that takes place as and within Being itself, the bringing-to-pass that, precisely as a disclosing, brings Being and man into their own at any given time in giving them into their needed belonging to one another. Cf. T 45 ff; cf. also "Time and Being," pp. 23 ff. Although "Being" is scarcely mentioned as such in this essay and the word Ereignis is never used, the relating of Being-as the Being of whatever is-to man, whose science works over the real, clearly underlies Heidegger's entire discussion and comes tellingly if hiddenly into play with this use of Sachverhalt and in the discussion that follows to the end of the essay. The same allusion as that in Sachverhalt lies in Heidegger's later discussion of that which is not to be gotten around that is intractable and inaccessible (das unzugiingliche Unumgiingliche) ; and it sounds somewhat more evidently in his mention of that which is worthy of questioning (das Fragwurdige) . Cf. AWP, Appendix 1, pp. 137-138.
+
+physics as geometrical point mechanics, in the physics of today under the headings "nucleus" and "field." Accordingly, for classical physics every state of motion of bodies that occupy space is at any time simultaneously determinable-Le., is precisely calculable in advance, predictable-both as to position and as to velocity. In contrast to this, in atomic physics a state of motion may on principle only be determined either as to position or as to velocity. Correspondingly, classical physics maintains that nature may be unequivocally and completely calculated in advance, whereas atomic physics admits only of the guaranteeing of an objective coherence that has a statistical character. The objectness of material nature shows in modern atomic physics fundamental characteristics completely different from those that it shows in classical physics. The latter, classical physics, can indeed be incorporated within the former, atomic physics, but not vice versa. Nuclear physics does not permit itself to be traced back to classical physics and reduced to it. And yet-modern nuclear and field physics also still remains physics, i.e., science, i.e., theory, which entraps objects belonging to the real, in their objectness, in order to secure them in the unity of objectness. For modern physics too it is a question of making secure those elementary objects of which all other objects in its entire area consist. The representing belonging to modern physics is also bent on "being able to write one single fundamental equation from which the properties of all elementary particles, and therewith the behavior of all matter whatever,
+
+follow."\*
+
+This rough indication of a distinction between epochs within modern physics makes plain where the change from the one to the other takes place:26 in the experience and determination of the objectness wherein nature sets itself forth. Nevertheless, what does not change with this change from geometrizing-classical physics to nuclear and field physics is this : the fact that nature has in advance to set itself in place for the entrapping securing
+
+Science and Reflection 173
+
+that science, as theory, accomplishes. However, the way in which in the most recent phase of atomic physics even the object vanishes also, and the way in which, above all, the subject-object relation as pure relation thus takes precedence over the object and the subject, to become secured as standing-reserve, cannot
+
+be more precisely discussed in this place.
+
+(Objectness changes into the constancy of the standing-reserve, a constancy determined from out of Enframing. [See "The Question Concerning Technology."] The subject-object relation thus reaches, for the first time, its pure "relational," i.e., ordering, character in which both the subject and the object are sucked up as standing-reserves. That does not mean that the subjectobject relation vanishes, but rather the opposite : it now attains to its most extreme dominance, which is predetermined from out of Enframing. It becomes a standing-reserve to be commanded
+
+and set in order.)27
+
+We are now considering the inconspicuous state of affairs that
+
+lies in the holding-sway of objectness.
+
+Theory identifies the real-in the case of physics, inanimate nature-and fixes it into one object-area. However, nature is always presencing of itself. Objectification, for its part, is directed toward nature as thus presencing. Even where, as in modern atomic physics, theory-for essential reasons-necessarily becomes the opposite of direct viewing, its aim is to make atoms exhibit themselves for sensory perception, even if this selfexhibiting of elementary particles happens only very indirectly and in a way that technically involves a multiplicity of intermediaries. (Compare the Wilson cloud chamber, the Geiger counter, the free balloon flights to confirm and identify mesons.) Theory never outstrips nature-nature that is already presencing-and in this sense theory never makes its way around nature. Physics may well represent the most general and pervasive lawfulness of nature in terms of the identity of matter and energy; and what is represented by physics is indeed nature itself, but undeniably it is only nature as the object-area, whose objectness is first defined and determined through the refining that is char-27. For this paragraph Heidegger uses brackets. The reference to QT
+
+acteristic of physics and is expressly set forth in that refining. Nature, in its objectness for modern physical science, is only one way in which what presences-which from of old has been named physis-reveals itself and sets itself in position for the refining characteristic of science. Even if physics as an object-area is unitary and self-contained, this objectness can never embrace the fullness of the coming to presence of nature. Scientific representation is never able to encompass the coming to presence of naturej for the objectness of nature is, antecedently, only one way in which nature exhibits itself. Nature thus remains for the science of physics that which cannot be gotten around. This phrase means two things here. First, nature is not to be "gotten around" inasmuch as theory never passes that which presences by, but rather remains directed toward it. Further, nature is not to be gotten around inasmuch as objectness as such prevents the representing and securing that correspond to it from ever being able to encompass the essential fullness of nature. It is this, at bottom, that haunted Goethe in his abortive struggle with Newtonian physics. Goethe could not yet see that his intuitive representing of nature also moves within the medium of objectness, within the subject-object relation, and therefore in principle is not different from physics and remains the same metaphysically as physics. Scientific representation, for its part, can never decide whether nature, through its objectness, does not rather withdraw itself than bring to appearance the hidden fullness of its coming to presence. Science cannot even ask this question, for, as theory, it has already undertaken to deal with the area
+
+circumscribed by objectness.
+
+In the objectness of nature to which physics as objectification corresponds, that which-in a twofold sense-is not to be gotten around holds sway. As soon as we have once caught sight in one science of that which is not to be gotten around and have also
+
+considered it somewhat, we see it easily in every other.
+
+Psychiatry strives to observe the life of the human soul in its sick-and that means always simultaneously in its healthymanifestations. It represents these in terms of the objectness of the bodily-psychical-spiritual unity of the whole man. At any given time human existence, which is already presencing, displays itself in the objectness belonging to psychiatry. The open-
+
+ness-for-Being [Da-sein] in which man as man ek-sists, remains
+
+that which for psychiatry is not to be gotten around.
+
+Historiography, which ever more urgently is developing into the writing of universal history, accomplishes its entrapping securing in the area that offers itself to its theory as history. The word Historie (historein) [historiography] means to explore and make visible, and therefore names a kind of representing. In contrast, the word Geschichte [history] means that which takes its course inasmuch as it is prepared and disposed in such and such a way, i.e., set in order and sent forth, destined. Historiography is the exploration of history. But historiographical observation does not first create history itself. Everything "historiographical/' everything represented and established after the manner of historiography, is historical [geschichtlich L i.e., grounded upon the destining resident in happening. But history
+
+is never necessarily historiographical.
+
+Whether history reveals itself in its essence only through and for historiography or whether it is not rather concealed through historiographical objectification remains for the science of history something it cannot itself decide. This, however, is decided : In the theory of historiography, history holds sway as that which
+
+is not to be gotten around.
+
+Philology makes the literature of nations and peoples into the object of its explanation and interpretation. The written word of literature is at any given time the spoken word of a language. When philology deals with language, it treats it in accordance with the objective ways of looking at language that are established through grammar, etymology, and comparative linguistics,
+
+through the art of composition and poetics.
+
+Yet language speaks without becoming literature and entirely independently of whether literature for its part attains to the objectness with which the determinations of a literary science correspond. In the theory of philology language holds sway as
+
+that which is not to be gotten around.
+
+Nature, man, history, language, all remain for the aforementioned sciences that which is not to be gotten around, already holding sway from within the objectness belonging to them remain that toward which at any given time those sciences are directed, but that which, in the fullness of its coming to
+
+presence, they can never encompass by means of their representing.28 This impotence of the sciences is not grounded in the fact that their entrapping securing never comes to an end; it is grounded rather in the fact that in principle the objectness in which at any given time nature, man, history, language, exhibit themselves always itself remains only one kind of presencing, in which indeed that which presences can appear, but never
+
+absolutely must appear.
+
+That which is not to be gotten around, as characterized above, holds sway in the essence of every science. Is this, then, the inconspicuous state of affairs that we should like to bring into view? Yes and no. Yes, inasmuch as that which is not to be gotten around belongs to the state of affairs referred to ; no, insofar as what is not to be gotten around, as mentioned above, of itself alone still does not constitute that state of affairs. This is already evident in the fact that what is not to be gotten around still
+
+itself occasions a further essential question.
+
+That which is not to be gotten around holds sway in the essence of science. Accordingly, it would have to be expected that science itself could find present within itself that which is not to be gotten around, and could define it as such. But it is precisely this that does not come about, and indeed because anything like it is essentially impossible. What is the basis for our knowing this? If the sciences themselves should at any time be able to find at hand within themselves what is not to be gotten around of which we are speaking, they would have before all else to be in a position to conceive and represent their
+
+own essence. But they are never in a position to do this.
+
+Physics as physics can make no assertions about physics. All the assertions of physics speak after the manner of physics. Physics itself is not a possible object of a physical experiment. The same holds for philology. As the theory of language and literature, philology is never a possible object of philological
+
+observation. This is equally the case for every science.
+
+Nevertheless, an objection could arise. Historiography, as a science, has a history as do all the rest of the sciences. Thus the science of history is able to observe itself in the sense of apply-
+
+Science and Reflection 177
+
+ing its own method and thematic procedure to itself. To be sure. Through such observation, historiography grasps the history of the science that it itself is. But through doing this historiography never grasps its essence as historiography, i.e., as a science. If we want to assert something about mathematics as theory, then we must leave behind the object-area of mathematics, together with mathematics' own way of representing. We can never discover through mathematical reckoning what mathematics
+
+itself is.
+
+It remains the case, then, that the sciences are not in a position at any time to represent themselves to themselves, to set themselves before themselves, by means of their theory and through
+
+the modes of procedure belonging to theory.
+
+If it is entirely denied to science scientifically to arrive at its own essence, then the sciences are utterly incapable of gaining access to that which is not to be gotten around holding sway in
+
+their essence.
+
+Here something disturbing manifests itself. That which in the sciences is not at any time to be gotten around-nature, man, history, language-is, as that which is not to be gotten around [Unumgangliche L intractable and inaccessible [unzuganglich]
+
+for the sciences and through the sciences.29
+
+Only when we also pay heed to this inaccessibility of that which is not to be gotten around does that state of affairs come into view which holds complete sway throughout the essence
+
+of science.
+
+But why do we call that which is inaccessible and not to be gotten around the inconspicuous [unscheinbare] state of affairs 730
+
+29. Unumgiingliche and unzugiinglich are built on the stem of the verb gehen (to go) . In this passage Heidegger uses several forms of gehen itself : eingehen (to arrive at), zugehen (to gain access to), gehen (to move), iibergehen (to pass over). And subsequently das iibergangene, translated with "that which is passed over," will also be used. In most cases it has been impossible to translate these words so as to show the close connection existing among them. Hence this passage carries in the German a fore<' arising out of repetition, which the translation cannot reproduce. And il evinces, in that repetition, the interrelated unitariness of that about which
+
+30. Unscheinbar means literally, "not shining," "not bright." The v . . .. h i" the sentence that follows here, auffallen, means not only to strik(' as ,,1 1."'):" . but first of all, to fall upon, to fall open. Heidegger clearly int .,,,d,, 11 ..11 II ,,·
+
+The inconspicuous does not strike us as strange. It may be seen, yet without being particularly heeded. Does the state of affairs shown us in the essence of science remain unnoticed only because we think too little and too seldom on the essence of science? That scarcely anyone could justifiably maintain. On the contrary, many evidences speak for the fact that, not only through physics but through all the sciences, there moves a strange restiveness. Before this, however, in past centuries of intellectual and scientific history in the West, attempts to delimit and define the essence of science have made themselves felt again and again. The passionate and incessant troubling over this is therefore above all a fundamental characteristic of modern times. How, then, could that state of affairs remain unheeded? Today we speak of "the crisis at the foundations" of the sciences. That crisis, in fact, touches only the fundamental concepts of the individual sciences. It is in no way a crisis of science as such. Today science goes its way more securely than ever before. That which is inaccessible and not to be gotten around, which holds sway throughout the sciences and in that way renders their essence enigmatic, is, however, something far more, i.e., something essentially other, than a mere unsureness in the providing of fundamental concepts by means of which at any given time an area is placed in association with the sciences. Thus the restiveness in the sciences extends far beyond the mere precariousness of their fundamental concepts. We are restive in the sciences and yet cannot say for what reason or to what end, despite multifarious discussions about the sciences. Today we philosophize about the sciences from the most diverse standpoints. Through such philosophical efforts, we fall in with the self-exhibiting that is everywhere being attempted by the sciences themselves in the form of synthetic resumes and through the recounting of the
+
+history of science.
+
+But for all that, what is inaccessible and not to be gotten around remains in inconspicuousness. Therefore the inconspicuousness of the state of affairs cannot lie only in the fact that it
+
+meanings that the translation here displays should be heard as primary in these two words at this point. But at the same time both also contain connotations of self-manifestation, which he will bring out as the discus··
+
+Science and Reflection 179
+
+does not astound us and that we do not notice it. The inconspicuousness of the state of affairs, its failure to shine forth, is grounded rather in the fact that it, of itself, does not come to appearance. The fact that that which is inaccessible and not to be gotten around is continually passed over depends on it itself as such. Inasmuch as such inconspicuousness is a fundamental characteristic of the aforementioned state of affairs itself, the
+
+latter is defined adequately only when we say:
+
+The state of affairs that holds sway throughout the essence of science, i.e., throughout the theory of the real, is that which is inaccessible and not to be gotten around, which is constantly
+
+passed over.31
+
+The inconspicuous state of affairs conceals itself in the sciences. But it does not lie in them as an apple lies in a basket. Rather we must say: The sciences, for their part, lie in the incon-
+
+spicuous state of affairs as the river lies in its source.
+
+Our aim was to point to that state of affairs, in order that it itself might beckon us into the region from out of which stems
+
+the essence of science.
+
+What have we achieved? We have become attentive to that which is inaccessible and not to be gotten around, which is constantly passed over. It shows itself to us in [an] the objectness into which the real sets itself forth and through whose whole extent theory entraps objects in order, for the sake of representation, to secure those objects and their coherence in the object-area of a particular science at a particular time. The inconspicuous state of affairs holds sway throughout the objectness in which the reality of the real as well as the theory of the real moves freely, and in which consequently the entire essence, the coming to presence, of the modern science of this new era moves freely also. We shall be satisfied with having pointed to the inconspicuous state of affairs. To bring out what it is in itself would require that we pose further questions. Through this pointing to the inconspicuous state of affairs we are, however, directed onto a way that brings us before that which is worthy of questioning. In contradistinction to all that is merely questionable, as well as to everything that is "without question," that which is worthy
+
+of questioning alone affords, from out of itself, the clear impetus and untrammeled pause through which we are able to call toward us and call near that which addresses itself to our essence.32 Traveling in the direction that is a way toward that which is worthy of questioning is not adventure but homecoming.
+
+To follow a direction that is the way that something has, of itself, already taken is called, in our language, sinnan, sinn en [to sense] . To venture after sense or meaning [Sinn] is the essence of reflecting [Besinnen]. This means more than a mere making conscious of something. We do not yet have reflection when we have only consciousness. Reflection is more. It is calm, selfpossessed surrender to that which is worthy of questioning. Through reflection so understood we actually arrive at the place where, without having experienced it and without having seen penetratingly into it, we have long been sojourning. In reflection we gain access to a place from out of which there first opens the space traversed at any given time by all our doing and
+
+leaving undone.
+
+Reflection is of a different essence from the making conscious and the knowing that belong to science; it is of a different essence also from intellectual cultivation [Bildung] . The word bilden [to form or cultivate] means first: to set up a preformed model [Vor-bild] and to set forth a preestablished rule [Vorschrift] . It means, further, to give form to inherent tendencies. Intellectual cultivation brings before man a model in the light of which he shapes and improves all that he does. Cultivating the intellect requires a guiding image rendered secure in advance, as well as a standing-ground fortified on all sides. The putting forward of a common ideal of culture and the rule of that ideal presuppose a situation and bearing of man that is not in question and that is secured in every direction. This presupposition, for its part, must be based on a belief in the invincible power of an
+
+immutable reason and its principles.
+
+As over against this, reflection first brings us onto the way
+
+32. In this sentence the reader will recognize, although in a very different guise, a portrayal much like that which Heidegger gives in "The Turni ng" of the manifesting, freeing, restoring, that may take place from Wit/,ill 'lIlei for Being-as the Being of whah'v,'r is-·-and for man in the ('"mil l)" to
+
+11 l'Pspnce of nHHkrn l<'('hnolo)�y.
+
+man pursuing a way through a science, can move, as a thinking being,34 on various levels of reflection and can keep reflection
+
+vigilant.
+
+Yet even there where once, through a special favor, the highest level of reflection might be attained, reflection would have to be content only with preparing a readiness for the exhortation and
+
+consolation that our human race today needs.
+
+Reflection is not needed, however, in order that it may remove some chance perplexity or break down an antipathy to thinking. Reflection is needed as a responding that forgets itself in the clarity of ceaseless questioning away' at the inexhaustibleness of That which is worthy of questioning-of That from out of which, in the moment properly its own, responding loses the character
+
+of questioning and becomes simply saying.
\ No newline at end of file
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+DIALECTIC OF ENLIGHTENMENT
+
+*Philosophical Fragments*
+
+MAX HORKHEIMER *and*
+
+THEODOR W. ADORNO
+
+*Edited by Gunzelin Schmid Noerr*
+
+*Translated by Edmund Jephcott*
+
+,
+
+*Dialectic of Enlightenment: Philosophical Fragments* is translated from Volume 5 of Max Horkheimer, *Gesammelte Schriften: Dialektik der Aufklärung und Schriften 1940–1950*, edited by Gunzelin Schmid Noerr, ©1987 by S. Fishcher
+
+Verlag GmbH, Frankfurt am Main.
+
+Asterisks in the text and display material mark editorial notes created for the German edition. They include variant readings and other textual concerns. They are keyed in the reference matter section via the number of the page on which the asterisk appears and the preceding word. Numbered notes are those
+
+created by Horkheimer and Adorno themselves.
+
+English translation ©2002 by the Board of Trustees
+
+of the Leland Stanford Junior University
+
+Horkheimer, Max, 1895–1973
+
+[Philosophische Fragmente. English]
+
+Dialectic of enlightenment : philosophical fragments / Max Horkheimer and
+
+Theodor W. Adorno ; edited by Gunzelin Schmid Noerr ; translated by
+
+Edmund Jephcott.
+
+p. cm. — (Cultural memory in the present)
+
+Includes bibliographical references.
+
+isbn 0-8047-3632-4 (alk. paper) — isbn 0-8047-3633-2 (pbk: alk. paper) 1. Philosophy. I. Adorno, Theodor W., 1903–1969. II. Schmid Noerr,
+
+Gunzelin. III. Title. IV. Series. b3279.h8473 p513 2002
+
+193—dc21 2002000073
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+Original Printing 2002
+
+Last figure below indicates year of this printing: 11 10 09 08 07 06 05 04 03 02
+
+Typeset at Stanford University Press in 11/13.5 Adobe Garamond
+
+*For Friedrich Pollock\**
+
+*Preface to the New Edition (1969)* xi *Preface to the Italian Edition (1962/1966)* xiii *Preface (1944 and 1947)* xiv
+
+The Concept of Enlightenment 1
+
+Excursus I: Odysseus or Myth and Enlightenment 35
+
+Excursus II: Juliette or Enlightenment and Morality 63
+
+The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception 94
+
+Elements of Anti-Semitism: Limits of Enlightenment 137
+
+Notes and Sketches 173
+
+*Editor's Afterword* 217
+
+*The Disappearance of Class History in "Dialectic of Enlightenment": A Commentary on the Textual Variants*
+
+*(1944 and 1947), by Willem van Reijen and Jan Bransen* 248 *Notes* 253
+
+*Contents*
+
+*Dialectic of Enlightenment* was published in 1947 by Querido in Amsterdam. The book, which found readers only gradually, has been out of print for some time. We have been induced to reissue it after more than twenty years not only by requests from many sides but by the notion that not a few of the ideas in it are timely now and have largely determined our later theoretical writings. No one who was not involved in the writing could easily understand to what extent we both feel responsible for every sentence. We dictated long stretches together; the *Dialectic* derives its vital energy from the tension between the two intellectual temperaments which
+
+came together in writing it.
+
+We do not stand by everything we said in the book in its original form. That would be incompatible with a theory which attributes a temporal core to truth instead of contrasting truth as something invariable to the movement of history. The book was written at a time when the end of the National Socialist terror was in sight. In not a few places, however, the formulation is no longer adequate to the reality of today. All the same, even at that time we did not underestimate the implications of the transi-
+
+tion to the administered world.
+
+In a period of political division into immense blocs driven by an objective tendency to collide, horror has been prolonged. The conflicts in the third world and the renewed growth of totalitarianism are not mere historical interludes any more than, according to the *Dialectic*, fascism was at that time. Critical thought, which does not call a halt before progress itself, requires us to take up the cause of the remnants of freedom, of tendencies toward real humanity, even though they seem powerless in face of
+
+the great historical trend.
+
+The development toward total integration identified in the book has
+
+*Preface to the New Edition (1969)*
+
+been interrupted but not terminated; it threatens to be consummated by means of dictators and wars. Our prognosis regarding the associated lapse from enlightenment into positivism, into the myth of that which is the case, and finally of the identity of intelligence and hostility to mind, has been overwhelmingly confirmed. Our concept of history does not believe itself elevated above history, but it does not merely chase after information in the positivist manner. As a critique of philosophy it does not seek to
+
+abandon philosophy itself.
+
+From America, where the book was written, we returned to Germany with the conviction that, theoretically and practically, we would be able to achieve more there than elsewhere. Together with Friedrich Pollock, to whom the book is dedicated on his seventy-fifth birthday as it was then on his fiftieth, we built up the Institut für Sozialforschung once again, with the idea of taking further the concepts formulated in *Dialectic*. In continuing to develop our theory, and in the common experiences connected with it, Gretel Adorno has given us the most valuable assistance, as
+
+she did with the first version.
+
+We have made changes far more sparingly than is usual with re-editions of books dating back several decades. We did not want to retouch what we had written, not even the obviously inadequate passages. To bring the text fully up to date with the current situation would have amounted to nothing less than writing a new book. That what matters today is to preserve and disseminate freedom, rather than to accelerate, however indirectly, the advance toward the administered world, we have also argued in our later writings. We have confined ourselves here to correcting misprints and suchlike matters. This restraint has made the book a piece of docu-
+
+mentation; we hope that it is also more.
+
+Max Horkheimer Theodor W. Adorno
+
+*Frankfurt am Main, April 1969*
+
+The German text of *Dialectic of Enlightenment* is a fragment. Begun as early as 1942, during the Second World War, it was supposed to form the introduction to the theory of society and history we had sketched during the period of National Socialist rule. It is self-evident that, with regard to terminology and the scope of the questions investigated, the book is
+
+shaped by the social conditions in which it was written.
+
+In keeping with its theme, our book demonstrates tendencies which turn cultural progress into its opposite. We attempted to do this on the basis of social phenomena of the 1930s and 1940s in America. However, to construct a systematic theory which would do justice to the present economic and political circumstances is a task which, for objective and subjective reasons, we are unable to perform today. We are therefore happy that the fragment is appearing in a series devoted predominantly to philo-
+
+sophical questions.
+
+M.H. and T.W.A.
+
+*Frankfurt am Main, March 1966*
+
+*Preface to the Italian Edition*\* *(1962/1966)*
+
+When\* we began this work, the first samples of which we dedicate to Friedrich Pollock, we hoped to be able to present the whole book on his fiftieth birthday. But the further we proceeded with the task the more we became aware of the mismatch between it and our own capabilities. What we had set out to do was nothing less than to explain why humanity, instead of entering a truly human state, is sinking into a new kind of \* barbarism. We underestimated the difficulty of dealing with the subject because we still placed too much trust in contemporary consciousness. While we had noted for many years that, in the operations of modern science, the major discoveries are paid for with an increasing\* decline of theoretical education, we nevertheless believed that we could follow those operations to the extent of limiting our work primarily to a critique or a continuation of specialist theories. Our work was to adhere, at least thematically, to the traditional disciplines: sociology, psychology, and episte-
+
+mology.
+
+The fragments we have collected here show, however, that we had to abandon that trust. While attentive cultivation and investigation of the scientific heritage—especially when positivist new brooms have swept it away as useless lumber—does represent one moment of knowledge, in the present collapse of bourgeois civilization not only the operations but the purpose of science have become dubious. The tireless self-destruction of enlightenment hypocritically celebrated by implacable fascists and implemented by pliable experts in humanity\* compels thought to forbid itself its last remaining innocence regarding the habits and tendencies of the *Zeitgeist*. If public life has reached a state in which thought is being turned inescapably into a commodity and language into celebration of the commodity, the attempt to trace the sources of this degradation must refuse
+
+*Preface (1944 and 1947)*
+
+obedience to the current linguistic and intellectual demands before it is rendered entirely futile by the consequence of those demands for world
+
+history.
+
+If the only obstacles were those arising from the oblivious instrumentalization of science, thought about social questions could at least attach itself to tendencies opposed to official science. Those tendencies, too, however, are caught up in the general process of production. They have changed no less than the ideology they attacked. They suffer the fate which has always been reserved for triumphant thought. If it voluntarily leaves behind its critical element to become a mere means in the service of an existing order, it involuntarily tends to transform the positive cause it has espoused into something negative and destructive. The eighteenthcentury philosophy which, defying the funeral pyres for books and people, put the fear of death into infamy, joined forces with it under Bonaparte. Finally, the apologetic school of Comte usurped the succession to the uncompromising *encyclopédistes*, extending the hand of friendship\* to all those whom the latter had opposed. Such metamorphoses of critique into affirmation do not leave theoretical content untouched; its truth evaporates. Today, however, motorized history is rushing ahead of such intellectual developments, and the official spokesmen, who have other concerns, are liquidating the theory to which they owe their place in the
+
+sun\* before it has time to prostitute itself completely.\*
+
+In reflecting on its own guilt, therefore, thought finds itself deprived not only of the affirmative reference to science and everyday phenomena but also of the conceptual language of opposition. No terms are available which do not tend toward complicity with the prevailing intellectual trends, and what threadbare language cannot achieve on its own is precisely made good by the social machinery. The censors voluntarily maintained by the film factories to avoid greater costs have their counterparts in all other departments. The process to which a literary text is subjected, if not in the automatic foresight of its producer then through the battery of readers, publishers, adapters, and ghost writers inside and outside the editorial office, outdoes any censor in its thoroughness. To render their function entirely superfluous appears, despite all the benevolent reforms, to be the ambition of the educational system. In the belief that without strict limitation to the observation of facts and the calculation of probabilities the cognitive mind would be overreceptive to charlatanism and
+
+superstition, that system is preparing arid ground for the greedy acceptance of charlatanism and superstition. Just as prohibition has always ensured the admission of the poisonous product, the blocking of the theoretical imagination has paved the way for political delusion. Even when people have not already succumbed to such delusion, they are deprived by the mechanisms of censorship, both the external ones and those implant-
+
+ed within them, of the means of resisting it.
+
+The aporia which faced us in our work thus proved to be the first matter we had to investigate: the self-destruction of enlightenment. We have no doubt—and herein lies our *petitio principii*—that freedom in society is inseparable from enlightenment thinking. We believe we have perceived with equal clarity, however, that the very concept of that thinking, no less than the concrete historical forms, the institutions of society with which it is intertwined, already contains the germ of the regression\* which is taking place everywhere today. If enlightenment does not assimilate reflection on this regressive moment, it seals its own fate. By leaving consideration of the destructive side of progress to its enemies, thought in its headlong\* rush into pragmatism is forfeiting its sublating character, and therefore its relation to truth. In the mysterious willingness of the technologically educated masses to fall under the spell of any despotism, in its self-destructive affinity to nationalist paranoia, in all this uncomprehended senselessness the weakness of contemporary theoretical under-
+
+standing is evident.
+
+We believe that in these fragments we have contributed to such understanding by showing that the cause of enlightenment's relapse into mythology is to be sought not so much in the nationalist, pagan, or other modern mythologies concocted specifically to cause such a relapse as in the fear of truth which petrifies enlightenment itself. Both these terms, enlightenment and truth, are to be understood as pertaining not merely to intellectual history but also to current reality. Just as enlightenment expresses the real movement of bourgeois society as a whole from the perspective of the idea embodied in its personalities and institutions, truth refers not merely to rational\* consciousness but equally to the form it takes in reality. The loyal son of modern civilization's fear of departing from the facts, which even in their perception are turned into clichés by the prevailing usages in science, business, and politics, is exactly the same as the fear of social deviation. Those usages also define the concept of clarity in
+
+language and thought to which art, literature, and philosophy must conform today. By tabooing any thought which sets out negatively from the facts and from the prevailing modes of thought as obscure, convoluted, and preferably foreign, that concept holds mind captive in ever deeper blindness. It is in the nature of the calamitous situation existing today that even the most honorable reformer who recommends renewal in threadbare language reinforces the existing order he seeks to break by taking over its worn-out categorial apparatus and the pernicious power-philosophy lying behind it. False clarity is only another name for myth. Myth was always obscure and luminous at once. It has always been distinguished by its
+
+familiarity and its exemption from the work of concepts.
+
+The enslavement to nature of people today cannot be separated from social progress. The increase in economic productivity which creates the conditions for a more just world also affords the technical apparatus and the social groups controlling it a disproportionate advantage over the rest of the population. The individual is entirely nullified in face of the economic powers. These powers are taking society's domination over nature to unimagined heights. While individuals as such are vanishing before the apparatus they serve, they are provided for by that apparatus and better than ever before. In the unjust state of society the powerlessness and pliability of the masses increase\* with the quantity of goods allocated to them. The materially considerable and socially paltry rise in the standard of living of the lower classes is reflected in the hypocritical propagation of intellect. Intellect's true concern is a negation of reification. It must perish when it is solidified into a cultural asset and handed out for consumption purposes. The flood of precise information and brand-new amusements
+
+make people smarter and more stupid at once.
+
+What is at issue here is not culture as a value, as understood by critics of civilization such as Huxley, Jaspers, and Ortega y Gasset, but the necessity for enlightenment to reflect on itself if humanity is not to be totally betrayed. What is at stake is not conservation of the past but the fulfillment of past hopes. Today, however,\* the past is being continued as destruction of the past. If, up to the nineteenth century, respectable education was a privilege paid for by the increased sufferings\* of the uneducated, in the twentieth the hygienic factory is bought with the melting down of all cultural entities in the gigantic crucible.\* That might not even be so high a price as those defenders of culture believe if the bargain sale
+
+of culture did not contribute to converting economic achievements into
+
+their opposite.
+
+Under the given circumstances the gifts of fortune themselves become elements of misfortune. If, in the absence of the social subject, the volume of goods took the form of so-called overproduction in domestic economic crises in the preceding period, today, thanks to the enthronement of powerful groups as that social subject, it is producing the international threat of fascism: progress is reverting to regression. That the hygienic factory and everything pertaining to it, Volkswagen\* and the sports palace, are obtusely liquidating metaphysics does not matter in itself, but that these things are themselves becoming metaphysics, an ideological curtain,\* within the social whole, behind which real doom is gath-
+
+ering, does matter. That is the basic premise of our fragments.
+
+The first essay, the theoretical basis of those which follow, seeks to gain greater understanding of the intertwinement of rationality and social reality, as well as of the intertwinement, inseparable from the former, of nature and the mastery of nature. The critique of enlightenment given in this section is intended to prepare a positive concept of enlightenment
+
+which liberates it from its entanglement in blind domination.
+
+The critical part of the first essay can be broadly summed up in two theses: Myth is already enlightenment, and enlightenment reverts to mythology. These theses are worked out in relation to specific subjects in the two excurses. The first traces the dialectic of myth and enlightenment in the *Odyssey*, as one of the earliest representative documents of bourgeois Western civilization. It focuses primarily on the concepts of sacrifice and renunciation, through which both the difference between and the unity of mythical nature and enlightened mastery of nature become apparent. The second excursus is concerned with Kant, Sade, and Nietzsche, whose works represent the implacable consummation of enlightenment. This section shows how the subjugation of everything natural to the sovereign subject culminates in the domination of what is blindly objective and natural. This tendency levels all the antitheses of bourgeois thought, espe-
+
+cially that between moral rigor and absolute amorality.
+
+The section "The Culture Industry" shows the regression of enlightenment to ideology which is graphically expressed in film and radio. Here, enlightenment consists primarily in the calculation of effects and in the technology of production and dissemination; the specific content of the
+
+ideology is exhausted in the idolization of the existing order and of the power by which the technology is controlled. In the discussion of this contradiction the culture industry is taken more seriously than it might itself wish to be. But because its appeal to its own commercial character, its confession of its diminished truth, has long since become an excuse with which it evades responsibility for its lies, our analysis is directed at the claim objectively contained in its products to be aesthetic formations and thus representations of truth. It demonstrates\* the dire state of society by the invalidity of that claim. Still more than the others, the section on the
+
+culture industry is fragmentary.\*
+
+The discussion, in the form of theses, of "Elements of Anti-Semitism" deals with the reversion of enlightened civilization to barbarism in reality. The not merely theoretical but practical tendency toward selfdestruction has been inherent in rationality from the first, not only in the present phase when it is emerging nakedly. For this reason a philosophical prehistory of anti-Semitism is sketched. Its "irrationalism" derives from the nature of the dominant reason and of the world corresponding to its image. The "elements" are directly related to empirical research by the Institute of Social Research,\* the foundation set up and kept alive by Felix Weil, without which not only our studies but the good part of the theoretical work of German emigrants carried forward despite Hitler would not have been possible. We wrote the first three theses jointly with Leo Löwenthal, with whom we have collaborated on many scholarly questions
+
+since the first years in Frankfurt.
+
+In the last section we publish notes and sketches which, in part, form part of the ideas in the preceding sections, without having found a place in them, and in part deal provisionally with problems of future work.
+
+Most of them relate to a dialectical anthropology.\*
+
+*Los Angeles, California, May 1944*
+
+The book contains no essential changes to the text completed during the war. Only the last thesis of "Elements of Anti-Semitism" was added sub-
+
+sequently.
+
+Max Horkheimer Theodor W. Adorno
+
+*June 1947*
+
+Enlightenment, understood in the widest sense as the advance of thought, has always aimed at liberating human beings from fear and installing them as masters. Yet the wholly enlightened earth is radiant with triumphant calamity. Enlightenment's program was the disenchantment of the world.\* It wanted to dispel myths, to overthrow fantasy with knowledge. Bacon, "the father of experimental philosophy,"1 brought these motifs together. He despised the exponents of tradition, who substituted belief for knowledge and were as unwilling to doubt as they were reckless in supplying answers. All this, he said, stood in the way of "the happy match between the mind of man and the nature of things," with the result that humanity was unable to use its knowledge for the betterment of its condition. Such inventions as had been made—Bacon cites printing, artillery, and the compass—had been arrived at more by chance than by systematic enquiry into nature. Knowledge obtained through such enquiry would not only be exempt from the influence of wealth and power but would
+
+establish man as the master of nature:
+
+Therefore, no doubt, the sovereignty of man lieth hid in knowledge; wherein many things are reserved, which kings with their treasure cannot buy, nor with their force command; their spials and intelligencers can give no news of them, their seamen and discoverers cannot sail where they grow: now we govern nature in opinions, but we are thrall unto her in necessity: but if we would be led by her in invention,
+
+we should command her by action.2
+
+The Concept\* of Enlightenment
+
+Although not a mathematician, Bacon well understood the scientific temper which was to come after him. The "happy match" between human understanding and the nature of things that he envisaged is a patriarchal one: the mind, conquering superstition, is to rule over disenchanted nature. Knowledge, which is power, knows no limits, either in its enslavement\* of creation or in its deference to worldly masters. Just as it serves all the purposes of the bourgeois economy both in factories and on the battlefield, it is at the disposal of entrepreneurs regardless of their origins. Kings control technology no more directly than do merchants: it is as democratic as the economic system\* with which it evolved. Technology is the essence of this knowledge. It aims to produce neither concepts nor images, nor the joy of understanding, but method, exploitation of the labor of others,\* capital. The "many things" which, according to Bacon, knowledge still held in store are themselves mere instruments: the radio as a sublimated printing press, the dive bomber as a more effective form of artillery, remote control as a more reliable compass. What human beings seek to learn from nature is how to use it to dominate wholly both it and human beings. Nothing else counts. Ruthless toward itself, the Enlightenment has eradicated the last remnant of its own self-awareness. Only thought which does violence to itself is hard enough to shatter myths. Faced by the present triumph of the factual mentality, Bacon's nominalist credo would have smacked of metaphysics and would have been convicted of the same vanity for which he criticized scholasticism. Power and knowledge are synonymous.3 For Bacon as for Luther, "knowledge that tendeth but to satisfaction, is but as a courtesan, which is for pleasure, and not for fruit or generation." Its concern is not "satisfaction, which men call truth," but "operation," the effective procedure. The "true end, scope or office of knowledge" does not consist in "any plausible, delectable, reverend or admired discourse, or any satisfactory arguments, but in effecting and working, and in discovery of particulars not revealed before, for the better endowment and help of man's life."4 There shall be neither mystery
+
+nor any desire to reveal mystery.
+
+The disenchantment of the world means the extirpation of animism. Xenophanes mocked the multiplicity of gods because they resembled their creators, men, in all their idiosyncrasies and faults, and the latest logic denounces the words of language, which bear the stamp of impressions, as counterfeit coin that would be better replaced by neutral counters. The
+
+world becomes chaos, and synthesis salvation. No difference is said to exist between the totemic animal, the dreams of the spirit-seer,\* and the absolute Idea. On their way toward modern science human beings have discarded meaning. The concept is replaced by the formula, the cause by rules and probability. Causality was only the last philosophical concept on which scientific criticism tested its strength, because it alone of the old ideas still stood in the way of such criticism, the latest secular form of the creative principle. To define substance and quality, activity and suffering, being and existence in terms appropriate to the time has been a concern of philosophy since Bacon; but science could manage without such categories. They were left behind as *idola theatri* of the old metaphysics and even in their time were monuments to entities and powers from prehistory. In that distant time life and death had been interpreted and interwoven in myths. The categories by which Western philosophy defined its timeless order of nature marked out the positions which had once been occupied by Ocnus and Persephone, Ariadne and Nereus. The moment of transition is recorded in the pre-Socratic cosmologies. The moist, the undivided, the air and fire which they take to be the primal stuff of nature are early rationalizations precipitated from the mythical vision. Just as the images of generation from water and earth, that had come to the Greeks from the Nile, were converted by these cosmologies into Hylozoic principles and elements, the whole ambiguous profusion of mythical demons was intellectualized to become the pure form of ontological entities. Even the patriarchal gods of Olympus were finally assimilated by the philosophical *logos* as the Platonic Forms. But the Enlightenment discerned the old powers in the Platonic and Aristotelian heritage of metaphysics and suppressed the universal categories' claims to truth as superstition. In the authority of universal concepts the Enlightenment detected a fear of the demons through whose effigies human beings had tried to influence nature in magic rituals. From now on matter was finally to be controlled without the illusion of immanent powers or hidden properties. For enlightenment, anything which does not conform to the standard of calculability and utility must be viewed with suspicion. Once the movement is able to develop unhampered by external oppression, there is no holding it back. Its own ideas of human rights then fare no better than the older universals. Any intellectual resistance it encounters merely increases its strength.5 The reason is that enlightenment also recognizes itself in the old myths. No matter which myths are invoked
+
+against it, by being used as arguments they are made to acknowledge the very principle of corrosive rationality of which enlightenment stands ac-
+
+cused. Enlightenment is totalitarian.
+
+Enlightenment has always regarded anthropomorphism, the projection of subjective properties onto nature, as the basis of myth.6 The supernatural, spirits and demons, are taken to be reflections of human beings who allow themselves to be frightened by natural phenomena. According to enlightened thinking, the multiplicity of mythical figures can be reduced to a single common denominator, the subject. Oedipus's answer to the riddle of the Sphinx—"That being is man"—is repeated indiscriminately as enlightenment's stereotyped message, whether in response to a piece of objective meaning, a schematic order, a fear of evil powers, or a hope of salvation. For the Enlightenment, only what can be encompassed by unity has the status of an existent or an event; its ideal is the system from which everything and anything follows. Its rationalist and empiricist versions do not differ on that point. Although the various schools may have interpreted its axioms differently, the structure of unitary science has always been the same. Despite the pluralism of the different fields of research, Bacon's postulate of *una scientia universalis*7 is as hostile to anything which cannot be connected as Leibniz's *mathesis universalis* is to discontinuity. The multiplicity of forms is reduced to position and arrangement, history to fact, things to matter. For Bacon, too, there was a clear logical connection, through degrees of generality, linking the highest principles to propositions based on observation. De Maistre mocks him for harboring this "idolized ladder."8 Formal logic was the high school of unification. It offered Enlightenment thinkers a schema for making the world calculable. The mythologizing equation of Forms with numbers in Plato's last writings expresses the longing of all demythologizing: number became enlightenment's canon. The same equations govern bourgeois justice and commodity exchange. "Is not the rule, '*Si inaequalibus aequalia addas, omnia erunt inaequalia*,' [If you add like to unlike you will always end up with unlike] an axiom of justice as well as of mathematics? And is there not a true coincidence between commutative and distributive justice, and arithmetical and geometrical proportion?"9 Bourgeois society is ruled by equivalence. It makes dissimilar things comparable by reducing them to abstract quantities. For the Enlightenment, anything which cannot be resolved into numbers, and ultimately into one, is illusion; modern posi-
+
+tivism consigns it to poetry. Unity remains the watchword from Parmen-
+
+ides to Russell. All gods and qualities must be destroyed.
+
+But the myths which fell victim to the Enlightenment were themselves its products. The scientific calculation of events annuls the account of them which thought had once given in myth. Myth sought to report, to name, to tell of origins—but therefore also to narrate, record, explain. This tendency was reinforced by the recording and collecting of myths. From a record, they soon became a teaching. Each ritual contains a representation of how things happen and of the specific process which is to be influenced by magic. In the earliest popular epics this theoretical element of ritual became autonomous. The myths which the tragic dramatists drew on were already marked by the discipline and power which Bacon celebrated as the goal. The local spirits and demons had been replaced by heaven and its hierarchy, the incantatory practices of the magician by the carefully graduated sacrifice and the labor of enslaved men mediated by command. The Olympian deities are no longer directly identical with elements, but signify them. In Homer Zeus controls the daytime sky, Apollo guides the sun; Helios and Eos are already passing over into allegory. The gods detach themselves from substances to become their quintessence. From now on, being is split between *logos*—which, with the advance of philosophy, contracts to a monad, a mere reference point—and the mass of things and creatures in the external world. The single distinction between man's own existence and reality swallows up all others. Without regard for differences, the world is made subject to man. In this the Jewish story of creation and the Olympian religion are at one: ". . . and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth."10 "O Zeus, Father Zeus, yours is the dominion of the heavens; you oversee the works of men, both the wicked and the just, and the unruly animals, you who uphold righteousness."11 "It is so ordained that one atones at once, another later; but even should one escape the doom threatened by the gods, it will surely come to pass one day, and innocents shall expiate his deed, whether his children or a later generation."12 Only those who subject themselves utterly pass muster with the gods. The awakening of the subject is bought with the recognition of power as the principle of all relationships. In face of the unity of such reason the distinction between God and man is reduced to an irrelevance, as
+
+reason has steadfastly indicated since the earliest critique of Homer. In their mastery of nature, the creative God and the ordering mind are alike. Man's likeness to God consists in sovereignty over existence, in the lordly
+
+gaze, in the command.
+
+Myth becomes enlightenment and nature mere objectivity. Human beings purchase the increase in their power with estrangement from that over which it is exerted. Enlightenment stands in the same relationship to things as the dictator to human beings. He knows them to the extent that he can manipulate them. The man of science knows things to the extent that he can make them. Their "in-itself " becomes "for him." In their transformation the essence of things is revealed as always the same, a substrate of domination. This identity constitutes the unity of nature. Neither it nor the unity of the subject was presupposed by magical incantation. The rites of the shaman were directed at the wind, the rain, the snake outside or the demon inside the sick person, not at materials or specimens. The spirit which practiced magic was not single or identical; it changed with the cult masks which represented the multiplicity of spirits. Magic is bloody untruth, but in it domination is not yet disclaimed by transforming itself into a pure truth underlying the world which it enslaves. The magician imitates demons; to frighten or placate them he makes intimidating or appeasing gestures. Although his task was impersonation he did not claim to be made in the image of the invisible power, as does civilized man, whose modest hunting ground then shrinks to the unified cosmos, in which nothing exists but prey. Only when made in such an image does man attain the identity of the self which cannot be lost in identification with the other but takes possession of itself once and for all as an impenetrable mask. It is the identity of mind and its correlative, the unity of nature, which subdues the abundance of qualities. Nature, stripped of qualities, becomes the chaotic stuff of mere classification, and the all-powerful self becomes a mere having, an abstract identity. Magic implies specific representation. What is done to the spear, the hair, the name of the enemy, is also to befall his person; the sacrificial animal is slain in place of the god. The substitution which takes place in sacrifice marks a step toward discursive logic. Even though the hind which was offered up for the daughter, the lamb for the firstborn, necessarily still had qualities of its own, it already represented the genus. It manifested the arbitrariness of the specimen. But the sanctity of the *hic et nunc*, the uniqueness of the
+
+chosen victim which coincides with its representative status, distinguishes it radically, makes it non-exchangeable even in the exchange. Science puts an end to this. In it there is no specific representation: something which is a sacrificial animal cannot be a god. Representation gives way to universal fungibility. An atom is smashed not as a representative but as a specimen of matter, and the rabbit suffering the torment of the laboratory is seen not as a representative but, mistakenly, as a mere exemplar. Because in functional science the differences are so fluid that everything is submerged in one and the same matter, the scientific object is petrified, whereas the rigid ritual of former times appears supple in its substitution of one thing for another. The world of magic still retained differences whose traces have vanished even in linguistic forms.13 The manifold affinities between existing things are supplanted by the single relationship between the subject who confers meaning and the meaningless object, between rational significance and its accidental bearer. At the magical stage dream and image were not regarded as mere signs of things but were linked to them by resemblance or name. The relationship was not one of intention but of kinship. Magic like science is concerned with ends, but it pursues them through mimesis, not through an increasing distance from the object. It certainly is not founded on the "omnipotence of thought," which the primitive is supposed to impute to himself like the neurotic;14 there can be no "over-valuation of psychical acts" in relation to reality where thought and reality are not radically distinguished. The "unshakable confidence in the possibility of controlling the world"15 which Freud anachronistically attributes to magic applies only to the more realistic form of world domination achieved by the greater astuteness of science. The autonomy of thought in relation to objects, as manifested in the reality-adequacy of the Ego, was a prerequisite for the replacement of the localized practices of the
+
+medicine man by all-embracing industrial technology.\*
+
+As a totality set out in language and laying claim to a truth which suppressed the older mythical faith of popular religion, the solar, patriarchal myth was itself an enlightenment, fully comparable on that level to the philosophical one. But now it paid the price. Mythology itself set in motion the endless process of enlightenment by which, with ineluctable necessity, every definite theoretical view is subjected to the annihilating criticism that it is only a belief, until even the concepts of mind, truth, and, indeed, enlightenment itself have been reduced to animistic magic.
+
+The principle of the fated necessity which caused the downfall of the mythical hero, and finally evolved as the logical conclusion from the oracular utterance, not only predominates, refined to the cogency of formal logic, in every rationalistic system of Western philosophy but also presides over the succession of systems which begins with the hierarchy of the gods and, in a permanent twilight of the idols, hands down a single identical content: wrath against those of insufficient righteousness.\* Just as myths already entail enlightenment, with every step enlightenment entangles itself more deeply in mythology. Receiving all its subject matter from myths, in order to destroy them, it falls as judge under the spell of myth. It seeks to escape the trial of fate and retribution by itself exacting retribution on that trial. In myths, everything that happens must atone for the fact of having happened. It is no different in enlightenment: no sooner has a fact been established than it is rendered insignificant. The doctrine that action equals reaction continued to maintain the power of repetition over existence long after humankind had shed the illusion that, by repetition, it could identify itself with repeated existence and so escape its power. But the more the illusion of magic vanishes, the more implacably repetition, in the guise of regularity, imprisons human beings in the cycle now objectified in the laws of nature, to which they believe they owe their security as free subjects. The principle of immanence, the explanation of every event as repetition, which enlightenment upholds against mythical imagination, is that of myth itself. The arid wisdom which acknowledges nothing new under the sun, because all the pieces in the meaningless game have been played out, all the great thoughts have been thought, all possible discoveries can be construed in advance, and human beings are defined by selfpreservation through adaptation—this barren wisdom merely reproduces the fantastic doctrine it rejects: the sanction of fate which, through retribution, incessantly reinstates what always was. Whatever might be different is made the same. That is the verdict which critically sets the boundaries to possible experience. The identity of everything with everything is bought at the cost that nothing can at the same time be identical to itself. Enlightenment dissolves away the injustice of the old inequality of unmediated mastery, but at the same time perpetuates it in universal mediation, by relating every existing thing to every other. It brings about the situation for which Kierkegaard praised his Protestant ethic and which, in the legend-cycle of Hercules, constitutes one of the primal images of
+
+mythical violence: it amputates the incommensurable. Not merely are qualities dissolved in thought, but human beings are forced into real conformity. The blessing that the market does not ask about birth is paid for in the exchange society by the fact that the possibilities conferred by birth are molded to fit the production of goods that can be bought on the market. Each human being has been endowed with a self of his or her own, different from all others, so that it could all the more surely be made the same. But because that self never quite fitted the mold, enlightenment throughout the liberalistic period has always sympathized with social coercion. The unity of the manipulated collective consists in the negation of each individual and in the scorn poured on the type of society which could make people into individuals. The horde, a term which doubtless\* is to be found in the Hitler Youth organization, is not a relapse into the old barbarism but the triumph of repressive *égalité*, the degeneration of the equality of rights into the wrong inflicted by equals. The fake myth of fascism reveals itself as the genuine myth of prehistory, in that the genuine myth beheld retribution while the false one wreaks it blindly on its victims. Any attempt to break the compulsion of nature by breaking nature only succumbs more deeply to that compulsion. That has been the trajectory of European civilization. Abstraction, the instrument of enlightenment, stands in the same relationship to its objects as fate, whose concept it eradicates: as liquidation. Under the leveling rule of abstraction, which makes everything in nature repeatable, and of industry, for which abstraction prepared the way, the liberated finally themselves become the "herd" (*Trupp*),
+
+which Hegel16 identified as the outcome of enlightenment.
+
+The distance of subject from object, the presupposition of abstraction, is founded on the distance from things which the ruler attains by means of the ruled. The songs of Homer and the hymns of the *Rig Veda* date from the time of territorial dominion and its strongholds, when a warlike race of overlords imposed itself on the defeated indigenous population.17 The supreme god among gods came into being with this civil world in which the king, as leader of the arms-bearing nobility, tied the subjugated people\* to the land while doctors, soothsayers, artisans, and traders took care of circulation. With the end of nomadism the social order is established on the basis of fixed property. Power and labor diverge. A property owner like Odysseus "controls from a distance a numerous, finely graded personnel of ox herds, shepherds, swineherds, and servants. In
+
+the evening, having looked out from his castle to see the countryside lit up by a thousand fires, he can go to his rest in peace. He knows that his loyal servants are watching to keep away wild animals and to drive away thieves from the enclosures which they are there to protect."18 The generality of the ideas developed by discursive logic, power in the sphere of the concept, is built on the foundation of power in reality. The superseding of the old diffuse notions of the magical heritage by conceptual unity expresses a condition of life defined by the freeborn citizen and articulated by command. The self which learned about order and subordination through the subjugation of the world soon equated truth in general with classifying thought, without whose fixed distinctions it cannot exist. Along with mimetic magic it tabooed the knowledge which really apprehends the object. Its hatred is directed at the image of the vanquished primeval world and its imaginary happiness. The dark, chthonic gods of the original inhabitants are banished to the hell into which the earth is transformed under the religions of Indra and Zeus, with their worship of sun and light. But heaven and hell were linked. The name Zeus was applied both to a god of the underworld and to a god of light in cults which did not exclude each other,19 and the Olympian gods maintained all kinds of commerce with the chthonic deities. In the same way, the good and evil powers, the holy and the unholy, were not unambiguously distinguished. They were bound together like genesis and decline, life and death, summer and winter. The murky, undivided entity worshipped as the principle of *mana* at the earliest known stages of humanity lived on in the bright world of the Greek religion. Primal and undifferentiated, it is everything unknown and alien; it is that which transcends the bounds of experience, the part of things which is more than their immediately perceived existence. What the primitive experiences as supernatural is not a spiritual substance in contradistinction to the material world but the complex concatenation of nature in contrast to its individual link.\* The cry of terror called forth by the unfamiliar becomes its name. It fixes the transcendence of the unknown in relation to the known, permanently linking horror to holiness. The doubling of nature into appearance and essence, effect and force, made possible by myth no less than by science, springs from human fear, the expression of which becomes its explanation. This does not mean that the soul is transposed into nature, as psychologism would have us believe; *mana*, the moving spirit, is not a projection but the echo of the real pre-
+
+ponderance of nature in the weak psyches of primitive people. The split between animate and inanimate, the assigning of demons and deities to certain specific places, arises from this preanimism. Even the division of subject and object is prefigured in it. If the tree is addressed no longer as simply a tree but as evidence of something else, a location of *mana*, language expresses the contradiction that it is at the same time itself and something other than itself, identical and not identical.20 Through the deity speech is transformed from tautology into language. The concept, usually defined as the unity of the features of what it subsumes, was rather, from the first, a product of dialectical thinking, in which each thing is what it is only by becoming what it is not. This was the primal form of the objectifying definition, in which concept and thing became separate, the same definition which was already far advanced in the Homeric epic and trips over its own excesses in modern positive science. But this dialectic remains powerless as long as it emerges from the cry of terror, which is the doubling, the mere tautology of terror itself. The gods cannot take away fear from human beings, the petrified cries of whom they bear as their names. Humans believe themselves free of fear when there is no longer anything unknown. This has determined the path of demythologization, of enlightenment, which equates the living with the nonliving as myth had equated the nonliving with the living. Enlightenment is mythical fear radicalized. The pure immanence of positivism, its ultimate product, is nothing other than a form of universal taboo. Nothing is allowed to remain outside, since the mere idea of the "outside" is the real source of fear. If the revenge of primitive people for a murder committed on a member of their family could sometimes be assuaged by admitting the murderer into that family,21 both the murder and its remedy mean the absorption of alien blood into one's own, the establishment of immanence. The mythical dualism does not lead outside the circle of existence. The world controlled by *mana*, and even the worlds of Indian and Greek myth, are issueless and eternally the same. All birth is paid for with death, all fortune with misfortune. While men and gods may attempt in their short span to assess their fates by a measure other than blind destiny, existence triumphs over them in the end. Even their justice, wrested from calamity, bears its features; it corresponds to the way in which human beings, primitives no less than Greeks and barbarians, looked upon their world from within a society of oppression and poverty. Hence, for both mythical and enlight-
+
+ened justice, guilt and atonement, happiness and misfortune, are seen as the two sides of an equation. Justice gives way to law. The shaman wards off a danger with its likeness. Equivalence is his instrument; and equivalence regulates punishment and reward within civilization. The imagery of myths, too, can be traced back without exception to natural conditions. Just as the constellation Gemini, like all the other symbols of duality, refers to the inescapable cycle of nature; just as this cycle itself has its primeval sign in the symbol of the egg from which those later symbols are sprung, the Scales (Libra) held by Zeus, which symbolize the justice of the entire patriarchal world, point back to mere nature. The step from chaos to civilization, in which natural conditions exert their power no longer directly but through the consciousness of human beings, changed nothing in the principle of equivalence. Indeed, human beings atoned for this very step by worshipping that to which previously, like all other creatures, they had been merely subjected. Earlier, fetishes had been subject to the law of equivalence. Now equivalence itself becomes a fetish. The blindfold over the eyes of Justitia means not only that justice brooks no interference but
+
+that it does not originate in freedom.
+
+The teachings of the priests were symbolic in the sense that in them sign and image coincided. As the hieroglyphs attest, the word originally also had a pictorial function. This function was transferred to myths. They, like magic rites, refer to the repetitive cycle of nature. Nature as self-repetition is the core of the symbolic: an entity or a process which is conceived as eternal because it is reenacted again and again in the guise of the symbol. Inexhaustibility, endless renewal, and the permanence of what they signify are not only attributes of all symbols but their true content. Contrary to the Jewish *Genesis*, the representations of creation in which the world emerges from the primal mother, the cow or the egg, are symbolic. The scorn of the ancients for their all-too-human gods left their core untouched. The essence of the gods is not exhausted by individuality. They still had about them a quality of *mana*; they embodied nature as a universal power. With their preanimistic traits they intrude into the enlightenment. Beneath the modest veil of the Olympian *chronique scandaleuse* the doctrine of the commingling and colliding of elements had evolved; establishing itself at once as science, it turned the myths into figments of fantasy. With the clean separation between science and poetry
+
+the division of labor which science had helped to establish was extended to language. For science the word is first of all a sign; it is then distributed among the various arts as sound, image, or word proper, but its unity can never be restored by the addition of these arts, by synaesthesia or total art.\* As sign, language must resign itself to being calculation and, to know nature, must renounce the claim to resemble it. As image it must resign itself to being a likeness and, to be entirely nature, must renounce the claim to know it. With advancing enlightenment, only authentic works of art have been able to avoid the mere imitation of what already is. The prevailing antithesis between art and science, which rends the two apart as areas of culture in order to make them jointly manageable as areas of culture, finally causes them, through their internal tendencies as exact opposites, to converge. Science, in its neopositivist interpretation, becomes aestheticism, a system of isolated signs devoid of any intention transcending the system; it becomes the game which mathematicians have long since proudly declared their activity to be. Meanwhile, art as integral replication has pledged itself to positivist science, even in its specific techniques. It becomes, indeed, the world over again, an ideological doubling, a compliant reproduction. The separation of sign and image is inescapable. But if, with heedless complacency, it is hypostatized over again, then each of the
+
+isolated principles tends toward the destruction of truth.
+
+Philosophy has perceived the chasm opened by this separation as the relationship between intuition and concept and repeatedly but vainly has attempted to close it; indeed, philosophy is defined by that attempt. Usually, however, it has sided with the tendency to which it owes its name. Plato banished poetry with the same severity with which positivism dismissed the doctrine of Forms. Homer, Plato argued, had procured neither public nor private reforms through his much-vaunted art, had neither won a war nor made an invention. We did not know, he said, of any numerous followers who had honored or loved him. Art had to demonstrate its usefulness.22 The making of images was proscribed by Plato as it was by the Jews. Both reason and religion outlaw the principle of magic. Even in its resigned detachment from existence, as art, it remains dishonorable; those who practice it become vagrants, latter-day nomads, who find no domicile among the settled. Nature is no longer to be influenced by likeness but mastered through work. Art has in common with magic the postulation of a special, self-contained sphere removed from the context of profane exis-
+
+tence. Within it special laws prevail. Just as the sorcerer begins the ceremony by marking out from all its surroundings the place in which the sacred forces are to come into play, each work of art is closed off from reality by its own circumference. The very renunciation of external effects by which art is distinguished from magical sympathy binds art only more deeply to the heritage of magic. This renunciation places the pure image in opposition to corporeal existence, the elements of which the image sublates within itself. It is in the nature of the work of art, of aesthetic illusion, to be what was experienced as a new and terrible event in the magic of primitives: the appearance of the whole in the particular. The work of art constantly reenacts the duplication by which the thing appeared as something spiritual, a manifestation of *mana*. That constitutes its aura. As an expression of totality art claims the dignity of the absolute. This has occasionally led philosophy to rank it higher than conceptual knowledge. According to Schelling, art begins where knowledge leaves humans in the lurch. For him art is "the model of science, and wherever art is, there science must go."23 According to his theory the separation of image and sign "is entirely abolished by each single representation of art."24 The bourgeois world was rarely amenable to such confidence in art. Where it restricted knowledge, it generally did so to make room for faith, not art. It was through faith that the militant religiosity of the modern age, of Torquemada, Luther, and Mohammed, sought to reconcile spirit and existence. But faith is a privative concept: it is abolished as faith if it does not continuously assert either its opposition to knowledge or its agreement with it. In being dependent on the limits set to knowledge, it is itself limited. The attempt made by faith under Protestantism to locate the principle of truth, which transcends faith and without which faith cannot exist, directly in the word itself, as in primeval times, and to restore the symbolic power of the word, was paid for by obedience to the word, but not in its sacred form. Because faith is unavoidably tied to knowledge as its friend or its foe, faith perpetuates the split in the struggle to overcome knowledge: its fanaticism is the mark of its untruth, the objective admission that anyone who *only* believes for that reason no longer believes. Bad conscience is second nature to it. The secret awareness of this necessary, inherent flaw, the immanent contradiction that lies in making a profession of reconciliation, is the reason why honesty in believers has always been a sensitive and dangerous affair. The horrors of fire and sword, of counter-
+
+Reformation and Reformation, were perpetrated not as an exaggeration but as a realization of the principle of faith. Faith repeatedly shows itself of the same stamp as the world history it would like to command; indeed, in the modern period it has become that history's preferred means, its special ruse. Not only is the Enlightenment of the eighteenth century inexorable, as Hegel confirmed; so, too, as none knew better than he, is the movement of thought itself. The lowest insight, like the highest, contains the knowledge of its distance from the truth, which makes the apologist a liar. The paradox of faith degenerates finally into fraud, the myth of the twentieth century\* and faith's irrationality into rational organization in the hands of the utterly enlightened as they steer society toward barbarism.
+
+When language first entered history its masters were already priests and sorcerers. Anyone who affronted the symbols fell prey in the name of the unearthly powers to the earthly ones, represented by these appointed organs of society. What preceded that stage is shrouded in darkness. Wherever it is found in ethnology, the terror from which *mana* was born was already sanctioned, at least by the tribal elders. Unidentical, fluid *mana* was solidified, violently materialized by men. Soon the sorcerers had populated every place with its emanations and coordinated the multiplicity of sacred realms with that of sacred rites. With the spirit-world and its peculiarities they extended their esoteric knowledge and their power. The sacred essence was transferred to the sorcerers who managed it. In the first stages of nomadism the members of the tribe still played an independent part in influencing the course of nature. The men tracked prey while the women performed tasks which did not require rigid commands. How much violence preceded the habituation to even so simple an order cannot be known. In that order the world was already divided into zones of power and of the profane. The course of natural events as an emanation of *mana* had already been elevated to a norm demanding submission. But if the nomadic savage, despite his subjection, could still participate in the magic which defined the limits of that world, and could disguise himself as his quarry in order to stalk it, in later periods the intercourse with spirits and the subjection were assigned to different classes of humanity: power to one side, obedience to the other. The recurring, never-changing natural processes were drummed into the subjects, either by other tribes or by their own cliques, as the rhythm of work, to the beat of the club and the rod, which reechoed in every barbaric drum, in each monotonous rit-
+
+ual. The symbols take on the expression of the fetish. The repetition of nature which they signify always manifests itself in later times as the permanence of social compulsion, which the symbols represent. The dread objectified in the fixed image becomes a sign of the consolidated power of the privileged.\* But general concepts continued to symbolize that power even when they had shed all pictorial traits. Even the deductive form of science mirrors hierarchy and compulsion. Just as the first categories represented the organized tribe and its power over the individual, the entire logical order, with its chains of inference and dependence, the superordination and coordination of concepts, is founded on the corresponding conditions in social reality, that is, on the division of labor.25 Of course, this social character of intellectual forms is not, as Durkheim argues, an expression of social solidarity but evidence of the impenetrable unity of society and power. Power confers increased cohesion and strength on the social whole in which it is established. The division of labor, through which power manifests itself socially, serves the self-preservation of the dominated whole. But this necessarily turns the whole, as a whole, and the operation of its immanent reason, into a means of enforcing the particular interest. Power confronts the individual as the universal, as the reason which informs reality. The power of all the members of society, to whom as individuals no other way is open, is constantly summated, through the division of labor imposed on them, in the realization of the whole, whose rationality is thereby multiplied over again. What is done to all by the few always takes the form of the subduing of individuals by the many: the oppression of society always bears the features of oppression by a collective. It is this unity of collectivity and power, and not the immediate social universal, solidarity, which is precipitated in intellectual forms. Through their claim to universal validity, the philosophical concepts with which Plato and Aristotle represented the world elevated the conditions which those concepts justified to the status of true reality. They originated, as Vico put it,26 in the marketplace of Athens; they reflected with the same fidelity the laws of physics, the equality of freeborn citizens, and the inferiority of women, children, and slaves. Language itself endowed what it expressed, the conditions of domination, with the universality it had acquired as the means of intercourse in civil society. The metaphysical emphasis, the sanction by ideas and norms, was no more than a hypostatization of the rigidity and exclusivity which concepts have necessarily
+
+taken on wherever language has consolidated the community of the rulers for the enforcement of commands. As a means of reinforcing the social power of language, ideas became more superfluous the more that power increased, and the language of science put an end to them altogether. Conscious justification lacked the suggestive power which springs from dread of the fetish. The unity of collectivity and power now revealed itself in the generality which faulty content necessarily takes on in language, whether metaphysical or scientific. The metaphysical apologia at least betrayed the injustice of the established order through the incongruence of concept and reality. The impartiality of scientific language deprived what was powerless of the strength to make itself heard and merely provided the existing order with a neutral sign for itself. Such neutrality is more metaphysical than metaphysics. Enlightenment finally devoured not only symbols but also their successors, universal concepts, and left nothing of metaphysics behind except the abstract fear of the collective from which it had sprung. Concepts in face of enlightenment are like those living on unearned income in face of industrial trusts:\* none can feel secure. If logical positivism still allowed some latitude for probability, ethnological positivism already equates probability with essence. "Our vague ideas of chance and quintessence are pale relics of that far richer notion,"27 that is,
+
+of the magical substance.
+
+Enlightenment as a nominalist tendency stops short before the *nomen*, the non-extensive, restricted concept, the proper name. Although28 it cannot be established with certainty whether proper names were originally generic names, as some maintain, the former have not yet shared the fate of the latter. The substantial ego repudiated by Hume and Mach is not the same thing as the name. In the Jewish religion, in which the idea of the patriarchy is heightened to the point of annihilating myth, the link between name and essence is still acknowledged in the prohibition on uttering the name of God. The disenchanted world of Judaism propitiates magic by negating it in the idea of God. The Jewish religion brooks no word which might bring solace to the despair of all mortality. It places all hope in the prohibition on invoking falsity as God, the finite as the infinite, the lie as truth. The pledge of salvation lies in the rejection of any faith which claims to depict it, knowledge in the denunciation of illusion. Negation, however, is not abstract. The indiscriminate denial of anything positive, the stereotyped formula of nothingness as used by Buddhism,
+
+ignores the ban on calling the absolute by its name no less than its opposite, pantheism, or the latter's caricature, bourgeois skepticism. Explanations of the world as nothingness or as the entire cosmos are mythologies, and the guaranteed paths to redemption sublimated magical practices. The self-satisfaction of knowing in advance, and the transfiguration of negativity as redemption, are untrue forms of the resistance to deception. The right of the image is rescued in the faithful observance of its prohibition. Such observance, "determinate negation,"29 is not exempted from the enticements of intuition by the sovereignty of the abstract concept, as is skepticism, for which falsehood and truth are equally void. Unlike rigorism, determinate negation does not simply reject imperfect representations of the absolute, idols, by confronting them with the idea they are unable to match. Rather, dialectic discloses each image as script. It teaches us to read from its features the admission of falseness which cancels its power and hands it over to truth. Language thereby becomes more than a mere system of signs. With the concept of determinate negation Hegel gave prominence to an element which distinguishes enlightenment from the positivist decay to which he consigned it. However, by finally postulating the known result of the whole process of negation, totality in the system and in history, as the absolute, he violated the prohibition and
+
+himself succumbed to mythology.
+
+That fate befell not only his philosophy, as the apotheosis of advancing thought, but enlightenment itself, in the form of the sober matter-offactness by which it purported to distinguish itself from Hegel and from metaphysics in general. For enlightenment is totalitarian as only a system can be. Its untruth does not lie in the analytical method, the reduction to elements, the decomposition through reflection, as its Romantic enemies had maintained from the first, but in its assumption that the trial is prejudged. When in mathematics the unknown becomes the unknown quantity in an equation, it is made into something long familiar before any value\* has been assigned. Nature, before and after quantum theory, is what can be registered mathematically; even what cannot be assimilated, the insoluble and irrational, is fenced in by mathematical theorems. In the preemptive identification of the thoroughly mathematized world with truth, enlightenment believes itself safe from the return of the mythical. It equates thought with mathematics. The latter is thereby cut loose, as it were, turned into an absolute authority. "An infinite world, in this case a
+
+world of idealities, is conceived as one in which objects are not accessible individually to our cognition in an imperfect and accidental way but are attained by a rational, systematically unified method which finally apprehends each object—in an infinite progression—fully as its own initself. . . . In Galileo's mathematization of nature, *nature itself* is idealized on the model of the new mathematics. In modern terms, it becomes a mathematical manifold."30 Thought is reified as an autonomous, automatic process, aping the machine it has itself produced, so that it can finally be replaced by the machine. Enlightenment31 pushed aside the classical demand to "think thinking"—Fichte's philosophy is its radical fulfillment—because it distracted philosophers from the command to control praxis, which Fichte himself had wanted to enforce. Mathematical procedure became a kind of ritual of thought. Despite its axiomatic self-limitation, it installed itself as necessary and objective: mathematics made thought into a thing—a tool, to use its own term. Through this mimesis, however, in which thought makes the world resemble itself, the actual has become so much the only concern that even the denial of God falls under the same judgment as metaphysics. For positivism, which has assumed the judicial office of enlightened reason, to speculate about intelligible worlds is no longer merely forbidden but senseless prattle. Positivism—fortunately for it—does not need to be atheistic, since objectified thought cannot even pose the question of the existence of God. The positivist sensor turns a blind eye to official worship, as a special, knowledge-free zone of social activity, just as willingly as to art—but never to denial, even when it has a claim to be knowledge. For the scientific temper, any deviation of thought from the business of manipulating the actual, any stepping outside the jurisdiction of existence, is no less senseless and self-destructive than it would be for the magician to step outside the magic circle drawn for his incantation; and in both cases violation of the taboo carries a heavy price for the offender. The mastery of nature draws the circle in which the critique of pure reason holds thought spellbound. Kant combined the doctrine of thought's restlessly toilsome progress toward infinity with insistence on its insufficiency and eternal limitation. The wisdom he imparted is oracular: There is no being in the world that knowledge cannot penetrate, but what can be penetrated by knowledge is not being. Philosophical judgment, according to Kant, aims at the new yet recognizes nothing new, since it always merely repeats what reason has placed into
+
+objects beforehand. However, this thought, protected within the departments of science from the dreams of a spirit-seer,\* has to pay the price: world domination over nature turns against the thinking subject itself; nothing is left of it except that ever-unchanging "I think," which must accompany all my conceptions. Both subject and object are nullified. The abstract self, which alone confers the legal right to record and systematize, is confronted by nothing but abstract material, which has no other property than to be the substrate of that right. The equation of mind and world is finally resolved, but only in the sense that both sides cancel out. The reduction of thought to a mathematical apparatus condemns the world to be its own measure. What appears as the triumph of subjectivity, the subjection of all existing things to logical formalism, is bought with the obedient subordination of reason to what is immediately at hand. To grasp existing things as such, not merely to note their abstract spatial-temporal relationships, by which they can then be seized, but, on the contrary, to think of them as surface, as mediated conceptual moments which are only fulfilled by revealing their social, historical, and human meaning—this whole aspiration of knowledge is abandoned. Knowledge does not consist in mere perception, classification, and calculation but precisely in the determining negation of whatever is directly at hand. Instead of such negation, mathematical formalism, whose medium, number, is the most abstract form of the immediate, arrests thought at mere immediacy. The actual is validated, knowledge confines itself to repeating it, thought makes itself mere tautology. The more completely the machinery of thought subjugates existence, the more blindly it is satisfied with reproducing it. Enlightenment thereby regresses to the mythology it has never been able to escape. For mythology had reflected in its forms the essence of the existing order—cyclical motion, fate, domination of the world as truth—and had renounced hope. In the terseness of the mythical image, as in the clarity of the scientific formula, the eternity of the actual is confirmed and mere existence is pronounced as the meaning it obstructs. The world as a gigantic analytical judgment, the only surviving dream of science, is of the same kind as the cosmic myth which linked the alternation of spring and autumn to the abduction of Persephone. The uniqueness of the mythical event, which was intended to legitimize the factual one, is a deception. Originally, the rape of the goddess was directly equated with the dying of nature. It was repeated each autumn, and even the repetition
+
+was not a succession of separate events, but the same one each time. With the consolidation of temporal consciousness the process was fixed as a unique event in the past, and ritual assuagement of the terror of death in each new cycle of seasons was sought in the recourse to the distant past. But such separation is powerless. The postulation of the single past event endows the cycle with a quality of inevitability, and the terror radiating from the ancient event spreads over the whole process as its mere repetition. The subsumption of the actual, whether under mythical prehistory or under mathematical formalism, the symbolic relating of the present to the mythical event in the rite or to the abstract category in science, makes the new appear as something predetermined which therefore is really the old. It is not existence that is without hope, but knowledge which appropriates and perpetuates existence as a schema in the pictorial or mathe-
+
+matical symbol.
+
+In the enlightened world, mythology has permeated the sphere of the profane. Existence, thoroughly cleansed of demons and their conceptual descendants, takes on, in its gleaming naturalness, the numinous character which former ages attributed to demons. Justified in the guise of brutal facts as something eternally immune to intervention, the social injustice from which those facts arise is as sacrosanct today as the medicine man once was under the protection of his gods. Not only is domination paid for with the estrangement of human beings from the dominated objects, but the relationships of human beings, including the relationship of individuals to themselves, have themselves been bewitched by the objectification of mind. Individuals shrink to the nodal points of conventional reactions and the modes of operation objectively expected of them. Animism had endowed things with souls; industrialism makes souls into things.\* On its own account, even in advance of total planning, the economic apparatus endows commodities with the values which decide the behavior of people. Since, with the ending of free exchange, commodities have forfeited all economic qualities except their fetish character, this character has spread like a cataract across the life of society in all its aspects. The countless agencies of mass production and its culture\* impress standardized behavior on the individual as the only natural, decent, and rational one. Individuals define themselves now only as things, statistical elements, successes or failures. Their criterion is self-preservation, successful or unsuccessful adaptation to the objectivity of their function and the
+
+schemata assigned to it. Everything which is different, from the idea to criminality, is exposed to the force of the collective, which keeps watch from the classroom to the trade union. Yet even the threatening collective is merely a part of the deceptive surface, beneath which are concealed the powers which manipulate the collective as an agent of violence. Its brutality, which keeps the individual up to the mark, no more represents the true quality of people than value\* represents that of commodities. The demonically distorted form which things and human beings have taken on in the clear light of unprejudiced knowledge points back to domination, to the principle which already imparted the qualities of *mana* to spirits and deities and trapped the human gaze in the fakery of sorcerers and medicine men. The fatalism by which incomprehensible death was sanctioned in primeval times has now passed over into utterly comprehensible life. The noonday panic fear in which nature suddenly appeared to humans as an all-encompassing power has found its counterpart in the panic which is ready to break out at any moment today: human beings expect the world, which is without issue, to be set ablaze by a universal power which
+
+they themselves are and over which they are powerless.
+
+Enlightenment's mythic terror springs from a horror of myth. It detects myth not only in semantically unclarified concepts and words, as linguistic criticism imagines, but in any human utterance which has no place in the functional context of self-preservation. Spinoza's proposition: "the endeavor of preserving oneself is the first and only basis of virtue,"32 contains the true maxim of all Western civilization, in which the religious and philosophical differences of the bourgeoisie are laid to rest. The self which, after the methodical extirpation of all natural traces as mythological, was no longer supposed to be either a body or blood or a soul or even a natural ego but was sublimated into a transcendental or logical subject, formed the reference point of reason, the legislating authority of action. In the judgment of enlightenment as of Protestantism, those who entrust themselves directly to life, without any rational reference to self-preservation, revert to the realm of prehistory. Impulse as such, according to this view, is as mythical as superstition, and worship of any God not postulated by the self, as aberrant as drunkenness. For both—worship and selfimmersion in immediate natural existence—progress holds the same fate in store. It has anathematized the self-forgetfulness both of thought and of
+
+pleasure. In the bourgeois economy the social work of each individual is mediated by the principle of the self; for some this labor is supposed to yield increased capital, for others the strength for extra work. But the more heavily the process of self-preservation is based on the bourgeois division of labor, the more it enforces the self-alienation of individuals, who must mold themselves to the technical apparatus body and soul. Enlightened thinking has an answer for this, too: finally, the transcendental subject of knowledge, as the last reminder of subjectivity, is itself seemingly abolished and replaced by the operations of the automatic mechanisms of order, which therefore run all the more smoothly. Subjectivity has volatilized itself into the logic of supposedly optional rules, to gain more absolute control. Positivism, which finally did not shrink from laying hands on the idlest fancy of all, thought itself, eliminated the last intervening agency between individual action and the social norm. The technical process, to which the subject has been reified after the eradication of that process from consciousness, is as free from the ambiguous meanings of mythical thought as from meaning altogether, since reason itself has become merely an aid to the all-encompassing economic apparatus.\* Reason serves as a universal tool for the fabrication of all other tools, rigidly purpose-directed and as calamitous as the precisely calculated operations of material production, the results of which for human beings escape all calculation. Reason's old ambition to be purely an instrument of purposes has finally been fulfilled. The exclusivity of logical laws stems from this obdurate adherence to function and ultimately from the compulsive character of self-preservation. The latter is constantly magnified into the choice between survival and doom, a choice which is reflected even in the principle that, of two contradictory propositions, only one can be true and the other false. The formalism of this principle and the entire logic established around it stem from the opacity and entanglement of interests in a society in which the maintenance of forms and the preservation of individuals only fortuitously coincide. The expulsion of thought from logic ratifies in the lecture hall the reification of human beings in factory and office. In this way the taboo encroaches on the power imposing it, enlightenment on mind, which it itself is. But nature as true self-preservation is thereby unleashed, in the individual as in the collective fate of crisis and war, by the process which promised to extirpate it. If unitary knowledge\* is the only norm which theory has left, praxis must be handed over to the
+
+unfettered operations of world history. The self, entirely encompassed by civilization, is dissolved in an element composed of the very inhumanity which civilization has sought from the first to escape. The oldest fear, that of losing one's own name, is being fulfilled. For civilization, purely natural existence, both animal and vegetative, was the absolute danger. Mimetic, mythical, and metaphysical forms of behavior were successively regarded as stages of world history which had been left behind, and the idea of reverting to them held the terror that the self would be changed back into the mere nature from which it had extricated itself with unspeakable exertions and which for that reason filled it with unspeakable dread. Over the millennia the living memory of prehistory, of its nomadic period and even more of the truly prepatriarchal stages, has been expunged from human consciousness with the most terrible punishments. The enlightened spirit replaced fire and the wheel by the stigma it attached to all irrationality, which led to perdition. Its hedonism was moderate, extremes being no less repugnant to enlightenment than to Aristotle. The bourgeois ideal of naturalness is based not on amorphous nature but on the virtue of the middle way. For this ideal, promiscuity and asceticism, superfluity and hunger, although opposites, are directly identical as powers of disintegration. By subordinating life in its entirety to the requirements of its preservation, the controlling minority guarantees, with its own security, the continuation of the whole. From Homer to modernity the ruling spirit has sought to steer between the Scylla of relapse into simple reproduction and the Charybdis of unfettered fulfillment; from the first it has mistrusted any guiding star other than the lesser evil. The German neopagans and administrators of war fever want to reinstate pleasure.\* But since, under the work-pressure of the millennium now ending, pleasure has learned to hate itself, in its totalitarian emancipation it remains mean and mutilated through selfcontempt.\* It is still in the grip of the self-preservation inculcated in it by the reason which has now been deposed. At the turning points of Western civilization, whenever new peoples and classes have more heavily repressed myth, from the beginnings of the Olympian religion to the Renaissance, the Reformation, and bourgeois atheism, the fear of unsubdued, threatening nature—a fear resulting from nature's very materialization and objectification—has been belittled as animist superstition, and the control of internal and external nature has been made the absolute purpose of life. Now that self-preservation has been finally automated, reason is dismissed
+
+by those who, as controllers of production, have taken over its inheritance and fear it in the disinherited. The essence of enlightenment is the choice between alternatives, and the inescapability of this choice is that of power. Human beings have always had to choose between their subjugation to nature and its subjugation to the self. With the spread of the bourgeois commodity economy the dark horizon of myth is illuminated by the sun of calculating reason, beneath whose icy rays the seeds of the new barbarism are germinating. Under the compulsion of power, human labor has always led away from myth and, under power, has always fallen back
+
+under its spell.
+
+The intertwinement of myth, power, and labor is preserved in one of the tales of Homer. Book XII of the *Odyssey* tells how Odysseus sailed past the Sirens. Their allurement is that of losing oneself in the past. But the hero exposed to it has come of age in suffering. In the multitude of mortal dangers which he has had to endure, the unity of his own life, the identity of the person, have been hardened. The realms of time have been separated for him like water, earth, and air. The tide of what has been has receded from the rock of the present, and the future lies veiled in cloud on the horizon. What Odysseus has left behind him has passed into the world of shades: so close is the self to the primeval myth from whose embrace it has wrested itself that its own lived past becomes a mythical prehistory. It seeks to combat this by a fixed order of time. The tripartite division is intended to liberate the present moment from the power of the past by banishing the latter beyond the absolute boundary of the irrecoverable and placing it, as usable knowledge, in the service of the present. The urge to rescue the past as something living, instead of using it as the material of progress, has been satisfied only in art, in which even history, as a representation of past life, is included. As long as art does not insist on being treated as knowledge, and thus exclude itself from praxis, it is tolerated by social praxis in the same way as pleasure. But the Sirens' song has not yet been deprived of power as art. They have knowledge "of all that has ever happened on this fruitful earth"33 and especially of what has befallen Odysseus himself: "For we know all that the Argives and the Trojans suffered on the broad plain of Troy by the will of the gods."34 By directly invoking the recent past, and with the irresistible promise of pleasure which their song contains, the Sirens threaten the patriarchal order, which gives each person back their life only in exchange for their full measure of
+
+time. When only unfailing presence of mind wrests survival from nature, anyone who follows the Sirens' phantasmagoria is lost. If the Sirens know everything that has happened, they demand the future as its price, and their promise of a happy homecoming is the deception by which the past entraps a humanity filled with longing. Odysseus has been warned by Circe, the divinity of regression to animal form, whom he has withstood and who therefore gives him the strength to withstand other powers of dissolution. But the lure of the Sirens remains overpowering. No one who hears their song can escape. Humanity had to inflict terrible injuries on itself before the self—the identical, purpose-directed, masculine character of human beings—was created, and something of this process is repeated in every childhood. The effort to hold itself together attends the ego at all its stages, and the temptation to be rid of the ego has always gone handin-hand with the blind determination to preserve it. Narcotic intoxication, in which the euphoric suspension of the self is expiated by deathlike sleep, is one of the oldest social transactions mediating between self-preservation and self-annihilation, an attempt by the self to survive itself. The fear of losing the self, and suspending with it the boundary between oneself and other life, the aversion to death and destruction, is twinned with a promise of joy which has threatened civilization at every moment. The way of civilization has been that of obedience and work, over which fulfillment shines everlastingly as mere illusion, as beauty deprived of power. Odysseus's idea, equally inimical to his death and to his happiness, shows awareness of this. He knows only two possibilities of escape. One he prescribes to his comrades. He plugs their ears with wax and orders them to row with all their might. Anyone who wishes to survive must not listen to the temptation of the irrecoverable, and is unable to listen only if he is unable to hear. Society has always made sure that this was the case. Workers must look ahead with alert concentration and ignore anything which lies to one side. The urge toward distraction must be grimly sublimated in redoubled exertions. Thus the workers are made practical. The other possibility Odysseus chooses for himself, the landowner, who has others to work for him. He listens, but does so while bound helplessly to the mast, and the stronger the allurement grows the more tightly he has himself bound, just as later the bourgeois denied themselves happiness the closer it drew to them with the increase in their own power. What he hears has no consequences for him; he can signal to his men to untie him only by
+
+movements of his head, but it is too late. His comrades, who themselves cannot hear, know only of the danger of the song, not of its beauty, and leave him tied to the mast to save both him and themselves. They reproduce the life of the oppressor as a part of their own, while he cannot step outside his social role. The bonds by which he has irrevocably fettered himself to praxis at the same time keep the Sirens at a distance from praxis: their lure is neutralized as a mere object of contemplation, as art. The fettered man listens to a concert, as immobilized as audiences later, and his enthusiastic call for liberation goes unheard as applause. In this way the enjoyment of art and manual work diverge as the primeval world is left behind. The epic already contains the correct theory. Between the cultural heritage and enforced work there is a precise correlation, and both are founded on the inescapable compulsion toward the social control of
+
+nature.
+
+Measures like those taken on Odysseus's ship in face of the Sirens are a prescient allegory of the dialectic of enlightenment. Just as the capacity to be represented is the measure of power, the mightiest person being the one who can be represented in the most functions, so it is also the vehicle of both progress and regression. Under the given conditions, exclusion from work means mutilation, not only for the unemployed but also for people at the opposite social pole. Those at the top experience the existence with which they no longer need to concern themselves as a mere substrate, and are wholly ossified as the self which issues commands. Primitive man experienced the natural thing only as the fugitive object of desire, "but the lord, who has interposed the bondsman between it and himself, takes to himself only the dependent aspect of the thing and has the pure enjoyment of it. The aspect of its independence he leaves to the bondsman, who works on it."35 Odysseus is represented in the sphere of work. Just as he cannot give way to the lure of self-abandonment, as owner he also forfeits participation in work and finally even control over it, while his companions, despite their closeness to things, cannot enjoy their work because it is performed under compulsion, in despair, with their senses forcibly stopped. The servant is subjugated in body and soul, the master regresses. No system of domination has so far been able to escape this price, and the circularity of history in its progress is explained in part by this debilitation, which is the concomitant of power. Humanity, whose skills and knowledge become differentiated with the division of labor, is
+
+thereby forced back to more primitive anthropological stages, since, with the technical facilitation of existence, the continuance of domination demands the fixation of instincts by greater repression. Fantasy withers. The calamity is not that individuals have fallen behind society or its material production. Where the development of the machine has become that of the machinery of control, so that technical and social tendencies, always intertwined, converge in the total encompassing of human beings, those who have lagged behind represent not only untruth. Adaptation to the power of progress furthers the progress of power, constantly renewing the degenerations which prove successful progress, not failed progress, to be its own antithesis. The curse of irresistible progress is irresistible regres-
+
+sion.
+
+This regression is not confined to the experience of the sensuous world, an experience tied to physical proximity, but also affects the autocratic intellect, which detaches itself from sensuous experience in order to subjugate it. The standardization of the intellectual function through which the mastery of the senses is accomplished, the acquiescence of thought to the production of unanimity, implies an impoverishment of thought no less than of experience; the separation of the two realms leaves both damaged. A consequence of the restriction of thought to organization and administration, rehearsed by the those in charge from artful Odysseus to artless chairmen of the board, is the stupidity which afflicts the great as soon as they have to perform tasks other than the manipulation of the small. Mind becomes in reality the instrument of power and self-mastery for which bourgeois philosophy has always mistaken it. The deafness which has continued to afflict the submissive proletarians since the myth is matched by the immobility of those in command. The overripeness of society lives on the immaturity of the ruled. The more complex and sensitive the social, economic, and scientific mechanism, to the operation of which the system of production has long since attuned the body, the more impoverished are the experiences of which the body is capable. The elimination of qualities, their conversion into functions, is transferred by rationalized modes of work to the human capacity for experience, which tends to revert to that of amphibians. The regression of the masses today lies in their inability to hear with their own ears what has not already been heard, to touch with their hands what has not previously been grasped; it is the new form of blindness which supersedes that of van-
+
+quished myth. Through the mediation of the total society, which encompasses all relationships and impulses, human beings are being turned back into precisely what the developmental law of society, the principle of the self, had opposed: mere examples of the species, identical to one another through isolation within the compulsively controlled collectivity. The rowers, unable to speak to one another, are all harnessed to the same rhythms, like modern workers in factories, cinemas, and the collective. It is the concrete conditions of work in society\* which enforce conformism—not the conscious influences which additionally render the oppressed stupid and deflect them from the truth. The powerlessness of the workers is not merely a ruse of the rulers but the logical consequence of industrial society, into which the efforts to escape it have finally trans-
+
+formed the ancient concept of fate.
+
+This logical necessity, however, is not conclusive. It remains tied to domination, as both its reflection and its tool. Its truth, therefore, is no less questionable than its evidence is inescapable. Thought, however, has always been equal to the task of concretely demonstrating its own equivocal nature. It is the servant which the master cannot control at will. Domination, in becoming reified as law and organization, first when humans formed settlements and later in the commodity economy, has had to limit itself. The instrument is becoming autonomous: independently of the will of the rulers,\* the mediating agency of mind moderates the immediacy of economic injustice.\* The instruments of power—language, weapons, and finally machines—which are intended to hold everyone in their grasp, must in their turn be grasped by everyone. In this way, the moment of rationality in domination also asserts itself as something different from it. The thing-like quality of the means, which makes the means universally available, its "objective validity" for everyone, itself implies a criticism of the domination from which thought has arisen as its means. On the way from mythology to logistics, thought has lost the element of reflection on itself, and machinery mutilates people today, even if it also feeds them. In the form of machines, however, alienated reason is moving toward a society which reconciles thought, in its solidification as an apparatus both material and intellectual, with a liberated living element, and relates it to society itself as its true subject. The particularist origin and the universal perspective of thought have always been inseparable. Today, with the transformation of the world into industry, the per-
+
+spective of the universal, the social realization of thought, is so fully open to view that thought is repudiated by the rulers themselves as mere ideology. It is a telltale manifestation of the bad conscience of the cliques in whom economic necessity is finally embodied\* that its revelations, from the "intuitions" of the *Führer* to the "dynamic worldview," no longer acknowledge their own atrocities as necessary consequences of logical regularities, in resolute contrast to earlier bourgeois apologetics. The mythological lies about "mission" and "fate"\* which they use instead do not even express a complete untruth: it is no longer the objective laws of the market which govern the actions of industrialists and drive humanity toward catastrophe. Rather, the conscious decisions of the company chairmen\* execute capitalism's old law of value, and thus its fate, as resultants no less compulsive than the blindest price mechanisms. The rulers themselves do not believe in objective necessity, even if they sometimes call their machinations by that name. They posture as engineers of world history. Only their subjects accept the existing development, which renders them a degree more powerless with each prescribed increase in their standard of living, as inviolably necessary. Now that the livelihood of those still\* needed to operate the machines can be provided with a minimal part of the working time which the masters of society have at their disposal, the superfluous remainder, the overwhelming mass of the population, are trained as additional guards of the system, so that they can be used today and tomorrow as material for its grand designs. They are kept alive as an army of unemployed. Their reduction to mere objects of administration, which preforms every department of modern life right down to language and perception, conjures up an illusion of objective necessity before which they believe themselves powerless. Poverty\* as the antithesis between power and impotence is growing beyond measure, together with the capacity permanently to abolish poverty. From the commanding heights of the economy\* to the latest professional rackets,\* the tangled mass of cliques and institutions which ensures the indefinite continuation of the status quo is impenetrable to each individual. Even for a union boss, to say nothing of a manager, a proletarian is no more than a superfluous specimen, should he catch his notice at all, while the union boss in turn must
+
+live in terror of his own liquidation.
+
+The absurdity of a state of affairs in which the power of the system over human beings increases with every step they take away from the
+
+power of nature denounces the reason of the reasonable\* society as obsolete. That reason's necessity is illusion, no less than the freedom of the industrialists, which reveals its ultimately compulsive nature in their inescapable struggles and pacts. This\* illusion, in which utterly enlightened humanity is losing itself, cannot be dispelled by a thinking which, as an instrument of power, has to choose between command and obedience. Although unable to escape the entanglement in which it was trapped in prehistory, that thinking\* is nevertheless capable of recognizing the logic of either/or, of consequence and antinomy, by means of which it emancipated itself radically from nature, as that same nature, unreconciled and self-estranged. Precisely by virtue of its irresistible logic, thought, in whose compulsive mechanism nature is reflected and perpetuated, also reflects itself as a nature oblivious of itself, as a mechanism of compulsion. Of course, mental representation is only an instrument. In thought, human beings distance themselves from nature in order to arrange it in such a way that it can be mastered. Like the material tool which, as a thing, is held fast as that thing in different situations and thereby separates the world, as something chaotic, multiple, and disparate, from that which is known, single, and identical, so the concept is the idea-tool which fits into things at the very point from which one can take hold of them. Thought thus becomes illusory whenever it seeks to deny its function of separating, distancing, and objectifying. All mystical union remains a deception, the impotently inward trace of the forfeited revolution. But while enlightenment is right in opposing any hypostatization of utopia and in dispassionately denouncing power as division, the split between subject and object, which it will not allow to be bridged, becomes the index of the untruth both of itself and of truth.\* The proscribing of superstition has always signified not only the progress of domination but its exposure. Enlightenment is more than enlightenment, it is nature made audible in its estrangement. In mind's self-recognition as nature divided from itself, nature, as in prehistory, is calling to itself, but no longer directly by its supposed name, which, in the guise of *mana*, means omnipotence, but as something blind and mutilated. In the mastery of nature, without which mind does not exist, enslavement to nature persists. By modestly confessing itself to be power and thus being taken back into nature, mind rids itself of the very claim to mastery which had enslaved it to nature. Although humanity may be unable to interrupt its flight away from neces-
+
+sity and into progress and civilization without forfeiting knowledge itself, at least it no longer mistakes the ramparts it has constructed against necessity, the institutions and practices of domination which have always rebounded against society from the subjugation of nature, for guarantors of the coming freedom. Each advance of civilization has renewed not only mastery but also the prospect of its alleviation. However, while real history is woven from real suffering, which certainly does not diminish in proportion to the increase in the means of abolishing it, the fulfillment of that prospect depends on the concept. For not only does the concept, as science, distance human beings from nature, but, as the self-reflection of thought—which, in the form of science, remains fettered to the blind economic tendency—it enables the distance which perpetuates injustice to be measured. Through this remembrance of nature within the subject, a remembrance which contains the unrecognized truth of all culture, enlightenment is opposed in principle to power, and even in the time of Vanini the call to hold back enlightenment was uttered less from fear of exact science than from hatred of licentious thought, which had escaped the spell of nature by confessing itself to be nature's own dread of itself. The priests have always avenged *mana* on any exponent of enlightenment who propitiated *mana* by showing fear before the frightening entity which bore that name, and in their hubris the augurs of enlightenment were at one with the priests. Enlightenment in its bourgeois form had given itself up to its positivist moment long before Turgot and d'Alembert. It was never immune to confusing freedom with the business of self-preservation. The suspension of the concept, whether done in the name of progress or of culture, which had both long since formed a secret alliance against truth, gave free rein to the lie. In a world which merely verified recorded evidence and preserved thought, debased to the achievement of great minds, as a kind of superannuated headline, the lie was no longer distin-
+
+guishable from a truth neutralized as cultural heritage.
+
+But to recognize power even within thought itself as unreconciled nature would be to relax the necessity which even socialism, in a concession to reactionary common sense, prematurely confirmed as eternal.\* In declaring necessity the sole basis of the future and banishing mind, in the best idealist fashion, to the far pinnacle of the superstructure, socialism clung all too desperately to the heritage of bourgeois philosophy. The relationship of necessity to the realm of freedom was therefore treated as
+
+merely quantitative, mechanical, while nature, posited as wholly alien, as in the earliest mythology, became totalitarian, absorbing socialism along with freedom. By sacrificing thought, which in its reified form as mathematics, machinery, organization, avenges itself on a humanity forgetful of it, enlightenment forfeited its own realization. By subjecting everything particular to its discipline, it left the uncomprehended whole free to rebound as mastery over things against the life and consciousness of human beings. But a true praxis capable of overturning the status quo depends on theory's refusal to yield to the oblivion in which society allows thought to ossify. It is not the material preconditions of fulfillment, unfettered technology\* as such, which make fulfillment uncertain. That is the argument of sociologists who are trying to devise yet another antidote, even a collectivist one, in order control that antidote.36 The fault lies in a social context which induces blindness. The mythical scientific respect of peoples for the given reality, which they themselves constantly create, finally becomes itself a positive fact, a fortress before which even the revolutionary imagination feels shamed as utopianism, and degenerates to a compliant trust in the objective tendency of history. As the instrument of this adaptation, as a mere assemblage of means, enlightenment is as destructive as its Romantic enemies claim. It will only fulfill itself if it forswears its last complicity with them and dares to abolish the false absolute, the principle of blind power. The spirit of such unyielding theory would be able to turn back from its goal even the spirit of pitiless progress. Its herald, Bacon, dreamed of the many things "which kings with their treasure cannot buy, nor with their force command, [of which] their spials and intelligencers can give no news."\* Just as he wished, those things have been given to the bourgeois, the enlightened heirs of the kings. In multiplying violence through the mediation of the market, the bourgeois economy has also multiplied its things and its forces to the point where not merely kings or even the bourgeoisie are sufficient to administrate them: all human beings are needed. From the power of things they finally learn to forgo power. Enlightenment consummates and abolishes itself when the closest practical objectives reveal themselves to be the most distant goal already attained, and the lands of which "their spials and intelligencers can give no news"—that is, nature misunderstood by masterful science—are remembered as those of origin. Today, when Bacon's utopia, in which "we should command nature in action," has been fulfilled on a telluric scale, the
+
+essence of the compulsion which he ascribed to unmastered nature is becoming apparent. It was power itself. Knowledge, in which, for Bacon, "the sovereignty of man" unquestionably lay hidden, can now devote itself to dissolving that power. But in face of this possibility enlightenment, in the service of the present, is turning itself into an outright deception of the
+
+masses.
+
+Excursus I: Odysseus or Myth and Enlightenment
+
+Just as the story of the Sirens illustrates the intertwinement of myth and rational labor, the Odyssey as a whole bears witness to the dialectic of enlightenment. In its oldest stratum, especially, the epic shows clear links to myth: the adventures are drawn from popular tradition. But as the Homeric spirit takes over and "organizes" the myths, it comes into contradiction with them. The familiar equation of epic and myth, which in any case has been undermined by recent classical philology, proves wholly misleading when subjected to philosophical critique. The two concepts diverge. They mark two phases of an historical process, which are still visible at the joints where ediwrs have stitched the epic together. The Homeric discourse creates a universality of language, if it does not already presuppose it; it disintegrates rhe hierarchical order of society through the exoteric form of its depiction, even and especially when it glorifies that order. The celebration of the wrath of Achilles and the wanderings of Odysseus is already a nostalgic stylization of what can no longer be celebrated; and the hero of the adventures turns out to be the prototype of the bourgeois individual, whose concept originates in the unwavering self-assertion of which the protagonist driven to wander the earth is the primeval model. Finally, the epic, which in terms of the philosophy of history is the counterpart of the novel, exhibits features reminiscent of that genre, and the venerable cosmos of the Homeric world, a world charged with meaning, reveals itself as an achievement of classifying rea-
+
+son, which destroys myth by virtue of the same rational order which is
+
+used to reflect it.
+
+Understanding of the element of bourgeois enlightenment in Homer has been advanced by the German late-Romantic interpretation of antiquity based on the early writings of NietzSche. Like few others since Hegel, NietzSche recognized the dialectic of enlightenment. He formulated the ambivalent relationship of enlightenment to power. Enlightenment must be "drummed into the people, so that the priests all turn into priests with a bad conscience-and likewise with the state. That is the task of enlightenment: to show up the pompous behavior of princes and statesmen as a deliberate lie."1 However, enlightenment had always been a means employed by the "great artists of government (Confucius in China, the Roman Empire, Napoleon, the Papacy, when it was concerned with power and not just with the world) ... The self-deception of the masses in this respect-for instance, in all democracies-is highly advantageous: making people small and governable is hailed as 'progress'!''2 As this twofold character of enlightenment emerged more clearly as a basic motif of history, its concept, that of advancing thought, was traced back to the beginning of recorded history. However, whereas Nietzsche's attitude to enlightenment, and thus to Homer, remained ambiyalent; whereas he perceived in enlightenment both the universal movement of sovereign mind, whose supreme exponent he believed himself to be, and a "nihilistic," lifedenying power, only the second moment was taken over by his pre-fascist followers and perverted into ideology. This ideology became a blind eulo-
+
+gy of blind life, which imposes a praxis by which everything !'
+
+iving is sup-
+
+pressed. This is seen in the cultural fascists' attitude to Homer. In the Homeric depiction of feudal conditions they detect a democratic element, brand the work a product of seafarers and traders, and condemn the Ionian epic for its of overly rational discourse and its communication of the commonplace. Nevertheless, the evil eye of these sympathizers with all seemingly immediate power, who reject mediation and "liberalism" of any degree, discerns an element of truth. Connections with reason, liberality, and middle-class qualities do indeed extend incomparably further back than is assumed by historians who date the concept of the burgher from dH: end of medieval feudalism. In identifying the burgher where earlier hourge�is humanism had imagined some pristine dawn of culture, which was taken ro legitimize that humanism, the nco-Romantic reacuon
+
+equates world hisrory with enlightenment. The fashionable ideology, whose most urgent concern is to liquidate enlightenment, thus pays it involumary homage. It is forced to acknowledge enlightened thinking even in the remotest past. For the bad conscience of present-day devotees of the archaic it is especially the earliest traces of enlightenmem which threaten to unleash the process they seek to hold back, but which they
+
+themselves obliviously promote.
+
+But a recognition of Homer's antimythological, enlightened character, his opposition ro chthonic mythology, remains untrue because limited. Rudolf Borchardt,\* for example, the most prominent and therefore the most impotent of the esoteric apologists of German heavy industry, prematurely breaks off his analysis in the service of repressive ideology. He fails to perceive that the primal powers he exrols themselves represent a stage of enlightenment. By indiscriminately denouncing the epic as a form of novel he overlooks what epic and myth actually have in common: power and exploitation. The ignoble qualities he condemns in the epic, mediation and circulation, are only a further development of the dubious nobility he idolizes in myth: naked force. The alleged authenticity of the archaic, with its principle of blood and sacrifice, is already tainted by the devious bad conscience of power characteristic of the "national regeneration" today, which uses primeval times for self-advertising. The original myth itself contains the moment of mendacity which triumphs in the fraudulent myth of fascism and which the latter imputes to enlightenment. But no work bears more eloquent witness to the intertwinement of enlightenment and myth than that of Homer, the basic text of European civilization. In Homer, epic and myth, form and subject matter do not simply diverge; they conduct an argument. The aesthetic dualism of the work gives evidence of the historical-philosophical tendency. 'The Apollonian Homer is merely a continuation of the general human artistic
+
+process to which we owe individuation."3
+
+Myths are precipitated in the different strata of Homer's subject matter; but at the same rime the reporting of them, the unity imposed on the diffuse legends, traces the path of the subject's flight from the mythical powers. This is already true, in a profound sense, of the Iliad. The anger of the mythical son of a goddess against the rational\* warrior king and organizer; the hero's undisciplined inactivity; finally, the enlistment of the victorious, doomed hero in a cause which is national, Hellenic, and no
+
+longer tribal, an allegiance mediated by mythic loyalty to his dead comrade-all these reflect the intertwinement of history and prehistory. The
+
+same development is still more vividly present in the
+
+\_
+
+Odyssey, since it is
+
+closer in form to the picaresque novel. The contrast between the single surviving ego and the multiplicity of fare reflects the antithesis between enlightenment and myth. The hero's peregrinations from Troy to Ithaca trace the path of the self through myths, a self infinitely weak in comparison to the force of nature and still in the process of formation as self-consciousness. The primeval world is secularized as the space he measures out; the old demons populate only the distant margins and islands of the civilized Mediterranean, retreating into the forms of rock and cave from which they had originally sprung in the face of primal dread. The adventures bestow names on each of these places, and the names give rise to a rational overview of space. The shipwrecked, tremulous navigator anticipates the work of the compass. His powerlessness, leaving no part of the sea unknown, aims to undermine the ruling powers. But, in the eyes of the man who has thus come of age, the plain untruth of the myths, the fact that sea and earth are not actually populated by demons bur are a magic delusion propagated by traditional popular religion, becomes something merely "aberrant" in contrast to his unambiguous purpose of selfpreservation, of returning to his homeland and fixed property. All the adventures Odysseus survives are dangerous temptations deflecting the self from the path of irs logic. Again and again he gives way to them, experimenting like a novice incapable of learning-sometimes, indeed, out �f foolish curiosity, like a mime insatiably trying our roles. "B�t where danger threatens I That which saves from it also grows":4 the knowledge which makes up his identity and enables him to survive has its substance in the experience of diversity, distraction, disintegration; the knowing survivor is also the man who exposes himself most daringly to the threat of death, thus gaining the hardness and the strength to live. That is the secret underlying the conflict between epic and myth: the self does nor exist simply in rigid antithesis to adventure but takes on irs solidity only through this antithesis, and its unity through the very multiplicity which myth in its oneness denies.� Odysseus, like the heroes of all true novels afl!er him, throws himself away, so to speak, in order to win himself; he achieves his estrangement from nature by abandoning himself to nature, trying his strength against it in all his adventures; ironically, it is implacable nature
+
+that he now commands, which triumphs on his return home as the implacable judge, avenging the heritage of the very powers he has escaped. At the Homeric stage, the identity of the self is so much a function of the nonidentical, of dissociated, unaniculated myths, that it must derive itself from them. The element which shapes and organizes individuality internally, time, is still so weak that the unity of the adventures remains an outward one, their sequence being formed by the spatial changes of scene, the succession of sites of local divinities on which the hero is flung by the storm. Whenever, at later historical stages, the self has again experienced such weakness, or narration has presupposed it in the reader, the manner of depicting life has slipped back into the form of successive adventures. Laboriously and revocably, in the image of the journey, historical time has detached itself frorp space, the irrevocable schema of all mythical time.
+
+The faculty by which rhe self survives adventures, throwing itself away in order to preserve itself, is cunning. The seafarer Odysseus outwits the natural deities as the civilized traveler was later to swindle savages, offering them colored beads for ivory. It is true that Odysseus is only occasionally seen bartering, when gifts of hospitality are given and received. In Homer the gift which accompanies hospitality falls midway between exchange and sacrifice. Like a sacrificial act it is intended to compensate for wrongfully spilled blood, whether of the stranger or of settlers defeated by pirates, and represents an oath of truce. At the same time, however, the gift to the host anticipates the principle of equivalence: the host receives really or symbolically the equivalent �alue of the service he has performed, while the guest takes away provisions which, in principle, are intended to enable him to reach home. Even though the host receives no direct compensation for this, he can expect the same treatment to be given to him or his kinsmen one day: as a sacrifice to elemental deities the hospitality gift is at the same rime a rudimentary insurance against them. The extensive but perilous nautical activities of the early Greeks were the pragmatic reason for the custom. Even Poseidon, Odysseus's elemental foe, thinks in terms of equivalence, constantly complaining that the gifts received by Odysseus at the stations of his journey are worth more than his full share of the spoils of Troy would have been had he been allowed to carry it home without hindrance from Poseidon. And in Homer this kind of rationalization can be traced back to the sacrificial acts themselves. Hecatombs of a certain size are intended to secure the goodwill of partie-
+
+ular deities. If exchange represents the secularization of sacrifice, the sacrifice itself, like the magic schema of rational exchange, appears as a human contrivance intended to control the gods, who are overthrown precisely by
+
+the system created to honor them.6
+
+The moment of fraud in sacrifice is the prototype of Odyssean cunning, just as many of Odysseus's ruses are wrapped up, as it were, in an offering to natural deities.7 The deities are duped not only by the hero bur also by the solar gods. Odysseus's Olympian friends take advantage of Poseidon's sojourn among the Ethiopians, the backwoodsmen who still worship him and offer him bloody sacrifices, in order to escort Odysseus in safety. Even the sacrifice which Poseidon is glad to accept involves deception: the amorphous sea-god's confinement to a certain locality, the sacred precinct, also restricts his power, and in exchange for sating himself on Ethiopian oxen he is denied the opportunity to cool his temper on Odysseus. All sacrificial acts, deliberately planned by humans, deceive the god for whom they are performed: by imposing on him the primacy of human purposes they dissolve away his power, and the fraud against him passes over searnlessly into that perpetrated by unbelieving priests against believing congregations. Cunning originates in the cult. Odysseus himself acts as both victim and priest. By calculating the risk he incurs as victim, he is able to negate the power to which the risk exposes him. By such bargaining he retrieves the life he has staked. However, deception, cunning, and rationality do not form a simple antithesis to the archaism of sacrifice. Only the moment of fraud in sacrifice, perhaps the innqmost reason for the illusory character of myth, is raised to self-consciousness through Odysseus. The awareness that the symbolic communication with the deity through sacrifice was not real must have been age-old. The repres�ntative character of sacrifice, glorified by fashionable irrationalists, cannot be sei? aratcd from the deification of the sacrificial victim, from the fraudulent priestly rationalization of murder through the apotheosis of the chosen victim. Something of this fraud, which elevates the perishable person as bearer of the divine substance, has always been detectable in the ego, which owes its existence to the sacrifice of the present moment to the fururc. Its substance is as illusory as the immortality of the slaughtered victim. Nor without reason was Odysseus regarded by many as a deity.\*
+
+l;o� as long as individuals arc sacrificed, for as long as the sacrifice contains the antithesis between collective and individua), deception is
+
+objectively implicit in it. If the belief in the representative character of sacrifice springs from recollection of the nonoriginal quality of the self. from irs emergence through the history of domination, at the same time, in relation to the fully developed self, this belief becomes untruth: the self is precisely the human being to whom the magic power of representation is no longer attributed. The formation of the self severs the fluctuating connection with nature which the sacrifice of the self is supposed to establish. Each sacrifice is a restoration of the past, and is given the lie by the historical reality in which it is performed. The venerable belief in sacrifice is probably itself a behavior pattern drilled into the subjugated, by which they reenact against themselves the wrong done to them in order to be able to bear it. Sacrifice as representative restoration does nor reinstate immediate communication, which had been merely interrupted, as present-day mythologies claim; rather, the institution of sacrifice is itself the mark of an historical catastrophe, an act of violence done equally to human beings and to nature. Cunning is nothing other than the subjective continuation of the objective unuuth of sacrifice, which it supersedes. That untruth may not have been always only untruth. At one stage8 of prehistory sacrific� may have possessed a kind of bloody rationality, which even then, however, could hardly have been separated from the thirst for privilege. The theory of sacrifice prevalent today relates it to the idea of a collective body, the tribe, into which the spilled blood of the tribe's sacrificed member is supposed to flow back. While totemism was an ideology even in its own time, it nevertheless marks a real state in which the dominant reason required sacrificial victims. It is a state of archaic shortage1 in which human sacrifice can hardly be distinguished from cannibalism. At some times the numerically increased collective can keep itself alive only by consuming human flesh; perhaps, in some ethnic and social groups, pleasure was linked in some way to cannibalism, a link to which only the aversion to human flesh now bears witness. Customs from later times, such as the ver sacrum, whereby a whole age-group of young men was forced into exile with accompanying rites at times of hunger, bear clear traces of such barbaric, idealized rationality. Long before the emergence of mythical popular religions, that rationality must have revealed itself as illusory; as systematic hunting provided the tribe with enough animals to make devouring its own members superfluous, it must have been the medicine men who deluded the shrewd hunters and trappers into believing that people
+
+still needed to be consumed.9 The magic, collective interpretation of sacrifice, which entirely denies the rationality of sacrifice, is irs rationalization; bur the straightforward assumption of enlightened thinking that what today is ideology may once have been truth is too uncritical:10 the newest ideologies are a mere reprise of the oldest, which long antedatel those hitherto known, in the same way as the development of the class society refutes the previously sanctioned ideologies. The frequently cited irrationality of sacrifice is no more than an expression of the fact that the praxis of sacrifice outlasted its rational necessity, which was replaced �y particular interests. This split between the rational and the irrational aspects of sacrifice gave cunning a point at which to take hold. Demythologization always takes the form of the irresistible revelation of
+
+the futility and the superfluity of sacrifices.
+
+If the principle of sacrifice was proved transient by its irrationality, at rhe same time it survives through its rationality. This rationality has transformed itself, not disappeared. The self wrests itself from dissolution in blind nature, whose claims are constantly reasserted by sacrifice. But it still remains trapped in the context of the natural, one living thing seeking to overcome another. Bargaining one's way out of sacrifice by means of self-preserving rationality is a form of exchange no less than was sacrifice itself. The identical, enduring self which springs from the conquest of sacrifice is itself the product of a hard, petrified sacrificial ritual in which rhe human being, by opposing its consciousness to its natural context, celebrates itself. That much is true of the famous story in Nordic mythology
+
+/
+
+according to which Odin was hung from a rree as a sacrifice to himself, and of Klages's thesis that every sacrifice is a sacrifice of the god to the god, as is still apparent in Christology, the monotheistic disguise of myrh.11 The difference is that the stratum of mythology in which the self manifests itself as a sacrifice to itself expresses not so much the original conception of popular religions as the absorption of myth into civilization. In class society, the self's hostility to sacrifice included a sacrifice of the self, since it was paid for by a denial of nature in the human being for the sake of mastery over extrahuman nature and over other human beings. This very denial, the core of all civilizing rationality, is the germ cell of proliferating mythical irrationality: with the denial of nature in human beings, not only lht· tdos of rhe external mastery of nature but also the tews of one's own lili.· hcmmes wnfuscd and opaque. Ar the moment when human beings
+
+cut themselves off from the consciousness of themselves as nature, all the purposes for which they keep themselves alive-social progress, the heightening of material and intellectual forces, indeed, consciousness itself-become void, and the enthronement of the means as the end, wnich in late capitalism is taking on the character of overt madness, is already detectable in the earliest history of subjectivity. The human being's mastery of itself, on which the self is founded, practically always involves the annihilation of the subject in whose service that mastery is maintained, because the substance which is mastered, suppressed, and disintegrated by self-preservation is nothing other than the living entity, of which the achievements of self-preservation can only be defined as functions-in other words, self-preservation destroys the very thing which is to be preserved. The antireason of totalitarian capitalism, whose technique of satisfying needs, in their objectified form determined by domination, makes the satisfaction of needs impossible and tends toward the extermination of humanity-this antireason appears prototypically in the hero who escapes the sacrifice by sacrificing himself. The history of civilization is the history of the introversion of sacrifice-in other words, the history of renunciation. All who renounce give away more of their life than is given back to them, more than the life they preserve. This process unfolds within the framework of wrong society. In that society everyone is one too many, and is cheated. But society's predicament\* is that the person who escaped the universal, unequal, and unjust exchange, who did not renounce but immediately seized the undiminished whole, would thereby lose everything, even the meager residue of oneself granted by self-preservation. All the superfluous sacrifices are needed: against sacrifice. Even Odysseus is a sacrificial victim, the self which incessantly suppresses its impulses, 12 and thus he lets slip his own life, that he saves only to recall it as a path of error. Nevertheless, he is sacrificed, also, for the abolition of sacrifice. His lordly renunciation, as a struggle with myth, is representative of a society which no Longer needs renunciation and domination-which masters itself not in order to do violence to itself and others but for the sake of reconcil-
+
+iation.
+
+The transformation of the sacrificial victim into subjectivity is done under the aegis of the same cunning which always had its share in sacrifice. In the untruth of guile the deception inherent in sacrifice becomes an element of character; it becomes the mutilation of the cheat [ Ver-
+
+scMagener], whose shifty look still cowers from the blows [Schlage] selfpn:servation has brought down on him. This look expresses the relation of mind to physical strength. The bearer of mind, the one who issues commands-as Odysseus almost always appears-is in all cases physically weaker than the primeval powers with which he has to wrestle for his life, despite all the reports of his heroic deeds. The occasions when naked bodily strength is celebrated, the fistfight with the beggar lrus instigated by 1 he Suitors and the drawing of the great bow, are sporting in nature. Selfpreservation and physical strength have diverged: Odysseus's athletic accomplishments are those of the gentleman who, free of practical cares, can train himself in lordly self-mastery. Precisely the strength which is detached from self-preservation benefits self-preservation: in the struggle wi1h the feeble, gluttonous, undisciplined vagabond or with those who have basked in idleness, Odysseus inflicts on the stay-at-homes symbolically what organized landowning has long since done to them in reality, and legitimizes himself as a nobleman: But when he encounters primeval powers which are neither domesticated nor weakened by indolence, he 1:1ces a harder test. He can never engage the exotically persisting mythical powers in physical combat. He has to accept as a given reality the sacrifil'ial ceremony in which he is repeatedly caught up: he is unable to break i1. Instead, he makes sacrifice the formal precondition of his own rational decision. This decision is always carried' out within the terms of the primeval judgment on which the sacrificial situation is based. That the old .,aniflce has meanwhile become irrational presents itself to the �leverness of 1 he weaker party as the stuRidity of ritual. The ritual remains accepted, i 1 s kiter is strictly observed. But its now senseless judgment refutes itself. since its terms constantly leave scope for evasion. The superiority of nature in 1 he com peri rive struggle is repeatedly confirmed by the very mind which has mastered nature. All bourgeois enlightenment is agreed in iu; demand f(lr sobriety, respect for facts, a correct appraisal of relative mengrh. Wishful thinking is banned. The reason, however, is that all powl'r in class society is beset by the gnawing consciousness of irs powerlessnl'ss in face of physical nature and irs social successor, the -many. Only ddiberatc adaptation to it brings nature under the power of the physical� ly weaker. The rea�on that represses mimesis is nor merely its opposite. I1 is i1sdf min,esis: of death. The subjective mind which disintegrates th( ,piritualization of nature masters spiritless nature only by imitating ��
+
+I
+
+rigidity, disintegrating itself as animistic. Imitation enters the service of power when even the human being becomes an anthropomorphism for human beings. The pattern of Odysseus's guile is mastery of nature by such adaptation. In the assessment of power relationships that admits defeat in advance and makes survival virtually dependent on death, the principle of bourgeois disillusionment, the external schema for the internalization of sacrifice, is already latent. The nimble-witted man survives only at the cost of his own dream, which he forfeits by disintegrating his own magic along with that of the powers outside him. He can never have the whole, he must always be able to wait, to be patient, to renounce; he may not eat the lotus or the cattle of Hyperion, and when he steers through the narrows he must include in his calculation the loss of the companions snatched from the ship by Scylla. He wriggles through-that is his survival, and all the renown he gains in his own and others' eyes merely confirms that the honor of heroism is won only by the humbling
+
+of the urge to attain entire, universal, undivided happiness.
+
+The formula for Odysseus's cunning is that the detached, instrumental mind, by submissively embracing nature, renders to nature what is hers and thereby cheats her. The mythical monsters under whose power he falls represent, as it were, petrified contracts and legal claims dating from primeval rimes. In the developed patriarchal era the earlier popular religion manifests itself in these scattered relics: beneath the Olympian heaven they have become figures of abstract fate, of a necessity remote from sensuous experience. The fact that it would be impossible to choose any route other than that between Scylla and Charybdis may be interpreted rationalistically as the mythical representation of the preponderant power of sea currents over the little ships of andent times. But translated into the objectifying language of myth, it means that the natural relationship between strength and powerlessness has already taken on the character of a legal relationship. Scylla and Charybdis have a claim on whatever comes between their teeth, just as Circe has a right to metamorphose those who are nor immune, or Polyphemus a right to the bodies of his guests. Every mythical figure is compelled to do the same thing over and over again. Each of them is constituted by repetition: its failure would mean their end. They all bear features of the fate which, in the myths of punishment in the underworld, is meted out by Olympian judgment to Tantalus, Sisyphus, and the Danaids. They are figures of compulsion: the horrors they com-
+
+ro choose berween cheating and going under. Fraud was the stigma of reason, which betrayed irs particular interest. The universal socialization for which the globetrotter Odysseus and rhe solo manufacturer Robinson Crusoe provide a preliminary sketch was attended from the first by the absolute loneliness which at the end of the bourgeois era is becoming overt. Radical socialization means radical alienation. Both Odysseus and Crusoe deal in totality: the former measures it out; the latter fabricates it. They can do so only in total isolation from all other human beings, who appear to both men only in estranged forms, as enemies or allies, but
+
+always as instruments, things.
+
+One of the first adventures in the nostos\* proper does, admittedly, originate much further back, far beyond even the barbaric age of demonic masks and gods of magic. It is the story of the Lotus-eaters. Whoever tastes their food is as much in thrall as those who listen to the Sirens' song or are touched by the wand of Circe. But no harm is done to those who succumb: "Now it never entered the heads of these natives to kill my friends. "15 They are threatened only by forgetfulness and loss of will. The curse condemns them to nothing worse than a primal state exempt from labor and struggle in the "fertile land":16 "As soon as each had eaten the honeyed fruit of the plant, all thoughts of reporting to us or escaping were banished from his mind. All they now wished for was to stay where they were with the Lotus-eaters, to browse on the lotus, and to forget that they had a home to return ro."17 Self-preserving reason cannot permit such an idyll-reminiscent of the bliss-induced by narcotics, by which subordinate classes have been made capable of enduring the unendurable in ossified social orders-among its own people. And indeed, it is only an illusion of bliss, a dull aimless vegetating, as impoverished as the life of animals. At best, it would be an absence of the awareness of unhappiness. But happiness contains truth within itself. It is in essence a result. It unfolds from suffering removed. The enduring Odysseus is therefore right not to endure life among the Lotus-eaters. Against them he asserts their own cause, the realization of utopia through historical work, whereas simply abiding within an image of bliss deprives them of their strength. But in being exerred by rationality, by Odysseus, this right is inevitably drawn into the realm of wrong. His immediate action is one which reasserts domination. Self-preserving reason can no more tolerate this bliss "near the rim of the world"18 than the more dangerous form it takes in later stages. The indo-
+
+lenr defectors are fetched back to the galleys: "I had to use force to bring them back to the ships, and they wept on the way, but once on board I dragged them under the benches and left them in irons."19 Lorus is an oriental food. Its thin-cut slices still play a part in Chinese and Indian cooking. Perhaps the temptation ascribed to it is no other than that of regression to the stage of gathering the fruits of the earth20 and the sea, older than agriculture, cattle-rearing, or even hunring-older, in short, than any production. It is hardly an accident that the epic connects the idea of the life of idleness with the eating of flowers, whereas no such use is asso ciated with them today. The eating of flowers, as is still customary during dessert in the East and is known to European children from baking with rosewater and from candied violets, bears the promise of a state in which the reproduction of life is independent of conscious self-preservation, the bliss of satiety uncoupled from the utility of planned nutrition. The memory of the remote and ancient joy which flashes up before the sense of smell is still inseparable from the extreme proximity of ingestion. It points back ro earliest prehistory. No matter how copious the torments endured by the people of that time, they cannot conceive of a happiness not nourished by the image of that primal age: "So we left that country and sailed
+
+on sick at heart."21
+
+The next figure on whose shore Odysseus is cast up [verschlagen] being cast up and being cunning [verschlagen] are equivalents in Homeris the Cyclops Polyphemus, who wears his single wheel-s�zed eye.as a trace of the same primal world: the singleness of the eye suggests the nose and mouth, more primitwe than the symmetry of eyes and ears22 without which, and the combining of their dual perceptions, no ide!)tification, depth, or objectivity is possible. But, compared to the Lotus-eaters, he represents a later, truly barbaric age, one of hunrers and shepherds. For Homer, the definition of barbarism coincides with that of a state in which no systematic agriculrure, and therefore no systematic, time-managing organization of work and society, has yet been achieved. He calls the Cyclopes "fierce, uncivilized people"23 because-and his words seem to
+
+comain a secret confession of the guilt of civilizatio'
+
+n itself-they "never
+
+lift a hand ro planr-or plough but put their trust in Providencre. All the crops th ey require spring up. unsown and untilled, wheat and barley and the� vines whose generous clusters give them wine when ripened for them hy the timely rains."]A Abundance needs ne law, and civilization's accusa-
+
+• '
+
+so to speak, on the backs of the subjects. However, the lawless Polyphemus is not simply the villain he appears to be according to the taboos of civilization and as the giant Goliath appears in the fables of enlightened childhood. In the meager domain in which his self-preservation has taken on orderly habits, he is not without redeeming traits. When he puts the young sheep and goats to their mothers' udders, this practical action shows a concern for creaturely life itself, and the famous speech of the blinded Polyphemus in which he calls the leading ram his friend, asking whether it is the last to leave the cave because it is grieving for its master's eye, has a power and poignancy equaled only at the highest point of the Odyssey, when the homecoming Odysseus is recognized by the old dog Argusdespite the appalling brutality with which the speech ends. The giant's behavior has not yet been objectified as character. When Odysseus begs for hospitality he does not reply simply with an expression of savage hatred but only by refusing to respect a law.-which does not yet apply to him. He says merely that "it would not occur to him"29 to spare Odysseus and his companions, and it is open to question whether his next question, about the whereabouts of Odysseus's ship, is as devious as Odysseus reports it to be. Boastful and beguiled, the drunken Polyphemus promises Odysseus gifts of hospitality,30 and it is only the notion of Odysseus as Nobody that gives him the malicious idea of showing his hospitality by eating the leader last-perhaps because he has called liimselfNobody and thus may be considered nonexistent in terms of the Cyclops's feeble 'Yit.31 The physical crudity of the overpowerful creature is the source of his gullible trust. In this way the observance of the mythical law, always an injustice to the judged, also becomes an injustice to the natural power which itnposes that law. Polyphemus and the other monsters that Odysseus outwits are models for the stupidly litigious devils of the Christian era, right down rei Shylock and Mephistopheles. The' giant's stupidity, the basis of his barbaric bruraliry as long as his cause prospers, represents something better once it is overthrown by one who should know better. Odysseus insinuates himself into Polyphemus's trust and thus subverts the �ptor's right to human flesh, according to the artful schema whereby the statute is breached in the
+
+observance: "Here,
+
+-Cyclops, have some wine to wash down that meal of
+
+human flesh, and find our.Jor yourself what kind of vintage was stored
+
+aJay in our ship's hold,"32 the bearer of culture recommends. However, the atlaptarion of reason to its opp�
+
+Ionian has proved himself prophetically superior to Spartans old and new in his depiction of the doom which the fluency of the sly fox, the middleman, brings down on the latter. The speech which gets the better of physical strength is unable to curb itself. Its spate accompanies the stream of consciousness, thought itself, like a parody: thought's unwavering autonomy takes on a moment of manic folly when it enters reality as speech, as if thought and reality were synonymous, whereas the former has power over the latter only through distance. Such distance, however, is also suffering. For this reason the astute hero is always tempted to ignore the proverbial wisdom that silence is golden. He is driven objectively by the fear that, if he does not constantly uphold the fragile advantage the word has over violence, this advantage will be withdrawn by violence. For the word !mows itself to be weaker than the nature it has duped. By \_talking roo much he gives away the principle of violence and injustice underlying discourse and provokes in the feared adversary the very action he fears. The mythical compulsion acting on language in prehistory is perpetuated in the calamity which enlightened language brings on itself "Udeis," who compulsively proclaims ,himself to be Odysseus, already bears features of the Jew who, in fear of death, continues to boast of a superiority which itself stems from the fear of death; revenge on the middleman stands not only at the end of bourgeois society but at its beginning, as the negative
+
+utopia toward which coercive violence tends in all its forms.
+
+Unlike the stories of the escape from myth as an escape from barbaric cannibalism, the magical tale of Circe points back one� more to the stage of actual magic. Magic disintegrates the self which falls back into its power and thus into the form of an earlier biological species. The power wh ich causes the self's dissolution is, again, rh;at of oblivion. With the fixed order of rime, it gains control of the fixed will of the subject, which: is hased on that order. Circe seduces Odysseus's men into abandoning themselves to instinct, with which the animal form assumed by the victims has always been associated, while Circe has become the prototype of the courresan, probably on rhe strength of the words of Hermes, which take her erotic initiatives for granted: "She �ill shrink from you in terror and invite you to her bed. }'lor must you hesitate to accept the goddess' bvors . ... 1·1 Ci rce's signature is ambiguity, and in the story she appears by '\ turns as�corruptcr and helper; ambiguity is expressed even in her lineage: she is the daughter of Hdips and the granddaughter of Oceanus.34 Jn her ' .
+
+who couldn't bear to see us share the joys of youth and reach the threshold of old age together."51 Marriage represents not only the account-balancing order of the living but also solidarity and steadfastness in face of death. In it reconciliation grows up around subjugation, just as in history up to now true humanity has flourished only in conjunction with the barbaric el�ment which is veiled by "humane values." Even if the contract between the spouses sets aside the old hostility only with difficulty, nevertheless the couple aging in peace merges into the image of Philemon and Baucis, as the smoke from the sacrificial altar is transmuted into that rising beneficently from the hearth. Undoubtedly, marriage forms part of the primal rock of myth at the base of civilization. But its mythic solidity and permanence jut from myth, as the small island realm rises from the end-
+
+less sea.
+
+The farthest point reached on the odyssey proper is no such homely refuge. It is Hades. The images which appear to the adventurer in the first visit to the Underworld'" are of matriarchal shades52 who have been banished by the religion of light: his own mother, before whom Odysseus forces himself to maintain a purposive patriarchal hardness, 53 is followed by heroines from primeval times. The image of the mother, however, is powerless, blind, and speechless,54 a phantom, like epic narrative at the moments when language gives way to images. Sacrificial blood is required as a pledge of living memory before the shades can speak, breaking free, however vainly and ephemerally, from mythic muteness. Only when subjectivity masters itself by recognizing the nullity of images does it begin to share the hope which images vainly promise. The Promis�d Land for Odysseus is not the archaic realm of images. Finally, all the images reveal their true essence as shades in the world of the dead, as illusion. Having recognized them as dead he dismisses them with the lordly gesture of selfpreservation, banishing them from the sacrifice which he reserves for those who grant him knowledge which benefits his life. In such knowledge the power of myth, transposed into mental forms, survives only as imagination. The realm of the dead, where the disempowered myths gather, is farthest from his homeland, with which it can communicate only from the remotest distance. If one follows Kirchhoff in supposing that Odysseus's visit to the Underworld forms part of the oldest stratum of the epic, composed of actual legends,.,., then this oldest strarum also contains a tendency which-as in the tradition of the journeys to the Underworld of
+
+Orpheus and Heracles-most decisively transcends myth. Indeed, the motif of forcing the gates of hell, of abolishing death, is the innermost cell of all antimythological thought. This antimythological element is contained in Teiresias's prophecy of the possible placation of Poseidon. Odysseus is to wander ever farther, carrying on his shoulder an oar, until he reaches a people "who know nothing of the sea and never use salt with their food."56 When he meets another traveler who refers to the oar on his shoulder as a "winnowing fan," he will have reached the proper place to offer a sacrifice to Poseidon. The core of the prophecy is the mistaking of the oar for a winnowing fan. This must have struck the Ionian as compellingly comic. However, this comic effect, on which the reconciliation is made to depend, cannot have been directed at humans but at the wrathful Poseidon. 57 The misunderstanding is meant to amuse the fierce elemental god, in the hope that his anger might be dispersed in laughter. That would be analogous to the\_neighbor's advice in Grimm, explaining how a mother can rid herself of a changeling: "She should carry the changeling into the kitchen, set it on the hearth, light the fire and boil water in two eggsh'ells. That would make the changeling laugh, and if he laughed then that would make an end of him."58 If laughter up to now\* has been a sign of violence, an outbreak of blind, obdurate nature, it nevertheless contains the opposite element, in that through laughter blind nature becomes aware of itself as such and thus abjures its destructive violence. This ambiguity of laughter is closely related �o that of name; perhaps names are nothing but petrified laughter, as nicknames still are-the only ones in which the original act of name-giving still persists. Laughter is in league with the guilt of subjectivity, but in the susp.ension of law which it announces it also points beyond �at complicity. It promises a passage to the homeland. It is a yearning for the homeland which sets in motion the adventures by which subjectivity, the prehistory of which is narrated' in the Odyssey, escapes the primeval world. The fact thatdespite the fascist lies to the contrary-the concept of homeland is opposed to myth constitutes the innermost paradox of epic. Precipitated in £he epic is the m�mory of an historical age in which n-omadism gave way to settlement, the precondition of any homeland. If the fixed order of property implicit in settlement is the source of human alienation, in which all ho�nesickness and longing spring from a lost primal state, at the same time it is loward settlem�nt and fiXed property, on which alone, the con-
+
+cept of homeland is based, that all longing and homesickness are directed. Navalis's definition according to which all philosophy is homesickness holds good only if this longing is not dissipated in the phantasm of a lost original state, but homeland, and nature itself, are pictured as something that have had first to be wrested from myth. Homeland is a state of having escaped. For this reason the criticism that the Homeric legends "withdraw from the earth" is a warranty of their truth. They "turn to men."59 The 'transposition of myths into the novel, as in the adventure story, does not falsify myth so much as drag it into the sphere of time, exposing the abyss which separates ir from homeland and reconciliation. The vengeance wreaked by civilization on the primeval world has been terrible, and in this vengeance, the most horrifying document of which in Homer is to be found in the account of the mutilation of the goatherd Melanthios, civilization itself resembles the primeval world. It is not in the content of the deeds reponed that civilization transcends that world. It is in the selfreflection which causes violence to pause at the moment of narrating such deeds. Speech itself, language as opposed to mythical song, the possibility of holding fast the past atrocity through memory, is the law of Homeric escape. Not without reason is the fleeing hero repeatedly introduced as narrator. The cold detachment of narrative, which describes even the horrible as if for entertainment, for the first time reveals in all their clarity the horrors which in song are solemnly confused with fate. Bur when speech pauses, the caesura allows the events narrated to be transformed into something long past, and causes to flash up a semblance of freedom that civilization has been unable wholly to extinguish ever since. Book)OGI of the Odyssey describes the punishment meted out by the son of the island's king to the faithless maidservants who have sunk into harlotry. With an unmoved composure comparable in its inhumanity only to the impassibilite of the greatest narrative writers of the nineteenth century, the fate of the hanged victims is described and expressionlessly compared to the death of birds in a trap; and, as of the numb pause surrounding the narration at this point, it can truly be said that the rest of all speech is silence. This is followed by a statement reporting that "For a little while their feet kicked out, but not for very long."60 The exactitude of the description, which already exhibits the coldness of anatomy and vivisection,61 keeps a record, as in a novel, of the twitching of the subjugated women, who, under the aegis of justice and law, are thrust down into the realm from
+
+which Odysseus the judge has escaped. As a citizen reflecting on the execution, Homer comforts himself and his listeners, who are really readers, with the certified observation that the kicking did not last long-a moment, and all was over.62 But after the words "not for long" the inner flow of the narrative comes to rest. "Not for long?" the narrator asks by this device, giving the lie to his own composure. In being brought to a standstill, the report is prevented from forgetting the victims of the execution and lays bare the unspeakably endless torment of the single second in which the maids fought against death. No echo remains of the words "not for long" except Cicero's Quo usque tandem ["How much longer (will you try our patience)?"], which later rhetoricians unwittingly desecrated by claiming that patience for themselves. But in the report of the infamous deed, hope lies in the fact that it is long past. Over the raveled skein of prehistory, barbarism, and culture, Homer passes the soothing hand of remembrance, bringing the solac�- of "once upon a time." Only as the
+
+novel is the epic transmuted into fairy tale.
+
+Excursus II: Juliette or Enlightenment and Morality
+
+Enlightenment, in Kant's words, is "the human being's emergence from self-incurred minority. Minority is inability to make use of one's own understanding without direction from another."1 "Understanding without direction from another" is understanding guided by reason. That amounts to saying that the mind combines its individual cognitions into a system in accordance with its own internal logic. "Reason has ... as its sole object the understanding and its effective application. "2 It posits "a certain collective unity as the goal of the activities of the understanding,"3 and this unity is the system. Reason's rules are instructions for a hierarchical ordering of concepts. For Kant, as for Leibniz and Descartes, rationality consists in "processes of ascending to the higher genera and of descending to the lower species [by which] we obtain the idea of systematic connection in irs completeness."4 The "systematization" of knowledge lies in "the connection of its pans i� conformity with a single principle."5 Thinking, as understood by the Enlightenment, is the process of establishing a unified, scientific order and of deriving factual knowledge from principles, whether these principles are interpreted as arbitrarily posited axioms, innate ideas, or the highest abstraaions. The laws of logic establish the most universal relationships within the order and define them. Unity lies in self-consistency. The principle of contradiction is the system in nuce. Knowledge consists in subsumption under principles. It is one with judgment, by which perceptions are incorporated into the system. Any think-
+
+indicates a lack of systematic thinking, a violation of logic, is not a fleeting perception but sudden death. The system which enlightenment aims for is the form of knowledge which most ably deals with the facts, most effectively assists the subject in mastering nature. The system's principles are those of self-preservation. Immaturity amounts to the inability to survive. The bourgeois in the successive forms of the slave-owner, the free entrepreneur, and the administrator is the logical subject of enlighten-
+
+ment.
+
+The difficulties within this concept of reason, arising from the fact that irs subjects, the bearers of one and the same reason, are in real opposition to each other, are concealed in the Western Enlightenment behind the apparent clarity of its judgments. In the Critique of Pure Reason, however, those difficulties make themselves apparent in the unclear relationship of the transcendental to the empirical ego and in the other irreconcilable contradictions. Kant's concepts are ambiguous. Reason as the transcendental, supraindividual self contains the idea of a free coexistence in which human beings organize themselves to form the universal subject and resolve the conflict between pure and empirical reason in the conscious solidarity of the whole. The whole represents the idea of true universality, utopia. At the same time, however, reason is the agency of calculating thought, which arranges the world for the purposes of self-preservation and recognizes no function other than that of working on the object as mere sense material in order to make it the material of subjugation. The true nature of the schematism which externally coordinates the universal and the particular, the concept and the individual, case, finally turns out, in current science, to be the interest of industrial society. Being is apprehended in terms of manipulation and administration. Everything-including the individual human being, not to mention the animal-becomes a repeatable, replaceable process, a mere example of the conceptual models of the system. Conflict between administrative, reifying science, between the public mind and the experience of the individual, is precluded by the prevailing circumstances. The senses are determined by the conceptual apparatus in advance of perception; the citizen sees the world as made a priori of the stuff from which he himself constructs it. Kanr inruitively anticipated what Hollywood has consciously put into practice: images are precensored during production by the same standard of understanding which will later determine their reception by viewers.
+
+The perception by which public judgment feels itself confirmed has been shaped by that judgment even before the perception takes place. Although the secret utopia harbored within the concept of reason may have glimpsed the repressed identical interest which lies beyond the diverse accidental interests of subjects, reason, operating under the pressure of purposes merely as systematic science, not only levels out the differences but standardizes the identical interest. It acknowledges no determinacion other than the classifications of the social operation. No one is different to the purpose for which he has been produced: a useful, successful, or failed member of professional and national groups. He is a single, random representative of his geographical, psychological, and sociological type. Logic is democratic: in this respect the great have no advantage over the most menial. The former are counted as prominent citizens while the latter are prospective objects of welfare relie( Science stands in the same relationship to �ature and human beings in general as insurance theory stands to life and death in particular. Who dies is unimportant; what matters is the ratio of incidences of death to the liabilities of the company. It is the law of large numbers, not the particular case, which recurs in the formula. Nor is the concordance of general and particular concealed any longer within an intellect which always perceives the particular as a case of the general and the general only as the aspect \_of the particular by which it can be .grasped and manipulated. Science itself has no awareness of itself; it is merely a tool. Enlightenment, however, is the philosgphy which equates truth with the scientific system. Kant's attempt to justify this identity, which was still made with a philosophical intention, gave rise to concepts which have no meaning for science, since they are not simply instructions for performing manip�ations according to certain rules. The notion of the self-understanding of s�ience conflicts with the concept of science itself. Kant's work transcends experience as mere operation, and for that reason-and in accordance with, its own principles-is rejected as dogmatic by enlightenment today. In confirming the scientific system as the embodiment of truth-the result arrived at by Kant-thqught sets the seal on its own insignificance, because science is a technical operation, as far removed from reflection on- its own objectives as' is any other form of labor under
+
+the pressure of the system"
+
+� The moral teachings of the Enlightenment bear witness to the hopelcssnc.,�s of attempting to replace enfeebled religi«;>n by an intellectual
+
+motive for enduring within society when material interest no longer suffices. As solid citizens, philosophers ally themselves in practice with the powers they condemn in theory. The theories are logical and hard while the moral philosophies are propagandistic and sentimental, even when rigorous in tone, or else the moral philosophies are acts of violence performed in the awareness that morality is nondeducible, like Kant's recourse to treating moral forces as facts. His attempt to derive the duty of mutual respect from a law of reason, although more cautious than any other such undertaking in Western philosophy, has no support within the Critique. It is the usual endeavor of bourgeois thought to ground the respect without which civilization cannot exist on something other than material interest-an attempt more sublime and paradoxical than any that went before, but just as ephemeral. The citizen who renounced a profit out of the Kantian motive of respect for the mere form of the law would not be enlightened but superstitious-a fool. The root of Kantian optimism, according to which moral actions are reasonable even when base ones are likely to prosper, is a horror of relapsing into barbarism. If-Kant writes in response to Haller10-one of these great moral forces, reciprocal love and respect, were to collapse, "then nothingness (immorality) with gaping maw would drink the whole realm of (moral) beings like a drop of water." But, according to Kant, from the standpoint of scientific reason moral forces are neutral drives and forms of behavior, no less than immoral ones, which they immediately become when no longer directed at chat hidden possibility but at reconciliation with power. Enlightenment expels difference from theory. It considers "human actions and desires· exactly as if I were dealing with lines, planes, and bodies."1 1 The totalitarian order has put this into effect in ut,ter seriousness. Freed from supervision by one's own class, which had obliged the nineteenth-century businessman to maintain Kantian respect and reciprocal love, fascism,\* which by its iron discipline relieves its peoples of th� burden of moral feelings, no longer needs to observe any discipline. Contrary to the categorical imperative, and all the more deeply in accord with pure reason, it treats human beings as things, centers of modes of behavior. The rulers sought to shield the bourgeois world from the flood of naked violence, which now has broken over Europe, only for as long as economic concentration was insufficiently advanced. Previously only the poor and savages had been exposed to the unrrammcled force of rhe capitalist elements. But the totalitarian order has
+
+granted unlimited rights to calculating thought and puts its trust in science as such. Its canon is its own brutal efficiency.\* From Kant's Critique to Nietzsche's Genealogy of Morals, the hand of philosophy had traced the writing on the wall; one individual put that writing into practice, in all its details. The work of the Marquis de Sade exhibits "understanding without direction from another"-that is to say, the bourgeois subject freed from
+
+all tutelage.
+
+Self-preservation is the constitutive principle of science, the soul of the table of categories, even if, as in Kant, it has to be deduced idealistically. Even the ego, the synthetic unity of apperception, the agency which Kant calls the highest point, from which the whole of logic must be suspended, 12 is really both the product and the condition of material existence. Individuals, in having to fend for themselves, develop the ego as the agency of reflective foresight and overview; over successive generations it expands and <;ontracts with the indivioual's prospects of economic autonomy and productive ownership. Finally it passes from the expropriated citizens to the totalitarian trust-masters, whose science has become the quintessence of the methods by which the subjugated mass society reproduces itself. Sade erected an early monument to their planning skills. The conspiracy of rulers against peoples, implemented by relentless organization, finds the Enlightenment spirit since Machiavelli and Hobbes no less cornpliant than the bourgeois republic. That spirit is hostile to authority only when authority lacks the strength to enforce obedience, and to violence only when violence is not an established fact. As long as one does not ask who is applying it, reason has no greater affinity with violence than with mediation; depending on the situation of individuals and groups, it presenrs either peace or war, t,olerance or repression, as the given stare of affairs. Because it unmasks substantial goals as asserting the power of nature over mind and as curtailing its own self-legislation, reason, as a purely formal entity, is at the serv�ce of every natural interest. Becoming simply an organ, thinking reverts to nature. For the rulers, however, human beings become mere material;- as the whole of nature has become material for society. After the brief interlude of liberalism in which the bourgeois kept one another in check, power is revealing itself a.S archaic terror in a fascistically rationalized form.\* "The religious chimeras," says rhc 'Prince of Francavilla at the court of King Ferdinand of Naples, "must he replaced by utmost terror. The people must be freeq from the fear of a
+
+future Hell. Once that is destroyed they will abandon themselves to anything. Bur that chimerical fear must be replaced by penal laws of enormous severity, which apply, of course, only to the people, since they alone cause unrest in the state. Malcontents are born only to the lower classes. What do the rich care for the idea of a leash they will never feel themselves, if this empty semblance gives them the right to grind down those living under their yoke? You will find no one in that class who will not permit the darkest shadow of tyranny to fall on him, provided it really falls on others."13 Reason is the organ of calculation, of planning; it is neutral with regard to ends; its element is coordination. More than a century before the emergence of sport, Sade demonstrated empirically what Kant grounded uansccndentally: the affinity between knowledge and planning which has set irs stamp of inescapable functionality on a bourgeois existence rationalized even in its breathing spaces. The precisely coordinated modern sporting squad, in which no member is in doubt over his role and a replacement is held ready for each, has its exact counterpart in the sexual reams of Juliette, in which no moment is unused, no body orifice neglected, no function left inactive. In sport, as in all branches of mass culture, a tense, purposive bustle prevails, although none but the wholly initiated observer could fathom the different combinations or the meaning of the game's changing fortunes, governed by arbitrarily chosen rules. The special architectonic structure of the Kantian system, like the gymnasts' pyramids in Sade's orgies and the formalized principles of early bourgeois freemasonry-cynically reflected in the strict regime of the libertine society of the I20 Days of Sodom-prefigures the organization, devoid of any substantial goals, which was to encompass the whole of life. What seems to matter in such events, more than pleasure itself, is the busy pursuit of pleasure, irs organization; just as in oth�r demythologized epochs, imperial Rome, the Renaissance, and the Baroque, the schema of activity counted for more than its content. In the modern period enlightenment has released the ideas of harmony and perfection from their hypostatization in a religious Beyond and made them available as criteria for human endeavor within the form of the system. Once the utopia which inspired the hopes of the French Revolution had been absorbed, potently and impotently, into German music and philosophy, the established bourgeois order entirely funetionalized reason. It became a purposiveness without purpose, which for rhat very reason could be harnessed to any end. It is planning
+
+had realized: that freedom in their world tended toward organized anarchy. The Catholic counterrevolution's critique of the Enlightenment proved no less valid than the Enlightenment's critique of Catholicism. The Enlightenment had pinned its colors to liberalism. If all affects are of equal value, then self-preservation, which dominates the form of the system in any case, seems to offer the most plausible maxims for action. It was to be given free rein in the free economy. The somber writers of the early bourgeois period, such as Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Mandeville, who spoke up for the egoism of the self, thereby recognized society as the destructive principle and denounced harmony before it was elevated to the official doctrine by the bearers of light, the classicists. The former writers exposed the totality of the bourgeois order as the horrifying entity which finally engulfed both, the general and the particular, society and the self. With the development of the economic system\* in which the control of the economic apparatus by private groups creates a division between human beings, self-preservation, although treated by reason as identical, had become the reified drive of each individual citizen and proved to be a destructive natural force no longer distinguishable from self-destruction. The two principles combined in a murky fusion. Pure reason became unreason, a procedure as immune to errors as it was devoid of content. However, with the revolutionary avanr-garde, the utopia which proclaimed the reconciliation between nature and the self emerged from its hiding place in German philosophy as something at once irrational and reasonable, as the idea of the community of free individuals\*-and brought down on itself the full fury of reason. In society as it is, despite feeble moralistic attempts to propagate humanity as the most rational means, self-preservation remains unencumbered by a utopia denounced as myth. For those at the top, shrewd self-preservation means the fascist struggle for power, and for individuals it means adaptation to injustice at any price. Enlightened reason no-more possesses the means of measuring one drive within itself against others than of ordering the universe into spheres. It rightly exposes the notion of hierarchy in nature as a reflection of medieval society, and later attempts to demonstrate a new order of values bear the unmistakable taint of mendacity. The irrationalism which is evident in such futile reconstructions is far from opposing industrial reason.\* Whereas great philosophy, in Leibniz and Hegel, had recognized a claim to truth even in subjective and objective forms of expression-feel-
+
+ings, institutions, works of art-which do not amount to actual ideas, irrationalism, here as elsewhere showing its kinship to the last dregs of the Enlightenment, modern positivism, draws a strict line between feeling, in the form of religion and art, and anything deserving the name of knowledge. Although irrationalism restricts cold reason in favor of immediate life, it turns the latter into a principle merely hostile to thought. Under cover of this illusory enmity feeling, and finally all human expression, indeed culture itself, is stripped of any responsibility to thought and transformed into the neutralized element of the all-embracing rationality of an economic system\* long since grown irrational. From the first, that reason has been unable to rely on its attractive power alone and has supplemented it with the cult of emotions. In appealing to this cult, it rums against its own medium, thought, which was always suspect to this self-estranged form of reason. The tender effusions of lovers in films already function as a blow against dispassionate theory, and that is taken further in the sentimental argument against any thought which attacks injustice. This elevation of feelings to an ideology does not abolish the contempt in which they are really held. The fact that, compared to the starry heights into which ideology transposes them, they appear all the more vulgar merely contributes to their o�tracism .. The verdict on feelings was already implicit in the formalization of reason. Even self-preservation, as a natural drive like other impulses,-has a bad conscience; only bustling efficiency and the instimtions created to serve it-mediation, apparatus, organization, systematization as ends in themselves-enjoy rhe esteem, in practice as in theory, of being deemed reasonable; the emotions are incorporated into
+
+this spurious reason.
+
+,
+
+The Enlightenment of the modern age has been marked from the first by radicalism: This fact 'distinguishes it from all earlier stages of demythologization. fu a rule, whenever a new religion and a new menrali ty have won a place in world history, bringing a new mode of social existence, the old gods have been cast into the dust together with the old classes, tribes, and peoples. But especially when a people, such as the Jews, has taken on a new form of social life as a result of irs own fate, its venerable cusroms, sacred actions, and objects of wors?ip have been magically transfor�ed into abominable mis1ieeds and terrifying specters. The phobias and Idiosyncrasies of today, the character traits which are most despised and dcritled , can be deciphered as marks of a huge 9dvance in human
+
+development. From the disgust aroused by excrement and human flesh to the contempt for fanaticism, idleness, and poverty, both spiritual and material, a line connects behavioral forms which were once adequate and necessary to those which are abominated. This line is at once that of destruction and of civilization. Each step has been an advance, a stage of enlightenment. But whereas all the earlier changes, from preanimism to magic, from matriarchal to patriarchal culture, from the polytheism of the slave traders to the Catholic hierarchy, replaced the older mythologies with new albeit enlightened ones, the Great Mother with the God of Hosts, the totem with the veneration of the Lamb, in the glare of enlightened reason any devotion which believed itself objective, grounded in the matter at hand, was dispelled as mythological. All preexisting ties were tabooed by this verdict, not excluding those which were necessary to the existence of the bourgeois order itself. The instrument by means of which the bourgeoisie had come to power, the unfettering of forces, universal freedom, self-determination-in short, enlightenment-turned against the bourgeoisie as soon as that class, as a system of rule, was forced to suppress those it ruled. By virtue of its principle, enlightenment does not stop short at the minimum of belief without which the bourgeois world could not ex.isr. It does not render to power the reliable services which had always been performed for it by the old ideologies. Its antiauthoritarian tendency, which communicates, if only subterraneously, with the utopia contained in the concept of reason, finally made it as inimical to the established bourgeoisie as to the aristocracy, with which, indeed, it Lost no time in forming alliances. Ultimately, the antiauthoritarian principle necessarily becomes its own antithesis, the agency opposed to reason: its abolition of all absolute ties allows power to decree and manipulate any ties which suit its purposes. After civic virtue and charity, for which it never offered good reasons, philosophy proclaimed authority and hierarchy as virtues, when enlightenment had long since revealed them as lies. But against such perversion of itself enlightenment, too, had no arguments, since pristine truth has no advantage over distortion, or rationalization over reason, unless it can demonstrate a practical one as well. With the formalization of reason, theory itself, if it seeks to be more than a cipher for neutral procedures, becomes an incomprehensible concept, and thought is deemed meaningful only after the sacrifice of meaning. Once harnessed to the dominant mode of production, enlightenment, which strives to under-
+
+mine any order which has become repressive, nullifies itself. This is expressed in the early attacks of the current form of enlightenment on the "all-crushing" Kant. Just as Kant's moral philosophy set limits to his enlightened critique in order to rescue the possibility of reason, unreflecting enlightened thinking has always sought, for its own survival, to cancel itself with skepticism, in order to make room for the existing order.
+
+In contrast to such precautions, the work of Sade, like that of Nietzsche, is an intransigent critique of practical reason, beside which even that of Kant himself appears like a revocation of his own thought. It pushes the scientific principle to annihilating extremes. Kant, to be sure, had so purified the moral law within the self of any heteronymous belief that respect, despite his assurances, could be no more than a psychological fact of nature, as the starry sky above the self was a physical one. "A fact of reason," he called it, 16 while Leibniz termed it "a general instinct of society. "17 But.facts count for nothing where they do not exist. Sade does not deny their occurrence. Justine, the virtuous sister, is a martyr to the moral law. Juliette, however, draws the conclusion the bourgeoisie sought to avoid: she demonizes Catholicism as the latest mythology, and with it civilization as a whole. The energies previously focused on the sacrament are now devoted, perversely, to sacrilege. This inversion is extended to community in general. In all this Juliette does nor proceed fanatically, as Catholicism had done with the Incas, but merely attends to the business of sacrilege in the efficient, enlightened way that Catholics, too, still had in their blood from archaic times. The primeval forms of behavior which had been tabooed by civilization, and had grown destructive under the stigma of bestiality, had led an underground life. Juliette revives them in their outlawed, not their. natural form. She compensates the value judg-: ment against them-which, like all value judgments, was unfounded-by irs opposite. Thus, when she reenacts the primitive reactions they are no longer primitive but bestial. In psychological terms Juliette, not unlike Merteuil in Les Liaisons Dangereuses, 16 embodies neither unsublimated nor regressive libido but intellectual pleasure in regression, amor intellectualis diaboli, the joy of defeating civilization with its own weapons. She loves systems and logic. She wields the instrumeiu of rational thought with const nmare skill. As far as self-mastery is c�ncerned, her instructions -sometir lcs stand in the same relation to Kant's as the special application does w thc,principle. "Virtue," writes the latter,19 "in so f�r as ir is grounded on
+
+inner freedom, also contains an affirmative imperative for men, namely to place all their capacities and inclinations under the power [of reason] and therefore under the authority over oneself, which imperative is added to the interdiction on allowing oneself to be commanded by one's feelings and inclinations [the duty of apathy] . For unless reason takes the reins of government into its hands, those feelings and inclinations will play the master over men." Juliette teaches as follows on the self-discipline of the criminal: "First, reflect on your plan for several days in advance. Consider all its consequences, paying attention to what can be useful to you ... and what might possibly betray you. Weigh these things just as soberly as if you were sure to be discovered."20 The murderer's face must show utmost calm. "Let your features show calm and indifference. Try to acquire the greatest possible callousness in this situation .... If you are unsure of being free of pangs of conscience-and you will gain such certainty only through the habit of cr.ime-if you are unsure of this, I say, then you will labor in vain to master the play of your features."21 To be free of the stab of conscience is as essential to formalistic reason as to be free of love or hate. Remorse posits the past-which, contrary to popular ideology, has always meant nothing to the bourgeoisie-as something which exists; it is a relapse, to prevent which, for bourgeois praxis, would be remorse's only justification. Spinoza, following the Stoics, states the matter as follows: "Repentance is not a virtue, or, in other words, it does not arise from reason, but he who repents of an action is twice as unhappy or as weak as before. "22 But he goes on at once, quite in the spirit of Francavilla: "If the mob is not in fear, it threatens in its turn,"23 thus maintaining, as a good student of Machiavelli, that modesty and remorse, like fear and hope, are undoubtedly useful, however contrary to reason. ''Apathy (considered as a strength) is a necessary presupposition of virtue," writes Kant,Z4 distinguishing, nor unlike Sade, berween this "moral apathy" and insensibility in the sense of indifference to sensory stimulation. Enthusiasm is bad. Calm and resolution constitute the strength of virtue. "That is the state of health in moral life, whereas the affect, even when it is excited by the idea of the good, is a momentarily lustrous phenomenon which leaves behind lassirude."2; Juliette's friend Clairwil makes exactly the same observation with regard to vice.26 "My soul is hardened, and I am far from preferring sensibility to the happy indifference I now enjoy. Oh Juliette ... perhaps you arc deceiving yourself about the dangerous sensibility prized by so
+
+many fools." Apathy arises at the turning points in bourgeois history, as in the history of antiquity, when the pauci beati become aware of their powerlessness in face of the overwhelming historical tendency. It marks the retreat of the individual's spontaneity into the private sphere, which is thus established as the truly bourgeois form of existence. Stoicism-which is the bourgeois philosophy-makes it easier for the privileged to look what threatens them in the eye by dwelling on the suffering of others. Ir affirms the general by elevating private existence, as protection from it, to the status of a principle. The private sphere of the bourgeois\* is an upper-class
+
+cultural asset which has come down in the world.
+
+Juliette's credo is science. She abominates any veneration which cannor be shown to be rational: belief in God and his dead son, obedience to the Ten Commandments, preference of the good to the wicked, salvation to sin. She is attracted by those reactions which have been proscribed by the legends of civilization. She manipulates semantics and logical syntax like the most up-to-date positivist, but unlike that employee of the latest administration she does not direct her linguistic criticism primarily against thought and philosophy but, as a daughter of the militant Enlightenment, against religion. "A dead God! " she says of Christ. "Nothing is more comical than this nonsensical combination of words from the Catholic dictionary: God, which means eternal; death, which means not eternal. IdiO[ic Christians, what do you intend to do with your dead God?"27 The conversion of what is condemned without scientific proof into something to be striven for, and of what is respected without proof into an object of revulsion, the transvaluation of values, the "courage to do the forbid� den,"28 though without the teUtale histrionics of Nietzsche's "Wohlan! " l Onward!] and without his biological idealism, is her specific passion. "Are pretexts needed, to commit trimes?" asks Princess Borghese, Juliette's friend, quite in Nietzsche's spirit. 29 Nietzsche proclaims the quintessence of her doctrine.30 "Let the weaklings and failures go to ruin: the first principle of our philanthropy. And we should help them on their way. What is more damaging than any vice? The' pity of active people for the unsuccessful and the weak-Christianity."31 The latter, "with its curious interest in overthrowing tyrants and making�them submit to principles of brot�lcrhood ... plays the game of the weak. It represents the weak, and has to speak like them .... We may be sure that such fraternal bonds were not only,proposed but put in place by the weak, when.priestly power had
+
+chanced to fall into their hands. "32 This contribution to the genealogy of morals is made by Noirceuil, Juliette's mentor. Nietzsche maliciously celebrates the mighty and their cruelty when it is directed "outside their circle," that is, against everything alien to themselves. "Once abroad in the wilderness, they revel in the freedom from social constraint and compensate for their long confinement in the quietude of their own community. They revert to the innocence of wild animals: we can imagine them returning from an orgy of murder, arson, rape, and torture, jubilant and at peace with themselves as though they had committed a fraternity prank-convinced, moreover, that the poets for a long time to come will have something to sing about and praise. . .. This 'boldness' of noble races, so headstrong, absurd, incalculable, sudden, improbable, ... their utter indifference to safety and comfort, their terrible pleasure in destruction, their taste for cruelty,"33 this boldness, stridently proclaimed by Nietzsche, has also taken hold of Juliette. "Live dangerously" is her message, too: "Dare henceforth to do anything without fear."34 There are the strong and the weak, there are classes, races, and nations which dominate and others which are subjected. "Where, I ask you," cries Verneuil, "is the mortal stupid enough in face of all the evidence to claim that all men are born equal, in law and in fact? It was left to a misanthropist like Rousseau to put forward such a paradox, since, being extremely weak, he wanted to pull down those to whose level he was unable to raise himself. What effrontery did it take, I ask you, for this pygmy four feet two inches tall to compare himself to the model of stature and strength whom nature had endowed with rhe strength and figure of a Hercules? Is that not the same as comparing a fly to an elephant? Strength, beauty, stature, eloquence: those are rhe virtues which were decisive when authority passed to the rulers at the dawn of society."35 "To expect that strength will not manifest itself as strength," Nietzsche goes on,36 "as the desire to overcome, to appropriate, to have enemies, obstacles, and triumphs, is every bit as absurd as ro expect rhar weakness will manifest itself as srrength."-"How do you really expect" says Verneuil,37 "a man endowed by nature with the highest predisposition for crime, whether through his superior strength, the refinement of his senses or as a result of an education fitting to his class or his wealth-how, I ask, do you expect this individual to be judged by the same law as those whom everything constrains to act virtuously and moderately? Would the law be more just if it punished both in the same way?
+
+Is it natural for someone whom everything invites to do evil to be treated
+
+like someone whom everything impels to behave with prudence?"
+
+Once the objective order of nature has been dismissed as prejudice and myth, nature is no more than a mass of material. For NietzSche there is no law "which we not only recognize but recognize over us."38 To the extent that the understanding, which was formed against the standard of self-preservation, recognizes any law oflife, it is that of the stronger. While reason, because of its formalism, is unable to yield any necessary model for humanity, it has the advantage of actuality, in contrast to mendacious ideology. It is the weak who are guilty, according to NietzSche's doctrine, since they use cunning to circumvent the natural law. "It is the diseased who imperil mankind, and not the 'beasts of prey.' lt is the predestined failures and victims who undermine the social structure, who poison our faith in life and our fellow men. "39 They have spread throughout the world rhe Christianity which Nietzsche hates and abominates no less than Sade. "It is not the reprisals of the weak against the strong which truly conform to nature. They exist in �he mental realm, not the physical. To carry out such reprisals the weak man would need strength he has not been given. He would have to assume a character which is by no means his-in a certain way he would do violence to nature. What is truthful in the laws of this wise mother is that the strong are allowed to injure the weak, since, to an in this way, they must only use the gifts they have received. The strong individual does not, like the weak, disguise himself with a character other than his own .. He merely expresses in action what he has received from nature. Everything which follows from that is therefore natural: his oppression, his violence, his cruelties, his tyrannies, his injustices ... are pure, like the hand which has imprinted them dn him. And if the strong person exercises all his rights to oppress and pillage the weak, he is only doing the most natural thing in the world .... We should never, therefore, have scruples over what we are able to take from the weak, since it is not we who are committing the crime. Rather, it is the defense or revenge of the weak which are characteristic of crime."40 If a weak person defends himself, he docs wrong, "the wrong of stepping outside his own character oF weakness, which nature has impressed on him: She created him to be a !�lave, and poor. He refuses to su�it; that is his wrong."4 1 In such magis terial spt\eches Dorval, the leader of a respectable .Paris gang, expounds for Jul il'lle the secret creed of all ruling classes, a creed to wh\_ich Nietzsche,
+
+proclaiming it to his own time, added the psychology of resentment. Like Juliette he admired "the beautiful terribleness of the deed,"42 even though, as a German professor, he differed from Sade in rejecting criminality, because its egoism "is restricted to such base goals. If its goals are lofty humanity has a different standard, judging 'crime,' even when committed with the most terrible means, not to be such."43 The enlightened Juliette is still free of such prejudice in favor of greatness, a prejudice which, indeed, is characteristic of the bourgeois world; for her the racketeer is not less admirable than the minister because his victims are fewer. For the German, however, beauty is a function of size, and amid the twilight of the idols he cannot shake off the idealistic habit of wanting to see the petty thief hanged while imperialist raids are transfigured into world-historical missions. By elevating the cult of strength to a world-historical doctrine, German fascism took it to its absurd conclusion. As a protest against civilization the master morality perversely upheld the oppressed: hatred of srunted instincts objectively exposes the true nature of the slave masters, which reveals itself only in their victims. But, in the guise of a great power and a state religion, the master morality places itself entirely in the service of the civilizing powers that be, of the solid majority, of resentment and everything it once opposed. The realization of Nietzsche's doctrines both refutes them and reveals their truth-a truth which, despite his yea-say-
+
+ing affirmation of life, was hostile to the spirit of reality.
+
+If remorse was contrary to reason, pity was outright sin. Anyone who yields to it "perverts the general law; whence it follows that pity, far from being a virtue, becomes truly a vice as soon as it induces us to interfere with the inequality required by the laws of nature."44 Sade and Nietzsche realized that once reason had been formalized pity was left behind as a kind of sensuous awareness of the identity of general and particular, as naruralized mediation. It then forms a highly compelling prejudice: "compassion ... does not appertain to the use of reason ... although it seems to bear in it a sort of piety,'' writes Spinoza,45 and "he who is moved neither by reason nor pity to help others is rightly called inhuman."46 Commiseratio is humanity in its immediate form, but at the same time "bad and useless,"47 since it is the opposite of the manly competence which, from Roman virtus through the Medici to efficiency under the Fords, has always been the true bourgeois vinue. Womanish and childish, Clairwil calls pity, vaunting her own "stoicism," the "tranquility of the pas-
+
+those who unmasked piry who, however negatively, espoused the Revolution. The narcissistic deformations of piry, like the effusions of philanthropists and the moral complacency of the social welfare worker, are still an internalized endorsement of the difference between rich and poor. Admittedly, by imprudently confessing the joys of hardness, philosophy has put itself at the disposal of those who least forgive it the admission. The fascist masters\* of the world translated the vilification of pity into that of political respect and the appeal to martial law, in which they were at one with Schopenhauer, the metaphysician of pity. For him the establishment of a humane order was the presumptuous delusion of someone who could hope only for misforrune. The enemies of piry were unwilling to equate humanity with misforrune. For them, the existence of misfortune was a scandal. With their impotent delicacy, they could not bear m see humanity pitied. In desperation their powerlessness switched to the glorification of power, while disowning it in practice whenever it gave them leave.
+
+Kindness and good deeds become a sin, domination and suppression virtue. "All good things have at one time been considered evil; every original sin has, at some point, turned into an original virtue."57 In the new epoch Juliette applies this principle in earnest, for the first time consciously performing the transvaluation of all values. After the destruction of all ideologies she elevates as her own moraliry what Christianity, in its ideology if not always in its practice, held to be abominable. As a good philosopher she remains cool and reflective. All is done without illusions. To Clairwil's proposal for a sacrilegious act she responds: "Now that we do not believe in God, my dear, ... the desecrations you desire. are no more than useless childish games .... I may be still firmer in my disbelief than you; my atheism is unshakable. So do not imagine that I need the childish pranks you propose to confirm it. I shall take part because it amuses you, but only for entertainment"-the American murderess Annie Henry\* would have said "just for fun"-"and never as something necessary, either to strengthen my way of thinking, or to convince others of it."58 Though swayed by momentary kindness toward her accomplice, she still upholds her principles. Even injustice, hatred, and destruction become merely operations, now that the formalization of reason has stripped all goals of the character of necessity and objectivity, which is dismissed as illusion. Magic passes into mere activity, into the means-in short, into industry. The formalization of reason is merely the intellectual expression
+
+of mechanized production. The means is fetishized: it absorbs pleasure. Just as the goals with which the old system of rule had veiled itself are rendered illusory by enlightenment in theory, the possibility of abundance removes their justification in practice. Domination survives as an end in itself, in the form of economic power. Pleasure itself shows traces of the outdated, the irrelevant, like the metaphysics which forbade it. Juliette speaks of the motives of crime. 59 She herself is no less ambitious and avaricious than her friend Sbrigani, but she idolizes the forbidden. Sbrigani, a man devoted to the means and to duty, is more advanced. "To enrich ourselves-that is what matters. It would be the height of guilt if we failed to reach that goal. Only if one is truly on the way to becoming wealthy is one permitted to reap one's pleasures: until then one must forget them." For all her rational superiority, Juliette still clings to one superstition. While she recognizes the naivety of sacrilege, in the end it still gives her pleasure. But every pleasure betrays idolization: it is self-abandonment to an Other. Nature actually does not know pleasure: it does not go beyond the satisfaction of needs. All pleasure is social, in the unsublimated aff ects no less than in the sublimated. It springs from alienation. Even when enjoyment is ignorant of the prohibition it �nfringes, it owes its origin to civilization, to the fixed order from which it yearns to return to the very nature from which that order protects it. Only when dream absolves them of the compulsion of work, of the individual's attachment to a particular social function and finally to a self, leading back to a primal stare free of domination and discipline, do human beings feel the magic of pleasure. It w:as the homesickness of those enmeshed in civilization, the "objective desp;ur" of those who had to turn themselves into elep1ents of the social order, which nourished the love of gods and demons; to them as transfigured nature this love turned in adoration. Thought arose in the course of liberation from terrible nature, which is finally subjugated utterly. Pleasure, so to speak, is nature's revenge. In it human beings divest themselves'of thought, escape from civilization. In earlier societies such homecoming was provided by communal festivals. Primitive orgies are the collective origin of pleasure. "The interlude of universal confusion represented by the festival," writes Roger Caillois, "seems truly like the moment when the world's order is suspended. All excesses are pt!rmihed. RUles must be broken, everything mtlst be turned upside down. In the mythic epoch the course of time was reverse�{: one was born aged, died as a child .... All �he precepts protect-
+
+ing the good, natural, and social order are systematically violared."60 One abandons oneself to the transfigured powers of origin; bur from the standpoint of the suspended interdiction these actions appear as dissipated and insane.61 Only with increasing civilization and enlightenment do the strengthened self and the secure system of power reduce the festival to farce. The rulers introduce pleasure as a rational measure, a tribute paid to imperfectly subdued nature; they seek at once to detoxify it and to preserve it in higher culture; to administer it to their subjects in controlled doses where it cannot be entirely withdrawn. Pleasure becomes an object of manipulation, until it finally perishes in the administrative arrangemems. This development extends from the primitive feast to the holiday. "The more dominant the complex social organism becomes, the less it tolerates interruptions of the ordinary course of life. Today as yesterday, tomorrow as today, everything must follow the same course. The general overflowing is no longer possible. The period of turbulence has been individualized. Holidays have supplanted the feasr."62 In fascism they are supplemented by the collective fake intoxication, concocted from radio, headlines, and Benzedrine.\* Sbrigani has a presentiment of chis. He grants himself amusements "on the road to fortune," as vacations. Juliette, by contrast, still emulates the ancien regime. She deifies sin. Her libertinism
+
+is in thrall to Catholicism as the nun's ecstasy is to paganism.
+
+Nietzsche is aware of the still mythical nature of pleasure. In its abandonment to nature pleasure renounces the possible, just as pity renounces the transformation of the whole. Both contain a moment of resignation. Nietzsche tracks down pleasure in all irs hiding places, as narcissism in solitude, as masochistic enjoyment in the depressions of the selftormentor. "Against all who merely enjoy!"63 Julie�re tries to rescue pleasure by rejecting love in irs bourgeois form as devotion, which, as resistance to the bourgeoisie's own shrewdness, is characteristic of that class in its last century. In love, pleasure was linked to the deification of the person who bestowed it and was the truly human passion. It is being finally revoked as a value judgment conditioned by sexuality. In the enraptured adoration of the lover, as in the boundless admiration shown in return by the beloved, the actual servitude of the woman was endlessly transfigured. Again and again, the sexes were reconciled on the basis of their recognition of this servitude: the woman seemed freely to accept her defeat, the man to grant her victory. Under Christianity the hierarchy of the sexes, the
+
+yoke placed on the feminine character by the masculine order of property, was idealized as the union of hearts in marriage, and the memory of sexuality's better, prepatriarchal past appeased. Under big industry\* love is annulled. The decline of middle-class property, the downfall of the free economic subject, affects the family: it is no longer the celebrated cell of society it once was, since it no longer forms the basis of the citizen's economic existence. For adolescents the family no longer marks out the horizon of their lives; the autonomy of the father is vanishing and with it resistance to his authority. Earlier, the girl's servitude in the paternal home inflamed in her the passion which seemed to lead to freedom but was fulfilled neither in marriage nor anywhere outside. As the prospect of a job opens for the girl, that of love is closed. The more universally the system of modern industry\* requires everyone ro enter its service, the more all those who do not form part of the ocean of "white trash,"\* which is absorbing the unqualified employed and unemployed, are turned into petty experts, into employees who must fend for themselves. In the form of skilled work the autonomy of the entrepreneur, which is over, is spreading to all those admitted as producers, including the "working" woman, and is becoming their character. Their self-respect grows in proportion to their fungibility. Defiance of the family is no more an act of daring than the leisure-time relationship with the boyfriend is the gateway to heaven. People are taking on the rational, calculating attitude to their own sexuality long since proclaimed as ancient wisdom by Juliette's enlightened «:ircle. Mind and body are being separated in reality, just as those in�iscreet bourgeois libertines demanded: "It appears to me," Noirceuil states rationalistically,64 "that love and pleasure are two very different things ... because tender feelings correspond to rdationships of caprice and decorum, but in no way spring from the beauty of a neck or the pretty curve of a hip. And these objects, which, in accordance with our taste, can keenly excite our physical aff ects, have, it seems to me, no rights over our mental affections. To complete my thought, Belize is ugly, is forty years old, entirely lacks grace of person, is without regular fearures or any physical charm. But Belize has intelligence, a precious character, a million things which attach my feelings and preferences. !.shall never wish to sleep with Belize, but .I shall love her to rhe point -of madness, whereas I shall lust
+
+"'
+
+aftl\r Araminthe bur heartily detest her � soon as the fever of desire is pasl." Here, the inevitable consequence implicit in the Cartesian division
+
+of the human being into thinking and extensive substance is expressed with total clarity as the destruction of Romantic love. The latter is taken to be a mask, a rationalization of the physical drive, "a false and always dangerous metaphysics,"65 as Count Belmar explains in his great speech on love. For all their libertinism, Juliette's friends conceive of sexuality, as against tenderness, of earthly as against heavenly love, not just as a degree too powerful but also as oversimplified. The beauty of a neck or the curve of a hip acts on sexuality not as unhistorical, merely natural facts but as images in which the whole of social experience is contained; this experience harbors an intention toward something different to nature, a love not restricted to sexuality. But even the most incorporeal tenderness is transformed sexuality; the hand stroking the hair, the kiss on the brow, which express the rapture of spiritual love, are in pacified form the beating and biting which accompany the sexual act among Australian aborigines. The distinction is abstract. Metaphysics, Belmar teaches, falsifies the factual situation, it prevents the beloved from being seen as he or she is; it stems from magic, it is a veil. "And I am not to snatch it from our eyes? That would be weakness ... cowardice. Let us analyze her when the pleasure is over, this goddess who has just blinded me."66 Love itself is an unscientific concept: "False definitions are always leading us astray," Dolmance declares in the memorable fifth dialogue of La Philosophie dans le Boudoir, "I don't know what it is-the heart. I simply use that term for weakness of mind."67 "If we spend one moment in what Lucretius calls the 'background of life,"'-meaning, in cold analysis-"we find that neither the elevation of the beloved nor romantic feeling withstands analysis .... It is the body alone that I love, and it is the body alone that I lament, although I can have it again at any time."68 What is true in all this is the insight into the dissociation of love, the work of progress. This dissociation, which mechanizes pleasure and distorts longing into a deception, attacks lov� at its core. By turning her praise of genital and perverted sexuality into condemnation of what is unnatural, immaterial, illusory, the libertine Juliette has thrown in her lot with the normality which belittles and restricts not only the utopian exaltation of love but physical pleasure, not only the loftiest joy bur that which is nearest at hand. The cynical roue whose side she takes has metamorphosed, with the help of the sex educator, the psychoanalyst, and the hormone physiologist, into the open-minded practical man who extends his affirmation of sport and hygiene to include the sex
+
+life. Juliette's critique contains the same inner discord as the Enlightenment itself. In so far as the criminal violation of taboos, which once made common cause with the bourgeois revolution, has not been simply absorbed into the new matter-of-factness, it lives on, with sublime love, as fidelity to the utopia brought near by the availability of physical pleasure
+
+to all.
+
+"The ridiculous enthusiasm" which attached us to a particular individual as the only one, the elevation of woman in love, can be traced back beyond Christianity to matriarchal stages. "It is certain that our spirit of chivalrous courtship, which comically offers our homage to an object made only to satisfy our need-it is certain, I say, that this spirit stems from the reverence our ancestors once had for women because of their profession as prophetesses in town and country. Through terror, aversion became worship, and chivalry was nurtured in the womb of superstition. But this reverence never existed in nature, and it would be a waste of time to seek it there. The inferiority of that sex to ours is too well founded ever to give us a sound motive to respect it, and the love which arises from that blind reverence is, like it, a prejudice."69 It is on power, however legalistically veiled, that the social hierarchy ultimately rests. The mastery of nature is reproduced within humanity. Christian civilization, which used the idea of protecting the physically weak to justify exploitation o( the strong bondsman, never entirely won the hearts of the convened peoples. The principle of love was too strongly disavowed by the sharp intellect and the still sharper weapons of the Christian masters, until Lutheranism abolished the antithesis between state and doctrine by making the sword and rod the Gospel's quintessence. It directly equated spiritual freedom with the affirmation of actual oppression. But woman bears the stigma of weakness; her weakness places her in a minority even when she is numerically superior to men. As with the subjugated original inhabitants in early forms of state, the indigenous population of colonies, who lack the organization and weapons of their conqueror�, as with the Jews among Aryans, her defenselessness legitimizes her oppression. Sade expresses as formulae the reflections of Strindberg. "Let us not doubt that there is a difference between tnan and woman no less certai\_!,l and important than that between
+
+1an and the apes of the forest. We would have just as good reason to deny woman membership of our species as to refuse ro acknowledge brotherhoml with rhc apes. Examine carefully a naked WQman beside a man of cnu:lty which stems from 1:1ilcd civil iz:nion; it is barbarism, the other siJc of culture. "Them all!" For destruction rolcrates no exceptions; rhc will to destroy is rotalitarian, and totalitarianism springs from that will alone. "I have reached the point," Juliette tells the Pope, "where I can say with Tiberi us: if only the whole of mankind had only one head, so that I could have the pleasure of cutting it off with a single blow!"73 The signs of powerlessness, hasty uncoordinated movements, animal fear, swarming masses, provoke the lust for murder. The explanation for the hatred of woman as the weaker in mental and physical power, who bears the mark of domination on her brow, is the same as for the hatred of the Jews. Women and Jews show visible evidence of not having ruled for thousands of years. They live, although they could be eliminated, and their fear and weakness, the greater affinity to nature produced in them by perennial oppression, is the element in which they live. In the strong, who pay for their strength with their strained remoteness from nature and must forever forbid themselves fear, this incites blind fury. They identify themselves with nature by calling forth from their victims, multiplied a thousandfold, the cry they may not utter themselves. "These senseless creatures!" writes President Blammont of women in Aline et valcour, "How I love to see them Struggling in my hands! They are like lambs in the jaws of the lion."74 And in the same letter: "It is the same as conquering a city. You must occupy the heights . . . establish yourself at all the commanding points and the'n launch your attack without any fear of resistance. "75 A creature which has fallen attracts predators: humiliation of those already visited by misfortune brings the keenest pleasure. The less the danger to the one on tbp, the more unhampered the joy in the torments he can now inflict: only through the hopeless despair of the victim can power become pleasure and triumphantly revoke its own principle, discipline. Fear averted from the self bursts out in hearty laughter, the expression of a hardening within the individual which can only be fully lived out through the collective. Ringing laughter has always denounced civilization. "Of all the lava spewed forth from the crater of the human mouth, the most calamitous is merriment," writes Victor Hugo in the chapter he�ged "Storms of men are worse than storms of oceans."76 "It is on misfortune," Juliette teaches/7 "that t.he full weight of our malice most fall. The tears wrung from wretchedness have a keeillless• which profoundly thrills our nervo\_us sub �ance."76 Rather than with tenderness, pleasure makes its pact with cru-
+
+dry, and sexual love hccomc� what according to Nietzsche:'' it always was: "in its means, war; and at its basis the morral barred of the sexes." "With both rhe male and the female," zoology teaches us, "'love' , or sexual attraction, is originally and preeminently 'sadie'; it is positively gratified by the infliction of pain; it is as cruel as hunger. "80 Thus, as its final result, civilization leads back to the terrors of nature. The lethal love on which Sade's work is constantly focused, Nietzsche's impudently solicitous magnanimity in seeking to spare the victim humiliation at any price: cruelty and the idea of greatness deal no less harshly with human beings on the plane of play and imagination than German fascism\* was to do on that of reality. However, whereas the unconscious colossus of real existence, subjectless capitalism, inflicts its destruction blindly, the deludedly rebellious subject is willing to see that destruction as its fulfillment, and, together with the biting cold it emits toward human beings misused as things, it also radiates the perverted love which, in the world of things, takes the place of love in its immediacy. Sickness becomes the symptom of recovery. In transfiguring the victims, delusion accepts their degradation. It makes itself resemble the monster of domination which it cannot physically overcome. Imagination seeks as horror to withstand horror. The Roman proverb that harshness is true pleasure expresses not merely the brutality of slave drivers but the indissoluble contradiction of order, which, when it sanctions happiness, turns it into self-parody and creates it only through proscribing it. While they perpetuated this contradiction, Sade and
+
+Nietzsche also contributed to its clarification.
+
+To reason, devotion to the adored creature appears as idol worship. The demise of idolatry follows necessarily from the ban on mythology pronounced by Jewish monotheism and enforced against the changing objects of adoration in the history of thought by that monotheism's secularized form, enlightenment. The decay of economic reality, which has always been at the basis of superstition, released specific forces of negation. Christianity, however, propagated love: the pure adoration of Jesus. It sought to elevate the blind sexual drive by the hallowing of marriage, as it also tried to bring the crystalline radiance of law closer to earthly life by the idea of heavenly grace. The reconciliation of civilization with nature which it sought prematurely to purchase with the doctrine of the crucified God remained as alien to Judaism as to the rigorism of the Enlightenment. Neither Moses nor Kant proclaimed emotion; their icy law knew neither
+
+love nor sacrificial pyres. Nietzsche's attack on monotheism dealt a heavier blow to Christian than to Jewish doctrine. While he repudiated the Law he pledged himself to the "higher self,"81 a self no longer natural but more-than-natural. He wanted to replace God by the "Overman" because monotheism, in its broken, Christian form, had transparently become mythology. Bur just as, in the service of this higher self, the old ascetic ideals are extolled by Nietzsche as self-overcoming in the interest of developing "dominant power,"82 so the higher self turns out to be a desperate attempt to rescue the God who was dead. In this, Nietzsche renews Kant's endeavor to transform the divine law into an autonomous principle, to rescue European civilization from giving up the ghost in English skepticism. Kant's principle: "that everything be done from the maxim of one's will as a will that could at the same time have as its object itself as giving universal law,"83 is also the secret of the Overman. His will is no less desporic than the categorical imperative. Both principles aim at independence from external powers, at the unconditional freedom from tutelage which defines the essence of enlightenment. However, as the fear of falsehood, a fear which even in his most "enlightened" moments Nietzsche decried as "a piece of Quixotism,"84 replaced the Law with self-legislation, so that everything was made transparent as one great unmasked superstition, enlightenment itself, indeed, truth in any form, became an idol, and we realize that "even we knowing ones of today, the godless and antimetaphysical, still take our fire from the conflagration kindled by a belief millennia old, the Christian belief, which was also the belief of Plato, that God is truth, that the truth is divine. "85 ,Science itself, therefore, is open to the same criticism as metaphysics. The denial of God contains an irresolvable contradiction; it negates knowledge itself. Sade did not drive the idea of enlightenment to this point, where it turns against itself. The reflection of science on itself, the work of the Enlightenment's conscience, was left to philosophy, meaning German philosophy. For Sade, enlightenment was not so much an intellectual as a social phenomenon. He carried forward the dissolution of bonds-which Nietzsche idealistically believed could be overcome by the higher self-and the critique of solidarity with society, office, familyB6 to the point of prodaiming anarchy. His work lays bare the mythological nature. of the principles on which civilization-was base\! after the demise of religion: those of the Decalogue, of paternal authority, of property. It is the exact inversion of the �ocial theory elabo-
+
+rated by Le Play a hundred years later.87 Each of the Ten Commandments is declared void before the tribunal of formal reason. They are revealed without exception as ideologies. At Juliette's request the Pope himself pleads the case for murder.88 He finds it easier to rationalize un-Christian acts in the light of natural reason than it had ever been to justify the Christian principles according to which those acts were devilish. The "mitered philosopher" has less need of sophistry in advocating murder than Maimonides and St Thomas Aquinas in condemning it. Roman reason is even more inclined than the god of the Prussians to side with the bigger banalions. The Law, however, has been dethroned, and the love which was supposed to humanize it is unmasked as a reversion to idolatry. It is not just romantic sexual love which has been condemned as metaphysics by science and industry but love of any kind, for no love can withstand reason: neither that between wife and husband nor between lover and beloved, nor the love between parents and children. The Due de Blangis announces to his subjects that those related to the rulers, daughters and wives, should be treated as harshly, indeed, still more harshly, than others, "in order to show you how deeply we despise the bonds by which you may think us fettered."89 Woman's love is abolished like that of man. The rules of libertinage passed on by Saint-Fonds to Juliette are to apply to all women.90 Dolmance voices the materialistic disenchantment of parental love. "These latter ties originate in the parents' fear of being abandoned in old age, and the self-interested concern they show for us in our childhood is intended to earn them the same consideration in old age."91 Sade's argument is as old as the bourgeoisie. Democritus already denounced parental love as economic. 92 Sade, however, applies the same disenchantment even to exogamy, the foundation of civilization. According to him, there are no rational grounds to oppose incest,93 and the hygienic argument formerly used has now been invalidated by advanced science, which ratifies Sade's cold judgment. "It has by no means been proved that children born of incest have a greater tendency than others to suffer from cretinism, deaf-muteness, rickets, etc."94 The family, held together not by romantic sexual love but by maternal love, which forms the basis of all tenderness and social feelings,95 conflicts with sociery itself. "Do not imagine you will make good republicans as long as you isolate children, who should belong only to the whole communiry, within your families .... Whereas there are great disadvantages in allowing chi!-
+
+dren to be absorbed into family interests which often diverge strongly from those of the nation, very great benefits lie in separating them from them."96 "Conjugal ties" must be destroyed for social reasons; children are to be "absolutely forbidden" knowledge of their fathers, since they are "uniquement les enfonts de La patrie";97 the anarchy and individualism which Sade proclaimed in the struggle against laws98 culminate in the absolute rule of the generality, the republic. Just as the deposed god returns as a more repressive idol, the old, undemanding bourgeois state reappears in the violence of the fascist collective. Sade thought through to the end the state socialism whose first steps brought the downfall of Saint-Just and Robespierre. If the bourgeoisie sent them, its most loyal politicians, to the guillotine, it banished its most outspoken writer to the hell of the Bibliotheque Nationale. For the chronique scandaleuse of Justine and Juliette which, turned out as if on a production line, prefigured in the style of the eighteenth century the sensational literature of the nineteenth and the mass literature of the twentieth is the Homeric epic after it has discarded its last mythological veil: the srory of thought as an instrument of power. In raking fright at the image in its own mirror, that thought opens to view what lies beyond it. It is not the harmonious social ideal, which even Sade glimpsed dimly in the future: "gardez vos frontieres et restez chez vous";99 it is not even the socialist utopia developed in the story of Zame: 100 it is the fact that Sade did not leave it to its enemies to be horrified by the
+
+Enlightenment which makes his work pivotal to its rescue.
+
+The dark writers of the bourgeoisie, unlike its apologists, did not seck to avert the consequences of the Enlightenment with harmonistic doctrines. They did not pretend that fo'rmalistic reason had a closer affinity to morality than to immorality. While the light-bringing writers protected the indissoluble alliance of reason and atrocity, bourgeois society and power, by denying that alliance, the bearers of darker messages pitilessly expressed the shocking truth. "Into hands stained by the murder of spouses and children, sodomy, kil!ing, prostitution, and infamy, heaven has placed these riches to reward me for such abominations," says Clairwil in her summary of her brother's life}01 She exaggerates. The justice of bad
+
+domination is not quite so consistent as
+
+1
+
+to reward only infamy. But only
+
+exaggeration is true. The e�ential character of prehistory\* is the appearanbc of utmost horror in the individual detail. A statistical compilation of those slaughtered in a pogrom, which also includes mercy killings, con-
+
+ceals its essence, which emerges only in an exact description of the exception, the most hideous torture. A happy life in a world of horror is ignominiously refuted by the mere existence of that world. The latter therefore becomes the essence, the former negligible. No doubt, the ruling group in the bourgeois era did not engage in killing their own children and spouses, or in prostitution and sodomy, as frequently as their subjects, who took over rhe morals of rhe rulers of earlier rimes. However, when power was at stake, the rulers have piled up mountains of corpses even in recent centuries. Compared to the mentality and actions of the rulers under fascism, in which power has come fully into its own, the enthusiastic description of the life of Brisa-Testa-although those rulers are recognizable in itpales to harmless banality. In Sade as in Mandeville, private vices are the anticipatory historiography of public virtues in the totalitarian era. It is because they did not hush up the impossibility of deriving from reason a fundamental argument against murder, but proclaimed it from the rooftops, that Sade and Nietzsche are still vilified, above all by progressive thinkers. In a different way to logical positivism, they both took science at irs word. In pursuing the implications of reason still more resolutely than the positivists their secret purpose was to lay bare the utopia which is contained in every great philosophy, as it is in Kant's concept of reason: the utopia of a humanity which, itself no longer distorted, no longer needs distortion. In proclaiming the identity of power and reason, their pitiless doctrines are more compassionate than those of the moral lackeys of the bourgeoisie. "Where are thy greatest dangers?," Nietzsche once asked,102 "In pity." With his denial he redeemed the unwavering trust in humanity
+
+which day by day is betrayed by consoling affirmation.
+
+stations. No mechanism of reply has been developed, and private transmissions are condemned to unfreedom. They confine themselves to the apocryphal sphere of "amateurs," who, in any case, are organized from above. Any trace of spontaneity in the audience of the official radio is steered and absorbed into a selection of specializations by talent-spotters, performance competitions, and sponsored events of every kind. The talents belong to the operation long before they are put on show; otherwise they would not conform so eagerly. The mentality of the public, which allegedly and actually favors the system of the culture industry, is a pan of the system, not an excuse for it. If a branch of an follows the same recipe as one far removed from it in terms of its medium and subject matter; if the dramatic denouement in radio "soap operas"\* is used as an instructive example of how to solve technical difficulties-which are mastered no less in "jam sessions" than at the highest levels of jazz-or if a movement from Beethoven is loosely "adapted" in the same way as a Tolstoy novel is adapted for ftlm, the pretext of meeting the public's spontaneous wishes is mere hot air. An explanation in terms of the specific interests of the technical apparatus and irs personnel would be closer to the truth, provided that apparatus were understood in all irs details as a pan of the economic mechanism of selection.\* Added to this is the agreement, or at least the common determination, of the executive powers to produce or let pass nothing which does not conform to their tables, 1
+
+��MW���1b
+
+e
+
+�
+
+If the objective social tendency of this age is incarnated in the ob-
+
+scure subjective intentions of
+
+ch,... ;w .. ••r-r
+
+nt.
+
+They have to keep in with i:he true wielders of power, to ensure that their sphere of mass society, the specific product of which still has too much of cozy liberalism and Jewish intellectualism about it, is not subjected to a series of purges.\* The dependence of the most powerful broadcasting company on the electrical indusdy, or of film on the banks, characterizes the whole sphere, the individual sectors of which are themselves economically intertwined. Everything is so tightly clustered that the concentration of imelle�t reaches a level where. it overflows the demarcations between
+
+'\
+
+con\pany names and technical sectors. The· relentless unity of the culture industry bears wirness to the emergent unity of politics. Sharp distinctions
+
+like those between A and B films, or between short stories published in magazines in different price segments, do not so much reflect real differences as assist in the classification, organization, and identification of con-
+
+rce:ra:JJ;;ha:J.ID:netro:dulm�mdl::piW
+
+ca e; dif-
+
+:ted. The hierarchy of serial
+
+qualities purveyed to the public serves only to quantifY it more completely. Everyone is supposed to behave spontaneously according to a "level" determined by indices and to select the category of mass product manufactured for their type. On the charts of research organizations, indistinguishable from those of political propaganda, CO£lSWB(}£S�-ei:as
+
+ffiri'il!mtd=Ta��een�i1'Cf9)IU1ue ar.eas accordi,nf!:=ro;:'ffiro�
+
+p.
+
+The schematic nature of this procedure is evident from the fact that the mechanically differentiated products are ultimately all the same. That the difference between the models of Chrysler and General Motors is fundamentally illusory is known by any child, who is fascinated by that very difference. The advantages and disadvantages debated by enthusiasts serve l r th ea.ran � n ehoi10:e. It is no different with the offerings of Warner Brothers and Metro Goldwyn Mayer. But the differences, even between the more expensive and cheaper products from the same firm, are shrinking-in cars to the different number of cylinders, engine capacity, and derails of the gadgets, and in films to the different number of stars, the expense lavished on technology, labor and costumes, or the use of the latest psychological formulae. The unified standard of value consists in the level of conspicuous production, the amount of investment put on show. The budgeted differences of value in the culture industry have nothing to do with actual differences, with the meaning of the product itself The technical media, too, are being engulfed by an insatiable uniformity. Television aims at a synthesis of radio and film, delayed only for as long as the interested parries cannot agree. Such a synthesis, with its unlimited possibilities, promises to intensifY the impoverishment of the aesthetic material so radically that the identity of all industrial cultural products, still scantily disguised today, will triumph openly romorrow in a mocking fulfillment of Wagner's dream of the total art work. The accord between word, image, and music is achieved so much more perfectly than in Tristan because the sensuous elements, which compliantly document only the surface of social reality, are produced in prin-
+
+:iple within the same technical work process, the unity of which they �xpress as their true content. This work process integrates all the elements Jf production, from the original concept of the novel, shaped by its sidelong glance at fUm,\* to the last sound effect. It is the triumph of invested :apital. To impress the omnipotence of capital on the hearts of expropriated job candidates as the power of their true master is the purpose of all
+
+films, regardless of the plot selected by the production directors.
+
+Even during their leisure time, consumers must orient themselves according to the unity of production. The active contribution which Kantian schematism still expected of subjects-that they should, from the first, relate sensuous multiplicity to fundamental concepts-is denied ro the subject by industry. It purveys schematism as its first service to the customer. According to Kamian schematism, a secret mechanism within the psyche preformed immediate data to fit them into the system of pure reason. That secret has now been unraveled. Although the operations of the
+
+mechanism appear to be planned by those who supply the data, e-indusn:y ind
+
+ia of
+
+sGn,em1a:o
+
+my id i . Everything comes from consciousness-from that of God for Malebranche and Berkeley, and from earthly production management for mass art. Not only Jo hit songs, stars, and soap operas conform to types recurring cyclically as rigid invariants, but the specific content of productions, the seemingly variable element, is itself derived from those types. The details become interchangeable. The brief interval sequence which has proved catchy in a hit song, the hero's temporary disgrace which he accepts as a "good sport," the wholesome slaps the heroine re<;\_eives from the strong hand of the male star, his plain-speaking abruptness toward the pampered heiress, are, like all the details, ready-made cliches, to be used here and there as desired and always completely defined by the..\_purpose they serve within the schema. 'I() confirm \che schema by acting as its constituents is their sole raison
+
+d'hre. In a film, the outcome can invariably be-
+
+will be rewarded, punished, forgotten-and in light music the prepared ::ar can always guess the continuation after the first bars of a hit song and is gratified when it actually occurs. The average choice of words in a short >tory must not be tampered with. The gags and effects are no less calculated than their framework. They are managed by special experts, and their >lim variety is specifically tailored to the office pigeonhole. The culture industry has developed in conjunction with the predominance of the effect, the tangible performance, the technical detail, over the work, which once carried the idea and was liquidated with it. By emancipating itself, the detail had become refractory; from Romanticism to Expressionism it had rebelled as unbridled expression, as the agent of opposition, against organization. In music, the individual harmonic effect had obliterated awareness of the form as a whole; in painting the particular detail had obscured the overall composition; in the novel psychological penetration
+
+had
+
+BJ11ftii'�IJ.l::jW£4:�!;1d:hrbta�.�
+
+blurred the architecture. t hme 'ncl.u, is
+
+though operating only with effects, it subdues
+
+rheT unruliness and subordinates them to the formula which supplants the work. It crushes equally the whole and the parts. The whole confronts the details in implacable detachment, somewhat like the career of a successful man, in which everything serves to illustrate and demonstrate a success which, in fact, it is no more than the sum of those idiotic events. The so-called leading idea is a filing compartment which creates order, not
+
+connections. �-JJW.ook::flll.k
+
+b a a �l.Y�an�a\_"!;�ill&il>
+
+e. Their harmony, guaranteed in advance, mocks the painful-
+
+ly achieved harmony of the great bourgeois works of art. In Germany even the most carefree films of democracy were overhung already by the grave-
+
+yard stillness of dictatorship.
+
+The whole world is passed through the filter of the culture industry. The familiar experience of the moviegoer, who perceives the street outside as a continuation of the film he has just left, because the film seeks strictly to reproduce the world of everyday perception, has become the guide-
+
+catle;eiffi)irRGlfi:e
+
+line of production. earn lm:cl · rt- liniqu�<:iu:pli
+
+��·i?iit=se:eamle
+
+l:}jee , fll aJ ® 'llwio :wf. rid
+
+s i n 0 on hit: h·3.S':bet:�nre:v: Since the abrupt introduction of the sound film, mechanical
+
+duplication has become entirely subservient to this objective. According to this tendency, life is to be made indistinguishable from the sound film. Far
+
+Palestrina could have el iminated the unprepared or unresolved dissonance more puristically than the jazz arranger excludes any phrase which does not exactly fit the jargon. If he jazzes up Mozart, he changes the music not only where it is too difficult or serious but also where the melody is merely harmonized differently, indeed, more simply, than is usual today. No medieval patron of architecture can have scrutinized the subjects of church windows and sculptures more suspiciously than the studio hierarchies examine a plot by Balzac or Victor Hugo before it receives the imprimatur of feasibility. No cathedral chapter could have assigned the grimaces and torments of the damned to their proper places in the order of divine love more scrupulously than production managers decide the position of the torture of the hero or the raised hem of the leading lady's dress within the litany of the big film. The explicit and implicit, exoteric and esoteric catalog of what is forbidden and what is tolerated\* is so extensive that it not only defines the area left free but wholly controls it. Even rhe most minor details are modeled according to this lexicon. "k, ·�rs � , :va.r -
+
+the ul w: · ust:-r efin \_
+
+· t a anguag miti;vely.
+
+pplied 1 ov.ocabttlaey. The perma-
+
+nent compulsion to produce new effects which yet remain bound to the old schema, becoming additional rules, merely increases the power of the tradition which the individual effect seeks to escape. Every phenomenon is by now so thoroughly imprinted by the schema that nothing can occur that does not bear in advance the trace of the jargon, that is not seen at first glance to be approved. But the true masters, as both producers and reproducers, are those who speak the jargon with the same free-and-easy relish as if it were the language it has long since silenced. Such is the industry's ideal of naturalness. It asserts itself more imperiously the more the perfected technology reduces the tension between the culture product and everyday existence. rl a re i d�tec abj · o 1 fiui . b a-A jazz musician who has to play a piece of serious music, Beethoven's simplest minuet, involuntarily syncopates, and condescends to start on the beat only with a superior smile. Such "naturalness," complicated by the ever more pervasive and exorbitant claims of the specific medium, constitutes the new style, "a system of nonculture to which one might even concede a certain 'unity of style' if it made any sense to speak of a stylized
+
+�r � . Aesthetic barbarism today is accomplishing what has threatened intellectual formations since they were brought together as culture and neutralized. To speak about culture always went against the grain of culture. The general designation "culture" already contains, virtually, the process of identifying, cataloging, and classifying which imports culture into the realm of administration. Only what has been industrialized, rigorously subsumed, is fully adequate to this concept of culrure. Only by subordinating all branches of intellecrual production equally to the single purpose of imposing on the senses of human beings, from the time they leave the factory in the evening to the time they clock on in the morning, impl'i:n · b :r ugh �
+
+� 61
+
+�l :m!''"l'l mius 1 thus proves to
+
+be the goal of the very liberalism which is criticized for its lack of style. Not only did its categories and contents originate in the liberal sphere, in domesticated naturalism no less than in the operetta and the revue, but the modern culture combines are the economic area in which a piece of the circulation sphere otherwise in the process of disintegration, together with the corresponding entrepreneurial types, still tenuously survives. In that area people can still make their way, provided they do not look too closely at their true purpose and are willing to be compliant. ho r o d., Once-registered as diverging from the culture industry, they belong to it as the land reformer does to capitalism. Realistic indignation is the trademark of those with a new idea \_to sell. Public authority in the present society\* allows only those complaints to be heard in which the attentive ear can discern the prominent figure under whose protection the rebel is suing for peace. The more immeasurable the gulf between chorus and leaders, the more certainly is there a place among the latter for anyone who demonstrates superiority by well-organized dissidence. ee r , 1 s at) est rr:rem er Ul"Vf.v.l · dust . To open that industry to clever people is the function of the otherwise largely regulated market, in which, even in its heyday, freedom was the freedom of the stupid to starve, in art as elsewhere. Not for nothing did the system of the
+
+.
+
+culture industry originate in the liberal industrial countries, just as all its characteristic media, especially cinema, radio, jazz, and magazines, also triumph there. Irs progress, however, stems from the general laws of capital. Gaumont and Pathe,\* Ullstein and Hugenberg\* did not follow the international trend to their own disadvantage; Europe's economic dependence on the USA after the war and the inflation also made its contribution. The belief that the barbarism of the culture industry is a result of "cultural lag," of the backwardness of American consciousness in relation to rhe stare of technology, is quire illusory. Prefascist Europe was backward in relation to rhe monopoly of culture. But it was precisely to such backwardness that intellectual activity owed a remnant of autonomy, its last exponents their livelihood, however meager. In Germany the incomplete permeation of life by democratic control had a paradoxical effect. Many areas were still exempt from the market mechanism which had been unleashed in Western countries. The German educational system, including the universities, the artistically influential theatres, the great orchestras, and the museums were under patronage. The political powers, the state and the local authorities who inherited such institutions from absolutism, had lefc them a degree of independence from the power of the marker as the princes and feudal lords had done up to the nineteenth century. This stiffened the backbone of art in its late phase against the verdict of supply and demand, heightening its resistance far beyond its actual degree of protection. In the market itself the homage paid to not yet marketable artistic quality was converted into purchasing power, so that reputable literary and musical publishers could support authors who brought in little more than the respect of connoisseurs. Only the dire and incessant threat of incorporation into commercial life as aesthetic experts finally brought the artists to heel. In former times they signed their letters, like Kant and Hume, "Your most obedient servant," while undermining the foundations of throne and altar. Today they call heads of government by their first names and are subject, in every artistic impulse, to the judgment of their illiterate principals. The analysis offered by de Tocqueville a hun-Jred years ago has been fully borne out in the meantime. Under the private monopoly of culture tyranny does indeed "leave the body free and �t·ts to work directly on the soul. The ruler no longer says: 'Either you 1hink as I do or you die.' He says: 'You are free not to think as I do; your lilc, your property-all that you shall keep. But from this day on you will
+
+���ili.I'!Vw!cc:fCte� o the mechanism of supply and demand is today disintegrating in material production, in the superstructure it acts as a control on behalf of the rulers. The consumers are the workers and salaried employees, the farmers and petty bourgeois. Capitalist production hems them in so tightly, in body and soul, that they unresistingly succumb to whatever is proffered to them. However, just as the ruled have always taken the morality dispensed to them by the rulers more seriously than the rulers themselves, the defrauded masses today cling to the myth of success still more ardently than the successful. They, too, have their aspirations. They insist unwaveringly on the ideology by which they are enslaved. The pernicious love of the common people for the harm done to them outstrips even the cunning of the authorities. It surpasses the rigor of the Hays Office,'\* just as, in great epochs, it has inspired renewed zeal in greater agencies directed against it, the terror of the tribunals. It calls for Mickey Rooney'\* rather than the tragic Garbo, Donald Duck rather than Betty Boop. The industry bows to the vote it has itself rigged. The incidental costs to the firm which cannot turn a profit from its contract with a declining star are legitimate costs for the system as a whole. By artfully sanctioning the demand for trash, the system inaugurates total harmony. Connoisseurship and expertise are proscribed as the arrogance of those who think themselves' superior, whereas culture distributes its privileges democratically to all. Under the ideological truce between them, the conformism of die consumers, like the shamelessness of the producers they sustain, can have a good conscience. Both content
+
+themselves with the reproduction of sameness.
+
+Unending sameness also govern� the relationship to the past. What is new in the phase of mass culture compared to that of late liberalism is the exclusion of the new. The machine is rotating on the spot. While it already determines consumption, it rejects anything untried as a risk. In film, any manuscript which is not reassuringly based on a best-seller is viewed �ith mistrust. That is why there is incessant talk of ideas, novelty and surprises, of what is both totally familiar and has never existed before. Tempo and dynamism are paramount. Nothing is allowed to stay as it was,
+
+tempt for meaning, which, as both ancestors and descendants of psychoanalysis, they reduce to the monotony of sexual symbolism. In crime and adventure fllms the spectators are begrudged even the opportunity to witness the resolution. Even in nonironic examples of the genre they must make do with the mere horror of situations connected in only the most
+
+perfunctory way.
+
+Cartoon and stunt films were once expor:ents of fantasy against rationalism. They allowed justice to be done to the animals and things electrified by their technology, by granting the mutilated beings a second life. Today they merely confirm the victory of technological reason over truth. A few years ago they had solid plots which were resolved only in the whirl of pursuit of the final minutes. In this their procedure resembled that of slapstick comedy. But now the temporal relations have shifted. The opening sequences state a plot motif so that destruction can work on it throughout the action: with the audience in gleeful pursuit the protagonist is tossed about like a scrap of litter. The quantity of organized amusement is converted into the quality of organized cruelty.\* The self-elected censors of the film industry, its accomplices, monitor the duration of the\* atrocity prolonged into a hunt. The jollity-dispels the joy supposedly conferred by the sight of an embrace and postpones satisfaction until the day of the pogrom. To the extent that cartoons do more than accustom the senses to the new tempo, they hammer into every brain the old lesson that continuous attrition, the breaking of all individual resistance, is the condition of life in this society. Q&��,Q.���he..eaF«JIOf.ltSililllfl.tile"tmfffi�
+
+concocted by the experts may escape the weary eye; in face of the slick presentation no one may appear stupid even for a moment; everyone has to keep up, emulating the smartness displayed and propagated by the production. This makes it doubtful whether the culrure industry even still fulfils its self-proclaimed function of distraction. If the majority of radio stations a\_nd cinemas were shut down, consumers probably would not feel too much deprived. In stepping from the street into the cinema, they no longer enter the world of dream in any case, and once the use of these institutions was no longer made 'obligatory by their rpere existence, the
+
+urge to use them might not be so overwhelming.\* Shutting them down in this way would not be reactionary machine-wrecking. Those who suffered would nor be the film enthusiasts bur those who always pay the penalty in any case, the ones who had lagged behind. For the housewife, despite the films which are supposed to integrate her still further, the dark of the cinema grants a refuge in which she can spend a few unsupervised hours, just as once, when there were still dwellings and evening repose, she could sit gazing out of the window. The unemployed of the great centers find freshness in summer and warmth in winter in these places of regulated temperature. Apart from that, and even by the measure of the existing order, the bloated entertainment apparatus does not make life more worthy of human beings. The idea of "exploiting" the given technical possibilities,\* of fully utilizing the capacities for aesthetic mass consumption, is part of an economic system which refuses to utilize capacities when it is a ques-
+
+tion of
+
+JiFFiffittm'e=iruiU:sl��-g abolishing hunger.
+
+ceflf.iless!r-p�)IDISes..
+
+id:less cb consume!' ou of what ·
+
+The promissory note of pleasure issued by plot and
+
+packaging is indefinitely prolonged: the promise, which actually comprises the entire show, disdainfully intimates that there is nothing more to come, that the diner must be satisfied with reading the menu. The desire inflamed by the glossy names and images is served up finally with a celebration of the daily round it sought to escape. Of course, genuine works of art were not sexual exhibitions either. But by presenting denial as negative, they reversed, as it were, the debasement of the drive and rescued by mediation what had been denied. That is the secret of aesthetic sublimation: to present fulfillment in its brokenness. The culture industry\* does not sublimate: it suppresses. By constantly exhibiting the object of desire, the breasts beneath the sweater, the naked torso of the sporting hero, it merely goads rhe unsublimated anticipation of pleasure, which through the habit of denial has long since been mutilated as masochism. There is no erotic situation in which innuendo and incitement are not accompanied by the clear notification that things will never go so far. The Hays Office\* merely confirms the ritual which the culture industry has staged in any case: that of Tantalus. Works of art are ascetic and shameless; the culture industry is pornographic and prudish. It reduces love to romance. And, once reduced, much is permitted, even libertinage as a marketable specialty, purveyed by quota with the trade description "daring." The mass
+
+u. Because
+
+of his ubiquity, the film star with whom one is supposed to fall in love is, from the start, a copy of himself. Every tenor now sounds like a Caruso record, and the natural faces of Texas girls already resemble those of the established models by which they would be typecast in Hollywood.
+
+�.
+
+SQ.Y;�,.a®OOeQY-te leaders ·.n · idu,...,.-�
+
+RE;Cariou;,;.. Under liberalism the poor were regarded as lazy; today they are automatiCally suspect. Anyone who is not provided for outside the concentration camp belongs inside it, or at any rate in the hell of the most demeaning labor and the slums. The culture industry, however, reflects society's positive and negative provision\* for those it administers as direct human solidarity in the world of honest folk. No one is forgotten, everywhere are neighbors , social welfare officers, Dr Gillespies, and armchair philosophers with their hearts in the right place who, with their kindly man-to-man interventions, turn the socially perpetuated wretchedness into remediable individual cases, unless even that is ruled out by the personal depravity of those concerned. The managed provision of friendly care, administered by every factory as a means of increasing ·proDMEME
+
+External pressure has forced human beings to overcome their own inertia, to produce material and intellectual works. Thinkers from Democrirus to Freud are not wrong in believing this. The resistance of external nature, to which the pressure can finally be traced back, propagates itself in society through the classes, acting on all human beings from l-hildhood onward as the callousness of their fellows. People are gende
+
+when they want something from those who are stronger, and harsh when the weaker want something from them. That has been the key to the
+
+nature of the person in society up to now.
+
+The conclusion drawn by conservatives, that terror and civilization are inseparable, is well founded. What could enable human beings to develop the ability to master complex stimuli, if not their own developmental exertions, which have to be spurred on by external resistance? The resistance which drives them is first embodied in the father; later it grows a thousand heads: teachers, superiors, customers, competitors, the representatives of social and state powers. Their brutality stimulates individual
+
+spontaneity.
+
+That this harshness might be moderated in the future, that the bloody punishments by which humanity has been tamed in the course of centuries could be replaced by the establishment of sanatoria, seems no more than a dream. Simulated compulsion is powerless. Culture has evolved under the shadow of the executioner; Genesis, which tells of the expulsion from Paradise, and the Soirees de Petersbourg" are in agreement on this. Work and pleasure take place under the shadow of the executioner. To contradict this is to fly in the face of all science, all logic. One cannot abolish terror and retain civilization. Even to relax the former means the beginning of disintegration. The most diverse conclusions can be drawn from this: from the worship of fascist barbarism to a flight into the circles of Hell.\* There is one
+
+other possibility: to scorn logic, if it is against humanity.
+
+ANI MAL PSYCH OLOGY"'
+
+A large dog stands beside the highway. If he walks trustfully onto it he will be run over. His peaceful expression indicates that normally he is better looked after-a pet which no one harms. Bur do the sons of the upper bourgeoisie, whom no one harms, have peaceful expressions on their faces? They have not been worse looked after than the dog, which is
+
+now run over.
+
+Your reason is one-sid�d. whispers one-sided reason; you have done power an injustice. You have trumpeted the scandal of tyranny eloquent-
+
+ly, tearfully, sarcastically, thunderously; but the good that power has brought about-on that you have kept silent. Without the security which only power could establish, that good would never have come into being. Beneath the wings of power, life and love have played; even your own happiness has been wrested from hostile nature by power. Thoughts inspired by apologetics are true and false at once. Despite its great accomplishments, only power can commit injustice, for only the executed judgment is unjust, not the lawyer's unexecuted plea. Only when discourse aims at oppression, defending power instead of powerlessness, does it contribute to the general wrong. But power, one-sided reason now whispers, is represented by human beings. By exposing the former, you make a target of the latter. And after them, worse perhaps will come. The lie speaks truth. When fascist murderers are waiting, one should not incite the people against the weak government. But even the alliance with the less brutal power does not imply that one should keep silent about infamies. The likelihood that good causes might be damaged by denunciation of the injustice which protects them from the devil has always been outweighed by the advantage the devil gains if the denunciation of injustice is left solely to him. How far must a society have sunk in which only scoundrels still speak the truth-and Goebbels reminds us that the lynch mob is still happily at work. Not the good but the bad is the subject maner of theory. Theory presupposes the reproduction of life in its existing forms. Its element is freedom, its theme oppression. Where language grows apologetic, it is already corrupted; by its nature it can be neither neutral nor practicaL-Could you not portray the good sides of life and proclaim love as a principle, instead of endless binerness?-There is only one expression for truth: the thought which repudiates injustice. If insistence on the good sides of life is not sublated in the negative whole, it transfigures its own opposite: violence. Wirh words I can intrigue, propagate, suggest; that is the attribute which entangles them, as it entangles all activity in the world, and is the only one which is understood by the lie. It insinuates that even when one contradicts the existing order, one is acting in the service of other, emergent powers, competing bureaucracies, and rulers. In its nameless fear, it can and will see only what resembles itself. Anything which is ahsorhed into its medium, language as mere instrument, becomes identical to the lie as objects become indistinguishable in darkness. Bur .although it is true that there is no word which could not ultimately be
+
+used by the lie, the word's temper never gleams in the lie but only in the thought hardened in the fight against power. Uncompromising hatred of the terror inflicted on the last of the earth's creatures legitimizes the gratitude of those who are spared. Invocation of the sun is idolatry. Only the spectacle of the tree withered in its heat gives a presentiment of the majesty of the day which will not scorch the world on which it shines.
+
+CLASSIFICAT ION
+
+General concepts coined by means of abstraction or axiomatically by individual sciences form the material of representation no less than the names of individual objects. Opposition to general concepts is absurd. There is more to be said, however, about the starus of the general. What many individual things have in common, or what constantly recurs in one individual thing, needs not be more stable, eternal, or deep than the particular. The scale of categories is not the same as that of significance. That was precisely the error of the Elearics and all who followed them, with
+
+Plato and Aristotle at their head.
+
+The world is unique. The mere repetition in speech of moments which occur again and again in the same form bears more resemblance to a futile, compulsive litany than to the redeeming word. Classification is a condition of knowledge, not knowledge itsel£ and knowledge in rurn dis-
+
+solves classification.
+
+AVALANC HE --
+
+The present time is without turning points. A turn of events is always for the better. But when, as today, calamity is at irs height, the heav-
+
+ens open and hurl their fire on those who are lost in any case.
+
+This impression is communicated first of all by what was commonly called the social and political sphere. At one rime, the front pages of daily newspapers seemed strange and vulgar to happy women and children-newspapers reminded them of alehouse swagger-until the bold headline finally crossed their threshold as a real threat. Rearmament, overseas affairs, tension in the Mediterranean, and who knows what other granJiose phrases put genuine fear into people, until the First World War broke out. Then, with irs ever more dizzying figurs=s, came inflation.
+
+The railroad has been supplanted by cars. The making of travel acquaintances is reduced by the private automobile to half-threatening encounters with hitchhikers. People travel on rubber tires in strict isolation from one another. What is talked about in one family automobile is the same as in another; in the nuclear family, conversation is regulated by practical interests. Just as every family with a certain income spends the same percentage on housing, cinema, cigarettes, exactly as statistics prescribe, the subject matter of conversations is schematized according to the class of automobile. When they meet on Sunday outings or in restaurants, the menus and decor of which are identical to others in the same price category, the guests find that with increasing isolation they have become more and more alike. Communication makes people conform by isolating them.
+
+ON THE CRITIQUE OF THE PHILOSO PHY
+
+OF HISTORY
+
+The human species is not, as has been asserted, a freak event in natural history, an incidental and abnormal formation produced by hypertrophy of the cerebral organ. That assertion is true only of reason in certain individuals, or perhaps even of a few countries over short periods, when the economy has allowed maneuvering space to such individuals. The cerebral organ, human intelligence, is firmly established enough to constitute a regular epoch of the earth's history. In this epoch, the human
+
+species, including
+
+,
+
+its machines, chemicals, and organizational powers-
+
+for why should they not be seen as a part of it as teeth are a part of the bear, since they serve the same purpose and merely function better?-is the last word in adaptation. Humans have not only overtaken their immediate predecessors but have eradicated them more thoroughly than almost
+
+any other recent species, not excluding the carnivorous saurians.
+
+In face of this it seems somewhat whimsical to try to construe world history, as did Hegel, in terms of categories such as freedom and justice. These categories do indeed originate in eccentric individuals, who arc insignificant in relation to the general course of the whole, unless it be that they help to bring about transient historical conditions in which especially large quantities of machines and chemicals are produced to strengthen the species and subjugate others. According to this serious history. all
+
+ideas, prohibitions, religions, and political creeds are of interest only insofar as, arising from diverse conditions, they increase or decrease the natural survival prospects of the human species on the earth or within the universe. The liberation of citizens from the injustice of the feudal and absolutist past served, through liberalism, to unleash machinery, just as the emancipation of women has culminated in their being trained as a branch of the armed forces. The mind, and all that is good in its origins and existence, is hopelessly implicated in this horror. We owe the serum which the doctor administers to the sick child to the attack on defenseless creatures. In the endearments of lovers, as in the most sacred symbols of Christianity, we can detect the lust for the flesh of the kid, just as the ambiguous respect for the totem animal is discernible in that lust. Even our complex understanding of cooking, church, and theater is a consequence of the sophisticated division of labor, which exists at the expense of nature within and outside human society. The historical function of culture lies in retroactively heightening this form of organization. That is why genuine thought, which detaches itself from that function, reason in its pure form, takes on the trait of madness which down-to-earth people have never failed to observe. If that kind of reason were to win a decisive victory within humanity, the predominance of the species would be threatened. The "freak event" theory would finally turn out to be true. But that theory, which cynically sought to support a critique of the anthropocentric philosophy of history, is itself too anthropocentric to hold true. Reason acts as an instrument of adaptation and not as a sedative, as might appear from the use sometimes made of it by individuals. Its ruse consists in making humans into beasts with an ever-wider reach, and not in bringing about
+
+the identity of subject and object.
+
+A philosophical interpretation of world history would have to show how, despite all the detours and resistances, the systematic domination over nature has been asserted more and more decisively and has integratnl all internal human characteristics. Economic, political, and cultural li1rms\* would have to be derived from this position. The idea of the superhuman can be applicable only in the sense of a transition from quantity to quality. Just as the airman with the toxic spray, who in a few flights can , lc:msc the last continents of the last free animals, might be called supertn.tn in comparison to the troglodyte,\* a human super-amphibian might , nmc into being for whom the airman of today would seem like a harm-
+
+violence of creative evolution, does not, like the rational philosophies of history, prescribe a certain praxis as beneficial, not even that of nonresistance. The light of reason, which dawned in that impulse and is reflected in the recollecting thought of human beings, falls, even on the happiest day, on its irresolvable contradiction: the calamity which reason alone can-
+
+not avert.
+
+MONUMENTS TO HUMAN ITY
+
+Humanity has always been more at home in France than elsewhere. But the French were no longer aware of the fact. What their books contained was ideology recognized by all. The better qualities led a segregated existence of their own: in the inflection of voice, the turn of phrase, the artful cuisine, the existence of brothels, the cast-iron pissoirs. But the Blum government\* already declared war on such respect for the individual, and even the conservatives did little to protect its monuments.
+
+FROM A THEORY OF THE CRIMI NAL\*
+
+... Like the criminal, imprisonment was a bourgeois affair. In the Middle Ages incarceration was reserved for the offspring of princes who symbolized an inconvenient hereditary claim. Criminals were tortured to death, to instill a respect for order and law in the mass of the population, since the example of severity and cruelty reaches the severe and cruel to love. Regular imprisonment presupposes a rising need for l�bor power.\* It reflects the bourgeois mode of life as suffering. The rows of cells in a modern prison represent monads in the true Leibnizian sense. "The Monads have no windows, through which anything could come in or go out. Accidents cannot separate themselves from substances nor go about outside them, as the 'sensible species' of the Scholastics used to do. Thus neither substance nor accident can come into a Monad from outside."17 The monads have no direct influence on one another; their lives are regulated and coordinated by God, or the prison administration.18 The absolute lonel iness, the enforced reliance on a self whose whole being consists in 1 he mastering of material and the monotOnous rhythm of work, spectrally prefigure human existence in the modern world. The radical isolation .md the radical rcdunion to an unchanging, hopeless nothingness are
+
+the patient to remember the events once the operation is completed. If we told our patients the rruth, it is likely that none of them would opt for the drug,
+
+whereas now, as a result of our silence, they generally insist on its use.
+
+But even disregarding the fact that the only, dubious benefit is a loss of memory regarding the time of the intervention, the spread of this practice seems to me ro bring with it a far more serious danger. Given the increasing superficiality of the general academic training of our doctors, medicine might be encouraged by an unlimited use of the drug heedlessly ro undertake ever more complicated and serious surgical interventions. Instead of carrying out such experiments on animals in the service of research, we should then make our patients the unwitting subjects of experimenrs. It is conceivable that the painful excitations which, in view of their specific nature, may exceed all known sensations of this kind, would cause lasting psychical damage to the patient, or might even lead to an indescribably agonizing death under narcosis, the peculiarities of which would remain for ever hidden from family members and the world. Would that not be
+
+altogether too great a price to pay for progress?
+
+If Flourens were right in this letter, the obscure workings of the world's divine governance would at least for once be justified. The animal would be avenged by the sufferings of its executioner: each operation a vivisection. A suspicion would arise that our anitude toward human beings, and toward all creatures, is no different to that toward ourselves after a successful operation: blindness to torment. For cognition, the space separating us from others would mean the same thing as the time between us and the suffering in our own past: an insurmountable barrier. But the perennial dominion over nature, medical and nonmedical technology, derives its strength from such blindness; it would be made possible only by oblivion. Loss of memory as the transcendental condition of science. All
+
+reification is forgetting.\*
+
+VAIN TERRO R
+
+The gaze fixed on calamity has an element of fascination. But therelim: of secret complicity. So strong are the social bad conscience of all who have a pan in injustice, and the hatred of fulfilled life, that in critical situations they turn directly against self-interest as an immanent revenge. There was in the French bourgeois a fatal agency which ironically resemhlnl the heroic ideal of the f.1scists: they rejoiced in the triumph of their li keness, as expressed in Hitler's rise, even though it threatened them with
+
+ruin; indeed, they took their own ruin as evidence of the justice of the order they represented. A precursor of this behavior is found in the attitude of many rich people to impoverishment, the image of which they conjure up under the rationalization of parsimony: it is their latent tendency, even while they fight tenaciously for every penny, suddenly to give up all their possessions without a fight or irresponsibly to gamble them away. In fascism they achieve the synthesis of power-craving and self-hate, and their vain terror is always accompanied by the qualification: I always
+
+saw it coming.
+
+INTEREST IN THE BOD Y
+
+Beneath the known history of Europe there runs a subterranean one. It consists of the fate of the human instincts and passions repressed and distorted by civilization. From the vantage point of the fascist present, in which the hidden is coming to light, the manifest history is also revealing its connection to that dark side, which is passed over in the official legend
+
+of nation states, and no less in its progressive critique.
+
+Most mutilated of all is the relationship to the body. Under the division of labor, in which the benefits accrued to one side and labor to the other, brute strength was anathematized. The less the masters could do without the labor of the rest, the more base labor was declared to be. Like the slave, work received a stigma. Christianity celebrated labor but, in compensation, vilified the flesh as the source of all evil. In collusion with the unbeliever ,Machiavelli, it rang in the modern bourgeois order by
+
+extolling work, '
+
+which in the Old Testament had been designated a curse.
+
+For the Desert Fathers, Dorotheus, Moses the Robber, Paul the Simple, and others of the poor in spirit, labor was still a direct means of entering the Kingdom of Heaven. For Luther and Calvin the link between work and salvation was already so convoluted that the relentless injunction to work seems almost like mockery, the boot grinding the worm into the
+
+dust.
+
+The princes and patricians could console themselves for the religious gulf which had opened between their earthly days and their eternal vocation with the thought df the revenues they would derive from the labor rime of others. For the irrationality of the doctrine of election left rhe possibility of redemption open to them. But on rpe mhcrs the pressure
+
+weighed all the more heavily. They were dimly aware that the mortification of the flesh by power was nothing other than the ideological reflection of the oppression practiced on them. The fate of the slaves of Antiquity was endured by victims up to the modern colonial peoples: they counted as inferior. There were by nature two races: the higher and the lower. The emancipation of the European individual took place in conjunction with a general cultural transformation by which the split within the emancipated penetrated more deeply the more the external physical compulsion abated. The exploited body was to be regarded by the lower orders as the bad and the mind, for which the others had leisure, as the highest good. This development made Europe capable of its most sublime cultural achievements, but, at the same time as the control over the body was increased, the hint of fraud which had been detectable from the first also intensified the obscene malice, the love-hate toward the body which permeated the mentality of the masses over the centuries and found its authentic expression in the language of Luther. In the relationship of individuals to the body, their own and that of others, is reenacted the irrationality and injustice of power as cruelty; and that irrationality is as far removed from judicious insight and serene reflection as power is from freedom. In Nietzsche's theory of cruelty, and still more in the work of Sade, the extent of this connection is recognized, while in Freud's doctrines of
+
+narcissism and the death impulse it is interpreted psychologically.
+
+Love-hate for the body colors the whole of modern culture. The body is scorned and rejected as something inferior, enslaved, and at the same time is desired as forbidden, reified, estranged. Only culture treats the body as a thing that can be owned, only in culture has it been distinguished from mind, the quintessence of power and command, as the object, the dead thing, the corpus. In humanity's self-abasement to the corpus nature takes its revenge for the debasement of the human being to an object of power, to raw material. The compulsion toward cruelty and destruction stems from the organic repression of proximity to the body, much as, according to Freud's inspired intuition, disgust came into being when, with the adoption of the upright stance and the greater distance t'rom the earth, the sense of smell, which attracted the male animal to the lllcnsrruating female, fell victim to organic repression. In Western civilizalion, and probably in any civilization, what pertains to the body is 1.1hoocd, a subject of attraction and revulsion. Among the Greek rulers,
+
+and in feudalism, the relationship to the body was also conditioned by power, through the need for personal physical prowess. The cultivation of the body had a naively social objective. The kalos kagathos was only partly an illusion; in part the gymnasium was needed for the actual maintenance of personal power, at least as training in the lordly posture. With the complete transition of power to the bourgeois form mediated by trade and communications, and still more with the rise of industry, a formal change occurred. Instead of to the sword, humanity has enslaved itself to the gigantic apparatus, which, to be sure, ultimately forges the sword. The rational purpose of enhancing the male body thereby disappeared; the Romantic attempts to achieve a renascence of the body in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries merely idealize something dead and mutilated. Nietzsche, Gauguin, George, and Klages recognized the nameless stupidity which is the result of progress. But they drew the wrong conclusion. They did not denounce the wrong as it is bur transfigured the wrong as it was. The rejection of mechanization became an embellishment of industrial mass culture, which cannot do without the noble gesture. Against their will, artists reworked the lost image of the unity of body and mind for the adverrising industry. The celebration of paragons of vitality, from the Blond Beast to the south-sea islanders, culminates ineluctably in the "sarong film," the advertisements for vitamins and skin cream, which are only stand-ins for the immanent goal of publicity: the new, big, beautiful, noble human type-the leaders and their troops. The fascist leaders again take the implements of murder into their hands, executing their prisoners with pistol an� horsewhip, nor as a result of their superior strength bur
+
+because the gi1
+
+gantic apparatus and the real holders of power, who still
+
+abstain from such acts, deliver the victims of reason of stare to the base-
+
+ment of their headquarters.
+
+The body cannot be turned back into the envelope of the soul. It remains a cadaver, no matter how trained and fit it may be. The transformation into dead matter, indicated by the affinity of corpus to corpse, was a part of the perennial process which turned nature into stuff, material. The achievements of civilization are a product of sublimation, of the acquired love-hate for body and earth, from which domination has violently severed all humari beings. The spirit's reaction to the corporealization of humanity is productive in medicine, while its reaction to the reifl-
+
+only thinly rationalized by concern for his health. Language keeps in step with them. It has converted the stroll into exercise and food into calories, just as in English and French the name for a throng of living trees is synonymous with "timber. " Along with the mortality rate, society is reducing
+
+life to a chemical process.
+
+In the fiendish humiliation of prisoners in the concentration camps, which-for no rational reason-the modern executioner adds to the death by torture, the unsublimated yet repressed rebellion of despised nature breaks out. Its full hideousness is vented on the manyrs oflove, the alleged sexual offenders and libertines, for sexuality is the body unreduced; it is expression, that which the butchers secretly and despairingly crave. In free sexuality the murderer fears the lost immediacy, the original oneness, in which he can no longer exist. It is the dead thing which rises up and lives. He now makes everything one by making it nothing, because he has to stifle that oneness in himself. For him the victim represents life which has survived the schism; it must be broken and the universe must be nothing
+
+but dust and abstract power.
+
+MASS SO CIETY
+
+Complementing the cult of stars is the social mechanism of the notables, which levels anything that stands out; the stars and dignitaries are mere patterns for the ready-made world, and for the scissors of juridical
+
+and economic justice, which snip off the last loose ends.
+
+Postscri�t
+
+The view that the leveling and standardization of people in general, on the one hand, is matched, on the other, by a heightening of individu ·ality in the so-called leader figures, in keeping with their power, is erroneous and itself a piece of ideology. The fascist masters of today are not so much supermen as functions of their own publicity apparatus, intersections of the identical reactions of countless people. If, in the psychology of the present-day masses, the leader no longer represents the father so much as the collective, monstrously enlarged projection of the impotent ego of each individual, then the leader figures do indeed correspond to what they represent. Not by accident do they resemble hairdressers, provincial actors, and gutter journalists. A parr of their moral influence lies precisely
+
+era!, self-assured, universal, and imperative. What people cannot endure is the attempt to evade the either/or, the mistrust of abstract principles,
+
+steadfastness without a doctrine.
+
+Two young people are having a conversation:
+
+A. You don't want to be a doctor?
+
+B. By their profession doctors have a lot to do with dying people; that desensitizes them. Moreover, with advanced institutionalization the doctor represents business and its hierarchy vis-a-vis the patient. He is often tempted to act as an advocate of death. He becomes an agent of big business" against consumers. If one is selling automobiles ir's not so bad, but if the commodity being administered is life and the consumers are the sick, that's a situation I'd prefer nor to be in. The profession of family doctor may have been more innocuous, bur rhat is in decline. A. So you think there shouldn't be any doctors, or the old charlatans ought
+
+to come back?
+
+B. I did not say that. I just have a horror of being a doctor myself, and especially a senior consultant with power of command over a mass hospital. Nevertheless, I do, of course, think it better to have doctors and hospitals than to leave sick people to die. I would not want to be a public prosecutor, yet giving a free run to armed robbers would seem to me a far greater evil than the existence of the body of people who put them in prison. Justice is reasonable. I am not against rea-
+
+son; I only want to investigate the form it has taken.
+
+A. You are in contradiction with yourself. You yourself constantly make use of the advantages provided by doctors and judges. You are as guilty as they are. It is just that you don't want to be burdened with the work which ochers do for you.
+
+Your own life presupposes the principle you are trying to evade.
+
+B. I do not deny ir, but contradiction is necessary. It is a response to the objective contradiction of society. In a division of labor as complex as that of today, horror can manifest itself in one place and bring down guilt on everyone. If word of it got about, or if even a small proportion of people were aware of it, lunatic asylums and penal institutes might be humanized and courts of justice might finally be superfluous. But that is not the reason why I want to be a writer.
+
+I just want to be clearer about the terrible state in which everything is.
+
+A. If everyone thought as you do, and no one wanted to get his hands dirty, there would be neither doctors nor judges, and the world would be even more
+
+dreadful.
+
+B. That is jusr what I find questionable; for if everyone thought as I do, rhen I hope that not just the rt1eans of opposing evil would be reduced, bur evil i1sclf. Humaniry has orher possibilities. I am nor the whole of humanity, and I cannor simply represent it in my thought. The moral precept that each of my
+
+actions ought ro provide a general maxim is very problematic. Ir bypasses history. Why should my disinclination ro be a doctor be equivalent to the view that there should be no docrors? In reality there are many people who would make good docrors and have a good chance of becoming one. If they behave morally within the limits ro which their profession is subject today, rhey have my admiration. Perhaps they may even contribute to reducing the deficiencies I have pointed out to you; bur perhaps they will deepen them, despite all their professional skill and morality. My life as I imagine ir, my horror and my desire for knowledge, seem ro me as justified as the profession of docror, even though I cannot help anyone
+
+directly.
+
+A. But if you knew that by studying medicine you might one day save the life of a loved person which would quite cenainly be lost without you, would you
+
+not take it up at once?
+
+B. Probably, bur by now you can see for yourself that with your love of implacable logic you are forced to offer the most absurd examples, while I, with my impractical obstinacy and my contradictions, have remained within the
+
+bounds of common sense.
+
+This conversation is repeated wherever someone refuses to give up thought in face of praxis. Such a person finds logic and consistency always on the other side. Anyone who is against vivisection ought not to draw a single breath which might cost the life of a bacillus. Logic places itself in the service of progress and of reaction, and .at all events of reality. And yet, in an age when education is radically focused on reality, conversations have become rarer, and the neurotic interlocutor B needs superhuman strength
+
+in order not to become healthy.
+
+MARKED
+
+People in their forties are apt to make a curious observation. They discover that most of those with whom they have grown up and kept in contacr show disorders in their habits and their consciousness. One allows his work to deteriorate so far that his business collapses; another destroys his marriage through no fault of his wife; another embezzles. But even those who escape such drastic changes bear signs of decomposition. ( :onversation with them becomes shallow, bombastic, fatuous. Whereas earlier the person growing older received imellecrual stimulus from others, now he finds himself almost the only one who voluntarily displays objec
+
+To begin with he is inclined to regard the development of his coevals as an unpleasant accident. They have simply changed for the worse. Perhaps it has to do with their generation and its special outward fate. Finally he discovers that this experience is already familiar to him, but from a different perspective: that of his youth in relation to grown-ups. Was he not convinced then, too, that something was amiss with this or that teacher, with his uncles and aunts, the friends of his parents, and, later, with the university professors or the trainee's manager? It may have been that they displayed some ridiculous tic or that their presence was especially barren,
+
+oppressive, disappointing.
+
+At that time he did not think further about it, accepting the inferiority of grown-ups as simply a fact of nature. But now he finds it confirmed that under the existing conditions the mere act of living while maintaining specific technical or intellectual skills leads even in the prime oflife to cretinism. Not even the worldly-wise are exempt. It is as if human beings, as punishment for betraying the hopes of their youth and accommodating themselves to the world, are marked by premature decay.
+
+Postscript
+
+The decay of individuality today not only teaches us to regard that category as historical but also raises doubts concerning its positive nature. The inherent principle of the phase of competition was the wrong done to the individual. This relates, however, not only to the function of the individual and its particularistic interests in society but also to the inner composition of individuality itself. The tendency toward human emancipation emerged under the aegis of individuality but at the same time was the result of the very mechanism from which humanity was to be emancipated. In the autonomy and uniqueness of the individual, the resistance to the blind, repressive power of the irrational whole was crystallized. But that resistance was made historically possible only by the blindness and irrationality of the autonomous and unique individual. Conversely, however, that which, as particularistic, was absolutely opposed to the whole remains perniciously and opaquely attached ro the existing order. The radically individual, unassimilated features of a human being are always both at once: residues not fully encompassed by the prevailing system and still happily surviving, and marks of the mutilation inflicted on its members by d1�u system. In these traits, basic determinants o£ the system arc repeated
+
+in exaggerated form: miserliness, for example, magnifies the principle of fixed propeny, hypochondria that of unreflecting self-preservation. Because the individual seeks desperately, through such traits, to assert itself against the compulsions of nature and society-sickness and bankruptcy-the traits themselves necessarily take on a compulsive quality. Within its innermost cell the individual encounters the same power from which it has fled within itself. This makes its flight a hopeless chimera. Moliere's comedies show awareness of this curse no less than Daumicr's caricatures; but the National Socialists, who arc abolishing the individual, feed con-
+
+tentedly on it and set up Spitzwcg as their classical painter.
+
+Only in relation to hardened society, and not absolutely, does the hardened individual represent something better. Its hardness bears witness to the shame called forth by what the collective ceaselessly does to the individual and by what ensues when there are no longer individuals. The acolytes of today, bereft of self, are the necessary consequence of the splenetic apothecaries, the passionate rose growers and political cripples of yes-
+
+terday.
+
+PHILOSOPHY AND TH E DIVISION OF LAB OR
+
+The place of science in the social division of labor is readily identified. Its task is to accumulate facts and functional connections between facts in the largest possible quantities. The storage system must be easily surveyed. It must enable individual industries immediately to locate the desired intellectual commodity in the required variety. Already the compilation is largely made with an eye for certain industrial contracts.
+
+Historical works, too, are required to contribute material. Its utility is to be sought not directly in industry bur indirectly in administration. Just as Machiavelli wrote for the purposes of princes and republics, historians of today work for economic and political committees. Admittedly, the historical form has become an impediment to such use; the material is hcner arranged straight away in terms of a specific administrative task: to manipulate commodity prices or the emotions of the masses. In addition to :tdministration and industrial consortia, trade unions and political par
+
+Official philosophy serves the science which functions in this way. It ' 'upposed, like a kind of inrcllccrual Taylorism, to improve scientific pro-
+
+duction methods, to rationalize the accumulation of knowledge, and prevent the waste of mental energy. It has its alloned place in the division of labor, like chemistry or bacteriology. The few philosophical residues which hark back to the divine worship of the Middle Ages or the contemplation of eternal essentialities are still tolerated at secular universities because they are so reactionary. In addition, a few historians of philosophy continue to propagate themselves by tirelessly expounding Plato and Descartes while pointing out their obsoleteness. They are accompanied here and there by a veteran of sensualism or an expert personalist who keeps the field of sci-
+
+ence free of any dialectical weeds that might otherwise spring up.
+
+Unlike its custodians, philosophy refers, among other things, to thinking which refuses to capitulate to the prevailing division of labor and does not accept prescribed tasks. The existing order coerces people not merely by physical force and material interests but by overwhelming suggestion. Philosophy is not a synthesis, a basic science, or an overarching science but an effort to resist suggestion, a determination to protect intel-
+
+lectual and actual freedom.
+
+In this effort, the division of labor which has emerged under domination is not ignored. Philosophy detects the lie which domination inescapably brings with it. Refusing to be hypnotized by the preponderant power, it pursues it into all its hiding-places in the social machinery, which by its nature cannot be taken by storm, or placed under different control, but must be understood in freedom from the spell which it casts. When the officials which industry maintains in its intellectual departments-the universities, churches, and newspapers-challenge philosophy to produce credentials by which to legitimate its snooping, it finds itself fatally at a loss. It acknowledges no abstract norms or goals which could be a practicable alternative to those in force. Its exemption from the suggestive influence of the existing order lies precisely in the fact that, without favoring them, it accepts the bourgeois ideals, whether those which that order's exponents still proclaim, in however distorted a form, or those which are still discernible as the objective purpose of institutions, both technical and cultural, despite all the manipulation. It believes that the division of labor exists for the sake of human beings and that progress leads to freedom. That is why it is liable to come into conflict both with the division of labor and with progress. It gives voice to the contradiction between belief and reality, paying close atrention to phenomena conditioned by the time. Unlike the press, it docs not attach more impon;;nce to gigantic mass
+
+murder than to the liquidation of a few asylum inmates. It does not place the intrigues of the statesman compromised by fascism above the modest lynching, or the advertising frenzy of the film industry above the intimate funeral announcement. The taste for the grandiose is foreign to it. Thus it is at the same time remote from the existing order and deeply complicit with it. It lends its voice to irs subject, against the latter's will; it is the voice of the contradiction which otherwise would not be heard, but would tri-
+
+umph silently.
+
+THOUGHT
+
+It is, of course, mistaken to believe that the truth of a theory is the same as its fruitfulness. There are some, however, who appear to assume the opposite. For them, theory has so little need to find application in thought that it should dispense with thinking altogether. They misinterpret every utterance as a final profession of belief, an injunction, or a taboo. They seek to submit to the idea as to a god or attack it as an idol. They lack freedom in relation to it. But it is in the nature of truth that one is involved in it as an active subject. People may hear propositions which in themselves are true; but they experience their truth only by thinking as
+
+they hear and by continuing to think.
+
+This fetishism manifests itself in a drastic form today. One is called to account for one's thoughts, as if they applied directly to praxis.\* For this reason, nor only is the utterance which attacks power found intolerable bur the one which gropes forward experimentally, playing with the possibility of error. Yet to be unfinished :ond to know it is the mark even of the thought which opposes power, and especially of the thought for which it would be worth dying. The proposition that the true is the whole\* proves to be the same as its antithesis, that truth exists only as a part. The most wretched of the excuses which intellectuals have found for executioners .md in the last century they have not been idle in finding them-is that
+
+the thinking for which the victim was murdered was fallacious.
+
+MAN AND BEAST
+
+Throughout European history the idea of the human being has been nprl:ssed in contradistinction to the animal. The latter's lack of reason is du· proof of human di�nity. So insistently and unanimously has this
+
+antithesis been recited by all the earliest precursors of bourgeois thought, the ancient Jews, the Stoics, and the Early Fathers, and then through the Middle Ages to modern times, that few other ideas are so fundamental to Western anthropology. The antithesis is acknowledged even today. The behaviorists only appear to have forgotten it. That they apply to human beings the same formulae and results which they wring without restraint from defenseless animals in their abominable physiological laboratories, proclaims the difference in an especially subtle way. The conclusion they draw from the mutilated animal bodies applies, not to animals in freedom, but to human beings today.\* By mistreating animals they announce that they, and only they in the whole of creation, function voluntarily in the same mechanical, blind, automatic way as the twitching movements of the bound victims made use of by the expert. The professor at the dissection table defines such movements scientifically as reflexes; the soothsayer at the altar would have proclaimed them a sign from his gods. Humans possess reason, which pitilessly follows its path; the animals from which they draw their bloody conclusions have only unreasoning terror, the impulse
+
+to take flight on a path which is cut off.
+
+The lack of reason has no words. Its possession, which dominates manifest history, is eloquent. The whole earth bears witness to the glory of man. In war and peace, arena and slaughterhouse, from the slow death of the elephant overpowered by primitive human hordes with the aid of the first planning to the perfected exploitation of the animal world today, the unreasoning creature has always suffered at the hands of reason. This visible course of events conceals from the executioners the invisible one: existence without the light of reason, the actual life of animals. It would be the proper subject matter for psychology, for only the life of animals runs irs course according to inner impulses; where psychology has to explain human beings, they are already regressive and destroyed. When the help of psychology is sought among human beings, the meager field of their immediate relationships is narrowed still further, and even within it they are made into things. Psychology used to explain others is impertinent, and to explain one's own motives sentimental. Animal psychology, meanwhile, has lost sight of its object; engrossed with the chicanery of its traps and labyrinths, it has forgotten that to speak of and acknowledge a psyche or soul (See/e) is appropriate precisely and only in the case of animals. Even Aristotle, who attributed a soul ro them, if an inferior one, pre-
+
+ferred to speak of the bodies, parts, movements, and procreation of ani-
+
+mals rather than the life peculiar to them.
+
+The world of animals is without concepts. There is no word to hold fast the identical in the flux of phenomena, the same genus in the succession of specimens, the same thing in changing situations. Although the possibiliry of recognition is not absent, identification is restricted to vital patterns. There is nothing in the flux\* that could be defined as lasting, and yet everything remains one and the same, because there is no fixed knowledge of the past and no clear prospect into the future. The animal responds to its name and has no self, it is enclosed in itself yet exposed, one compulsion is followed by another, no idea extends beyond it. Its loss of solace is not balanced by a reduction in fear, its lack of awareness of happiness by the absence of mourning and pain. For happiness to become substantial, for life to be endowed with death, identifying remembrance is needed, assuaging knowledge, the religious or philosophical idea, in short, the concept. There are happy animals, but how short-lived is that happiness! The animal's experience of duration, uninterrupted by liberating thought, is dreary and depressive. To escape the gnawing emptiness of existence some resistance is needed, and its backbone is language. Even the strongest animal is infinitely feeble. Schopenhauer's doctrine according to which the pendulum oflife oscillates between pain and boredom, between brief moments of sated impulse and endless craving, is true of the animal, which cannot interrupt the fatal cycle with cognition. In the animal's soul the individual feelings and needs of human beings are vestigially present, without the stabiliry which only organizing reason confers. The 'best days flit past in a bustling medley like a dream, which the animal can hardly distinguish from waking in any case. It is without the clear division between play and seriousness, the happy awakening from nightmare to
+
+realiry.
+
+In popular fairy tales the metamorphosis of humans into animals is arecurring punishment. To be imprisoned in an animal body is regarded as damnation. To children and peoples, the idea of such transformations is immediately comprehensible and familiar. Believers in the transmigration of souls in the earliest cultures saw the animal form as punishment and torment. The mute wildness in the animal's gaze bears witness to the horror which is feared by humans in such metamorphoses. Every animal recalls to them an immense misfortune which took place in primeval
+
+times. Fairy tales express this dim human intuition. But whereas the prince in the fairy tale retained his reason so that, when the time came, he could tell of his woe and the fairy could release him, the animal's lack of reason holds it eternally captive in its form, unless man, who is one with it through his past, can find the redeeming formula and through it soften
+
+the stony heart of infinity at the end of time.
+
+For the being endowed with reason, however, concern for the unreasoning animal is idJe. Western civilization has left that to women. They have no autonomous share in the capabilities which gave rise to this civilization. The man must go out into hostile life, must act and strive."' The woman is not a subject. She does not produce but looks after the producers, a living monument to the long-vanished time of the self-sufficient household. The division of labor imposed on her by the man was unfavorable. She became an embodiment of biological function, an image of nature, in the suppression of which this civilization's claim to glory lay. To dominate nature boundJessly, to turn the cosmos into an endless hunting ground, has been the dream of millennia. It shaped the idea of man in a male society. It was the purpose of reason, on which man prided himsel£ Woman was smaller and weaker, between her and man there was a difference she could not overcome, a difference set by nature, the most shaming, degrading agency possible within the male society. When domination of nature is the true goal, biological inferiority remains the ultimate stigma, the weakness imprinted by nature, the mark which invites violence. The church, whi�h in the course of history has hardly missed an opportunity to take a leading voice in popular institutions, whether they be slavery, crusades, or simply pogroms, sided with Plato, despite the Ave Maria, in the assessment of woman. The image of the Mother of Sorrows was a concession to matriarchal residues. Yet the church used the very image which was supposed to redeem woman from her inferiority to sanction it. "The influence of Divine Law in a Christian land," proclaimed de Maistre, that law's legitimate son, "need only be extinguished or weakened ro a certain degree by tolerating the freedom of women which has arisen from it, and freedom, though noble and moving in itself, will degenerate soon enough into shamelessness. Women would become the fatal instruments of a general declirie, which would swiftly undermine the · vital organs of the state. Engulfed by corruption, the state would spread shame and terror in its fiery ruin."21 The witch trials used by the allied feudal rackt·ts 10 terrorize the populace when they found tl�l·msdves tluealened
+
+were at the same time a celebration and confirmation of the victory of male domination over primeval matriarchal and mimetic stages of development. The autos-da-ft were the Church's pagan bonfires, a triumph of nature in the form of self-preserving reason, to the glory of reason's dom-
+
+ination over nature.
+
+The bourgeoisie reaped the benefit of feminine virtue and modesty as reaction formations of the matriarchal rebeUion. Woman gained admission to the world of mastery on behalf of the whole of exploited nature, but in a broken form. Subjugated, she mirrors her conqueror's victory in her spontaneous submission, reflecting defeat back to him as devotion, despair as the beautiful soul, the violated heart as the loving breast. At the price of radical exclusion from praxis and withdrawal into a charmed circle, nature receives homage from the lord of creation. Art, morality, and sublime love are masks of nature, in which nature reappears transformed and becomes expressive as its own antithesis. Through its masks it acquires the gift of speech; in its distortion it manifests its essence; beauty is the serpent which displays the wound where once the fang was implanted. Yet behind man's admiration for beauty lurks always the ringing laughter, the boundless scorn, the barbaric obscenity vented by potency on impotence, with which it numbs the secret fear that it is itself enslaved to impotence, to death, to nature. When the deformed jesters whose capers and foolscaps once enacted the mournful gaiety of broken nature had escaped the service of kings, the planned cultivation of beauty was entrusted to women. Modern puritanical woman zealously took up the task, identifying herself fully with the fait accompli, with nature not in its wildness but in its domestication. What was left of the fans, songs, and dances of Roman slave girls was definitively reduced in Birmingham to piano playing and ocher handicrafts, until the last residues of female wantonness had been entirely sublimated as emblems of patriarchal civilization. Under the pressure of universal\* advertising, powder and lipstick, rejecting their origin among courtesans, became skin care, the bathing suit an attribute of hygiene. Nothing can escape. Even love, through the mere fact that it takes place within the completely organized system of domination,\* has the system's trademark imprinted on it. In Germany those entrapped by the existing order now demonstrate their obedience to it by promiscuity, as earlier by modesty, affirming by indiscriminate performance of the sex-
+
+woman is the termagant, the shrew. For measureless ages her nagging has avenged, within her own house, the wretchedness which has befallen her sex. Outside it, too, in the absence of the genuflection she fails to receive, the malevolent crone barks at the absent-minded man who fails to rise ro his feet in her presence, knocking off his hat. That the head itself must roll, come what may, she has always demanded in politics, whether in rem- . iniscence of the maenadic past or through outbidding man and his order in her impotent rage. The bloodthirstiness of women in pogroms eclipses that of men. The oppressed woman as Fury has outlived her time, continuing to display the grimace of mutilated nature in an age when domination is molding the well-trained bodies of both sexes, in whose uniformity the grimace has been effaced. Against the background of such mass production, the scolding of the shrew, who at least retained her own distinguishing face, becomes a sign of humanity, her ugliness a trace of spirit. If in past centuries the young girl wore her subjection in her melancholy features and her devoted love, an alienated image of narure, an aesthetic cultural object, at least the harridan of today has finally discovered a new female profession. As a social hyena she actively pursues culrural goals. Her ambition runs after honors and publicity, but her understanding of male culture is not yet sufficiently sharpened ro prevent her, amid the injuries done her, from committingfoux pas and showing that she is not yet at home in the civilization of men. Isolated, she seeks refuge in conglomerates of science and magic, misbegotten offspring of the idealistic privy councilor a
+
+materialist theory of categories. The scholarly and political discussion of social problems makes use of categories about which differences of opinion arise as soon as closer definition is requested. They include concepts such as causality, tendency, progress, law, necessity, freedom, class, culture, value, ideology, dialectic, etc. [ ... ] The definition of philosophical concepts is always at the same time a description of human society in its historically given embodiment. In this respect the planned book conceives of logic in a similar way to Hegel in his great work, not as a collection of abstract modes of thought but as a definition of the most important substantial categories of progressive consciousness in the present rime. "26
+
+But it was not until spring 1941, when he moved to California, that the book on dialectics took shape-though not, admittedly, as a "theory of categories." Nevertheless, even now Horkheimer connected his undertaking with the aim of producing a major philosophical work. In a letter to Pollock of 27 November 1942 he wrote about his efforts, his moments of success, his ambitions and his awareness of the limits of his work: "It is true, the subjects which I am dealing with are the most difficult ones that exist, but the pains you suffer by working on them are at the same time the greatest experience you can have in life. [ . .. ] There is no doubt that the studies, which I am undertaking now and which are really the fulfillment of what we have dreamt to be our raison detre when we were very young, cannot be achieved in one or two years. [ . .. ]If Husser! needed ten years to write his Logical lnvestigatiom and another thirteen years to publish his Introduction to Pure Phenomenology, nor to speak of more famous wq�ks on philosophy and related subjects, and if you rake my poor forces, education, and routine into consideration, you will appreciate what I am in for. What I definitely know, however, and what makes me happy, is that I am really doing what I can. Ultra posse nemini obligatio. We are really on
+
+our way."27
+
+Even after his move &om New York to California in spring 1941, Horkheimer was unable to withdraw to the extent he wished from the administrative tasks mentioned by Adorno. His original plan for a materialist reformulation of Hegel's LogiC\vas changed, suspended, or abandoned in favor of other considerations. However, far more responsible for his decision was the circumstance that Horkheimer's intellecrual position and self-reflection were being accompanied by a number of significant poliriql :md rhcorerical experiences and by outward ans;l inward changes in his
+
+life. These changes concerned not merely the planned book but-notwithstanding the continuity of his philosophical intention-Horkheimer's
+
+thinking as a whole.
+
+If one looks exclusively at the difference between "Traditional and Critical Theory" and Dialectic of Enlightenment, one risks misinterpreting these changes as an abrupt break. A closer examination of his less wellknown publications, of the records of the history of the Institute for Social Research which have now been collected, and of writings from Horkheimer's posthumous papers from that rime reveals a number of intermediate steps and mediating links which make the transformation compre-
+
+hensible.
+
+In Horkheimer's view the twofold linkage of a philosophically orientated, critical theory of society with traditional research, on the one hand, and with political action, on the other, became weaker and weaker during the 1930s. Adorno had originally tried to draw a sharp dividing line between research in individual disciplines and philosophical interpretarion.28 Now, from the perspective of a sketch of a dialectical logic, or of a dialectic of enlightenment and myth from the point of view of the philosophy of history, this division cast crucial doubt on the philosophical self-consistency of the categories within individual disciplines.29 Critical Theory could no longer draw on individual disciplines in the same way as previously. Finally, in the Preface to Dialectic of Enlightenment, the authors write on this point: "In the present collapse of bourgeois civilization not only the operations but the purpose of science have become dubious."30 The status of Critical Theory as an immanent critique of traditional the-
+
+ory is thus also called increasingly into question.
+
+The full scope of the particular considerations and doubts relating to the purpose of science becomes clear only from the posthumous papers and letters of the two authors. Important examples of these doubts are Horkheimer's public reflections on the philosophy of language from 1939 onward, which are now published in Vol. 12 of his Gesammelte Schriften. They continue from earlier critical discussions of the ideological aspect of language, especially with regard to the conception of language of Logical Positivism, to be found in a number of essays from the 1930s. Horkheimer now radicalizes this earlier standpoint, making it into an aporetic critique of the concept itsel f. The critique remains aporetic because, by interpreting language as rhc preponderant relationship of the subject to the object,
+
+it renders obsolete its own standard of a language which is not instrumentally stunted. Language, Horkheimer writes in one of these notes from 1946, contains, inextricably mixed, both the power to suppress rhe particular and the strength to liberate it from that suppression, to reconcile the particular with the universal. Both the negative and the positive sides of this critique appear in Dialectic of Enlightenment, but without mediation. The thesis of the universality of blindness implies the complementary thesis that the spell could be lifted at a stroke from humans and things if only the redeeming word were spoken. The critique of a reason which reverts to myth requires as its background not only an historical philosophy of reconciliation but also a utopia of true language. In the notes from the 1940s in his posthumous papers, Horkheimer even seems to be aiming at a sublation of the philosophy of history in a critical phi-
+
+losophy of language.31
+
+In Critical Theory, reflections of this kind on the concept of language and on the concept itself never have the self-satisfied character of solutions to the special problems of individual disciplines or of specialist philosophy. Rather, they are persistently seen by Horkheimer and Adorno in their relationship to social theory, and indeed to historical-political experience. The positivist conception of language, in the view of the two authors, concerned merely the real function of language within monopolistic society, a function which it misinterpreted. Not least because language threatened to forfeit its capacity conceptually to transcend the existing order, the unity of theory and political praxis-no maner how mediated-appeared to them to be irremediably shanered by the beginning of the 1940s. The hope for-a radical transformation of conditions, indeed, any confidence in the possibility of historical progress at all, seemed to be without substance. The failure of a proletarian revolution to occur in the developed capitalist societies, the subjugation of workers' organizations to a consolidated and expanding fascism, the manipulative power of monopolistic mass society in the West and of state socialism on the Stalinist model in the East-all these political experiences lent impetus to the transition from the Critical Theory of the 1930s to the critique of instrumental reason during the 1940s, a critique whiq became at the same time theoretically more radical and practically more conservative. In addition, there were internal changes at the Institute which went hand in hand with the rheoretical rransformations. Especially significant in this context were, firsr, the break between
+
+.
+
+Fromm and the other members of the lnstitute-32 and, second, Adorno's move &om Oxford to New York, which began the phase of particularly
+
+intensive collaboration between him and Horkheimer.
+
+In the early 1930s Fromm had played a leading part in the elaboration of a concept of analytic social psychology by the Institute. The function of psychoanalysis in this project was, above all, to identify the psychical forces opposing rational interests which aimed at social change, forces which "form, as it were, the cement without which society would not hold together and which contribute to the production of the great social ideologies in all cultural spheres. "33 Horkheimer drew on this sketch for the general conception of Studien iiber Autoritiit und Familie,34 according to which the authoritarian attitude mediated through family or state institutions should be understood as the medium by which individuals are adapted to the structures of social domination. Fromm took further the critique, contained in these studies, of Freud's conception of himself as a natural scientist in his later publications concerning a critique of the psychoanalytic theory of libido. The assumption of a basic sexual drive was to be replaced by the wider conception of a drive toward social connection. At the same time Fromm sharpened the criticism he had expressed earlier of Freud's pessimistic anthropology, which he regarded as a hypostatiza-
+
+rion of bourgeois-patriarchal family structures. 35
+
+By contrast, Horkheimer's evaluation of psychoanalysis changed in rhe opposite direction, one might say, during the same period. Against Fromm, whom he accused of lapsing into a psychology of common sense, he adhered more emphatically than ever to the Freudian theory of drives. However, he now interpreted this theory in a different way, as a precise expression of the disempowerment of the subject, which he saw as bound up with the decay of liberalism. Against the theoretical categories and the practical, therapeutic maxims of psychoanalytic ego-psychology he l·rnphasized the socially critical implications of Freud's biological, physi-Lalisr materialism. Freud's pessimism regarding the possibility of subjugating destructive forces, founded on the theory of drives, appeared to l lorkheimer all the more convincing the less he himself was able to attach 'uch hopes to the abolition of domination by concrete social movements. How important such an interpretation of psychoanalysis-orthodox \'l"t rc:�.ding Freud, so ro speak, against the grain-was for the conception nl J>i,tfrctic of Enlighrmmmt can he seen from records of talks between
+
+Horkheimer and Adorno from 1939, which can be regarded as preliminary discussions on the work they were planning together.36 It appears that at times the authors had considered planning their joint work entirely or partly as a critique of psychoanalysis. This is indicated negatively by a formulation concerning the revision of such a plan: "Instead of the orientation to analysis, I propose orienting the book toward currently outlawed concepts like that of the saboteur. "37 In these discussions psychoanalysis is seen, on the one hand, as a variety of positivist thinking ultimately tending toward a false reconciliation between the mutilated individual and the social agencies to which it owes its suffering. On the other hand, however, the psychoanalytic concepts spring from an Enlightenment tradition of asserting truth against illusions and taboos, on which the authors wished to draw. Critical Theory was to subject the scientific concepts of "bourgeois" thought to a change of function corresponding to Marx's procedure with regard to classical political economy. Those concepts contained standards by which their failure to be realized in existing society was to be measured. They were to be stripped of their illusory ahisrorical appearance. In the case of psychoanalysis, this applied, for example, to the concept of the individual: "The Progressive moment of analysis consists in the contributions it has made to an understanding of the individual as an arena. It might be said that the analytic categories, however distorted, are conducive to the insight that the individual itself is 'a history of class strug-
+
+gles.], , 38
+
+However, in Dialectic of Enlightenment itself the dispute with psychoanalysis is carried on much more behind the scenes. It is present in central ideas of the book even though it may not be visible at first sight. The psychoanalytic category of the return of the repressed, for example, itself returns in the dialectic of the domination of nature, in the thesis that: "the subjugation of everything natural to the sovereign subject culminates in the domination of what is blindly objective and natural. This tendency levels out all the antitheses of bourgeois thought, especially that between moral rigor and absolute amorality."39 The proximity of Horkheimer's and Adorno's argumentation to psychoanalytic theory and empirical practice is unmistakable, above all, in the chapters on the culture industry and anri-Semitism. The culture industry is the regression, operating with enlightenment means in restricted form, from the effort of cultural sublimation. In anti-Semitism this regression reveals its deadlY. seriousness. It is haseJ
+
+on the triumph of the projective manipulation of the world over the differentiations and inhibitions of rational thought and behavior: "Impulses which are not acknowledged by the subject and yet are his are attributed
+
+to the object: the prospective victim."40
+
+In their Preface the authors stress the close connection between the chapter on anti-Semitism and the studies in social psychology of the Institute for Social Research during the 1940s, which were published in the five volumes of Studies in Prejudice.41 The chapter "Elements of Anti-Semitism" should therefore be read as the historical, philosophical, and theoretical background to the empirical studies on prejudice, which in their turn were an attempt to translate the theory into quantitative investigations. Moreover, Adorno refers expressly to this connection in an essay from 1968; "The chapter 'Elements of Anti-Semitism' in Dialectic of E11lightenment, which Horkheimer and I wrote jointly in the strictest sense, that is to say, we literally dictated it together, strongly influenced my contribution to the investigations carried out later with the Berkeley Public Opinion Study Group. The Authoritarian Personality was the literary outcome of those investigations. [ ... ] 'Elements of Anti-Semitism' placed racial prejudice theoretically in the context of an objectively oriented, critical theory of society. Admittedly, in contrast to a certain economic orthodoxy, we did not rake an aloof attitude toward psychology but gave it its due place in our sketch as a moment of enlightenment. Never, however, did we leave any doubt as to the precedence of objective factors over psychology. [ ... ] We regarded social psychology as a subjective mediation of rhe objective social system: without irs mechanism� subjects could
+
+not have been kept in their place. "42
+
+Despite Adorno's stress on the connection between empirical work and the general theory of anti-Semitism, the gulf between the two, measured by Horkheimer's original program for an interdisciplinary materialism, cannot be overlooked.43 Unlike earlier attempts to mediate between philosophical, sociological, and psychological knowledge, Horkheimer and Adorno contended that the split between these conceptual spheres corresponded to an actual breach between individual and society and therefore would be merely short-circuited by a purely conceptual approach. This had the result, however, that their evaluation of anti-Semitism was not wholly consistent in both areas. For example, whereas the empirical investigations into the amhoritarian character limit its destruc-
+
+tive potential by conceding the possibility of a nonrepressive education within existing society, the "Elements" chapter emphatically relates it to "the nature of the dominant reason and of the world corresponding to its image."44 An end to prejudice could therefore be expected only from a radical break with the logic of the civilizing process up to now. In the empirical studies, therefore, the counterpart to the authoritarian, intolerant, and prejudice-ridden personality is represented by a subject type which, within the framework of Dialectic of Enlightenment, appears to be almost inextricably entangled with the principles of self-preservation, of the domina-
+
+tion of internal and external nature.
+
+In the extracts cited above from the report on the studies of the 1940s, Adorno points to a second strand of theory which, compared to psychoanalysis, was still more important for Dialectic of Enlightenment: economics, meaning the critique of Marx and his successors. But however decisive the link to the critique of political economy may have been, no less characteristic was its relegation to the level of the merely implicit. This was done still more thoroughly than in the case of psychoanalysis. Whereas, in the discussions of 1939 already cited, the authors were still considering an historical-materialist reformulation of the psychoanalytic concept of the individual as a "history of class struggles," the explanatory principle underlying the Marxian concept of history is largely absent from Horkheimer's and Adorno's historical-philosophical sketch. Its place is taken by the more general antagonism between domination of nature and enslave-
+
+ment to it.
+
+The authors attempt to show how reason, having regressed to instrumental r;nionality, has combined in the present era with the domination of nature and social control to form a quasimythical compulsion. In the modern varieties of totalitarianism, only the always-calamitous intertwinement of reason and power is manifested. The historical phenomenon of fascism no longer appears, as in the orthodox Marxist view, as the last political stage of monopoly capitalism but is related in manifold ways to overarching structures of bourgeois thought and action. National Socialism, which needed military expansion and terror to achieve internal stability yet was bound to miss its goal by using these means, is interpreted as an unstable barbaric interlude on the way to the historically and
+
+ing a dialectic of productive forces and relations of production has been simply replaced by a general analysis of technological rationality. Rather, an abundance of links to the Marxist critique of political economy still remain. To give an example from "Elements of Anti-Semitism" just quoted: the role of the Jews is interpreted there not least as a socioeconomic function of the distribution sphere and its loss of power in monopoly capitalism, and anti-Semitism as a projective obfuscating of the nonequivalent exchange of equivalents in the sale of labor power. Such an interpretation is based on the continuing attempts of the lnstitut during the late 1930s to redefine the concept of monopoly capitalism and, on that basis, the concept of fascism. A decisive influence on Dialectic of Enlightenment in this respect was Pollock's thesis that fascism and bureaucratic socialism were variants of a new order of capitalism which differed fundamentally both &om earlier private capitalism and &om modern monopoly capitalism, and which he called "state capitalism."45 In a contribution which follows this Afterword, Willem van Reijen and Jan Bransen discuss in more detail this thesis and its importance for the discussions at the Institute for Social
+
+Research.
+
+The pessimism regarding the possibility of socialist politics dominant in Horkheimer's thought since the early 1940s has its economic foundation in the theory of state capitalism, its political foundation in the connected theory of "rackets" as a "basic form of domination. "46 According to Pollock's thesis there is in state capitalism no structural conflict between political objectives and economic necessities. In the "command economy" the productive forces and the laws of the market arc stripped of their autonomy and thus of their explosive potential. The planned economy has become inevitable; the only decisive political question is whether it will be democratic or totalitarian, that is, the question as to how access to the administrative control of the economy and thus to the new ruling class is regulated. This provides the starting point for Horkheimer's theory of rackets, according to which social power, in keeping with its own economic principle, is transformed from the form mediated by exchange, via the form conferred on it by economic monopolies, into direct domination by force. By rackets Horkheimer means the groups, cliques, councils, boards, or committees formed in the most diverse epochs whose social function is largely supplanted by the imperative to preserve and increase their own power. The theory of rackets, which grew out of the discussions
+
+on the applicability of Marxian theory to the present form of society, is first of all an anempt to escape the myth of a revolutionary subject without falling back into illusory cultural criticism behind the screen of a critique of political economy. Beyond that, it aims to construct a theory of power which reveals the historically limited model of the rule ofliberalism regulated by market laws to be a special case of the monopolization of
+
+advantages on the basis of social performance.
+
+For Horkheimer, the topical application of the racket theory was ro be found in the transfer of traditional class antagonism to the field of international relations, on the one hand, and to institutionally determined antitheses within the classes themselves, on the other. In postliberal capitalism, according to this theory, new forms of conflict conceal the basic contradiction between capital and labor. With state capitalism mechanisms have come into being to mitigate the economic crises which earlier had the potential to disintegrate the system. In this way the economic "base" loses its role in supponing the social totality. National Socialism and bureaucratic socialism or, more generally, a new "integral statism," can no longer be described only in terms of economic basic categories. Political analysis takes on greater imponance to the extent that liberalism appears as an historical episode, after the downfall of which society reverts to direct methods of domination no longer mediated via the marker. The fundamental economic factors leading to crisis are tending to become controllable by measures of state intervention, which can range from compen-
+
+satory welfare legislation to overt terror.
+
+This new form of the "primacy of politics" does not leave unrouched the concept of the political itself, in comparison to its function in general capitalism. Above all, it should not be confused with the positivist substitution ofhistorical, political, or psychological laws for economic ones. In a fragment written by Horkheimer about 1942, he describes politics in postliberalism as an illusion which aff ects not only the dominated masses but the political agents themselves: "Politics, the rediscovery of which in the Renaissance was a theoretical advance, has become, in thinking under monopoly, even more an ideological category than the laws of the market under liberalism: wit� its aid the surface is hypostatized. The dominated masses attribute world events to politics. They hear the appeal and the decree, they are informed about the lives of the powerful, which consist of facts in no need of theory; the masses experience, the direct consequences
+
+of political actions, of negotiations between rackets, they feel the effects of emergency aid, of rising prices, of the new job, of war, and perceive big politics as fare and nature just as they earlier perceived the economic depression. And the protagonists share this belief: They know that they hold key positions; just as the entrepreneur mistook his business ventures, calculations and speculations, that he undertook on the basis of the economic cycle, for freedom, the presidents of unions and governments misconstrue their decisions as the beginnings of causal chains. Government, however, must bow to the same necessities as buying and selling: to the requirements of the reproduction of society within the power relationships as they are. This is not so different in the two periods. The opacity of the market which gave rise tO the self-deception about freedom merely expressed the fact that the relationships of entrepreneurs among themselves were not rational but were governed by individual self-assertion. Today the struggles rake place within much stronger groups, amid movements of highly concentrated masses of capital. The governments are executive mechanisms which cannot rationally understand the actual state of the forces on which they depend, but merely feel their concrete effects. "47
+
+The state capitalist "primacy of politics" can be understood as a perversion of the socialist idea of the planned economy which was supposed to replace the anarchy of private appropriation by rational decisions in the generalizable interest of society as a whole. What is expressed in fascism, in especially brutal form, is merely what characterizes democratic state capitalism as well as bureaucratic socialism of the Soviet kind: the end of liberal, legal agencies of mediation under the power politics of competing ruling cliques. These groups take over the now necessary planning of the economic process, whether that process is still democratically legitimized
+
+or is already an almost openly planned and organized piracy.
+
+The starting point of the racket theory is therefore an analysis of contemporary society as a conglomerate of organized groups under the leadership of bureaucratic or quasi bureaucratic elites. The relationship of a clique to its clientele is structured on the principle of protection in exchange for obedience. Since the individual rackets no longer even pretend to pursue intellectual ideals or objectives relating to society as a whole, the 1radi1ional ideologies, which used to make particularist interests appear universal, also disappear. They are replaced by the unashamedly pragmatic objectives of rnanipu l;u ion and the preservation of power. The ability to
+
+impose these objectives decides the selection and careers of the leading
+
+personnel within a racket.
+
+Beyond that, this approach aims to produce an historically generalizable theory of relations of class and domination: "Under the conditions of monopolism and total domination," Horkheimer writes in 1943, "the permanence of oppression, its parasitic nature, becomes manifest. Every ruling class has always been monopolistic to the extent that it excluded the overwhelming majority of human beings. The structure corresponded to that of competing rackets. Even the socially useful functions which the ruling classes used to perform have been transformed into weapons against the oppressed population and against competing groups within their own class. The racket pattern, which used to be typical of the behavior of rulers toward the ruled, is now representative of all human relationships, even those within the working class. The difference between the racket within capital and the racket within labor lies in the fact that in the capitalist racket the whole class profits, whereas the racket of labor functions as a monopoly only for its leaders and for the worker-aristocracy. The laboring masses are the objects of both forms; they merely have to pay for the whole system. The similarity between the most highly respected historical formations, such as the medieval hierarchies, to the modern rackets is obvious. The concept of the racket applies to both large and small enterprises; they all struggle for the largest possible share of added value. In this respect the highest capitalist corporations resemble the small inrerest groups which operate among the lowliest strata of the population, both within and outside the legal boundaries. [ .. . ] A true sociology of the racket as the living element of the ruling class in history could serve both a political and a scientific purpose. It could help to clarify the goal of political praxis: a society with a pattern different to that of the racket, a racket-less society. It could contribute to defining the idea of democracy which still leads a shadowy life in the heads of human beings. [ ... ] Expressed in scientific terms, a more appropriate philosophy of history could evolve from the sociology of the racket. [ ... ] The modern concept contributes to describing social relationships of the past. 'The human anatomy is the
+
+key to the anatomy of rre ape.
+
+, "48
+
+The political and economic basis for a theory of rackets and of state capitalism was developed within the Institute primarily by Horkheimer and Pollock; dissenting voices were not lacking among their colleagues,
+
+particularly those of Neumann and Kirchheimer. Although Horkheimer adhered fundamentally to the thesis, the criticism may have retarded early publication of his reflections on racket theory. Adorno's contribution,49 too, remained unpublished. These beginnings of the theory were not elab-
+
+orated in detail later.
+
+They were, however, the decisive factor in the transition from the earlier form of Critical Theory, represented by the essays in Zeitschrift for Sozia/forschung during the 1930s, to an historical and generic critique of instrumental reason, of which Dialectic of Enlightenment is the most important document. But the specific economic and political arguments do not appear, or appear only in rudimentary form, in this book. Nevertheless, they provide the background of social theory against which the scientific, moral, cultural, and psychological phenomena of the self-destruction of enlightenment were interpreted. Since the authors limit the application of the Marxian categories essentially to liberalism-which, especially with regard to the, at least partial, achievement of bourgeois freedom, is presented as a transient episode in a history of power always dominated by the law of the racket\_:.[t is understandable why those categories are pushed into the background in Dialectic of Enlightenment. Racket theory, of course, has as its occasion and subject the fate of the once oppositional workers' organizations.50 It shows how far the class struggle had been transformed under monopoly capitalism into a system of transactions between monopolistic units and thus into a medium of adaptation.
+
+J. Textual Variants. Theoretical Revisions and Misgivings
+
+Regarding the Dissemination of the Theory
+
+The reason for the decision initially not to commit Dialectic of Enlightenment to print was certainly not only the slender financial means and uncertain academic, political, and geographical future of the Institute in the mid-1940s. This is indicated by the facts that the hectographic edition was limited to about 500 copies and distributed only to specific recipients; that an American edition was not seriously considered; and, finally, that the text for the printed edition published three years later was subjected to thorough revision. None of this is surprising in the case of authors who were always concerned to ensure that their own theoretical utterances or those of others never became entirely detached from their systematic, his-
+
+(4) Formulations in which certain theoretically, historically, or politically loaded terms from Marxian or Marxist theory were used. This group not only preponderates quantitatively-it includes more than half the amended passages-bur is also far more interesting historically than the others. The politico-economic terms are replaced as a rule by neutral economic, sociological, or moral-practical expressions-for example, "prole-
+
+tarians" by "workers,"6
+
+0 "capitalist" by "entrepreneur,"6
+
+1 "throughout class
+
+hisrory" by "until today,"
+
+6
+
+1 "exploication" by "suffering."6
+
+3 More than half
+
+of these offending formulations include a single concept, that of "monopoly" (and, again, the great majority of these cases is found in the chapter
+
+on "The Culture Industry").
+
+One important motive for such reformulations was undoubtedly the concern ro avoid making political enemies, which might possibly have had threatening consequences for the Institute or individual members of it. As early as the 1930s Horkheimer had had serious doubts about the lasting sustainabiliry of a liberal right of asylum in face of opposition from interest groups involved in domestic or foreign politics. The terminological changes, therefore, do nor reflect a single break but rather a continuum in Horkheimer's thinking. Even the terminology from this period relating to the proletariat and the revolution was characteristically modified in the publications of the Zeitschrift.64 And even as late as the 1950s and 196os in posrwar Germany he constantly anticipated the possibly fatal consequences of ill-considered urrerances; indeed, he even feared the return of a situation in which people would be able to communicate only, as it were,
+
+in whispers.6
+
+5
+
+Such "translations" of Marxist concepts in keeping with the tradition of philosophical and political enlightenment were aU the more natural since Critical Theory, starting with its name, represented a reaction to the repudiation of Marxian theory by the authoritarian forms of socialism. The use of language, and reference to the "classics," especially under integral statism of the Soviet kind, had, in the authors' view, lost any truly critical power and, indeed, had itself become a means of repression. For this reason Critical Theory not only was able to draw on the established disciplines and concepts of scholarly tradition bur also considered the "tendencies opposed ro official science"66 to have become obsolete. For, as they write, alluding ro Soviet Marxism, "They suffer the fare which has always been reserved for triumphant thought. If it voluntarily leaves behind irs
+
+critical element to become a mere means in the service of an existing order, it involun.tarily tends to transform the positive cause it has espoused into something negative and destructive."67 This interpretation is fundamental to Dialectic of Enlightenment but was not carried out in the book itself. In his "Remarks on Thesis VII [of "Elements of Anti-Semitism"]," Adorno noted critically in 1946 that in Dialectic of Enlightenment the authoritarian "ticket thinking" present in Bolshevism was neglected: "The thesis applies there in its classical form. [ ... ]This whole process of the extermination of humanity in the name of socialism was untouched in the Fragments.68 It is, however, essential to an understanding of the situation as a whole and can no longer be ignored."69 As early as "The Authoritarian State" Horkheimer had criticized bureaucratic socialism as the most advanced form of authoritarian rule, and there was no lack, subsequently, of unmistakable statements regarding Soviet Marxism by both authors. But they never produced a comprehensive critique of that system and
+
+therefore were constandy in fear of being confused with it.
+
+Independently of such questions concerning the prejudiced reception the book might receive, however, there was also a more narrowly theoretical motive. The change in their evaluation of Marxian theory and its applicability to state capitalism and integral statism, on the one hand, and of economic and political reality, of the political tendencies and the chances of changing them, on the other, needed to be reflected in the terminology. The elimination-of fascist rule in Central Europe as a result of the war required a redefinition of certain terms which earlier had implicitly equated totalitarianism, fascism, and monopoly capitalism; and the regular focus of the diagnosis of the present on "monopoly" in the earlier version of the text suggested an indiscriminately economistic or subjectivist approach which stood in flat contradiction to the acuity of their analysis elsewhere: economic monopoly could neither causally explain the dialectic of enlightenment in its full breadth nor identify the historical subject of the fateful history of the species. And, not least important, it was necessary to address the thesis that the monopoly capitalism which had existed up to then was ,in the process of undergoing a qualitative change to become "state capitalism." In this respect the racket theory held an ambiguous position. On the one hand, the identification of fascist rule as an unmediated form of power and at the same time the legitimate heir
+
+racket theory of domination which went beyond the limited model of the criminal gang. On the other, however, such a theory was in danger-as Horkheimer himself was aware71-of merely replacing an oversimplified economic concept ("monopoly") by an oversimplified political one ("rackets"). Probably for this reason, the textual changes aff ected both terms: "monopoly" is replaced by "the influential clique"72 and "rackets" by "the
+
+completely organized system of domination. "73
+
+Despite this critical distance, at the time of the book's first publication in printed form the authors continued to regard themselves as Marxists. In the report of a discussion in 1946 about the planned continuation of their joint work after the completion of the printed version, Horkheimer writes: "We see this moment of unity [in the analysis of politics and philosophy] in holding fast to the radical impulses of Marxism and, in fact, of the entire Enlightenment-for the rescue of the Enlightenment is our concern-but without identifying ourselves with any empirically existing party or group. Our position is, in a sense, a materialism which dispenses with the prejudice of regarding any moment of existing material reality as directly positive. The paradox, the dialectical secret of a true politics, consists in choosing a critical standpoint which does not hypostatize itself as the positive standpoint. [ ... ] [W]e are [ ... ] Stoics
+
+because there is no party. "74
+
+Adorno objected to this stoic conception of oneself on the grounds that it was inappropriate to an advanced technology which could now eliminate all material poverty. His counterproposal for their continuing work was, however, no closer to the reality of politics. For he went back to the original conception of a materialist theory of categories dating from 1938. Political and economic questions should not be taken as the starting point for philosophical analyses, as Horkheimer envisaged; rather, "one should begin by analyzing logical and epistemological categories. The task would be to subject categories like concept, judgment, subject, substantiality, essence, and suchlike to the kind of examination that was already begun in the Fragments. This should include not only purely logical but ;>.!so historical and social discussions. The historical and social substance of the categories and their present status should be determined from their immanent meanings, and such an analysis would lead on to a judgment
+
+proper relationship between political and philosophical analysis. Horkheimer, from the outset, placed greater emphasis on the political. To which Adorno responded: "What you fear is a heavy chunk of professorial philosophy. My fear is that the leap from logic to reality will be made in a dogmatic or analogistic way. "76 Perhaps this dissent should be seen as one of the-undoubtedly numerous-reasons why the planned continuation of Dialectic of Enlightenment did not materialize. Horkheimer put the emphasis on the question of how his intention to "rescue the Enlightenment"77 was to be reconciled with the radical nature of a self-referential critique of reason: "I should like to see one main theme, e.g.: What can theory do in the present situation? What is its place? Or: How can the abstractness of the concept be overcome by the concept itself?"78 Adorno, for his part, came down much more squarely on the negative side of this
+
+aporia: "[ . .. ] reason is its own sickness."79
+
+In this way Dialectic of Enlightenment also remained a fragment in the sense that its planned continuation did not come about. It formed the indispensable starting point and reference point for Horkheimer's though,t during the two decades after his return from emigration.80 But this reference point remained latent, and of uncertain usefulness. On the one hand, the epochs of fascism and postwar democracy in Western countries, despite their deep-seated differences, were, for Horkheimer, connected by a continuum: the preponderance of bureaucratic structures over the free subject, which they buried beneath them. On the other, he saw in Western democracies very serious possibilities of opposing this tendency, which he regarded as irreversible in the history of the species; to preserve the scope for freedom which, despite everything, still existed, was for him a practical postulate. To express this contradiction, the resolution of which he did not believe possible, he coined, and applied to himself, the notion of a complerr{entarity of theoretical pessimism and practidu optimism.81
+
+This dichotomy is also present in a similar form in the relationship of Critical Theory to science. The rejection of established and departmentalized science announced in the Preface to Dialectic of Enlightenment is anything but consistently carried through in the book itself, in which the authors continue frequently to base their argument, whether affirmatively or critically, on the findings of individual disciplines. Irrespective of the philosophical reflection which rejects both sense data and judgmerus as mediated immediacies, they concede even here -that "practically fruidi.rl
+
+I
+
+scientific enterprises call for an unimpaired capacity for definicion, for shutting down thought at a point designated by social need, for demarcating a field which is then investigated in the minutest derail without passing outside ir."82 From this point of view, the empirical research projeers which the Institute had planned from the early 1940s and carried out until the end of that decade belie the radical nature of their rejection of science. And after their return to Frankfurt both the reestablishment of the Insrirut and Horkheimer's and Adorno's intensive academic work and involvement in educational politics during the 1950s and 196os bear witness to their continuing and vigorous confidence in the enlightening potencial of science. Nevertheless, all these concessions to the "business" of science are subject to a general reservation: science, Horkheimer writes in one of his notebooks in the early 1950s, is inherently subject to "standards adapted to the purpose of domination,"83 and the true philosophy which aims to resist the negative course of the world must beware of
+
+secretly wishing to submit to scientific standards.
+
+The question whether a new edition of Dialectic of Enlightenment should be published did not arise until the early 196os-up to then copies of the first edition had still been available. At that time the initial decision on such matters was in the responsibility of Pollock. In January 1961 he compiled, for the first time, a list of "problematic" passages and expressions in the text and noted: "Reacquaintance with Dialectic of Enlightenment leads distressingly to two conclusions: How many significant ideas are contained in it, and in an adequate and convincing form; and how little or, rather, how much less than fifteen years ago, one can say without incurring the fury of the mob. [ ... ] My question marks and crosses predominantly indicate misgivings about the too-unguarded use of language. Only in a few places did I think it necessary to express doubts, as an 'expert,' on rhe correctness of the content. All in all, I come to the dismal conclusion rhar rhe content of Dialectic is not suitable for mass circulation. However, individual chapters, somewhat amended here and there, should be republished in the planned collection."84 It is reported rhat Adorno did nor share such misgivings to the same extent as Horkheimer and that he tried, vainly ar first, to persuade rhe latter to agree to a largely unamended new edition. The particular reasons for Horkheimer's hesitation have not been recorded; but they were, no doubt, political concerns which probably arc approximately reflected in Pollock's formulations. That Ador-
+
+no, too, shared such misgivings, at least in part, is shown by a draft he produced for a letter, written in summer 1962, in which he and Horkheimer jointly replied to Marcuse, who had emphatically supported the idea of a new edition. In this draft he writes: ''The situation is simply that, on the one hand, there are certain hazardous formulations, especially concerning organized religion, that we are afraid about, should the book achieve the circulation which is now to be expected; on the other hand, we wish to keep the text intact and not to water it down because of any concerns and considerations. [ . .. ] One gradually grows too old to be able to pay overmuch attention to matters of security. The 'pro' for republication is therefore beginning to tilt the scales against the 'contra."'85 However, in the final text of the letter redrafted by Horkheimer, this is replaced by the general formulation: "The well-known reasons which had deterred us from agreeing to the second edition become less weighty with each year that we
+
+get older. "8
+
+6
+
+By now an Italian translation had been ready for printing for some time-the authors had agreed to its production, by Renato Solmi, as early as 1955;87 it finally carne out in 1966. In this text, and in line with the preceding misgivings, a considerable number of changes were made, which Pollock justified in a draft for a preface, written for Horkheimer and Adorno, and cenainly after agreeing to the content with them. Because this draft clearly characterizes the authors' political self-understanding at this time, as well as their view of the context of the book's production, it
+
+will be quoted in full here:
+
+The German text of Dialectic of Enlightenment is a fragment. About the end of the war it was intended to form the introduction to the theory of history and society which we had conceived during the National Socialist period of rule. The attempt to use Hitler's regime to accelerate the regression to the bourgeois-individualistic-world, because the power struggles in the new period of world history, in both war and peace, require an absence of economic and administrative friction which is difficult to achieve under the conditions of democracy, had failed. The rapacious nationalism of the East had not been eliminated by its crazy halfbrother in the West; rather, war had unleashed developments in Asia, Africa, and South America from which nationalism finally benefits. Life in Europe is threatened by a new migration of peoples which overshadows the earlier one in violence and terror. If physical resistance finally gives way, at least something of irs capac· ity for experience;. for reflection and critical consciousness shall live on, just as the
+
+That was the mood in which the fragment was written-and we do not disclaim it today. However, instead of developing the theory further we moved back to Germany to try to assist by teaching, despite the dark horizon. Meanwhile the calamity which seems to hang over Europe has been symbolically concretized in the divided Germany. In the Eastern regions people live like slaves, while in the West they subordinate everything else to the will to protect themselves from such slavery. Culture threatens to become a mere means. That is why we believe the book to be srill topical today. Bur the terror inflicted by the National Socialist murderers in the 1940s lives on in the more up-to-date and historically more powerful form which the tyrants of the Eastern mass empires disseminate today.
+
+This has affected the content of the book with no intervention from us. The terminology used in our critique of totalitarian terror has hardened through its use by terror's representatives in the East to a litany which contradicts what it once meant. No word is immune to its own history. We sincerely thank the translator, Dr Renato Solmi, for the dedication to which his work bears witness. As far as we can judge, he has masterfully fulfilled our request to convey the book's meaning. Our analysis of cultural phenomena from the 1930s and 1940s, which we in no way intend to moderate, is supplemented by our hope that the overthrow of the totalitarian Nazi rule has awakened forces which, despite everything, will resist the temptation which will not fail to emerge one day in every country. Through irs theme, our book points out the regressive tendencies which arise from economic, social, and cultural progress itself. We know of no linguistic sphere which contains a more sensitive organ for this task than the Italian.88
+
+Salmi responded by advising urgently against most of the textual changes and asked Horkheimer, as the latter writes to Adorno, "almost on bended knee," "to omit the substantive discussion [in the Pre�ace] , because it would unleash political controversy. "89 Horkheimer, however, attributed these misgivings mainly to concerns about the political tendency of the publishing house. The authors therefore insisted on the textual changes, bur dispensed with the substantive preface on the grounds that "it does no good to encourage the reader to start searching for changes."90 In the event, no Italian reviewer noticed the changes to begin with; they were discovered only about ten years later and subjected, in some cases, to political debate.91 In Germany, however, twenty-nine amended passages were painstakingly listed as early as 1967, in an article in a Frankfurt students' newspaper, refuting the assurances in the prefaces that no essential ch:mges had been made. Annoyance at what was taken to be an abandonment of Marxism was unavoidable: "What is left of Critical Theory's claim
+
+to be critical if its sting is removed in the way indicated by the Italian edi-
+
+tion?"92
+
+This experience with the Italian edition is unlikely, on the one hand, to have exactly encouraged the authors to bring out a new German edition but probably did, on the other hand, contribute to the fact that, when the new edition finally appeared in 1969, it was largely spared further interventions in the content. A year earlier, in his "Letter to S. Fischer Verlag," Horkheimer had unequivocally distanced himself from the hopes regarding the future that he had expressed in his early writings but without abandoning the intention which underlay those essays: "My hesitation [regarding republication] springs from the difficulty of reexpressing the old ideas, which were not independent of that time, without harming what seems to me true today: the need to renounce the belief in the imminent realization of the ideas ofWestern civilization and yet to advocate those ideas-without Providence, indeed, against the progress attributed to them."93 In fact, Horkheimer had already renounced the belief in the imminent "realization of the ideas of Western civilization," as he here paraphrases the proleta.r;ian revolution in terms of cultural philosophy, in Dialectic of Enlightenment. Nevertheless, this statement also throws light on his evaluation of his critique of society and reason in the 1940s. For common to both phases of Horkheimer's Critical Theory is the impulse to withstand the contradiction of "expressing the frightening tendencies of the present while
+
+not giving up the idea of something different. "94
+
+But it was not only external pressures or the pirated editions of the text already in circulation which are likely to have induced Horkheimer finally to agree to the new, authorized publication. Another decisive factor may have been that in the course of the 196os Horkheimer's thinking once more drew closer to the theoretical standpoint of Dialectic of Enlightenment. In this period, as we can read in Notizen I95o--I969, his thinking was marked by a deep-seated skepticism with regard to reason, which took up some features of those earlier ideas and radicalized them funher. Adorno, on his return to Frankfurt, had been able to connect directh• with this text and the other work from those years in his new writing. It was not until the end of the 1950s, however-the year of his retirement, 1959, could be mentioned as the decisive moment-that Horkheimer returned to a position extremely close in some respects to that of Adorno.95 However, he
+
+liferime. In these notes, negarive metaphysics and negarive religion are joined in a precarious uniry. The "rrue yearning for something different" springs from rhe fundamental experience of ineradicable suffering in the social conrexr and of a metaphysical, global negation of meaning. Philosophy seems possible only in the vanishing private sphere. It has thus become obsolere in face of historical progress. Such reflections, however, must ser rhemselves philosophical demands if rhey are nor to remain rrapped in empry skepticism. Horkheimer's lare philosophy is marked by this contradiction, already prefigured in Dialectic of Enlightenment: to recognize that the path to rhe realization of reason in history is blocked and yer, despite all the criricism, to assume the purpose and possibiliry of en-
+
+lightenment.
+
+The Disappearance of Class History in
+
+"Dialectic of Enlightenment"
+
+A Commentary on the Textual Variants (I941 and I944)
+
+by Willem van Reijen and Jan Bransen
+
+Since the early 1940s scholars at the Institute for Social Research had devoted themselves with special intensity to analyzing the causes and consequences of fascist rule, with the aim of carrying out extensive research projects. In the course of this work two opposed views emerged. On one side, Horkheimer, Adorno, Pollock, and Lowenthal developed the thesis that National Socialism, as compared to traditional capitalism, represented a new order. While they regarded fascist state capitalism as the most recent outcome of capitalist logic, they believed that this outcome manifested a new quality: the dominance of politics over economics. In his essay entitled "Is National Socialism a New Order?"' Pollock, on whose specialist knowledge of economics the other advocates of this view relied, answered this question in the affirmative. On the other side, Neumann, Kirchheimer, and Gurland supported the thesis that the National Socialist ecortomic order was a continuous development of capitalism, so that one could not speak of a new order. This controversy over the primacy of politics or economics in posdiberal capitalism, as authors such as Dubiel and Sollner or Brick and Postone show,Z impinged deeply on the theoretical self-underst:inding of the members of the Institute for Social Research.
+
+Pollock's study of the development of capitalism had been a permanent pan of the Institute's work since the early 1930s. !n his early essays'
+
+he followed Marx in locating the contradictions threatening the capitalist system in the growing tension between productive forces and the relations of production. He argued that the quality of the new economic crisis demonstrated that liberal capitalism, with its attempts to regulate crises through the marker, must fail. It was therefore time for a transition to a new economic order which, although based on the old one and therefore to be seen as a development of it, exhibited the novel quality of a planned economy. The latter, according to Pollock, was possible in two forms: as a capitalist planned economy on the basis of private ownership of the means of production, or as a Socialist planned economy on the basis of socialized ownership of the means of production. Pollock contradicted the Marxian theory of the collapse of capitalism and went still further in prophesying its permanence: "What is coming to an end is not capitalism but only its
+
+liberal phase. "4
+
+In the early 1940s Pollock refined and sharpened his analysis. 5 He now applied the term "state capitalism" both to the National Socialist economy and to the economy of the Soviet Union. Both were totalitarian forms of the economic order. Typical of both these forms of state capitalism was the "fusion ofleading bureaucracies from the worlds of business, state, and party"6 to form a new ruling class. By contrast, in the democratic form of state capitalism ro be found in the USA, for example, the state apparatus was, to be sure, controlled by the people but had in common with the totalitarian varieties the fact that state activity rendered the key function of the marker inoperative. While there were still profits, prices, and wages, these no longer predominantly determined economic actions. And the influence on decisions of the private ownership of rhe means of production had disappeared. The individual capitalist, separated from the centralized decision-making agencies and "overruled" by the state administration, had become a mere recipient of annuities.7 There were no longer any autonomous economic problems, only administrative problems. For this reason impulses for social change no longer emanated from the economic sphere. It had become static. All initiatives issued from politics-unless problems of political legitimation arose, for example, in connection with unemployment or the failure of the standard of living to rise. Pollock therefore replaced the tension between the relations of production and the productive forces, regarded as fundamental by Marx, by the tension between the relations of production and Jisrribution. The switch from the primacy of he based himsdf on Pollm-k's theory of st a te capitalism. Nat ional Sodal· ism and bureaucr;uic Social ism of rhe Sovier kind \_were distinguished, at most, by the composition of the ruling cliques, but in both cases pol it irs had gained dominance over econ�mics. As "integral statism" the Soviet system appeared as the most logical form of the authoritarian state.
+
+If the rwo versions of Dialectic of Enlightenment are compared-the mimeographic publication of the Institute of Social Research of 1944 and the first primed copy of 1947-it is clear how deeply the debate over the primacy of economics over politics had affected the self�undersranding of its rwo authors. To be sure, Horkheimer and Adorno assert in their Preface to the book edition, which follows the original Preface, that "The book contains no essential changes to the text completed during the War."1'- But few things are more open to dispute than the question as to what is essential; the textual changes made for the book edition of 1947 can be calbl , at least, significant. This will be shown by a few representative passages: Throughout the book the authors replaced terms such as "monopo ly," "capital," and "profit," which had become charged with specific meanings through the debate over state capitalism, with less charged expressions. "Monopoly" becomes "the economic appararus";13 or the term is replaced by "the agencies of mass production," 14 "the system of modern industry," 1'' "the culture industry,"16 "those in control,"17 or, more neutrally, "the system."18 However, the term "monopoly" is not infrequently replaced by "trusts" and "combines."19 The "monopoly rulers" are transformed into "managing directors."20 "Capital" becomes "the economy,"21 its "power" the "power of the economically strongest,"22 or "capitalism" disappears
+
+completely. 23
+
+From the posrwar perspective in which the printed version was produced, fascist phenomena are more precisely qualified, whereas earlier they had been referred to generally as economic phenomena: the "collective of the totalitarian monopoly" becomes the "fascist collective,"24 "monopoly" becomes "fascism."25 There is an increasing distance .from Marxian terminology. The "relations of production" become "economic forms,"26 "class domination" becomes "domination,"27 "exploitation" becomes the more neutral "enslavement,"28 "control" becomes "utilization,"29 "those in control" become "leaders."30 "Class history" disappears completely.31 "Mo-
+
+important passages, and the transformation of "capital" into "economy" and similar terms in most places, are nor sufficiently explained by political misgivings and considerations alone. Rather-and this is more important for a theoretical and systematic understanding of Dialectic of Enlightenment-they show that in the mid-1940s Horkheimer and Adorno, in keeping with Pollock's analyses, had distanced themselves definitively from a form of Marxism which assumed the primacy of economics. Instead, me importance of control through politics and me culture industry
+
+moves clearly into the foreground.
+
+It would nevertheless be mistaken to conclude that Horkheimer and Adorno had thereby turned their backs on Marxian theory altogether. The references to fascism, which emerged more emphatically in me book version than in the first publication, should be understood not only as anxious reminders mat the dangers issuing from fascism still persisted but also as evidence of the aumors' view that capitalism and fascism were still intertwined as social principles and that capitalism continued to have me tendency to prevent the realization of me "realm of freedom." Horkheimer and Adorno decisively rejected a mechanistic interpretation of Marx of the kind adopted by theoreticians of the Second International and by the Soviet orthodoxy, but they did not deny the fundamental importance of the economic order for the totaliry of social orders in the modern period. For this reason the Marxian approach continued to be fundamental to
+
+Critical Theory.
+
+Notes
+
+[Bracketed numbers are the page numbers on which asterisk notes appear; other numbers refer ro the numbered notes. "Ir. tr." = from the Italian translation.]
+
+DEDI CATION
+
+[vii] "Pollock" I 1944: Pollock for his fiftieth birthday on 22 May 1944; 1947=
+
+"Pollock for his fiftieth birthday."
+
+PREFACES
+
+[xiii] "Preface ro the Italian Edition": Translated from the Italian by Philipp
+
+Rippel wim reference ro the German draft by M.H. and T.W.A.
+
+[xiv] "When" I 1944l47: "When, two years ago."
+
+[xiv] "a ... of" I 1944: "renewed."
+
+[xiv] "with an increasing" I 1944: "readily with the."
+
+[xiv] "The tireless ... humanity" I 1944: "The end of enlightenment by its own hand, hypocritically celebrated by crude advocates of the totalitarian order in their propaganda speeches and naively executed by the smart attorneys of the
+
+victims in their respective branches of the culture industry."
+
+[xv] "friendship" l 1944: "friendship, in the Action Fran!j:aise."-"Acrion Fran
+
+�ise": extreme right-wing movement in France between 1898 and 1944.
+
+[xv] "place in ... sun": allusion to an imperialist slogan coined in Wilhelmine
+
+Germany.
+
+[xv] "liquidating ... completely." l 1944: "repudiating the thought to which they owe their place in the sun before it has had time ro prostitute itself com-
+
+pletely in the service of those now basking there."
+
+[xvi] "the regression" I 1944: "its reversal." [xvi] "headlong" I 1944: "in such a way." [xvi] "rational" I 1944: "a rational."
+
+[xvii] "In the ... increase" I 1944: "The powerless and pliability of the mass-
+
+es increase."
+
+[xvii] "Today, however," I 1944: "In the name of enlightenment." [xvii] "increased sufferings" I 1944: "increased exploitation."
+
+[xvii] "melting down ... crucible" I 1944: "application of the national melting
+
+pot to all cultural entities."
+
+[xviii] "Volkswagen" I 1944: "chewing gum."
+
+[xviii] "curtain" I 1944: "veil."
+
+[xix] "demonstrates" I 1944: "defines."
+
+[xix] "fragmentary" I 1944: "fragmentary. Large parts, written long before, need only final editing. In them the positive aspects of mass culture will also be dealt with."-The second part of the chapter, not finally edited ar that rime, has now been published with the title "Das Schema der Massenkultur" as an appendix to Dialektik der Aujkliirtmg in Adorno, Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. III, Frank-
+
+furt am Main 1981, pp. 299ff.
+
+[xix] "empirical ... Research" I 1944: "the research project of the Institute of
+
+Social Research."
+
+[xix] "anthropology" I 1944: "anthropology.
+
+In selecting the fragments from the work of the previous two years we opted for those with clear internal coherence and unity of language. We excluded all English works produced in the same period, regardless of their thematic connection to the fragments. We would mention the lecture series "Sociery and Reason"; rhe essays "Sociology of Class Relations" and 'The Revival of Dogmatism"; the extensive analysis of anti-Semitic propaganda, "The Psychological Technique of Marrin Luther Thomas' Radio Addresses," and our other studies in contributions ro the project on anti-Semitism. Collaboration in this study carried out in New York, Los Angeles, and Berkeley took at least half our time.-Of the German preliminary studies to the whole work, which include the fragments themselves, we left our the pieces on logic, among others. The already formulated parts of rhe
+
+planned section concerned with a critique of sociology are also omitted.
+
+If rhe good fortune of being able to work on such questions without the unpleasant pressure of immediate purposes should continue, we hope to complete the whole work in the not too distant future. We are encouraged to believe rhis by the confidence, undeflected by the vicissitudes of the rime, of rhe person
+
+used as the basis of Eclipse of Reason (New York 1947), German tide Zur Kritik der
+
+instrumenteilen Vernunft, Frankfurt am Main 1967.
+
+"Sociology of Class Relations": essay by Horkheimer from 1943 now published with the tide "Zur Soziologie der Klassenverhaltnisse" in Gesammelte Schriften,
+
+Vol. XII, Frankfun am Main 1985, pp. 75ff.
+
+"The Revival of Dogmatism. Remarks on Nco-Positivism and Neo-Thomism": Horkheimer's manuscript with his tide later formed the basis of Chapter 2
+
+of Eclipse of Reason.
+
+THE CONCEPT OF ENLIGHTENMENT
+
+[1] "The concept" I 1944: "The dialectic."
+
+[1] "disenchantment of the world": "allusion to a formulation of Max \X'eber's; cf. Weber, "Wissenschafr als Beruf" (1919) in Gesammelte Aufiiitze zur Wissen-
+
+schafolehre, Tiibingen 1968, p. 594·
+
+r. Voltaire, Lettr es philosophiques, ed. F. A. Taylor, London 1992, p. 36. 2. "In Praise of Knowledge," in Francis Bacon, ed. Arthur Johnston, London
+
+1965, P· 15.
+
+[2] "enslavement" I 1944: "exploitation." [2] "economic system" I 1944: "capitalism."
+
+[2] "exploitation ... others" I 1944: "control of foreign work."
+
+3· Cf. Bacon, Novum Organum, The �rks of Francis Bacon, ed. Basil Mon-
+
+tagu, London 1825, Vol. XIV, p. 31.
+
+4· Bacon, "Valerius Terminus: Of the Interpretation of Nature." Miscellaneous
+
+Tracts upon Human Knowledge, Works, Vol. I, p. 281.
+
+[3] "spirit-seer": allusion to Kant's dispute with Swedenborg: "Dreams of a spirit-seer elucidated by dreams of metaphysics" in Kant, Theoretical Philosophy,
+
+trans. David Walford, Cambridge/New York 1992.
+
+5· Cf. Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit, trans. A. V. Miller, Oxford 1977, pp.
+
+331f.
+
+6. Xenophanes, Momaigne, Hurne, Feuerbach, and Salomon Reinach are at one here. Cf. Reinach, Orpheus, trans. F. Simmons, London and New York 1909,
+
+pp. 6ff.
+
+7· Bacon, De augmentis scientiamm, Works, Vol. VIII, p. 152.
+
+8. J. de Maistre, "Les Soirees de Saint-Petersbourg." 5ieme emretien, Oeuvm
+
+completes, Lyon 1891, Vol. IV, p. 256.
+
+9· Bacon, Advancement of Learning, Works, Vol. II, p. 126.
+
+10. Genesis I, 26
+
+IJ. Cf. Robert H. Lowie, An Introduction to Cultural Anthropowgy, New York
+
+1940, pp. 344f.
+
+14. Cf. Freud, Totem and Taboo, in The Complete Psychological Works of Sig-
+
+mund Freud, trans. James Srrachey, London 1991, pp. 85ff.
+
+15. Ibid., p. 89.
+
+[7] "industrial technology" I 1944: "the technology of monopoly."
+
+(8] "insufficient righteousness": allusion to the positivists' charge that metaphysical philosophers lacked sufficient correctness, honesty, and uprightness, a charge generally leveled by "enlightened" thought against the preceding philo-
+
+sophical systems. (It. tr.)
+
+[9] "doubtless" l1944: (missing).
+
+r6. Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit, op. cit., p. 342 (where Trupp is translated
+
+more neutrally as "group").
+
+I?. Cf. W. Kirfel, "Geschichre Indiens," in Propyliienweltgeschichte, Vol. III, pp. 26Iff, and G. Glorz, "Histoire Grecque," Vol. 1, in Histoire Ancienne, Paris
+
+I938, pp. 137ff.
+
+[9] "subjugated people" I 19«: "objects of exploitation."
+
+rB. G. Glorz, op. cit., p. I40.
+
+19. Cf. Kurt Eckermann, ]ahrbuch der Religionsgeschichte und Mythologie, Halle 1845, Vol. I, p. 241, and 0. Kern, Die Religion der Griechen, Vol. I, Berlin
+
+1926, pp. 18rf.
+
+[ro] "link" l1944: "link" (n. 20 here).
+
+20. Hubert and Mauss describe the narure of "sympathy" or mimesis as follows: "I.:un est le rout, tour est dans l'un, Ia nature triomphe de Ia narure." H. Hubert and M. Mauss, "Theorie generale de Ia Magic," in L'Annie Sociologique
+
+1902-3, p. 100.
+
+21. Cf. Westermarck, Urspnmg der Moralbegriffi, Leipzig 1913, Vol. I, p. 402. [13] "total art" I an allusion to Richard Wagner's concept of the total an work
+
+(Gesmtkumtwerk) (It. tr.).
+
+22. Cf. Plato, The Republic, Book ro.
+
+23. Schelling, Erster Entwurf eines Systems der Naturphilosophie. S. 5, Wlerke,
+
+Abt. I, Vol. II, p. 623. 24. Ibid., p. 626.
+
+[15] "twentieth century": allusion to Alfred Rosenberg's Der Mythos des
+
+zwanzigsten jahrhunderts (1930).
+
+[16] "the consolidated ... privileged" I 1944: "class domination."
+
+25. Cf. E. Durkheim, "De quelques formes primitives de classification,"
+
+[17] "industrial trusts" / 1944: "social upheaval caused by monopoly."
+
+27. Huberr and Mauss, op. cit., p. n8.
+
+28. C( Tonnies, �Philosophische Terminologie," in Psychologisch-Soziologische
+
+Amicht, Leipzig 1908, p. 31.
+
+29. Hegel, Phenomenology, op. cit., p. 51.
+
+[18] "value" I 1944: "word."
+
+30. Edmund Husserl, The Crisis of European Sciences and Tramcendental Phenomenology, an Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy, trans. David Carr,
+
+Evanston, 1970.
+
+31. C( Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, trans. E. F. J. Payne, Oxford
+
+1974, Vol. II, §356, p. 610.
+
+[20] "spirit-seer": C( note [6] . p. 255.
+
+[21] "industrialism ... things." / 1944: "industry makes souls into things. The rule of the monopolists, as of individual capitalists earlier, is not expressed direct-
+
+ly in the commands of the rulers."
+
+[21] "The countless ... culture" / 1944: "Monopoly."
+
+[22] "value" /1944: "exchange value."
+
+32. Spinoza, Ethics, trans. A. Boyle, London/New York 1948, Part IV, Propos.
+
+XXII, Coroll.
+
+[23] "merely an aid ... apparatus" I 1944: "an apparatus in the perpetuating
+
+monopoly."
+
+[23] "unitary knowledge": The "unity of knowledge" postulated by the Vien-
+
+na Circle, especially Neurath and Carnap.
+
+[24] "pleasure": allusion to the National Socialist promotion of physical culture for racial, genetic ends, which went hand in hand with the lifting of certain taboos in the private sexual sphere ("Strength Through Joy," "Lebensborn e.V," ere. C( Friedrich Pollock, "Is National Socialism a New Order?" in Studies in
+
+Philosophy and Social Science, Vol. IX, 1941, pp. 448(
+
+[24] "The German ... self-contempt" / 1944: "Pleasure, which the neopagans and administrators of war fever wanted to set free, has, on its way to totalitarian
+
+emancipation, internalized meanness as self-contempt."
+
+33· Homer, Odyssey, trans. E. V. Rieu (anrended), Harmondswonh 1965, p.
+
+194·
+
+34· Ibid.
+
+35· Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit, op cit., p. u6.
+
+[29] "society" / 1944: "class society."
+
+[29] "rulers" [Lenker] / 1944: "those in control" [Vnfogende).
+
+[30] "Intuitions," "dynamic worldview," "mission," and "fate" were common
+
+terms in "educated" National Socialist jargon.
+
+[30] "company chairmen" l 1944: "monopoly controllers."
+
+[30] "of those still" I 1944: "the hands needed to operate the increasing ftxed
+
+capital."
+
+[30] "Poverty" I 1944: "Increasing misery." [30 "the economy" l 1944: "capital."
+
+[3o1 "rackets": Systems for extorting protection money; in a wider sense,
+
+groups securing the system of power. Also see Editor's Afterword, pp. 233ff.
+
+[311 "the reason of the reasonable" I 1944: "this."
+
+[311 "industrialists ... This" I 1944: "those in power ... This twofold." [31] "that thinking": Refers to the Marxian concept of the period of history
+
+preceding the socialist society.
+
+[311 "truth": The authors are paraphrasing the scholastic formulation: "verum
+
+index sui et falsi" (It. tr.).
+
+[321 "eternal": Cf. Marx, Capital A Critique of Political Economy, trans. David
+
+Fernbach. Harmondsworth 1991, Vol. III.
+
+[331 "unfettered technology'' I 1944: "the unfettered technical forces of pro-
+
+duction."
+
+36. "The supreme question which confronts our generation today-the qu�stion to which all other problems are merely corollaries-is whether technology can be brought under control ... Nobody can be sure of the formula by which this end can be achieved ... We must draw on all the resources to which access can be had ... " (The Rockefeller Foundation. A Review for I943· New York 1944 pp. 33ff).
+
+[331 Cf. note 2, p. 255.
+
+EXCURSUS I
+
+1. Nietzsche, Nachlass, Wfrke, Vol. XIV, Leipzig 1904, p. 206.
+
+2. Ibid., Vol. XV, p. 235.
+
+[371 "Borchardt": An earlier draft of the manuscript (Theodor W. Adorno Archiv) contains a reference to Borchardt's afterword to his translation of the poems of Pindar Pindarische Gedichte, Munich 1929l3o (private impression), pp. 99, 103, and 93; cf. "Einleitung in das Verstandnis der Pindarischen Poesie," in Gesammelte
+
+Wfrke, Prosa II, Stuttgart 1959, pp. 16rff.
+
+3· Ibid. , Vol. IX, p. 289.
+
+[371 "rational" l 1944l47: "more rational."
+
+4· Holderlin, "Patmos," Poems and Fragments, trans. Michael Hamburger,
+
+5· Direct evidence in support of this argument is found early in Book XX. Odysseus notes, the ma'ids' nightly visits to the beds of the Suitors. "Odysseus'
+
+gorge rose wimin him. Yet he was quite uncertain what to do and he debated long. Should he dash after them and put them all to deam; or should he let mem spend this one last night in the arms of their protligate lovers? The mought made him snarl wim repressed fury, like a bitch that snarls and shows fight as she takes her stand above her helpless puppies when a stranger comes by. So did Odysseus groan to himself in sheer revolt at mese licentious ways. But in the end he brought his fist down on his heart and called it to order. 'Patience, my heart!' he said. 'You had a far more loamsome thing rhan this to put up with when the savage Cyclops devoured those gallant men. And yet you managed to hold out, till cunning got you clear of the cave where you had mought your end had come.' But though he was able by such self-rebuke to quell all mutiny in his heart and steel it to endure, Odysseus nevertheless could not help tossing to and fro on his bed ... " (The Odyssey, op. cit., p. 304). The subject is not yet articulated to form a firm inner identity. Affects, courage, the "hean" still rise up independently. "At the beginning of mis episode, his heart, kradie or etor (the rwo words are synonyms for "heart," 17.22), snarls and growls within him, and Odysseus beats his breast, that is, his heart, and addresses it. His heart beats violently; this part of his body is stirring against his will. That he speaks to it is not, therefore, a mere formal device, as when hand or foot is addressed in Euripides to set mem in motion; his heart acts autonomously" (Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Die Heimkehr des Odysseus, Berlin 1927, p. 189). The affect is equated with an animal which me human being is subduing: The metaphor of rhe birch forms part of the same stratum of experience as me metamorphosis of Odysseus's companions into swine. The subject, still split and forced to do violence to nature both wimin himself and outside, "punishes" his heart, compelling it to be patient and denying it direct satisfaction in me present for me sake of a more distant future. Beating one's breast later became a gesture of triumph: What the victor really expresses is that his victory is over his own nature. The achievement is accomplished by self-preserving reason. " ... the speaker moughr first of his wildly beating heart; his metis [cunning] , which is thus seen a separate inner force, was able to master it, and saved Odysseus. Later philosophers would have contrasted it as nus [mind] or logistikon [reasoning] to me unreasoning parts of the body'' (Wilamowitz, op. cit., p. 190). But the "self" autos--is not mentioned until line 24, after the impulse has been successfully mastered by reason. If rhe choice and sequence of me words are taken as evidence, the identity-forming self is regarded by Homer as resulting from a mastery of nature wimin me human being. This new self trembles inwardly, as a ming, the body, when the heart within it is punished. At any rate, Wilamowitz's juxtaposing of separately analyzed moments of the psyche, which often speak to each other, seems to confirm rhe loose cohesion of the subject, whose substance con-
+
+6. In contrast w Nie£ZSche's materialistic interpretation, Klages understood sacrifice and exchange entirely in terms of magic: "The general necessiry to offer sacrifices affects everyone, because everyone, as has been seen, receives his or her share of life, and all the goods oflife rhey can obtain-the original suum cuiqueonly through the constant exchange of gifts. This, however, is not exchange in the ordinary sense of exchanging goods (although at the very beginning that, too, was consecrated by the idea of sacrifice) but of exchanging fluids or essences by abandoning one's own soul to the supporting and nurturing life of the world" (Ludwig Klages, Der Geist als Widersacher der Seele, Leipzig 1932, Vol. III, Part 2, p. 1409). However, the twofold character of sacrifice-the magic self-abandonment of the individual to the collective (in whatever form) and the self-preservation achieved through the technology of this magic-implies an objective contradiction which necessitates further development of the rational element in sacrifice. Still under the influence of magic, rationaliry, as the behavior of the performer of the sacrifice, becomes cunning. Klages himself, the zealous apologist of myth and sacrifice, came up against this contradiction and found himself obliged, even within the ideal image of Pelagianism, to distinguish between genuine and false communication with nature. However, he was unable to derive from mythical thinking itself any opposing principle to set against the illusion of the magical mastery of nature, because that very illusion constitutes the essence of myth. "It is no longer merely pagan belief but pagan superstition which compels rhe king of the gods, on ascending his throne, to swear that henceforrh he will cause the sun to
+
+shine and the field to be covered in fruits" (Klages, op. cit. , p. 1408).
+
+7· In keeping with this, human sacrifices in the literal sense do nor occur in Homer. The epic's civilizing tendency is manifested in the selection of rhe incidents narrated. "With one exception ... both Iliad and Odyssey are completely expurgated of the abomination of Human Sacrifice" (Gilbert Murray, The Rise of
+
+the Greek Epic, Oxford 1911, p. 150).
+
+[40] "The representative character ... deiry." I 194+ "The idea of magic representation implied in sacrifice, which he affirms, cannot be separated from the victim's status as the elect. But rhis status results from the priests' transposition of the victim to the heaven of the gods. An element of this projection, which elevates rhe perishable person as the bearer of the divine substance, has always been detectable in the ego, which owes its origin to projection. It bears the features of rhe idolized victim: not without reason was Odysseus continually regarded as a
+
+secularized dei ry.
+
+"
+
+S. Probably nor at the earliest stages. "The custom of human sacrifice ... is �:u more widespread among barbarous and half-civilized peoples than among true savages, and it is hardly found at all at the lowest levels of culture. lr has been observed that in some peoples rhis custom has become increasingly predominant } .
+
+in the course of time" -on the Society Islands, in Polynesia, in India, among the Aztecs. "With regard to Africa Winwood Read states that 'the mighcier the nation the more prominent the custom of sacrifice"' (Eduard Westermarck, Ursprung
+
+und Entwicklung der Moralbegriffi, Leipzig 1913, Vol. I, p. 363).
+
+9· Among cannibal peoples like those of West Africa, "neither women nor adolescents ... were allowed to taste the delicacy" (Westermarck, op cit. , Leipzig
+
+1909, Vol. II, p. 459).
+
+10. Wilamowitz places nus in "sharp opposition" to logos ( Glaube der Hellenen, Berlin I9JI, Vol. I, pp. 41f). For him myth is "a story one tells oneself," a fairy tale, an untruth, but also, without distinction from that, rhe ultimate, undemonsrrable rruth, as in Plato. While Wilamowitz is aware of the illusory character of myths, he equates them with poetry. In other words, he looks for myths only in significative language, which has already come into objective conrradicrion with irs intention, and seeks to resolve it as poetry: "Myth is in the first place spoken discourse; the words are indifferent to the content'' (ibid.). By hypostatizing this late concept of myth, which presupposes reason as its explicit counterpart, he arrives-in an implicit polemic against Bachofen, whom he dismisses as merely fashionable without mentioning him by name-at a clear distinction between mythology and religion (op. cit. , p. 5), whereby myth appears not as the older bur the younger state: "I attempt . . . to trace the evolution, the transformations and the transition from faith to myth" (op. cit. , p. r). The Hellenistic scholar's rigid departmental arrogance blocks his perception of the dialectic of myth, religion, and enlightenment: "I do not know the languages from which the currently modish words 'taboo,' 'totem,' 'mana,' and 'orenda' are taken but consider it legitimate to confine myself to the Greeks, and to think about Greek matters in Greek terms" (op. cit. , p. ro). How his unexplained contention that "the germ of the Platonic deity" was present "in the earliest Hellenic culture" is therefore to be reconciled with the historical view, pur forward by Kirchhoff and taken over by Wilamowirz, that the earliest core of the Odyssey is contained in the mythical encounters of the nostos, remains unclear, just as the central concept of myth itself lacks adequate philosophical articulation in Wilamowitz. Nevertheless, his opposition to the irrationalism which idolizes myth and his insistence on the untruth of myths reveal unmistakable insight. His repugnance for primitive thinking and prehistory shows up all the more clearly the tension which has always existed between the deceptive word and truth. The arbitrariness of fabrication which Wilamowirz criticizes in later myths must already have been contained in the earliest ones, by virtue of the pseudos [substitute] of sacrifice. This pseudos is related to precisely the Platonic deity which Wilamowitz dates back to archaic Hellenism. 11. The conception of Christianity as a pagan sacrificial religion is fundamen-
+
+[43] "society's predicament" I 1944: "the predicament of the whole of class his-
+
+tory."
+
+12. For example, when he refrains from killing Polyphemus at once (IX, 302); when he has ro endure the mistreatment of Aminous in order not to give himself away (XVII, 46off). Also compare the episode of the winds (X, 5off) and Teiresias's prophecy in the first visit to the Underworld (XI, 105ff), which makes his homecoming dependent on mastery of his heart. To be sure, Odysseus's renunciation is more a postponement than a final state; he usually performs the deeds of vengeance all the more thoroughly for having delayed them; his endurance is patience. His behavior still displays relatively openly, as a natural objective, something which was later concealed in wtal, imperative renunciation, thereby taking on the irresistible violence which subjug-ated everything natural. Through being transposed inside the subject and emancipated from its mythical content, this subjugation becomes "objective," confronting the special purposes of humans as an independent entity and becoming the universal rational law. In Odysseus's patience-quite clearly a.fi:er the death of the Suitors-vengeance is already turning into judicial procedure: the ultimate fulfillment of the mythical impulse becomes the objective instrument of domination. Law is vengeance which is ·capable of renunciation. Bur since this judicial patience is generated by something outside itself, the longing for the homeland, it takes on human traits, almost a quality of trust, which point beyond vengeance postponed. In fully developed bourgeois society, however, both are annulled: with the idea of vengeance longing, roo, is tabooed-thereby, of course, enthroning vengeance, mediated as the
+
+self's revenge on itself.
+
+13. Max Weber, Wirtschaftsgeschichte, Munich and Leipzig 1924, p. 3·
+
+14. Vicwr Berard has strongly emphasized the Semitic element in the Odyssey, though not without some apocryphal interpretation. Cf. the chapter "Les Pheni-
+
+ciens et l'Odyssee" in La Resurrection d'Homere, Paris 1930, pp. mff.
+
+[48] "capitalist economy" l 1944: "exploitation."
+
+[48] "make use ... worker" I 1944: "have anyone to exploit."
+
+[48] "entrepreneur" l1944: "capitalist."
+
+[48] "moral ... profit" I 1944: "moral justification for the plunder raked in by
+
+the privileged."
+
+[49] nostos: Greek: "journey," "homecoming."
+
+15. Odyssey, Book IX, op. cit., p. 141.
+
+16. Ibid. , p. 349· '7· Ibid., p. 141.
+
+20. In Indian mythology Lotus is the earth goddess. (C£ Heinrich Zimmer, Maja, Stungarr and Berlin 1936, pp. 105£) If there is a connection berween this and the mythical tradition on which the old Homeric nostos is based, the encounter with the Lotus-eaters might be characterized as a stage in the struggle
+
+with the chthonic powers. 21. Odyssey, op. cit., p. 142.
+
+22. According to Wilamowirz the Cyclopes are "really animals" (Glaube der
+
+Hellenen, Vol. I, p. 14).
+
+23. Odyssey, op. cit. , p. 148.
+
+24· Ibid., p. 142.
+
+25. Ibid.
+
+26. Ibid., p. 150.
+
+27. Ibid., p. 151 (adapted).
+
+28. Ibid., p. 146. 29. Ibid., p. 146. 30. Ibid., p. 149·
+
+31. "The mindless creature's frequent stupidities might be seen as a kind of
+
+stillborn humor" (Klages, op. cit., p. 1469).
+
+32. Odyssey, op. cit., p. 148.
+
+33· Ibid., p. 16J.
+
+34· Cf. ibid., p. 159. C£ F. C. Bauer, Symbolik und Mythologie, Stuttgart 1824,
+
+Vol. I, p. 47·
+
+35· Cf. Baudelaire, "Le vin du solitaire," Les Fleurs du Mal.
+
+36. Cf. ]. A. K. Thomson, Studies in the Odyssey, Oxford 1914, p. 153.
+
+37· Odyssey, op. cit. , p. 161.
+
+38. Murray refers to the "sexual expurgations" to which the poems of Homer
+
+were subjected while being edited (cf. op. cit. , pp. 141ff).
+
+39· "Pigs arc in general the sacrificial animals of Demeter" (Wilamowirz-
+
+Moellendorff, Der Glaube der Hellenen, Vol. II, p. 53).
+
+40. Cf. Freud, Complete Psychological WOrks, trans. James Strachey, Vol. XXI,
+
+London 1978, p. 99, fn. 1.
+
+41. In a note Wilamowitz points to a surprising connection berwecn the notions of snuffling and of noos, autonomous reason: "Schwyzer has very convincingly linked noos to snoning and snuffling" (Wtlamowitz-Moellendorff, Die Heimkehr des Odysseus, op. cit. , p. 191). Wilamowirz doubts, however, whether the
+
+etymological relationship contributes to elucidating the meaning.
+
+42. Odyssey, op. cit., p. r6r.
+
+43· The consciousness of her irresistibility was later expressed in the cult of Aphrodite Pcithon, "whose magic brooks no refusal" (Wilamowitz-Moellendorff,
+
+[56] "Aeaea": Circe's island; old name for Colchis.
+
+44· Odyssey, p. 164.
+
+45· Ibid
+
+46. Ibid, p. 166.
+
+47· Ibid.
+
+48. Cf. Bauer, op. cit., pp. 47, 49·
+
+49· Odyssey, p. 343·
+
+50. Goethe, WiUulm Meister's Years of Apprenticeship, trans. H. M. Waidson,
+
+London 1977, p. 62. 51. Odyssey, p. 346.
+
+[59] "Underworld": Greek: sacrifice offered for the dead; Greek title of Book
+
+XI of the Odyssey.
+
+52. Cf. Thomson, op. cit. , p. 28.
+
+53· "My eyes filled wirh tears when I saw her there, and I was stirred to compassion. Yet, deeply moved though I was, I would not allow her to approach the blood out of turn, before I had had speech with Teiresias" (Odyssey, p. 173).
+
+54· "I see the soul of my dead mother over there. She sits in silence by the blood and cannot bring herself to look her own son in the face or say a single word to him. Tell me, my prince, is there no way ro make her know that I am he" (ibid,
+
+P· 175)?
+
+55· "I cannot avoid believing that the whole ofBook XI, with the exception of a few passages ... is a fragment of the old nostos and therefore of the oldest part
+
+of the poem" (Kirchhoff, Die homerische Odyssee, Berlin 1879, p. 226).
+
+56. Odyssey, p. 174·
+
+57· He was originally the "husband of the earth" (cf. Wilamowitz, Glaube der Hellenen, Vol. I, pp. 112ff) and only became the sea god at a late stage. Teiresias's prophecy may be an allusion to his twofold nature. It is conceivable that his propitiation by means of an eanhly sacrifice far from any sea implies a symbolic restoration of his chthonic power. This restoration might reflect the superseding of the sea voyage in search of booty by agriculture: The cults of Poseidon and
+
+Demeter merged (cf. Thomson, op. cit., p. 96, fn).
+
+58. Translated from Grimm, Kinder- und Hammiirchen, Leipzig n.d., p. 208. Closely related motifs are passed down from antiquity, especially regarding Demeter. "Demeter came to Eleusis in search of her daughter after she had been abducted and was given lodging by Dysaules and his wife Baubo; hut in her great sorrow she refused to touch food or drink. Thereupon her hostess Baubo made her laugh· by suddenly lifting up her dress and exposing her body" (Freud, Complt-te Psychological Works, Vol. XIV, London 1962, p. 338; cf. Salomon Reinach,
+
+59· Holderlin, "Autumn," Poems and Fragments, op. cit., p. 595·
+
+6o. Odyssey, p. 340.
+
+61. Wilamowitz considers that the execution was "carried our with satisfaction by the poet" (Die Heimkehr des Odysseus, op. cit., p. 67). Bur when the authoritarian scholar enthuses over the simile of the snares, which "conveys the dangling of the maids' corpses in an apt and modern way" (ibid., also cf. ibid. , p. 76), the satisfaction appears to be largely his own. Wilamowitz's writings are among the most striking documents of the German intermingling of barbarism and culture,
+
+which is fundamental to modern Philhellenism.
+
+62. Gilbert Murray draws attention to the consoling intention of this line. According to his theory, scenes of torture have been expunged from Homer by civilizing censorship. The deaths of Melanthios and the maids have been retained
+
+(op. cit., p. 146).
+
+EXCURSUS II
+
+1. Kant, "An answer to the question: What is Enlightenment?" Practical
+
+Philosophy, trans. Mary J. Gregor, Cambridge 1996, p. 17.
+
+2. Immanuel Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, trans. Norman Kemp Smith,
+
+London 1973, p. 533· 3· Ibid.
+
+> 4· Ibid., p. 542. 5· Ibid., p. 534· 6. Ibid. 7· Ibid., p. 148.
+
+8. Kant's Critique of judgment, trans. J. H. Bernard, London and New York
+
+1892, p. 24·
+
+9· Ibid., p. 25.
+
+ro. Metaphysische Anfonge der Tugendlehre, Kants Werke. Akademie-Textausgabe,
+
+Berlin 1968-, Vol. VI, p. 449·
+
+84.
+
+n. Spinoza, Ethics, trans. A. Boyle, London/New York 1948, Pt. III, Pref., p.
+
+[67] ufascism" I 1944: "monopoly."
+
+[68] [German text:] Leistungsfohigkeit I 1944: "efficiency." 12. Critique of Pure Reason, 2nd ed., op cit., p. 154·
+
+[68] "is revealing ... form." I 1944: "monopoly is outgrowing itself in a fascis-
+
+tically rationalized form."
+
+13. Translated from de Sade, Histoire de juliette, Holland 1797, Vol. V, pp. 319f.
+
+14. Ibid. , pp. 322f. 15. Ibid., p. 324-
+
+[?I] "as ... individuals": An allusion to Marx's formulation in Capital (Marx,
+
+Engels, Collected Works, Vol. 35, London 1996, p. 89).
+
+[71] "industrial reason" I 1944: "monopoly and its reason." [72] "system" I 1944/47: "system, the reason of capital."
+
+16. E.g. Critique of PracticaL Reason, Kant, Practical Philosophy, trans. Mary J.
+
+Gregor, Cambridge I996, p. 165.
+
+17· Nouveaux Essais sur l'Entendement Humain, ed. Erdmann, Berlin 1840,
+
+Book I, Ch. 11, § 9, p. 215.
+
+18. Cf. Heinrich Mann's introduction co the Insel Verlag edition. 19. Metaphysische Anflinge der Tugmdlehre, op. cit., p. 408.
+
+20. juliette, op. cit., vol. IV, p. 58.
+
+21. Ibid., pp. 6o£
+
+22. Spinoza, Ethics, Pt. IV, Prop. LIY, op. cit., p. 178.
+
+23. Spinoza, ibid.
+
+24. Metaphysische Anflinge der Tugmdlehre, op. cit., p. 408.
+
+25. Ibid. , p. 409.
+
+26. juliette, op. cit., Vol. II, p. n4.
+
+[76] "bourgeois" / 1944: "bourgeois in democracy."
+
+27. Ibid., Vol. III, p. 282.
+
+28. Nietzsche, Umwertung aller Werte. Werke, Kroner, Vol. VIII, p. 213.
+
+29. juliette, op. cit., Vol. IV, p. 204.
+
+30. E. Diihren pointed out this affinity in Neue Forschungm, Berlin 1904, pp.
+
+453[£
+
+31. Nietzsche, op. cit., Vol. VIII, p. 218. 32. juliette, op. cit., Vol. I, pp. 315f.
+
+33· Nietzsche, The Birth ofTragedy and The Gmealogy of Morals, trans. Francis
+
+Golfflng, New York 1956, pp. 174. 34· juliette, op. cit., Vol. I, p. 300.
+
+35· Histoire dejustine, Holland 1797, Vol. IV, p. 4 (also quoted by Diihren, op.
+
+cit., p. 452).
+
+36. Genealogy of Morals, op. cit., p. 178. 37· justine, op. cit., Vol. IV, p. 7· 38. Nachlass, op. cit., Vol. XI, p. 214. 39· Genealogy of Morals, op. cit. , p. 258.
+
+40. juliette, Vol. l, p. 2o8ff.
+
+41. Ibid., pp. mf.
+
+42. Beyond Good and Evil, uans. R. J. Hollingdale, London (Penguin Classics)
+
+43· Nt�chlass, op. cit., ¥;ol. XII, p. 108. 44· juliette, opi cit. , Vol. I, p. 313.
+
+45· Ethics, Pc. IV, Appendix, XVI, op. cit. , p. 194.
+
+46. Ibid. , Pt. IV, Prop. L, Note, p. q6.
+
+47· Ibid., Prop. L, p. 175.
+
+48. juliette, op. cit., Vol. II, p. 125.
+
+49· Ibid.
+
+50. Nietzsche contra �gner, op. cit. , Vol. VIII, p. 204.
+
+51. juliette, op. cit., Vol. I, p. 313.
+
+52. Ibid. , Vol. II, p. 216.
+
+53· Beobachtungen uber das Gefohl des Schonen und Erhabenen, op. cit. , Vol. II,
+
+pp. 215f. 54· Ibid.
+
+55· Nachlass, op. cit., Vol. XI, pp. 227f.
+
+56. Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathurtra, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, Harmonds-
+
+worth 1984, p. 189.
+
+[81] "fascist masters" I 1944: "masters." 57· Genealogy of Morals, op. cit., p. 249.
+
+[81] "Annie Henry": In 1940 she shot a man by whom she and a companion had been taken for a walk, after having threatened him with a pistol and humili-
+
+ated him for hours; cf. Los Angeles Examiner, 29.11.1942.
+
+58. juliette, op. cit. , Vol. Ill, pp. 78f.
+
+59· Ibid., Vol. IV, pp. 126f.
+
+6o. R. Caillois, "Theorie de la fete," Nouvelle Revue Franraise, Jan. 1940, p. 49·
+
+6r. Cf. ibid.
+
+62. Cf. ibid., pp. 58f.
+
+[83] "Benzedrine": A strong stimulant administered by the Nazi commanders
+
+co their troops (It. cr.).
+
+63. Nachlass, op. cit., Vol. XII, p. 364.
+
+[84] "appeased ... industry" I 1944: "hypostatized as an accomplished recon-
+
+ciliation. Under monopoly."
+
+[84] "system ... industry" I 1944: "monopoly."
+
+[84] "white crash"; derogatory expression for white workers.
+
+64- juliette, op. cit. , Vol. II, pp. 81f. 65. Ibid., Vol. III, pp. 172f.
+
+66. Ibid., pp. I?6f.
+
+67. Private edition by Hdpey, p. 267. 68. Juliette, op. cit., Vol. Ill, pp. 176f.
+
+69. Ibid., pp. 178£ 70. Ibid., pp. r88-99.
+
+73- Ibid., Vol. IY, p. 379·
+
+74· Aline et Valcour, Brussels 1883. VoL I, p. 58.
+
+75· Ibid. , p. 57·
+
+76. Victor Hugo, The Laughing Man, Book VIII, Ch. 7·
+
+77· juliette, op. cit., Vol. IV, p. 199·
+
+78. Cf. Les r2o journees de Sodome, Paris 1935, Vol. II, p. 308.
+
+79· Der Fall �gner, op. cit., Vol. VIII, p. 10.
+
+So. R. Briffault, The Mothers, New York 1927, Vol. I, p. 119.
+
+[89] "German fascism" I 1944: "rhe class society."
+
+81. Nachlass, op. cit. , Vol. XI, p. 216.
+
+82. Ibid., vol. XIV, p. 273.
+
+83. Kant, Practical Philosophy, trans. Mary J. Gregor, Cambridge 1996, p. 82. 84. Niensche, joyfol Wisdom, trans. Thomas Common, New York 1973, p.
+
+279·
+
+85. Ibid.
+
+86. Cf. Nietzsche, Nachlass, op. cit., Vol. XI, p. 216.
+
+87. Cf. Le Play, Les ouvriers europeens, Paris 1879, Vol. I, esp. pp. 133ff.
+
+88. juLiette, op. cit., Vol. IV, pp. 303ff.
+
+89. Les I2o journees de Sodome, op. cit., Vol. I, p. 72.
+
+90. Cf. juliette, op. cit. , Vol. II, p. 235, n.
+
+91. La Philosophie dans le Boudoir, op. cit., p. 185.
+
+92. Cf. Democritus, Diels Fragment 278, Berlin 1912, Vol. II, pp. u7f.
+
+93· La Philosophie dans le Boudoir, op. cit., p. 242.
+
+94· S. Reinach, "La prohibition de l'inceste et le sentiment de Ia pudeur," in
+
+Cultes, Mythes et Religions, Paris 1905, Vol. I, p. 157. 95· La Philosophie dans le Boudoir, op. cit., p. 238.
+
+96. Ibid., pp. 238-49.
+
+97· Ibid.
+
+98. juliette, op. cit., Vol. IV, pp. 24o-44.
+
+99· La Philosophie da11s le Boudoir, op. cit., p. 263. 100. Aline et Valcour, op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 18rff.
+
+101. juliette, op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 181ff.
+
+[92] "prehistory": Cf. note [31], p. 258 ("rhat thinking").
+
+102. Nierzsche, joyful Wisdom, trans. Thomas Common, New York 1973, p.
+
+209.
+
+THE CULTU RE IND USTRY
+
+[95] "rhose whose ... strongest" I 1944: "capital." [95] "economy today" I 1944: "profit economy."
+
+[96] "Soap operas": alludes to the fact that such programs were originally broadcast at rimes when housewives were at home doing their washing (It. tr.). [96] "selection" I 1944: "selection. The operations of the large studios, including the quality of rhe highly paid human material populating them, is a product
+
+of rhe monopoly system into which it is integrated."
+
+[96] "subjected ... purges" I 1944: "expropriated even before fascism."
+
+[98] "at film" l 1944: "at rhe film monopoly."
+
+[98] "agencies ... business" I 1944: "monopolistic agencies."
+
+[roo] "industrial society" I 1944: "the machinery."
+
+[roo] "gigantic economic machinery" I 1944: "gigantic machinery of monop-
+
+oly."
+
+[101] "rolerated" I 1944: "tolerated, used by monopoly."
+
+1. Nierzsche, Unzeitgemiisse Betrachtungen. �rke, Leipzig 1917, Vol. I, p. 187. [ro2] "Zanuck": Film producer, cofounder of 2oth Century Pictures.
+
+[104] "present society" I 1944: "monopoly society."
+
+[105] "Pathe": French film magnates.
+
+[ro5] "Hugenberg": Founders of German publishing combines.
+
+2. A. de Tocqueville, De La Dlmocratie en Amerique, Paris 1864, Vol. II, p. 151. [ro6] "Hays Office": Voluntary censorship agency (Jr. tr.), ser up in 1934 in
+
+Hollywood.
+
+[ro6] "Mickey Rooney": See note [126] , p. 271.
+
+[107] "ready-ro-wear trade or" I 1944: "Jewish clothing trade or the Epis-
+
+copal."
+
+[ro7] "some omnipresent agency" I 1944: "a Rockefeller Institute, only slightly more omnipresent rhan the one in Radio City,"-"Radio City": the name given since rhe early 1930s to a part of the Rockefeller Center in New York containing
+
+several theatres, radio studios, and the Radio City Music Hall.
+
+[w7] "Casino de Paris": Music hall in Paris, famous for its luxurious furnish-
+
+mgs.
+
+[107] "society" I 1944: "class society."
+
+[roB] "Lombardo": Orchestra leader especially known for his annual musical
+
+broadcasts on New Year's Eve.
+
+[109] "novelty songs": Hit songs with comic elements.
+
+[no] "cruelty" I 1944: "lust for murder."
+
+[no] "of the" I 1944: "of the kiss, but not of the."
+
+[III] "culture industry" I 1944: "mass culrure." [m] "Hays Office": See note [106] , p. 269.
+
+[ru] "Laughter ... ended": On this twofold function of laughter cf. pp. 6of
+
+(It. rr.).
+
+[112] "res ... gaudium": Seneca, Letter 23; letters ro Lucilius (Letters from a
+
+Stoic, trans. Robin Campbell, Harmondsworrh 1969).
+
+[u3] "constitutes irs essence": C£ Adorno, "Ober Jazz" (1937), in Gesammelte
+
+Schriften, Vol. 17, Frankfurt am Main 1982, p. 98.
+
+[u3] "the system" l 1944: "prevailing in monopolistic sociery."
+
+[u4] "funnies": Amusement pages in newspapers with jokes and comic strips.
+
+[n4] "Ludwig": Primarily a writer of popular biographies.
+
+[u4] "Mrs. Miniver": Leading role in a radio family serial; also filmed. [u4] "Lone Ranger": Title figure in a radio western serial, the rype of the lone
+
+cowboy fighting for the good; also fumed. [u4] "Lombardo": See note [108], p. 269.
+
+3· Frank Wedekind, Gesammelte 'Werke, Munich I921, Vol. IX, p. 426.
+
+[us] "women's serials": Light novels in women's magazines.
+
+[us] "Adler": Neo-Thomist popular philosopher who defended film with arguments from scholastic philosophy (Ir. tr.)-Cf. Horkheimer, "Neue Kunst und
+
+Massenkulrur," in Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 4·
+
+[n6] "the culture industry" I r944: "the monopoly system."
+
+[117] "planning" I r944: "monopoly planning."
+
+[II?] "life has been transformed" I 1944: "monopoly has transformed life."
+
+[II?] "those in control" I 1944: "monopoly." [u8] "Industry" I 1944: "Monopoly."
+
+[n8] "proof": A play on the various philosophical-theological (ontological,
+
+cosmological, etc.) proofs of the existence of God. [rw] "giant corporation" I 1944: "monopoly." [rw] "the thinking subject" I 1944: "liberalism."
+
+[120] Hans Sonnenstofers Hollenfohrt. Ein heiteres Traumspie/. Radio play by
+
+Paul Apel (1931), revised version by Gustaf Griindgens (r937).
+
+[120] "Life with Father": Popular American radio family serial after a stage play
+
+by Clarence Day.
+
+[120] "the latest society" I 1944: "monopoly sociery."
+
+[uoj "Formal freedom ... answer officially" I 1944: "Bourgeois democracy guarantees formal freedom for everyone. No one is officially responsible to the
+
+govern men£."
+
+[120] "Dagwood": Character in rhe comic strip Blondie. [m] "established" I 1944: "established by monopoly." [1 21 ] "leaders of inc;lusrry" l 1944: "monopolists."
+
+[121] "provision" l 1944: "provision by the monopoly."
+
+[121] "winter aid": Wintn-hilfiwerk: National Socialist organization to support the unemployed and other needy persons under the direction of the Ministry of
+
+Propaganda.
+
+[122] "even now" I 1944: "even under monopoly." [123] "women's serial": See note [115], p. 270.
+
+[123] "the pressure of the system" I 1944: "monopoly."
+
+[124] "the system" I 1944: "monopoly."
+
+4- Nietzsche, Gotzendiimmerung, Wt>rke, op. cit., Vol. VIII, p. 136.
+
+[124] "those in command" I 1944: "monopoly." [125] "bourgeois" I 1944: "German bourgeois."
+
+[126] "Mature ... Rooney": Well-known film actors, embodiments of the
+
+hero and the antihero.
+
+[126] "cultural conglomerate" I 1944: "cultural conglomerate and monopoly." [126] "Something ... everyone" I 1944: "Monopoly serves up something for
+
+everyone."
+
+[127] "The ... purpose": C£ Kant, Critique of judgment, op. cit., p. 68. [128] "inner ... commodities" I 1944: "composition of cultural commodities
+
+in terms of use value and exchange value."
+
+[128] "What ... replaced" I 1944: "Use value is being replaced in the recep-
+
+tion of cultural assets."
+
+[128] "The consumer ... escape." I 1944: (missing). [128] "Mrs. Miniver": See note [u4], p. 270.
+
+[128] "deception" I 1944: "swindle."
+
+[129] "the commercial radio system" I 1944: "broadcasting."
+
+[129] "rhe sovereign whole" l 1944: "monopoly as the sovereign whole."
+
+[129] "combines" I 1944: "monopolies."
+
+[129] "invented by the sociology of religion": Allusion to Max Weber's concept of charismatic authority; c£ Economy and Society, Vol. I, ed. Guenther Roth and
+
+Claus Wirrich, Berkeley 1978, pp. 241ff.
+
+[130] "Even ... use value" l 1944: "Use value."
+
+[130] "screenos": Bingo games played by the audience between pictures. [130] "radio": Television was still in its infancy when the authors were writing
+
+(It. rr.).
+
+[131] "the Warner brothers": Owners of large film studios.
+
+[131] "hopes" I 1944: "waits."
+
+[131] "labor time ... in advertising" I 1944: "social labor time, but saved ir. Today, when the free market is at an end, monopoly is entrenching itself in adver-
+
+[1311 "wielders of influence ... economic councils" I 1944: "class remains among its peers, as a preliminary form of the resolutions of economic councils of
+
+industrialists."
+
+[1321 "It benefits ... names." I 1944: "Irs termination by an individual firm represents only a loss of prestige, in fact an offence against the class discipline which monopoly imposes on its members. In wartime, commodities which can no longer be supplied continue to be advertised merely in order to keep the insti-
+
+tution, and naturally also the war economy, in operation."
+
+[1321 "the big companies" I 1944: "monopoly, the skyscrapers of Wrigley and
+
+Rockefeller."
+
+[1331 "blackshin": A term for fascists, after the black shirts of their uniforms,
+
+especially in Italy bur also in other countries.
+
+[134] "people" / 1944: "people, which still determines life in monopoly society." [1351 "Schriftleiter": The term Schriftleiter [lit. director of writing] was pre-
+
+ferred by the National Socialists to the "foreign" word Reddkteur (It. rr.). [135] "such language" I 1944: "rhe language of monopoly."
+
+[136] "false." l 1944/47= "false." After paragraph break: "(to be continued)."
+
+ELEM ENTS OF ANTI -SEMITISM
+
+[137] "Now that ... reasons," I 1944: "In the age when political domination
+
+is obsolete."
+
+[137] "workers" I 1944: "proletarians." [1371 "appropriation" I 1944: "exploitation."
+
+[138] "discl1arged." / 1944: "discharged. That would be the classless society."
+
+[138] "existing society" / 1944: "the class society." [138] "the existing order" / 1944: "capitalism." [1391 "that order" I 1944: "class society."
+
+[139] "The respectable ... disreputable ones" I 1944: "Monopoly, the
+
+respectable rackets, condone it, and the fascists, the disreputable ones." [140] "vagrants" / 1944: "Negroes, Mexican wrestling clubs."
+
+[1421 "take possession of" / 1944: "appropriate."
+
+[142] "parasites of old": Allusion to the Nazis' anticapitalist propaganda distinction between "productive" [schaff md] and "parasitic" [raff end; lit. "grasping"] capital, i.e., between industrial and bank capital; cf. Franz Neumann, Behemoth
+
+(1942), Frankfurt/Main 1977, p. 376.
+
+[142] "of the economic system in general" / 1944: "of all capital." [142] ·"what is withheld" I 1944: "what capital withholds."
+
+[r441 "salvation." I 1944/47: "salvation, now that the churd1cs have ht:l"ll
+
+reduced entirely to the function of social control."
+
+[1451 "German Christians": The Protestant movement "Deutsche Christen"
+
+sought a union between Church and National Socialism.
+
+[1481 "recognition in a concept": Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit. , pp.
+
+79ff [B 103].
+
+r. Cf. Freud, "The Uncanny," The Complete PsychollJgical Works, op. cit., Vol.
+
+XVII, pp. zr9ff.
+
+[rsz1 "Coughlin": Charles Edward Coughlin, Catholic priest, demagogic anti-
+
+Semitic radio preacher.
+
+z. Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit. , p. 183 [B 18of1 . [160] "any ... country" I 1944: "even lynching." 3· Freud, Totem and Taboo, op. cit., Vol. XIII, p. 73·
+
+[163] "culture industry'' l 1944: "economic and culrural monopoly."
+
+[164] "big industry" l1944: "monopoly." [164] "workers" I 1944: "proletarians." [r6s] "until now" I 1944: "in liberalism."
+
+[1651 " ... turning-point of history": Allusion to Marx's "Zur Judenfrage," in
+
+Aus den Deutsch-Franziisischen ]ahrbuchern 1843/44.
+
+[r6s] "VII": The whole of section VII ("But ... of enlightenment.") was not
+
+contained in the 1944 edition.
+
+[165] "the Ahlwardrs and the Kniippelkunzes": Hermann Ahlwardt: author of anti-Semitic pamphlets, Reichstag deputy at the end of the nineteenth century;
+
+for years his appearances were accompanied by uproar and scandal.
+
+Hermann Kunze: teacher at rhe Cadet School, Chairman of the Oeutsch-Soziale Partei, anti-Semitic demagogue; his nickname [Knuppel; stick, cudgel]
+
+resulted from the frequent brawls at his meetings.
+
+[166] "ricket": single list of a parry's candidates in the American electoral sys-
+
+tem.
+
+[166] "Jew-free": From the National Socialist termjudenrein.
+
+[1671 " ... without mediation": Allusion to Kant's proposition: "Thoughts without content are empty, intuitions without concepts are blind," Critique of
+
+Pure Reason, op. cit., p. 93 [A 51].
+
+NOTES AND SKETCHES
+
+[1731 "Chamberlain ... Bad Godesberg": Chamberlain met Hider three times
+
+in September 1938; the second meeting rook place in Bad Godesberg.
+
+1. Paul Deussen, Sechzig Upanishad's des Vetk. Leipzig 1905, p. 524·
+
+2. Matthew 2, I7-19. [I think it should be ch. u-tr.]
+
+3· Above all Brhad-aranyaka Upanishad 3, 5, 1 and 4, 4, 22. Deussen, op. cit.,
+
+pp. 436f and 479f. 4· Op. cit., p. 436. 5· Mark, I, 6.
+
+6. Translated from Vorlesungen iiber die Geschichte der Philosophic, Vol. 2,
+
+�rke, Vol. XIV, pp. I59f. 7· Ibid., p. I68.
+
+8. Cf. Deussen, op. cit., p. 373·
+
+9· Cf. Eduard Meyer, Ursprung und Anfonge des Christentums, Stuttgart/Berlin
+
+1921, Vol. I, p. 90.
+
+10. Diogenes Laertius, IV, I5.
+
+n. Cf. Politeia, 372; Politikos, 267ff and Eduard Zeller, Die Philosophic der
+
+Griechen, Leipzig 1922, Part 2, Section I, pp. 325f note.
+
+12. Cf. Deussen, Das System des Vetknta, Leipzig 1906, 2nd ed., pp. 63ff. 13. Hermann Oldenberg, Buddha, Sturtgart!Berlin 1914, pp. 174f.
+
+14. Ibid., p. 386. 15. Ibid., pp. 393f.
+
+16. Cf. ibid., pp. 184ff and pp. 424ff.
+
+[180] "Soirees de Petersbourg': Joseph de Maistre, Les Soirees de Saint Peters-
+
+bourg (1821).
+
+[x8o] "circles of Hell": Allusion to Dante's Divine Comedy, Inferno III, 4ff (It.
+
+tr.).
+
+[x8o] "Animal psychology": In the 1944 edition this entry comes directly afrer
+
+"Against knowingness."
+
+[185] "Economic ... forms" I 1944: "Relations of production, forms of class
+
+domination, culture."
+
+[185] "troglodyte": Paleolithic cave dweller.
+
+[x86] "dictum": Cf. Marx, Die deutrche Ideologie, in Marx-Engels �rke, Vol. 3,
+
+Berlin 1969, pp. 34f.
+
+[x86] "The poor figure ... them": Cf. Marx, Engels, Die Heilige Familie, in Marx-Engels Werke, Vol. 2, Berlin 1958, p. 85; also Marx, "Zur Kritik der Hegelschen Rechtsphilosophie," in Marx-Engels werke, Vol. I, Berlin 1957· pp. 385f. [187] "Blum government": Popular front government 1936-37, introduced
+
+extensi.ve social reforms.
+
+[187] "From a theory of the criminal": Cf. the full text, 'Theorie des Ver-
+
+q. Leibniz, The Monadology and Other Philosophical Writings, trans. Robert
+
+Lana, Oxford 1925, § 7, pp. 219f.
+
+18. Cf. ibid., § 51.
+
+19. Cf. R. Caillois, Le Mythe et !'Homme, Paris 1938, pp. 125ff.
+
+[19ol "fascism" I 1944: "monopoly." [19ol "state" I 1944: "order."
+
+[191l "executioner: each operation ... forgening." I 1944: "executioner. But that is nor to say enough. Is not death the radical loss of the 'residual capacity of the nerve substance'? Life would not be a dream bur a narcosis. We would behave toward other people, not to mention all other creatures, as, in Flourens's view, the patient behaves towards the interval when he or she was under the influence of the drug: deludedly. The narcosis acts like the principium individuationis. The positivists, however, could learn from this how far they have advanced with their science: their nore taking would be limited in principle to the postnarcotic period. It would be the utterance of a life which had forgotten itself under the influence of narcotics, or rather of death, from which one can remember nothing. They would, in their thing-language, have "mortificated" it. Reality would be lefr to metaphysics and to antiquated French physiologists. Admittedly, a test of the objective justification of such speculations would call for a discriminating analysis of Schopenhauer's notion, which still contributes too much to Flourens's pos-
+
+itivism."
+
+[195l "The 'tragic' world-view of the fascists": An allusion to the vulgarized reception of Nietzsche by some National Socialist authors in the early 1930s.
+
+[197l "Chaplin's film": The Great Dictator (1940).
+
+20. Translated from Die Nachsokratiker, ed. Wilhelm Nestle, Jena 1923, Vol. I.
+
+72a, p. 195.
+
+[198] "big business" I 1944: "monopoly."
+
+[2o3l "praxis." I 1944: "praxis. In Europe there is now harlliy a country in
+
+which one would not be shot for a slip of the tongue."
+
+[203] "The proposition ... the whole": Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit, op.
+
+cit., p. n.
+
+[204l "today" I 1944: "under monopoly."
+
+[205) "flux" I 1944: "transience."
+
+[206) 'The man ... strive": Allusion to Schiller's poem, "Das Lied von der
+
+Glocke."
+
+21. Cf. Eclaircissement sur les Sacrifices. Oeuvres, Lyon 1892, Vol. V, pp. 322f.
+
+[207l "universal" I 1944: "monopolistic."
+
+[207] "completely ... domination" I 1944: "system of big rackets." [207] "In Germany ... reason": Cf. note [24] , p. 257 ("pleasure").
+
+phorically to put on mannish trousers because she is already in desexualized
+
+slacks, machining bombs."
+
+[209] "culture industry" I 1944: "mass culture."
+
+[210] "fascist collective" I 1944: "collective of the totalitarian monopoly."
+
+22. ]oyfol Wzsdom, op. cit., p. 136.
+
+[2n] "Hearst": William Randolph Hearst, founder of the USA's largest press
+
+conglomerate.
+
+[211] "baseless" I 1944: "baseless; on this Heidegger and Lukacs agree."
+
+23. Goethe, Faust, Part I, 4068.
+
+24. Cf. Karl Landauer, "Intelligenz und Dummheit," in Das Psychoanalytische
+
+Volksbuch, Bern 1939, p. 172.
+
+EDITOR'S AFTE RWO RD r. P. xiv of this edition. 2. P. xviii of this edition. 3· P. Iof this edition. 4· P. xi of this edition.
+
+5· Max-Horkheimer Archiv der Stadt- und Universiratsbibliothek Frankfun
+
+am Main (abbreviated henceforth to MHA): VI rD.zro.
+
+6. Published in Horkheimer, Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 12, Frankfun am
+
+Main 1985.
+
+7· MHA: VI 1D.66--The declaration was to be issued in connection with the publication of essays by both authors in the periodical Der Monat. As contributions by Horkheimer, "Vernunft und Selbsrerhaltung" [Engl.: "The End of Reason," see n. 24, Afterword], ·�urorirat und Familie in der Gegenwart" [Engl.: ·�uthorirarianism and the Family Today," in The Family: Its Function and Destiny, cd. R. N. Anshen, New York 1949, pp. 359-374], or a section from Eclipse of Reason (Oxford 1947) were considered (cf. MHA: VI 1 D.r58, 16rA). However, Horkhcimer then withdrew his permission. The joint declaration, too, was nor published. The reasons for rhis emerge only parcly from the correspondence berween Horkheirner and Adorno. They have to do, above all, with misgivings about a further political declaration which was to be combined with this first one. However, there is no reason to assume that the rwo authors were unwilling to
+
+endorse the content and formulation of the first declaration.
+
+8. MHA: XI 6.86.
+
+9· My thanks go to Rolf Tiedemann for information on the content of
+
+Adorno's posthumous papers here and elsewhere.
+
+10. MHA: XI 6.2. II. MHA: XI 6.3. 12. MHA: XI fi+
+
+tivismus und materialistischer Dialektik," in Horkheimer, Gesammelte Schriften,
+
+Vol. 12, pp. 467ff.
+
+30. P. xiv of this edition.
+
+31. Cf. Horkheimer uVenrauen auf Geschichte," in Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 12, op. cit. Also compare the more detailed interpretation in Gunzelin Schmid Noerr, uWahrheit, Macht und die Sprache der Philosophic. Zu Horkheimers sprachphilosophischen Reflexionen in seinen nachgelassenen Schriften zwischen
+
+1939 und 1946," in Max Horkheimer heute: 1.\lerk und Wirkung, op. cit.
+
+32. Cf. Martin Jay, Dialektische Phantasie, Frankfurt am Main 1973, pp. 125ff, and Wolfgang BonB, uPsychoanalyse als Wissenschaft und Kritik. Zur Freudrezeption der Frankfurter Schute," in Sozialforschung als Kritik, ed. Wolfgang
+
+Bong and Axel, Honneth, Frankfurt am Main 1982, esp. pp. 391ff.
+
+33· Erich Fromm, uOber Methode und Aufgabe einer analytischen Sozial-
+
+psychologie," in Zeitschrift for Sozialforschung, Vol. I, 1932, p. 50.
+
+34· Paris 1936.
+
+35· Cf. Horkheimer, uErnst Simmel und die Freudsche Philosophic," Gesam-
+
+melte Schriften, Vol. 5, Frankfurt am Main 1987, pp. 396ff.
+
+36. Horkheimer, Adorno, uDiskussionen tiber die Differenz zwischen Positivismus und materialistischer Dialektik," in Horkheimer, Gesammeite Schriftm, Vol. 12, csp. pp. 433-451; uDiskussionen tiber Sprache und Erkenmnis, Narurbehcrrschung am Menschen, politische Aspekte des Marxismus," ibid., pp. 51o-512. 37· Horkheimer, Adorno, "Diskussionen tiber die Differenz zwischen Positiv-
+
+ismus und materialistischer Dialektik," op. cit., p. 443·
+
+38. Ibid.
+
+39· P. xviii of this edition. 40. I� I 54 of this edition.
+
+41. New York 1949-50; one of these volumes is The Authoritarian Personality (New York 1950), written by Adorno, Else Frenkel-Brunswick, Daniel J. Levinson, and R. Nevitt Sanford, mentioned by Adorno and in the following quotation. 42. Adorno, "Wissenscha.ftliche Erfahrungen in Amerika," in Gesammelte
+
+SdJr�ften, Vol. 10.2, Frankfurt am Main 1977, pp. 721-723.
+
+43· Martin Jay discusses this in more detail in uThe Frankfurt School in
+
+1-:xilc," in Perspectives in American History, Vol. VI, pp. 348-355.
+
+44· P. xix of this edition.
+
+45· Cf. especially Pollock, "State Capitalism," in Studies of Philosophy and Social Scimce IX, 1941, and "Is National Socialism a New Order?" ibid. Horkheimcr himself explains rhis concept in his essay uThe Authoritarian State" [see n. 24,
+
+Afterword].
+
+47· "Zur Ideologic der Politik heute (Fragment)," in Gesammelte Schriften,
+
+Vol. 12, op. cit., pp. 317f.
+
+48. "Zur Soziologie der Klassenverhaltnisse," in Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 12, op. cit., pp. 101-104. That Horkheimer's theory of rackets, which, in the end, was developed to only a rudimentary level, aimed to go far beyond a sociological analysis in the narrower sense becomes clear from an analogy with his reflections on linguistic philosophy mentioned earlier. In an essay of 1946 he described the function of the concept on the basis of the racket model, protection in exchange for oppression: "In the concept fuJfillment is inseparable from suffering. Its fixity only faithfully reflects the society which serves life by oppressing it, which develops human beings by mutilating them and knows of homeland only as the protection which suppresses the protected." ("Venrauen auf Geschichte," in Ge-
+
+sammelte Schriften, Vol. 12, op cit., p. 124).
+
+49· "Reflexionen zur Klassentheorie" (1942), in Adorno, Gesammelte Schriften,
+
+Vol. 8, Frankfun am Main 1972.
+
+50. Cf. Horkheimer, "Zur Soziologie der Klassenverhaltnisse," op. cit., pp.
+
+75ff.
+
+51. P. xiv of this edition. 52. P. 207 of this edition. 53· P. 94 of this edition. 54· P. 132 of this edition. 55· P. xv of this edition. 56. E.g., p. 209 of this edition.
+
+57· E.g., p. 67 and p. 89 of this edition. 58. E.g., p. 76 and p. no of this edition. 59· P. 107 and p. 144 of this edition.
+
+6o. P. 137 of this edition. 61. P. 48 of this edition. 62. P. 6o of this edition. 63. P. xvii of this edition.
+
+64. For example, in a note written probably in the early 1930s and at any rate not later than 1935, Horkheimer writes of the "independence of the revolutionary fighter" (MHA: XI 16.¥, p. 5). The nore was incorporated in "Bemerkungen zur philosophischen Anthropologie," published in 1935, where, however, he writes of the "independence of the person who pursues this goal [of a free humanity]"
+
+(ilitschrift for Sozialforschrmg, Vol. IV, 1935, p. 16).
+
+65. According to a verbal communication to the Editor from Rudolph Hirsch
+
+66. P. xv of this edition. 67. P. xv of rhis edition.
+
+68. The original main ririe of the book was Philosophical Fragments.
+
+69. MHA: XI 6.65.
+
+70. Cf. "Reason and Self-Preservation," op. cit.
+
+71. Cf. "Zur Ideologic der Politik heute (Fragment)," in Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 12, op. cit., pp. 316ff. This text reads like a critique of a posirivistically abbre-
+
+viated reading of Pollock's theory of state capitalism.
+
+72. E.g., p. 131 of this edition. 73· P. 207 of this edition.
+
+74· Horkheimer, Adorno, "Rettung der Aufklarung. Diskussion tiber cine geplante Schrift zur Dialekrik" (1946), in Horkheimer, Gesammelte Schriften, Vol.
+
+12, op. cit., pp. 597-599· 75· Ibid., p. 6oo. 76. Ibid., p. 6o4. 77· Ibid., pp. 594, 598. 78. Ibid., p. 601. 79· Ibid., p. 6o2.
+
+So. Cf. The Editor's Afterword to Vols. 7 and 8 of Horkheimer's Gesammelte
+
+Schriften, in Vol. 8, esp. pp. 461-465.
+
+81. C£ e.g., "Kritische Theorie gestem und heute" (1969/72), in Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 8, Frankfurt am Main 1985, p. 353; "Pessimismus heute" (1971), in Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 7, Frankfurt am Main 1985, p. 232; "Das Schlirnme erwarten und doch das Gute versuchen. Gesprach mit Gerhard Rein" (1972/76),
+
+ibid., p. 467.
+
+82. P. 161 of this edition.
+
+83. Notizen 1950 bis 1969, Frankfurt am Main 1974, p. 12.
+
+84. MHA: VI 40.245 c. 85. MHA: VI 4.146. 86. MHA: V 118-3-
+
+87. Cf. Salmi's letter to Horkheimer of 5.7.1961 (MHA: V 61.21).
+
+88. MHA: v 61.13-14.
+
+89. Lerrer of 26.2.1962 (MHA: VI 4.181).
+
+90. Letter from Horkheimer to Solmi of 15.8.1962 (MHA.: V 61.1). In the Italian edition Salmi's name finally no longer appeared but was replaced by the
+
+pseudonym Lionello Vinci-deady a sign of distancing.
+
+91. My rhanks go to Furio Cerutti of Florence for this information.
+
+92. Nico Pasero, Rudolph Bauer, "Aufklarung auf Iralienisch," m Diskus.
+
+FrrmkfiJrter Studentenzeitung, Vol. 17, July 1967, p. 4·
+
+24. P. 210 of this edition. 25. P. 190 of this edition. 26. P. 185 of this edition.
+
+27. Ibid.
+
+28. P. 2 of this edition.
+
+29. Ibid.
+
+30. P. 29 of this edition.
+
+31. Pp. 43 and 6o of this edition.
+
+32. P. u8 of this edition.
+
+33· Pp. 100, 101, 104, and u8 of this edition.
+
+Huben Damisch, A Childhood Memory by Piero deliA Francesca Hubert Damisch, A Theory of/Cloud/: Toward a History of Painting Jean-Luc Nancy, The Speculative Remark: (One of Hegel's bon mots) Jean-Frant;:ois Lyotard, Soundproof Room: Malraux's Anti-Aesthetics
+
+Jan Patocka, Plato and Europe
+
+Hubert Damisch, Skyline: The Narcissistic City
+
+Isabel Hoving, In Praise ofNew Travelers: Reading Caribbean Migrant Wilmen Writers
+
+Richard Rand, ed., Futures: Of jacques Den-ida
+
+William Rasch, Niklas Luhmann's Modernity: The Paradoxes of Diff erentiation
+
+Jacques Derrida and Anne Dufourmamelle, Of Hospitality
+
+Jean-Frant;:ois Lyorard, The Confession of Augustine
+
+Kaja Silverman, World Spectators
+
+Samuel Weber, Institution and Interpretation: Expanded Edition
+
+Jeffrey S. Librett, The Rhetoric of Cultural Dialogue: jews and Germans in the
+
+Epoch of Emancipation
+
+Ulrich Baer, Remnants ofSong: Trauma and the Experience of Modernity in
+
+Charles Baudelaire and Paul Celan
+
+Samuel C. Wheeler III, Deconstruction as Analytic Philosophy David S. Ferris, Silent Urns: Romanticism, Hellenism, Modernity
+
+Rodolphe Gasche, Of Minimal Things: Studies on the Notion of Relation Sarah Wimer, Freud and the Institution of Psychoanalytic Knowledge
+
+Samuel Weber, The Legend of Freud: Expanded Edition
+
+Aris Fioretos, ed., The Solid Letter: Readings of Friedrich Holder/in
+
+J. Hillis Miller I Manuel Asensi, Black Holes I J Hillis Miller; or. Bou.strophedonic
+
+Reading
+
+Miryam Sas, Fault Lines: Cultural Memory and japanese Surrealism Peter Schwenger, Fantasm and Fiction: On Textual Envisioning Didier Maleuvre, Museum Memories: History, Technology. Art
+
+Jacques Derrida, Monolingualism of the Other; or. The Prosthesis of Origin Andrew Baruch Wachtel, Making a Nation, Breaking a Nation: Literature and
+
+Cultural Politics in Yugoslavia
+
+Niklas Luhmann, Love as Passion: The Codification of Intimacy
+
+Micke Bal, ed., The Practice ofCultura/Analysis: Exposing Interdisciplinary
+
+lnrerpretation
\ No newline at end of file
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diff --git a/lit-marker2/michel-foucault-discipline-and-punish/michel-foucault-discipline-and-punish.md b/lit-marker2/michel-foucault-discipline-and-punish/michel-foucault-discipline-and-punish.md
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+++ b/lit-marker2/michel-foucault-discipline-and-punish/michel-foucault-discipline-and-punish.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2685 @@
+Michel Foucault
+
+DISCIPLINE AND PUNISH
+
+Michel Foucault was born in Poitiers, France, in 1926. He lectured in universities throughout the world; served as the director at the Institut Fran<;ais in Hamburg, Germany, and at the Institute de Philosophie at the Faculte des Lettres in the University of Clermont-Ferrand, France; and wrote frequently for French newspapers and reviews. At the time of his death in 1984, he held a chair at France's most
+
+prestigious institution, the College de France.
+
+Michel Foucault
+
+DISCIPLINE AND PUNISH
+
+The Birth of the Prison
+
+Translated from the French
+
+by Alan Sheridan
+
+2.. Illegalities and delinquency
+
+3· The carceral
+
+Notes
+
+Bibliography
+
+List of Plates
+
+(between pages 169 and 170)
+
+1 Medal commemorating Louis XIV's first military revue in 1668.
+
+2 Handwriting model.
+
+J Plan of the Panopticon by J. Bentham, 1843·
+
+4 Plan for a penitentiary by N. Harou-Romain, 1840.
+
+The Maison centrale at Rennes in 1877.
+
+6 Interior of the penitentiary at Stateville, United States, twentieth
+
+century.
+
+7 Bedtime at the reformatory of Mettray.
+
+8 Lecture on the evils of alcoholism in the auditorium of Fresnes
+
+prison.
+
+9 Steam machine for the 'celeriferous' correction of young boys and
+
+girls.
+
+10 L'ortlzopedie ou !'art Je prevenir et de corriger dans les enfants les difformites du corps (Orthopaedics or the art of preventing and correcting deformities of the body in children) by N. Andry, 1749·
+
+Translator's Note
+
+Any closer translation of the French title of this book, Surveiller et punir, has proved unsatisfactory on various counts. To begin with, Foucault uses the infinitive, which, as here, may have the effect of an 'impersonal imperative'. Such a nuance is denied us in English. More seriously the verb 'surveiller' has no adequate English equivalent. Our noun 'surveillance' has an altogether too restricted and technical use. Jeremy Bentham used the term 'inspect' - whirh Foucault translates as 'surveiller' - but the range of connotations does not correspond. 'Supervise' is perhaps closest of all, but again the word has different associations. 'Observe' is rather too neutral, though Foucault is aware of the aggression involved in any one-sided observation. In the end Foucault himself suggested Discipline
+
+and Punish, which relates closely to the book's structure.
+
+Another problem was posed by the French word 'supplice', which heads the first part of the book. For the sake of brevity I have entitled this first part 'Torture', but no single English word will cover the full range of the French. Here 'supplice' refers specifically to the public torture and execution of criminals that provided one of the most popular spectacles of eighteenth-century France. By extension the word can also refer to any prolonged torture, mental as well as physical. Depending on the context, I have translated the word by 'torture', 'public execution' or 'scaffold'. The author also refers to another form of torture, 'Ia question', the extraction of confessions by interrogation and the systematic application of pain. Here I have followed the accepted translation, 'judicial torture'. References to other works are usually given not in footnotes but in an abbreviated form in the text itself. These references, in brackets, consist of the author's name and a page number; dates of publication are used to distinguish more than one work by an author, and roman numerals refer to volume numbers. Full references are to be found in the Bibliography.
+
+PART ONE
+
+Torture
+
+1. The body of the condemned
+
+On 2 March 17�7 Damiens the regicide was condemned 'to make the amende konorahle before the main door of the Church of Paris', where he was to be 'taken and conveyed in a cart, wearing nothing but a shirt, holding a torch of buming wax weighing two pounds'; then, 'in the said cart, to the Place de Greve, where, on a scaffold that will be erected there, the flesh will be tom from his breasts, arms, thighs and calves with red-hot pincers, his right hand, holding the knife with which he committed the said parricide, burnt with sulphur, and, on those places where the flesh will be tom away, poured molten lead, boiling oil, burning resin, wax and sulphur melted together and then his body drawn and quartered by four horses and his limbs and body consumed by fire, reduced to ashes and his ashes thrown to the winds' (Pieces originates ... ,37.1-4). 'Finally, he was quartered,' recounts the Gatette d' Amsterdam of 1 Aprilx7�7. 'This last operation was very long, because the horses used were not accustomed to drawing; consequently, instead of four, six were needed; and when that did not suffice, they were forced, in order to cut off the wretch's thighs, to sever the sinews
+
+and hack at the joints ...
+
+'It is said that, though he was always a great swearer, no blasphemy escaped his lips; but the excessive pain made him utter horrible cries, and he often repeated: "My God, have pity on me! Jesus, help me!" The spectators were all edified by the solicitude of the parish priest of St Paul's who despite his great age did not
+
+spare himself in offering consolation to the patient.'
+
+Bouton, an officer of the watch, left us his account: 'The sulphur was lit, but the flame was so poor that only the top skin of the hand was burnt, and that only slightly. Then the executioner, his sleeves rolled up, took the steel pincers, which had been especially made
+
+for \he occasion, and which were about a foot and a half long, and pulled first at the calf of the right leg, then at the thigh, and from there at the two fleshy parts of the right arm; then at the breasts. Though a strong, sturdy fellow, this executioner found it so difficult to tear away the pieces of flesh that he set about the same spot two or three times, twisting the pincers as he did so, and what he took away formed at each part a wound about the size of a six-pound crown
+
+piece.
+
+'After these tearings with the pincers, Damiens, who cried out profusely, though without swearing, raised his head and looked at himself; the same executioner dipped an iron spoon in the pot containing the boiling potion, which he poured liberally over each wound. Then the ropes that were to be harnessed to the horses were attached with cords to the patient's body; the horses were then harnessed and placed alongside the arms and legs, one at each
+
+limb.
+
+'Monsieur Le Breton, the clerk of the court, went up to the patient several times and asked him if he had anything to say. He said h� had not; at each torment, he cried out, as the damned in hell are supposed to cry out, "Pardon, my God! Pardon, Lord. " Despite all this pain, he raised his head from time to time and looked at himself boldly. The cords had been tied so tightly by the men who pulled the ends that they caused him indescribable pain. Monsieur le Breton went up to him again and asked him if he had anything to say; he said no. Several confessors went up to him and spoke to him at length; he willingly kissed the crucifix that was held out to him; he opened his lips and repeated: "Pardon, Lord. "
+
+'The horses tugged hard, each pulling straight on a limb, each horse held by an executioner. After a quarter of an hour, the same ceremony was repeated and finally, after several attempts, the direction of the horses had to be changed, thus: those at the arms were made to pull towards the head, those at the thighs towards the arms, which broke the arms at the joints. This was repeated several times without success. He raised his head and looked at himself. Two more horses had to be added to those harnessed to the thighs,
+
+which made six horses in all. Without success.
+
+'Finally, the executioner, Samson, said to Monsieur Le Breton that there was no way or hope of succeeding, and told him to ask
+
+their Lordships if they wished him to have the prisoner cut into pieces. Monsieur Le Breton, who had come down from the town, ordered that renewed efforts be made, and this was done; but the horses gave up and one of those harnessed to the thighs fell to the ground. The confessors returned and spoke to him again. He said to them (I heard him): "Kiss me, gentlemen." The parish priest of St Paul's did not dare to, so Monsieur de Marsilly slipped under the rope holding the left arm and kissed him on the forehead. The executioners gathered round and Damiens told them not to swear, to carry out their task and that he did not think ill of them; he begged them to pray to God for him, and asked the parish priest
+
+of St Paul's to pr�y for him at the first mass.
+
+'After two or three attempts, the executioner Samson and he who had used the pincers each drew out a knife from his pocket and cut the body at the thighs instead of severing the legs at the joints; the four horses gave a tug and carried off the two thighs after them, namely, that of the right side first, the other following; then the same was done to the arms, the shoulders, the arm-pits and the four limbs; the flesh had to be cut almost to the bone, the horses pulling hard carried off the right arm first and the other afterwards.
+
+'When the four limbs had been pulled away, the confessors came to speak to him; but his executioner told them that he was dead, though the truth was that I saw the man move, his lower jaw moving from side to side as if he were talking. One of the executioners even said shortly afterwards that when they had lifted the trunk to throw it on the stake, he was still alive. The four limbs were untied from the ropes and thrown on the stake set up in the enclosure in line with the scaffold, then the trunk and the rest were covered with logs and faggots, and fire was put to the straw mixed with this wood. ' ... In accordance with the decree, the whole was reduced to ashes. The last piece to be found in the embers was still burning at half-past ten in the evening. The pieces of flesh and the trunk had taken about four hours to burn. The officers of whom I was one, as also was my son, and a detachment of archers remained in the
+
+square until nearly eleven o'clock.
+
+'There were those who made something of the fact that a dog had lain the day before on the grass where the fire had been, had been chased away several times, and had always returned. But it is
+
+not difficult to understand that an animal found this place warmer
+
+than elsewhere' (quoted in Zevaes, l.OI-14)·
+
+Eighty years later, Leon Faucher drew up his rules 'for the House
+
+of young prisoners in Paris':
+
+'An. 17. The prisoners' day will begin at six in the morning in winter and at five in summer. They will work for nine hours a day throughout the year. Two hours a day will be devoted to instruction. Work and the day will end at nine o'clock in winter and at
+
+eight in summer.
+
+Art. r8. Rising. At the first drum-roll, the prisoners must rise and dress in silence, as the supervisor opens the cell doors. At the second drum-roll, they must be dressed and make their beds. At the third, they must line up and proceed to the chapel for morning prayer.
+
+There is a five-minute interval between each drum-roll.
+
+Art. 19. The prayers are conducted by the chaplain and followed by a moral or religious reading. This exercise must not last more
+
+than half an hour.
+
+Art. 2.0. Worlc. At a quarter to six in the summer, a quarter to seven in winter, the prisoners go down into the courtyard where they must wash their hands and faces, and receive their first ration of bread. Immediately afterwards, they form into work-teams and go off to work, which must begin at six in summer and seven in
+
+winter.
+
+Art. 2.1. Meal. At ten o'clock the prisoners leave their work and go to the refectory; they wash their hands in their courtyards and assemble in divisions. After the dinner, there is recreation until
+
+twenty minutes to eleven.
+
+Art. 2.2.. Sch.oo/. At twenty minutes to eleven, at the drum-roll, the prisoners form into ranks, and proceed in divisions to the school. The class lasts two hours and consists alternately of reading,
+
+writing, drawing and arithmetic.
+
+An. 2.3. At twenty minutes to one, the prisoners leave the school, in divisions, and return to their courtyards for recreation. At five minutes to one, at the drum-roll, they form into work-
+
+teams.
+
+An. 2.4. At one o'clock they must be back in the workshops: they
+
+Art. 2.5. At four o'clock the prisoners leave their workshops and go into the courtyards where they wash their hands and form into
+
+divisions for the refectory.
+
+Art. 2.6. "Supper and the recreation that follows it last until five
+
+o'clock: the prisoners then return to the workshops.
+
+Art. 2.7. At seven o'clock in the summer, at eight in winter, work stops; bread is distributed for the last time in the workshops. For a quarter of an hour one of the prisoners or supervisors reads a passage from some instructive or uplifting work. This is followed
+
+by evening prayer.
+
+Art. 2.8. At half-past seven in summer, half-past eight in winter, the prisoners must be back in their cells after the washing of hands and the inspection of clothes in the courtyard; at the first drum-roll, they must undress, and at the second get into bed. The cell doors are closed and the supervisors go the rounds in the corridors, to
+
+ensure order and silence' (Faucher, 2.74-82.).
+
+We have, then, a public execution and a time-table. They do not punish the same crimes or the same type of delinquent. But they each define a certain penal style. Less than a century separates them. It was a time when, in Europe and in the United States, the entire economy of punishment was redistributed. It was a time of great 'scandals' for traditional justice, a time of innumerable projects for reform. It saw a new theory of law and crime, a new moral or political justification of the right to punish; old laws were abolished, old customs died out. 'Modern' codes were planned or drawn up: Russia, 1769; Prussia, 1780; Pennsylvania and Tuscany, 1786; Austria, 1788; France, 1791, Year IV, 1808 and 1810. It was a new
+
+age for penal justice.
+
+Among so many changes, I shall consider one: the disappearance of torture as a public spectacle. Today we are rather inclined to ignore it; perhaps, in its time, it gave rise to too much inflated rhetoric; perhaps it has been attributed too readily and too emphatically to a process of 'humanization', thus dispensing with the need for further analysis. And, in any case, how important is such a change, when compared with the great institutional transformations, the formulation of explicit, general codes and unified rules of procedure; with the almost universal adoption of the jury system, the definition of
+
+the tssentially corrective character of the pen�lty and the tendency, which has become increasingly marked since the nineteenth century, to adapt punishment to the individual offender� Punishment of a less immediately physical kind, a certain discretion in the art of inflicting pain, a combination of more subtle, more subdued sufferings, deprived of their visible display, should not all this be treated as a special case, an incidental effect of deeper changes? And yet the fact remains that a few decades saw the disappearance of the tortured, dismembered, amputated body, symbolically branded on face or shoulder, exposed alive or dead to public view. The body as the
+
+major target of penal repression disappeared.
+
+By the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, the gloomy festival of punishment was dying out, though here and there it flickered momentarily into life. In this transformation, two processes were at work. They did not have quite the same
+
+chronology or the same raison d
+
+etre. The first was the disappearance
+
+of punishment as a spectacle. The ceremonial of punishment tended to decline; it survived only as a new legal or administrative practice. The amende lr.onorahle was first abolished in France in 1791, then again in 1830 after a brief revival; the pillory was abolished in France in 1789 and in England in 1837· The use of prisoners in public works, cleaning city streets or repairing the highways, was practi�d in Austria, Switzerland and certain of the United States, such as Pennsylvania. These convicts, distinguished by their 'infamous dress' and shaven heads, 'were brought before the public. The sport of the idle and the vicious, they often become incensed, and naturally took violent revenge upon the aggressors. To prevent them from returning injuries which might be inflicted on them, they were encumbered with iron collars and chains to which bombshells were attached, to be dragged along while they performed their degrading service, under the eyes of keepers armed with swords, blunderbusses and other weapons of destruction' (Roberts Vaux, Notices, 21, quoted in Teeters, 1937, 24). This practice was abolished practically everywhere at the end of the eighteenth or the beginning of the nineteenth century. The public exhibition of prisoners was maintained in France in I8J I, despite violent criticism- 'a disgusting scene', said Real (cf. Bibliography); it was finally abolished in April 1848. While the chain-gang, which had dragged convicts
+
+across the whole ofF ranee, as far as Brest and Toulon, was replaced in 1837 by inconspicuous black-painted cell-carts. Punishment had gradually ceased to be a spectacle. And whatever theatrical elements it still retained were now downgraded, as if the functions of the penal ceremony were gradually ceasing to be understood, as if this rite that 'concluded the crime' was suspected of being in some undesirable way linked with it. It was as if the punishment was thought to equal, if not to exceed, in savagery the crime itself, to accustom the spectators to a ferocity from which one wished to divert them, to show them the frequency of crime, to make the executioner resemble a criminal, judges murderers, to reverse roles at the last moment, to make the tortured criminal an object of pity or admiration. As early as 1764, Beccaria remarked: 'The murder that is depicted as a horrible crime is repeated in cold blood, remorselessly' (Beccaria, 101). The public execution is now seen as
+
+a hearth in which violence bursts again into flame.
+
+Punishment, then, will tend to become the most hidden part of the penal process. This has several consequences: it leaves the domain of more or less everyday perception and enters that of abstract consciousness; its effectiveness is seen as resulting from its inevitability, not from its visible intensity; it is the certainty of being punished and not the horrifying spectacle of public punishment that must discourage crime; the exemplary mechanics of punishment changes its mechanisms. As a result, justice no longer takes public responsibility for the violence that is bound up with its practice. If it too strikes, if it too kills, it is not as a glorification of its strength, but as an element of itself that it is obliged to tolerate, that it finds difficult to account for. The apportioning of blame is redistributed: in punishment-as-spectacle a confused horror spread from the scaffold; it enveloped both executioner and condemned; and, although it was always ready to invert the shame inflicted on the victim into pity or glory, it often turned the legal violence of the executioner into shame. Now the scandal and the light are to be distributed differently; it is the conviction itself that marks the offender with the unequivocally negative sign: the publicity has shifted to the trial, and to the sentence; the execution itself is like an additional shame that justice is ashamed to impose on the condemned man; so it keeps its distance from the act, tending always to
+
+entrllst it to others, under the seal of secrecy. It is ugly to be punishable, but there is no glory in punishing. Hence that double system of protection that justice has set up between itself and the punishment it imposes. Those who carry out the penalty tend to become an autonomous sector; justice is relieved of responsibility for it by a bureaucratic concealment of the penalty itself. It is typical that in F ranee the administration of the prisons should for so long have been the responsibility of the Ministry of the Interior, while responsibility for the bagnes, for penal servitude in the convict ships and penal settlements, lay with the Ministry of the Navy or the Ministry of the Colonies. And beyond this distribution of roles operates a theoretical disavowal: do not imagine that the sentences that we judges pass are activated by a desire to punish; they are intended to correct, reclaim, 'cure'; a technique of improvement represses, in the penalty, the strict expiation of evil-doing, and relieves the magistrates of the demeaning task of punishing. In modem justice and on the part of those who dispense it there is a shame in punishing, which does not always preclude zeal. This sense <;>f shame is constantly growing: the psychologists and the minor Civil servants of moral orthopaedics proliferate on the wound
+
+it leaves.
+
+The disappearance of public executions marks therefore the decline of the ·spectacle; but it also marks a slackening of the hold on the body. In 1787, in an address to the Society for Promoting Political Enquiries, Benjamin Rush remarked: 'I can only hope that the time is not far away when gallows, pillory, scaffold, flogging and wheel will, in the history of punishment, be regarded as the marks of the barbarity of centuries and of countries and as proofs of the feeble influence of reason and religion over the human mind' (Teeters, 1935, 30). Indeed, sixty years later, Van Meenen, opening the second penitentiary congress, in Brussels, recalled the time of his childhood as of a past age: 'I have seen the ground strewn with wheels, gibbets, gallows, pillories; I have seen hideously stretched skeletons on wheels' (Annales ·de Ia Cltaritl, 519-30). Branding had been abolished in England (1834) and in France (1832); in 18zo, England no longer dared to apply the full punishment reserved for traitors (Thistlewood was not quartered). Only flogging still remained in a number of penal systems (Russia, England, Prussia). But, generally
+
+speaking, pumuve practices had become more reticent. One no longer touched the body, or at least as little as possible, and then only to reach something other than the body itself. It might be objected that imprisonment, confinement, forced labour, penal servitude, prohibition from entering certain areas, deportation which have occupied so important a place in modern penal systemsare 'physical' penalties: unlike fines, for example, they directly affect the body. But the punishment-body relation is not the same as it was in the torture during public executions. The body now serves as an instrument or intermediary: if one intervenes upon it to imprison it, or to make it work, it is in order to deprive the individual of a liberty that is regarded both as a right and as property. The body, according to this penality, is caught up in a system of constraints and privations, obligations and prohibitions. Physical pain, the pain of the body itself, is no longer the constituent element of the penalty. From being an art of unbearable sensations punishment has become an economy of suspended rights. If it is still necessary for the law to reach and manipulate the body of the convict, it will be at a distance, in the proper way, according to strict rules, and with a much 'higher' aim. As a result of this new restraint, a whole army of technicians took over from the executioner, the immediate anatomist of pain: warders, doctors, chaplains, psychiatrists, psychologists, educationalists; by their very presence �ear the prisoner, they sing the praises that the law needs: they reassure it that the body and pain are not the ultimate objects of its punitive action. Today a doctor must watch over those condemned to death, right up to the last moment -thus juxtaposing himself as the agent of welfare, as the alleviator of pain, with the official whose task it is to end life. This is worth thinking about. When the moment of execution approaches, the patients are injected with tranquillizers. A utopia of judicial reticence: take away life, but prevent the patient from feeling it; deprive the prisoner of all rights, but do not inflict pain; impose penalties free of all pain. Recourse to psycho-pharmacology and to various physiological 'disconnectors', even if it is temporary, is a logical consequence of this 'non-corporal' penality. The modern rituals of execution attest to this double process: the disappearance of the spectacle and the elimination of pain. The same movement has affected the various European legal systems, each at
+
+its <1Wn rate: the same death for all-the execution no longer bears the specific mark of the crime or the social status of the criminal; a death that lasts only a moment -no torture must be added to it in advance, no further actions performed upon the corpse; an execution that affects life rather than the body. There are no longer any of those long processes in which death was both retarded by calculated interruptions and multiplied by a series of successive attacks. There are no longer any of those combinations of tortures that were organized for the killing of regicides, or of the kind advocated, at the beginning of the eighteenth century, by the anonymous author of Hanging not Punishment Enough (1701), by which the condemned man would be broken on the wheel, then flogged until he fainted, then hung up with chains, then finally left to die slowly of hunger. There are no longer any of those executions in which the condemned man was dragged along on a hurdle (to prevent his head smashing against the cobble-stones), in which his belly was opened up, his entrails quickly ripped out, so that he had time to see them, with his own eyes, being thrown on the fire; in which he was finally decapitated .. nd his body quartered.1 The reduction of these 'thousand deaths' to strict capital punishment defines a whole new morality
+
+concerning the act of punishing.
+
+As early as 176o, a hanging machine had been tried out in Englartd (for the execution of Lord Ferrer). It made use of a support, which opened under the feet of the condemned man, thus avoiding slow deaths and the altercations that occurred between victim and executioner. It was improved and finally adopted in 1783, the same year in which the traditional procession from Newgate to Tyburn was abolished, and in which the opportunity offered by the rebuilding of the prison, after the Gordon Riots, was used to set up the scaffolds in Newgate itself (see Hibbert, 85-,.6). The celebrated article 3 of the French Code of 1791 - 'Every man condemned to death will have his head cut off' -bears this triple signification: an equal death for all ('Crimes of the same kind will be punished by the same kind of punishment, whatever the rank and state of the guilty man may be,' in the words of the motion proposed by Guillotin and passed on 1 December 1789); one death per condemned man, obtained by a single blow, without recourse to those 'long and consequently cruel' methods of execution, such as the gallows,
+
+denounced by Le Peletier; lastly, punishment for the condemned man alone, since decapitation, the capital punishment of the nobility, was the least shaming for the criminal's family (Le Peletier, 720). The guillotine, first used in March 1792, was the perfect vehicle for these principles. Death was reduced to a visible, but instantaneous event. Contact between the law, or those who carry it out, and the body of the criminal, is reduced to a split second. There is no physical confrontation; the executioner need be no more than a meticulous watchmaker. 'Experience and reason demonstrate that the method used in the past to cut off the head of a criminal exposed him to a torture more frightful than the loss of life alone, which is the express intention of the law; the execution should therefore be carried out in a single moment and with a single blow; examples show how difficult it is to achieve this. For the method to work perfectly, it must necessarily depend on invariable mechanical means whose force and effect may also be determined ... It is an easy enough matter to have such an unfailing machine built; decapitation will be performed in a moment according to the intention of the new law. If this apparatus seems necessary, it will cause no sensation and will be scarcely noticed' (Saint-Edme, 161). The guillotine takes life almost without touching the body, just as prison deprives of liberty or a fine reduces wealth. It is intended tq apply the law not so much to a real body capable of feeling pain as to a juridical subject, the possessor, among other rights, of the right to
+
+exist. It had to have the abstraction of the law itself.
+
+No doubt something of the old public execution was, for a time, superimposed in F ranee on the sobriety of the new method. Parricides - and the regicides who were regarded as such - were led to the scaffold wearing a black veil; there, until 18)2, one of their hands was cut off. Thereafter, nothing remained but the ornamental crepe. Thus it was in the case of Fieschi, the would-be assassin of Louis-Philippe, in November 1836: 'He will be taken to the place of execution wearing a shirt, barefoot, his head covered with a black veil; he will be exhibited upon a scaffold while an usher reads the sentence to the people, and he will be immediately executed.' We should remember Damiens - and note that the last addition to penal death was a mourning veil. The condemned man was no longer to be seen. Only the reading of the sentence on the scaffold announced
+
+tht crime- and that crime must be faceless. (The more monstrous a criminal was, the more he must be deprived of light: he must not see, or be seen. This was a common enough notion at the time. For the parricide one should 'construct an iron cage or dig an impenetrable dungeon that would serve him as an eternal retreat' - De Molene, 2.75-7·) The last vestige of the great public execution was its annulment: a drapery to hide a body. Benoit, triply infamous (his mother's murderer, a homosexual, an assassin), was the first of the parricides not to have a hand cut off: 'As the sentence was being read, he stood on the scaffold supp0rted by the executioners. It was a horrible sight; wrapped in a large white shroud, his face covered with black crepe, the parricide escaped the gaze of the silent crowd, and beneath these mysterious and gloomy clothes, life was manifested only by frightful cries, which soon expired under the knife'
+
+(Ga'{\_ette des trihunaux, 30 August 18p).
+
+At the beginning of the nineteenth century, then, the great spectacle of physical punishment disappeared; the tortured body was avoided; the theatrical representation of pain was excluded from punis\l,ment. The age of sobriety in punishment had begun. By 1 83o-48, public executions, preceded by torture, had almost entirely disappeared. Of course, this generalization requires some qualification. To begin with, the changes did not come about at once or as part of a single process. There were delays. Paradoxically, England was one of the countries most loath to see the disappearance of the public execution: perhaps because of the role of model that the institution of the jury, public hearings and respect of habeas corpus had given to her criminal law; above all, no doubt, because she did not wish to diminish the rigour of her penal laws during the great social disturbances of the years 178o-182.o. For a long time Romilly, Mackintosh and Fowell Buxton failed in their attempts to attenuate the multiplicity and severity of the penalties laid down by English law -that 'horrible butchery', as Rossi described it. Its severity (in fact, the juries regarded the penalties laid down as excessive and were consequently more lenient in their application) had even increased: in 1700, Blackstone had listed 100 capital crimes in English legislation, while by 1819 there were 2.2.3. One should also take into account the advances and retreats that the process as a whole underwent between 1700 and 1840; the rapidity of reform
+
+in certain countries such as Austria, Russia, the United States, France under the Constituent Assembly, then the retreat at the time of the counter-revolutions in Europe and the great social fear of the years 1 82o-48; more or less temporary changes introduced by emergency courts or laws; the gap between the laws and the real practice of the courts (which was by no means a faithful reflection of the state of legislation). All these factors account for the irregularity of the transformation that occurred at the turn of the century. It should be added that, although most of the changes had been achieved by 1840, although the mechanisms of punishment had by then assumed their new way of functioning, the process was far from complete. The reduction in the use of torture was a tendency that was rooted in the great transformation of the years 176o-1 84o, but it did not end there; it can be said that the practice of the public execution haunted our penal system for a long time and still haunts it today. In France, the guillotine, that machine for the production of rapid and discreet deaths, represented a new ethic of legal death. But the Revolution had immediately endowed it with a great theatrical ritual. For years it provided a spectacle. It had to be removed to the Barriere Saint-Jacques; the open cart was replaced by a closed carriage; the condemned man was hustled from the vehicle straight to the scaffold; hasty executions were organized at unexpected times. In the end, the guillotine had to be placed inside prison wa'lls and made inaccessible to the public (after the execution of Weidmann in 1939), by blocking the streets leading to the prison in which the scaffold was hidden, and in which the execution would take place in secret (the execution of Buffet and Bontemps at the Sante in 1972). Witnesses who described the scene could even be prosecuted, thereby ensuring that the execution should cease to be a spectacle and remain a strange secret between the law and those it condemns. One has only to point out so many precautions to realize that capital punishment remains fundamentally, even today, a spectacle that
+
+must actually be forbidden.
+
+Similarly, the hold on the body did not entirely disappear in the mid-nineteenth century. Punishment had no doubt ceased to be centred on torture as a technique of pain; it assumed as its principal object loss of wealth or rights. But a punishment like forced labour or even imprisonment - mere loss of liberty -has never functioned
+
+without a certain additional element of punishment that certainly concerns the body itself: rationing of food, sexual deprivation, corporal punishment, solitary confinement. Are these the unintentional, but inevitable, consequence of imprisonment? In fact, in its most explicit practices, imprisonment has always involved a certain degree of physical pain. The criticism that was often levelled at the penitentiary system in the early nineteenth century (imprisonment is not a sufficient punishment: prisoners are less hungry, less cold, less deprived in general than many poor people or even workers) suggests a postulate that was never explicitly denied: it is just that a condemned man should suffer physically more than other men. It is difficult to dissociate punishment from additional physical pain.
+
+What would a non-corporal punishment be?
+
+There remains, therefore, a trace of 'torture' in the modern mechanisms of criminal justice - a trace that has not been entirely overcome, but which is enveloped, increasingly, by the non-corporal
+
+nature of the penal system.
+
+The reduction in penal severity in the last 200 years is a phenomenon with which legal historians are well acquainted. But, for a long time, it has been regarded in an overall way as a quantitative phenomenon: less cruelty, less pain, more kindness, more respect, more 'humanity'. In fact, these changes are accompanied by a displacement in the very object of the punitive operation. Is there a diminution of intensity? Perhaps. There is certainly a change of
+
+objective.
+
+If the penality in its most severe forms no longer addresses itself to the body, on what does it lay hold? The answer of the theoreticians - those who, about 176o, opened up a new period that is not yet at an end - is simple, almost obvious. It seems to be contained in the question itself: since it is no longer the body, it must be the soul. The expiation that once rained down upon the body must be replaced by a punishment that acts in depth on the heart, the thoughts, the will, the inclinations. Mably formulated the principle once and for all: 'Punishment, if I may so put it, should strike the
+
+soul rather than the body' (Mably, )26).
+
+It was an important moment. The old partners of the spectacle of punishment, the body and the blood, gave way. A new character
+
+came on the s�ene, masked. It was the end of a certain kind of tragedy; comedy began, with shadow play, faceless voices, impalpable entities. The apparatus of punitive justice must now bite into
+
+this bodiless reality.
+
+Is this any more than a mere theoretical assertion, contradicted by penal practice? Such a conclusion would be over-hasty. It is true that, today, to punish is not simply a matter of converting a soul; but Mably's principle has not remained a pious wish. Its effects can
+
+be felt throughout modern penality.
+
+To begin with, there is a substitution of objects. By this I do not mean that one has suddenly set about punishing other crimes. No doubt the definition of offences, the hierarchy of their seriousness, the margins of indulgence, what was tolerated in fact and what was legally permitted - all this has considerably changed over the last 200 years; many crimes have ceased to be so because they were bound up with a certain exercise of religious authority or a particular type of economic activity; blasphemy has lost its status as a crime; smuggling and domestic larceny some of their seriousness. But these displacements are perhaps not the most important fact: the division between the permitted and the forbidden has preserved a certain constancy from one century to another. On the other hand, 'crime', the object with which penal practice is concerned, has profoundly altered: the quality, the nature, in a sense the substance of which the punishable element is made, rather than its formal definition. Undercover of the relative stability of the law, a mass of subtle and rapid changes has occurred. Certainly the 'crimes' and 'offences' on which judgement is passed are juridical objects defined by the code, but judgement is also passed on the passions, instincts, anomalies, infirmities, maladjustments, effects of environment or heredity; acts of aggression are punished, so also, through them, is aggressivity; rape, but at the same time perversions; murders, but also drives and desires. But, it will be objected, judgement is not actually being passed on them; if they are referred to at all it is to explain the actions in question, and to determine to what extent the the subject's will was involved in the crime. This is no answer. For it is these shadows lurking behind the case itself that are judged and punished. They are judged indirectly as 'attenuating circumstances' that introduce into the verdict not only 'circumstantial' evidence,
+
+but .something quite different, which is not juridically codifiable: the knowledge of the criminal, one's estimation of him, what is known about the relations between him, his past and his crime, and what might be expected of him in the future. They are also judged by the interplay .of all those notions that have circulated between medicine and jurisprudence since the nineteenth century (the 'monsters' of Georget's times, Chaumie's 'psychical anomalies', the 'perverts' and 'maladjusted' of our own experts) and which, behind the pretext of explaining an action, are ways of defining an individual. They are punished by means of a punishment that has the function of making the offender 'not only desirous, but also capable, of living within the law and of providing for his own needs'; they are punished by the internal economy of a penalty which, while intended to punish the crime, may be altered (shortened or, in certain cases, extended) according to changes in the prisoner's behaviour; and they are punished by the 'security measures' that accompany the penalty (prohibition of entering certain areas, probation, obligatory medical treatment), and which are intended not to punish the offence, but to supervise the individual, to neutralize his dangerous state of mind, to alter his criminal tendencies, and to continue even when this change has been achieved. The criminal's soul is not referred to in the trial merely to explain his crime and as a factor in the juridical apportioning of responsibility; if it is brought before the court, with such pomp and circumstance, such concern to understand and such 'scientific' application, it is because it too, as well as the crime itself, is to be judged and to share in the punishment. Throughout the penal ritual, from the preliminary investigation to the sentence and the final effects of the penalty, a domain has been penetrated by objects that not only duplicate, but also dissociate the juridically defined and coded objects. Psychiatric expertise, but also in a more general way criminal anthropology and the repetitive discourse of criminology, find one of their precise functions here: by solemnly inscribing offences in the field of objects susceptible of scientific knowledge, they provide the mechanisms of legal punishment with a justifiable hold not only on offences, but on individuals; not only on what they do, but also on what they are, will be, may be. The additional factor of the offender's soul, which the legal system has laid hold of, is only apparently explanatory
+
+and limitative, and is in fact expansionist. During the 150 or 2.00 years that Europe has been setting up its new penal systems, the judges have gradually, by means of a process that goes back very far indeed, taken to judging something other than crimes, namely, the
+
+'soul' of the criminal.
+
+And, by that very fact, they have begun to do something other than pass judgement. Or, to be more precise, within the very judicial modality of judgement, other types of assessment have slipped in, profoundly altering its rules of elaboration. Ever since the Middle Ages slowly and painfully built up the great procedure of investigation, to judge was to establish the truth of a crime, it was to determine its author and to apply a legal punishment. Knowledge of the offence, knowledge of the offender, knowledge of the law: these three conditions made it possible to ground a judgement in truth. But now a quite different question of truth is inscribed in the course of the penal judgement. The question is no longer simply: 'Has the act been established and is it punishable?' But also: 'What is this act, what is this act of violence or this murder? To what level or to what field of reality does it belong? Is it a phantasy, a psychotic reaction, a delusional episode, a perverse action?' It is no longer simply: 'Who committed it?' But: 'How can we assign the causal process that produced it? Where did it originate in the author himself? I�stinct, unconscious, environment, heredity?' It is no longer simply: 'What law punishes this offence?' But: 'What would be the most appropriate measures to take? How do we see the future development of the offender? What would be the best way of rehabilitating him?' A whole set of assessing, diagnostic, prognostic, normative judgements concerning the criminal have become lodged in the framework of penal judgement. Another truth has penetrated the truth that was required by the legal machinery; a truth which, entangled with the first, has turned the assertion of guilt into a strange scientifico-juridical complex. A significant fact is the way in which the question of madness has evolved in penal practice. According to the 1810 code, madness was dealt with only in terms of article 64. Now this article states that there is neither crime nor offence if the offender was of unsound mind at the time of the act. The possibility of ascertaining madness was, therefore, a quite separate matter from the definition of an act as a crime; the gravity of the act was not
+
+alteted by the fact that its author was insane, nor the punishment reduced as a consequence; the crime itself disappeared. It was impossible, therefore, to declare that someone was both guilty and mad; once the diagnosis of madness had been accepted, it could not be included in the judgement; it interrupted the procedure and loosened the hold of the law on the author of the act. Not onl� the examination of the criminal suspected of insanity, but the very effects of this examination had to be external and anterior to the sentence. But, very soon, the courts of the nineteenth century began to misunderstand the meaning of article 64. Despite several decisions of the supreme court of appeal confirming that insanity could not result either in a light penalty, or even in an acquittal, but required that the case be dismissed, the ordinary courts continued to bring the question of insanity to bear on their verdicts. They accepted that one could be both guilty and mad; less guilty the madder one was; guilty certainly, but someone to be put away and treated rather than punished; not only a guilty man, but also dangerous, since quite obviously sick, etc. From the point of view of the penal code, the res,ult was a mass of juridical absurdities. But this was the starting point of an evolution that jurisprudence and legislation itself was to precipitate in the course of the next I 50 years: already the reform of 18p., introducing attenuating circumstances, made it possible to modify the sentence according to the supposed degrees of an illness or the forms of a semi-insanity. And the practice of calling on psychiatric expertise, which is widespread in the assize courts and sometimes extended to courts of summary jurisdiction, means that the sentence, even if it is always formulated in terms of legal punishment, implies, more or less obscurely, judgements of normality, attributions of causality, assessments of possible changes, anticipations as to the offender's future. It would be wrong to say that all these operations give substance to a judgement from the outside; they are directly integrated in the process of forming the sentence. Instead of insanity eliminating the crime according to the original meaning of article 64, every crime and even every offence now carries within it, as a legitimate suspicion, but also as a right that may be claimed, the hypothesis of insanity, in any case of anomaly. And the sentence that condemns or acquits is not simply a judgement of guilt, a legal decision that lays down punishment; it bears within it
+
+an assessment of normality and a technical prescription for a possible normalization. Today the judge-magistrate or juror-certainly does
+
+more than 'judge'.
+
+And he is not alone in judging. Throughout the penal procedure and the implementation of the sentence there swarms a whole series of subsidiary authorities. Small-scale legal systems and parallel judges have multiplied around the principal judgement: psychiatric or psychological experts, magistrates concerned with the implementation of sentences, educationalists, members of the prison service, all fragment the legal power to punish; it might be objected that none of them really shares the right to judge; that some, after sentence is passed, have no other right than to implement the punishment laid down by the court and, above all, that others - the experts - intervene before the sentence not to pass judgement, but to assist the judges in their decision. But as soon as the penalties and the security measures defined by the court are not absolutely determined, from the moment they may be modified along the way, from the moment one leaves to others than the judges of the offence the task of deciding whether the condemned man 'deserves' to be placed in semi-liberty or conditional liberty, whether they may bring his penal tutelage to an end, one is handing over to them mechanisms of legal punishment to be used at their discretion: subsidiary judges they may be, but they are judges all the' same. The whole machinery that has been developing for years around the implementation of sentences, and their adjustment to individuals, creates a proliferation of the authorities of judicial decision-making and extends its powers of decision well beyond the sentence. The psychiatric experts, for their part, may well refrain from judging. Let us examine the three questions to which, since the 1958 ruling, they have to address themselves: Does the convicted person represent a danger to society? Is he susceptible to penal punishment? Is he curable or readjustable? These questions have nothing to do with article 64, nor with the possible insanity of the convicted person at the moment of the act. They do not concern 'responsibility'. They concern nothing but the administration of the penalty, its necessity, its usefulness, its possible effectiveness; they make it possible to show, in an almost transparent vocabulary, whether the mental hospital would be a more suitable place of confinement than the prison,
+
+whother this confinement should be short or long, whether medical treatment or security measures are called for. What, then, is the role of the psychiatrist in penal matters? He is not an expert in responsibility, but an adviser on punishment; it is up to him to say whether the subject is 'dangerous', in what way one should be protected from him, how one should intervene to alter him, whether it would be better to try to force him into submission or to treat him. At the very beginning of its history, psychiatric expertise was called upon to formulate 'true' propositions as to the part that the liberty of the offender had played in the act he had committed; it is now called upon to suggest a prescription for what might be called his 'medico-
+
+judicial treatment'.
+
+To sum up, ever since the new penal system - that defined by the great codes of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries - has been in operation, a general process has led judges to judge something other than crimes; they have been led in their sentences to do something other than judge; and the power of judging has been transferred, in part, to other authorities than the judges of the offence. The whole penal operation has taken on extra-juridical elements and personnel. It will be said that there is nothing extraordinary in this, that it is part of the destiny of the law to absorb little by little elements that are alien to it. But what is odd about modern criminal justice· is that, although it has taken on so many extra-juridical elements, it has done so not in order to be able to define them juridically and ,gradually to integrate them into the actual power to punish: on the contrary, it has done so in order to make them function within the penal operation as non-juridical elements; in order to stop this operation being simply a legal punishment; in order to exculpate the judge from being purely and simply he who punishes. 'Of course, we pass sentence, but this sentence is not in direct ·relation to the crime. It is quite clear that for us it functions as a way of treating a criminal. We punish, but this is a way of saying that we wish to obtain a cure.' Today, criminal justice functions and justifies itself only by this perpetual reference to something other than itself, by this unceasing reinscription in non-juridical systems.
+
+Its fate is to be redefined by knowledge.
+
+Beneath the increasing leniency of punishment, then, one may map a displacement of its point of application; and through this
+
+displacement, a whole field of recent objects, a whole new system of truth and a mass of roles hitherto unknown in the exercise of criminal justice. A corpus of knowledge, techniques, 'scientific' discourses is formed and becomes entangled with the practice of the power to
+
+punish.
+
+This book is intended as a correlative history of the modem soul and of a new power to judge; a genealogy of the present scientificolegal complex from which the power to punish derives its bases, justifications and rules, from which it extends its effects and by which
+
+it masks its exorbitant singularity.
+
+But from what point can such a history of the modern soul on trial be written? If one confined oneself to the evolution of legislation or of penal procedures, one would run the risk of allowing a change in the collective sensibility, an increase in humanization or the development of the human sciences to emerge as a massive, external, inert and primary fact. By studying only the general social forms, as Durkheim did (cf. Bibliography), one runs the risk of positing as the principle of greater leniency in punishment processes of individualization that are rather one of the effects of the new tactics of power, among which are to be included the new penal
+
+mechanisms. This study obeys four general rules:
+
+1. Do not concentrate the study of the punitive mechanisms on their 'repressive' effects alone, on their 'punishment' aspects alone, but situate them in a whole series of their possible positive effects, even if these seem marginal at first sight. As a consequence, regard
+
+punishment as a complex social function.
+
+2.. Analyse punitive methods not simply as consequences of legislation or as indicators of social structures, but as techniques possessing their own specificity in the more general field of other ways of exercising power. Regard punishment as a political tactic. 3· Instead of treating the history of penal law and the history of the human sciences as two separate series whose overlapping appears to have had on one or the other, or perhaps on both, a disturbing or useful effect, according to one's point of view, see whether there is not some common matrix or whether they do not both derive from a single process of 'epistemologico-juridical' formation; in short, make the technology of power the very principle both of the humanization of the penal system and of the knowledge of man.
+
+4i Try to discover whether this entry of the soul on to the scene of penal justice, and with it the insertion in legal practice of a whole corpus of 'scientific' knowledge, is not the effect of a transformation of the way in which the body itself is invested by power relations. In short, try to study the metamorphosis of punitive methods on the basis of a political technology of the body in which might be read a common history of power relations and object relations. Thus, by an analysis of penal leniency as a technique of power, one might understand both how man, the soul, the normal or abnormal individual have come to duplicate crime as objects of penal intervention; and in what way a specific mode of subjection was able to give birth to man as an object of knowledge for a dis-
+
+course with a 'scientific' status.
+
+But I am not claiming to be the first to have worked in this
+
+direction. z
+
+Rusche and Kirchheimer's great work, Punishment and Social Structures, provides a number of essential reference points. We must first rid ourselves of the illusion that penality is above all (if not exclusively) a means of reducing crime and that, in this role, according to the social forms, the political systems or beliefs, it may be severe or lenient, tend towards expiation of obtaining redress, towards ,the pursuit of individuals or the attribution of collective responsibility. We must analyse rather the 'concrete systems of punishment', study them as social phenomena that cannot be accounted for by the juridical structure of society alone, nor by its fundamental ethical choices; we must situate them in their field of operation, in which the punishment of crime is not the sole element; we must show that punitive measures are not simply 'negative' mechanisms that make it possible to repress, to prevent, to exclude, to eliminate; but that they are linked to a whole series of positive and useful effects which it is their task to support (and, in this sense, although legal punishment is carried out in order to punish offences, one might say that the definition of offences and their prosecution are carried out in turn in order to maintain the punitive mechanisms and their functions). From this point of view, Rusche and Kirchheimer relate the different systems of punishment with the systems of production within which they operate: thus, in a slave economy,
+
+punitive mechanisms serve to provide an additional labour force and to constitute a body of'civil' slaves in addition to those provided by war or trading; with feudalism, at a time when money and production were still at an early stage of development, we find a sudden increase in corporal punishments - the body being in most cases the only property accessible; the penitentiary (the Hopital General, the Spinhuis or the Rasphuis), forced labour and the prison factory appear with the development of the mercantile economy. But the industrial system requires a free market in labour and, in the nineteenth century, the role of forced labour in the mechanisms of punishment diminishes accordingly and 'corrective' detention takes its place. There are no doubt a number of observations to be made
+
+about such a strict correlation.
+
+But we can surely accept the general proposition that, in our societies, the systems of punishment are to be situated in a certain 'political economy' of the body: even if they do not make use of violent or bloody punishment, even when they use 'lenient' methods involving confinement or correction, it is always the body that is at issue - the body and its forces, their utility and their docility, their distribution and their submission. It is certainly legitimate to write a history of punishment against the background of moral ideas or legal structures. But can one write such a history against the background of a history of bodies, when such systems of punishment claim to have only the secret souls of criminals as their objective? Historians long ago began to write the history of the body. They have studied the body in the field of historical demography or pathology; they have considered it as the seat of needs and appetites, as the locus of physiological processes and metabolisms, as a target for the attacks of germs or viruses; they have shown to what extent historical processes were involved in what might seem to be the purely biological base of existence; and what place should be given in the history of society to biological 'events' such as the circulation of bacilli, or the extension of the life-span (cf. Le Roy-Ladurie). But the body is also directly involved in a political field; power relations have an immediate hold upon it; they invest it, mark it, train it, torture it, force it to carry out tasks, to perform ceremonies, to emit signs. This political investment of the body is bound up, in accordance with complex reciprocal relations, with its economic
+
+use;dt is largely as a force of production that the body is invested with relations of power and domination; but, on the other hand, its constitution as labour power is possible only if it is caught up in a system of subjection (in which need is also a political instrument meticulously prepared, calculated and used); the body becomes a useful force only if it is both a productive body and a subjected body. This subjection is not only obtained by the instruments of violence or ideology; it can also be direct, physical, pitting force against force, bearing on material elements, and yet without involving violence; it may be calculated, organized, technically thought out; it may be subtle, make use neither of weapons nor of terror and yet remain of a physical order. That is to say, there may be a 'knowledge' of the body that is not exactly the science of its functioning, and a mastery of its forces that is more than the ability to conquer them: this knowledge and this mastery constitute what might be called the political technology of the body. Of course, this technology is diffuse, rarely formulated in continuous, systematic discourse; it is often made up of bits and pieces; it implements a disparate set of tools or methods. In spite of the coherence of its results, it is Igenerally no more than a multiform instrumentation. Moreover, it cannot be localized in a particular type of institution or state apparatus. For they have recourse to it; they use, select or impose certain of its methods. But, in its mechanisms and its effects, it is situated at a quite different level. What the apparatuses and institutions operate is, in a sense, a micro-physics of power, whose field of validity is situated in a sense between these great functionings and the bodies themselves with their materiality and their forces. Now, the study of this micro-physics presupposes that the power exercised on the body is conceived not as a property, but as a strategy, that its effects of domination are attributed not to 'appropriation', but to dispositions, manoeuvres, tactics, techniques, functionings; that one should decipher in it a network of relations, constantly in tension, in activity, rather than a privilege that one might possess; that one should take as its model a perpetual battle rather than a contract regulating a transaction or the conquest of a territory. In short this power is exercised rather than possessed; it is not the 'privilege', acquired or preserved, of the dominant class, but the overall effect of its strategic positions - an effect that
+
+is manifested and sometimes extended by the position of those who are dominated. Furthermore, this power is not exercised simply as an obligation or a prohibition on those who 'do not have it'; it invests them, is transmitted by them and through them; it exerts pressure upon them, just as they themselves, in their struggle against it, resist the grip it has on them. This means that these relations go right down into the depths of society, that they are not localized in the relations between the state and its citizens or on the frontier between classes and that they do not merely reproduce, at the level of individuals, bodies, gestures and behaviour, the general form of the law or government; that, although there is continuity (they are indeed articulated on this form through a whole series of complex mechanisms), there is neither analogy nor homology, but a specificity of mechanism and modality. Lastly, they are not univocal; they define innumerable points of confrontation, focuses of instability, each of which has its own risks of conflict, of struggles, and of an at least temporary inversion of the power relations. The overthrow of these 'micro-powers' does not, then, obey the law of all or nothing; it is not acquired once and for all by a new control of the apparatuses nor by a new functioning or a destruction of the institutions; on the other hand, none of its localized episodes may be inscribed in history except by the effects that it induces on the entire
+
+network in which it is caught up.
+
+Perhaps, too, we should abandon a whole tradition that allows us to imagine that knowledge can exist only where the power relations are suspended and that knowledge can develop only outside its injunctions, its demands and its interests. Perhaps we should abandon the belief that power makes mad and that, by the same token, the renunciation of power is one of the conditions of knowledge. We should admit rather that power produces knowledge (and not simply by encouraging it because it serves power or by applying it because it is useful); that power and knowledge directly imply one another; that there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations. These 'power-knowledge relations' are to be analysed, therefore, not on the basis of a subject of knowledge who is or is not free in relation to the power system, but, on the contrary, the subject who
+
+kn3
+
+It was not so much, or not only, the privileges of justice, its arbitrariness, its archaic arrogance, its uncontrolled rights that were criticized; but rather the mixture of its weaknesses and excesses, its exaggerations and its loopholes, and above all the very principle of this mixture, the 'super-power' of the monarch. The true objective of the reform movement, even in its most general formulations, was not so much to establish a new right to punish based on more equitable principles, as to set up a new 'economy' of the power to punish, to assure its better distribution, so that it should be neither too concentrated at certain privileged points, nor too divided between opposing authorities; so that it should be distributed in homogeneous circuits capable of operating everywhere, in a continuous way, down to the finest grain of the social body.• The reform of criminal law must be read as a strategy for the rearrangement of the power to punish, according to modalities that render it more regular, more effective, more constant and more detailed in its effects; in short, which increase its effects while diminishing its
+
+economic cost (that is to say, by dissociating it from the system of property, of buying and selling, of corruption in obtaining not only offices, but the decisions themselves) and its political cost (by dissociating it from the arbitrariness of monarchical power). The new juridical theory of penality corresponds in fact to a new 'political economy' of the power to punish. This explains why the 'reform' did not have a single origin. It was not the more enlightened members of the public, nor the philosophes, who regarded themselves as enemies of despotism and friends of mankind; it was not even the social groups opposed to the parlementaires who instigated the reform. Or rather it was not they alone; in this same overall project of a new distribution of the power to punish, and of a new distribution of its effects, many different interests came together. The reform was not prepared outside the legal machinery and against all its representatives; it was prepared, for the most part, from within, by a large number of magistrates and on the basis of shared objectives and the power conflicts that divided them. Certainly the reformers did not form a majority of the magistrates; but it was a body of lawyers who outlined its general principles: a power to judge that would not be affected by the immediate exercise of the prince's sovereignty; that would be relieved of any claim to legislate; that would be detached from property relations; and which, hav,ing no other functions but to judge, would exercise that power to the full. In short, the power to judge should no longer depend on the innumerable, discontinuous, sometimes contradictory privileges of sovereignty, but on the continuously distributed effects of public power. This general principle defined an overall strategy that covered many different struggles. Those of philosophers like Voltaire and of publicists like Brissot or Marat; but also those of magistrates whose interests were nevertheless very diverse: Le Trosne, a judge at the presidia! court of Orleans, and Lacretelle, the advocate-general at the parlement; Target, who with the parlements was opposed to Maupeou's reform; but also J. N. Moreau, who supported the royal power against the parlementaires; Servan and Dupaty, both magistrates, but in conflict with their colleagues, etc. Throughout the eighteenth century, inside and outside the legal apparatus, in both everyday penal practice and the criticism of institutions, one sees the emergence of a new strategy for the
+
+exefcise of the power to punish. And 'reform', in the strict sense, as it was formulated in the theories of law or as it was outlined in the various projects, , was the political or philosophical resumption of thi� strategy, with its primary objectives: to make of the punishment and repression of illegalities a regular function, coextensive with society; not to punish less, but to punish better; to punish with an attenuated severity perhaps, but in order to punish with more universality and necessity; to insert the power to punish more deeply
+
+into the social body.
+
+The conjuncture that saw the birth of reform is not, therefore, that of a new sensibility, but that of another policy with regard to
+
+illegalities.
+
+Roughly speaking, one might say that, under the Ancien Regime each of the different social strata had its margin of tolerated illegality: the non-application of the rule, the non-observance of the innumerable edicts or ordinances were a condition of the political and economic functioning of society. This feature may not have been peculiar to the Ancien Regime. But illegality was so deeply rooted and so necessary to the life of each social stratum, that it had in a sense its own coherence and economy. Sometimes it took on an absolutely statutory form - as with the privileges accorded certain individuals and groups - which made it not so much an illegality as a regular exemption. Sometimes it took the form of a massive general non-observance, which meant that for decades, sometimes for centuries, ordinances could be published and constantly renewed without ever being implemented. Sometimes it was a matter of laws gradually falling into abeyance, then suddenly being reactivated; sometimes of silent consent on the part of the authorities, neglect, or quite simply the actual impossibility of imposing the law and apprehending offenders. The least-favoured strata of the population did not have, in principle, any privileges: but they benefited, within the margins of what was imposed on them by law and custom, from a space of tolerance, gained by force or obstinacy; and this space was for them so indispensable a condition of existence that they were often ready to rise up to defend it; the attempts that were made periodically to reduce it, by reviving old laws or by improving the methods of apprehending, provoked popular distlK'bances, just as
+
+attempts to reduce certain privileges disturbed the nobility, the
+
+clergy and the bourgeoisie.
+
+This necessary illegality, of which every social stratum bore within itself specific forms, was caught up in a series of paradoxes. In its lower regions, it was identified with criminality, from which it was difficult to distinguish it juridically, if nc;>t morally: from fiscal illegality to customs illegality, to smuggling, to looting, to the armed struggle against the government's taxation agents, then against the soldiers themselves and, finally, to rebellion, there was a continuity, in which it was difficult to mark the frontiers; or, again, vagabondage (severely punished according to the terms of ordinances that were never implemented) with the pillage, aggravated theft, even murder that went with it, provided a welcome environment to the unemployed, to workers who had left their employers in irregular circumstances, to domestic servants who had some reason to flee their masters, to ill-treated apprentices, to deserting soldiers, to all those who wished to escape the press-gang. So criminality merged into a wider illegality, to which the lower strata were attached as to conditions of existence; and, conversely, this illegality was a perpetual factor in the increase of crime. Hence an ambiguity in popular attitudes: on the one hand, the criminal especially when he happened to be a smuggler or a peasant who had fled from the exactions of a master - benefited from a spont�neous wave of sympathy: his acts of violence were seen as descending directly from old struggles. On the other hand, a man who, under cover of an illegality accepted by the population, committed crimes at the expense of this population, the vagrant beggar, for example, who robbed and murdered, easily became the object of a special hate: he had redirected upon the least favoured illegality that was integral to their conditions of existence. Thus there grew up around crimes a network of glorification and blame; effective help and fear alternated with regard to this shifting population, which one knew was very near, but from which one felt that crime could emerge. Popular illegality enveloped a whole nucleus of criminality that was
+
+both its extreme form and its internal danger.
+
+Between this illegality of the depths and those of the other social castes, there was neither an exact convergence nor a profound opposition. Generally speaking, the different illegalities proper to each
+
+grqup maintained relations with one another that involved not only rivalry, competition and conflicts of interest, but also mutual help and complicity: the peasants' refusal to pay certain state or ecclesiastical rents was not necessarily disapproved of by the landowners; the non-application by artisans of manufacturing regulations was often encouraged by the new entrepreneurs; smuggling - the story of Mandrin, welcomed by the entire population, received in castles and protected by parlementaires proves this - was very widely supported. At most, one had seen in the seventeenth century the different fiscal refusals coalesce in serious revolts among widely separated social strata. In short, the reciprocal interplay of illegalities formed part of the political and economic life of society. Or rather, a number of transformations (the abeyance into which Colbert's regulations had fallen, for example, the non-observance of customs barriers within the kingdom, the breakdown of guild practices) had operated in the breach that was being widened every day by popular illegality; the bourgeoisie had needed these transformations; and economic growth was due, in part, to them.
+
+Tolerance then became encouragement.
+
+In the second half of the eighteenth century, the process tended to be reversed. First, with the general increase in wealth, but also with the sudden demographic expansion, the principal target of popular illegality tended to be not so much rights, as goods: pilfering and theft tended to replace smuggling and the armed struggle against the tax agents. And, in this respect, the peasants, farmers and artisans were often its principal victims. Le Trosne was no doubt exaggerating a real tendency when he described the peasants' suffering under the exactions of vagabonds, even more than they had suffered under feudal demands: thieves now attacked them like a cloud of maleficent insects, devouring crops and depleting the granaries (Le Trosne, 1764, 4). It might be said that gradually in the eighteenth century a crisis of popular illegality had occurred; and neither the movements at the beginning of the Revolution (around the refusal of seigniorial rights), nor those later movements, in which the struggle against property rights, political and religious protests and the refusal of conscription came together, recombined illegality in its old, welcoming form. Furthermore, although a large part of the bourgeoisie had accepted, without too much trouble,
+
+the illegality of rights, it found it difficult to support illegality when it was a question of its own property rights. Nothing could be more typical of this than the problem of peasant delinquency at the end of the eighteenth century and especially after the Revolution (Berce, r6r). The transition to an intensive agriculture exercised, over the rights to use common lands, over various tolerated practices, over small accepted illegalities, a more and more restrictive pressure. Furthermore, as it was acquired in part by the bourgeoisie, now free of the feudal burdens that once weighed upon it, landed property became absolute property: all the tolerated 'rights' that the peasantry had acquired or preserved (the abandonment of old obligations or the consolidation of irregular practices: the right of free pasture, wood-collecting, etc.) were now rejected by the new owners who regarded them quite simply as theft (thus leading, among the people, to a series of chain reactions of an increasingly illegal, or, if one prefers the term, criminal kind: breaches of close, the theft or killing of cattle, fires, assaults, murders ( cf. F esty and Agulhon). The illegality of rights, which often meant the survival of the most deprived, tended, with the new status of property, to become an illegality of property. It then had to be
+
+punished.
+
+And this illegality, while resented by the bourgeoisie where the ownership of land was concerned, was intolerable in commer�ial and industrial ownership: the development of the ports, the appearance of great warehouses in which merchandise was stored, the organization of huge workshops (with considerable quantities of raw materials, tools and manufactured articles, which belonged to the entrepreneurs and which were difficult to supervise) also necessitated a severe repression of illegality. The way in which wealth tended to be invested, on a much larger scale than ever before, in commodities and machines presupposed a systematic, armed intolerance of illegality. The phenomenon was obviously very evident where economic development was most intense. Colquhoun set out to give proof, supported by figures, of the urgent need to check the innumerable illegal practices that had grown up: according to the estimates of the entrepreneurs and insurance companies, the theft of produce imported from America and warehoused along the banks of the Thames had risen, on average, to £250,000 per annum; in
+
+al� approximately £ soo,ooo worth of goods was stolen each year in the Port of London itself (and this did not include the arsenals and warehouses outside the port proper); to this should be added £700,000 for the town itself. In this situation of permanent pilfering, three phenomena, says Colquhoun, should be taken into consideration: first, the complicity and often the active participation of the clerks, overseers, foremen and workers: 'Whenever a large number of workers are gathered together in one place, there are bound to be a lot of bad characters among them'; second, the existence of a whole organization of illicit commerce, which began in the workshops or docks, then passed on to the rec�ivers - wholesale receivers, specializing in certain kinds of commodity, and retail receivers whose stalls offered a 'wretched display of old iron, rags and worn clothes, whereas at the back of the shop were hidden naval munitions of great value, copper bolts and nails, pieces of cast iron and precious metals, produce from the West Indies, furniture and all kinds of goods bought from the labourers' - then on to dealers and pedlars who distributed the stolen goods far into the countryside (Colquhoun. 1797; in chapters VII, VIII and XV, he gives a very detailed account of this process); third, counterfeiting (it seems that there were between forty and fifty mints producing counterfeit money throughout England, in permanent operation). But what facilitated the wbrk of this huge undertaking, involving both depredation and competition, was a whole set of tolerances: some amounted almost to acquired right (the right, for example, to collect bits of iron or rope around ships or to resell the sugar sweepings); others were of the nature of a moral acceptance; the pilferers themselves regarded their work as a kind of smuggling, which 'they did not regard as a
+
+serious offence'.
+
+It proved necessary, therefore, to control these illicit practices and introduce new legislation to cover them. The offences had to be properly defined and more surely punished; out of this mass of irregularities, sometimes tolerated and sometimes punished with a severity out of all proportion to the offence, one had to determine what was an intolerable offence, and the offenders had to be apprehended and punished. With the new forms of capital accumulation, new relations of production and the new legal status of property, all the popular practices that belonged, either in a silent, everyday,
+
+super-power and this infra-power, a whole network of relations was being formed. By placing on the side of the sovereign the additional burden of a spectacular, unlimited, personal, irregular and discontinuous power, the form of monarchical sovereignty left the subjects free to practise a constant illegality; this illegality was like the correlative of this type of power. So much so that in attacking the various prerogatives of the sovereign one was also attacking the functioning of the illegalities. The two objectives were in continuity. And, according to particular circumstances or tactics, the reformers laid more stress on one or the other. Le Trosne, the physiocrat who was a judge at the presidia) court of Orleans, may serve as an example. In 1764, he published a memorandum on vagabondage: that hot-bed of thieves and murderers 'who live in the midst of society without being members of it', who wage 'a veritable war on all citizens', and who are in the midst of us 'in that state that one supposes existed before the establishment of civil society'. Against them, he demanded the most severe penalties (characteristically, he expressed surprise that one should be more indulgent towards them than to smugglers); he wanted the police to be reinforced: the mounted constabulary to hunt them down with the help of the population that suffered from their depredations; he demanded that these useless and dangerous people should be 'acquired by the state and that they should belong to it as slaves to their masters'; and if necessary one should organize collective round-ups in the woods to drive them out, and anyone making a capture should be paid: 'A reward of ten pounds is given for anyone who kills a wolf. A vagabond is infinitely more dangerous for society' (Le T rosne, 1764, 8, 50, 54, 61-2). In 1777 in Vues sur Ia justice criminelle, the same Le T rosne demanded that the prerogatives of the Crown be reduced, that the accused be regarded as innocent until proved guilty, that the judge be a just arbiter between them and society, that laws be 'fixed, constant, determined in the most precise way', so that subjects know 'to what they are exposed' and that magistrates be nothing more than the 'organ of the law' (Le T rosne, I 777, J I, 37, IOJ-6). For Le Trosne, as for so many others at that time, the struggle for the delimitation of the power to punish was articulated directly on the need to subject popular illegality to a stricter and more constant control. It is understandable that the criticism
+
+which he may be punished. Thus the criminal appears as a juridically paradoxical being. He has broken the pact, he is therefore the enemy of society as a whole, but he participates in the punishment that is practised upon him. The least crime attacks the whole of society; and the whole of society - including the criminal - is present in the least punishment. Penal punishment is therefore a generalized function, coextensive with the function of the social body and with each of its elements. This gives rise to the problem of the degree of
+
+punishment, the economy of the power to punish.
+
+In effect the offence opposes an individual to the entire social body; in order to punish him, society has the right to oppose him in its entirety. It is an unequal struggle: on one side are all the forces, all the power, all the rights. And this is how it should be, since the defence of each individual is involved. Thus a formidable right to punish is established, since the offender becomes the common enemy. Indeed, he is worse than an enemy, for it is from within society that he delivers his blows - he is nothing less than a traitor, a 'monster'. How could society not have an absolute right over him? How could it not demand, quite simply, his elimination? And, although it is true that the principle of punishment must be subscribed to in the pact, must not each citizen, logically, accept the extreme penalty for those of them who attack them as a body. 'Every malefactor, by attacking the social rights, becomes, by his crimes, a rebel and a traitor to his country; by violating its laws he ceases to be a member of it; he even makes war upon it. In such a case the preservation of the state is inconsistent with his own, and one or the other must perish; in putting the guilty to death we slay not so much the citizen as the enemy.'6 The right to punish has been shifted from the vengeance of the sovereign to the defence of society. But it now finds itself recombined with elements so strong that it becomes almost more to be feared. The malefactor has been saved from a threat that is by its very nature excessive, but he is exposed to a penalty that seems to be without bounds. It is a return to a terrible 'super-power'. It brings with it the need to establish a
+
+principle of moderation for the power of punishment.
+
+'Who does not shudder with horror when reading in history of so many terrible and useless torments, invented and coldly applied by monsters who took upon themselves the name of sage?' (Beccaria,
+
+�Here the principle takes root that one should never apply 'inhumane' punishments to a criminal; who, nevertheless, may well be a traitor and a monster. If the law must now treat in a 'humane' way an individual who is 'outside nature' (whereas the old justice treated the 'outlaw' inhumanely), it is not on account of some profound humanity that the criminal conceals within him, but because of a necessary regulation of the effects of power. It is this 'economic' rationality that must calculate the penalty and prescribe the appropriate techniques. 'Humanity' is the respectable name given to this economy and to its meticulous calculations. 'Where punishment is concerned, the minimum is ordered by humanity and counselled by
+
+policy.'8
+
+So, in order to understand this techno-politics of punishment, let us take the extreme case, the ultimate crime: a deed of such enormity that it violates all the most respected laws. It is produced in circumstances so extraordinary, in such profound secrecy, with such lack of restraint, as if at the very limit of possibility, that it could not be other than unique, in any case the last of its kind: no one could ever irtitate it; no one could take it as an example, or even feel scandalized that it should have been committed. It is doomed to disappear without trace. This fable 7 of the 'ultimate crime' is, to the new penality, what original sin was to the old: the pure form in
+
+which· the reason for punishment appears.
+
+Ought such a crime to be punished? According to what calculation? Of what use could its punishment be in the economy of the power to punish? It would be useful to the extent that it could make reparation for 'the harm done to society' (Pastoret, II, 2.1). Now, if one sets aside the strictly material damage - which even when it is irreparable as in the case of a murder is of little account in relation to society as a whole - the injury that a crime inflicts upon the social body is the disorder that it introduces into it: the scandal that it gives rise to, the example that it gives, the incitement to repeat it if it is not punished, the possibility of becoming widespread that it bears within it. In order to be useful, punishment must have as its objective the consequences of the crime, that is to say, the series of disorders that it is capable of initiating: 'The proportion between the penalty and the quality of the offence is determined by the influence that the violation of the pact has on the social order'
+
+proofs, the use of torture, the extraction of confessions, the use of the public execution, the body and spectacle for the reproduction of truth had long isolated penal practice from the common forms of demonstration: semi-proofs produced semi-truths and semi-guilty persons, words extracted by pain had greater authenticity, presumption involved a degree of punishment. The heterogeneity of this system with the ordinary system of proof really constituted a scandal only when the power to punish needed, for its own economy, a climate of irrefutable certainty. How can one link absolutely in the minds of men the idea of crime and the idea of punishment, if the reality of the punishment does not follow, in all cases, the reality of the offence? To establish the offence, in all evidence, and according to· the means valid for all, becomes a task of first importance. The verification of the crime must obey the general criteria for all truth. In the arguments it employs, in the proofs it provides, legal judgement must be homogeneous with judgement in general. There is, therefore, an abandonment of legal proof, a rejection of torture, the need for a complete demonstration of the truth, an effacement of all correlation between degrees of suspicion and degrees of punishment. Like a mathematical truth, the truth of the crime will be accepted only when it is completely proven. It follows that, up to the final demonstration of his crime, the defendant must be regarded as innocent; and that, in order to carry out this demonstration, the judge must use not ritual forms, but common instruments, that reason possessed by everyone, which is also that of philosophers and scientists: 'In theory, I regard the magistrate as a philosopher who sets out to discover an interesting truth ... His sagacity will enable him to grasp all the circumstances and all the relations, bring together or separate whatever needs to be brought together or separated in order to arrive at a sane judgement' (Seigneux de Correvon, 49). The investigation, the exercise of common reason, lays aside the old inquisitorial model and adopts the much more subtle model (doubly validated by science and common sense) of empirical research. The judge will be like a 'pilot steering between the rocks': 'What proofs or what clues will be considered to be sufficient neither I nor anyone else has dared to determine in general; since circumstances are subject to infinite variations, since proofs and clues must be deduced from these circumstances, the clearest
+
+cluClS and proofs must necessarily vary in proportion' (Risi, � 3). Henceforth, penal practice was to be subject to a common rule of truth, or rather to a complex rule in which heterogeneous elements of scientific demonstration, the evidence of the senses and common sense come together to form the judge's 'deep-seated conviction'. Although penal justice preserves the forms that guarantee its equity, it may now be opened up to all manner of truths, providing they are evident, well founded, acceptable to all. The legal ritual in itself no longer generates a divided truth. It is resituated in the field of reference of common proofs. With the multiplicity· of scientific discourses, a difficult, infinite relation was then forged that penal justice is still unable to control. The master of justice is no longer
+
+the master of its truth.
+
+Tl&e rule of optimal specification. For penal semiotics to cover the whole field of illegalities that one wishes to eliminate, all offences must be defined; they must be classified and collected into species from which none of them can escape. A code is therefore necessary and this code must be sufficiently precise for each type of offence to be clearly present in it. The silence of the law must not harbour the hope of impunity. An exhaustive, explicit code is required, defining crimes and fixing penalties. (On this theme, cf., among others, Linguet, 8.) But the same imperative need for a total coincidence between all possible offences and the effects-signs of punishment forces one to go further. The idea of the same punishment does not have the same effect on everyone: the rich do not fear fines nor the notorious infamy. The injury caused by an offence and its value as example differ according to the status of the offender; a crime committed by a noble is more injurious to society than one committed by a man of the people (Lacretelle, I 44). Lastly, since punishment must prevent a repetition of the offence, it must take into account the profound nature of the criminal himself, the presumable degree of his wickedness, the intrinsic quality of his will: 'Of two men who have committed the same theft, how much less guilty is he who scarcely had the necessities of life than he who overflowed with excess? Of two perjurers, how much more criminal is he on whom one has striven from his childhood to impress feelings of honour than he who, abandoned to nature, never received the benefit of education' (Marat, 34). One sees the emergence at the same time of
+
+the need for a parallel classification of crimes and punishments, the need for an individualization of sentences, in accordance with the particular characteristics of each criminal. This individualization was to weigh very heavily throughout the history of modern penal law; it is rooted precisely here: in terms of the theory of law and according to the requirements of everyday practice, it is no · doubt in radical opposition to the principle of codification; but from the standpoint of the economy of the power to punish, and of the techniques by which one wishes to circulate throughout the social body precisely calibrated signs of punishment, with neither excesses nor loopholes, with neither a useless 'expenditure' of power nor with timidity, it becomes evident that the codification of the offencespunishments system and the modulation of the criminal-punishment dyad go side by side, each requiring the other. Individualization appears as the ultimate aim of a precisely adapted code.
+
+But this individualization is very different in its nature from the modulations of punishment to be found in the old jurisprudence. The old system - and on this point it followed Christian penitentiary practice - used two series of variables to adjust the punishment, those of 'circumstances' and those of'intention'; elements, that is to say, that made it possible to qualify the act itself. The modulation of the penalty belonged to 'casuistry' in the broad sense. (On the non-individualizing character of casuistry, cf. Cariou.) But what was now beginning to emerge was a modulation that referred to the defendant himself, to his nature, to his way of life and his attitude of mind, to his past, to the 'quality' and not to the intention of his will. One perceives, but as a place as yet unfilled, the locus in which, in penal practice, psychological knowledge will take over the role of casuistic jurisprudence. Of course, at the end of the eighteenth century, that moment was still far off. The code-individualization link was sought in the scientific models of the period. Natural history no doubt offered the most adequate schema: the taxonomy of species according to an uninterrupted gradation. One sought to constitute a Linnaeus of crimes and punishments, so that each particular offence and each punishable individual might come, without the slightest risk of any arbitrary action, within the provisions of a general law. 'A table must be drawn up of all the genera of crimes to be observed in different countries. According to the
+
+1. The gentle way m punishment
+
+The art of punishing, then, must rest on a whole technology of representation. The undertaking can succeed only if it forms part of a natural mechanics. 'Like the gravitation of bodies, a secret force compels us ever towards our well-being. This impulsion is affected only by the obstacles that laws oppose to it. All the diverse actions of man are the effects of this interior tendency.' To find the suitable punishment for a qime is to find the disadvantage whose idea is such that it robs for ever the idea of a crime of any attraction. It is an art of conflicting energies, an art of images linked by association, t�e forging of stable connections that defy time: it is a matter of establishing the representation of pairs of opposing values, of establishing quantitative differences between the opposing forces, of setting up a complex of obstacle-signs that may subject the movement of the forces to a power relation. 'Let the idea of torture and execution be ever present in the heart of the weak man and dominate the feeling that drives him to crime' (Beccaria, 119). These obstacle-signs must constitute the new arsenal of penalties, just as the old public executions were organized around a system of retaliatory marks. But in order to function, they must obey several conditions. 1. They must be as unarbitrary as possible. It is true that it is society that defines, in terms of its own interests, what must be regarded as a crime: it is not therefore natural. But, if punishment is to present itself to the mind as soon as one thinks of committing a crime, as immediate a link as possible must be made between the two: a link of resemblance, analogy, proximity. 'The penalty must be made to conform as closely as possible to the nature of the offence, so that fear of punishment diverts the mind from the road along which the prospect of an advantageous crime was leading it' (Beccaria, 119). The ideal punishment would be transparent to the
+
+crime that it punishes; thus, for him who contemplates it, it will be infallibly the sign of the crime that it punishes; and for him who dreams of the crime, the idea of the offence will be enough to arouse the sign of the punishment. This is an advantage for the stability of the link, an advantage for the calculation of the proportions between crime and punishment and the quantitative reading of interests; it also has the advantage that, by assuming the form of a natural sequence, punishment does not appear as the arbitrary effect of a human power: 'To derive the offence from the punishment is the best means of proportioning punishment to crime. If this is the triumph of justice, it is also the triumph of liberty, for then penalties no longer proceed from the will of the legislator, but from the nature of things; one no longer sees man committing violence on man' (Marat, 33). In analogical punishment, the power that punishes is
+
+hidden.
+
+The reformers proposed a whole panoply of penalties that were natural by institution and which represented in their form the content of the crime. Take Vermeil, for example: those who abuse public liberty will be deprived of their own; those who abuse the benefits of law and the privileges of public office will be deprived of their civil rights; speculation and usury will be punished by fines; theft will be punished by confiscation; 'vainglory' by humiliation;
+
+murder by death; fire-raising by the stake. In the case of t
+
+he poi-
+
+soner, 'the executioner will present him with a goblet the contents of which will be thrown into his face; thus he will be made to feel the horror of his crime by being offered an image of it; he will then be thrown into a cauldron of boiling water' (Vermeil, 68-145; cf. also Dufriche de Valaze, 349) Mere day-dreaming? Perhaps. But the principle of a symbolic communication was clearly formulated by Le Peletier, when in 1791 he presented the new criminal legislation: 'Exact relations are required between the nature of the offence and the nature of the punishment'; he who has used violence in his crime must be subjected to physical pain; he who has been lazy must be sentenced to hard labour; he who has acted despicably will
+
+be subjected to infamy (Le Peletier, pr-2).
+
+Despite cruelties that are strongly reminiscent of the tortures of the Ancien Regime, a quite different mechanism is at work in these analogical penalties. Horror is not opposed to horror in a joust of
+
+poWer; it is no longer the symmetry of vengeance, but the transparency of the sign to that which it signifies; what is required is to establish, in the theatre of punishments, a relation that is immediately intelligible to the senses and on which a simple calculation may be based: a sort of reasonable aesthetic of punishment. 'It is not only in the fine arts that one must follow nature faithfully; political institutions, at least those that display wisdom and permanence, are founded on nature' (Beccaria, 114). The punishment must proceed from the crime; the law must appear to be a necessity of things, and power must act while concealing itself beneath the gentle force of
+
+nature.
+
+2. This complex of signs must engage with the mechanics of forces: reduce the desire that makes the crime attractive; increase the interest that makes the penalty be feared; reverse the relation of intensities, so that the representation of the penalty and its disadvantages is more lively than that of the crime and its pleasures. There is a whole mechanics, therefore, of interest, of its movement, of the way that one represents it to oneself and of the liveliness of this representation. 'The legislator must be a skilful architect who knows how to employ all the forces that may contribute to the solidity of the building and reduce all those that might ruin it'
+
+(Beccaria, 1J 5 ) .
+
+There are several ways of achieving this. 'Go straight to the source of evil' (Mably, 246). Smash the mainspring that animates the representation of the crime. Weaken the interest that brought it to birth. Behind the offences of the vagabond, there is laziness; that is what one must fight against. 'One will not succeed by locking beggars up in filthy prisons that are more like cesspools'; they will have to be forced to work. 'The best way of punishing them is to employ them' (Brissot, 258). Against a bad passion, a good habit; against a force, another force, but it must be the force of sensibility and passion, not that of armed power. 'Must one not deduce all penalties from this principle, which is so simple, so appropriate and already well known, namely, to choose them in that which is most subduing for the passion that led to the crime committed?' (Lacre-
+
+telle, 361).
+
+Set the force that drove the criminal to the crime against itself. Divide interest, use it to make the penalty something to be feared.
+
+Let the punishment irritate it and stimulate it more than the crime was able to flatter it. If pride led to the committing of a crime, let it be hurt, let the punishment disgust it. Shameful punishments are effective because they are based on the vanity that was at the root of the crime. Fanatics glory both in their opinions and in the tortures that they endure for them. Let us, therefore, set against fanaticism the proud obstinacy that sustains it: 'Reduce it with ridicule and shame; if one humiliates the proud vanity of fanatics before a great crowd of spectators, one may expect happy effects from this punishment.' It would he quite useless, on the other hand,
+
+to impose physical pain on them. (Beccaria, I I 3).
+
+Reanimate the useful, virtuous interest that has been so weakened by the crime. The feeling of respect for property - for wealth, hut also for honour, liberty, life - this the criminal loses when he robs, calumniates, abducts or kills. So he must he taught this feeling once again. And one will begin by teaching it to him for his own benefit; one will show him what it is to lose the freedom to dispose as one wishes of one's own wealth, honour, time and body, so that he may respect it in others (Pastoret, I, 49). The penalty that forms stable and easily legible signs must also recompose the economy of
+
+interests and the dynamics of passions.
+
+3· Consequently, one must use a temporal modulation. The penalty transforms, modifies, establishes signs, arranges obstacles. What use would it be if it had to be permanent? A penalty that had no end would be contradictory: all the constraints that it imposes on the convict and of which, having become virtuous once more, he would never be able to take advantage, would be little better than torture; and the effort made to reform him would be so much trouble and expense lost by society. If incorrigibles there be, one must be determined to eliminate them. But, for all the others, punishment can function only if it comes to an end. This analysis was accepted by the Constituent Assembly: the code of 1791 lays down the death penalty for traitors and murderers; all other penalties
+
+must have an end (the maximum is twenty years).
+
+But above all the role of duration must be integrated into the economy of the penalty. In its very violence, the public execution tended to have the following result: the more serious the crime, the shorter the punishment. Duration certainly intervened in the old
+
+sys�m of penalties; days at the pillory, years of banishment, hours spent dying on the wheel. But it was a time of ordeal, not of concerted transformation. Duration must now facilitate the proper action of the punishment: 'A prolonged succession of painful privations, sparing mankind the horror of torture, has much more effect on the guilty party than a passing moment of pain ... It constantly renews in the eyes of the people that witness it the memory of vengeful laws and revives in all the moments of a salutary terror.'1
+
+Time, operator of punishment.
+
+But the delicate mechanism of the passions must not be constrained in the same way or with the same insistence when they begin to improve; the punishment should diminish as it produces its effects. It may well be fixed, in the sense that it is determined for all, in the same way, by law, but its internal mechanism must be variable. In the bill put before the Constituent Assembly, Le Peletier proposed a system of diminishing penalties: a convict condemned to the most serious penalty would be subjected to the 'cachot' (manacles on hands and feet, darkness, solitude, bread and water) only during the fir�t stage of his imprisonment; he would be allowed to work first two then three days a week. After two thirds of his sentence had been served, he could pass to the 'gene' (a cell with light, chain around the waist, solitary work for five hours a day, but with other prisoners on the other two days; this work would be paid and would enable him to improve his daily fare). Lastly, when he approached the end of his sentence, he could pass to the normal prison regime: 'He will be allowed every day to meet other prisoners for work in common. If he prefers, he will be able to work alone. He will pay for his food from what he earns from his work' (Le Peletier, 319-30). 4· For the convict, the penalty is a mechanics of signs, interests and duration. But the guilty person is only one of the targets of punishment. For punishment is directed above all at others, at all the potentially guilty. So these obstacle-signs that are gradually engraved in the representation of the condemned man must therefore circulate rapidly and widely; they must be accepted and redistributed by all; they must shape the discourse that each individual has with others and by which crime is forbidden to all by all - the true coin that is substituted in people's minds for the false profits of
+
+For this, everyone must see punishment not only as natural, but in his own interest; everyone must be able to read in it his own advantage. There must be no more spectacular, but useless penalties. There must be no secret penalties either; but punishment must be regarded as a retribution that the guilty man makes to each of his fellow citizens, for the crime that has wronged them all - penalties that are constantly placed before citizens' eyes, and which 'bring out the public utility of common and particular movements' (Dufriche de Valaze, 346). The ideal would be for the convict to appear as a sort of rentable property: a slave at the service of all. Why would society eliminate a life and a body that it could appropriate? It would be more useful to make him 'serve the state in a slavery that would be more or less extended according to the nature of his crime'; France has all too many impracticable roads that impede trade; thieves who also abstruct the free circulation of goods could be put to rebuilding the highways. Far more telling than death would be 'the example of a man who is ever before one's eyes, whom one has deprived of liberty and who is forced to spend the rest of his days repairing the loss that he has caused society' (Boucher
+
+d' Argis, 1781, 139).
+
+In the old system, the body of the condemned man became the king's property, on which the sovereign left his mark and brought down the effects of his power. Now he will be rather the property of society, the object of a collective and useful appropriation. This explains why the reformers almost always proposed public works as one of the best possible penalties; in this, they were supported by the Cahiers de doleances: 'Let those condemned to penalties short of death be put to the public works of the country for a time proportionate to their crime.'2 Public works meant two things: the collective interest in the punishment of the condemend man and the visible, . verifiable character of the punishment. Thus the convict pays twice; by the labour he provides and by the signs that he produces. At the heart of society, on the public squares or highways, the convict is a focus of profit and signification. Visibly, he is serving everyone; but, at the same time, he lets slip into the minds of all the crime-punishment sign: a secondary, purely moral, but
+
+torture, the example was based on terror: physical fear, collective horror, images that must be engraved on the memories of the spectators, like the brand on the cheek or shoulder of the condemned man. The example is now based on the lesson, the discourse, the decipherable sign, the representation of public morality. It is no longer the terrifying restoration of sovereignty that will sustain the ceremony of punishment, but the reactivation of the code, the collective reinforcements of the link between the idea of crime and the idea of punishment. In the penalty, rather than seeing the presence of the sovereign, one will read the laws themselves. The laws associated a particular crime with a particular punishment. As soon as the crime is committed, the punishment will follow at once, enacting the discourse of the law and showing that the code, which links ideas, also links realities. The junction, immediate in the text, must be immediate in acts. 'Consider those first movements in which the news of some horrible act spreads through our towns and countryside; the citizens are like men who see lightning falling about them; everyone is moved by indignation and horror ... That is the momeljlt to punish the crime: do not let it slip by; hasten to prove it and judge it. Set up scaffolds, stakes, drag out i:he guilty man to the public squares, summon the people with great cries; you will then hear them applaud the proclamation of your judgements, as the proclamation of peace and liberty; you will see them run to these terrible spectacles as to the triumph of the laws' (Servan, 35-6).
+
+Public punishment is the ceremony of immediate recoding.
+
+The law is re-formed: it takes up its place on the side of the crime that violated it. The criminal, on the other hand, is detached from society, he leaves it. But not in those ambiguous festivals of the Ancien Regime in which the people inevitably took part, either in the crime or in the execution, but in a ceremony of mourning. The society that has rediscovered its laws has lost the citizen who violated them. Public punishment must manifest this double affliction: that a citizen should have been capable of ignoring the law and that one should have been obliged to separate oneself from a citizen. 'Associate the scaffold with the most lugubrious and most moving . ceremonies; let this terrible day be a day of mourning for the nation; let the general sorrow be painted everywhere in bold letters ... Let the magistrate, wearing black, funereal crepe, announce the crime
+
+and the sad necessity of a legal vengeance to the people. Let the different scenes of this tragedy strike all the senses, stir all gentle,
+
+honest affections' (Dufau, 688).
+
+The meaning of this mourning must be clear to all; each element of its ritual must speak, repeat the crime, recall the law, show the need for punishment and justify its degree. Posters, placards, signs, symbols must be distributed, so that everyone may learn their significations. The publicity of punishment must not have the physical effect of terror; it must open up a book to be read. Le Peletier suggested that, once a month, the people should be allowed to visit convicts, 'in their mournful cells: they will read, written in bold letters above the door, the name of the convict, his crime and his sentence' (Le Peletier, J2·9-JO). And in the simple, military style of the imperial ceremonies, Bexon was to imagine some years later a whole tableau of penal heraldry: 'The prisoner condemned to death will be taken to the scaffold in a cart "hung or painted in black and red"; if he is a traitor, he will wear a red coat on which will be inscribed, in front and behind, the word "traitor"; if he is a parricide, his head will be covered with a black veil and on his shirt will be embroidered daggers or whatever instruments of death he used; if he is a poisoner, his red shirt will be decorated with snakes and other venomous animals' (Bexon, 24-5 - this project was pr!!sented
+
+to the King of Bavaria).
+
+This legible lesson, this ritual recoding, must be repeated as often as possible; the punishments must be a school rather than a festival; an ever-open book rather than a ceremony. The duration that makes the punishment effective for the guilty is also useful for the spectators. They must be able to consult at each moment the permanent lexicon of crime and punishment. A secret punishment is a punishment half wasted. Children should be allowed to come to the places where the penalty is being carried out; there they will attend their classes in civics. And grown men will periodically relearn the laws. Let us conceive of places of punishment as a Garden of the Laws that families would visit on Sundays. 'I propose that, from time to time, after preparing people's minds with a reasoned discourse on the preservation of the social order, on the utility of punishment, men as well as boys should be taken to the mines and to the work camps and contemplate the frightful fate of these outlaws. Such
+
+pilgrimages would be more useful than the pilgrimages made by the Turks to Mecca' (Brissot). And Le Peletier considered that this visibility of punishment was one of the fundamental principles of the new penal code: 'Often, at certain special times, the presence of the people must bring down shame upon the heads of the guilty; and the presence of the guilty person in the pitiful state to which his crime has reduced him must bring useful instruction to the souls of the people' (Le Peletier, p2.). Long before he was regarded as an object of science, the criminal was imagined as a source of instruction. Once one made charitable visits to prisoners to share in their sufferings (the seventeenth century had invented or revived this practice); now it was being suggested that children should come and learn how the benefits of the law are applied to crime - a living lesson in the
+
+museum of order.
+
+6. This will make possible in society an inversion of the traditional discourse of crime. How can one extinguish the dubious glory of the criminal? This was a matter of grave concern to the lawmakers of the eighteenth century. How can one silence the adventures of the great criminals celebrated in the almanacs, broadsheets Iand popular tales? If the recoding of punishment is well done, if the ceremony of mourning takes place as it should, the crime can no longer appear as anything but a misfortune and the criminal as an enemy who m,ust be re-educated into social life. Instead of those songs of praise that turn the criminal inro a hero, only those obstacle-signs that arrest the desire to commit the crime by the calculated fear of punishment will circulate in men's discourse. The positive mechanics will operate to the full in the language of every day, which will constantly reinforce it with new accounts. Discourse will become the vehicle of the law: the constant principle of universal recoding. The poets of the people will at last join those who call themselves the 'missionaries of eternal reason'; they will become moralists. 'Filled with these terrible images and salutary ideas, each citizen will spread them through his family and there, by long accounts delivered with as much fervour as they are avidly listened to, his children gathered around him, will open up their young memories to receive, in imperishable lineaments, the notion of crime and punishment, the love of law and country, the respect and trust of the magistrature. Country people, too, will be ·witnesses of
+
+these examples and will sow them around their huts, the taste of virtue will take root in these coarse souls, while the evil-doer, dismayed at the public joy, fearful at the sight of so many enemies, may abandon plans whose outcome will be as prompt as it is
+
+gloomy' (Servan, 37).
+
+This, then, is how one must imagine the punitive city. At the crossroads, in the gardens, at the side of roads being repaired or bridges built, in workshops open to all, in the depths of mines that may be visited, will be hundreds of tiny theatres of punishment. Each crime will have its law; each criminal his punishment. It will be a visible punishment, a punishment that tells all, that explains, justifies itself, convicts: placards, different-coloured caps hearing inscriptions, posters, symbols, texts read or printed, tirelessly repeat the code. Scenery, perspectives, optical effects, trompe-l'ceil sometimes magnify the scene, making it more fearful than it is, but also clearer. From where the public is sitting, it is possible to believe in the existence of certain cruelties which, in fact, do not take place. But the essential point, in all these real or magnified severities, is that they should all, according to a strict economy, teach a lesson: that each punishment should be a fable. And that, in counterpoint with all the direct examples of virtue, one may at each moment encounter, as a living spectacle, the misfortunes of vice. Around each of these moral 'representations', schoolchildren will ; gather with their masters and adults will learn what lessons to teach their offspring. The great terrifying ritual of the public execution gives way, day after day, street after street, to this serious theatre, with its multifarious and persuasive scenes. And popular memory will reproduce in rumour the austere discourse of the law. But perhaps it will be necessary, above these innumerable spectacles and narratives, to place the major sign of punishment for the most terrible of crimes: the keystone of the penal edifice. In any case, Vermeil had imagined the scene of absolute punishment that should dominate all the theatres of everyday punishment: the only case in which one had to seek to reach an infinity of punishment, something equivalent in the new penal system to what regicide had been in the old. The man found guilty of this crime would have his eyes put out; he would be put into an iron cage, suspended in the air, above a public square; he would be completely naked; he would be attached to the
+
+bars of the cage by an iron belt around his waist; to the end of his days, he would be fed on bread and water. 'Thus he would be exposed to all the rigours of the seasons, sometimes his head would be covered with snow, sometimes burnt by a scorching sun. It is in th;s energetic torture, presenting rather the extension of a painful death than that of a painful life, that one would truly recognize a villain deserving of the horror of nature in its entirety, condemned to see no longer the heaven that he has outraged and to live no longer on the earth that he has sullied' (Vermeil, 148-9). Above the punitive city hangs this iron spider; and the criminal who is to be
+
+thus crucified by the new law is the parricide.
+
+There is a whole new arsenal of picturesque punishments. 'A void inflicting the same punishments,' said Mably. The idea of a uniform penalty, modulated only according to the gravity of the crime is banished. To be more precise: the use of imprisonment as a general form of punishment is never presented in these projects for specific, visible and 'telling' penalties. Imprisonment is envisaged, but as one among; other penalties; it is the specific punishment for certain offences, those that infringe the liberty of individuals (such as abduction) or those that result from an abuse of liberty (disorder, violence). It is also envisaged as a condition to enable certain punishments to be carried out (forced labour, for example). But it does not cover the whole field of penality with its duration as the sole principle of variation. Or rather, the idea of penal imprisonment is explicitly criticized by many reformers. Because it is incapable of corresponding to the specificity of crimes. Because it has no effect on the public. Because it is useless, even harmful, to society: it is costly, it maintains convicts in idleness, it multiplies their vices (cf. Archives parlementaires, XXVI, 7n). Because the execution of such a penalty is difficult to supervise and because there is a risk of exposing prisoners to the arbitrary will of their guards. Because the job of depriving a man of his liberty and of supervising him is an exercise of tyranny. 'You are demanding that there should be monsters among you; and if these odious men existed, the legislator ought perhaps to treat them as murderers' (Mably, JJ8). Prison as the universal penalty is incompatible with this whole technique of penalty-effect, penalty-representation, penalty-general function,
+
+penalty-sign and discourse. It is obscurity, violence and suspicion. 'It is a place of darkness in which the citizen's eye cannot count the victims, in which consequently their number is lost as an example . . . . Whereas if, without multiplying crimes, one could multiply the example of punishments, one would succeed at last in rendering them less necessary; indeed, the obscurity of the prisons becomes a subject of defiance for the citizens; they, easily suppose that great injustices are committed there. . . There is certainly something wrong when the law, which is made for the good of the multitude, instead of arousing its gratitude, continually arouses its discontent'
+
+(Dufriche de Valaze, 344-5).
+
+The idea that imprisonment might as it does today cover the whole middle ground of punishment, between death and light penalties, was one that the reformers could not arrive at immediately. The problem is the following: within a short space of time, detention became the essential form of punishment. In the penal code of I8 Io, between death and fines, it occupies, in a number of forms, almost the whole field of possible punishments. 'What is the system of penality accepted by the new law? It is incarceration in all its fonns. Indeed, compare the four principal penalties that remain in the penal code. Forced labour is a form of incarceration. The convict-ship is an open-air prison. Detention, reclusion, imprisonment for a minor offence are in a sense merely different names for one and the same punishment' (Remusat, 185). And the Empire decided at once to translate this imprisonment, envisaged by the law, into reality, according to a whole penal, administrative, geographical hierarchy; at the lowest degree, associated with each justice of the peace, municipal mat'sons de police; in each arrondissement, maisons d' arret; in each departement, a mae'son de correctton; at the summit, several maisons centrales for convicted criminals or correctionels serving sentences of over one year; lastly, in a few ports, convict-ships. A great prison structure was planned, whose different levels would correspond exactly to the levels of the centralized administration. The scaffold, where the body of the tortured criminal had been exposed to the ritually manifested force of the sovereign, the punitive theatre in which the representation of punishment was permanently available to the social body, was replaced by a great enclosed, complex and hierarchized structure
+
+that was integrated into the very body of the state apparatus. A quite different materiality, a quite different physics of power, a quite different way of investing men's bodies had emerged. During the Restoration and the July monarchy, there were, apart from a few exceptional moments, between 40,000 and 43,000 prisoners in French gaols (approximately one prisoner per 6oo inhabitants). The high wall, no longer the wall that surrounds and protects, no longer the wall that stands for power and wealth, but the meticulously sealed wall, uncrossable in either direction, closed in upon the now mysterious work of punishment, will become, near at hand, sometimes even at the very centre of the cities of the nineteenth century, the monotonous figure, at once: material and symbolic, of the power to punish. Already under the Consulate, the Minister of the Interior had been appointed to investigate the different 'places of safety' that were already functioning and which could be used in different towns. A few years later, sums had been allocated for the construction, in keeping with the power that they were to represent and serve, of these new castles of the new civil order. The empire used them in fact, for another war (cf. Decazes). A less extravagant, but m�re obstinate economy continued to build them throughout
+
+the nineteenth century.
+
+In under twenty years, in any case, the principle so clearly formulated in the Constituent Assembly, of specific, appropriate, effective penalties, constituting, in each case, a lesson for all, became the law of detention for every offence of any importance, except those requiring the death penalty. The theatre of punishment of which the eighteenth century dreamed and which would have acted essentially on the minds of the general public was replaced by the great uniform machinery of the prisons, whose network of immense buildings was to extend across France and Europe. But twenty years is perhaps too long a chronology for this conjuring trick. It may be argued that it occurred almost instantaneously. One has only to look at the bill for the criminal code presented in the Constituent Assembly by Le Peletier. The principle stated at the outset is the need for 'exact relations between the nature of the offence and the nature of the punishment': physical pain should be inflicted on those who commit crimes of violence, hard labour on the idle, shame on those with degraded souls. But the severe penalties actually
+
+proposed are three forms of detention: the 'caclzot', in which the penalty of imprisonment is augmented by various measures (solitude, a deprivation oflight, restrictions on food); the' gene', in which these ancillary measures are attenuated, and lastly imprisonment proper, which is reduced to simple confinement. The diversity, so solemnly promised, is reduced in the end to this grey, uniform penalty. Indeed, at the time, there were deputies who expressed surprise that, instead of establishing a natural relation between offences and penalties, a quite different plan had been adopted: 'So that if I have betrayed my country, I go to prison; if l have killed my father, I go to prison; every imaginable offence is punished in the same uniform way. One might as well see a physician who has the same remedy
+
+for all ills' (Chabroud, 61 8).
+
+This prompt substitution was not confined to France. It was to be found, to a greater or lesser degree, in other countries. When Catherine II, in the years immediately following the treatise Des Jllits et des peines, gave instructions to the commission entrusted with the task of drawing up a 'new code of laws', Beccaria's lesson on the specificity and variety of penalties was not forgotten; it was repeated almost word for word: 'It is a triumph of civil liberty when the criminal laws derive each penalty from the particular nature of each crime. In this way all arbitrariness ceases; the penalty does not depend on the caprice of the legislator, but on the nature' of the thing; it is not man who does violence to man, but the man's own action' (article 67). A few years later, Beccaria's general principle served as a foundation for the new Tuscan Code and for the new code given by Joseph II to Austria; and yet both legislations made imprisonment - modulated according to its duration and augmented in certain cases by branding or the use of irons - an almost uniform penalty: at least thirty years' detention for an attempt on the sovereign's life, for counterfeiting and for murder with robbery; fifteen to thirty years for voluntary homicide or armed robbery; one
+
+month to five years for simple theft, etc.3
+
+But if this colonization of the penalty by the prison is surprising, it is because imprisonment was not, as one might imagine, a punishment that was already securely established in the penal system, just below the death penalty, and which naturally occupied the place left vacant by the disappearance of public torture. In fact, imprisonment
+
+-and on this point many countries were in the same situation as France - had only a limited and marginal position in the system of penalties. This is shown by the texts themselves. The ordinance of 1670 does not include detention among the peines afllictives, or serious penalties. Perpetual or temporary imprisonment was no doubt included among certain local customs and practices ( cf., for example, Coquille). But contemporary writers maintained that it was faUing into disuse together with other forms of torture: 'There were fonnerly penalties that are no longer practised in F ranee, such as writing a condemned man's penalty on his face or forehead and perpetual imprisonment, just as one no longer condemns a criminal to be exposed to wild beasts or sent down the mines' (Rousseaud de Ia Combe, 3). In fact, it is certain that imprisonment had survived tenaciously as a punishment for less serious offences, according to local customs and practices. In this sense, Soulatges spoke of the 'light penalties' that the ordinance of 1670 had not mentioned: reprimand, admonition, banishment from a certain place, satisfaction to the injured party and a tenn of imprisonment. In cenain regions,
+
+especi�
+
+lly those that had most preserved their legal peculiarities, the penalty of imprisonment was still widespread, but this had its difficulties, as in the recently annexed province of Roussillon. Yet, despite these divergencies, jurists held firmly to the principle that 'imprisonment is not to be regarded as a penalty in our civil law' (Serpillon, 1095 - however, one does find in Serpillon the idea that the rigour of imprisonment is the beginning of a penalty). Its role is rather that of holding the person and his body as security: ad continendos homines, non ad puniendos, as the tag has it; in this sense, the imprisonment o( a suspect has a role similar to that of a debtor. Through imprisonment, one has security for someone, one does not punish him.' This was the general principle. And although imprisonment sometimes served as a penalty, even in important cases, it did so essentially as a substitute: it replaced the galleys for those - women, children, invalids -who could not serve there: 'The sentence of imprisonment for a term or for life is equivalent to being sent to the galleys.'6 In this equivalence, one can see clearly enough the emergence of a possible connection. But, for this to take place,
+
+F ranee at least, was a considerable one. Imprisonment was especially disqualified for this role by the fact that it was, in practice, directly bound up with arbitrary royal decision and the excesses of the sovereign power. The 'maisons de force', the general hospitals, the 'king's orders' or the orders of the police magistrates, letters under the king's private seal obtained by notables or by families, constituted a whole repressive practice, juxtaposed with 'regular justice' and more usually opposed to it. And this extra-judicial imprisonment came to be rejected by both classical jurists and reformers. Prisons are made by princes, said a traditionalist like Serpillon, who sheltered behind the authority of Judge Bouhier: 'Although, for reasons of state, princes are sometimes inclined to inflict this penalty, ordinary justice makes no use of this kind of sentence' (Serpillon, 1095). Detention was described by the reformers in innumerable statements as a figure and privileged instrument of despotism: 'What is one to say of those secret prisons conjured up by the fatal spirit of monarchism, reserved in the main either for philosophers, in whose hands nature has placed her torch and who dared to enlighten their century, or for those proud independent souls who lack the cowardice to keep silent on the ills of their country; prisons whose gloomy doors are opened by mysterious letters and swallow up forever its unfortunate victims? What is to be said even of those letters, those masterpieces of ingenious tyranny, which overthrow the privilege of every citizen to be heard before he is judged, and which are a thousand times more dangerous for men than the invention of
+
+Phalaris .. .'8 (Brissot, 173).
+
+No doubt these protests, coming from such diverse sources, are directed not at imprisonment as a legal penalty, but at the 'illegal' use of arbitrary, indeterminate detention. Nevertheless, imprisonment was seen, generally speaking, as branded by the abuses of power. And many cahiers de doUances rejected it as incompatible with good justice. Sometimes in the name of classical juridical principles: 'Prisons were intended by the law not to punish but to secure the persons of the offenders .. .' (Desjardin, 477). Sometimes in the name of the effects of imprisonment, which punishes those who have not yet been convicted, which communicates and generalizes the evil that it ought to prevent, and which runs counter to the principle of the individuality of penalties by punishing a whole
+
+famJiy; it was said that 'imprisonment is not a penalty. Humanity rises up against the frightful thought that it is not a punishment to deprive a citizen of his most precious possession, to plunge him ignominiously into the den of crime, to snatch him from everything that is dear to him, to bring him perhaps to ruin and to deprive not only him but his unfortunate family of all means of subsistence' (Desjardin, 483). And, on several occasions, the cah.iers demanded the abolition of those 'houses of internment': 'We believe that the maisons Je force must be razed to the ground .. .'7 And the decree of 13 March 1790 ordered the freeing of 'all persons detained in castles, religious houses, maisons Je force, maisons de police or any other prisons, by orders under the king's private seal or by orders
+
+of the agents of the executive power'.
+
+How then could detention, so evidently bound up with an illegality that was denounced even in the power of the prince, become in so short a time one of the most general forms of legal
+
+punishment?
+
+The explanation most usually given is the formation, during the classidl age, of a number of great models of punitive imprisonment. Their prestige, which was all the greater in that the most recent examples came from England and above all from America, appears to have made it possible to overcome the double obstacle constituted by the age-old rules of law and the despotic functioning of imprisonment. Very soon, it seems, these obstacles were swept away by the punitive marvels thought up by the reformers, and detention became a serious reality. There can be no doubt about the importance of these models. But it is precisely these models that, before providing a solution, themselves pose problems: the problem of their existence and the problem of their diffusion. How were they able to come into being and, above all, how did they become so generally accepted? For it is easy to show that, although they correspond on a number of points with the general principles of penal reform, they fail to do so on an even greater number; sometimes they are even
+
+quite incompatible.
+
+The oldest of these models, the one that is generally regarded as having more or less inspired all the others, was the Rasphuis of Amsterdam, opened in 1596.8 Originally, it was intended for
+
+beggars or young malefactors. Its functioning obeyed three great principles: the duration of the penalties could, at least within certain limits, be determined by the administration itself, according to the prisoner's conduct (indeed this latitude could be given in the sentence itself: in 1597 a prisoner was condemned to twelve years' imprisonment, which could be reduced to eight, if his behaviour proved satisfactory). Work was obligatory; it was performed in common (indeed the individual cell was used only as an additional punishment; prisoners slept two or three to a bed, in cells containing between four and twelve persons); and, for the work done, the prisoners received wages. A strict time-table, a system of prohibitions and obligations, continual supervision, exhortations, religious readings, a whole complex of methods 'to draw towards good' and 'to tum away from evil' held the prisoners in its grip from day to day. One may take the Rasphuis of Amsterdam as a basic figure. Historically, it forms the link between the theory, so characteristic of the sixteenth century, of a pedagogical and spiritual transformation of individuals brought about by continuous exercise, and the penitentiary techniques conceived in the second half of the eighteenth century. And it provided the three institutions that were then set up with the fundamental principles that each was to develop in its own
+
+particular direction.
+
+The maison de force at Ghent organized penal labour above all around economic imperatives. The reason given was that idleness was the general cause of most crimes. An investigation - no doubt one of the first - carried out among those sentenced under the jurisdiction of Alost, in 1749, showed that malefactors were not 'artisans or labourers' (workers think only of the work that feeds them), but 'idlers given up to begging'. 8 Hence the idea of a house that would in a sense provide a universal pedagogy of work for those who had proved to be resistant to it. This had four advantages: it reduced the number of criminal prosecutions, which were costly to the state (it was estimated that this would save over 100,000 pounds in Flanders); this would make it unnecessary to return money paid in taxes to the owners of woods ruined by vagabonds; it would create a mass of new workers, which would help 'by competition to bring down the cost of labour'; lastly, it would enable the true poor to benefit, to the full, from necessary charity (Vilan, 68).
+
+This useful pedagogy would revive for the lazy individual a liking for work, force him back into a system of interests in which labour would be more advantageous than laziness, form around him a small, miniature, simplified, coercive society in which the maxim, 'he who wants to live must work', would be clearly revealed. Work would be compulsory, but so too would be remuneration, which ·enables the prisoner to improve his lot during and after detention. 'The man who does not find his subsistence must be made to desire to procure it for himself by work; he is offered it by supervision and discipline; in a sense, he is forced to acquire it; he is then tempted by the bait of gain; corrected in his morals, accustomed to work, his anxiety aroused by the little money he has kept for his release,' he has learned a trade 'that will guarantee a subsistence without danger' (Vilan, 107). This reconstruction of komo oecoMmicus excluded the use of penalties that were too short - this would prevent the acquisition of habits and skills of work - or too long - which would make any apprenticeship useless. 'The term of six months is too short to correct criminals, and to bring them to the spirit of work'� on the other hand, 'a life sentence throws them into despair; they become indifferent to the correction of their morals and to the spirit of work; they become concerned only with plans to escape and to rebel; and since the judgements that were passed on them did not deprive them of life, why should one seek to render it unbearable for them?' (Vilan, 102.-3)· The duration of the penalty has meaning only in relation to possible correction, and to an
+
+economic use of the corrected criminal.
+
+To the principle of work, the English models added, as an essential addition to correction, isolation. The outlines had been provided in 1775, by Hanway, who justified it first with negative reasons: promiscuity in the prison provided bad examples and possibilities of escape in the short term and of blackmail or complicity in the long term. The prison would be too much like a factory if one left the prisoners to work together. The positive reasons followed: isolation provides a 'terrible shock' which, while protecting the prisoner from bad influences, enables him to go into himself and rediscover in the depths of his conscience the voice of good; solitary work would then become not only an apprenticeship, but also an exercise in spiritual conversion; it would rearrange not only the complex
+
+of interests proper to homo oecorzomicus, but also the imperatives of the moral subject. The cell, that technique of Christian monachism, which had survived only in Catholic countries, becomes in this protestant society the instrument by which one may reconstitute both homo oeconomicus and the religious conscience. Between the crime and the return to right and virtue, the prison would constitute the 'space between two worlds' the place for the individual transformation that would restore to the state the subject it had lost. Hanway called this apparatus for modifying individuals a 'reformatory' (cf. Hanway). These were the general principles that Howard and Blackstone put into operation in 1779 when the independence of the United States put an end to deportation and when a law was being drawn up to modify the system of penalties. Imprisonment, with the purpose of transforming the soul and conduct, made its entry into the system of civil laws. The preamble of the bill, written by Blackstone and Howard, describes individual imprisonment in terms of its triple function as example to be feared, instrument of conversion and condition for an apprenticeship: subjected 'to isolated detention, regular work and the influence of religious instruction', certain criminals might not only inspire terror in those who would be tempted to imitate them, 'but also to correct themselves and to acquire the habit of work' (Preamble of the bill of 1779). Hence the decision to build two penitentiaries, one for men, one for women, in which the isolated prisoners would be put 'to the most servile labours, most compatible with the ignorance, negligence and obstinacy of the criminals': walking in a wheel to move a machine, fixing a winch, polishing marble, beating hemp, rasping Iogwood, cutting up rags, rope-making and sewing sacks. In fact, only one penitentiary was built, at Gloucester, and it corresponded only partially to the initial plan: total confinement for the most dangerous criminals; for the others, day work in common and separation at
+
+night.
+
+Then came the Philadelphia model. This was no doubt the most famous because it was associated in people's minds with the political innovations of the American system and also because it was not, like the others, doomed to immediate failure and abandonment; it was continuously re-examined and transformed right up to the great debates of the I8Jos on penitentiary reform. In many respects
+
+the; Walnut Street Prison, opened in I7CJO, under the direct influence of the Quakers, was modelled on those of Ghent and Gloucester.1° There was compulsory work in workshops; the prisoners were kept constantly occupied; the prison was financed by this work, but the prisoners were also rewarded individually as a way of reinserting them morally and materially into the strict world of the economy; by keeping the prisoners 'constantly employed on productive works, they were able to defray the expenses of the prison, they were not left idle and they were able to save a little money for the time when their captivity would cease' (La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, 9). Life was partitioned, therefore, according to an absolutely strict time-table, under constant supervision; each moment of the day was devoted to a particular type oC activity, and brought with it its own obligations and prohibitions: 'All prisoners rise at daybreak, so that, after making their beds, cleaning and washing themselves and attending to other needs, they generally begin their work at sunrise. From that moment, no one may go into the rooms or other places except to the workshops and places assigned for their work . . · . . At nightfall, a bell rings to mark the end of their work ... They are given half an hour to arrange their beds, after which they are not allowed to converse aloud or to make the least noise' (Turnbull, 1 st6). As at Gloucester, solitary confinement was not total; it was used for certain prisoners who would in former times have incurred the death penalty, and for those inside the prison who deserved special punishment: 'There, without occupation, without anything to distract him, waiting in uncertainty for the moment when he would be delivered', the prisoner spent 'long anxious hours, with nothing but the reflections that are present to the minds of all guilty persons' (Teeters, 1935, 49). Lastly, as at Ghent, the length of the imprisonment could vary with the behaviour of the prisoner: after consulting the files,· the prison inspectors obtained from the authorities - without much difficulty up to the 182os - pardons for prisoners who had
+
+shown good behaviour.
+
+Furthermore, Walnut Street had a number of characteristics that were specific to it, or which at least developed what was potentially present in the other models. First, the principle of not publicizing the penalty. Though the sentence and the reasons for it should be known to all, the penalty should be carried out in secret; the public
+
+was to intervene neither as a witness, nor as a guarantor of punishment; the certainty that, behind the walls, the prisoner was serving his sentence must suffice as an example: there were to be no more of those street spectacles which the law of 1786 has given rise to by imposing on certain prisoners public works to be carried out in towns and on the highways.11 The punishment and correction that it must operate are processes that unfold between the prisoner and those who supervise him. They are processes that effect a transformation of the individual as a whole - of his body and of his habits by the daily work that he is forced to perform, of his mind and his will by the spiritual attentions that are paid to him: 'Bibles and other books of religious practice are provided; the clergy of the different obediences to be found in the town and suburbs perform the services once a week and any other edifying person may have access to the prisoners at any time' (Teeters, 1935, 53-4). But this transformation is entrusted to the administration itself. Solitude and self-examination are not enough; nor are purely religious exhortations. Work on the prisoner's soul must be carried out as often as possible. The prison, though an administrative apparatus, will at the same time be a machine for altering minds. On first entering the prison, the prisoner will be read the regulations; 'at the same time; the inspectors seek to strengthen in him the moral obligations that he now has; they represent to him the offence that he has committed with 'regard to them, the evil that has consequently resulted for the society that protected him and the need to make compensation by his example and his amendment. They then make him promise to do his duty gladly, to behave decently, promising him or allowing him to hope that, before the expiration of the term of the sentence, he will be able to obtain his discharge if he behaves well ... From time to time the inspectors make it their duty to converse with the criminals one after the other, concerning their duties as men and as members
+
+of society' (Turnbull, 2.7).
+
+But no doubt the most important thing was that this control and transformation of behaviour were accompanied - both as a condition and as a consequence - by the development of a knowledge of the individuals. When the new prisoner arrived, the Walnut Street administration received a report concerning his crime, the circumstances in which it was committed, a summary of the examinations
+
+of �he defendant, notes on his behaviour before and after sentence: indispensable elements if one wished to 'decide what steps will have to be taken to destroy his old habits' .12 And throughout his detention he would be observed; his conduct would be noted daily and the inspectors - twelve local worthies appointed in 1795 -who, two by two, visited the prison each week, would be kept informed of events, follow the conduct of each prisoner and decide which of them deserved a shortening of his term. This ever-growing knowledge of the individuals made it possible to divide them up in the prison not so much according to their crimes as according to the dispositions that they revealed. The prison became a sort of permanent observatory that made it possible to distribute the varieties of vice or weakness. From 1797, the prisoners were divided into four classes: the first for those who were explicitly condemned to solitary confinement or who had committed serious offences in the prison; the second for those who were 'well known as old offenders .•. whose depraved morality; dangerous character, irregular dispositions, or disorderly conduct' became apparent during the time they were in prison; the third for those 'whose character and circumstances, before· and after conviction, led one to believe that they were not habitual offenders'; the fourth and last was a special section, a probationary class for those whose character was still not known, or who, if they were better known, did not deserve to be put in the preceding category (Teeters, 1935, 59). A whole corpus of individualizing knowledge was being organized that took as its field of reference not so much the crime committed (at least in isolation), but the potentiality of danger that lies hidden in an individual and which is manifested in his observed everyday conduct. The prison
+
+functions in this as an apparatus of knowledge.
+
+. Between this apparatus of punishment proposed by the Flemish, English and American models, between these 'reformatories' and all the punishments imagined by the reformers, one may establish
+
+the points of convergence and the disparities.
+
+Points of convergence. In the first instance, there is a difference in the temporal direction of punishment. The 'reformatories' were mechanisms directed towards the future; they too were intended not to efface a crime, but to prevent its repetition. 'As to the enJ, or
+
+final cause of human punishments. This is not by way of atonement or expiation for the crime committed; for that must be left to the just determination of the supreme being .. .' (Blackstone, 11 ). And in Pennsylvania, Buxton declared, the principles of Montesquieu and Beccaria should now have the 'force of axioms', that 'the prevention of crimes is the sole end of punishment' (Bradford, 3). So one punishes not to efface the crime, but to transform a criminal (actual or potential); punishment must bring with it a certain corrective technique. Here, too, Rush is close to the reforming jurists - were it not, perhaps, for the metaphor he uses when he says: we have invented machines that facilitate labour; how much more one should praise the inventor of 'the most speedy and effectual methods of restoring the vicious part of mankind to virtue and happiness, and of extirpating a portion of vice from the world'.18 Lastly, the English and the American models, like the projects of the legislators and theoreticians, require methods to individualize the penalty: in its duration, its nature, its intensity, the way in which it is carried out, the punishment must be adjusted to the individual character and to the danger that he bears within him for others. The system of penalties must be open to individual variables. In their general outline, the models more or less inspired by the Rasphuis of Amsterdam were not in contradiction with the proposals of the reformers. It might even be thought at first glance that they were merely a development of them - or a sketch - at the level of concrete institutions. Yet the disparity emerges clearly enough when one defines the techniques of this individualizing correction. The difference is to be found in the procedure of access to the individual, the way in which the punishing power gets control over him, the instruments that it uses in order to achieve this transformation; it is in the technology of the penalty, not in its theoretical foundation; in the relation that it establishes with the body and with the soul, and not
+
+in the way that it is inserted within the legal system.
+
+That was the method of the reformers. Where exactly did the penalty apply its pressure, gain control of the individual? Representations: the representations of his interests, the representation of his advantages and disadvantages, pleasure and displeasure; and, if the punishment happens to seize the body, to apply techniques to it that are little short of torture, it is because it is - for the condemned man
+
+and jor the spectators - an object of representation. By what instrument did one act on the representations? Other representations, or rather couplings of ideas (crime-punishment, the imagined advantage of crime-disadvantage perceived in the punishments); these pairings could function only in the element of publicity: punitive scenes that established them or reinforced them in the eyes of all, a discourse that circulated, brought back into currency at each moment the complex of signs. The role of the criminal in punishment was to reintroduce, in the face of crime and the criminal code, the real presence of the signified - that is to say, of the penalty which, according to the terms of the code, must be infallibly associated with the offence. By producing this signified abundantly and visibly, and therefore reactivating the signifying system of the code, the idea of crime functioning as a sign of punishment, it is with this coin that the offender pays his debt to society. Individual correction must, therefore, assure the process of redefining the individual as subject of law, through the reinforcement of the systems of signs
+
+and representations that they circulate.
+
+The apparatus of corrective penality acts in a quite different way. The p�int of application of the penalty is not the representation, but the body, time, everyday gestures and activities; the soul, too, but in so far as it is the seat of habits. The body and the soul, as principles of behaviour, form the element that is now proposed for punitive intervention. Rather than on an art of representations, this punitive intervention must rest on a studied manipulation of the individual: 'I have no more doubt of every crime having its cure in moral and physical influence .. .'; so, in order to decide on punishments, one 'will require some knowledge of the principles of sensation, and of the sympathies which occur in the nervous system' (Rush, IJ). As for the instruments used, these are no longer complexes of representation, reinforced and circulated, but forms of coercion, schemata of constraint, applied and repeated. Exercises, not signs: time-tables, compulsory movements, regular activities, solitary meditation, work in common, silence, application, respect, good habits. And, ultimately, what one is trying to restore in this technique of correction is not so much the juridical subject, who is caught up in the fundamental interests of the social pact, but the obedient subject, the individual subjected to habits, rules, orders,
+
+an authority that is exercised continually around him and upon him, and which he must allow to function automatically in him. There are two quite distinct ways, therefore, of reacting to the offence: one may restore the juridical subject of the social pact, or shape an obedient subject, according to the general and detailed
+
+form of some power.
+
+All this would no doubt amount to little more than a speculative difference - for in each case it is a question of forming obedient individuals - if the penality of 'coercion' did not bring with it certain crucial consequences. The training of behaviour by a full time-table, the acquisition of habits, the constraints of the body imply a very special relation between the individual who is punished and the individual who punishes him. It is a relation that not only renders the dimension of the spectacle useless: it excludes it.14 The agent of punishment must exercise a total power, which no third party can disturb; the individual to be corrected must be entirely enveloped in the power that is being exercised over him. Secrecy is imperative; and so too is autonomy, at least in relation to this technique of punishment: it must have its own functioning, its own rules, its own techniques, its own knowledge; it must fix its own norms, decide its own results. There is a discontinuity, or in any case a specificity, in relation to the legal power that declares guilt and fixes the general limits of punishment. These two consequences - secrecy and autonomy in the exercise of the power to punish - are unacceptable for a theory and a policy of penality that has two aims in view: to get all citizens to participate in the punishment of the social enemy and to render the exercise of the power to punish entirely adequate and transparent to the laws that publicly define it. Secret punishments and punishments not specified in the legal code, a power to punish exercised in the shadows according to criteria and with instruments that elude control - this was enough to compromise the whole strategy of the reform. After the sentence, a power was constituted that was reminiscent of the power exercised in the old system. The power that applied the penalties now threatened to be as arbitrary, as despotic, as the power that once decided them. In short, the divergence is the following: punitive city or coercive institution? On the one hand, a functioning of penal power, distributed throughout the social space; present everywhere as scene,
+
+spectacle, sign, discourse; legible like an open book; operating by a permanent recodification of the mind of the citizens; eliminating crime by those obstacles placed before the idea of crime; acting invisibly and uselessly on the 'soft fibres of the brain', as Servan put it. A power to punish that ran the whole length of the social network would act at each of its points, and in the end would no longer be perceived as a power of certain individuals over others, but as an immediate reaction of all in relation to the individual. On the other hand, a compact functioning of the power to punish: a meticulous assumption of responsibility for the body and the time of the convict, a regulation of his movements and behaviour by a system of authority and knowledge; a concerted orthopaedy applied to convicts in order to reclaim them individually; an autonomous administration of this power that is isolated both from the social body and from the judicial power in the strict sense. The emergence of the prison marks the institutionalization of the power to punish, or, to be more precise: will the power to punish (with the strategic aim adopted in the late eighteenth century, the reduction of popular illegality) be better served by concealing itself beneath a general social function, ln the 'punitive city', or by investing itself in a coercive
+
+institution, in the enclosed space of the 'reformatory'?
+
+In any case, it can be said that, in the late eighteenth century, one is confronted by three ways of organizing the power to punish. The first is the one that was still functioning and which was based on the old monarchical law. The other two both refer to a preventive, utilitarian, corrective conception of a right to punish that belongs to society as a whole; but they are very different from one another at the level of the mechanisms they envisage. Broadly speaking, one might say that, in monarchical law, punishment is a ceremonial of sovereignty; it uses the ritual marks of the vengeance that it applies to the body of the condemned man; and it deploys before the eyes of the spectators an effect of terror as intense as it is discontinuous, irregular and always above its own laws, the physical presence of the sovereign and of his power. The reforming jurists, on the other hand, saw punishment as a procedure for requalifying individuals as subjects, as juridical subjects; it uses not marks, but signs, coded sets of representations, which would be given the most rapid circulation and the most general acceptance possible by citizens
+
+witnessing the scene of punishment. Lastly, in the project for a prison institution that was then developing, punishment was seen as a technique for the coercion of individuals; it operated methods of training the body - not signs - by the traces it leaves, in the form of habits, in behaviour; and it presupposed the setting up of a specific power for the administration of the penalty. We have, then, the sovereign and his force, the social body and the administrative apparatus; mark, sign, trace; ceremony, representation, exercise; the vanquished enemy, the juridical subject in the process of requalification, the individual subjected to immediate coercion; the tortured body, the soul with its manipulated representations, the body subjected to training. We have here the three series of elements that characterize the three mechanisms that face one another in the second half of the eighteenth century. They cannot be reduced to theories of law (though they overlap with such theories), nor can they be identified with apparatuses or institutions (though they are based on them), nor can they be derived from moral choices (though they find their justification in morality). They are modalities according to which the power to punish is exercised: three technologies of
+
+power.
+
+The problem, then, is the following: how is it that, in the end, it was the third that was adopted? How did the coercive, corporal, solitary, secret model of the power to punish replace the representative, scenic, signifying, public, collective model? Why did the physical exercise of punishment (which is not torture) replace, with the prison that is its institutional support, the social play of the signs
+
+of punishment and the prolix festival that circulated them?
+
+1. Docile bodies
+
+Let us take the ideal figure of the soldier as it was still seen in the early seventeenth century. To begin with, the soldier was someone who could be recognized from afar; he bore certain signs: the natural signs of his strength and his courage, the marks, too, of his pride; his body was the blazon of his strength and valour; and although it is true that he had to learn the profession of arms little by little generally in actual fighting - movements like marching and attitudes like the bearing of the head belonged for the most part to a bodily rhetoric of honour; 'The signs for recognizing those most suited to this profession are a lively, alen manner, an erect head, a taut stomach, broad shoulders, long arms, strong fingers, a small belly, thick thighs, slender legs and dry feet, because a man of such a figure could not fail to be agile and strong'; when he becomes a pikebearer, the soldier 'will have to march in step in order to have as much grace and gravity as possible, for the pike is an honourable weapon, worthy to be borne with gravity and boldness' (Montgommery, 6 and 7). By the late eighteenth century, the soldier has become something that can be made; out of a formless clay, an inapt body, the machine required can be constructed; posture is gradually corrected; a calculated constraint runs slowly through each part of the body, mastering it, making it pliable, ready at all times, turning silently into the automatism of habit; in short, one has 'got rid of the peasant' and given him 'the air of a soldier' (ordinance of 2.0 March 1764). Recruits become accustomed to 'holding their heads high and erect; to standing upright, without bending the back, to sticking out the belly, throwing out the chest and throwing back the shoulders; and, to help them acquire the habit, they are given this position while standing against a wall in such a way that the heels, the thighs, the waist and the shoulders touch it, as also do the backs
+
+of t:Pe hands, as one turns the arms outwards, without moving them away from the body ... Likewise, they will be taught never to fix their eyes on the ground, but to look straight at those they pass ... to remain motionless until the order is given, without moving the head, the hands or the feet ... lastly to march with a bold step, with knee and ham taut, on the points of the feet, which should face
+
+outwards' (ordinance of 2.0 March 1764).
+
+The classical age discovered the body as object and target of power. It is easy enough to find signs of the attention then paid to the body - to the body that is manipulated, shaped, trained, which obeys, responds, becomes skilful and increases its forces. The great book of Man-the-Machine was written simultaneously on two registers: the anatomico-metaphysical register, of which Descartes wrote the first pages and which the physicians and philosophers continued, and the technico-political register, which was constituted by a whole set of regulations and by empirical and calculated methods relating to the army, the school and the hospital, for controlling or correcting the operations of the body. These two registers are quite distinct, since it was a question, on the one hand, of Isubmission and use and, on the other, of functioning and explanation: there was a useful body and an intelligible body. And yet there are points of overlap from one to the other. La Mettrie's L' Hommemach.ine is both a materialist reduction of the soul and a general theory of dressage, at the centre of which reigns the notion of 'docility', which joins the analysable body to the manipulable body. A body is docile that may be subjected, used, transformed and improved. The celebrated automata, on the other hand, were not only a way of illustrating an organism, they were also political puppets, small-scale models of power: Frederick II, the meticulous king of small machines, well-trained regiments and long exercises,
+
+.was obsessed with them.
+
+What was so new in these projects of docility that interested the eighteenth century so much? It was certainly not the first time that the body had become the object of such imperious and pressing investments; in every society, the body was in the grip of very strict powers, which imposed on it constraints, prohibitions or obligations. However, there were several new things in these techniques. To begin with, there was the scale of the control: it was a
+
+question not of treating the body, en masse, 'wholesale', as if it were an indissociable unity, but of working it 'retail', individually; of exercising upon it a subtle coercion, of obtaining holds upon it at the level of the mechanism itself - movements, gestures, attitudes, rapidity: an infinitesimal power over the active body. Then there was the object of the control: it was not or was no longer the signifying elements of behaviour or the language of the body, but the economy, the efficiency of movements, their internal organization; constraint bears upon the forces rather than upon the signs; the only truly important ceremony is that of exercise. Lastly, there is the modality: it implies an uninterrupted, constant coercion, supervising the processes of the activity rather than its result and it is exercised according to a codification that partitions as closely as possible time, space, movement. These methods, which made possible the meticulous control of the operations of the body, which assured the constant subjection of its forces and imposed upon them a relation of docility-utility, might be called 'disciplines'. Many disciplinary methods had long been in existence - in monasteries, armies, workshops. But in the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the disciplines became general formulas of domination. They were different from slavery because they were not based on a relation of appropriation of bodies; indeed; the elegance of the discipline lay in the fact that it could dispense with this costly and violent relation by obtaining effects of utility at least as great. They were different, too, from 'service', which was a constant, total, massive, non-analytical, unlimited relation of domination, established in the form of the individual will of the master, his 'caprice'. They were different from vassalage, which was a highly coded, but distant relation of submission, which bore less on the operations of the body than on the products of labour and the ritual marks of allegiance. Again, they were different from asceticism and from 'disciplines' of a monastic type, whose function was to obtain renunciations rather than increases of utility and which, although they involved obedience to others, had as their principal aim an increase of the mastery of each individual over his own body. The historical moment of the disciplines was the moment when an art of the human body was born, which was directed not only at the growth of its skills, nor at the intensification of its
+
+subjection, but at the formation of a relation that in the mechanism itself makes it more obedient as it becomes more useful, and conversely. What was then being formed was a policy of coercions that act upon the body, a calculated manipulation of its elements, its gestures, its behaviour. The human body was entering a machinery of power that explores it, breaks it down and rearranges it. A 'political anatomy', which was also a 'mechanics of power', was being born; it defined how one may have a hold over others' bodies, not only so that they may do what one wishes, but so that they may operate as one wishes, with the techniques, the speed and the efficiency that one determines. Thus discipline produces subjected and practised bodies, 'docile' bodies. Discipline increases the forces of the body (in economic terms of utility) and diminishes these same forces (in political terms of obedience). In short, it dissociates power from the body; on the one hand, it turns it into an 'aptitude', a 'capacity', which it seeks to increase; on the other hand, it reverses the course of the energy, the power that might result from it, and turns it into a relation of strict subjection. If economic exploitation separates the force and the product of labour, let us say that disciplinary coercion establishes in the body the constricting link between an increased aptitude and an increased
+
+domination.
+
+The 'invention' of this new political anatomy must not be seen as a sudden discovery. It is rather a multiplicity of often minor processes, of different origin and scattered location, which overlap, repeat, or imitate one another, support one another, distinguish themselves from one another according to their domain of application, converge and gradually produce the blueprint of a general method. They were at work in secondary education at a very early date, later in primary schools; they slowly invested the space of the hospital; and, in a few decades, they restructured the military organization. They sometimes circulated very rapidly from one point to another (between the army and the technical schools or secondary schools), sometimes ,slowly and discreetly (the insidious militarization of the large workshops). On almost every occasion, they were -adopted in response to particular needs: an industrial innovation, a renewed outbreak of certain epidemic diseases, the invention of the rifle or the victories of Prussia. This did not prevent
+
+them being totally inscribed in general and essential transforma-
+
+tions, which we must now try to delineate.
+
+There can be no question here of writing the history o
+
+. f the
+
+different disciplinary institutions, with all their individual differences. I simply intend to map on a series of examples some of the essential techniques that most easily spread from one to another. These were always meticulous, often minute, techniques, but they had their importance: because they defined a certain mode of detailed political investment of the body, a 'new micro-physics' of power; and because, since the seventeenth century, they had constantly reached out to ever broader domains, as if they tended to cover the entire social body. Small acts of cunning endowed with a great power of diffusion, subtle arrangements, apparently innocent, but profoundly suspicious, mechanisms that obeyed economies too shameful to be acknowledged, or pursued petty forms of coercion it was nevertheless they that brought about the mutation of the punitive system, at the threshold of the contemporary period. Describing them will require great attention to detail: beneath every set of figures, we must seek not a meaning, but a precaution; we must situate them not only in the inextricability of a functioning, but in the coherence of a tactic. They are the acts of cunning, not so much of the greater reason that works even in its sleep and gives meaning to the insignificant, as of the attentive 'malevolence' thai: turns everything to account. Discipline is a political anatomy of detail. Before we lose patience we would do well to recall the words of Marshal de Saxe: 'Although those who concern themselves with details are regarded as folk of limited intelligence, it seems to me that this part is essential, because it is the foundation, and it is impossible to erect any building or establish any method without understanding its principles. It is not enough to have a liking for architecture. One must also know stone-cutting' (Saxe, 5). There is a whole history to be written about such 'stone-cutting' - a history of the utilitarian rationalization of detail in moral accountability and political control. The classical age did not initiate it; rather it accelerated it, changed its scale, gave it precise instruments, and perhaps found some echoes for it in the calculation of the infinitely small or in the description of the most detailed characteristics of natural beings. In any case, 'detail' had long been a category of
+
+theqlogy and asceticism: every detail is important since, in the sight of God, no immensity is greater than a detail, nor is anything so small that it was not willed by one of his individual wishes. In this great tradition of the eminence of detail, all the minutiae of Christian education, of scholastic or military pedagogy, all forms of 'training' found their place easily enough. For the disciplined man, as for the true believer, no detail is unimportant, but not so much for the meaning that it conceals within it as for the hold it provides for the power that wishes to seize it. Characteristic is the great hymn to the 'little things' and to their eternal importance, sung by Jean-Baptiste de La Salle, in his Traiti sur les ohligation.s des freres des Ecoles chritiennes. The mystique of the everyday is joined here with the discipline of the minute. 'How dangerous it is to neglect little things. It is a very consoling reflection for a soul like mine, little disposed to great actions, to think that fidelity to little things may, by an imperceptible progress, raise us to the most eminent sanctity: because little things lead to greater ... Little things; it will be said, alas, my God, what can we do that is great for you, weak and mortal creatures that we are. Little things; if great things presented themselves 'would we perform them? Would we not think them beyond our strength? Little things; and if God accepts them and wishes to receive them as great things? Little things; has one ever felt this? Does one judge according to experience? Little things; one is certainly guilty, therefore, if seeing them as such, one refuses them? Little things; yet it is they that in the end have made great saints ! Yes, little things; but great motives, great feelings, great fervour, great ardour, and consequently great merits, great treasures, great rewards' (La Salle, Traitl •.. , .138--9). The meticulousness of the regulations, the fussiness of the inspections, the supervision of the smallest fragment of life and of the body will soon provide, in the context of the school, the barracks, the hospital or the workshop, a laicized content, an economic or technical rationality for this mystical calculus of the infinitesimal and the infinite. And a History of Detail in the eighteenth century, presided over by Jean-Baptiste de La Salle, touching on Leibniz and Buffon, via Frederick II, covering pedagogy, medicine, military tactics and economics, should bring us, at the end of the century, to the man who dreamt of being another Newton, not the Newton of the immensities of
+
+the heavens and the planetary masses, but a Newton of 'small bodies', small movements, small actions; to the man who replied to Monge's remark, 'there was only one world to discover': 'What do I hear? But the world of details, who has never dreamt of that other world, what of that world? I have believed in it ever since I was fifteen. I was concerned with it then, and this memory lives within me, as an obsession never to be abandoned •.. That other world is the most important of all that I flatter myself I have discovered: when I think of it, my- heart aches' (these words are attributed to Bonaparte in the Introduction to Saint-Hilaire's Notions syntlzetiques et historiques de philosophie nature//e). Napoleon did not discover this world; but we know that he set out to organize it; and he wished to arrange around him a mechanism of power that would enable him to see the smallest event that occurred in the state he governed; he intended, by means of the rigorous discipline that he imposed, 'to embrace the whole of this vast machine without the
+
+slightest detail escaping his attention' (Treilhard, 14).
+
+A meticulous observation of detail, and at the same time a political awareness of these small things, for the control and use of men, emerge through the classical age bearing with them a whole set of techniques, a whole corpus of methods and knowledge, descriptions, plans and data. And from such trifles, no doubt, the
+
+man of modern humanism was born.1
+
+The art of distri6utions
+
+In the first instance, discipline proceeds from the distribution of individuals in space. To achieve this end, it employs several techniques. 1. Discipline sometimes requires enclosure, the specification of a place heterogeneous to all others and closed in upon itself. It is the protected place of disciplinary monotony. There was the great 'confinement' of vagabonds and paupers; there were other more discreet, but insidious and effective ones. There were the colleges, or secondary schools: the monastic model was gradually imposed; boarding appeared as the most perfect, if not the most frequent, educational regime; it became obligatory at Louis-le-Grand when, after the departure of the Jesuits, it was turned into a model school (cf. Aries, J08-I 3 and Snyders, 35-41). There were the military
+
+bartilcks: the anny, that vagabond mass, has to be held in place; looting and violence must be prevented; the fears of local inhabitants, who do not care for troops passing through their towns, must be calmed; conflicts with the civil authorities must be avoided; desertion must be stopped, expenditure controlled. The ordinance of 1719 envisaged the construction of several hundred barracks, on the model of those already set up in the south of the country; there would be strict confinements: 'The whole will be enclosed by an outer wall ten feet high, which will surround the said houses, at a distance of thirty feet from all the sides'; this will have the effect of maintaining the troops in 'order and discipline, so that an officer will be in a position to answer for them' (L'OrJoTJr�.aMe militaire, IXL, l.5 September 1719). In 174�, there were barracks in about po towns; and it was estimated that the total capacity of the barracks in 177� was approximately l.oo,ooo men (Daisy, l.01-9; an anonymous memoir of 1775, in Depat de Ia guerre, 3689, f. 156; Navereau, 1p-5). Side by side with the spread of workshops, there also developed great manufacturing spaces, both homogeneous and well defined: first, the combined manufactories, then, in the second half of the eighteenth century, the works or factories proper (the Chaussade ironworks occupied almost the whole of the Medine peninsula, between Nievre and Loire; in order to set up the Indret factory in 1777, Wilkinson, by means of embankments and dikes, constructed an island on the Loire; T oufait built Le Creusot in the valley of the Charbonniere, which he transfonned, and he had workers' accommodation built in the factory itself); it was a change of scale, but it was also a new type of control. The factory was explicitly compared with the monastery, the fortress, a walled town; the guardian 'will open the gates only on the return of the workers, and after the bell that announces the resumption of work has been rung'; a quarter of an hour later no one will be admitted; at the end of the day, the workshops' heads will hand back the keys to the Swiss guard of the factory, who will then open the gates (Amhoise, f. u,IJOI). The aim is to derive the maximum advantages and to neutralize the inconveniences (thefts, interruptions of work, disturbances and 'cabals'), as the forces of production become more concentrated; to protect materials and tools and to master the labour force: 'The order and inspection that must be maintained require
+
+that all workers be assembled under the same roof, so that the partner who is entrusted with the management of the manufactory may prevent and remedy abuses that may arise among the workers and
+
+arrest their progress at the outset' (Dauphin, 199).
+
+2.. But the principle of 'enclosure' is neither constant, nor indispensable, nor sufficient in disciplinary machinery. This machinery works space in a much more flexible and detailed way. It does this first of all on the principle of elementary location or partitioning. Each individual has his own place; and each place its individual. A void distributions in groups; break up collective dispositions; analyse confused, massive or transient pluralities. Disciplinary space tends to be divided into as many sections as there are bodies or elements to be distributed. One must eliminate the effects of imprecise distributions, the uncontrolled disappearance of individuals, their diffuse circulation, their unusable and dangerous coagulation; it was a tactic of anti-desertion, anti-vagabondage, anti-concentration. Its aim was to establish presences and absences, to know where and how to locate individuals, to set up useful communications, to interrupt others, to be able at each moment to supervise the conduct of each individual, to assess it, to judge it, to calculate its qualities or merits. It was a procedure, therefore, aimed at knowing, master-
+
+ing and using. Discipline organizes an analytical space.
+
+And there, too, it encountered an old architectural and religious method: the monastic cell. Even if the compartments it assigns become purely ideal, the disciplinary space is always, basically, cellular. Solitude was necessary to both body and soul, according to a certain asceticism: they must, at certain moments at least, confront temptation and perhaps the severity of God alone. 'Sleep is the image of death, the dormitory is the image of the sepulchre ... although the dormitories are shared, the beds are nevertheless arranged in such a way and closed so exactly by means of curtains that the girls may rise and retire without being seen' (Reglement pour Ia communaute des filles Ju Bon Pasteur, in Delamare, 507). But this
+
+is still a very crude form.
+
+3· The rule of.{uNtional sites would gradually, in the disciplinary institutions, code a space that architecture generally left at the disposal of several different uses. Particular places were defined to correspond not only to the need to supervise, to break dangerous
+
+coqtmunications, but also to create a useful space. The process appeared clearly in the hospitals, especially in the military and naval hospitals. In France, it seems that Rochefort served both as experiment and model. A port, and a military port is - with its circulation of goods, men signed up willingly or by force, sailors embarking and disembarking, diseases and epidemics - a place of desertion, smuggling, contagion: it is a crossroads for dangerous mixtures, a meeting-place for forbidden circulations. The naval hospital must therefore treat, but in order to do this it must be a filter, a mechanism that pins down and partitions; it must provide a hold over this whole mobile, swarming mass, by dissipating the confusion of illegality and evil. The medical supervision of diseases and contagions is inseparable from a whole series of other controls: the military control over deserters, fiscal control over commodities, administrative control over remedies, rations, disappearances, cures, deaths, simulations. Hence the need to distribute and partition off space in a rigorous manner. The first steps taken at Rochefort concerned things rather than men, precious commodities, rather than patients. The arrangements of fiscal and economic supervision preceded the techniques of medical observation: placing of medicines under lock and key, recording their use; a little later, a system was worked out to verify the real number of patients, their identity, the units to which they belonged; then one began to regulate their comings and goings; they were forced to remain in their wards; to each bed was attached the name of its occupant; each individual treated was entered in a register that the doctor had to consult during the visit; later came the isolation of contagious patients and separate beds. Gradually, an administrative and political space was articulated upon a therapeutic space; it tended to individualize bodies, diseases, symptoms, lives and deaths; it constituted a real table of juxtaposed and carefully distinct singularities. Out of discipline, a medically
+
+useful space was born.
+
+In the factories that appeared at the end of the eighteenth century, the principle of individualizing partitioning became more complicated. It was a question of distributing individuals in a space in which one might isolate them and map them; but also of articulating this distribution on a production machinery that had its own requirements. The distribution of bodies, the spatial arrangement of
+
+production machinery and the different forms of activity in the distribution of 'posts' had to be linked together. The Oberkampf manufactory at Jouy obeyed this principle. It was made up of a series of workshops specified according to each broad type of operation: for the printers, the handlers, the colourists, the women who touched up the design, the engravers, the dyers. The largest of the buildings, built in 1791, by Toussaint Barre, was 110 metres long and had three storeys. The ground floor was devoted mainly to block printing; it contained 1 J.l tables arranged in two rows, the length of the workshop, which had eighty-eight windows; each printer worked at a table with his 'puller', who prepared and spread the colours. There were 2.64 persons in all. At the end of each table was a sort of rack on which the material that had just been printed was left to dry (Saint-Maur). By walking up and down the central aisle of the workshop, it was possible to carry out a supervision that was both general and individual: to observe the worker's presence and application, and the quality of his work; to compare workers with one another, to classify them according to skill and speed; to follow the successive stages of the production process. All these serializations formed a permanent grid: confusion was eliminated2: that is to say, production was divided up and the labour process was articulated, on the one hand, according to its stages or elementary operations, and, on the other hand, according to the individuals, the particular bodies, that carried it out: each variable of this force strength, promptness, skill, constancy - would be observed, and therefore characterized, assessed, computed and related to the individual who was its particular agent. Thus, spread out in a perfectly legible way qver the whole series of individual bodies, the work force may be analysed in individual units. At the emergence of large-scale industry, one finds, beneath the division of the production process, the individualizing fragmentation of labour power; the distributions of the disciplinary space often assured both. 4· In discipline, the elements are interchangeable, since each is defined by the place it occupies in a series, and by the gap that separates it from the others. The unit is, therefore, neither the territory (unit of domination), nor the place (unit of residence), but the rank: the place one occupies in a classification, the point at which a line and a column intersect, the interval in a series of intervals that
+
+ont; may traverse one after the other. Discipline is an art of rank, a technique for the transformation of arrangements. It individualizes bodies by a location that does not give them a fixed position, but distributes them and circulates them in a network of relations. Take the example of the 'class'. In the Jesuit colleges, one still found an organization that was at once binary and unified; the classes, which might comprise up to two or three hundred pupils, were subdivided into groups of ten; each of these groups, with its 'decurion', was placed in a camp, Roman or Carthaginian; each 'decury' had its counterpart in the opposing camp. The general form was that of war and rivalry; work, apprenticeship and classification were carried out in the form of the joust, through the confrontation of two armies; the contribution of each pupil was inscribed in this general duel; it contributed to the victory or the defeat of a whole camp; and the pupils were assigned a place that corresponded to the function of each individual and to his value as a combatant in the unitary group of his 'decury' (Rochemonteix, 5 rff). It should be observed moreover that this Roman comedy made it possible to link, to the binary exercises of rivalry, a spatial disposition inspired by the legion, with rank, hierarchy, pyramidal supervision. One should not forget that, generally speaking, the Roman model, at the Enlightenment, played a dual role: in its republican aspect, it was the very embodiment of liberty; in its military aspect, it was the ideal schema of discipline. The Rome of the eighteenth century and of the Revolution was the Rome of the Senate, but it was also that of the legion; it was the Rome of the Forum, but it was also that of the camps. Up to the empire, the Roman reference transmitted, somewhat ambiguously, the juridical ideal of citizenship and the technique of disciplinary methods. In any case, the strictly disciplinary element in the ancient fable used by the Jesuit colleges came to dominate the element of joust and mock warfare. Gradually - but especially after 1762 - the educational space unfolds; the class becomes homogeneous, it is no longer made up of individual elements arranged side by side under the master's eye. In the eighteenth century, 'rank' begins to define the great form of distribution of individuals in the educational order: rows or ranks of pupils in the class, corridors, courtyards; rank attributed to each pupil at the end of each task and each examination; the rank he
+
+obtains from week to week, month to month, year to year; an alignment of age groups, one after another; a succession of subjects taught and questions treated, according to an order of increasing difficulty. And, in this ensemble of compulsory alignments, each pupil, according to his age, his performance, his behaviour, occupies sometimes one rank, sometimes another; he moves constantly over a series of compartments - some of these are 'ideal' compartments, marking a hierarchy of knowledge or ability, others express the distribution of values or merits in material terms in the space of the college or classroom. It is a perpetual movement in which individuals replace one another in a space marked off by aligned intervals. The organization of a serial space was one of the great technical mutations of elementary education. It made it possible to supersede the traditional system (a pupil working for a few minutes with the master, while the rest of the heterogeneous group remained idle and unattended). By assigning individual places it made possible the supervision of each individual and the simultaneous work of all. It organized a new economy of the time of apprenticeship. It made the educational space function like a learning machine, but also as a machine for supervising, hierarchizing, rewarding. Jean-Baptiste de La Salle dreamt of a classroom in which the spatial distribution might provide a whole series of distinctions at once: according to the pupils' progress, worth, character, application, cleanliness and parents' fortune. Thus, the classroom would form a single great table, with many different entries, under the scrupulously 'classificatory' eye of the master: 'In every class there will be places assigned for all the pupils of all the lessons, so that all those attending the same lesson will always occupy the same place. Pupils attending the highest lessons will be placed in the benches closest to the wall, followed by the others according to the order of the lessons moving towards the middle of the classroom. . . Each of the pupils will have his place assigned to him and none of them will leave it or change it except on the order or with the consent of the school inspector.' Things must be so arranged that 'those whose parents are neglectful and verminous must be separated from those who are careful and clean; that an unruly and frivolous pupil should be placed between two who are well behaved and serious, a libertine
+
+lp organizing 'cells', 'places' and 'ranks', the disciplines create complex spaces that are at once architectural, functional and hierarchical. It is spaces that provide fixed positions and permit circulation; they carve out individual segments and establish operational links; they mark places and indicate values; they guarantee the obedience of individuals, but also a better economy of time and gesture. They are mixed spaces: real because they govern the disposition of buildings, rooms, furniture, but also ideal, because they are projected over this arrangement of characterizations, assessments, hierarchies. The first of the great operations of discipline is, therefore, the constitution of 'tahleaux vivants', which transform the confused, useless or dangerous multitudes into ordered multiplicities. The drawing up of 'tables' was one of the great problems of the scientific, political and economic technology of the eighteenth century: how one was to arrange botanical and zoological gardens, and construct at the same time rational classifications of living beings; how one was to observe, supervise, regularize the circulation of commodities and money and thus build up an economic table that might serve as the principle of the increase of wealth; how one was to insPect men, observe their presence and absence and constitute a general and permanent register of the armed forces; how one was to distribute patients, separate them from one another, divide up the hospital space and make a systematic classification of diseases: these were all twin operations in which the two elements - distribution and analysis, supervision and intelligibility - are inextricably bound up. In the eighteenth century, the table was both a technique of power and a procedure of knowledge. It was a question of organizing the multiple, of providing oneself with an instrument to cover it and to master it; it was a question of imposing upon it an 'order'. Like the army general of whom Guibert spoke, the naturalist, the physician, the economist was 'blinded by the immensity, dazed by the multitude ... the innumerable combinations that result from the multiplicity of objects, so many concerns together form a burden above his strength. In perfecting itself, in approaching true principles, the science of modem warfare might become simpler and less difficult'; armies 'with simple, similar tactics, capable of being adapted to every movement ... would be easier to move and lead' (Guibert, xxxvi). Tactics, the spatial ordering of men; taxonomy,
+
+the disciplinary space of natural beings; the economic table, the
+
+regulated movement of wealth.
+
+But the table does not have the same function in these different registers. In the order of the economy, it makes possibl.e the measurement of quantities and the analysis of movements. In the form of taxonomy, it has the function of characterizing (and consequently reducing individual singularities) and constituting classes (and therefore of excluding considerations of number). But in the form of the disciplinary distribution, on the other hand, the table has the function of treating multiplicity itself, distributing it and deriving from it as many effects as possible. Whereas natural taxonomy is situated on the axis that links character and category, disciplinary tactics is situated on the axis that links the singular and the multiple. It allows both the characterization of the individual as individual and the ordering of a given multiplicity. It is the first condition for the control and use of an ensemble of distinct elements: the base for a micro-physics of what might be called a 'cellular'
+
+power.
+
+The control of activity
+
+I. The time-tahle is an old inheritance. The strict model was no doubt suggested by the monastic communities. It soon spread. Its three great methods - establish rhythms, impose particular occupations, regulate the cycles of repetition - were soon to be found in schools, workshops and hospitals. The new disciplines had no difficulty in taking up their place in the old forms; the schools and poorhouses extended the life and the regularity of the monastic communities to which they were often attached. The rigours of the industrial period long retained a religious air; in the seventeenth century, the regulations of the great manufactories laid down the exercises that would divide up the working day: 'On arrival in the morning, before beginning their work, all persons shall wash their hands, offer up their work to God and make the sign of the cross' (Saint-Maur, article I); but even in the nineteenth century, when the rural populations were needed in industry, they were sometimes formed into 'congregations', in an attempt to inure them to work in the workshops; the framework of the 'factory-monastery' was
+
+imppsed upon the workers. In the Protestant armies of Maurice of Orange and Gustavus Adolphus, military discipline was achieved through a rhythmics of rime punctuated by pious exercises; army life, Boussanelle was later to say, should have some of the 'perfections of the cloister itself' (Boussanelle, 2; on the religious character of discipline in the Swedish army, cf. The Swedish Discipline, London, I6Jl). For centuries, the religious orders had been masters of discipline: they were the specialists of rime, the great technicians of rhythm and regular activities. But the disciplines altered these methods of temporal regulation from which they derived. They altered them first by refining them. One began to count in quarter hours, in minutes, in seconds. This happened in the army, of course: Guibert systematically implemented the chronometric measurement of shooting that had been s)lggested earlier by Vauban. In the elementary schools, the division of time became increasingly minute; activities were governed in detail by orders that had to be obeyed immediately: 'At the last stroke of the hour, a pupil will ring the bell, and at the first sound of the bell all the pupils will kneel, with their arms crossed and their eyes lowered. When the prayer has been said,. tlle teachet will strike the signal once to indicate that the pupils should get up, a second time as a sign that they should salute Christ, and a third that they should sit down' (La Salle, Conduite ... ,27-8). In the early nineteenth century, the following time-table was suggested for the Ecoles mutuelles, or 'mutual improvement schools': 8.45 entrance of the monitor, 8.52 the monitor's summons, 8.56 entrance of the children and prayer, 9.00 the children go to their benches, 9.04 first slate, 9.08 end of dictation, 9· r 2 second slate, etc. (Tronchot, ur). The gradual extension ofthe wage-earning class brought with it a more detailed partitioning of time: 'If workers arrive later than a quarter of an hour· after the ringing of the be.ll .• . ' (Amboise, article 2); 'if any one of the companions is asked for during work and loses more than five minutes .. .'' 'anyone who is not at his work at the correct time .. .' (Oppenheim, article 7-8). But an attempt is also made to assure the quality of the time used: constant supervision, the pressure of supervisors, the elimination o( anything that might disturb or distratt; it is a question of constituting a totally useful time: 'It is expressly forbidden during work to amuse one's companions by gestures or in any other way, to play
+
+at any game whatsoever, to eat, to sleep, to tell stories and comedies' (Oppenheim, article 16); and even during the meal-break, 'there will be no telling of stories, adventures or other such talk that distracts the workers from their work'; 'it is expressly forbidden for any worker, under any pretext, to bring wine into the manufactory and to drink in the workshops' (Amhoise, article 4). Time measured and paid must also be a time without impurities or defects; a time of good quality, throughout which the body is constantly applied to its exercise. Precision and application are, with regularity, the fundamental virtues of disciplinary time. But this is not the newest thing about it. Other methods are more characteristic of the disciplines. 2. Tke temporal elahoration of tke act. There are, for example, two ways of controlling marching troops. In the early seventeenth century, we have: 'Accustomed soldiers marching in file or in battalion to march to the rhythm of the drum. And to do this, one must begin with the right foot so that the whole troop raises the same foot at the same time' (Montgommery, 86). In the mideighteenth century, there are four sorts of steps: 'The length of the the short step will be a foot, that of the ordinary step, the double step and the marching step will be two feet, the whole measured from one heel to the next; as for the duration, that of the small step and the ordinary step will last one second, during which two ,double steps would be performed; the duration of the marching step will be a little longer than one second. The oblique step will take one second; it will be at most eighteen inches from one heel to the next . . . . The ordinary step will be executed forwards, holding the head up high and the body erect, holding oneself in balance successively on a single leg, and bringing the other forwards, the ham taut, the point of the foot a little turned outwatds and low, so that one may without affectation brush the ground on which one must walk and place one's foot, in such a way that each part may come to rest there at the same time without striking the ground' ('Ordonnance du 1
+
+cr
+
+janvier 1766, pour regler !'exercise de l'infanterie'). Between these two instructions, a new set of restraints had been brought into play, another degree of precision in the breakdown of gestures and movements, another way of adjusting the body to temporal imperatives. What the ordinance of 1766 defines is not a time-table - the general framework for an activity; it is rather a collective and
+
+obligatory rhythm, imposed from the outside; it is a 'programme'; it assures the elaboration of the act itself; it controls its development and its stages from the inside. We have passed from a form of injunction that measured or punctuated gestures to a web that constrains them or sustains them throughout their entire succession. A sort of anatomo-chronological schema of behaviour is defined. The act is broken down into its elements; the position of the body, limbs, articulations is defined; to each movement are assigned a direction, an aptitude, a duration; their order of succession is prescribed. Time penetrates the body and with it all the meticulous controls of power. J· Hence the correlation of the hody and the gesture. Disciplinary control does not consist simply in teaching or imposing a series of particul:tr gestures; it imposes the best relation between a gesture and the overall position of the body, which is its condition of efficiency and speed. In the correct use of the body, which makes possible a correct use of time, nothing must remain idle or useless: everything must be called upon to form the support of the act required. A well-disciplined body forms the operational context of the slightest gesture. Good handwriting, for example, presupposes a gymnastics - a whole routine whose rigorous code invests the body in its entirety, from the points of the feet to the tip of the index finger. The pupils must always 'hold their bodies erect, somewhat turned and free on the left side, slightly inClined, so that, with the elbow placed on the table, the chin can be rested upon the hand, unless this were to interfere with the view; the left leg must be somewhat more forward under the table than the right. A distance of two fingers must be left between the body and the table; for not only does one write with more alertness, but nothing is more harmful to the health than to acquire the habit of pressing one's stomach against the table; the part of the left arm from the elbow to the hand must be placed on the table. The right arm must be at a distance from the body of about three fingers and be about five fingers from the table, on which it must rest lightly. The teacher will place the pupils in the posture that they should maintain when writing, and will correct it either by sign or otherwise, when they change this position' (La Salle, Conduite .•. , 63-4). A disciplined body is the
+
+relations that the body must have with the object that it manipulates. Between them, it outlines a meticulous meshing. 'Bring the w�apon forward. In three stages. Raise the rifle with the right hand, bringing it close to the body so as to hold it perpendicular with the right knee, the end of the barrel at eye level, grasping it by striking it with the right hand, the arm held close to the body at waist height. At the second stage, bring the rifle in front of yqu with the left hand, the barrel in the middle between the two eyes, vertical, the right hand grasping it at the small of the butt, the arm outstretched, the triggerguard resting on the first finger, the left hand at the height of the notch, the thumb lying along the barrel against the moulding. At the third stage, let go of the rifle with the left hand, which falls along the thigh, raising the rifle with the right hand, the lock outwards and opposite the chest, the right arm half flexed, the elbow close to the body, the thumb lying against the lock, resting against the first screw, the hammer resting on the first finger, the barrel perpendicular' ('Ordonnance du Icr janvier 1766 . .. ,titre XI, article 2'). This is an example of what might be called the instrumental coding of the body. It consists of a breakdown of the total gesture into two parallel series: that of the parts of the body to be used (right hand, left hand, different fingers of the hand, knee, eye, elbow, etc.) and that of the parts of the object manipulated (barrel, notch, hammer, screvr, etc.); then the two sets of parts are correlated together according to a number of simple gestures (rest, bend); lastly, it fixes the canonical succession in which each of these correlations occupies a particular place. This obligatory syntax is what the military theoreticians of the eighteenth century called 'manoeuvre'. The traditional recipe gives place to explicit and obligatory prescriptions. Over the whole surface of contact between the body and the object it handles, power is introduced, fastening them to one another. It constitutes a bodyweapon, body-tool, body-machine complex. One is as far as possible from those forms of subjection that demanded of the body only signs or products, forms of expression or the result of labour. The regulation imposed by power is at the same time the law of construction of the operation. Thus disciplinary power appears to have the function not so much of deduction as of synthesis, not so much of exploitation of the product as of coercive link with the
+
+'1· Exhaustive use. The principle that underlay the time-table in its traditional form was essentially negative; it was the principle of non-idleness: it was forbidden to waste time, which was counted by God and paid for by men; the time-table was to eliminate the danger of wasting it - a moral offence and economic dishonesty. Discipline, on the other hand, arranges a positive economy; it poses the principle of a theoretically ever-growing use of time: exhaustion rather than use; it is a question of extracting, from time, ever more available moments and, from each moment, ever more useful forces. This means that one must seek to intensify the use of the slightest moment, as if time, in its very fragmentation, were inexhaustible or as if, at least by an ever more detailed internal arrangement, one could tend towards an ideal point at which one maintained maximum speed and maximum efficiency. It was precisely this that was implemented in the celebrated regulations of the Prussian infantry that the whole of Europe imitated after the victories ofF rederick II:4 the more time is broken down, the more its subdivisions multiply, the better one disarticulates it by deploying its internal elements under fl. gaze that supervises them, the more one can accelerate an operation, or at least regulate it according to an optimum speed; hence this regulation of the time of an action that was so important in the army and which was to be so throughout the entire technology of hurnan activity: the Prussian regulations of 1743 laid down six stages to bring the weapon to one's foot, four to extend it, thirteen to raise it to the shoulder, etc. By other means, the 'mutual improvement school' was also arranged as a machine to intensify the use of time; its organization made it possible to obviate the linear, successive character of the master's teaching: it regulated the counterpoint of operations performed, at the same moment, by different groups of pupils under the direction of monitors and assistants, so that each passing moment was filled with many different, but ordered activities; and, on the other hand, the rhythm imposed by signals, whistles, orders imposed on everyone temporal norms that were intended both to accelerate the process of learning and to teach speed as a virtue;5 'the sole aim of these commands ... is to accustom the children to executing well and quickly the same operations, to diminish as far as possible by speed the loss of time caused by moving from one opera-
+
+Through this technique of subjection a new object was being formed; slowly, it superseded the mechanical body - the body .composed of solids and assigned movements, the image of which had for so long haunted those who dreamt of disciplinary perfection. This new object is the natural body, the bearer of forces and the seat of duration; it is the body susceptible to specified operations, which have their order, their stages, their internal conditions, their constituent elements. In becoming the target for new mechanisms of power, the body is offered up to new forms of knowledge. It is the body of exercise, rather than of speculative physics; a body manipulated by authority, rather than imbued with animal spirits; a body of useful training and not of rational mechanics, but one in which, by virtue of that very fact, a number of natural requirements and functional constraints are beginning to emerge. This is the body that Guibert discovered in his critique of excessively artificial movements. In the exercise that is imposed upon it and which it resists, the body brings out its essential correlations and spontaneously rejects the incompatible: 'On entering most of our training schools, one sees all those unfortunate soldiers in constricting and forced attitudes, one sees all their muscles contracted, the circulation of their blood interrupted ... If we studied the intention of nature and the construction of the human body, we would find the positic;m and the bearing that nature clearly prescribes for the soldier. The head must be erect, standing out from the shoulders, sitting perpendicularly between them. It must be turned neither to left nor to right, because, in view of the correspondence between the vertebrae of the neck and the shoulder-blade to which they are attached, none of them may move in a circular manner without slightly bringing with it from the same side that it moves one of the shoulders and because, the body no longer being placed squarely, the soldier can no longer walk straight in front of him or serve as a point of alignment ... Since the hip-bone, which the ordinance indicates as the point against which the butt end should rest, is not situated the same in all men, the rifle must be placed more to the right for some, and more to the left for others. For the same reason ofinequality of structure, the trigger-guard is more or less pressed against the body, depending on whether the outer parts of a man's shoulder is more or less
+
+We have seen how the procedures of disciplinary distribution had their place among the contemporary techniques of classification and tabulation; but also how they introduced into them the specific problem of individuals and multiplicity. Similarly, the disciplinary controls of activity belonged to a whole series of researches, theoretical or practical, into the natural machinery of bodies; but they began to discover in them specific processes; behaviour and its organized requirements gradually replaced the simple physics of movement. The body, required to be docile in its minutest operations, opposes and shows the conditions of functioning proper to an organism. Disciplinary power has as its correlative an individuality that is not only analytical and 'cellular', but also natural and
+
+'organic'.
+
+The organiration of geneses
+
+In 1667, the edict that set up the manufactory of the Gobelins envisaged the organization of a school. Sixty scholarship children were t� be chosen by the superintendent of royal buildings, entrusted for a time to a master whose task it would be to provide them with 'upbringing and instruction', then apprenticed to the various master tapestry makers of the manufactory (who by virtue of this fact received compensation deducted from the pupils' scholarships); after six years' apprenticeship, four years of service and a qualifying examination, they were given the right to 'set up and run a shop' in any town of the kingdom. We find here the characteristics of guild apprenticeship: the relation of dependence on the master that is both individual and total; the statutory duration of the training, which is concluded by a qualifying examination, but which is not broken down according to a precise programme; an overall exchange between the master who must give his knowledge and the apprentice who must offer his services, his assistance and often some payment. The form of domestic service is mixed with a transference of knowledge. 8 In 1737, an edict organized a school of drawing for the apprentices of the Gobelins; it was not intended to replace the training given by the master workers, but to complement it. It involved a quite different arrangement of time. Two hours a day, except on Sundays and feast days, the pupils met in the school. A
+
+roll-call was taken, from a list on the wall; the absentees were noted down in a register. The school was divided into three classes, The first for those who had no notion of drawing; they were made to copy models, which were more or less difficult according to the abilities of each pupil. The second 'for those who already have some principles', or who had passed through the first class; they had to reproduce pictures 'at sight, without tracing', but considering only the drawing. In the third class, they learnt colouring and pastel drawing, and were introduced to the theory and practice of dyeing. The pupils performed individual tasks at regular intervals; each of these exercises, signed with the name of its author and date of execution, was handed in to the teacher; the best were rewarded; assembled together at the end of the year and compared, they made it possible to establish the progress, the present ability and the relative place of each pupil; it was then decided which of them could pass into the next class. A general book, kept by the teachers and their assistants, recorded from day to day the behaviour of the pupils and everything that happened in the school; it was periodically
+
+shown to an inspector (Gerspach, 1892).
+
+The Gobelins school is only one example of an important phenomenon: the development, in the classical period, of a new technique for taking charge of the time of individual existences; for regJJiating the relations of time, bodies and forces; for assuring an accumulation of duration; and for turning to ever-increased profit or use the movement of passing time. How can one capitalize the time of individuals, accumulate it in each of them, in their bodies, in their forces or in their abilities, in a way that is susceptible of use and control? How can one organize profitable durations? The disciplines, which analyse space, break up and rearrange activities, must also be understood as machinery for adding up and capitalizing time. This was done in four ways, which emerge most clearly in military
+
+organization.
+
+r. Divide duration into successive or parallel segments, each of which must end at a specific time. For example, isolate the period of training and the period of practice; do not mix the instruction of recruits and the exercise of veterans; open separate military schools for the anned service (in 1764, the creation of the Ecole Militaire in Paris, in 1776 the creation of twelve schools in the provinces);
+
+redruit professional soldiers at the youngest possible age, take children, 'have them adopted by the nation, and brought up in special schools' (Servan, J., 456); teach in turn posture, marching, the handling of weapons, shooting, and do not pass to another activity until the first has been completely mastered: 'One of the principal mistakes is to show a soldier every exercise at once' ('Reglement de 1743 .. .'); in short, break down time into separate and adjusted threads. 2.. Organize these threads according to an analytical plan - successions of elements as simple as possible, combining according to increasing complexity. This presupposes that instruction should abandon the principle of analogical repetition. In the sixteenth century, military exercise consisted above all in copying all or part of the action, and of generally increasing the soldier's skill or strength;7 in the eighteenth century, the instruction of the 'manual' followed the principle of the 'elementary' and not of the 'exemplary': simple gestures - the position of the fingers, the bend of the leg, the movement of the arms - basic elements for useful actions that also provide a general training in strength, skill, docili�y. 3· Finalize these temporal segments, decide on how long each will last and conclude it with an examination, which will have the triple function of showing whether the subject has reached the level required, of guaranteeing that each subject undergoes the same apprenticeship and of differentiating the abilities of each individual. When the sergeants, corporals, etc. 'entrusted with the task of instructing the others, are of the opinion that a particular soldier is ready to pass into the first class, they will present him first to the officers of their company, who will carefully examine him; if they do not find him sufficiently practised, they will refuse to admit him; if, on the other hand, the man presented seems to them to be ready, the said officers will themselves propose him to the commanding officer of the regiment, who will see him if he thinks it necessary, and will have him examined by the senior officers. The slightest mistakes will be enough to have him rejected, and no one will be able to pass from the second class to the first until he has undergone this first examination' (Instruction par I' exercise de l'in.fanterie, 14 mai 1754). 4· Draw up series of series; lay down for each individual, according to his level, his seniority, his rank, the exercises that are suited to him; common exercises have a differing role and each
+
+difference involves specific exercises. At the end of each series, others begin, branch off and subdivide in turn. Thus each individual is caught up in a temporal series which specifically defines his level or his rank. It is a disciplinary polyphony of exercises: 'Soldiers of the second class will be exercised every morning by sergeants, corporals, anspessades, lance-corporals. . . The lance-corporals will be exercised every Sunday by the head of the section ... ;the corporals and anspessades will be exercised every Tuesday afternoon by the sergeants and their company and these in turn on the afternoons of every second, twelfth and twenty-second day of each
+
+month by senior officers' (Instruction ... ).
+
+It is this disciplinary time that was gradually imposed on pedagogical practice - specializing the time of training and detaching it from the adult time, from the time of mastery; arranging different stages, separated from one another by graded examinations; drawing up programmes, each of which must take place during a particular stage and which involves exercises of increasing difficulty; qualifying individuals according to the way in which they progress through these series. For the 'initiatory' time of traditional training (an overall time, supervised by the master alone, authorized by a single examination), disciplinary time had substituted its multiple and progressive series. A whole analytical pedagogy was being fprmed, meticulous in its detail (it broke down the subject being taught into its simplest elements, it hierarchized each stage of development into small steps) and also very precocious in its history (it largely anticipated the genetic analyses of the ideologues, whose technical model it appears to have been). At the beginning of the eighteenth century, Demia suggested a division of the process of learning to read into seven levels: the first for those who are beginning to learn the letters, the second for those who are learning to spell, the third for those who are learning to join syllables together to make words, the fourth for those who are reading Latin in sentences or from punctuation to punctuation, the fifth for those who are beginning to read French, the sixth for the best readers, the seventh for those who can read manuscripts. But, where there are a great many pupils, further subdivisions would have to be introduced; the first class would comprise four streams: one for those who are learning the 'simple letters'; a second for those who are learning the 'mixed' letters; a
+
+third for those who are learning the abbreviated letters (a, e . . . ); a fourth for those who are learning the double letters (if, ss, tt, st). The second class would be divided into three streams: for those who 'count each letter aloud before spelling the syllable, D.O., DO'; for those 'who spell the most difficult syllables, such as hant, hrand, spinx', etc. (Demia, 19-10). Each stage in the combinatory of elements must be inscribed within a greattemporal series, which is both a natural progress of the mind and a code for educative procedures. The 'seriation' of successive activities makes possible a whole investment of duration by power: the possibility of a detailed control and a regular intervention (of differentiation, correction, punishment, elimination) in each moment of time; the possibility of characterizing, and therefore of using individuals according to the level in the series that they are moving through; the possibility of accumulating time and activity, of rediscovering them, totalized and usable in a final result, which is the ultimate capacity of an individual. Temporal dispersal is brought together to produce a profit, thus mastering a duration that would otherwise elude one's grasp. Power is artic)llated directly onto time; it assures its control and guarantees
+
+its use.
+
+The disciplinary methods reveal a linear time whose moments are integrated, one upon another, and which is orientated towards a terminal, stable point; in short, an 'evolutive' time. But it must be recalled that, at the same moment, the administrative and economic techniques of control reveal a social time of a serial, orientated, cumulative type: the discovery of an evolution in terms of 'progress'. The disciplinary techniques reveal individual series: the discovery of an evolution in terms of 'genesis'. These two great 'discoveries' of the eighteenth century - the progress of societies and the geneses of individuals - were perhaps correlative with the new techniques of power, and more specifically, with a new way of administering time and making it useful, by segmentation, seriation, synthesis and totalization. A macro- and a micro-physics of power made possible, not the invention of history (it had long had no need of that), but the integration of a temporal, unitary, continuous, cumulative dimension in the exercise of controls and the practice of dominations. 'Evolutive' historicity, as it was then constituted - and so profoundly that it is still self-evident for many today - is bound up with a mode
+
+of functioning of power. No doubt it is as if the 'history-remembering' of the chronicles, genealogies, exploits, reigns and deeds had long been linked to a modality of power. With the new techniques of subjection, the 'dynamics' of continuous evolutions tends to re-
+
+place the 'dynasties' of solemn events.
+
+In any case, the small temporal continuum of individualitygenesis certainly seems to be, like the individuality-cell or the individuality-organism, an effect and an object of discipline. And, at the centre of this seriation of time, one finds a procedure that is, for it, what the drawing up of 'tables' was for the distribution of individuals and cellular segmentation, or, again, what 'manoeuvre' was for the economy of activities and organic control. This procedure is 'exercise'. Exercise is that technique by which one imposes on the body tasks that are both repetitive and different, but always graduated. By bending behaviour towards a terminal state, exercise makes possible a perpetual characterization of the individual either in relation to this term, in relation to other individuals, or in relation to a type of itinerary. It thus assures, in the form of continuity and constraint, a growth, an observation, a qualification. Before adopting this strictly disciplinary form, exercise had a long history: it is to be found in military, religious and university practices either as initiation ritual, preparatory ceremony, theatrical rehearsal or examination. Its linear, continuously progressive organization, its genetic development in time were, at least in the army and the school, introduced at a later date - and were no doubt of religious origin. In any case, the idea of an educational 'programme' that would follow the child to the end of his schooling and which would involve from year to year, month to month, exercises of increasing complexity, first appeared, it seems, in a religious group, the Brothers of the Common Life (cf. Meir, 16o ff). Strongly inspired by Ruysbroek and Rhenish mysticism, they transposed certain of the spiritual techniques to.education - and to the education not only of clerks, but also of magistrates and merchants: the theme of a perfection towards which the exemplary master guides the pupil became with them that of an authoritarian perfection of the pupils by the teacher; the ever-increasing rigorous exercises that the ascetic life proposed became tasks of increasing complexity that marked the gradual acquisition of knowledge and good behaviour; the striving
+
+of the whole community towards salvation became the collective, permanent competition of individuals being classified in relation to one another. Perhaps it was these procedures of community life and salvation that were the first nucleus of methods intended to produce individually characterized, but collectively useful aptitudes. 8 In its mystical or ascetic form, exercise was a way of ordering earthly time for the conquest of salvation. It was gradually, in the history of the West, to change direction while preserving certain of its characteristics; it served to economize the time of life, to· accumulate it in a useful form and to exercise power over men through the mediation of time arranged in this way. Exercise, having become an element in the political technology of the body and of duration, does not culminate in a beyond, but tends towards a subjection that has never
+
+reached its limit.
+
+The composition of forces
+
+'Let us begin by destroying the old prejudice, according to which one beJieved one was increasing the strength of a troop by increasing its depth. All the physical laws of movement become chimeras when one wishes to adapt them to tactics.'• From the end of the seventeenth century, the technical problem of infantry had been freed from the physical model of mass. In an army of pikes and muskets slow, imprecise, practically incapable of selecting a target and taking aim - troops were used as a projectile, a wall or a fortress: · 'the formidable infantry of the army of Spain'; the distribution of soldiers in this mass was carried out above all according to their seniority and their bravery; at the centre, with the task of providing weight and volume, of giving density to the body, were the least experienced; in front, at the angles and on the flanks, were the bravest or reputedly most skilful soldiers. In the course of the classical period, one passed over to a whole set of delicate articulations. The unit regiment, battalion, section and, later, 'division'10 -became a sort of machine with many parts, moving in relation to one another, in order to arrive at a configuration and to obtain a specific result. What were the reasons for this mutation? Some were economic: to make each individual useful and the training, maintenance, and arming of troops profitable; to give to each soldier, a precious unit,
+
+maximum efficiency. But these economic reasons could become determinant only with a technical transformation: the invention of the rifle:11 more accurate, more rapid than the musket, it gave greater value to the soldier's skill; more capable of reaching a particular target, it made it possible to exploit fire-power at an individual level; and, conversely, it turned every soldier into a possible target, requiring by the same token greater mobility; it involved therefore the disappearance of a technique of masses in favour of an art th,lt distributed units and men along extended, relatively flexible, mobile iines. Hence the need to find a whole calculated practice of individual and collective dispositions, movements of groups or isolated elements, changes of position, of movement from one disposition to another; in short, the need to invent a machinery whose principle would no longer be the mobile or immobile mass, but a geometry of divisible segments whose basic unity was the mobile soldier with his rifle;12 and, no doubt, below the soldier himself, the minimal gestures, the elementary stages of actions, the fragments of
+
+spaces occupied or traversed.
+
+The same problems arose when it was a question of constituting a productive force whose effect had to be superior to the sum of elementary forces that composed it: 'The combined working-day produces, relatively to an equal sum of working-days, a greater quantity of use-values, and, consequently, diminishes the labourtime necessary for the production of a given useful effect. Whether the combined working-day, in a given case, acquires this increased productive power, because it heightens the mechanical force of labour, or extends its sphere of action over a greater space, or contracts the field of production relatively to the scale of production, or at the critical moment sets large masses of labour to work ... the special productive power of the combined working-day is, under all circumstances, the social productive power of labour, or the productive power of social labour. This power is due to cooperation itself' (Marx, Capital, vol. r, JI I-u). On several occasions, Marx stresses the analogy between the problems of the division of labour and those of military tactics. For example: 'Just as the offensive power of a squadron of cavalry, or the defensive power of a regiment of infantry, is essentially different from the sum of the offensive or defensive powers of the individual cavalry or infantry
+
+soldiers taken separately, so the sum total of the mechanical forces exerted by isolated workmen differs from the social force that is developed, when many hands take part simultaneously in one and
+
+the same undivided operation' (Marx, Capital, vol. 1, 308).
+
+Thus a new demand appears to which discipline must respond: to construct a machine whose effect will be maximized by the concerted articulation of the elementary parts of which it is composed. Discipline is no longer simply an art of distributing bodies, of extracting time from them and accumulating it, but of composing forces in order to obtain an efficient machine. This demand is expressed in
+
+several ways.
+
+1. The individual body becomes an element that may be placed, moved, articulated on others. Its bravery or its strength are no longer the principal variables that define it; but the place it occupies, the interval it covers, the regularity, the good order according to which it operates its movements. The soldier is above all a fragment of mobile space, before he is courage or honour. Guibert describes the soldier in the following way: 'When he is under arms, he occupies ty.ro feet along his greatest diameter, that is to say, taking him from one end to the other, and about one foot in his greatest thickness taken from the chest to the shoulders, to which one must add an interval of a foot between him and the next man; this gives two feet in all directions per soldier and indicates that a troop of infantry in battle occupies, either in its front or in its depth, as many steps as it has ranks' (Guibert, 2.7). This is a functional reduction of the body. But it is also an insertion of this body-segment in a whole ensemble over which it is articulated. The soldier whose body has been trained to function part by part for particular operations must in turn form an element in a mechanism at another level. The soldiers will be instructed first 'one by one, then two by two, then in greater numbers ... For the handling of weapons, one will ascertain that, when the soldiers have been separately instructed, they will carry it out two by two, and then change places alternately, so that the one on the left may learn to adapt himself to the one on the right' ('Ordonnance .. .'). The body is constituted as a part of a multi-
+
+segmentary machine.
+
+2.. The various chronological series that discipline must combine to form a composite time are also pieces of machinery. The time of
+
+each must be adjusted to the time of the others in such a way that the maximum quantity of forces may be extracted from each and combined with the optimum result. Thus Servan dreamt of a military machine that would cover the whole territory of the nation and in which each individual would be occupied without interruption but in a different way according to the evolutive segment, the genetic sequence in which he finds himself. Military life would begin in childhood, when young children would be taught the profession of arms in 'military manors'; it would end in these same manors when the veterans, right up to their last day, would teach the children, exercise the recruits, preside over the soldiers' exercises, supervise them when they were carrying out works in the public interest, and finally make order reign in the country, when the troops were fighting at the frontiers. There is not a single moment of life from which one cannot extract forces, providing one knows how to differentiate it and combine it with others. Similarly, one uses the labour of children and of old people in the great workshops; this is because they have certain elementary capacities for which it is not necessary to use workers who have many other aptitudes; furthermore, they constitute a cheap labour force; lastly, if they work, they are no longer at anyone's charge: 'Labouring mankind', said a tax collector of an enterprise at Angers, 'may find in this manufactory, from the age of ten to old age, resources against idleness and the penury that follows from it' (Marchegay, 36o). But it was probably in primary education that this adjustment of different chronologies was to be carried out with most subtlety. From the seventeenth century to the introduction, at the beginning of the nineteenth, of the Lancaster method, the complex clockwork of the mutual improvement school was built up cog by cog: first the oldest pupils were entrusted with tasks involving simple supervision, then of checking work, then of teaching; in the end, all the time of all the pupils was occupied either with teaching or with being taught. The school became a machine for learning, in which each pupil, each level and each moment, if correctly combined, were permanently utilized in the general process of teaching. One of the great advocates of the mutual improvement schools gives us some idea of this progress: 'In a school of J6o children, the master who would like to instruct each pupil in turn for a session of three hours would not be able to give half a minute
+
+to�each. By the new method, each of the 36o pupils writes, reads or
+
+counts for two and a half hours' (cf. Bernard).
+
+3· This carefully measured combination of forces requires a precise system of command. All the activity of the disciplined individual must be punctuated and sustained by injunctions whose efficacity rests on brevity and clarity; the order does not need to be explained or formulated; it must trigger off the required behaviour and that is enough. From the master of discipline to him who is subjected to it the relation is one of signalization: it is a question not of understanding the injunction but of perceiving the signal and reacting to it immediately, according to a more or less artificial, prearranged code. Place the bodies in a little world of signals to each of which is attached a single, obligatory response: it is a technique of training, of dressage, that 'despotically excludes in everything the least representation, and the smallest murmur'; the disciplined soldier 'begins to obey whatever he is ordered to do; his obedience is prompt and blind; an appearance of indocility, the least delay would be a crime' (Boussanelle, 2.). The training of schoolchildren was to be carried out in the same way: few words, no explanation, a total silence interrupted only by signals - bells, clapping of hands, gestures, a mere glance from the teacher, or that little wooden apparatus used by the Brothers of the Christian Schools; it was called par excellence the 'Signal' and it contained in its mechanical brevity both the technique of command and the morality of obedience. 'The first and principal use of the signal is to attract at once the attention of all the pupils to the teacher and to make them attentive to what he wishes to impart to them. Thus, whenever he wishes to attract the attention of the children, and to bring the exercise to an end, he will strike the signal once. Whenever a good pupil hears the noise of the signal, he will imagine that he is hearing the voice of the teacher or rather the voice of God himself calling him by his name. He will then partake of the feelings of the young Samuel, saying with him in the depths of his soul: "Lord, I am here." ' The pupil will have to have learnt the code of the signals and respond automatically to them. 'When prayer has been said, the teacher will strike the signal at once and, turning to the child whom he wishes to read, he will make the sign to begin. To make a sign to stop to a pupil who is reading, he will strike the signal
+
+once. . . To make a sign to a pupil to repeat when he has read badly or mispronounced a letter, a syllable or a word, he will strike the signal twice in rapid succession. If, after the sign had been made two or three times, the pupil who is reading does not find and repeat the word that he has badly read or mispronounced - because he has read several words beyond it before being called to order - the teacher will strike three times in rapid succession, as a sign to him to begin to read farther back; and he will continue to make the sign till the pupil finds the word which he has said incorrectly' (La Salle, Conduite . .. 137-8; cf. also Demia, 2.1). The mutual improvement school was to exploit still further this control of behaviour by the system of signals to which one had to react immediately. Even verbal orders were to function as elements of signalization: 'Enter your benches. At the word enter, the children bring their right hands down on the table with a resounding thud and at the same time put one leg into the bench; at the words your henches they put the other leg in and sit down opposite their slates ... Talce your slates. At the word talce, the children, with their right hands, take hold of the string by which the slate is suspended from the nail before them, and, with their left hands, they grasp the slate in the middle; at the word slates, they unhook it and place it on the table' •13 To sum up, it might be said that discipline creates out pf the bodies it controls four types of individuality, or rather an individuality that is endowed with four characteristics: it is cellular (by the play of spatial distribution), it is organic (by the coding of activities), it is genetic (by the accumulation of time), it is combinatory (by the composition of forces). And, in doing so, it operates -four great techniques: it draws up tables; it prescribes movements; it imposes exercises; lastly, in order to obtain the combination of forces, it arranges 'tactics'. Tactics, the art of constructing, with located bodies, coded activities and trained aptitudes, mechanisms in which the product of the various forces is increased by their calculated combination are no doubt the highest form of disciplinary practice. In this knowledge, the eighteenth-century theoreticians saw the general foundation of all military practice, from the control and exercise of individual bodies to the use of forces specific to the most complex multiplicities. The architecture, anatomy, mechanics, economy of the disciplinary body: 'In the eyes of most soldiers,
+
+tactics are only a branch of the vast science of war; for me, they are the base of this science; they are this science itself, because they teach how to constitute troops, order them, move them, get them to fight; because tactics alone may make up for numbers, and handle the multitude; lastly, it will include knowledge of men, weapons, tensions, circumstances, because it is all these kinds of knowledge brought together that must determine those movements' (Guibert, 4). Or again: 'The term tactics ... gives some idea of the respective position of the men who make up a particular troop in relation to that of the different troops that make up an army, their movements and their actions, their relations with one another' (Joly
+
+de Maizeroy, l.).
+
+It may be that war as strategy is a continuation of politics. But it must not be forgotten that 'politics' has been conceived as a continuation, if not exactly and directly of war, at least of the military model as a fundamental means of preventing civil disorder. Politics, as a technique of internal peace and order, sought to implement the mechanism of the perfect army, of the disciplined mass, of the docile, useful! troop, of the regiment in camp and in the field, on manoeuvres and on exercises. In the great eighteenth-century states, the army guaranteed civil peace no doubt because it was a real force, an ever-threatening sword, but also because it was a technique and a body of knowledge that could project their schema over the social body. If there is a politics-war series that passes through strategy, there is an army-politics series that passes through tactics. It is strategy that makes it possible to understand warfare as a way of conducting politics between states; it is tactics that makes it possible to understand the army as a principle for maintaining the absence of warfare in civil society. The classical age saw the birth of the great political and military strategy by which nations confronted each other's economic and demographic forces; but it also saw the birth of meticulous military and political tactics by which the control of bodies and individual forces was exercised within states. The 'militaire' - the military institution, military science, the militaire himself, so different from what was formerly characterized by the term 'homme de guerre' - was specified, during this period, at the point of junction between war and the noise of battle on the one hand, and order and silence, subservient to peace, on the other.
+
+Historians of ideas usually attribute the dream of a perfect society to the philosophers and jurists of the eighteenth century; but there was also a military dream of society; its fundamental reference was not to the state of nature, but to the meticulously subordinated cogs of a machine, not to the primal social contract, but to permanent coercions, not to fundamental rights, but to indefinitely progressive forms of training, not to the general will but to automatic docility. 'Discipline must be made national,' said Guibert. 'The state that I depict will have a simple, reliable, easily controlled administration. It will resemble those huge machines, which by quite uncomplicated means produce great effects; the strength of this state will spring from its own strength, its prosperity from its own prosperity. Time, which destroys all, will increase its power. It will disprove that vulgar prejudice by which we are made to imagine that empires are subjected to an imperious law of decline and ruin' (Guibert, xxiiixxiv; cf. what Marx says about the army and forms of bourgeois society in his letter to Engels, 25 September 1857). The Napoleonic regime was not far off and with it the form of state that was to survive it and, we must not forget, the foundations of which were laid not only by jurists, but also by soldiers, not only councillors of state, but also junior officers, not only the men of the courts, but also the men of the camps. The Roman reference that accompani�d this formation certainly bears with it this double index: citizens and legionaries, law and manoeuvres. While jurists or philosophers were seeking in the pact a primal model for the construction or reconstruction of the social body, the soldiers and with them the technicians of discipline were elaborating procedures for the indivi-
+
+dual and collective coercion of bodies.
+
+Bedtime at tho reformatory of Mettray. Cf. p. 294.
+
+2. The means of correct training
+
+At the beginning of the seventeenth century, Walhausen spoke of 'strict discipline' as an art of correct training. The chief function of the disciplinary power is to 'train', rather than to select and to levy; or, no doubt, to train in order to levy and select all the more. It does not link forces together in order to reduce them; it seeks to bind them together in such a way as to multiply and use them. Instead of bending all its subjects into a single uniform mass, it separates, analyses, differentiates, carries its procedures of decomposition to the point of necessary and sufficient single units. It 'trains' the moving, confused, useless multitudes of bodies and forces into a multiplicity of individual elements -- small, separate cells, organic autonomies, genetic iden.tities and continuities, combinatory segments. Discipline 'makes' individuals; it is the specific technique of a power that regards individuals both as objects and as instruments of its exercise. It is not a triumphant power, which because of its own excess can pride itself on its omnipotence; it is a modest, suspicious power, which functions as a calculated, but permanent economy. These are humble modalities, minor procedures, as compared with the majestic rituals of sovereignty or the great apparatuses of the state. And it is precisely they that were gradually to invade the major forms, altering their mechanisms and imposing their procedures. The legal apparatus was not to escape this scarcely secret invasion. The success of disciplinary power derives no doubt from the use of simple instruments; hierarchical observation, normalizing judgement and their combination in a procedure that is specific to it, the examination.
+
+Hierarcltical observation
+
+The exercise of discipline presupposes a mechanism that coerces by means of observation; an apparatus in which the techniques that
+
+make it possible to see induce effects of power, and in which, conversely, the means of coercion make those on whom they are applied clearly visible. Slowly, in the course of the classical age, we see the construction of those 'observatories' of human multiplicity for which the history of the sciences has so little good to say. Side by side with the major technology of the telescope, the lens and the light beam, which were an integral part of the new physics and cosmology, there were the minor techniques of multiple and intersecting observations, of eyes that must see without being seen; using techniques of subjection and methods of exploitation, an obscure art of light and the visible was secretly preparing a new knowledge
+
+of man.
+
+These 'observatories' had an almost ideal model: the military camp - the short-lived, artificial city, built and reshaped almost at will; the seat of a power that must be all the stronger, but also all the more discreet, all the more effective and on the alert in that it is exercised over armed men. In the perfect camp, all power would be exercised solely through exact observation; each gaze would form a part of the overall functioning of power. The old, traditional square plan was considerably refined in innumerable new projects. The geometry of the paths, the number and distribution of the tents, the orientation of their entrances, the disposition of files and ranks were exactly defined; the network of gazes that supervis�d one another was laid down: 'In the parade ground, five lines are drawn up, the first is sixteen feet from the second; the others are eight feet from one another; and the last is eight feet from the arms depots. The arms depots are ten feet from the tents of the junior officers, immediately opposite the first tentpole. A company street is fifty-one feet wide ... All tents are two feet from one another. The tents of the subalterns are opposite the alleys of their companies. The rear tentpole is eight feet from the last soldiers' tent and the gate is opposite the captains' tent. . . The captains' tents are erected opposite the streets of their companies. The entrance is opposite the companies themselves.' 1 The camp is the diagram of a power that acts by means of general visibility. For a long time this model of the camp or at least its underlying principle was found in urban development, in the construction of working-class housing estates, hospitals, asylums, prisons, schools: the spatial 'nesting' of hierarchized
+
+surveillance. The principle was one of 'embedding' ('encastrement'). The camp was to the rather shameful art of surveillance what the
+
+dark room was to the great science of optics.
+
+A whole problematic then develops: that of an architecture that is no longer built simply to be seen (as with the ostentation of palaces), or to observe the external space (cf. the geometry of fortresses), but to permit an internal, articulated and detailed control to render visible those who are inside it; in more general terms, an architecture that would operate to transform individuals: to act on those it shelters, to provide a hold on their conduct, to carry the effects of power right to them, to make it possible to know them, to alter them. Stones can make people docile and knowable. The old simple schema of confinement and enclosure - thick walls, a heavy gate that prevents entering or leaving - began to be replaced by the calculation of openings, of filled and empty spaces, passages and transparencies. In this way the hospital building was gradually organized as an instrument of medical action: it was to allow a better observation of patients, and therefore a better calibration of their treatmrnt; the form of the buildings, by the careful separation of the patients, was to prevent contagions; lastly, the ventilation and the air that circulated around each bed was to prevent the deleterious vapours from stagnating around the patient, breaking down his humours and spreading the disease by their immediate effects. The hospital - which was to be built in the second half of the century and for which so many plans were drawn up after the Hotei-Dieu was burnt down for the second time - was no longer simply the roof under which penury and imminent death took shelter; it was,
+
+in its very materiality, a therapeutic operator.
+
+Similarly, the school building was to be a mechanism for training. It was as a pedagogical machine that Paris-Duverney conceived the Ecole Militaire, right down to the minute details that he had imposed on the architect, Gabriel. Train vigorous bodies, the imperative of health; obtain competent officers, the imperative of qualification; create obedient soldiers, the imperative of politics; prevent debauchery and homosexuality, the imperative of morality. A fourfold reason for establishing sealed compartments between individuals, but also apertures for continuous surveillance. The very building of the Ecole was to be an apparatus for observation; the rooms were
+
+distributed along a corridor like a series of small cells; at regular intervals, an officer's quarters were situated, so that 'every ten pupils had an officer on each side'; the pupils were confined to their cells throughout the night; and Paris had insisted that 'a window be placed on the corridor wall of each room from chest-level to within one or two feet of the ceiling. Not only is it pleasant to have such windows, but one would venture to say that it is useful, in several respects, not to mention the disciplinary reasons that may determine this arrangement' (quoted in Laulan, II7-r8). In the diningrooms was 'a slightly raised platform for the tables of the inspectors of studies, so that they may see all the tables of the pupils of their divisions during meals'; latrines had been installed with half-doors, so that the supervisor on duty could see the head and legs of the pupils, and also with side walls sufficiently high 'that those inside cannot see one another'. 2 This infinitely scrupulous concern with surveillance is expressed in the architecture by innumerable petty mechanisms. These mechanisms can only be seen as unimportant if one forgets the role of this instrumentation, minor but flawless, in the progressive objectification and the ever more subtle partitioning of individual behaviour. The disciplinary institutions secreted a machinery of control that functioned like a microscope of conduct; the fine, analytical divisions that they created formed arou11d men an apparatus of observation, recording and training. How was one to subdivide the gaze in these observation machines? How was one to establish a network of communications between them? How was one so to arrange things that a homogeneous, continuous power
+
+would result from their calculated multiplicity?
+
+The perfect disciplinary apparatus would make it possible for a single gaze to see everything constantly. A central point would be both the source of light illuminating everything, and a locus of convergence for everything that must be known: a perfect eye that nothing would escape and a centre towards which all gazes would be turned. This is what Ledoux had imagined when he built Arc-et-Senans; all the buildings were to be arranged in a circle, opening on the inside, at the centre of which a high construction was to house the administrative functions of management, the policing functions of surveillance, the economic functions of control and checking, the religious functions of encouraging obedience and work; from here
+
+all 10rders would come, all activities would be recorded, all offences perceived and judged; and this would be done immediately with no other aid than an exact geometry. Among all the reasons for the prestige that was accorded in the second half of the eighteenth century, to circular architecture, one must no doubt include the fact
+
+that it expressed a certain political utopia.
+
+But, the disciplinary gaze did, in fact, need relays. The pyramid was able to fulfil, more efficiently than the circle, two requirements: to be complete enough to form an uninterrupted network - consequently the possibility of multiplying its levels, and of distributing them over the entire surface to be supervised; and yet to be discreet enough not to weigh down with an inert mass on the activity to be disciplined, and not to act as a brake or an obstacle to it; to be integrated into the disciplinary mechanism as a function that increases its possible effects. It had to be broken down into smaller elements, but in order to increase its productive function: specify
+
+the surveillance and make it functional.
+
+This was the problem of the great workshops and factories, in which, a new type of surveillance was organized. It was different from the one practised in the regimes of the manufactories, which had been carried out from the outside by inspectors, entrusted with the task of applying the regulations; what was now needed was an intense, continuous supervision; it ran right through the labour process; it did not bear - or not only - on production (the nature and quantity of raw materials, the type of instruments used, the dimensions and quality. of the products); it also took into account the activity of the men, their skill, the way they set about their tasks, their promptness, their zeal, their behaviour. But it was also different from the domestic supervision of the master present beside his workers and apprentices; for it was carried out by clerks, supervisors and foremen. As the machinery of production became larger and more complex, as the number of workers and the division of labour increased, supervision became ever more necessary and more difficult. It became a special function, which had nevertheless to form an integral part of the production process, to run parallel to it throughout its entire length. A specialized personnel became indispensable, constantly present and distinct from the workers: 'In the large factory, everything is regulated by the clock. The workers are
+
+treated strictly and harshly. The clerks, who are used to treating them with an air of superiority and command, which is really necessary with the multitude, treat them with severity or contempt; hence these workers either cost more or leave the factory soon after arrival' (Encyclopldie, article on 'Manufacture'). But, although the workers preferred a framework of a guild type to this new regime of surveillance, the employers saw that it was indissociable from the system of industrial production, private property and profit. At the scale of a factory, a great iron-works or a mine, 'the objects of expenditure are so multiplied, that the slightest dishonesty on each object would add up to an immense fraud, which would not only absorb the profits, but would lead to a loss of capital ... the slightest incompetence, ifleft unnoticed and therefore repeated each day, may prove fatal to the enterprise to the extent of destroying it in a very short time'; hence the fact that only agents, directly dependent on the owner, and entrusted with this task alone would be able to see 'that not a sou is spent uselessly, that not a moment of the day is lost'; their role would be 'to supervise the workers, to inspect all the places of work, to inform the directors of everything that takes place' (Cournol). Surveillance thus becomes a decisive economic operator both as an internal part of the production machinery and as a specific mechanism in the disciplinary power. 'The work of directing, superintending and adjusting becomes one of the fu'nctions of capital, from the moment that the labour under the control of capital, becomes cooperative. Once a function of capital, it requires
+
+special characteristics' (Marx, Capital, vol. 1, 3 q).
+
+The same movement was to be found in the reorganization of elementary teaching: the details of surveillance were specified and it was integrated into the teaching relationship. The development of the parish schools, the increase in the number of their pupils, the absence of methods for regulating simultaneously the activity of a whole class, and the disorder and confusion that followed from this made it necessary to work out a system of supervision. In order to help the teacher, Batencour selected from among the best pupils a whole series of 'officers' -intendants, observers, monitors, tutors, reciters of p'rayers, writing officers, receivers of ink, almoners and visitors. The roles thus defined were of two kinds: the first involved material tasks (distributing ink and paper, giving alms to the poor,
+
+rea(jiing spiritual texts on feast days, etc.); the second involved surveillance: the 'observers must record who left his bench, who was talking, who did not have his rosary, or Book of Hours, who did not comport himself properly at mass, who committed an impure act, who indulged in idle talk or was unruly in the street'; the 'admonitors' were placed in charge of those 'who talk or hum when studying their lessons and those who will not write and who waste their time in play'; the 'visitors' called on the families of pupils who had been absent or who had committed serious offences. The 'intendants' supervised all the other officers. Only the 'tutors' had a pedagogical role: their task was to teach the pupils reading, two by two, in low tones (M.I.D.B., 68-SJ). A few decades later, Demia favoured a hierarchy of the same type but almost all the functions of surveillance were duplicated by a pedagogical role: an assistant teacher taught the holding of the pen, guided the pupil's hand, corrected mistakes and at the same time 'marked down trouble-makers'; another assistant teacher had the same tasks in the reading class; the intendant who supervised the other officers and was- in charge of behaviour in general also had the task of 'initiating newcomers into the customs of the �chool'; the decurions got the pupils to recite their lessons and 'marked down' those who did not know them.3 We have here a sketch of an institution of the 'mutual' type in which three procedures are integrated into a single mechanism: teaching proper, the acquisition of knowledge by the very practice of the pedagogical activity and a reciprocal, hierarchized observation. A relation of surveillance, defined and regulated, is inscribed at the heart of the practice of teaching, not as an additional or adjacent part, but as a mechanism that is inherent to it and which increases its efficiency. Hierarchized, continuous and functional surveillance may not be one of the great technical 'inventions' of the eighteenth century, but its insidious extension owed its importance to the mechanisms of power that it brought with it. By means of such surveillance, disciplinary power became an 'integrated' system, linked from the inside to the economy and to the aims of the mechanism in which it was practised. It was also organized as a multiple, automatic and anonymous power; for although surveillance rests on individuals, its functioning is that of a network of relations from top to bottom, but also to a certain extent from bottom to top and laterally; this
+
+network 'holds' the whole together and traverses it in its entirety with effects of power that derive from one another: supervisors, perpetually supervised. The power in the hierarchized surveillance of the disciplines is not possessed as a thing, or transferred as a property; it functions like a piece of machinery. And, although it is true that its pyramidal organization gives it a 'head', it is the apparatus as a whole that produces 'power' and distributes individuals in this permanent and continuous field. This enables the disciplinary power to be both absolutely indiscreet, since it is everywhere and always alert, since by its very principle it leaves no zone of shade and constantly supervises the very individuals who are entrusted with the task of supervising; and absolutely 'discreet', for it functions permanently and largely in silence. Discipline makes possible the operation of a relational power that sustains itself by its own mechanism and which, for the spectacle of public events, substitutes the uninterrupted play of calculated gazes. Thanks to the techniques of surveillance, the 'physics' of power, the hold over the body, operate according to the laws of optics and mechanics, according to a whole play of spaces, lines, screens, beams, degrees and without recourse, in principle at least, to excess, force or violence. It is a power that seems all the less 'corporal' in that it is more subtly
+
+'physical'.
+
+Normali1\_ing judgement
+
+1. At the orphanage of the Chevalier Paulet, the sessions of the tribunal that met each morning gave rise to a whole ceremonial: 'We found all the pupils drawn up as if for battle, in perfect alignment, immobility and silence. The major, a young gentleman of si}{teen years, stood outside the ranks, sword in hand; at his command, the troop broke ranks at the double and formed a circle. The council met in the centre; each officer made a report of his troop for the preceding twenty-four hours. The accused were allowed to defend themselves; witnesses were heard; the council deliberated and, when agreement was reached, the major announced the number of guilty, the nature of the offences and the punishments ordered. The troop then marched off in the greatest order' (Pictet). At the heart of all disciplinary systems functions a small penal mechanism.
+
+It enjoys a kind of judicial privilege with its own laws, its specific offences, its particular forms of judgement. The disciplines established an 'infra-penality'; they partitioned an area that the laws had left empty; they defined and repressed a mass of behaviour that the relative indifference of the great systems of punishment had allowed to escape. 'On entering, the companions will greet one another ... on leaving, they must lock up the materials and tools that they have been using and also make sure that their lamps are extinguished'; 'it is expressly forbidden to amuse companions by gestures orin any other way'; they must 'comport themselves honestly and decently'; anyone who is absent for more than five minutes without warning M. Oppenheim will be 'marked down for a half-day'; and in order to be sure that nothing is forgotten in this meticulous criminal justice, it is forbidden to do 'anything that may harm M. Oppenheim and his companions' (Oppenheim, 29 September 1809). The workshop, the school, the army were subject to a whole micro-penality of time (latenesses, absences, interruptions of tasks), of activity (inattention, negligence, lack of zeal), of behaviour (impoliteness, disobedience), of speech (idle chatter, insolence), of the body I('incorrect' attitudes, irregular gestures, lack of cleanliness), of sexuality (impurity, indecency). At the same time, by way of punishment, a whole series of subtle procedures was used, from light physical punishment to minor deprivations and petty humiliations. It was a question both of making the slightest departures from correct behaviour subject to punishment, and of giving a punitive function to the apparently indifferent elements of the disciplinary apparatus: so that, if necessary, everything might serve to punish the slightest thing; each subject find himself caught in a punishable, punishing universality. 'By the word punishment, one must understand everything that is capable of making children feel the offence they have committed, everything that is capable of humiliating them, of confusing them: ... a certain coldness, a certain indifference, a question, a humiliation, a removal from office' (La Salle, Conduite
+
+.. . , 204-5)·
+
+2. But discipline brought with it a specific way of punishing that was not only a small-scale model of the court. What is specific to the disciplinary penality is non-observance, that which does not measure up to the rule, that departs from it. The whole indefinite
+
+domain of the non-conforming is punishable: the soldier commits an 'offence' whenever he does not reach the level required; a pupil's 'offence' is not only a minor infraction, but also an inability to carry out his tasks. The regulations for the Prussian infantry ordered that a soldier who had not correctly learnt to handle his rifle should be treated with the 'greatest severity'. Similarly, 'when a pupil has not retained the catechism from the previous day, he must be forced to learn it, without making any mistake, and repeat it the following day; either he will be forced to hear it standing or kneeling, his
+
+hands joined, or he will be given some other penance'.
+
+The order that the disciplinary punishments must enforce is of a mixed nature: it is an 'artificial' order, explicitly laid down by a law, a programme, a set of regulations. But it is also an order defined by natural and observable processes: the duration of an apprenticeship, the time taken to perform an exercise, the level of aptitude refer to a regularity that is also a rule. The children of the Christian Schools must never be placed in a 'lesson' of which they are not yet capable, for this would expose them to the danger of being unable to learn anything; yet the duration of each stage is fixed by regulation and a pupil who at the end of three examinations has been unable to pass into the higher order must be placed, well in evidence, on the bench of the 'ignorant'. In a disciplinary regime punishment involves a
+
+double juridico-natural reference.
+
+3· Disciplinary punishment has the function of reducing gaps. It must therefore be essentially corrective. In addition to punishments borrowed directly from the judicial model (fines, flogging, solitary confinement), the disciplinary systems favour punishments that are exercise - intensified, multiplied forms of training, several times repeated: the regulations of 1766 for the infantry laid down that lance-corporals 'who show some negligence or lack of willingness will be reduced to the rank of private', and they will be able to rise to their former rank only after new exercises and a new examination. As Jean-Baptiste de La Salle put it: 'Of all penances, impositions are the most honest for a teacher, the most advantageous for the parents'; they make it possible to 'derive, from the very offences of the children, means of advancing their progress by correcting their defects'; to those, for example, 'who have not written all that they were supposed to write or who have not applied
+
+themselves to doing it well, one can give some impositions to write out or to learn by heart' (La Salle, Conduite ..• , 205). Disciplinary punishment is, in the main, isomorphic with obligation itself; it is not so much the vengeance of an outraged law as its repetition, its reduplicated insistence. So much so that the corrective effect expected of it involves only incidentally expiation and repentance; it is obtained directly through the mechanics of a training. To punish
+
+is to exercise.
+
+4· In discipline, punishment is only one element of a double system: gratification-punishment. And it is this system that operates in the process of training and correction. The teacher 'must avoid, as far as possible, the use of punishment; on the contrary, he must endeavour to make rewards more frequent than penalties, the lazy being more encouraged by the desire to be rewarded in the same way as the diligent than by the fear of punishment; that is why it will be very beneficial, when the teacher is obliged to use punishment, to win the heart of the child if he can before doing so' (Demia, 17). This mechanism with two elements makes possible a number of op�rations characteristic of disciplinary penality. First, the definition of behaviour and performance on the basis of the two opposed values of good and evil; instead of the simple division of the prohibition, as practised in penal justice, we have a distribution between a positive pole and a negative pole; all behaviour falls in the field between good and bad marks, good and bad points. Moreover, it is possible to quantify this field and work out an arithmetical economy based on it. A penal accountancy, constantly brought up to date, makes it possible to obtain the punitive balancesheet of each individual. School 'justice', rudiments of which are to be found in the army and the workshops, carried this system very far. The Brothers of the Christian Schools organized a whole microeconomy of privileges and impositions: 'Privileges may be used by pupils to gain exemption from penances which have been imposed on them ... For example, a pupil may have been given four or six catechism questions to copy out as an imposition; he will be able to gain exemption from this penance by accumulating a certain number of privilege points; the teacher will assign the number for each question ... Since privileges are worth a certain number of points, the teacher also has others of less value, which serve as small change
+
+for the first. For example, a child has an imposition from which he can redeem himself with six points; he earns a privilege of ten; he presents it to the teacher who gives him back four points, and so on' (La Salle, Conduite ... ,156ft"). What we have here is a transposition of the system of indulgences. And by the play of this quantification, this circulation of awards and debits, thanks to the continuous calculation of plus and minus points, the disciplinary apparatuses hierarchized the 'good' and the 'bad' subjects in relation to one another. Through this micro-economy of a perpetual penality operates a differentiation that is not one of acts, but of individuals themselves, of their nature, their potentialities, their level or their value. By assessing acts with precision, discipline judges individuals 'in truth'; the penality that it implements is integrated into the cycle
+
+of knowledge of individuals.
+
+5. The distribution according to ranks or grade has a double role: it marks the gaps, hierarchizes qualities, skills and aptitudes; but it also punishes and rewards. It is the penal functioning of setting in order and the ordinal character of judging. Discipline rewards simply by the play of awards, thus making it possible to attain higher ranks and places; it punishes by reversing this process. Rank in itself serves as a reward or punishment. At the Ecole Militaire, a complex system of 'honorary' classification was develope.d; this classification was visible to all in the form of slight variations in uniform and more or less noble or ignoble punishments were associated, as a mark of privilege or infamy, with the ranks thus distributed. This classificatory, penal distribution was carried out at short intervals by the reports that the officers, teachers and their assistants made, without consideration of age or grade, on 'the moral qualities of the pupils' and on 'their universally recognized behaviour'. The first class, known as the 'very good', were distinguished by a silver epaulette; they enjoyed the honour of being treated as 'purely military troops'; they therefore had a right to military punishment (arrests and, in serious cases, imprisonment). The second class, 'the good', wore an epaulette of red silk and silver; they could be arrested and condemned to prison, but also to the cage and to kneeling. The class of'mediocres', had the right to an epaulette of red wool; to the preceding penalties was added, if necessary, the wearing of sackcloth. The last class, that of the 'bad', was marked by
+
+an epaulette of brown wool; 'the pupils of this class will be subjected to all the punishments used in the Hotel or all those that are thought necessary, even solitary confinement in a dark dungeon'. To- this was added, for a time, the 'shameful' class, for which special regulations were drawn up 'so that those who belonged to it would always be separated from the others and would be dressed in sackcloth'. Since merit and behaviour alone must decide the place of the pupil, 'those of the last two classes would be able to flatter themselves that they would be able to rise to the first two and bear its marks, when, by universal agreement, they will be recognized as having made themselves worthy of it by the change in their conduct and by their progress; and those of the top classes will similarly descend into the others if they become slack and if the various reports taken together are to their disadvantage and show that they no longer deserve the rewards and prerogatives of the higher classes ... ' The penal classification should tend to disappear. The 'shameful' class existed only to disappear: 'In order to judge the kind of conversion undergone by pupils of the shameful class who behave well', they were reintroduced into the other classes, and given back their uniforms; but they would remain with their comrades in infamy during meals and recreation; they would remain there if they did not continue to behave well; they 'would leave it absolutely, if their conduct was considered satisfactory both in this class and in this division' (Archives nationales, MM 658, JO March 1758 and MM 666, 15 September 1763). This hierarchizing penality had, therefore, a double effect: it distributed pupils according to their aptitudes and their conduct, that is, according to the use that could be made of them when they left the school; it exercised over them a constant pressure to conform to the same model, so that they might all be subjected to 'subordination, docility, attention in studies and exercises, and to the correct practice of duties and all the parts of
+
+discipline'. So that they might all be like one another.
+
+In short, the art of punishing, in the regime of disciplinary power, is aimed neither at expiation, nor even precisely at repression. It brings five quite distinct operations into play: it refers individual actions to a whole that is at once a field of comparison, a space of differentiation and the principle of a rule to be followed. It differentiates individuals from one another, in terms of the following overall
+
+rule: that the rule be made to function as a minimal threshold, as an average to be respected or as an optimum towards which one must move. It measures in quantitative terms and hierarchizes in terms of value the abilities, the level, the 'nature' of individuals. It introduces, through this 'value-giving' measure, the constraint of a conformity that must be achieved. Lastly, it traces the limit that will define difference in relation to all other differences, the external frontier of the abnormal (the 'shameful' class of the Ecole Militaire). The perpetual penality that traverses all points and supervises every instant in the disciplinary institutions compares, differentiates, hierarchizes, homogenizes, excludes. In short, it
+
+normalit\_es.
+
+It is opposed, therefore, term by term, to a judicial penality whose essential function is to refer, not to a set of observable phenomena, but to a corpus of laws and texts that must be remembered; that operates not by differentiating individuals, but by specifying acts according to a number of general categories; not by hierarchizing, but quite simply by bringing into play the binary opposition of the permitted and the forbidden; not by homogenizing, but by operating the division, acquired once and for all, of condemnation. The disciplinary mechanisms secreted a 'penality of the norm', which is irreducible in its principles and functioning to the traditional penality of the law. The minor court that see�s to sit permanently in the buildings of discipline, and which sometimes assumes the theatrical form of the great legal apparatus, must not mislead us: it does not bring, except for a few formal remnants, the mechanisms of criminal justice to the web of everyday existence; or at least that is not its essential role; the disciplines created -drawing on a whole series of very ancient procedures - a new functioning of punishment, and it was this that gradually invested the great external apparatus that it seemed to reproduce in either a modest or an ironic way. The juridico-anthropological functioning revealed in the whole history of modern penality did not originate in the superimposition of the human sciences on criminal justice and in the requirements proper to this new rationality or to the humanism that it appeared to bring with it; it originated in the disciplinary technique that operated these new mechanisms of normalizing
+
+The power of the Norm appears through the disciplines. Is this the new law of modern society? Let us say rather that, since the eighteenth century, it has joined other powers - the Law, the Word (Parole) and the Text, Tradition - imposing new delimitations upon them. The Normal is established as a principle of coercion in teaching with the introduction of a standardized education and the establishment of the lcoles normales (teachers' training colleges); it is established in the effort to organize a national medical profession and a hospital system capable of operating general norms of health; it is established in the standardization of industrial processes and products (on this topic, one should refer to the important contribution ofCanguilhem, 171-91). Like surveillance and with it, normalization becomes one of the great instruments of power at the end of the classical age. For the marks that once indicated status, privilege and affiliation were increasingly replaced - or at least supplemented - by a whole range of degrees of normality indicating membership of a homogeneous social body but also playing a part in classification, hierarchization and the distribution of rank. In a sense, the power1 of normalization imposes homogeneity; but it individualizes by making it possible to measure gaps, to determine levels, to fix specialities and to render the differences useful by fitting them one to another. It is easy to understand how the power of the norm functions within a system of formal equality, since within a homogeneity that is the rule, the norm introduces, as a useful imperative and as a result of measurement, all the shading of individual
+
+differences.
+
+The examination
+
+The examination combines the techniques of an observing hierarchy and those of a normalizing judgement. It is a normalizing gaze, a surveillance that makes it possible to qualify, to classify and to punish. It establishes over individuals a visibility through which one differentiates them and judges them. That is why, in all the mechanisms of discipline, the examination is highly ritualized. In it are combined the ceremony of power and the form of the experiment, the deployment of force and the establishment of truth. At the heart of the procedures of discipline, it manifests the subjection of
+
+those who are perceived as objects and the objectification of those who are subjected. The superimposition of the power relations and knowledge relations assumes in the examination all its visible brilliance. It is yet another innovation of the classical age that the historians of science have left unexplored. People write the history of experiments on those born blind, on wolf-children or under hypnosis. But who will write the more general, more fluid, but also more determinant history of the 'examination' - its rituals, its methods, its characters and their roles, its play of questions and answers, its systems of marking and classification? For in this slender technique are to be found a whole domain of knowledge, a whole type of power. One often speaks of the ideology that the human 'sciences' bring with them, in either discreet or prolix·manner. But does their very technology, this tiny operational schema that has become so widespread (from psychiatry to pedagogy, from the diagnosis of diseases to the hiring of labour), this familiar method of the examination, implement, within a single mechanism, power relations that make it possible to extract and constitute knowledge? It is not simply at the level of consciousness, of representations and in what one thinks one knows, but at the level of what makes possible the knowledge that is transformed into political investment.
+
+One of the essential conditions for the epistemological 'thaw' of medicine at the end of the eighteenth century was the organization of the hospital as an 'examining' apparatus. The ritual of the visit was its most obvious form. In the seventeenth century, the physician, coming from the outside, added his inspection to many other controls - religious, administrative, etc.; he hardly participated in the everyday administration of the hospital. Gradually, the visit became more regular, more rigorous, above all more extended: it became an ever more important part of the functioning of the hospital. In 1661, the physician of the Hotei-Dieu of Paris was called upon to make a daily visit; in 1687, an 'expectant' physician was to examine, in the afternoon, certain seriously sick patients. The eighteenth-century regulations laid down the hours of the visit and its duration (at least two hours); they insisted on a rotation of physicians, which would guarantee visits every day 'even on Easter Sunday'; at last, in 1771, a resident physician was appointed, charged with 'providing all the services of his state, at night as well as in the
+
+day• in the intervals between visits by an outside physician' (Registre des de/iherations du hureau de l'Hotel-Dieu). The old form of inspection, irregular and rapid, was transformed into a regular observation that placed the patient in a situation of almost perpetual examination. This had two consequences: in the internal hierarchy, the physician, hitherto an external element, begins to gain over the religious staff and to relegate them to a clearly specified, but subordinate role in the technique of the examination; the category of the 'nurse' then appears; while the hospital itself, which was once little more than a poorhouse, was to become a place of training and of the correlation of knowledge; it represented a reversal therefore of the power relations and the constitution of a corpus of knowledge. The 'well-disciplined' hospital became the physical counterpart of the medical 'discipline'; this discipline could now abandon its textual character and take its references not so much from the tradition of author-authorities as from a domain of objects perpetually offered
+
+for examination.
+
+Similarly, the school became a sort of apparatus of uninterrupted examination that duplicated along its entire length the operation of
+
+I
+
+teaching. It became less and less a question of jousts in which pupils pitched their forces against one another and increasingly a perpetual comparison of each and all that made it possible both to measure and to judge. The Brothers of the Christian Schools wanted their pupils to be examined every day of the week: on the first for spelling, on the second for arithmetic, on the third for catechism in the morning and for handwriting in the afternoon, etc. Moreover, there was to be an examination each month in order to pick out those who deserved to be submitted for examination by the inspector (La Salle, Conduite ... ,16o). From I77S, there existed at the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussees sixteen examinations a year: three in mathematics, three in architecture, three in drawing, two in writing, one in stonecutting, one in style, one in surveying, one in levelling, one in quantity surveying. The examination did not simply mark the end of an apprenticeship; it was one of its permanent factors; it was woven into it through a constantly repeated ritual of power. The examination enabled the teacher, while transmitting his knowledge, to transform his pupils into a whole field of knowledge. Whereas the examination with which an apprenticeship ended in the guild
+
+tradition validated an acquired aptitude - the 'master-work' authenticated a transmission of knowledge that had already been accomplished - the examination in the school was a constant exchanger of knowledge; it guaranteed the movement of knowledge from the teacher to the pupil, but it extracted from the pupil a knowledge destined and reserved for the teacher. The school became the place of elaboration for pedagogy. And just as the procedure of the hospital examination made possible the epistemological 'thaw' of medicine, the age of the 'examining' school marked the beginnings of a pedagogy that functions as a science. The age of inspections and endlessly repeated movements in the army also marked the development of an immense tactical knowledge that had its effect in the
+
+period of the Napoleonic wars.
+
+The examination introduced a whole mechanism that linked to a certain type of the formation of knowledge a certain form of the
+
+exercise of power.
+
+1. The examination transformed the economy of visihility into the exercise of power. Traditionally, power was what was seen, what was shown and what was manifested and, paradoxically, found the principle of its force in the movement by which it deployed that force. Those on whom it was exercised could remain in the shade; they received light only from that portion of power that was conceded to them, or from the reflection of it that for a mome�t they carried. Disciplinary power, on the other hand, is exercised through its invisibility; at the same time it imposes on those whom it subjects a principle of compulsory visibility. In discipline, it is the subjects who have to be seen. Their visibility assures the hold of the power that is exercised over them. It is the fact of being constantly seen, of being able always to be seen, that maintains the disciplined individual in his subjection. And the examination is the technique by which power, instead of emitting the signs of its potency, instead of imposing its mark on its subjects, holds them in a mechanism of objectification. In this space of domination, disciplinary power manifests its potency, essentially, by arranging objects. The examination is, as it were, the ceremony of this objectification. Hitherto the role of the political ceremony had been to give rise to the excessive, yet regulated manifestation of power; it was a spectacular expression of potency, an 'expenditure', exaggerated and
+
+co�d, in which power renewed its vigour. It was always more or less related to the triumph. The solemn appearance of the sovereign brought with it something of the consecration, the coronation, the return from victory; even the funeral ceremony took place with all the spectacle of power deployed. Discipline, however, had its own type of ceremony. It was not the triumph, but the review, the 'parade', an ostentatious form of the examination. In it the 'subjects' were presented as 'objects' to the observation of a power that was manifested only by its gaze. They did not receive directly the image of the sovereign power; they only felt its effects - in replica, as it were - on their bodies, which had become precisely legible and docile. On 15 March 1666, Louis XIV took his first military review: 1 8,ooo men, 'one of the most spectacular actions of the reign', which was supposed to have 'kept all Europe in disquiet'. Several years later, a medal was struck to commemorate the event (cf. Jucquiot, 5o-54). It bears the exergue, 'Disciplr"na militaris restitua' and the legend 'Prolusio ad victorias'. On the right, the king, right foot forward, commands the exercise itself with a stick. On the left, several ranks of soldiers are shown full face and aligned in depth; Ithey have raised their right anns to shoulder height and are holding their rifles exactly vertical, their right legs are slightly forward and their left feet turned outwards. On the ground, lines intersect at right angles, to fonn, beneath the soldiers' feet, broad rectangles that serve as references for different phases and positions of the exercise. In the background is a piece of classical architecture. The columns of the palace extend those fonned by the ranks of men and the erect rifles, just as the paving no doubt extends the lines of the exercise. But above the balustrade that crowns the building are statues representing dancing figures: sinuous lines, rounded gestures, draperies. The marble is covered with movements whose principle of unity is harmonic. The men, on the other hand, are frozen into a unifonnly repeated attitude of ranks and lines: a tactical unity. The order of the architecture, which frees at its summit th� figures of the dance, imposes its rules and its geometry on the disciplined men on the ground. The columns of power. 'Very good', Grand Duke Mikhail once remarked of a regiment, after having kept it for one hour presenting arms, 'only they hreathe' (Kropotkin,
+
+Let us take this medal as evidence of the moment when, paradoxically but significantly, the most brilliant figure of sovereign power is joined to the emergence of the rituals proper to discipi
+
+inary
+
+power. The scarcely sustainable visibility of the monarch is turned into the unavoidable visibility of the subjects. And it is this inversion of visibility in the functioning of the disciplines that was to assure the exercise of power even in its lowest manifestations. We are entering the age of the infinite examination and of compulsory objectification. 2. The examination also introduces individuality into the field of documentation. The examination leaves behind it a whole meticulous archive constituted in terms of bodies and days. The examination that places individuals in a field of surveillance also situates them in a network of writing; it engages them in a whole mass of documents that capture and fix them. The procedures of examination were accompanied at the same time by a system of intense registration and of documentary accumulation. A 'power of writing' was constituted as an essential part in the mechanisms of discipline. On many points, it was modelled on the traditional methods of administrative documentation, though with particular techniques and important innovations. Some concerned methods of identification, signalling or description. This was the problem in the army, where it was necessary to track down deserters, avoid repeating enrolments, correct fictitious 'information' presented by officers, know the services and value of each individual, establish with certainty the balance-sheet of those who had disappeared or died. It was the problem of the hospitals, where it was necessary to recognize the patients, expel shammers, follow the evolution of diseases, study the effectiveness of treatments, map similar cases and the beginnings of epidemics. It was the problem of the teaching establishments, where one had to define the aptitude of each individual, situate his level and his abilities, indicate the possible use that might be made of them: 'The register enables one, by being available in time and place, to know the habits of the children, their progress in piety, in catechism, in the letters, during the time they have been at the
+
+School' (M.I.D.B., 64).
+
+Hence the formation of a whole series of codes of disciplinary individuality that made it possible to transcribe, by means of homogenization the individual features established by the examination:
+
+the1physical code of signalling, the medical code of symptoms, the educational or military code of conduct or performance. These codes were still very crude, both in quality and quantity, but they marked a first stage in the 'formalization' of the individual within
+
+power relations.
+
+The other innovations of disciplinary writing concerned the correlation of these elements, the accumulation of documents, their seriation, the organization of comparative fields making it possible to classify, to form categories, to determine averages, to fix norms. The hospitals of the eighteenth century, in particular, were great laboratories for scriptuary and documentary methods. The keeping of registers, their specification, the modes of transcription from one to the other, their circulation during visits, their comparison during regular meetings of doctors and administrators, the transmission of their data to centralizing bodies (either at the hospital or at the central office of the poorhouses), the accountancy of diseases, cures, deaths, at the level of a hospital, a town and even of the nation as a whole formed an integral part of the process by which hospitals were subjected to the disciplinary regime. Among the fundamental
+
+condit1
+
+ions of a good medical 'discipline', in both senses of the word, one must include the procedures of writing that made it possible to integrate individual data into cumulative systems in such a way that they were not lost; so to arrange things that an individual could be located in the general register and that, conversely, each datum of
+
+the individual examination might affect overall calculations.
+
+Thanks to the whole apparatus of writing that accompanied it, the examination opened up two correlative possibilities: firstly, the constitution of the individual as a describable, analysable object, not . in order to reduce him to 'specific' features, as did the naturalists in relation to living beings, but in order to maintain him in his individual features, in his particular evolution, in his own aptitudes or abilities, under the gaze of a permanent corpus of knowledge; and, secondly, the constitution of a comparative system that made possible the measurement of overall phenomena, the description of groups, the characterization of collective facts, the calculation of the gaps between individuals, their distribution in a given 'population'. These small techniques of notation, of registration, of constituting files, of arranging facts in columns and tables that are so familiar
+
+to us now, were of decisive importance in the epistemological 'thaw' of the sciences of the individual. One is no doubt right to pose the Aristotelean problem: is a science of the individual possible . and legitimate? A great problem needs great solutions perhaps. But there is the small historical problem of the emergence, towards the end of the eighteenth century, of what might generally be termed the 'clinical' sciences; the problem of the entry of the individual (and no longer the species) into the field of knowledge; the problem of the entry of the individual description, of the cross-examination, of anamnesis, of the 'file' into the general functioning of scientific discourse. To this simple question of fact, one must no doubt give an answer lacking in 'nobility': one should look into these procedures of writing and registration, one should look into the mechanisms of examination, into the formation of the mechanisms of discipline, and of a new type of power over bodies. Is this the birth of the sciences of man? It is probably to be found in these 'ignoble' archives, where the modern play of coercion over bodies, gestures and behaviour
+
+has its beginnings.
+
+3· The examination, surrounded hy all its documentary techniques, makes each individual a 'case': a case which at one and the same time constitutes an object for a branch of knowledge and a hold for a branch of power. The case is no longer, as in casuistry or jurisprudence, a set of circumstances defining an act and capable of modifying the application of a rule; it is the individual as he may be described, judged, measured, compared with others, in his very individuality; and it is also the individual who has to be trained or
+
+corrected, classified, normalized, excluded, etc.
+
+For a long time ordinary individuality - the everyday individuality of everybody - remained below the threshold of description. To be looked at, observed, described in detail, followed from day to day by an uninterrupted writing was a privilege. The chronicle of a man, the account of his life, his historiography, written as he lived out his life formed part of the rituals of his power. The disciplinary methods reversed this relation, lowered the threshold of describable individuality and made of this description a means of control and a method of domination. It is no longer a monument for future memory, but a document for possible use. And this new describability is all the more marked in that the disciplinary framework is
+
+a sttict one: the child, the patient, the madman, the prisoner, were to become, with increasing ease from the eighteenth century and according to a curve which is that of the mechanisms of discipline, the object of individual descriptions and biographical accounts. This turning of real lives into writing is no longer a procedure of heroization; it functions as a procedure of objectification and subjection. The carefully collated life of mental patients or delinquents belongs, as did the chronicle of kings or the adventures of the great popular bandits, to a certain political function of writing; but in a
+
+quite different technique of power.
+
+The examination as the fixing, at once ritual and 'scientific', of individual differences, as the pinning down of each individual in his own particularity (in contrast with the ceremony in which status, birth, privilege, function are manifested with all the spectacle of their marks) clearly indicates the appearance of a new modality of power in which each individual receives as his status his own individuality, and in which he is linked by his status to the features, the measurements, the gaps, the 'marks' that characterize him and make
+
+him a 1 'case'.
+
+Finally, the examination is at the centre of the procedures that constitute the individual as effect and object of power, as effect and object of knowledge. It is the examination which, by combining hierarchical surveillance and normalizing judgement, assures the great disciplinary functions of distribution and classification, 'maximum extraction of forces and time, continuous genetic accumulation, optimum combination of aptitudes and, thereby, the fabrication of cellular, organic, genetic and combinatory individuality. With it are ritualized those disciplines that may be characterized in a word by saying that they are a modality of power for which individual
+
+difference is relevant.
+
+The disciplines mark the moment when the reversal of the political axis of individualization - as one might call it - takes place. In certain societies, of which the feudal regime is only one example, it may be said that individualization is greatest where sovereignty is exercised and in the higher echelons of power. The more one possesses power or privilege, the more one is marked as an individual, by rituals, written accounts or visual reproductions. The 'name'
+
+and the genealogy that situate one within a kinship group, the performance of deeds that demonstrate superior strength and which are immortalized in literary accounts, the ceremonies that mark the power relations in their very ordering, the monuments or donations that bring survival after death, the ostentation and excess of expenditure, the multiple, intersecting links of allegiance and suzerainty, all these are procedures of an 'ascending' individualization. In a disciplinary regime, on the other hand, individualization is 'descending': as power becomes more anonymous and more functional, those on whom it is exercised tend to be more strongly individualized; it is exercised by surveillance rather than ceremonies, by observation rather than commemorative accounts, by comparative measures that have the 'norm' as reference rather than genealogies giving ancestors as points of reference; by 'gaps' rather than by deeds. In a system of discipline, the child is more individualized than the adult, the patient more than the healthy man, the madman and the delinquent more than the normal and the non-delinquent. In each case, it is towards the first of these pairs that all the individualizing mechanisms are turned in our civilization; and when one wishes to individualize the healthy, normal and law-abiding adult, it is always by asking him how much of the child he has in him, what secret madness lies within him, what fundamental crime he has dreamt of committing. All the sciences, analyses or practices employing the root 'psycho-' have their origin in this historical reversal of the procedures of individualization. The moment that saw the transition from historico-ritual mechanisms for the formation of individuality to the scientifico-disciplinary mechanisms, when the normal took over from the ancestral, and measurement from status, thus substituting for the individuality of the memorable man that of the calculable man, that moment when the sciences of man became possible is the moment when a new technology of power and a new political anatomy of the body were implemented. And if from the early Middle Ages to the present day the 'adventure' is an account of individuality, the passage from the epic to the novel, from the noble deed to the secret singularity, from long exiles to the internal search for childhood, from combats to phantasies, it is also inscribed in the formation of a disciplinary society. The adventure of our childhood no longer finds expression in 'le
+
+honpetit Henri', but in the misfortunes of 'little Hans'. The Romance oftlze Rose is written today by Mary Barnes; in the place ofLancelot,
+
+we have Judge Schreber.
+
+It is often said that the model of a society that has individuals as its constituent elements is borrowed from the abstract juridical forms of contract and exchange. Mercantile society, according to this view, is represented as a contractual association of isolated juridical subjects. Perhaps. Indeed, the political theory of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries often seems to follow this schema. But it should not be forgotten that there existed at the same period a technique for constituting individuals as correlative elements of power and knowledge. The individual is no doubt the fictitious atom of an 'ideological' representation of society; but he is also a reality fabricated by this specific technology of power that I have called 'discipline'. We must cease once and for all to describe the effects of power in negative terms: it 'excludes', it 'represses', it 'censors', it 'abstracts', it 'masks', it 'conceals'. In fact, power produces; it produces reality; it produces domains of objects and ritual� of truth. The individual and the knowledge that may be
+
+gained of him belong to this production.
+
+Is it not somewhat excessive to derive such power from the petty machinations of discipline? How could they achieve effects of such
+
+scope�
+
+3. Panopticism
+
+The following, according to an order published at the end of the seventeenth century, were the measures to be taken when the plague
+
+appeared in a town.1
+
+First, a strict spatial partitioning: the closing of the town and its outlying districts, a prohibition to leave the town on pain of death, the killing of all stray animals; the division of the town into distinct quarters, each governed by an intendant. Each street is placed under the authority of a syndic, who keeps it under surveillance; if he leaves the street, he will be condemned to death. On the appointed day, everyone is ordered to stay indoors: it is forbidden to leave on pain of death. The syndic himself comes to lock the door of each house from the outside; he takes the key with him and hands it over to the intendant of the quarter; the intendant keeps i� until the end of the quarantine. Each family will have made its own provisions; but, for bread and wine, small wooden canals are set up between the street and the interior of the houses, thus allowing each person to receive his ration without communicating with the suppliers and other residents; meat, fish and herbs will be hoisted up into the houses with pulleys and baskets. If it is absolutely necessary to leave the house, it will be done in turn, avoiding any meeting. Only the intendants, syndics and guards will move about the streets and also, between the infected houses, from one corpse to another, the 'crows', who can be left to die: these are 'people of little substance who carry the sick, bury the dead, clean and do many vile and abject offices'. It is a segmented, immobile, frozen space. Each individual is fixed in his place. And, if he moves, he does so at the
+
+risk of his life, contagion or punishment.
+
+Inspection functions ceaselessly. The gaze is alert everywhere: 'A considerable body of militia, commanded by good officers and men
+
+of asubstance', guards at the gates, at the town hall and in every quarter to ensure the prompt obedience of the people and the most absolute authority of the magistrates, 'as also to observe all disorder, theft and extortion'. At each of the town gates there will be an observation post; at the end of each street sentinels. Every day, the intendant visits the quarter in his charge, inquires whether the syndics have carried out their tasks, whether the inhabitants have anything to complain of; they 'observe their actions'. Every day, too, the syndic goes into the street for which he is responsible; stops before each house: gets all the inhabitants to appear at the windows (those who live overlooking the courtyard will be allocated a window looking onto the street at which no one but they may show themselves); he calls each of them by name; informs himself as to the state of each and every one of them - 'in which respect the inhabitants will be compelled to speak the truth under pain of death'; if someone does not appear at the window, the syndic must ask why: 'In this way he will find out easily enough whether dead or sick are being concealed.' Everyone locked up in his
+
+cage,1
+
+everyone at his window, answering to his name and showing himself when asked - it is the great review of the living and the
+
+dead.
+
+This surveillance is based on a system of permanent registration: reports from the syndics to the intendants, from the intendants to the magistrates or mayor. At the beginning of the 'lock up', the role of each of the inhabitants present in the town is laid down, one by one; this document bears 'the name, age, sex of everyone, notwithstanding his condition': a copy is sent to the intendant of the quarter, another to the office of the town hall, another to enable the syndic to make his daily roll call. Everything that may be observed during the course of the visits -deaths, illnesses, complaints, irregularities is noted down and transmitted to the intendants and magistrates. The magistrates have complete control over medical treatment; they have appointed a physician in charge; no other practitioner may treat, no apothecary prepare medicine, no confessor visit a sick person without having received from him a written note 'to prevent anyone from concealing and dealing with those sick of the contagion, unknown to the magistrates'. The registration of the pathological must be constantly centralized. The relation of each individual to his
+
+disease and to his death passes through the representatives of power, the registration they make of it, the decisions they take on it .
+
+Five or six days after the beginning of the quarantine, the process of purifying the houses one by one is begun. All the inhabitants are made to leave; in each room 'the furniture and goods' are raised from the ground or suspended from the air; perfume is poured around the room; after carefully sealing the windows, doors and even the keyholes with wax, the perfume is set alight. Finally, the entire house is closed while the perfume is consumed; those who have carried out the work are searched, as they were on entry, 'in the presence of the residents of the house, to see that they did not have something on their persons as they left that they did not have on entering'. Four hours later, the residents are allowed to re-enter
+
+their homes.
+
+This enclosed, segmented space, observed at every point, in which the individuals are inserted in a fixed place, in which the slightest movements are supervised, in which all events are recorded, in which an uninterrupted work of writing links the centre and periphery, in which power is exercised without division, according to a continuous hierarchical figure, in which each individual is constantly located, examined and distributed among the living beings, the sick and the dead - all this constitutes a compact model of the disciplinary mechanism. The plague is met by order; its func
+
+tion is
+
+to sort out every possible confusion: that of the disease, which is transmitted when bodies are mixed together; that of the evil, which is increased when fear and death overcome prohibitions. It lays down for each individual his place, his body, his disease and his death, his well-being, by means of an omnipresent and omniscient power that subdivides itself in a regular, uninterrupted way even to the ultimate determination of the individual, of what characterizes him, of what belongs to him, of what happens to him. Against the plague, which is a mixture, discipline brings into play its power, which is one of analysis. A whole literary fiction of the festival grew up around the plague: suspended laws, lifted prohibitions, the frenzy of passing time, bodies mingling together without respect, individuals unmasked, abandoning their statutory identity and the figure under which they had been recognized, allowing a quite different truth to appear. But there was also a political dream of the
+
+plague, which was exactly its reverse: not the collective festival, but strict divisions; not laws transgressed, but the penetration of regulation into even the smallest details of everyday life through the mediation of the complete hierarchy that assured the capillary functioning of power; not masks that were put on and taken off, but the assignment to each individual of his 'true' name, his 'true' place, his 'true' body, his 'true' disease. The plague as a form, at once real and imaginary, of disorder had as its medical and political correlative discipline. Behind the disciplinary mechanisms can be read the haunting memory of 'contagions', of the plague, of rebellions, crimes, vagabondage, desertions, people who appear and disappear,
+
+live and die in disorder.
+
+If it is true that the leper gave rise to rituals of exclusion, which to a certain extent provided the model for and general form of the great Confinement, then the plague gave rise to disciplinary projects. Rather than the massive, binary division between one set of people and another, it called for multiple separations, individualizing distributions, an organization in depth of surveillance and control, an intensification and a ramification of power. The leper was caught
+
+I
+
+up in· a practice of rejection, of exile-enclosure; he was left to his doom in a mass among which it was useless to differentiate; those sick of the plague were caught up in a meticulous tactical partitioning in· which individual differentiations were the constricting effects of a power that multiplied, articulated and subdivided itself; the great confinement on the one hand; the correct training on the other. The leper and his separation; the plague and its segmentations. The first is marked; the second analysed and distributed. The exile of the leper and the arrest of the plague do not bring with them the same political dream. The first is that of a pure community, the second that of a disciplined society. Two ways of exercising power over men, of controlling their relations, of separating out their dangerous mixtures. The plague-stricken town, traversed throughout with hierarchy, surveillance, observation, writing; the town immobilized by the functioning of an extensive power that bears in a distinct way over all individual bodies - this is the utopia of the perfectly governed city. The plague (envisaged as a possibility at least) is the trial in the course of which one may define ideally the exercise of disciplinary power. In order to make rights and laws
+
+function according to pure theory, the jurists place themselves in imagination in the state of nature; in order to see perfect disciplines functioning, rulers dreamt of the state of plague. Underlying
+
+. dis-
+
+ciplinary projects the image of the plague stands for all forms of confusion and disorder; just as the image of the leper, cut off from
+
+all human contact, underlies projects of exclusion.
+
+They are different projects, then, but not incompatible ones. We see them coming slowly together, and it is the peculiarity of the nineteenth century that it applied to the space of exclusion of which the leper was the symbolic inhabitant (beggars, vagabonds, madmen and the disorderly formed the real population) the technique of power proper to disciplinary partitioning. Treat 'lepers' as 'plague victims', project the subtle segmentations of discipline onto the confused space of internment, combine it with the methods of analytical distribution proper to power, individualize the excluded, but use procedures of individualization to mark exclusion - this is what was operated regularly by disciplinary power from the beginning of the nineteenth century in the psychiatric asylum, the penitentiary, the reformatory, the approved school and, to some extent, the hospital. Generally speaking, all the authorities exercising individual control function according to a double mode; that of binary division and branding (mad/sane; dangerous/harmless; normal/abnormal); and that of coercive assignment, of differential distribution (who he is; where he must be; how he is to be characterized; how he is to be recognized; how a constant surveillance is to be exercised over him in an individual way, etc.). On the one hand, the lepers are treated as plague victims; the tactics of individualizing disciplines are imposed on the excluded; and, on the other hand, the universality of disciplinary controls makes it possible to brand the 'leper' and to bring into play against him the dualistic mechanisms of exclusion. The constant division between the normal and the abnormal, to which every individual is subjected, brings us back to our own time, by applying the binary branding and exile of the leper to quite different objects; the existence of a whole set of techniques and institutions for measuring, supervising and correcting the abnormal brings into play the disciplinary mechanisms to which the fear of the plague gave rise. All the mechanisms of power which, even today, are disposed around the abnormal individual, to brand him and to alter
+
+him, are composed of those two forms from which they distantly
+
+derive.
+
+Bentham's Panopticon is the architectural figure of this composition. We know the principle on which it was based: at the periphery, an annular building; at the centre, a tower; this tower is pierced with wide windows that open onto the inner side of the ring; the peripheric building is divided into cells, each of which extends the whole width of the building; they have two windows, one on the inside, corresponding to the windows of the tower; the other, on the outside, allows the light to cross the cell from one end to the other. All that is needed, then, is to place a supervisor in a central tower and to shut up in each cell a madman, a patient, a condemned man, a worker . or a schoolboy. By the effect of backlighting, one can observe from the tower, standing out precisely against the light, the small captive shadows in the cells of the periphery. They are like so many cages, so many small theatres, in which each actor is alone, perfectly individualized and constantly visible. The panoptic mech�nism arranges spatial unities that make it possible to see constantly and to recognize immediately. In short, it reverses the principle of the dungeon; or rather of its three functions - to enclose, to deprive of light and to hide - it preserves only the first and eliminates the other two. Full lighting and the eye of a supervisor capture better than darkness, which ultimately protected. Visibility is a trap. To begin with, this made it possible - as a negative effect - to avoid those compact, swarming, howling masses that were to be found in places of confinement, those painted by Goya or described by Howard. Each individual, in his place, is securely confined to a cell from which he is seen from the front by the supervisor;' but the side walls prevent him from coming into contact with his companions. He is seen, but he does not see; he is the object of information, never a subject in communication. The arrangement of his room, opposite the central tower, imposes on him an axial visibility; but the divisions of the ring, those separated cells, imply a lateral invisibility. And this invisibility is a guarantee of order. If the inmates are convicts, there is no danger of a plot, an attempt at collective escape, the planning of new crimes for the future, bad reciprocal influences; if they are patients, there is no danger of
+
+contagion; if they are madmen the1e is no risk of their committing violence upon one another; if they are schoolchildren, there is no copying, no noise, no chatter, no waste of time; if they are workers, there are no disorders, no theft, no coalitions, none of those distractions that slow down the rate of work, make it less perfect or cause accidents. The crowd, a compact mass, a locus of multiple exchanges, individualities merging together, a collective effect, is abolished and replaced by a collection of separated individualities. From the point of view of the guardian, it is replaced by a multiplicity that can be numbered and supervised; from the point of view of the inmates, by a sequestered and observed solitude (Bentham,
+
+6cr64)·
+
+Hence the major effect of the Panopticon: to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power. So to arrange things that the surveillance is permanent in its effects, even if it is discontinuous in its action; that the perfection of power should tend to render its actual exercise unnecessary; that this architectural apparatus should be a machine for creating and sustaining a power relation independent of the person who exercises it; in short, that the inmates should be caught up in a power situation of which they are themselves the bearers. To achieve this, it is at once too much and too little that the prisoner should be constantly observed by an inspector: too
+
+' little,
+
+for what matters is that he knows himself to be observed; too much, because he has no need in fact of being so. In view of this, Bentham laid down the principle that power should be visible and unverifiable. Visible: the inmate will constantly have before his eyes the tall outline of the central tower from which he is spied upon. Unverifiable: the inmate must never know whether he is being looked at at any one moment; but he must be sure that he may always be so. In order to make the presence or absence of the inspector unverifiable, so that the prisoners, in their cells, cannot even see a shadow, Bentham envisaged not only venetian blinds on the windows of the central observation hall, but, on the inside, partitions that intersected the hall at right angles and, in order to pass from one quarter to the other, not doors but zig-zag openings;· for the slightest noise, a gleam of light, a brightness in a half-opened door would betray the presence of the guardian. 2 The Panopticon is a
+
+machine for dissociating the see/being seen dyad: in the peripheric ring, one is totally seen, without ever seeing; in the central
+
+tower, one sees everything without ever being seen. 3
+
+It is an important mechanism, for it automatizes and disindividualizes power. Power has its principle not so much in a person as in a certain concerted distribution of bodies, surfaces, lights, gazes; in an arrangement whose internal mechanisms produce the relation in which individuals are caught up. The ceremonies, the rituals, the marks by which the sovereign's surplus power was manifested are useless. There is a machinery that assures dissymmetry, disequilibrium, difference. Consequently, it does not matter who exercises power. Any individual, taken almost at random, can operate the machine: in the absence of the director, his family, his friends, his visitors, even his servants (Bentham, 45). Similarly, it does not matter what motive animates him: the curiosity of the indiscreet, the malice of a child, the thirst for knowledge of a philosopher who wishes to visit this museum of human nature, or the perversity of those who take pleasure in spying and punishing. The more
+
+numer
+
+ous those anonymous and temporary observers are, the greater the risk for the inmate of being surprised and the greater his anxious awareness of being observed. The Panopticon is a marvellous machine which, whatever use one may wish to put it to, produces
+
+homogeneous effects of power.
+
+A real subjection is born mechanically from a fictitious relation. So it is not necessary to use force to constrain the convict to good behaviour, the madman to calm, the worker to work, the schoolboy to application, the patient to the observation of the regulations. Bentham was surprised that panoptic institutions could be so light: there were no more bars, no more chains, no more heavy locks; all that was needed was that the separations should be clear and the openings well arranged. The heaviness of the old 'houses of security', with their fortress-like architecture, could be replaced by the simple, economic geometry of a 'house of certainty'. The efficiency of power, its constraining force have, in a sense, passed over to the other side - to the side of its surface of application. He who is subjected to a field of visibility, and who knows it, assumes responsibility for the constraints of power; he makes them play spontaneously upon himself; he inscribes in himself the power relation in
+
+which he simultaneously plays both roles; he becomes the principle of his own subjection. By this very fact, the external power may throw off its physical weight; it tends to the non-corporal; and, the more it approaches this limit, the more constant, profound and permanent are its effects: it is a perpetual victory that avoids any physical confrontation and which is always decided in advance. Bentham does not say whether he was inspired, in his project, by Le Vaux's menagerie at Versailles: the first menagerie in which the different elements are not, as they traditionally were, distributed in a park (Loisel, 104-'7). At the centre was an octagonal pavilion which, on the first floor, consisted of only a single room, the king's salon; on every side large windows looked out onto seven cages (the eighth side was reserved for the entrance), containing different species of animals. By Bentham's time, this menagerie had disappeared. But one finds in the programme of the Panopticon a similar concern with individualizing observation, with characterization and classification, with the analytical arrangement of space. The Panopticon is a royal menagerie; the animal is replaced by man, individual distribution by specific grouping and the king by the machinery of a furtive power. With this exception, the Panopticon also does the work of a naturalist. It makes it possible to draw up differences: among patients, to observe the symptoms of each individual, without the proximity of beds, the circulation of miasmas, the effects of contagion confusing the clinical tables; among schoolchildren, it makes it possible to observe performances (without there being any imitation or copying), to map aptitudes, to assess characters, to draw up rigorous classifications and, in relation to normal development, to distinguish 'laziness and stubbornness' from 'incurable imbecility'; among workers, it makes it possible to note the aptitudes of each worker, compare the time he takes to perform a task, and if they are paid by the day, to calculate their wages
+
+(Bentham, 6o-64).
+
+So much for the question of observation. But the Panopticon was also a laboratory; it could be used as a machine to carry out experiments, to alter behaviour, to train or correct individuals. To experiment with medicines and monitor their effects. To try out different punishments on prisoners, according to their crimes and character, and to seek the most effective ones. To teach different techniques
+
+sirQultaneously to the workers, to decide which is the best. To try out pedagogical experiments - and in particular to take up once again the well-debated problem of secluded education, by using orphans. One would see what would happen when, in their sixteenth or eighteenth year, they were presented with other boys or girls; one could verify whether, as Helvetius thought, anyone could learn anything; one would follow 'the genealogy of every observable idea'; one could bring up different children according to different systems of thought, making certain children believe that two and two do not make four or that the moon is a cheese, then put them together when they are twenty or twenty-five years old; one would then have discussions that would be worth a great deal more than the sermons or lectures on which so much money is spent; one would have at least an opportunity of making discoveries in the domain of metaphysics. The Panopticon is a privileged place for experiments on men, and for analysing with complete certainty the transformations that may be obtained from them. The Panopticon may even provide an apparatus for supervising its own mechanisms. In this central tower, the director may spy on all the employees that he has under his orders: nurses, doctors, foremen, teachers, warders; he will be able to judge them continuously, alter their behaviour, impose upon them the methods he thinks best; and it will even be possible to observe the director himself. An inspector arriving unexpectedly at the centre of the Panopticon will be able to judge at a glance, without anything being concealed from him, how the entire establishment is functioning. And, in any case, enclosed as he is in the middle of this architectural mechanism, is not the director's own fate entirely bound up with it? The incompetent physician who has allowed contagion to spread, the incompetent prison governor or workshop manager will be the first victims of an epidemic or a revolt. ' "By every tie I could devise", said the master of the Panopticon, "my own fate had been bound up by me with theirs" ' (Bentham, 177). The Panopticon functions as a kind of laboratory of power. Thanks to its mechanisms of observation, it gains in efficiency and in the ability to penetrate into men's behaviour; knowledge follows the advances of power, discovering new objects of knowledge over all the surfaces on which power is
+
+The plague-stricken town, the panoptic establishment - the differences are important. They mark, at a distance of a century and a half, the transformations of the disciplinary programme. In the first case, there is an exceptional situation: against an extraordinary evil, power is mobilized; it makes itself everywhere present and visible; it invents new mechanisms; it separates, it immobilizes, it partitions; it constructs for a time what is both a counter-city and the perfect society; it imposes an ideal functioning, but one that is reduced, in the final analysis, like the evil that it combats, to a simple dualism of life and death: that which moves brings death, and one kills that which moves. The Panopticon, on the other hand, must be understood as a generalizable model of functioning; a way of defining power relations in terms of the everyday life of men. No doubt Bentham presents it as a particular institution, closed in upon itself. Utopias, perfectly closed in upon themselves, are common enough. As opposed to the ruined prisons, littered with mechanisms of torture, to be seen in Piranese's engravings, the Panopticon presents a cruel, ingenious cage. The fact that it should have given rise, even in our own time, to so many variations, projected or realized, is evidence of the imaginary intensity that it has possessed for almost two hundred years. But the Panopticon must not be understood as a dream building: it is the diagram of a mechanism of power reduced to its ideal form; its functioning, abstracted from any obstacle, resistance or friction, must be represented as a pure architectural and optical system: it is in fact a figure of political technology
+
+that may and must be detached from any specific use.
+
+It is polyvalent in its applications; it serves to reform prisoners, but also to treat patients, to instruct schoolchildren, to confine the insane, to supervise workers, to put beggars and idlers to work. It is a type of location of bodies in space, of distribution of individuals in relation to one another, of hierarchical organization, of disposition of centres and channels of power, of definition of the instruments and modes of intervention of power, which can be implemented in hospitals, workshops, schools, prisons. Whenever one is dealing with a multiplicity of individuals on whom a task or a particular form of behaviour must be imposed, the panoptic schema may be used. It is - necessary modifications apart - applicable 'to all establishments whatsoever, in which, within a space not too large
+
+to be covered or commanded by buildings, a number of persons are meant to be kept under inspection' (Bentham, 40; although Bentham takes the penitentiary house as his prime example, it is because it has many different functions to fulfil - safe custody, confinement,
+
+solitude, forced labour and instruction).
+
+In each of its applications, it makes it possible to perfect the exercise of power. It does this in several ways: because it can reduce the number of those who exercise it, while increasing the number of those on whom it is exercised. Because it is possible to intervene at any moment and because the constant pressure acts even before the offences, mistakes or crimes have been committed. Because, in these conditions, its strength is that it never intervenes, it is exercised spontaneously and without noise, it constitutes a mechanism whose effects follow from one another. Because, without any physical instrument other than architecture and geometry, it acts directly on individuals; it gives 'power of mind over mind'. The panoptic schema makes any apparatus of power more intense: it assures its economy (in material, in personnel, in time); it assures its efficacity by its preventative character, its continuous functioning and its autorrtatic mechanisms. It is a way of obtaining from power 'in hitherto unexampled quantity', 'a great and new instrument of government ... ;its great excellence consists in the great strength it is capable of giving to any institution it may be thought proper to
+
+apply it to' (Bentham, 66).
+
+It's a case of 'it's easy once you've thought of it' in the political sphere. It can in fact be integrated into any function (education, medical treatment, production, punishment); it can increase the effect of this function, by being linked closely with it; it can constitute a mixed mechanism in which relations of power (and of knowledge) may be precisely adjusted, in the smallest detail, to the processes that are to be supervised; it can establish a direct proportion between 'surplus power' and 'surplus production'. In short, it arranges things in such a way that the exercise of power is not added on from the outside, like a rigid, heavy constraint, to the functions it invests, but is so subtly present in them as to increase their efficiency by itself increasing its own points of contact. The panoptic mechanism is not simply a hinge, a point of exchange between a mechanism of power and a function; it is a way of making
+
+power relations function in a function, and of making a function function through these power relations. Bentham's Preface to Panopticon opens with a list of the benefits to be obtained from his 'inspection-house': 'Morals reformed - health preserved - industry invigorated-instruction diff used-pu!Jlic hurthens lightened-Economy seated, as it were, upon a rock - the gordian knot of the Poor-Laws not cut, but untied - all by a simple idea in architecture !' (Bentham,
+
+39)·
+
+Furthermore, the arrangement of this machine is such that its enclosed nature does not preclude a permanent presence from the outside: we have seen that anyone may come and exercise in the central tower the functions of surveillance, and that, this being the case, he can gain a clear idea of the way in which the surveillance is practised. In fact, any panoptic institution, even if it is as rigorously closed as a penitentiary, may without difficulty be subjected to such irregu� lar and constant inspections: and not only by the appointed inspectors, but also by the public; any member of society will have the right to come and see with his own eyes how the schools, hospitals, factories, prisons function. There is no risk, therefore, that the increase of power created by the panoptic machine may degenerate into tyranny; the disciplinary mechanism w1ll be democratically controlled, since it will be constantly accessible 'to the great tribunal committee of the world'.' This Panopticon, subtly arranged so that an observer may observe, at a glance, so many different individuals, also enables everyone to come and observe any of the observers. The seeing machine was once a sort of dark room into which individuals spied; it has become a transparent building in which the exercise of power may be supervised by society as a whole.
+
+The panoptic schema, without disappearing as such or losing any of its properties, was destined to spread throughout the social body; its vocation was to become a generalized function. The plaguestricken town provided an exceptional disciplinary model: perfect, but absolutely violent; to the disease that brought death, power opposed its perpetual threat of death; life inside it was reduced to its simplest expression; it was, against the power of death, the meticulous exercise of the right of the sword. The Panopticon, on the other hand, has a role of amplification; although it arranges power, although it is intended to make it more economic and more effective,
+
+it dbes so not for power itself, nor for the immediate salvation of a threatened society: its aim is to strengthen the social forces - to increase production, to develop the economy, spread education,
+
+raise the level of public morality; to increase and multiply.
+
+How is power to be strengthened in such a way that, far from impeding progress, far from weighing upon it with its rules and regulations, it actually facilitates such progress? What intensificator of power will be able at the same time to be a multiplicator of production? How will power, by increasing its forces, be able to increase those of society instead of confiscating them or impeding them? The Panopticon's solution to this problem is that the productive increase of power can be assured only if, on the one hand, it can be exercised continuously in the very foundations of society, in the subtlest possible way, and if, on the other hand, it functions outside these sudden, violent, discontinuous forms that are bound up with the exercise of sovereignty. The body of the king, with its strange material and physical presence, with the force that he himself deploys or transmits to some few others, is at the opposite extreme of this new ppysics of power represented by panopticism; the domain of panopticism is, on the contrary, that whole lower region, that region of irregular bodies, with their details, their multiple movements, their heterogeneous forces, their spatial relations; what are required are mechanisms that analyse distributions, gaps, series, combinations, and which use instruments that render visible, record, differentiate and compare: a physics of a relational and multiple power, which has its maximum intensity not in the person of the king, but in the bodies that can be individualized by these relations. At the theoretical level, Bentham defines another way of analysing the social body and the power relations that traverse it; in terms of practice, he defines a procedure of subordination of bodies and forces that must increase the utility of power while practising the economy of the prince. Panopticism is the general principle of a new 'political anatomy' whose object and end are not the relations of sovereignty
+
+but the relations of discipline.
+
+The celebrated, transparent, circular cage, with its high tower, powerful and knowing, may have been for Bentham a project of a perfect disciplinary institution; but he also set out to show how one may 'unlock' the disciplines and get them to function in a diffused,
+
+multiple, polyvalent way throughout the whole social body. These disciplines, which the classical age had elaborated in specific, relatively enclosed places - barracks, schools, workshops - and whose total implementation had been imagined only at the limited and temporary scale of a plague-stricken town, Bentham dreamt of transforming into a network of mechanisms that would be everywhere and always alert, running through society without interruption in space or in time. The panoptic arrangement provides the formula for this generalization. It programmes, at the level of an elementary and easily transferable mechanism, the basic functioning of a society penetrated through and through with disciplinary
+
+mechanisms.
+
+There are two images, then, of discipline. At one extreme, the discipline-blockade, the enclosed institution, established on the edges of society, turned inwards towards negative functions: arresting evil, breaking communications, suspending time. At the other extreme, with panopticism, is the discipline-mechanism: a functional mechanism that must improve the exercise of power by making it lighter, more rapid, more effective, a design of subtle coercion for a society to come. The movement from one project to the other, from a schema of exceptional discipline to ()ne of a generalized surveillance, rests on a historical transfo�ation: the gradual extension of the mechanisms of discipline throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, their spread throughout the whole social body, the formation of what might be called in general
+
+the disciplinary society.
+
+A whole disciplinary generalization - the Benthamite physics of power represents an acknowledgement of this - had operated throughout the classical age. The spread of disciplinary institutions, whose network was beginning to cover an ever larger surface and occupying above all a less and less marginal position, testifies to this: what was an islet, a privileged place, a circumstantial measure, or a singular model, became a general formula; the regulations characteristic of the Protestant and pious armies of William of Orange or of Gustavus Adolphus were transformed into regulations for all the armies of Europe; the model colleges of the Jesuits, or the schools of Batencour or Demia, following the example set by Sturm,
+
+pr6vided the outlines for the general fonns of educational discipline; the ordering of the naval and military hospitals provided the model for the entire reorganization of hospitals in the eighteenth
+
+century.
+
+But this extension of the disciplinary institutions was no doubt only the most visible aspect of various, more profound processes. 1. The jUMtional inversion of the disciplines. At first, they were expected to neutralize dangers, to fix useless or disturbed populations, to avoid the inconveniences of over-large assemblies; now they were being asked to play a positive role, for they were becoming able to do so, to increase the possible utility of individuals. Military discipline is no longer a mere means of preventing looting, desertion or failure to obey orders among the troops; it has become a basic technique to enable the army to exist, not as an assembled crowd, but as a unity that derives from this very unity an increase in its forces; discipline increases the skill of each individual, coordinates these skills, accelerates movements, increases fire power, broadens the fronts of attack without reducing their vigour, increase\$ the capacity for resistance, etc. The discipline of the workshop, while remaining a way of enforcing respect for the regulations and authorities, of preventing thefts or losses, tends to increase aptitudes, speeds, output and therefore profits; it still exerts a moral influence over behaviour, but more and more it treats actions in tenns of their results, introduces bodies into a machinery, forces into an economy. When, in the seventeenth century, the provincial schools or the Christian elementary schools were founded, the justifications given for them were above all negative: those poor who were unable to bring up their children left them 'in ignorance of their obligations: given the difficulties they have in earning a living, and themselves having been badly brought up, they are unable to communicate a sound upbringing that they themselves never had'; this involves three major inconveniences: ignorance of God, idleness (with its consequent drunkenness, impurity, larceny, brigandage); and the formation of those gangs of beggars, always ready to stir up public disorder and 'virtually to exhaust the funds of the Hotel-Dieu' (Demia, 6o-6x). Now, at the beginning of the Revolution, the end laid down for primary education was to be, among other things, to 'fortify', to 'develop the body', to prepare
+
+the child 'for a future in some mechanical work', to give him 'an observant eye, a sure hand and prompt habits' (Talleyrand's Report to the Constituent Assembly, 10 September 1791, quoted by Leon, 106). The disciplines function increasingly as techniques for making useful individuals. Hence their emergence from a marginal position on the confines of society, and detachment from the forms of exclusion or expiation, confinement or retreat. Hence the slow loosening of their kinship with religious regularities and enclosures. Hence also their rooting in the most important, most central and most productive sectors of society. They become attached to some of the great essential functions: factory production, the transmission of knowledge, the diffusion of aptitudes and skills, the war-machine. Hence, too, the double tendency one sees developing throughout the eighteenth century to increase the number of disciplinary insti-
+
+tutions and to discipline the existing apparatuses.
+
+2. The swarming of disciplinary mechanisms. While, on the one hand, the disciplinary establishments increase, their mechanisms have a certain tendency to become 'de-institutionalized', to emerge from the closed fortresses in which they once functioned and to circulate in a 'free' state; the massive, compact disciplines are broken down into flexible methods of control, which may be transferred and adapted. Sometimes the closed apparatuses add to their i�ternal and specific function a role of external surveillance, developing around themselves a whole margin of lateral controls. Thus the Christian School must not simply train docile children; it must also make it possible to supervise the parents, to gain information as to their way of life, their resources, their piety, their morals. The school tends to constitute minute social observatories that penetrate even to the adults and exercise regular supervision over them: the bad behaviour of the child, or his absence, is a legitimate pretext, according to Demia, for one to go and question the neighbours, especially if there is any reason to believe that the family will not tell the truth; one can then go and question the parents themselves, to find out whether they know their catechism and the prayers, whether they are determined to root out the vices of their children, how many beds there are in the house and what the sleeping arrangements are; the vjsit may end with the giving of alms, the present of a religious picture, or the provision of additional beds (Demia, 39-40 ).
+
+Sithilarly, the hospital is increasingly conceived of as a base for the medical observation of the population outside; after the burning down of the Hotel-Dieu in 1772, there were several demands that the large buildings, so heavy and so disordered, should be replaced by a series of smaller hospitals; their function would be to take in the sick of the quarter, but also to gather information, to be alert to any endemic or epidemic phenomena, to open dispensaries, to give advice to the inhabitants and to keep the authorities informed
+
+of the sanitary state of the region. 6
+
+One also sees the spread of disciplinary procedures, not in the form of enclosed institutions, but as centres of observation disseminated throughout society. Religious groups and charity organizations had long played this role of 'disciplining' the population. From the Counter-Reformation to the philanthropy of the July monarchy, initiatives of this type continued to increase; their aims were religious (conversion and moralization), economic (aid and encouragement to work) or political (the struggle against discontent or agitation). One has only to cite by way of example the regul�tions for the charity associations in the Paris parishes. The territory to be covered was divided into quarters and cantons and the members of the associations divided themselves up along the same lines. These members had to visit their respective areas reguhirly. 'They will strive to eradicate places of ill-repute, tobacco shops, life-classes, gaming house, public scandals, blasphemy, impiety, and any other disorders that may come to their knowledge.' They will also have to make individual visits to the poor; and. the information to be obtained is laid down in regulations: the stability of the lodging, knowledge of prayers, attendance at the sacraments, knowledge of a trade, morality (and 'whether they have not fallen into poverty through their own fault'); lastly, 'one must learn by skilful questioning in what way they behave at home. Whether there is peace between them and their neighbours, whether they are careful to bring up their children in the fear of God ... whether they do not have their older children of different sexes sleeping together and with them, whether they do not allow licentiousness and cajolery in their families, especially in their older daughters. If one has any doubts as to whether they are married, one must ask to see their
+
+3· The state-control of the mechanisms of discipline. In England, it was private religious groups that carried out, for a long rime, the functions of social discipline (cf. Radzinovitz, l.OJ-14); in France, although a part of this role remained in the hands of parish guilds or charity associations, another - and no doubt the most imponant
+
+part - was very soon taken over by the police apparatus.
+
+The organization of a centralized police had long been regarded, even by contemporaries, as the most direct expression of royal absolutism; the sovereign had wished to have 'his own magistrate to whom he might directly entrust his orders, his commissions, intentions, and who was entrusted with the execution of orders and orders under the King's private seal' (a note by Duval, first secretary at the police magistrature, quoted in F unck-Brentano, 1 ). In effect, in taking over a number of pre-existing functions - the search for criminals, urban surveillance, economic and political supervision the police magistratures and the magistrature-general that presided over them in Paris transposed them into a single, strict, administrative machine: 'All the radiations of force and information that spread from the circumference culminate in the magistrate-general . . . . It is he who operates all the wheels that together produce order and harmony. The effects of his administration cannot be better compared than to the movement of the celestial bodies: (Des
+
+Essarts, 344 and 52.8).
+
+But, although the police as an institution were certainly organized in the form of a state apparatus, and although this was certainly linked directly to the centre of political sovereignty, the type of power that it exercises, the mechanisms it operates and the elements to which it applies them are specific. It is an apparatus that must be coextensive with the entire social body and not only by the extreme limits that it embraces, but by the minuteness of the details it is concerned with. Police power must bear 'over everything': it is not however the totality of the state nor of the kingdom as visible and invisible body of the monarch; it is the dust of events, actions, behaviour, opinions - 'everything that happens';7 the police are concerned with 'those things of every moment', those 'unimportant things', of which Catherine II spoke in her Great Instruction (Supplement to the Instruction for the drawing up of a new code, 1769, article 535). With the police, one is in the indefinite world of a
+
+supervision that seeks ideally to reach the most elementary particle, the most passing phenomenon of the social body: 'The ministry of the magistrates and police officers is of the greatest importance; the objects that it embraces are in a sense definite, one may perceive them only by a sufficiently detailed examination' (Delamare, un-
+
+numbered Preface): the infinitely small of political power.
+
+And, in order to be exercised, this power had to be given the instrument of permanent, exhaustive, omnipresent surveillance, capable of making all visible, as long as it could itself remain invisible. It had to be like a faceless gaze that transformed the whole social body into a field of perception: thousands of eyes posted everywhere, mobile attentions ever on the alert, a long, hierarchized network which, according to Le Maire, comprised for Paris the forty-eight commissaires, the twenty in.specteurs, then the 'observers', who were paid regularly, the 'basses mouclzes', or secret agents, who were paid by the day, then the informers, paid according to the job done, and finally the prostitutes. And this unceasing observation had to be accumulated in a series of reports and registers; throughout the ei(l;hteenth century, an immense police text increasingly covered society by means of a complex documentary organization (on the police registers in the eighteenth century, cf. Chassaigne). And, unlike the methods of judicial or administr�tive writing, what was registered in this way were forms of behaviour, attitudes, possibilities, suspicions - a permanent account of individuals' behaviour. Now, it should be noted that, although this police supervision was entirely 'in the hands of the king', it did not function in a single direction. It was in fact a double-entry system: it had to correspond, by manipulating the machinery of justice, to the immediate wishes of the king, but it was also capable of responding to solicitations from below; the celebrated lettres de cachet, or orders under the king''s private seal, which were long the symbol of arbitrary royal rule and which brought detention into disrepute on political grounds, were in fact demanded by families, masters, local notables, neighbours, parish priests; and their function was to punish by confinement a whole infra-penality, that of disorder, agitation, disobedience, bad conduct; those things that Ledoux wanted to exclude from his architecturally perfect city and which he called 'offences of non-surveillance'. In short, the eighteenth-century police added a
+
+disciplinary function to its role as the auxiliary of justice in the pursuit of criminals and as an instrument for the political supervision of plots, opposition movements or revolts. It was a complex function since it linked the absolute power of the monarch to the lowest levels of power disseminated in society; since, between these different, enclosed institutions of discipline (workshops, armies, schools), it extended an intermediary network, acting where they could not intervene, disciplining the non-disciplinary spaces; but it filled in the gaps, linked them together, guaranteed with its armed force an interstitial discipline and a meta-discipline. 'By means of a wise police, the sovereign accustoms the people to order and obedience'
+
+(Vattel, 162).
+
+The organization of the police apparatus in the eighteenth century sanctioned a generalization of t�e disciplines that became co-extensive with the state itself. Although it was linked in the most explicit way with everything in the royal power that exceeded the exercise of regular justice, it is understandable why the police offered such slight resistance to the rearrangement of the judicial power; and why it has not ceased to impose its prerogatives upon it, with everincreasing weight, right up to the present day; this is no doubt because it is the secular arm of the judiciary; but it is also because, to a far greater degree than the judicial institution, it is ideptified, by reason of its extent and mechanisms, with a society of the disciplinary type. Yet it would be wrong to believe that the disciplinary functions were confiscated and absorbed once and for all
+
+by a state apparatus.
+
+'Discipline' may be identified neither with an institution nor with an apparatus; it is a type of power, a modality for its exercise, comprising a whole set of instruments, techniques, procedures, levels of application, targets; it is a 'physics' or an 'anatomy' of power, a technology. And it may be taken over either by 'specialized' institutions (the penitentiaries or 'houses of correction' of the nineteenth century), or by institutions that use it as an essential instrument for a particular end (schools, hospitals), or by pre-existing authorities that find in it a means of reinforcing or reorganizing their internal mechanisms of power (one day we should show how intra-familial relations, essentially in the parents-children cell, have become 'disciplined', absorbing since the classical age external schemata, first
+
+edbcational and military, then medical, psychiatric, psychological, which have made the family the privileged locus of emergence for the disciplinary question of the normal and the abnormal); or by apparatuses that have made discipline their principle of internal functioning (the disciplinarization of the administrative apparatus from the Napoleonic period), or finally by state apparatuses whose major, if not exclusive, function is to assure that discipline reigns
+
+over society as a whole (the police).
+
+On the whole, therefore, one can speak of the formation of a disciplinary society in this movement that stretches from the enclosed disciplines, a sort of social 'quarantine', to an indefinitely generalizable mechanism of 'panopticism'. Not because the disciplinary modality of power has replaced all the others; but because it has infiltrated the others, sometimes undermining them, but serving as an intermediary between them, linking them together, extending them and above all making it possible to bring the effects of power to the most minute and distant elements. It assures an
+
+infinitesimal distribution of the power relations.
+
+A few years after Bentham, Julius gave this society its birth cert1ficate (Julius, 384-6). Speaking of the panoptic principle, he said that there was much more there than architectural ingenuity: it was an event in the 'history of the human mind'. In appearance, it is merely the solution of a technical problem; but, through it, a whole type of society emerges. Antiquity had been a civilization of spectacle. 'To render accessible to a multitude of men the inspection of a small number of objects': this was the problem to which the architecture of temples, theatres and circuses responded. With spectacle, there was a predominance of public life, the intensity of festivals, sensual proximity. In these rituals in which blood flowed, society found new vigour and formed for a moment a single great body. The modem age poses the opposite problem: 'To procure for a small number, or even for a single individuo�l, the instantaneous view of a great multitude.' In a society in which the principal elements are no longer the community and public life, but, on the one hand, private individuals and, on the other, the state, relations can be regulated only in a form that is the exact reverse of the spectacle: 'It was to the modem age, to the ever-growing influence of the state, to its ever more profound intervention in all the details
+
+and all the relations of social life, that was reserved the task of increasing and perfecting its guarantees, by using and directing
+
+towards that great aim the building and di'
+
+stribution of buildings
+
+intended to observe a great multitude of men at the same time.' Julius saw as a fulfilled historical process that which Bentham had described as a technical programme. Our society is one not of spectacle, but of surveillance; under the surface of images, one invests bodies in depth; behind the great abstraction of exchange, there continues the meticulous, concrete training of useful forces; the circuits of communication are the supports of an accumulation and a centralization of knowledge; the play of signs defines the anchorages of power; it is not that the beautiful totality of the individual is amputated, repressed, altered by our social order, it is rather that the individual is carefully fabricated in it, according to a whole technique of forces and bodies. We are much less Greeks than we believe. We are neither in the amphitheatre, nor on the stage, but in the panoptic machine, invested by its effects of power, which we bring to ourselves since we are part of its mechanism. The importance, in historical mythology, of the Napoleonic character probably derives from the fact that it is at the point of junction of the monarchical, ritual exercise of sovereignty and the hierarchical, permanent exercise of indefinite discipline. He is the individu!ll who looms over everything with a single gaze which no detail, however minute, can escape: •y ou may consider that no part of the Empire is without surveillance, no crime, no offence, no contravention that remains unpunished, and that the eye of the genius who can enlighten all embraces the whole of this vast machine, without, however, the slightest detail escaping his attention' (Treilhard, 14). At the moment of its full blossoming, the disciplinary society still assumes with the Emperor the old aspect of the power of spectacle. As a monarch who is at one and the same time a usurper of the ancient throne and the organizer of the new state, he combined into a single symbolic, ultimate figure the whole of the long process by which the pomp of sovereignty, the necessarily spectacular manifestations of power, were extinguished one by one in the daily exercise of surveillance, in a panopticism in which the vigilance of intersecting gazes was soon to render useless both the eagle and
+
+The formation of the disciplinary society is connected with a number of broad historical processes - economic, juridico-political
+
+and, lastly, scientific - of which it forms part.
+
+1. Generally speaking, it might be said that the disciplines are techniques for assuring the ordering of human multiplicities. It is true that there is nothing exceptional or even characteristic in this: every system of power is presented with the same problem. But the peculiarity of the disciplines is that they try to define in relation to the multiplicities a tactics of power that fulfils three criteria: firstly, to obtain the exercise of power at the lowest possible cost (economically, by the low expenditure it involves; politically, by its discretion, its low exteriorization, its relative invisibility, the little resistance it arouses); secondly, to bring the effects of this social power to their maximum intensity and to extend them as far as possible, without either failure or interval; thirdly, to link this 'economic' growth of power with the output of the apparatuses (educational, military, industrial or medical) within which it is exercised; in short, to increase both the docility and the utility of all the elements of the system. This triple objective of the disciplines corresponds to a well�known historical conjuncture. One aspect of this conjuncture was the large demographic thrust of the eighteenth century; an increase in the floating population (one of the primary objects of discipline is to fix; it is an anti-nomadic technique); a change of quantitative scale in the groups to be supervised or manipulated (from the beginning of the seventeenth century to the eve of the French Revolution, the school population had been increasing rapidly, as had no doubt the hospital population; by the end of the eighteenth century, the peace-time army exceeded 2.oo,ooo men). The other aspect of the conjuncture was the growth in the apparatus of production, which was becoming more and more extended and complex; it was also becoming more costly and its profitability had to be increased. The development of the disciplinary methods corresponded to these two processes, or rather, no doubt, to the new need to adjust their correlation. Neither the residual forms of feudal power nor the structures of the administrative monarchy, nor the local mechanisms of supervision, nor the unstable, tangled mass they all formed together could carry out this role: they were hindered from doing so by the irregular and inadequate extension of
+
+their network, by their often conflicting functioning, but above all by the 'costly' nature of the power that was exercised in them. It was costly in several senses: because directly it cost a great deal to the Treasury; because the system of corrupt offices and farmed-out taxes weighed indirectly, but very heavily, on the population; because the resistance it encountered forced it into a cycle of perpetual reinforcement; because it proceeded essentially by levying (levying on money or products by royal, seigniorial, ecclesiastical taxation; levying on men or time by corvles of press-ganging, by locking up or banishing vagabonds). The development of the disciplines marks the appearance of elementary techniques belonging to a quite different economy: mechanisms of power which, instead of proceeding by deduction, are integrated into the productive efficiency of the apparatuses from within, into the growth of this efficiency and into the use of what it produces. For the old principle of 'levying-violence', which governed the economy of power, the disciplines substitute the principle of 'mildness-production-profit'. These are the techniques that make it possible to adjust the multiplicity of men and the multiplication of the apparatuses of production (and this means not only 'production' in the strict sense, but also the production of knowledge and skills in the school, the production of health in the hospitals, the production of dest,.uctive
+
+force in the army).
+
+In this task of adjustment, discipline had to solve a number of problems for which the old economy of power was not sufficiently equipped. It could reduce the inefficiency of mass phenomena: reduce what, in a multiplicity, makes it much less manageable than a unity; reduce what is opposed to the use of each of its elements and of their sum; reduce everything that may counter the advantages of number. That is why discipline fixes; it arrests or regulates movements; it clears up confusion; it dissipates compact groupings of individuals wandering about the country in unpredictable ways; it establishes calculated distributions. It must also master all the forces that are formed from the very constitution of an organized multiplicity; it must neutralize the effects of counter-power that spring from them and which form a resistance to the power that wishes to dominate it: agitations, revolts, spontaneous organizations, coalitions - anything that may establish horizontal conjunctions.
+
+Hehce the fact that the disciplines use procedures of partitioning and verticality, that they introduce, between the different elements at the same level, as solid separations as possible, that they define compact hierarchical networks, in short, that they oppose to the intrinsic, adverse force of multiplicity the technique of the continuous, individualizing pyramid. They must also increase the particular utility of each element of the multiplicity, but by means that are the most rapid and the least costly, that is to say, by using the multiplicity itself as an instrument of this growth. Hence, in order to extract from bodies the maximum time and force, the use of those overall methods known as time-tables, collective training, exercises, total and detailed surveillance. Furthermore, the disciplines must increase the effect of utility proper to the multiplicities, so that each is made more useful than the simple sum of its elements: it is in order to increase the utilizable effects of the multiple that the disciplines define tactics of distribution, reciprocal adjustment of bodies, gestures and rhythms, differentiation of capacities, reciprocal coordination in relation to apparatuses or tasks. Lastly, the disciplines have �o bring into play the power relations, not above but inside the very texture of the multiplicity, as discreetly as possible, as well articulated on the other functions of these multiplicities and also in the least expensive way possible: to this correspond anonymous instruments of power, coextensive with the multiplicity that they regiment, such as hierarchical surveillance, continuous registration, perpetual assessment and classification. In short, to substitute for a power that is manifested through the brilliance of those who exercise it, a power that insidiously objectifies those on whom it is applied; to form a body of knowledge about these individuals, rather than to deploy the ostentatious signs of sovereignty. In a word, the disciplines are the ensemble of minute technical inventions that made it possible to increase the useful size of multiplicities by decreasing the inconveniences of the power which, in order to make them useful, must control them. A multiplicity, whether in a workshop or a nation, an army or a school, reaches the threshold of a discipline when the relation of the one to the other becomes favourable.
+
+If the economic take-off of the West began with the techniques that made possible the accumulation of capital, it might perhaps be said that the methods for administering the accumulation of men
+
+made possible a political take-off in relation to the traditional, ritual, costly, violent fonns of power, which soon fell into disuse and were superseded by a subtle, calculated technology of subjection. In fact, the two processes - the accumulation of men and the accumulation of capital - cannot be separated; it would not have been possible to solve the problem of the accumulation of men without the growth of an apparatus of production capable of both sustaining them and using them; conversely, the techniques that made the cumulative multiplicity of men useful accelerated the accumulation of capital. At a less general level, the technological mutations of the apparatus of production, the division of labour and the elaboration of the disciplinary techniques sustained an ensemble of very close relations (cf. Marx, Capital, vol. r, chapter XIII and the very interesting analysis in Guerry and Deleule). Each makes the other possible and necessary; each provides a model for the other. The disciplinary pyramid constituted the small cell of power within which the separation, coordination and supervision of tasks was imposed and made efficient; and analytical partitioning of time, gestures and bodily forces constituted an operational schema that could easily be transferred from the groups to be subjected to the mechanisms of production; the massive projection of military methods onto industrial organization was an example of this modelling of the division of labour following the model laid down by the schemata of power. But, on the other hand, the technical analysis of the process of production, its 'mechanical' breaking-down, were projected onto the labour force whose task it was to implement it: the constitution of those disciplinary machines in which the individual forces that they bring together are composed into a whole and therefore increased is the effect of this projection. Let us say that discipline is the unitary technique by which the body is reduced as a 'political' force at the least cost and maximized as a useful force. The growth of a capitalist economy gave rise to the specific modality of disciplinary power, whose general formulas, techniques of submitting forces and bodies, in short, 'political anatomy', could be operated in the most diverse political regimes, apparatuses or institutions. 2. The panoptic modality of power - at the elementary, technical, merely physical level at which it is situated - is not under the immediate dependence or a direct extension of the great
+
+ju•idico-political structures of a society; it is nonetheless not absolutely independent. Historically, the process by which the bourgeoisie became in the course of the eighteenth century the politically dominant class was masked by the establishment of an explicit, coded and formally egalitarian juridical framework, made possible by the organization of a parliamentary, representative regime. But the development and generalization of disciplinary mechanisms constituted the other, dark side of these processes. The general juridical form that guaranteed a system of rights that were egalitarian in principle was supported by these tiny, everyday, physical mechanisms, by all those systems of micre-power that are essentially non-egalitarian and asymmetrical that we call the disciplines. And although, in a formal way, the representative regime makes it possible, directly or indirectly, with or without relays, for the will of all to form the fundamental authority of sovereignty, the disciplines provide, at the base, a guarantee of the submission of forces and bodies. The real, corporal disciplines constituted the foundation of the formal, juridical liberties. The contract may have been regarded as thcr ideal foundation of law and political power; panopticism constituted the technique, universally widespread, of coercion. It continued to work in depth on the juridical structures of society, in order to make the effective mechanisms of power function in opposition to the formal framework that it had acquired. The 'Enlightenment', which discovered the liberties, also invented the
+
+disciplines.
+
+In appearance, the disciplines constitute nothing more than an infra-law. They seem to extend the general forms defined by law to the infinitesimal level of individual lives; or they appear as methods of training that enable individuals to become integrated into these general demands. They seem to constitute the same type of law on a different scale, thereby making it more meticulous and more indulgent. The disciplines should be regarded as a sort of counterlaw. They have the precise role of introducing insuperable asymmetries and excluding reciprocities. First, because discipline creates between individuals a 'private' link, which is a relation of constraints entirely different from contractual obligation; the acceptance of a discipline may be underwritten by contract; the way in which it is imposed, the mechanisms it brings into play, the non-reversible
+
+subordination of one group of people by another, the 'surplus' power that is always fixed on the same side, the inequality of position of the different 'partners' in relation to the common regulation, all these distinguish the disciplinary link from the contractual link, and make it possible to distort the contractual link systematically from the moment it has as its content a mechanism of discipline. We know, for example, how many real procedures undermine the legal fiction of the work contract: workshop discipline is not the least important. Moreover, whereas the juridical systems define juridical subjects according to universal norms, the disciplines characterize, classify, specialize; they distribute along a scale, around a norm, hierarchize individuals in relation to one another and, if necessary, disqualify and invalidate. In any case, in the space and during the time in which they exercise their control and bring into play the asymmetries of their power, they effect a suspension of the law that is never total, but is never annulled either. Regular and institutional as it may be, the discipline, in its mechanism, is a 'counter-law'. And, although the universal juridicism of modem society seems to fix limits on the exercise of power, its universally widespread panopticism enables it to operate, on the underside of the law, a machinery that is both immense and minute, which supports, reinforces, multiplies the asymmetry of power and \lndermines the limits that are traced around the law. The minute disciplines, the panopticisms of every day may well be below the level of emergence of the great apparatuses and the great political struggles. But, in the genealogy of modern society, they have been, with the class domination that traverses it, the political counterpart of the juridical norms according to which power was redistributed. Hence, no doubt, the importance that has been given for so long to the small techniques of discipline, to those apparently insignificant tricks that it has invented, and even to those 'sciences' that give it a respectable face; hence the fear of abandoning them if one cannot find any substitute; hence the affirmation that they are at the very foundation of society, and an element in its equilibrium, whereas they are a series of mechanisms for unb�lancing power relations definitively and everywhere; hence the persistence in regarding them as the humble, but concrete form of every morality, whereas they
+
+To return to the problem of legal punishments, the prison widt all the corrective technology at its disposal is to be resituated at the point where the codified power to punish turns into a disciplinary power to observe; at the point where the universal punishments of the law are applied selectively to certain individuals and always the same ones; at the point where the redefinition of the juridical subject by the penalty becomes a useful training of the criminal; at the point where the law is inverted and passes outside itself, and where the counter-law becomes the effective and institutionalized content of the juridical forms. What generalizes the power to punish, then, is not the universal consciousness of the law in each juridical subject; it is the regular extension, the infinitely minute web of panoptic
+
+techniques.
+
+)· Taken one by one, most of these techniques have a long history behind them. But what was new, in the eighteenth century, was that, by being combined and generalized, they attained a level at which the formation of knowledge and the increase of power regularly reinforce one another in a circular process. At this point, the disciplines crossed the 'technological' threshold. First the hospital, then the school, then, later, the workshop were not simply 'reordered' by the disciplines; they became, thanks to them, apparatuses such that any mechanism of objectification could be used in them as an instrument of subjection, and any growth of power could give rise in them to possible branches of knowledge; it was this link, proper to the technological systems, that made possible within the disciplinary element the formation of clinical medicine, psychiatry, child psychology, educational psychology, the rationalization of labour. It is a double process, then: an epistemological 'thaw' through a refinement of power relations; a multiplication of the effects of power through the formation
+
+and accumulation of new forms of knowledge.
+
+The extension of the disciplinary methods is inscribed in a broad historical process: the development at about the same time of many other technologies - agronomical, industrial, economic. But it must be recognized that, compared with the mining industries, the emerging chemical industries or methods of national accountancy, compared with the blast furnaces or the steam engine, panopticism has received little attention. It is regarded as not much more than a
+
+bizarre little utopia, a perverse dream - rather as though Bentham had been the Fourier of a police society, and the Phalanstery had taken on the form of the Panopticon. And yet this represented the abstract formula of a very real technology, that of individuals. There were many reasons why it received little praise; the most obvious is that the discourses to which it gave rise rarely acquired, except in the academic classifications, the status of sciences; but the real reason is no doubt that the power that it operates and which it augments is a direct, physical power that men exercise upon one another. An inglorious culmination had an origin that could be only grudgingly acknowledged. But it would be unjust to compare the disciplinary techniques with such inventions as the steam engine or Amici's microscope. They are much less; and yet, in a way, they are much more. If a historical equivalent or at least a point of comparison had to be found for them, it would be rather in the
+
+'inquisitorial' technique.
+
+The eighteenth century invented the techniques of discipline and the examination, rather as the Middle Ages invented the judicial investigation. But it did so by quite different means. The investigation procedure, an old fiscal and administrative technique, had developed above all with the reorganization of the Church and the increase of the princely states in the twelfth and thirteentb centuries. At this time it permeated to a very large degree the jurisprudence first of the ecclesiastical courts, then of the lay courts. The investigation as an authoritarian search for a truth observed or attested was thus opposed to the old procedures of the oath, the ordeal, the judicial duel, the judgement of God or even of the transaction between private individuals. The investigation was the sovereign power arrogating to itself the right to establish the truth by a number of regulated techniques. Now, although the investigation has since then been an integral part of western justice (even up to our own day), one must not forget either its political origin, its link with the birth of the states and of monarchical sovereignty, or its later extension and its role in the formation of knowledge. In fact, the investigation has been the no doubt crude, but fundamental element in the constitution of the empirical sciences; it has been the juridico-political matrix of this experimental knowledge, which, as we know, was very rapidly released at the end of the Middle Ages.
+
+It ls perhaps true to say that, in Greece, mathematics were born from techniques of measurement; the sciences of nature, in any case, were born, to some extent, at the end of the Middle Ages, from the practices of investigation. The great empirical knowledge that covered the things of the world and transcribed them into the ordering of an indefinite discourse that observes, describes and establishes the 'facts' (at a time when the western world was beginning the economic and political conquest of this same world) had its operating model no doubt in the Inquisition - that immense invention that our recent mildness has placed in the dark recesses of our memory. But what this politico-juridical, administrative and criminal, religious and lay, investigation was to the sciences of nature, disciplinary analysis has been to the sciences of man. These sciences, which have so delighted our 'humanity' for over a century, have their technical matrix in the petty, malicious minutiae of the disciplines and their investigations. These investigations are perhaps to psychology, psychiatry, pedagogy, criminology, and so many other strange sciences, what the terrible power of investigation was to thE! calm knowledge of the animals, the plants or the earth. Another power, another knowledge. On the threshold of the classical age, Bacon, lawyer and statesman, tried to develop a methodology of investigation for the empirical sciences. What Great Observer will produce the methodology of examination for the human sciences? Unless, of course, such a thing is not possible. For, although it is true that, in becoming a technique for the empirical sciences, the investigation has detached itself from the inquisitorial procedure, in which it was historically rooted, the examination has remained extremely close to the disciplinary power that shaped it. It has always been and still is an intrinsic element of the disciplines .. Of course it seems to have undergone a speculative purification by integrating itself with such sciences as psychology and psychiatry. And, in effect, its appearance in the form of tests, interviews, interrogations and consultations is apparently in order to rectify the mechanisms of discipline: educational psychology is supposed to correct the rigours of the school, just as the medical or psychiatric interview is supposed to rectify the effects of the discipline of work. But we must not be misled; these techniques merely refer individuals from one disciplinary authority to another, and they reproduce, in
+
+a concentrated or formalized form, the schema of power-knowledge proper to each discipline (on this subject, cf. Tort). The great investigation that gave rise to the sciences of nature has become detached from its politico-juridical model; the examination, on the
+
+other hand, is still caught up in disciplinary technology.
+
+In the Middle Ages, the procedure of investigation gradually superseded the old accusatory justice, by a process initiated from above; the disciplinary technique, on the other hand, insidiously and as if from below, has invaded a penal justice that is still, in principle, inquisitorial. All the great movements of extension that characterize modern penality - the problematization of the criminal behind his crime, the concern with a punishment that is a correction, a therapy, a normalization, the division of the act of judgement between various authorities that are supposed to measure, assess, diagnose, cure, transform individuals - all this betrays the penetration of the disciplinary examination into the judicial inquisition. What is now imposed on penal justice as its point of application, its 'useful' object, will no longer be the body of the guilty man set up against the body of the king; nor will it be the juridical subject of an ideal contract; it will he the disciplinary individual. The extreme point of penal justice under the Ancien Regime was the infinite segmentation of the body of the regicide: a manifestation of the strongest power over the body of the greatest criminal, whose total destruction made the crime explode into its truth. The ideal point of penality today would be an indefinite discipline: an interrogation without end, an investigation that would be extended without limit to a meticulous and ever more analytical observation, a judgement that would at the same time be the constitution of a file that was never closed, the calculated leniency of a penalty that would be interlaced with the ruthless curiosity of an examination, a procedure that would be at the same time the permanent measure of a gap in relation to an inaccessible norm and the asymptotic movement that strives to meet in infinity. The public execution was the logical culmination of a procedure governed by the Inquisition. The practice of placing individuals under 'observation' is a natural extension of a justice imbued with disciplinary methods and examination procedures. Is it surprising that the cellular prison, with its regular chronologies, forced labour, its authorities of surveillance and
+
+registration, its expens in normality, who continue and multiply the functions of the judge, should have become the modem instrument of penality? Is it surprising that prisons resemble factories, schools,
+
+barracks, hospitals, which all resemble prisons?
+
+I. Complete and austere institutions
+
+It would not be true to say that the prison was born with the new codes. The prison form antedates its systematic use in the penal system. It had already been constituted outside the legal apparatus when, throughout the social body, procedures were being elaborated for distributing individuals, fixing them in space, classifying them, extracting from them the maximum in time and forces, training their bodies, coding thdr continuous behaviour, maintaining them in perfect visibility, forming around them an apparatus of observation, registration and recording, constituting on them a body of knowledge that is accumulated and centralized. The general form of an apparatus intended to render individuals docile and useful, by means of precise work upon their bodies, indicated the prison institution, before the law ever defined it as the penalty par excellence . .{\.t the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, there was, it is true, a penality of detention; and it was a new thing. But it was really the opening up of penality to mechanisms of coercion already elaborated elsewhere. The 'models' of penal detention - Ghent, Gloucester, Walnut Street - marked the first visible points of this transition, rather than innovations or points of departure. The prison, an essential element in the punitive panopoly, certainly marks an important moment in the history of penal justice: its access to 'humanity'. But it is also an important moment in the history of those disciplinary mechanisms that the new class power was developing: that in which they colonized the legal institution. At the turn of the century, a new legislation defined the power to punish as a general function of society that was exercised in the same manner over all its members, and in which each individual was equally represented: but in making detention the penalty par excellence, it introduced procedures of domination characteristic of a particular type of power. A
+
+justice that is supposed to be 'equal', a legal machinery that is supposed to be 'autonomous', but which contains all the asymmetries of disciplinary subjection, this conjunction marked the birth of the
+
+prison, 'the penalty of civilized societies' (Rossi, 169).
+
+One can understand the self-evident character that prison punishment very soon assumed. In the first years of the nineteenth century, people were still aware of its novelty; and yet it appeared so bound up and at such a deep level with the very functioning of society that it banished into oblivion all the other punishments that the eighteenth-century reformers had imagined. It seemed to have no alternative, as if carried along by the very movement of history: 'It is not chance, it is not the whim of the legislator that have made imprisonment the base and almost the entire edifice of our present pertal scale: it is the progress of ideas and the improvement in morals' (Van Meenan, 52.9-30). And, although, in a little over a century, this self-evident character has become transformed, it has not disappeared. We are aware of all the inconveniences of prison, and that it is dangerous when it is not useless. And yet one cannot 'see' �ow to replace it. It is the detestable solution, which one seems
+
+unable to do without.
+
+This 'self-evident' character of the prison, which we find so difficult to abandon, is based first of all on the simple form of 'deprivation of liberty'. How could prison not be the penalty par excellence in a society in which liberty is a good that belongs to all in the same way and to which each individual is attached, as Duport put it, by a 'universal and constant' feeling? Its loss has therefore the same value for all; unlike the fine, it is an 'egalitarian' punishment. The prison is the clearest, simplest, most equitable of penalties. Moreover, it makes it possible to quantify the penalty exactly according to the variable of rime. There is a wages-form of imprisonment that constitutes, in industrial societies, its economic 'self-evidence' - and enables it to appear as a repa�tion. By levying on the rime of the prisoner, the prison seems to express in concrete terms the idea that the offence has injured, beyond the victim, society as a whole. There is an economico-moral self-evidence of a penality that metes out punishments in days, months and years and draws up quantitative equivalences between offences and durations. Hence the expression, so frequently heard, so consistent with the functioning of
+
+punishments, though contrary to the strict theory of penal law, that one is in prison in order to 'pay one's debt'. The prison is 'natural', just as the use of time to measure exchanges is 'natural'
+
+in our society.1
+
+But the self-evidence of the prison is also based on its role, supposed or demanded, as an apparatus for transforming individuals. How could the prison not be immediately accepted when, by locking up, retraining and rendering docile, it merely reproduces, with a little more emphasis, all the mechanisms that are to be found in the social body? The prison is like a rather disciplined barracks, a strict school, a dark workshop, but not qualitatively different. This double foundation - juridico-economic on the one hand, technico-disciplinary on the other - made the prison seem the most immediate and civilized form of all penalties. And it is this double functioning that immediately gave it its solidity. One thing is clear: the prison was not at first a deprivation of liberty to which a technical function of correction was later added; it was from the outset a form of 'legal detention' entrusted with an additional corrective task, or an enterprise for reforming individuals that the deprivation of liberty allowed to function in the legal system. In short, penal imprisonment, from the beginning of the nineteenth century, covered both the deprivation of liberty and the technical transformation of
+
+individuals.
+
+Let us remember a number of facts. In the codes of I 8o8 and 181 o, and the measures that immediately preceded or followed them, imprisonment was never confused with mere deprivation of liberty. It was, or in any case had to be, a differentiated and finalized mechanism. Differentiated because it had to have the same form, whether the prisoner had been sentenced or was merely accused, whether he was a minor offender or a criminal: the various types of prison maison d' arret, maison de correction, maison centrale - ought in principle to correspond more or less to these differences and provide a punishment that would be not only graduated in intensity, but diversified in its ends. For the prison has a purpose, which is laid down at the outset: 'The law inflicting penalties, some of which are more serious than others, cannot allow the individual condemned to light penalties to be imprisoned in the same place as the criminal condemned to more serious penalties ... although the penalty fixed
+
+by �the law has as its principal aim the reparation of the crime, it also desires the amendment of the guilty man' (Real, .144). And this transformation must be one of the internal effects of imprisonment. Prison-punishment, prison-apparatus: 'The order that must reign in the maison Je force may contribute powerfully to the regeneration of the convicts; the vices of upbringing, the contagion of bad example, idleness •.. have given birth to crime. Well, let us try to close up all these sources of corruption; let the rules of a healthy morality be practised in the mat"sons Je force; that, compelled to work, convicts may come in the end to like it; when they have reaped the reward, they will acquire the habit, the taste, the need for occupation; let them give each other the example of a laborious life; it will soon become a pure life; soon they will begin to know regret for the past, the first harbinger of a love of duty.'2 The techniques of correction immediately form part of the institutional framework of
+
+penal detention.
+
+One should also recall that the movement for reforming the prisons, for controlling their functioning is not a recent phenomenon. It doe� not even seem to have originated in a recognition of failure. Prison 'reform' is virtually contemporary with the prison itself: it constitutes, as it were, its programme. From the outset, the prison was caught up in a series of accompanying mechanisms, whose purpose was apparently to correct it, but which seem to form part of its very functioning, so closely have they been bound up with its existence throughout its long history. There was, at once, a prolix technology of the prison. There were inquiries: that of Chaptal in 1801 (whose task it was to discover what could be used to introduce the modem prison system into France), that of Decazes in 1819, Villerme's work published in 18.zo, the report on the mat"sons centrales drawn up by Martignac in 18.19, the inquiries carried out in the United States by Beaumont and Tocqueville in 183 1, by Demetz and Blouet in 183�, the questionnaires addressed by Montalivet to the directors of the maisons centrales and to the general councils of the Jlpartements during the debate on solitary confinement. There were societies for supervising the functioning of the prisons and for suggesting improvements: in 1818, the very official Societe pour l'amllioration Jes prisons, a little later the Societe Jes prisons and various philanthropic groups. Innumerable measures - orders,
+
+instructions or laws: from the reform that the first Restoration had envisaged in September 18 14, and which was never implemented, to the law of I 844, drawn up by T ocqueville, which ended for a time the long debate on the means of making imprisonment effective. There were programmes drawn up to improve the function�ng of the machine-prison:3 programmes for the treatment of the prisoners, models for material improvement, some of these, like those of Danjou and Harou-Romain, remaining no more than projects, others becoming embodied in instructions (like the circular of 9 August 1841 on the building of maisons d'arret), others becoming actual buildings, such as the Petite Raquette in which cellular
+
+imprisonment was organized for the first time in F ranee.
+
+To these should be added the publications that sprang more or less directly from the prison and were drawn up either by philanthropists like Appert, or a little later by 'specialists' (such as the Annales de Ia Charite)' or, again, by former prisoners; Pauvre Jacques at the end of the Restoration, or the Ga:rette de Sainte-
+
+Pelagie at the beginning of the July monarchy.6
+
+The prison should not be seen as an inert institution, shaken at intervals by reform movements. The 'theory of the prison' was its constant set of operational instructions rather than its incidental criticism - one of its conditions of functioning. The prisj:>n has always formed part of an active field in which projects, improvements, experiments, theoretical statements, personal evidence and investigations have proliferated. The prison institution has always been a focus of concern and debate. Is the prison still, then, a dark, abandoned region? Is the fact that one has ceased to say so for almost .100 years sufficient proof that it is not? In becoming a legal punishment, it weighted the old juridico-political question of the right to punish with all the problems, all the agitations that have
+
+surrounded the corrective technologies of the individual.
+
+Baltard called them 'complete and austere institutions' (Baltard, 18.19). In several respects, the prison must be an exhaustive disciplinary apparatus: it must assume responsibility for all aspects of the individual, his physical training, his aptitude to work, his everyday conduct, his moral attitude, his state of mind; the prison, much more than the school, the workshop or the army, which always involved a
+
+certain specialization, is 'omni-disciplinary'. Moreover, the prison has neither exterior nor gap; it cannot be interrupted, except when its task is totally completed; its action on the individual must be uninterrupted: an unceasing discipline. Lastly, it gives almost total power over the prisoners; it has its internal mechanisms of repression and punishment: a despotic discipline. It carries to their greatest intensity all the procedures to be found in the other disciplinary mechanisms. It must be the most powerful machinery for imposing a new form on the perverted individual; its mode of action is the constraint of a total education: 'In prison the government may dispose of the liberty of the person and of the time of the prisoner; from then on, one can imagine the power of the education which, not only in a day, but in the succession of days and even years, may regulate for man the time of waking and sleeping, of activity and rest, the number and d�Jration of meals, the quality and ration of food, the nature and product of labour, the time of prayer, the use of speech and even, so to speak, that of thought, that education which, in the short, simple journeys from refectory to workshop, from
+
+works,
+
+hop to the cell, regulates the movements of the body, and even in moments of rest, determines the use of time, the time-table, this education, which, in short, takes possession of man as a whole, of all the physical and moral faculties that are in him and of the time in which he is himself' (Lucas, II, 1.1.3-4)· This complete 'reformatory' lays down a recoding of existence very different from the mere juridical deprivation of liberty and very different, too, from the simple mechanism of exempla imagined by the reformers at the time
+
+of the ideologues.
+
+r. The first principle was isolation. The isolation of the convict from the external world, from everything that motivated the offence, from the complicities that facilitated it. The isolation of the prisoners from one another. Not only must the penalty be individual, but it must also be individualizing - in two ways. First, the prison must be designed in such a way as to efface of itself the harmful consequences to which it gives rise in gathering together very different convicts in the same place: to stifle plots and revolts, to prevent the formation of future complicities that may give rise to blackmail (when the convicts are once again at liberty), to form an obstacle to the immorality of so many 'mysterious associations'. In short, the prison
+
+should form from the malefactors that it gathers together a homogeneous and interdependent population: 'There exists at this moment among us an organized society of criminals ... They form a small nation within the greater. Almost all these men met or meet again in prison. We must now disperse the members of this society' (Tocqueville, Rapport ci la Chambre des Deputis, quoted in Beaumont and Tocqueville, 391-3). Moreover, through the reflection that it gives rise to and the remorse that cannot fail to follow, solitude must be a positive instrument of reform: 'Thrown into solitude, the convict reflects. Placed alone in the presence of his crime, he learns to hate it, and, if his soul is not yet blunted by evil, it is in isolation that remorse will come to assail him' (Beaumont and Tocqueville, 109). Through the fact, too, that solitude assures a sort of self-regulation of the penalty and makes possible a spontaneous individualization of the punishment: the more the convict is capable of reflecting, the more capable he was of committing his crime; but, also, the more lively his remorse, the more painful his solitude; on the other hand, when he has profoundly repented and made amends without the least dissimulation, solitude will no longer weigh upon him: 'Thus, according to this admirable discipline, each intelligence and each morality bears within itself the principle and measure of a punishment whose error and human fallibility �annot alter the certainty and invariable equity ... Is it not in truth like the seal of a divine and providential justice?' (Aylies, IJ1-J). Lastly, and perhaps above all, the isolation of the convicts guarantees that it is possible to exercise over them, with maximum intensity, a power that will not be overthrown by any other influence; solitude is the primary condition of total submission: 'Just imagine,' said Charles Lucas, referring to the role of the governor, the instructor, the chaplain and other 'charitable persons' as regards the isolated convict, 'just imagine the power of human speech intervening in the midst of the terrible discipline of silence to speak to the heart, to the soul, to the human person' (Lucas, I, 167). Isolation provides an intimate exchange between the convict and the power that is
+
+exercised over him.
+
+It is at this point that the debate on the two American systems of imprisonment, that of Auburn and that of Philadelphia, was situated. In fact, this debate, which was so wide-ranging and long drawn out, 8
+
+coacerned only the way in which isolation should be used, it being
+
+accepted by all.
+
+The Auburn model prescribed the individual cell during the night, work and meals in common, but under the rule of absolute silence, the convicts being allowed to speak only to the warders, with their permission and in a low voice. It was a clear reference to the monastic model; a reference, too, to the discipline of the workshop. The prison must be the microcosm of a perfect society in which individuals are isolated in their moral existence, but in which they come together in a strict hierarchical framework, with no lateral relation, communication being possible only in a vertical direction. The advantage of the Aubumian system, according to its advocates, was that it formed a duplication of society itself. Constraint was assured by material means, but above all by a rule that one had to learn to respect and which was guaranteed by surveillance and punishment. Rather than keep the convicts 'under lock and key like wild beasts in their cages', they must be brought together, 'made to join together in useful exercises, forced together to adopt good ,habits, preventing moral contagion by active surveillance, maitw1ining reflection by the rule of silence'; this rule accustoms the convict 'to regard the law as a sacred precept whose violation brings just and legitimate harm' (Mittermaier, in Revue fran�aise et ltrangere Je Jegislation, I8J6). Thus this operation of isolation, assembly without communication and law guaranteed by uninterrupted supervision, must rehabilitate the criminal as a social individual: it trains him to a 'useful and resigned activity' (Gasparin); it restores for him 'habits of sociability' (Beaumont and Tocqueville, 1 12.). In absolute isolation - as at Philadelphia - the rehabilitation of the criminal is expected not of the application of a common law, but of the relation of the individual to his own conscience and to what may enlighten him from within. 7 'Alone in his cell, the convict is handed over to himself; in the silence of his passions and of the world that surrounds him, he descends into his conscience, he questions it and feels awakening within him the moral feeling that never entirely perishes in the heart of man' (journal des economistes, II, 1842). It is not, therefore, an external respect for the law or fear of punishment alone that will act upon the convict but the workings of the conscience itself. A profound submission, rather than a super-
+
+ficial training; a change of 'morality', rather than of attitude. In the Pennsylvanian prison, the only operations of correction were the conscience and the silent architecture that confronted it. At Cherry Hill, 'the walls are the punishment of the crime; the cell confronts the convict with himself; he is forced to listen to his conscience'. Hence work there is more in the nature of a consolation than an obligation; supervisors do not have to exert force - this is assured by the materiality of things - and consequently, their authority may be accepted: 'At each visit, a few benevolent words flow from this honest mouth and bring to the heart of the inmate gratitude, hope and consolation; he loves his warder; and he loves him because he is gentle and sympathetic. Walls are terrible, but man is good' (Biouet). In this closed cell, this temporary sepulchre, the myths of resurrection arise easily enough. After night and silence, the regenerated life. Auburn was society itself reduced to its bare essentials. Cherry Hill was life annihilated and begun again. Catholicism soon absorbed this Quaker technique into its discourses. 'I see your cell as no more than a frightful sepulchre where, instead of worms, remorse and despair come to gnaw at you and to turn your existence into a hell in anticipation. But ... what is for an irreligious prisoner merely a tomb, a repulsive ossuary, becomes, for the sincerely Christian convict, the very cradle of blessed immortality.'8 .
+
+A whole series of different conflicts stemmed from the opposition between these two models: religious (must conversion be the principal element of correction?), medical (does total isolation drive convicts insane?), economic (which method costs less?), architectural and administrative (which form guarantees the best surveillance?). This, no doubt, was why the argument lasted so long. But, at the heart of the debate, and making it possible, was this primary objective of carceral action: coercive individualization, by the termination of any relation that is not supervised by authority or
+
+arranged according to hierarchy.
+
+2. 'Work alternating with meals accompanies the convict to evening prayer; then a new sleep gives him an agreeable rest that is not disturbed by the phantoms of an unregulated imagination. Thus the six weekdays pass by. They are followed by a day devoted exclusively to prayer, instruction and salutary meditations. Thus the weeks, the months, the years follow one another; thus the
+
+pri9oner who, on entering the establishment, was an inconstant man, or one who was single-minded only in his irregularity, seeking to destroy his existence by the variety of his vices, gradually becomes by dint of a habit that is at first purely external, but is soon transformed into a second nature, so familiar with work and the pleasures that derive from it, that, provided wise instruction has opened up his soul to repentance, he may be exposed with more confidence to temptations, when he finally recovers his liberty' (Julius, 4I7-I8). Work is defined, with isolation, as an agent of carceral transformation. This is to be found as early as the code of I 8o8: 'Although the penalty inflicted by the law has as its aim the reparation of a crime, it is also intended to reform the convict, and this double aim will be fulfilled if the malefactor is snatched from that fatal idleness which, having brought him to prison, meets him again within its walls and, seizing hold of him, brings him to the ultimate degree of depravity.'9 Work is neither an addition nor a corrective to the regime of detention: whether it is a question of forced labour, reclusion or imprisonment, it is conceived, by the legislator himself, as necj!Ssarily accompanying it. But the necessity involved is precisely not the necessity of which the eighteenth-century reformers spoke, when they wished to make imprisonment either an example for the public or a useful reparation for society. In the carceral regime, the link between work and punishment is of another type. Several polemics that took place under the Restoration and the July Monarchy throw light on the function attributed to penal labour. First, there was the debate on the subject of wages. The labour of prisoners was remunerated in F ranee. This posed a problem: if work in prison is remunerated, that work cannot really form part of the penalty; and the prisoner may therefore refuse to perform it. Moreover, wages reward the skill of the worker and not the improvement of the convict: 'The worst subjects are almost everywhere the most skilful workers; they are the most highly remunerated, consequently the most intemperate and least ready to repent' (Marquet-Wasselot, quoted in Lucas, Jl4)· The debate, which had never quite died down, was resumed with great liveliness in the early I 84os: it was a period of economic crisis, a period of workers' agitation and a period, too, in which the opposition between the worker and the delinquent was beginning to crystallize (cf. below,
+
+285). There were strikes against the prison workshops: when a Chaumont glove-maker succeeded in organizing a workshop at Clairvaux, the workers protested, declared that their labour was dishonoured, occupied the manufactory and forced the employer to abandon his project ( cf. Aguet, 3o-3 I). There was also a widespread press campaign in the workers' newspapers: on the theme that the government encouraged penal labour in order to reduce 'free' wages; on the theme that the inconveniences of these prison workshops were even more evident for women, who were thus deprived of their labour, driven to prostitution and therefore to prison, where these same women, who could no longer work when they were free, then competed with those who were still at work (L'Atelier, 3rd year, no. 4, December 1842); on the theme that prisoners were given the safest jobs - 'in warm and sheltered conditions thieves execute the work of hat-making and cabinet-making', while the unemployed hatter is forced to go 'to the human slaughter-house to make whitelead at two francs a day' (L' Atelier, 6th year, no. 2, November 1845); on the theme that philanthropy is more concerned about the working conditions of prisoners than those of free workers: 'We are sure that if prisoners worked with mercury, for example, science would be a great deal more ready than it is to find ways of protecting the workers from the dangers of its fumes: "Those poor convicts?" someone would exclaim, who scarcely has a word for the gilders. But what can you expect? One has to have killed or robbed to arouse compassion or interest.' On the theme above all that, if the prison was tending to become a workshop, it would not be long before beggars and the unemployed were sent there, thus reconstituting the old hopitaux generaux of France or the workhouses of England. In addition, there were petitions and letters, especially after the law of 1844 - one petition, rejected by the Chambre de Paris, 'found inhuman that one should propose to apply murderers and thieves to work that is today the lot of a few thousand workers'; 'the Chambre preferred Barrabas to us' (L'Atelier, 4th year, no. 9, June 1844 and 5th year, no. 7, April 1845; cf. also, of the same period, La Democratie pacifique); typographical workers sent a letter to the minister when they learnt that a printing-works was to be set up in the prison at Melun: 'You have decided between reprobates justly punished by the law and citizens who sacrifice
+
+theit days, in abstinence and probity, to the lives of their families and to the wealth of their nation' (L'Atelier, 5th year, no. 6, March 1845). The answers given by the government and the administration to this whole campaign changed very little. Penal labour cannot be criticized for any unemployment it may give rise to: with its limited extent, and its low output, it cannot have a general effect on the economy. It is intrinsically useful, not as an activity of production, but by virtue of the effect it has on the human mechanism. It is a principle of order and regularity; through the demands that it imposes, it conveys, imperceptibly, the forms of a rigorous power; it bends bodies to regular movements, it excludes agitation and distraction, it imposes a hierarchy and a surveillance that are all the more accepted, and which will be inscribed all the more deeply in the behaviour of the convicts, in that they form part of its logic: with work 'the rule is introduced into a prison, it reigns there without effort, without the use of any repressive and violent means. By occupying the convict, one gives him habits of order and obedience; one makes the idler that he was diligent and active ... with time, h� finds in the regular movement of the prison, in the manual labours to which he is subjected ... a certain remedy against the wanderings of his imagination' (Berenger). Penal labour must be seen as the very machinery that transforms the violent, agitated, unreflective convict into a part that plays its role with perfect regularity. The prison is not a workshop; it is, it must be of itself, a machine whose convict-workers are both the cogs and the products; it 'occupies them continually, with the sole aim of filling their moments. When the body is agitated, when the mind applies itself to a particular object, importunate ideas depart, calm is born once again in the soul' (Danjou, 1 So). If, in the final analysis, the work of the prison has an economic effect, it is by producing individuals mechanized according to the general norms of an industrial society: 'Work is the providence of the modern peoples; it replaces morality, fills the gap left by beliefs and is regarded as the principle of all good. Work must be the religion of the prisons. For a machine-society, purely mechanical means of reform are required' (Faucher, 64; in England the 'treadmill' and the pump provided a disciplinary mechanization of the inmates, with no end product). The making of machine-men, but also of proletarians; in effect, when one has
+
+only a 'pair of arms for any good work', one can live only 'from the product of one's labour, through the practice of a profession or from the product of the labour of others, by thieving'; but, although the prison did not force offenders to work, it seems to have reintroduced into its very institution and, obliquely, by means of taxation, this levying by some on the labour of others: 'The question of idleness is the same as in society; it is from the labour of others that the convicts live, if they do not exist from their own labour' (Lucas, II, JIJ-14)· The labour by which the convict contributes to his own needs turns the thief into a docile worker. This is the utility of remuneration for penal labour; it imposes on the convict the 'moral' form of wages as the condition of his existence. Wages inculcate the 'love and habit' of work (Lucas, II, 243); they give those malefactors who do not know the difference between mine and thine a sense of property - of 'what one has earned by the sweat of one's brow' (Danjou, no-1 1; cf. also L'Atelier, 6th year, no. 2, November 1845); they also teach those who have lived in dissipation the virtues of thrift and foresight (Lucas; a third of the prisoner's daily wages was set aside for the day when he left the prison); lastly, by proposing a quantity of work to be carried out, they make it possible to express quantitatively the convict's zeal and the progress of his improvement (Ducpetiaux, JD-J 1). The wages of penal labour do not reward production; they function as a motive and measure of individual transformation: it is a legal fiction, since it does not represent the 'free' granting of labour power, but an artifice that
+
+is presumed to be effective in the techniques of correction.
+
+What, then, is the use of penal labour? Not profit; nor even the formation of a useful skill; but the constitution of a power relation, an empty economic form, a schema of individual submission and of
+
+adjustment to a production apparatus.
+
+The perfect image of prison labour was the women's workshop at Clairvaux; the silent precision of the human machinery is reminiscent of the regulated rigour of the convent: 'On a throne, above which is a crucifix, a sister is sitting; before her, arranged in two rows, the prisoners are carrying out the task imposed on them, and, as needlework accounts for almost all the work, the strictest silence is constantly maintained ... It seems that, in these halls, the very air breathes penitence and expiation. One is carried back, as by a
+
+spontaneous movement, to the time of the venerable habits of this ancient place, one remembers those voluntary penitents who shut themselves up here in order to say farewell to the world'. Compare this with the following; 'Go into a cotton-mill; listen to the conversations of the workers and the whistling of the machines. Is there any contrast in the world more afflicting than the regularity and predictability of these mechanical movements, compared with the disorder of ideas and morals, produced by the contact of so many
+
+men, women and children' (Faucher 20).
+
+3· But prison goes beyond the mere privation of liberty in a more important way. It becomes increasingly an instrument for the modulation of the penalty; an apparatus which, through the execution of the sentence with which it is entrusted, seems to have the right, in part at least, to assume its principle. Of course, the prison institution was not given this 'right' in the nineteenth century or even in the twentieth, except in a fragmentary form (through the oblique way of release on licence, semi-release, the organization of reformatories). But it should be noted that it was claimed very early Qil by those responsible for prison administration, as the very condition of the good functioning of a prison, and of its efficiency
+
+in the task of reformation that the law itself had given it.
+
+The same goes for the duration of the punishment; it makes it possible to quantify the penalties exactly, to graduate them according to circumstances and to give to legal punishment the more or less explicit form of wages; but it also runs the risk of having no corrective value, if it is fixed once and for all in the sentence. The length of the penalty must not be a measurement of the 'exchange value' of the offence; it must be adjusted to the 'useful' transformation of the inmate during his term of imprisonment. It is not a timemeasure, but a time finalized. The form of the operation, rather than the form of the wages. 'Just as the prudent physician ends his medication or continues it according to whether the patient has or has not arrived at a perfect cure, so, in the first of these two hypotheses, expiation ought to end with the complete reform of the prisoner; for, in this case, all detention has become useless, and from then on as inhuman to the reformed individual as it is vainly burdensome for the State.'10 The correct duration of the penalty must be calculated, therefore, not only according to the particular crime and
+
+its circumstances, but also according to the penalty itself as it takes place in actual fact. This amounts to saying that, although the penalty must be individualized, it is so not on the basis of the individual-offender, the juridical subject of his act, the responsible author of the offence, but on the basis of the individual punished, the object of a supervised transformation, the individual in detention inserted in the prison apparatus, modified by it or reacting to it. 'It is a question only of reforming the evil-doer. Once this reform has come about, the criminal must return to society' (C. Lucas, quoted
+
+in the Garette des tribunaux, 6 April 1837).
+
+The quality and content of detention should no longer be determined by the nature of the offence alone. The juridical gravity of a crime does not at all have the value of a univocal sign for the character of the convict, whether or not he is capable of reform. In particular the crime-offence distinction, which the penal code recognized in drawing the corresponding distinction between mere imprisonment and imprisonment with hard labour, is not operational in terms of reform. This was the almost universal opinion expressed by the directors of the maisons centrales, during an inquiry carried out by the ministry in 1836: 'The minor offenders are generally the most vicious. . . Among the criminals, one meets many men who have given in to the violence of their passions and to the needs of a large family.' 'The behaviour of criminals is much better than that of the minor offenders; the former are more submissive, harder-working than the latter, who, in general, are pickpockets, debauchees and idlers.'11 Hence the idea that punitive rigour must not be in direct proportion to the penal importance of the offence -
+
+nor determined once and for all.
+
+As an operation of correction, imprisonment has its own requirements and dangers. It is its effects that must determine its stages, its temporary increases, its successive reductions, in severity; what Charles Lucas called the 'mobile classification of moralities'. The progressive system applied at Geneva since 1825 was often advocated in F ranee (Fresnel, 29-3 1 ). It took the form, for example, of three areas: a trial area for prisoners in general, a punishment area and a reward area for those who had embarked on the way of reform (Lucas, II, 440). Or it took the form of four phases: a period of intimidation (deprivation of work and of any internal or external
+
+rel�tions); a period of work (isolation, but work which, after the phase of forced idleness, would be welcomed as a benefit); a regime of moralization (more or less frequent 'lectures' from the directors and official visitors); a period of work in common (Duras). Although the principle of the penalty was certainly a legal decision, its administration, its quality and its rigours must belong to an autonomous mechanism that supervises the effects of punishment within the very apparatus that produces them. A whole regime of punishments and rewards that is a way not simply of gaining respect for the prison regulations, but of making the action of the prison on the inmates effective. The legal authority itself came to accept this: 'One should not be surprised, said the supreme court of appeal, when consulted on the subject of a bill concerning the prisons, at the idea of granting rewards, which might consist either for the most part in money, or in a better diet, or even in a reduction of the duration of the penalty. If anything can awaken in the minds of convicts the notions of good and evil, bring them to moral reflections and raise them to some extent in their own eyes, it is the possibility of obtaining some
+
+reward' (Lucas, II, 441-2.).
+
+And it must be admitted that the legal authorities can have no immediate control over all these procedures that rectify the penalty as it proceeds. It is a question, in effect, of measures that by definition can intervene only after the sentence and can bear only on something other than the offences. Those who administer detention must therefore have an indispensable autonomy, when it comes to the question of individualizing and varying the application of the penalty: supervisors, a prison governor, a chaplain or an instructor are more capable of exercising this corrective function than those who hold the penal power. It is their judgement (understood as observation, diagnosis, characterization, information, differential classification) and not a verdict in the form of an attribution of guilt, that must serve as a support for this internal modulation of the penalty - for its mitigation or even its interruption. When in 1846, Bonneville presented his project of release on licence, he defined it as 'the right of the administration, with the previous approval of the legal authority, to place in temporary liberty, after a sufficient period of expiation, the completely reformed convict, on condition that he will be brought back into prison on the slightest well-founded
+
+complaint' (Bonneville, 5). All this 'arbitrariness' which, in the old penal system, enabled the judges to modulate the penalty and the princes to ignore it if they so wished, all this arbitrariness, which the modern codes have withdrawn from the judicial power, has been gradually reconstituted on the side of the power that administers and supervises punishment. It is the sovereignty of knowledge possessed by the warder: 'He is a veritable magistrate called upon to reign as sovereign in the prison ... who, in order not to fall short in his mission, must combine the most eminent virtue
+
+with a profound knowledge of mankind' (Berenger).
+
+And so we arrive at a principle, clearly fonnulated by Charles Lucas, which, although it marks the virtual beginning of modem penal functioning, very few jurists would dare to accept today without some hesitation; let us call it the Declaration of Carceral Independence - in it is claimed the right to be a power that not only possesses administrative autonomy, but is also a part of punitive sovereignty. This affirmation of the rights of the prison posits as a principle: that criminal judgement is an arbitrary unity; that it must be broken down; that the writers of the penal codes were correct in distinguishing the legislative level (which classifies the acts and attributes penalties to them) and the judicial level (which passes the sentences); that the task today is to analyse in turn this later judicial level; that one should distinguish in it what is properly judicial (assess not so much acts as agents, measure 'the intentionalities that give human acts so many different moralities', and therefore rectify if it can the assessments of the legislator); and to give autonomy to 'penitentiary judgement', which is perhaps the most important; in relation to it the assessment of the court is merely a 'way of prejudging', for the morality of the agent can be assessed 'only when put to the test. The judge, therefore, requires in tum a compulsory and rectifying supervision of his assessments; and this supervision is that provided by the penitentiary prison' (Lucas, II, 418-22). One may speak, therefore, of an excess or a series of excesses on the pan of imprisonment in tenns of legal detention - of the 'carcera)' in relation to the 'judicial'. Now this excess was observed very early on, from the very birth of the prison, either in the form of real practices, or in the fonn of projects. It did not come later, as a secondary effect. The great carceral machinery was bound up with
+
+the"-very functioning of the prison. The sign of this autonomy is very apparent in the 'useless' acts of violence perpetrated by warders or in the despotism of an administration that has all the privileges of an enclosed community. Its roots lie elsewhere: precisely in the fact that the prison is required to be 'useful', that .the deprivation of liberty - that juridical levying on an ideal property - must, from the outset, have exercised a positive technical role, operating transformations on individuals. And, for this operation, the carceral apparatus has recours� to three great schemata: the politico-moral schema of individual isolation and hierarchy; the economic model of force applied to compulsory work; the technico-medical model of cure and normalization. The cell, the workshop, the hospital. The margin by which the prison exceeds detention is filled in fact by techniques of a disciplinary type. And this disciplinary addition
+
+to the juridical is what, in short, is called the 'penitentiary'.
+
+This addition was not accepted easily. To begin with, there was the question of principle: the penalty must be nothing more than the deprivation of liberty; like our present rulers, but with all the freshness of his language, Decazes says: 'The law must follow the convicted man into the prison where it has sent him' (Decazes). But very soon - and this is a characteristic fact - these debates were to become a battle for appropriating control of this additional penitentiary element; the judges were to demand a right of inspection over the carceral mechanisms: 'The moral enlightenment of the inmates requires innumerable cooperators; it is only by visits of inspection, commissions of surveillance and charity associations that this may be accomplished. Auxiliaries, then, are needed and it is the judges who must provide them' (Ferrus, viii; an ordinance of 1847 had set up commissions of surveillance). From this period, the penitentiary order had become sufficiently well established for there to be no question of dismantling it; the question was how to get control of it. This gave rise to the figure of the judge obsessed by a desire for prison. A century later, this was to give birth to a bastard, yet deformed child: the magistrate entrusted with the determination
+
+of penalties.
+
+But, if the penitentiary, in so far as it went well beyond mere detention, was able not only to establish itself, but to entrap the
+
+whole of penal justice and to imprison the judges themselves, it was because it was able to introduce criminal justice into relatiQns of
+
+knowledge that have since become its infinite labyrinth.
+
+The prison, the place where the penalty is carried out, is also the place of observation of punished individuals. This takes two forms: surveillance, of course, but also knowledge of each inmate, of his behaviour, his deeper states of mind, his gradual improvement; the prisons must be conceived as places for the formation of clinical knowledge about the convicts; 'the penitentiary system cannot be an a priori conception; it is an induction of the social state. There are moral diseases, as well as breakdowns in health, where the treatment depends on the site and direction of the illness' (Faucher, 6). This involves two essential mechanisms. It must be possible to hold the prisoner under permanent observation; every report that can be made about him must be recorded and computed. The theme of the Panopticon - at once surveillance and observation, security and knowledge, individualization and totalization, isolation and transparency - found in the prison its privileged locus of realization. Although the panoptic procedures, as concrete forms of the exercise of power, have become extremely widespread, at least in their less concentrated forms, it was really only in the penitentiary institutions that Bentham's utopia could be fully expressed in a 111aterial form. In the I8Jos, the Panopticon became the architectural programme of most prison projects. It was the most direct way of expressing 'the intelligence of discipline in stone' (Lucas, I, 69); of making architecture transparent to the administration of power;12 of making it possible to substitute for force or other violent constraints the gentle efficiency of total surveillance; of ordering space according to the recent humanization of the codes and the new penitentiary theory: 'The authorities, on the one hand, and the architect, on the other, must know, therefore, whether the prisons are to be based on the principle of milder penalties or on a system of reforming convicts, in accordance with legislation which, by getting to the root cause of the people's vices, becomes a principle that will regenerate the virtues that they must practice' (Baltard, 4-5). In short, its task was to constitute a prison-machine13 with a cell of visibility in which the inmate will find himself caught as 'in the glass house of the Greek philosopher' (Harou-Romain, 8) and a
+
+central point from which a permanent gaze may control prisoners and staff. Around these two requirements, several variations were possible: the Benthamite Panopticon in its strict form, the semicircle, the cross-plan, the star shape. In the midst of all these discussions, the Minister of the Interior in I 841 sums up the fundamental principles: 'The central inspection hall is the pivot of the system. Without a central point of inspection, surveillance ceases to be guaranteed, continuous and general; for it is impossible to have complete trust in the activity, zeal and intelligence of the warder who immediately supervises the cells ... The architect must therefore bring all his attention to bear on this object; it is a question both of discipline and economy. The more accurate and easy the surveillance, the less need will there be to seek in the strength of the building guarantees against attempted escape and communication between the inmates. But surveillance will be perfect if from a central hall the director or head-warder sees, without moving and without being seen, not only the entrances of all the cells and even the inside of most of them when the unglazed door is open, but also the wardelis guarding the prisoners on every floor ... With the formula of circular or semi-circular prisons, it would be possible to see from a single centre all the prisoners in their cells and the warders in the
+
+inspection galleries' (Ducatel, 9).
+
+But the penitentiary Panopticon was also a system of individualizing and permanent documentation. The same year in which variants of the Benthamite schema were recommended for the building of prisons, the system of 'moral accounting' was made compulsory: an individual report of a uniform kind in every prison, on which the governor or head-warder, the chaplain and the instructor had to fill in their observations on each inmate: 'It is in a way the vade mecum of prison administration, making it possible to assess each case, each circumstance and, consequently, to know what treatment to apply to each prisoner individually' (Ducpetiaux, 56-7). Many other, much more complete, systems of recording were planned or tried out (cf., for example, Gregory, 199ff; Grellet-Wammy, 2.3-5 and 199-l.OJ). The overall aim was to make the prison a place for the constitution of a body of knowledge that would regulate the exercise of penitentiary practice. The prison has not only to know the decision of the judges and to apply it in terms
+
+of the established regulations: it has to extract unceasingly from the inmate a body of knowledge that will make it possible to transform the penal measure into a penitentiary operation; which will make of the penalty required by the offence a modification of the inmate that will be of use to society. The autonomy of the carceral regime and the knowledge that it creates make it possible to increase the utility of the penalty, which the code had made the very principle of its punitive philosophy: 'The governor must not lose sight of a single inmate, because in whatever part of the prison the inmate is to be found, whether he is entering or leaving, or whether he is staying there, the governor must also justify the motives for his staying in a particular classification or for his movement from one to another. He is a veritable accountant. Each inmate is for him, in the sphere of individual education, a capital invested with penitentiary interest' (Lucas, II, 449-50). As a highly efficient technology, penitentiary practice produces a return on the capital invested in the penal system
+
+and in the building of heavy prisons.
+
+Similarly, the offender becomes an individual to know. This demand for knowledge was not, in the first instance, inserted into the legislation itself, in order to provide substance for the sentence and to determine the true degree of guilt. It is as a convict, as a point of application for punitive mechanisms, that the offender ,is con-
+
+stituted himself as the object of possible knowledge.
+
+But this implies that the penitentiary apparatus, with the whole technological programme that accompanies it, brings about a curious substitution: from the hands of justice, it certainly receives a convicted person; but what it must apply itself to is not, of course, the offence, nor even exactly the offender, but a rather different object, one defined by variables which at the outset at least were not taken into account in the sentence, for they were relevant only for a corrective technology. This other character, whom the penitentiary apparatus substitutes for the convicted offender, is the
+
+delinquent.
+
+The delinquent is to be distinguished from the offender by the fact that it is not so much his act as his life that is relevant in characterizing him. The penitentiary operation, if it is to be a genuine re-education, must become the sum total existence of the delinquent, making of the prison a sort of artificial and coercive theatre in which
+
+histlife will be examined from top to bottom. The legal punishment bears upon an act; the punitive technique on a life; it falls to this punitive technique, therefore, to reconstitute all the sordid detail of a life in the form of knowledge, to fill in the gaps of that knowledge and to act upon it by a practice of compulsion. It is a biographical knowledge and a technique for correcting individual lives. The observation of the delinquent 'should go back not only to the circumstances, but also to the causes of his crime; they must be sought in the story of his life, from the triple point of view of psychology, social position and upbringing, in order to discover the dangerous proclivities of the first, the harmful predispositions of the second and the bad antecedents of the third. This biographical investigation is an essential part of the preliminary investigation for the classification of penalities before it becomes a condition for the classification of moralities in the penitentiary system. It must accompany the convict from the court to the prison, where the governor's task is not only to receive it, but also to complete, supervise and rectify its various factors during the period of detention'
+
+(Lucas1
+
+, II, 44o-4z). Behind the offender, to whom the investigation of the facts may attribute responsibility for an offence, stands the delinquent whose slow formation is shown in a biographical investigation. The introduction of the 'biographical' is important in the 'history of penality. Because it establishes the 'criminal' as existing before the crime and even outside it. And, for this reason, a psychological causality, duplicating the juridical attribution of responsibility, confuses its effects. At this point one enters the 'criminological' labyrinth from which we have certainly not yet emerged: any determining cause, because it reduces responsibility, marks the author of the offence with a criminality all the more formidable and demands penitentiary measures that are all the more strict. As the biography of the criminal duplicates in penal practice the analysis of circumstances used in gauging the crime, so one sees penal discourse and psychiatric discourse crossing each other's frontiers; and there, at their point of junction, is formed the notion of the 'dangerous' individual, which makes it possible to draw up a network of causality in terms of an entire biography and to present
+
+that he is not only the author of his acts (the author responsible in terms of certain criteria of free, conscious will), but is linked to his offence by a whole bundle of complex threads (instincts, drives, tendencies, character). The penitentiary technique bears not on the relation between author and crime, but on the criminal's affinity with his crime. The delinquent, the strange manifestation of an overall phenomenon of criminality, is to be found in quasi-natural classes) each endowed with its own characteristics and requiring a specific treatment, what Marquet-Wasselot called in 1841 the 'ethnography of the prisons'; 'The convicts are ... another people within the same people; with its own habits, instincts, morals' (Marquet-Wasselot, 9). We are still very close here to the 'picturesque' descriptions of the world of the malefactors - an old tradition that goes back a long way and gained new vigour in the early nineteenth century, at a time when the perception of another form of life was being articulated upon that of another class and another human species. A zoology of social sub-species and an ethnology of the civilizations of malefactors, with their own rites and language, was beginning to emerge in a parody form. But an attempt was also being made to constitute a new objectivity in which the criminal belongs to a typology that is both natural and deviant. Delinquency, a pathological gap in the human species, may be analysed as p10rbid syndromes or as great teratological forms. With Ferrus's classification, we probably have one of the first conversions of the old 'ethnography' of crime into a systematic typology of delinquents. The analysis is slender, certainly, but it reveals quite clearly the principle that delinquency must be specified in terms not so much of the law as of the norm. There are three types of convict; there are those who are endowed 'with intellectual resources above the average of intelligence that we have established', but who have been perverted either by the 'tendencies of their organization' and a 'native predisposition', or by 'pernicious logic', an 'iniquitous morality', a 'dangerous attitude to social duties'. Those that belong to this category require isolation day and night, solitary exercise, and, when one is forced to bring them into contact with the others, they should wear 'a light mask made of metal netting, of the kind used for stonecutting or fencing'. The second category is made up of 'vicious, stupid or passive convicts, who have been led into evil by indifference to
+
+either shame or honour, through cowardice, that is to say, laziness, and because of a lack of resistance to bad incitements'; the regime suitable to them is not so much that of punishment as of education, and if possible of mutual education: isolation at night, work in common during the day, conversations permitted provided they are conducted aloud, reading in common, followed by mutual questioning, for which rewards may be given. Lastly, there are the 'inept or incapable convicts', who are 'rendered incapable, by an incomplete organization, of any occupation requiring considered effort and consistent will, and who are therefore incapable of competing in work with intelligent workers and who, having neither enough education to know their social duties, nor enough intelligence to understand this fact or to struggle against their personal instincts, are led to evil by their very incapacity. For these, solitude would merely encourage their inertia; they must therefore live in common, but in such a way as to form small groups, constantly stimulated by collective operations, and subjected to rigid surveillance' (Ferrus, 182ff and 278ff). Thus a 'positive' knowledge of the delinquents and their
+
+specie�
+
+, very different from the juridical definition of offences and their circumstances, is gradually established; but this knowledge is also distinct from the medical knowledge that makes it possible to introduce the insanity of the individual and, consequently, to efface the criminal character of the act. Ferrus states the principle quite clearly: 'Considered as a whole, criminals are nothing less than madmen; it would be unjust to the latter to confuse them with consciously perverted men.' The task of this new knowledge is to define the act 'scientifically' qua offence and above all the individual
+
+qua delinquent. Criminology is thus made possible.
+
+The correlative of penal justice may well be the offender, but the correlative of the penitentiary apparatus is someone other; this is the delinquent, a biographical unity, a kernel of danger, representing a type of anomaly. And, although it is true that to a detention that deprives of liberty, as defined by law, the prison added the additional element of the penitentiary, this penitentiary element introduced in turn a third character who slipped between the individual condemned by the law and the individual who carries out this law. At the point that marks the disappearance of the branded, dismembered, burnt, annihilated body of the tortured criminal, there
+
+appeared the body of the prisoner, duplicated by the individuality of the 'delinquent', by the little soul of the criminal, which the very apparatus of punishment fabricated as a point of application of the power to punish and as the object of what is still called today penitentiary science. It is said that the prison fabricated delinquents; it is true that it brings back, almost inevitably, before the courts those who have been sent there. But it also fabricates them in the sense that it has introduced into the operation of the law and the offence, the judge and the offender, the condemned man and the executioner, the non-corporal reality of the delinquency that links them together and, for a century and a half, has caught them in the same trap.
+
+The penitentiary technique and the delinquent are in a sense twin brothers. It is not true that it was the discovery of the delinquent through a scientific rationality that introduced into our old prisons the refinement of penitentiary techniques. Nor is it true that the internal elaboration of penitentiary methods has finally brought to light the 'objective' existence of a delinquency that the abstraction and rigidity of the law were unable to perceive. They appeared together, the one extending from the other, as a technological ensemble that forms and fragments the object to which it applies its instruments. And it is this delinquency, formed in the foun�ations of the judicial apparatus, among the 'hasses auvres', the servile tasks, from which justice averts its gaze, out of the shame it feels in punishing those it condemns, it is this delinquency that now comes to haunt the untroubled courts and the majesty of the laws; it is this delinquency that must be known, assessed, measured, diagnosed, treated when sentences are passed. It is now this delinquency, this anomaly, this deviation, this potential danger, this illness, this form of existence, that must be taken into account when the codes are rewritten. Delinquency is the vengeance of the prison on justice. It is a revenge formidable enough to leave the judge speechless.
+
+It is at this point that the criminologists raise their voices.
+
+But we must not forget that the prison, that concentrated and austere figure of all the disciplines, is not an endogenous element in the penal system as defined at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The theme of a punitive society and of a general semio-technique of punishment that has sustained the 'ideological'
+
+codes - Beccarian or Benthamite - did not itself give rise to the universal use of the prison. This prison came from elsewhere - from the mechanisms proper to a disciplinary power. Now, despite this heterogeneity, the mechanisms and effects of the prison have spread right through modern criminal justice; delinquency and the delinquents have become parasites on it through and through. One must seek the reason for this formidable 'efficiency' of the prison. But one thing may be noted at the outset: the penal justice defined in the eighteenth century by the reformers traced two possible but divergent lines of objectification of the criminal: the first was the series of 'monsters', moral or political, who had fallen outside the social pact; the second was that of the juridical subject rehabilitated by punishment. Now the 'delinquent' makes it possible to join the two lines and to constitute under the authority of medicine, psychology or criminology, an individual in whom the offender of the law and the object of a scientific technique are superimposed - or almost one upon the other. That the grip of the prison on the penal system should riot have led to a violent reaction of rejection is no doubt due t«jl many reasons. One of these is that, in fabricating delinquency, it gave to criminal justice a unitary field of objects, authenticated by the 'sciences', and thus enabled it to function on a general
+
+horizon of 'truth'.
+
+The prison, that darkest region in the apparatus of justice, is the place where the power to punish, which no longer dares to manifest itself openly, silently organizes a field of objectivity in which punishment will be able to function openly as treatment and the sentence be inscribed among the discourses of knowledge. It is understandable that justice should have adopted so easily a prison that was not the offspring of its own thoughts. Justice certainly owed
+
+the prison this recognition.
+
+2. Illegalities and delinquency
+
+From the point of view of the law, detention may be a mere deprivation of liberty. But the imprisonment that performs this function has always involved a technical project. The transition from the public execution, with its spectacular rituals, its art mingled with the ceremony of pain, to the penalties of prisons buried in architectural masses and guarded by the secrecy of administrations, is not a transition to an undifferentiated, abstract, confused penality; it is the transition from one art of punishing to another, no less skilful one. It is a technical mutation. From this transition spring a symptom and a symbol: the replacement, in 1837, of the chain-gang by the police
+
+carriage.
+
+The chain-gang, a tradition that went back to the time of the galley slaves, was still surviving under the July monarchy. The importance it seems to have assumed as a spectacle at the beginning of the nineteenth century may be bound up with the fact that it combined in a single manifestation the two modes of punishment: the way to detention unfolded as a ceremonial of torture. (Faucher remarked that the chain-gang was a popular spectacle 'especially since the scaffolds were almost entirely abolished'.) The accounts of the 'last chain-gangs' - those that crossed F ranee in the summer of 1836 - and of its scandals allow us to rediscover this functioning, so alien to the rules of 'penitentiary science'. It began with a scaffold ritual: the fixing of iron collars and chains in the courtyard of Bicetre prison. The convict's neck was thrown back upon a block; but this time the art of the executioner was to strike without crushing the head - an inverted skill that knew how not to deliver the death blow. 'The courtyard of Bicetre displays its instruments of torture: several rows of chains with their iron-collars. The artoupans (head-warders), who serve as temporary blacksmiths, arrange the
+
+block and hammer. Around the bars of the wall walk are stuck all those heads, wearing a gloomy or bold expression, which the operator is to rivet. Higher up, at every storey of the prison, one sees legs and arms dangling through the bars of the cells, as at some bazaar of human flesh; these are the prisoners who have come to assist at the toilet of their comrades of the day before ... Here they are in the attitude of sacrifice. They are stitting on the ground, coupled at random by the waist; the chains they must carry, each weighing eight pounds, rest heavily on their knees. The operator inspects them, measuring heads and adapting the enormous inch-thick collars. It takes three men to rivet an iron-collar; the first holds up the block, the second holds the two branches of the iron-collar together and, with his two outstretched arms, secures the patient's head; the third strikes with repeated blows and flattens the bolt under his huge hammer. Each blow shakes the head and the body . . . . Indeed, one does not think of the danger that the victim might face if the hammer missed its mark; this impression is nullified or rather defaced before the profound impression of horror one experiences in contemplating one of God's creatures in such a state of abasement.'1 It also had the dimension of a public spectacle; according to the Gar.ette des trihunaux, over Ioo,ooo people watched the chain-gang leave Paris on 19 July: 'The descent from the Courtille td the Mardi Gras .. .' Order and wealth came to watch from a distance the passing of the great nomadic tribe that had been put in chains, that other species, 'the race apart that has the privilege of populating the convict-ships and prisons'. The spectators of the lower classes, as at the time of the public executions, kept up their ambiguous exchanges with the convicts, alternating insults, threats, words of encouragement, blows, signs of hate or complicity. Something violent aroused and accompanied the procession along its entire course: anger against a justice that was too severe or too indulgent; shouts against the detested criminals; movements in favour of prisoners one knew and greeted; confrontations with the police: 'During the whole journey from the Fontainebleau barrier, groups of enraged spectators hurled insults at Delacollonge: Down with the priest, they said, down with that hateful man; he should have got his deserts. Without the energy and firmness of the municipal guard, serious disorders could have taken place. At Vaugirard,
+
+it was the women who were the most angry. They cried: Down with the wicked priest! Down with the monster Delacollonge!
+
+. The
+
+police inspectors of Montrouge and Vaugirard and several mayors and deputy-mayors ran the gauntlet in their attempt to enforce the decision of the courts. Shortly before reaching Issy, Fran�ois, recognizing M. Allard and the officers of the brigade, threw his wooden bowl at them. It was then remembered that the families of some of the former comrades of the convict lived at lvry. From that moment the police inspectors spread out along the route and followed the convicts' cart closely. Those of the Paris gang all threw their wooden bowls at the heads of the police, some of whom were struck. At that moment, the crowd reacted strongly. They started to fight amongst themselves' (Ga:r\_ette des trihunaux, 2.0 July 1836). Between Bicetre and Sevres a considerable number of houses were looted as the chain-gang passed by (La Phalange, 1 August 1836). In this festival of the departing convicts, there was something of the rites of the scapegoat that is struck as it is chased away, something of the festival of fools, in which the reversal of roles is practised, something of the old ceremonies of the scaffold, in which the truth must burst forth in the full light of day, something, too, of those popular spectacles, in which famous characters or traditional types were recognized: the play of truth and infamy, the procession of notoriety and shame, invective against the guilty who have been unmasked and, on the other hand, the joyous avowal of crimes. One sought to rediscover the face of the criminals who had had their glory; broadsheets recalled the crimes of those one saw pass; newspapers provided their names and recounted their lives; sometimes they provided a description of their persons and dress, so that their identity might not pass unnoticed: like programmes for spectators. 2 People also came to examine different types of criminals, trying to decide, according to facial appearance or dress, the 'profession' of the convict, whether he was a murderer or thief: it was a game of masquerades and marionnettes, which was also, for more educated eyes, something of an empirical ethnography of crime. From spectacles on trestles to Gall's phrenology, according to the milieu to which one--belonged, one practised the semiologies of crime at one's disposal: 'Physiognomies are as varied as clothes: here a majestic head, a Murillo face; there a vicious face, framed with thick eyebrows,
+
+whkh convey all the energy of the detennined villain ... Elsewhere the head of a Fagin emerges from the body of an urchin. Here are the smooth, feminine features of accomplices; there the glazed, debauched faces of teachers.'3 The convicts themselves responded to this game, displaying their crimes and enacting their misdeeds: this was one of the functions of tattooing, a vignette of their deeds or their fate: 'They bear the insignia of their crimes, either a guillotine tattooed on their left arms, or on their chests a dagger plunged into a bleeding heart.' As they passed, they mimed the scenes of their crimes, mocking the judges or the police, boasting of as yet undiscovered deeds of wickedness. F ranCiois, Lacenaire's former accomplice, said that he had invented a method for killing a man without making him cry out and without spilling a single drop of blood. The great travelling fair of crime had its tumblers and its mummers, in which the comic affinnation of truth answered curiosity and invective. A whole series of scenes, in this summer of 1836, took place around Delacollonge: his crime (he had cut his pregnant mistress into pieces) was made much more spectacular by the fact that he was a1priest; this fact had also saved him from the scaffold. It seems that he aroused considerable hate among the people. Earlier, in the cart that had brought him to Paris in June I8J6, he had been insulted and had been unable to hold back his tears; however, he had expressed a wish not to be conveyed in a closed carriage, believing that the humiliation fanned part of his punishment. As he left Paris, 'one cannot imagine the virtuous indignation, the moral anger and base actions unleashed by the crowd on this man; he was covered with earth and mud; stones and insults rained down upon him from the furious bystanders ... It was an explosion of unparalleled rage; the women above all, like veritable furies, displayed an unbelievable exaltation of hate' (La Phalange, 1 August I8J6). For his protection, his clothes had to be changed. Certain spectators were misled by this and thought that F ran�ois was he. F ranCiois entered into the spirit of the game and accepted the role; but, to the comedy of the crime that he did not commit, he added that of the priest that he was not; to the account of 'his' crime, he added the prayers and broad gestures of blessing directed at the jeering crowd. A few steps away, the real Delacollonge, 'who seemed like a martyr', was undergoing the double affront of the insults that he was not
+
+receiving, but which were addressed to him, and the ridicule that brought back, under the appearances of another criminal, the priest that he was and would have liked to have concealed. His passion was laid out before his eyes, by a buffoon murderer to whom he was
+
+chained.
+
+In every town it passed through, the chain-gang brought its festival with it; it was a saturnalia of punishment, a penalty turned into a privilege. And, by a very curious tradition which seems to have escaped the ordinary rites of the public execution, it aroused in the convict not so much the compulsory marks of repentance as the explosion of a mad joy that denied the punishment. To the ornaments of the collar and chain, the convicts themselves added ribbons, braided straw, flowers or precious stuffs. The chain was the round and the dance; it was also a coupling, a forced marriage in forbidden love. Wedding, festival and rite in chains: 'They ran in front of the chains, bunches of flowers in their hands, ribbons or straw tassels decorated their caps and the most skilful made crested helmets. . . Others wore open-work stockings and clogs or a fashionable waistcoat, under a workman's smock.'' And throughout the evening that followed the riveting, the chain-gang formed a great merry-go-round, which went round and round the courtyard of Bicetre: 'Woe betide the warders if the chain-gang recognized them; they were enveloped and drowned in its rings; the prisoners remained masters of the field of battle until nightfall.'& The convicts' Sabbath corresponded to the ceremonial of justice through the spectacle it invented. It inverted the splendours, the order of power and its signs, the forms of pleasure. But something of the political Sabbath was not far away. One would have had to be very deaf indeed not to hear something of these new accents. The convicts sang marching songs, which rapidly became famous and were repeated everywhere for a long time after. No doubt an echo was to be found in them of the complaints that the broadsheets attributed to criminals - an affirmation of the crime, a black heroization, an evocation of terrible punishments and of the general hate that surrounded them: 'Renown, let the trumpets blow for us. . . Courage, children, let us submit without fear to the terrible fate that hangs over our heads ... Our chains are heavy, but we will bear them. For the convicts, no voice rises to say: relieve them of
+
+thelr suffering.' Yet there was in those collective songs a totally new tonality; the moral code, which most of the old complaints obeyed, was reversed. Instead of bringing remorse, torture sharpened pride; the justice that brought the sentence was rejected, and the crowd that came to witness what it believed to be repentance or humiliation was scorned: 'So far from our homes, we sometimes moan. Our stern brows will make our judges blench. . . Avid of misfortune you turn your eyes upon us, hoping to find a blighted, humiliated, tearful race. But there is pride in our eyes.' One also finds the assertion that the convict's life with its companionship has pleasures that liberty cannot know. 'With time let us link our pleasures. Under lock and key feast days will be born. . . Pleasures are turncoats. They will flee the executioners; they follow where the song leads.' And, above all, the present order will not last forever:; not only will the convicts be freed and resume their rights, but their accusers will take their place. Between the criminals and their judges, the day of the great reverse judgement will come: 'The contempt of men belongs to us convicts. The gold they worship is also ours. One day, this gold will pass into our hands. We will buy it with our lives. Others will seize these chains that today you make us bear; they will become slaves. As we break out of our shackles, the star of liberty will shine for us ... Farewell, for we brave both your chains and your laws.'6 The pious theatre imagined by the broadsheets, in which the convict exhorted the crowd never to imitate him, was becoming a threatening scene in which the crowd was asked to choose between the barbarity of the executioners, the injustice of the judges and the misfortune of convicts who, though defeated today,
+
+would triumph one day.
+
+The great spectacle of the chain-gang was linked with the old tradition of the public execution; it was also linked with that multiple representation of crime that gave rise at the time to newspapers, broadsheets, mountebanks and street theatres;7 but it was also linked with the confrontations and struggles whose first rumblings it conveyed; it gave them a kind of symbolic outlet: though vanquished by the law, the army of disorder promised to return; what the violence of order had driven away would overthrow that order and bring liberty on its return. 'I was horrified to see so many sparks reappear in those ashes' (Le Dernier jour d'un condamne). The
+
+agitation that had always surrounded the public executions now found an echo in precise threats. One can see why the July monarchy decided to abolish the chain-gang for the same - but more pressing reasons that brought about, in the eighteenth century, the abolition of the public executions: 'It is no part of our morality to treat men in this way; one must avoid providing in the towns that the convoy passes through so hideous a spectacle, which, in any case, teaches the population nothing' (Ga1\_ette des tribuneaux, 19 July I8J6). It was necessary, therefore, to break with these public rites; to subject the movements of convicts to the same mutation as the punishments themselves; and to bring them, too, under the veil of administrative
+
+decency.
+
+But what, in June I8J7, was adopted-to replace the chain-gang was not the simple covered cart, which had been suggested at one time, but a machine that had been very meticulously designed: a carriage conceived as a moving prison, a mobile equivalent of the Panopticon. A central corridor divided it along its entire length: on either side were six cells in which the two rows of convicts sat facing one another. Their feet were placed in rings that were lined on the inside with wool and linked together by chains eighteen inches long; the legs were secured in metal knee-guards. The convict sat on a kind of 'zinc and oak funnel that emptied onto the public way'. Tj-u� cell had no window onto the outside; it was completely lined with sheet iron; only a ventilator, also of sheet-iron, with holes pierced in it, allowed a 'suitable flow of air'. On the corridor side, the door of each cell was provided with a hatch, divided into two compartments: one for food, the other, covered by a grill, for surveillance. 'The opening and the oblique direction of the hatches were so arranged that the warders had the prisoners constantly in view and heard every word they spoke, though the prisoners themselves were unable to see or hear one another.' In this way, 'the same carriage may, without the slightest inconvenience, contain at one and the same time a convict and a simple offender, men and women, children and adults. Whatever the length of the journey, all would be brought to their destination without having been able to perceive one another or to speak to one another.' Lastly, the constant surveillance of the two warders, who were each armed with a small oak club, 'with thick nails of crushed diamond' made it possible to
+
+oJ\*rate a whole system of punishments in conformity with the internal regulation of the carriage: a diet of bread and water, thumbscrews, lack of a cushion that would allow one to sleep, chains on both arms. 'Any reading other than that of books of morality is
+
+forbidden.'
+
+If only for its mildness and speed, this machine 'would have done honour to the sensibility of its author'; but its merit lay in the fact that it was a veritable penitentiary carriage. By its external effects, it had a quite Benthamite perfection: 'In the rapid passage of this mobile prison which, on its dark, silent flanks, bears no other inscription than the following words - Transport of Convicts there is something mysterious and gloomy, which Bentham requires in the carrying out of criminal sentences and which leaves in the minds of onlookers a more salutary and lasting impression than the sight of those cynical and joyous travellers' (Ga:rette des trihunaux, 15 June I8J7)· It also had internal effects; even in a journey lasting only a few days (during which the inmates had not been detached for a single moment), it functioned as an apparatus of correction. One emerged from it astonishingly calm: 'From a moral point of view, this tramportation, which lasts no more than seventy-two hours, is a terrible torture whose effects on the prisoner seem to be lasting.' The convicts themselves support this view: 'In the cell carriage, when you don't sleep, you can only think. And when I thought, I came to regret what I had done; in the end, you see, I would have been afraid to mend my ways and I don't want to.'8 The panoptic carriage had only a short history. Yet the way in which it replaced the chain-gang and the reasons for this replacement recapitulated the whole process by which in eighty years penal detention replaced public execution as a calculated technique for altering individual behaviour. The cell-carriage was an apparatus of reform. What replaced the public execution was not a massive enclosure, it was a carefully articulated disciplinary mechanism - at
+
+least in principle.
+
+For the prison, in its reality and visible effects, was denounced at once as the great failure of penal justice. In a very strange way, the history of imprisonment does not obey a chronology in which one sees, in orderly succession, the establishment of a penality of deten-
+
+tion, then the recognition of its failure; then the slow rise of projects of reform, seeming to culminate in the more or less coherent definition of penitentiary technique; then the implementation of this project; lastly, the recognition of its successes or its failure. There was in fact a telescoping or in any case a different distribution of these elements. And, just as the project of a corrective technique accompanied the principle of punitive detention, the critique of the prison and its methods appeared very early on, in those same years 182kill, no more than a few minor crimes; he was so strongly suspected of being a police spy that the administration had to protect him against his fellow prisoners, who tried to kill him (the charge was formally taken up by Canler, 15), and it was the fashionable society ofLouis-Philippe's Paris that gave him, before his execution, a feast beside which many a later literary resurrection has been little more than academic homage. His fame owed nothing either to the extent of his crimes or to the art of their conception; it was their ineptitude that gave cause for surprise. But it did owe a great deal to the visible play, in what he did and what he said, between illegality and delinquency. Swindling, desertion, petty theft, imprisonment, the revival
+
+of f;iendships made in prison, mutual blackmail, recidivism, up to the last, failed attempt at murder - Lacenaire is the typical 'delinquent'. But he brought with him, at least potentially, a horizon of illegalities that had, until quite recently, represented a threat: this ruined petty bourgeois, of good education, would, a generation earlier, have been a revolutionary, a Jacobin, a regicide;18 had he been a contemporary of Robespierre, his rejection of the law would have taken a directly political form. Born in xSoo, at more or less the same time as Stendhal's Julien Sorel, his character bears the trace of these possibilities; but they took the form of theft, murder and denunciation. All these potentialities became a delinquency of no great moment: in this sense, Lacenaire is a reassuring character. And if these potentialities reappear, it is in what he says about the theory of crime. At the moment of his death, Lacenaire manifested the triumph of delinquency over illegality, or rather the figure of an illegality, on the one hand, dragged down into delinquency, and, on the other, displaced towards an aesthetics of crime, that is to say, towards an art of the privileged classes. There is a symmetry between 1Lacenaire and Vidocq, who in the same period, made it possible to turn delinquency in upon itself by constituting it as an enclosed, observable milieu and by displacing towards police techniques a whole delinquent practice that was becoming the licit illegality of power. That the Parisian bourgeoisie should have feasted Lacenaire, that his cell should have been open to famous visitors, that he should have been showered with praise during the last days of his life, he whose death his plebeian fellow prisoners had demanded before his judges had done so, he who had done everything, in court, to bring his accomplice F ranc;ois to the scaffold, there was a reason for all this: what was being celebrated was the symbolic figure of an illegality kept within the bounds of delinquency and transformed into discourse - that is to say, made doubly inoffensive; the bourgeoisie had invented for itself a new pleasure, which it has still far from outgrown. It should not be forgotten that Lacenaire's celebrated death succeeded in muffling the echoes of Fieschi's attempt on the life of Louis-Philippe; Fieschi, one of the most recent of the regicides, represented the converse figure of a petty criminality leading to political violence. Nor should we forget that it took place a few months before the departure of the last
+
+chain-gang and the scandalous demonstrations that accompanied it. These two festivals overlapped in history; and, indeed, F ran<;ois, Lacenaire's accomplice, was one of the best-known characters in the chain-gang of 19 July.20 The one extended the ancient rituals of the public execution at the risk of reactivating popular illegalities around the criminals. It was to be prohibited, for the criminal was no longer to occupy any other space than that appropriate to delinquency. The other inaugurated the theoretical play of an illegality of the privileged; or rather it marked the moment when the political and economic illegalities actually practised by the bourgeoisie were to be duplicated in theoretical and aesthetic representation: the 'Metaphysics of crime', a term often associated with Lacenaire. The French translation of De Quincey's Murder Considered as One of the Fine
+
+Arts was published in 1849.
+
+This production of delinquency and its investment by the penal apparatus must be taken for what they are: not results acquired once and for all, but tactics that shift,according to how closely they reach their target. The split between delinquency and other illegalities, the way in which it is turned back upon them, its colonization by the dominant illegality - these all appear clearly in the way in which the police-prison system functions; yet they have always met with resistance; they have given rise to struggles and provoked reaction. Erecting the barrier to separate delinquents from all the lower strata of the population from which they sprang and with which they remained linked has been a difficult task, especially no doubt in urban milieux.21 It has been a long and arduous undertaking. It has involved the use of the general principles of the 'moralization' of the poorer classes that elsewhere has had such crucial importance both from an economic and a political point of view (the acquisition of what might be called a 'basic legalism', which was indispensable from the time when custom was replaced by the system of the code; learning the elementary rules of property and thrift; training in docility at work, in stability of residence and of the family, etc.). More specific methods were used to maintain the hostility of the poorer classes to delinquents (the use of ex-convicts as informers, police spies, strike-breakers or thugs). There has been a systematic confusion between offences against common law and those offences
+
+against the severe legislation concerning the livret (work record), strikes, coalitions, associations, 22 for which the workers demanded political status. Workers' action was regularly accused of being animated, if not manipulated, by mere criminals (cf., for example, Monfalcon, 142 ). Verdicts were often more severe against workers than against thieves (cf. L' Atelier, October 1840, or La Fraternite, July-August 1847). The two categories of convict were mixed in the prisons and preferential treatment given to common-law offenders, while convicted journalists and politicians usually enjoyed the right to separate treatment. In short, a whole tactic of confusion
+
+aimed at maintaining a permanent state of conflict.
+
+To this was added a patient attempt to impose a highly specific grid on the common perception of delinquents: to present them as close by, everywhere present and everywhere to be feared. This was the function of the fait divers, which invaded a part of the press and which began to have its own newspapers.23 The criminal fait divers, by its everyday redundancy, makes acceptable the system of judicial and police supervisions that partition society; it recounts from day
+
+to day 1
+
+a sort of internal battle against the faceless enemy; in this war, it constitutes the daily bulletin of alarm or victory. The crime novel, which began to develop in the broadsheet and in mass-circulation literature, assumed an apparently opposite role. Above all, its function was to show that the delinquent belonged to an entirely different world, unrelated to familiar, everyday life. This strangeness was first that of the lower depths of society (Les Mysteres de Paris, Rocamhole), then that of madness (especially in the latter half of the century) and lastly that of crime in high society (Arsene Lupin). The combination of the fait divers and the detective novel has produced for the last hundred years or more an enormous mass of 'crime stories' in which delinquency appears both as very close and quite alien, a perpetual threat to everyday life, but extremely distant in its origin and motives, both everyday and exotic in the milieu in which it takes place. Through the importance attributed to it and the surfeit of discourse surrounding it, a line is traced round it which, while exalting it, sets it apart. In such a formidable delinquency, coming from so alien a clime, what illegality could recognize itself? ... This multiple tactic had its effect: this is proved by the campaign of the workers' newspapers against penal labour;24 against the 'com-
+
+fort of the prisons' and for giving prisoners the hardest and most dangerous work; against the excessive interest shown by philanthropists in the delinquents; against the literature that exalts crime;25 it is also proved by the general mistrust felt throughout the workers' movement for former common-law convicts. 'At the dawn of the twentieth century,' writes Michele Perrot, 'surrounded by contempt, the highest of walls, the prison finally closed in on an unpopular
+
+people' (Perrot).
+
+Yet it certainly cannot be said that this tactic triumphed or that it brought about a total break between the delinquents and the lower classes. The relations between the poorer classes and illegality, the reciprocal position of the proletariat and the urban plebs has yet to be studied. But one thing is certain: delinquency and repression were regarded, in the workers' movements of the years I 83o-5o, as an important issue. There was no doubt hostility towards the delinquents; but it was a battle around penality. The workers' newspapers often proposed a political analysis of criminality that contradicted term by term the description familiar to the philanthropists (poverty - dissipatio'h - laziness - drunkenness - vice - theft crime). They assigned the origin of delinquency not to the individual criminal (he was merely the occasion or the first victim), but to society: 'The man who kills you is not free not to kill you. It is society or, to be more precise, bad social organization that is responsible' (L'Humanitaire, August I84I). This is so either because society is incapable of providing its fundamental needs, or because it destroys or effaces in him possibilities, aspirations or needs that later emerge in crime: 'Bad education, unused aptitudes and forces, the intelligence and the heart crushed by forced labour at too tender an age' (La Fraternite, November I 845). But this criminality of need or of repression masks, by the attention paid to it and the disapprobation surrounding it, another criminality that is sometimes its cause and always its extension. This is the delinquency from above, a scandalous example, the source of misery and the principle of revolt for the poor. 'While misery strews your streets with corpses, and fills your prisons with thieves and murderers, where are the swindlers of the fashionable world? . . . The most corrupting examples, the most revolting cynicism, the most shameless robbery . . . . Are you not afraid that the poor man put into the dock for
+
+snatching a piece of bread from a baker's stall will not, one day, become so enraged that stone by stone he will demolish the Stock Exchange, a wild den where the treasure of the state and the fortune of families are stolen with impunity?' (La Ruclze populaire, November 1842.). But this delinquency of wealth is tolerated by the laws, and, when it does find its way into the courts, it can depend upon the indulgence of the judges and the discretion of the press. 28 Hence the idea that criminal trials may become the occasion for a political debate, that advantage should be taken of controversial trials or proceedings instituted against workers to denounce the general functioning of penal justice: 'The courts are no longer as they once were a place for the exhibition of the miseries and wounds of the time, a kind of branding in which the sad victims of our social disorder are displayed side by side; it is an arena that echoes with the cry of combatants' (La Fraternite, November 1841). Hence, too, the idea that political prisoners, since they have, like delinquents, a direct experience of the penal system, but, unlike them, are in a position to be heard, have a duty to be the spokesmen of all prisoner�; it is their task to enlighten 'the good bourgeois of France, who has never known the penalties inflicted through the pompous indictments of a public prosecutor' (Almanaclz populaire de Ia
+
+France, 18J9, so).
+
+In this reappraisal of penal justice and of the frontier that it carefully traces around delinquency, the tactic of what might be called the 'counter-foit divers' is characteristic. What the workers' newspapers do is to reverse the use that was made of crimes or trials in the newspapers which, like the Ga1\_ette des trihunaux, 'gorge themselves with blood', 'feed on prison' and provide a daily 'repertoire of melodrama' (Pauvre Jacques, 1st year, no. 3). The counterfait divers systematically stresses the facts of delinquency in the bourgeoisie, showing that it is the class affected by 'physical degeneration' and 'moral decay'; for the accounts of crimes committed by ordinary people it substitutes descriptions of the misery into which their exploiters plunge them and who, literally, starve and murder them;27 it points out in the criminal trials of workers what share of responsibility must be attributed to the employers and to society as a whole. In short, a whole effort was being made to reverse this monotonous discourse on crime, which sought both to
+
+isolate it as a monstrosity and to depict it as the work of the poorest
+
+class.
+
+In the course of this anti-penal polemic, the F ourierists no doubt went further than any of the others. They were perhaps the first to elaborate a political tl-teory which, at the same time, places a positive value on crime. Although, in their view, crime is a result of 'civilization', it is also, and by that very fact, a weapon against it. It bears within it a figure and a future. 'The social order dominated by the fatality of its repressive principle continues to kill through the executioner or through the prisons those whose natural robustness rejects or disdains its prescriptions, those who, too strong to remain enclosed within its tight swaddling-clothes, break from them and tear them to pieces, men who do not wish to remain children' (La Phalange, 10 January I8J7). There is not, therefore, a criminal nature, but a play of forces which, according to the class to which individuals belong, 28 will lead them to power or to prison: if born poor, today's magistrates would no doubt be in the convict-ships; and the convicts, if they had been well born, 'would be presiding in the courts and dispensing justice' (La Phalange, I December 1838). At bottom, the existence of crime manifests 'a fortunate irrepressibility of human nature'; it should be seen not so much as a weakness or a disease, as an energy that is reviving, an 'outburst of protest in the name of human individuality', which no
+
+doubt
+
+accounts for its strange power of fascination. 'Without crime, which awakens in us a mass of torpid feelings and half distinguished passions, we would remain still longer in disorder, in weakness' (La Phalange, 10 January I837). It may be, therefore, that crime constitutes a political instrument that could prove as precious for the liberation of our society as it has been for the emancipation of the Negroes; indeed, will such an emancipation take place without it? 'Poison, fire-raising and sometimes even revolt are evidence of the terrible miseries of the social condition' (La Phalange, 10 January 1837). And what of the prisoners, 'the most unfortunate and most oppressed part of mankind'? La Phalange sometimes shared the contemporary aesthetic of crime, but in a very different
+
+cause.
+
+Hence a use of fait divers that was intended not only to turn the reproach of immorality back upon the adversary, but to reveal the
+
+play of opposing forces. La Phalange analyses penal affairs as a confrontation coded by 'civilization', the great crimes not as monstrosities, but as the fatal return and revolt of what is repressed,
+
+28
+
+the minor illegalities not as the necessary margins of society, but as
+
+a rumbling from the midst of the battle-field.
+
+After Vidocq and Lacenaire, a third character must be introduced. He made only a short appearance; his notoriety lasted hardly more than a day. He was merely the passing figure of minor illegalities: a child of thirteen, without home or family, charged with vagabondage and whom a two-year sentence had no doubt long placed in the circuits of delinquency. He would certainly have passed without trace, had he not opposed to the discourse of the law that made him delinquent (in the name of the disciplines, even more than in the terms of the code) the discourse of an illegality that remained resistant to tnese coercions and which revealed indiscipline in a systematically ambiguous manner as the disordered order of society and as the affirmation of inalienable rights. All the illegalities that the court defined as offences the accused reformulated as the affirmation of a living force: the lack of a home as vagabondage, the lack of a master as independence, the lack of work as freedom, the lack of a time-table as the fullness of days and nights. This confrontation of illegality with the discipline-penality-delinquency system was perceived by contemporaries or rather by the journalist who happened to be there as the comic effect of the criminal law at grips with the petty details of indiscipline. And it was true: the affair itself and the verdict that followed represented the heart of the problem of legal punishment in the nineteenth century. The irony with which the judge tried to envelop indiscipline in the majesty of the law and the insolence with which the accused reinscribed indiscipline among the funda-
+
+mental rights represent for penality an exemplary scene.
+
+This, no doubt, is the value of the account published in the Gat.ette des tribunaux for August 1840: 'The judge: One must sleep at home. - Beasse: Have I got a home? - You live in perpetual vagabondage. - I work to earn my living. - What is your station in life? -My station: to begin with, I'm thirty-six at least; I don't work for anybody. I've worked for myself for a long time now. I have my day station and my night station. In the day, for instance, I hand out leaflets free of charge to all the passers-by; I run after the stage-
+
+coaches when they arrive and carry luggage for the passengers; I turn cart-wheels on the avenue de Neuilly; at night there ar:e the shows; I open coach doors, I sell pass-out tickets; I've plenty to do. - It would be better for you to be put into a good house as an apprentice and learn a trade. - Oh, a good house, an apprenticeship, it's too much trouble. And anyway the bourgeois . . . always grumbling, no freedom. - Does not your father wish to reclaim you? -Haven't got no father. - And your mother? - No mother neither, no parents, no friends, free and independent.' Hearing his sentence of two years in a reformatory, Beasse 'pulled an ugly face, then, recovering his good humour, remarked: "Two years, that's never
+
+more than twenty-four months. Let's be off, then." '
+
+It was this scene that La Phalange took up. And the importance that the newspaper gave it, the extremely slow, careful analysis, shows that the Fourierists saw in such an everyday affair a play of fundamental forces. On the one hand, that of 'civilization', represented by the judge, 'living legality, the spirit and letter of the law'. It had its own system of coercion, which seemed to be the code, but which in fact was discipline. There had to be a place, a location, a compulsory insertion: 'One sleeps at home, said the judge, because in fact, for him, everything must have a home, some dwelling, however magnificent or mean; his task is not to provide one, ,Put to force every individual to live in one.' Moreover, one must have a station in life, a recognizable identity, an individuality fixed once and for all: 'What is your station? This question is the simplest expression of the established order in society; such vagabondage is repugnant to it, disturbs it; one must have a stable, continuous longterm station, thoughts of the future, of a secure future, in order to reassure it against all attacks.' In short, one should have a master, be caught up and situated within a hierarchy; one exists only when fixed in definite relations of domination: 'Who do you work with? That is to say, since you are not a master, you must be a servant, whatever your station; it is not a question of your satisfactoriness as an individual; it is a question of order to be maintained.' Confronted with discipline on the face of the law, there is illegality, which puts itself forward as a right; it is indiscipline, rather than the criminal offence, that causes the rupture. An indiscipline of language: incorrect grammar and the tone of the replies 'indicate a violent
+
+split between the accused and society, which, through the judge, addresses him in correct terms'. An indiscipline that is the indiscipline of native, immediate liberty: 'He is well aware that the apprentice, the worker is a slave and that slavery is sad ... This liberty, this need of movement that possesses him, he is well aware that he would no longer enjoy it in a life of ordinary order ... He prefers liberty; what does he care if others see it as disorder? It is liberty, that is to say, the most spontaneous development of his individuality, a wild development and, consequently, brutal and limited, but a natural, instinctive development.' Indiscipline in family relations; it does not matter whether this lost child was abandoned or freed himself voluntarily, for 'he would have been unable to bear the slavery of education either at his parents' or with strangers'. And through all these minute disciplines it is ultimately 'civilization' as a whole that is rejected and 'wildness' that emerges: 'It is work, it is laziness, it is thoughtlessness, it is debauchery: it is everything except order; the difference in occupations and debauches aside, it is the life of the savage, living from day to day and with no tomorrow'
+
+(La Phalange, 15 August 1840).
+
+No1 doubt the analyses of La Phalange cannot be regarded as representative of the discussions that took place in the workers' press at this time on crime and penality. Nevertheless, they are situated in the context of this polemic. The lessons of La Phalange were not quite wasted. They found an echo when, in the second half of the nineteenth century, taking the penal apparatus as their point of attack, the anarchists posed the political problem of delinquency; when they thought to recognize in it the most militant rejection of the law; when they tried not so much to heroize the revolt of the delinquents as to disentangle delinquency from the bourgeois legality and illegality that had colonized it; when they wished to re-establish
+
+or constitute the political unity of popular illegalities.
+
+3. The carceral
+
+Were I to fix the date of completion of the carceral system, I would choose not 181o and the penal code, nor even 1844, when the law laying down the principle of cellular internment was passed; I might not even choose 1838, when books on prison reform by Charles Lucas, Moreau-Christophe and Faucher were published. The date I would choose would be 21. January 1840, the date of the official opening of Mettray. Or better still, perhaps, that glorious day, unremarked and unrecorded, when a child in Mettray remarked as he lay dying: 'What a pity I left the colony so soon' (Ducpetiaux, 18p, 383). This marked the death of the first penitentiary saint. Many of the blessed no doubt went to join him, if the former inmates of the penal colonies are to be believed when, in singing the praises of the new punitive policies of the body, they remarked:
+
+'We preferred the blows, but the cell suits us better.'
+
+,
+
+Why Mettray? Because it is the disciplinary form at its most extreme, the model in which are concentrated all the coercive technologies of behaviour. In it were to be found 'cloister, prison, school, regiment'. The small, highly hierarchized groups, into which the inmates were divided, followed simultaneously five models: that of the family (each group was a 'family' composed of 'brothers' and two 'elder brothers'); that of the army (each family, commanded by a head, was divided into two sections, each of which had a second in command; each inmate had a number and was taught basic military exercises; there was a cleanliness inspection every day, an inspection of clothing every week; a roll-call was taken three times a day); that of the workshop, with supervisors and foremen, who were responsible for the regularity of the work and for the apprenticeship of the younger inmates; that of the school (an hour or an hour and a half of lessons every day; the teaching was given by the
+
+instructor and by the deputy-heads); lastly, the judicial model (each day 'justice' was meted out in the parlour: 'The least act of disobedience is punished and the best way of avoiding serious offences is to punish the most minor offences very severely: at Mettray, a useless word is punishable'; the principal punishment inflicted was confinement to one's cell; for 'isolation is the best means of acting on the moral nature of children; it is there above all that the voice of religion, even if it has never spoken to their hearts, recovers all its emotional power' - Ducpetiaux, 18p, 377); the entire parapenal institution, which is created in order not to be a prison, culminates in the cell, on the walls of which are written in black letters: 'God
+
+sees you.'
+
+This superimposition of different models makes it possible to indicate, in its specific features, the function of 'training'. The chiefs and their deputies at Mettray had to be not exactly judges, or teachers, or foremen, or non-commissioned officers, or 'parents', but something of all these things in a quite specific mode of intervention. They were in a sense technicians of behaviour: engineers of conduct, orthopaedists of individuality. Their task was to produce Ibodies that were both docile and capable; they supervised the nine or ten working hours of every day (whether in a workshop or in the fields); they directed the orderly movements of groups of inmates,. physical exercises, military exercises, rising in the morning, going to bed at night, walks to the accompaniment of bugle and whistle; they taught gymnastics;1 they checked cleanliness, supervised bathing. Training was accompanied by permanent observation; a body of knowledge was being constantly built up from the everyday behaviour of the inmates; it was organized as an instrument of perpetual assessment: 'On entering the colony, the child is subjected to a sort of interrogation as to his origins, the position of his family, the offence for which he was brought before the courts and all the other offences that make up his short and often very sad existence. This information is written down on a board on which everything concerning each inmate is noted in turn, his stay at the colony and the place to which he is sent when he leaves' (Ducpetiaux, 185 1, 61). The modelling of the body produces a knowledge of the individual, the apprenticeship of the techniques induces modes of behaviour and the acquisition of skills is inextricably linked with
+
+the establishment of power relations; strong, skilled agricultural workers are produced; in this very work, provided it is technically supervised, submissive subjects are produced and a dependable body of knowledge built up about them. This disciplinary technique exercised upon the body had a double effect: a 'soul' to be known and a subjection to be maintained. One result vindicated this work of training: in 1848, at a moment when 'the fever of revolution fired the imagination of all, when the schools at Angers, La Fleche, Alfort, even the boarding schools, rose up in rebellion, the inmates of
+
+Mettray were calmer than ever' (Ferrus).
+
+Where Mettray was especially exemplary was in the specificity that it recognized in this operation of training. It was related to other forms of supervision, on which it was based: medicine, general education, religious direction. But it cannot not be identified absolutely with them. Nor with administration in the strict sense. Heads or deputy-heads of 'families', monitors and foremen, had to live in close proximity to the inmates; their clothes were 'almost as humble' as those of the inmates themselves; they practically never left their side, observing them day and night; they constituted among them a network of permanent observation. And, in order to train them themselves, a specialized school had been organized in the colony. The essential element of its programme was to subject the luture cadres to the same apprenticeships and to the same coercions as the inmates themselves: they were 'subjected as pupils to the discipline that, later, as instructors, they would themselves impose'. They were taught the art of power relations. It was the first training college in pure discipline: the 'penitentiary' was not simply a project that sought its justification in 'humanity' or its foundations in a 'science', but a technique that was learnt, transmitted and which obeyed general norms. The practice that normalized by compulsion the conduct of the undisciplined or dangerous could, in turn, by technical elaboration and rational reflection, be 'normalized'. The disciplinary technique became a 'discipline' which also had its
+
+school.
+
+It so happens that historians of the human sciences date the birth of scientific psychology at this time: during these same years, it seems, Weber was manipulating his little compass for the measurement of sensations. What took place at Mettray (and in other
+
+Euiopean countries sooner or later) was obviously of a quite different order. It was the emergence or rather the institutional specification, the baptism as it were, of a new type of supervision - both knowledge and power - over individuals who resisted disciplinary normalization. And yet, in the formation and growth of psychology, the appearance of these professionals of discipline, normality and subjection surely marks the beginning of a new stage. It will be said that the quantitative assessment of sensorial responses could at least derive authority from the prestige of the emerging science of physiology and that for this alone it deserves to feature in the history of the sciences. But the supervision of normality was firmly encased in a medicine or a psychiatry that provided it with a sort of 'scientificity'; it was supported by a judicial apparatus which, directly or indirectly, gave it legal justification. Thus, in the shelter of these two conside-rable protectors, and, indeed, acting as a link between them, or a place of exchange, a carefully worked out technique for the supervision of norms has continued to develop right up to the present day. The specific, institutional supports of these 1methods have proliferated since the founding of the small school at Mettray; their apparatuses have increased in quantity and scope; their auxiliary services have increased, with hospitals, schools, public administrations and private enterprises; their agents have proliferated in number, in power, in technical qualification; the technicians of indiscipline have founded a family. In the normalization of the power of normalization, in the arrangement of a powerknowledge over individuals, Mettray and its school marked a new
+
+era.
+
+But why choose this moment as the point of emergence of the formation of an art of punishing that is still more or less our own? Precisely because this choice is somewhat 'unjust'. Because it situates the 'end' of the process in the lower reaches of criminal law. Because Mettray was a prison, but not entirely; a prison in that it contained young delinquents condemned by the courts; and yet something else, too, because it also contained minors who had been charged, but acquitted under article 66 of the code, and boarders held, as in the eighteenth century, as an alternative to paternal correction. Mettray, a punitive model, is at the limit of strict
+
+penality. It was the most famous of a whole series of institutions which, well'beyond the frontiers of criminal law, constituted what
+
+one might call the carceral archipelago.
+
+Yet the general principles, the great codes and subsequent legislation were quite clear on the matter: no imprisonment 'outside the law', no detention that had not been decided by a qualified judicial institution, no more of those arbitrary and yet widespread confinements. Yet the very principle of extra-penal incarceration was in fact never abandoned. (A whole study remains to be done of the debates that took place during the Revolution concerning family courts, paternal correction and the right of parents to lock up their children.) And, if the apparatus of the great classical form of confinement was partly (and only partly) dismantled, it was very soon reactivated, rearranged, developed in certain directions. But what is still more important is that it was homogenized, through the mediation of the prison, on the one hand with legal punishments and, on the other, with disciplinary mechanisms. The frontiers between confinement, judicial punishment and institutions of discipline, which were already blurred in the classical age, tended to disappear and to constitute a great carceral continuum that diffused penitentiary techniques into the most innocent disciplines, transmitting disciplinary norms 1nto the very heart of the penal system and placing over the slightest illegality, the smallest irregularity,' deviation or anomaly, the threat of delinqueru:y. A subtle, graduated carceral net, with compact institutions, but also separate and diffused methods, assumed responsibility for the arbitrary, widespread,
+
+badly integrated confinement of the classical age.
+
+I shall not attempt here to reconstitute the whole network that formed first the immediate surroundings of the prison, then spread farther and farther outwards. However, a few references and dates should give some idea of the breadth and precocity of the phenome-
+
+non.
+
+There were agricultural sections in the maisons centrales (the first example of which was Gaillon in 1824, followed later by F ontevrault, Les Douaires, Le Boulard); there were colonies for poor, abandoned vagrant children (Petit-Bourg in 1840, Ostwald in 1842.); there were almshouses for young female offenders who 'recoiled before the idea of entering a life of disorder', for 'poor innocent girls whose
+
+m.,thers' immorality has exposed to precocious perversity', or for poor girls found on the doorsteps of hospitals and lodging houses. There were penal colonies envisaged by the law of 1850: minors, acquitted or condemned, were to be sent to these colonies and 'brought up in common, under strict discipline, and trained in agriculrural work and in the principal industries related to it;' later, they were to be joined by minors sentenced to hard labour for life and 'vicious and insubordinate wards of the Public Assistance' (on all these institutions, cf. Gaillac, 99-107). And, moving still farther away from penality in the strict sense, the carceral circles widen and the form of the prison slowly diminishes and finally disappears altogether: the institutions for abandoned or indigent children, the orphanages (like Neuhof or Mesnii-Firmin), the establishments for apprentices (like the Bethleem de Reims or the Maison de Nancy); still farther away the factory-convents, such as La Sauvagere, Tarare and Jujurieu (where the girl workers entered about the age of thirteen, lived confined for years and were allowed out only under surveillance, received instead of wages pledged payment, which
+
+could ,
+
+be increased by bonuses for zeal and good behaviour, which they could use only on leaving). And then, still farther, there was a whole series of mechanisms that did not adopt the 'compact' prison model, but used some of the carceral methods: charitable societies, moral improvement associations, organizations that handed out assistance and also practised surveillance, workers' estates and lodging houses - the most primitive of which still bear the all too visible marks of the penitentiary system.2 And, lastly, this great carceral network reaches all the disciplinary mechanisms that func-
+
+tion throughout society.
+
+We have seen that, in penal justice, the prison transformed the punitive procedure into a penitentiary technique; the carceral archipelago transported this technique from the penal institution to the
+
+entire social body. With several important results.
+
+1. This vast mechanism established a slow, continuous, imperceptible gradation that made it possible to pass naturally from disorder to offence and back from a transgression of the law to a slight departure from a rule, an average, a demand, a norm. In the classical period, despite a certain common reference to offence in general, 3 the order of the crime, the order of sin and the order of bad conduct
+
+remained separate in so far as they related to separate criteria and authorities (court, penitence, confinement). Incarceration with its mechanisms of surveillance and punishment functioned, on the contrary, according to a principle of relative continuity. The continuity of the institutions themselves, which were linked to one another (public assistance with the orphanage, the reformitory, the penitentiary, the disciplinary battalion, the prison; the school with the charitable society, the workshop, the almshouse, the penitentiary convent; the workers' estate with the hospital and the prison). A continuity of the punitive criteria and mechanisms, which on the basis of a mere deviation gradually strengthened the rules and increased the punishment. A continuous gradation of the established, specialized and competent authorities (in the order of knowledge and in the order of power) which, without resort to arbitrariness, but strictly according to the regulations, by means of observation and assessment hierarchized, differentiated, judged, punished and moved gradually from the correction of irregularities to the punishment of crime. The 'carceral' with its many diffuse or compact forms, its institutions of supervision or constraint, of discreet surveillance and insistent coercion, assured the communication of punishments according to quality and quantity; it connected in series or disposed according to subtle divisions the minor �nd the serious penalties, the mild and the strict forms of treatment, bad marks and light sentences. You will end up in the convict-ship, the slightest indiscipline seems to say; and the harshest of prisons says to the prisoners condemned to life: I shall note the slightest irregularity in your conduct. The generality of the punitive function that the eighteenth century sought in the 'ideological' technique of representations and signs now had as its support the extension, the material framework, complex, dispersed, but coherent, of the various carceral mechanisms. As a result, a certain significant generality moved between the least irregularity and the greatest crime; it was no longer the offence, the attack on the common interest, it was the departure from the norm, the anomaly; it was this that haunted the school, the court, the asylum or the prison. It generalized in the sphere of meaning the function that the carceral generalized in the sphere of tactics. Replacing the adversary of the sovereign, the social enemy was transformed into a deviant, who brought with him
+
+the multiple danger of disorder, crime and madness. The carceral network linked, through innumerable relations, the two long,
+
+multiple series of the punitive and the abnormal.
+
+z. The carceral, with its far-reaching networks, allows the recruitment of major 'delinquents'. It organizes what might be called 'disciplinary careers' in which, through various exclusions and rejections, a whole process is set in motion. In the classical period, there opened up in the confines or interstices of society the confused, tolerant and dangerous domain of the 'outlaw' or at least of that which eluded the direct hold of power: an uncertain space that was for criminality a training ground and a region of refuge; there poverty, unemployment, pursued innocence, cunning, the struggle against the powerful, the refusal of obligations and laws, and organized crime all came together as chance and fortune would dictate; it was the domain of adventure that Gil Bias, Sheppard or Mandrin, each in his own way, inhabited. Through the play of disciplinary differentiations and divisions, the nineteenth century constructed rigorous channels which, within the system, inculcated docility and produced delinquency by the same mechanisms. There was a sort of disciplinary 'training', continuous and compelling, that had something of the pedagogical curriculum and something of the professional network. Careers emerged from it, as secure, as predictable, as those of public life: assistance associations, residential apprenticeships, penal colonies, disciplinary battalions, prisons, hospitals, almshouses. These networks were already well mapped out at the beginning of the nineteenth century: 'Our benevolent establishments present an admirably coordinated whole by means of which the indigent does not remain a moment without help from the cradle to the grave. Foil ow the course of the unfortunate man: you will see him born among foundlings; from there he passes to the nursery, then to an orphanage; at the age of six he goes off to primary school and later to adult schools. If he cannot work, he is placed on the list of the charity offices of his district, and if he falls ill he may choose between twelve hospitals .•. Lastly, when the poor Parisian reaches the end of his career, seven almshouses await his age and often their salubrious regime has prolonged his useless days well beyond those of the rich man' (Moreau de Jonnes, quoted in
+
+The carceral network does not cast the unassimilable into a confused hell; there is no outside. It takes back with one hand what it seems to exclude with the other. It saves everything, including what it punishes. It is unwilling to waste even what it has decided to disqualify. In this panoptic society of which incarceration is the omnipresent armature, the delinquent is not outside the law; he is, from the very outset, in the law, at the very heart of the law, or at least in the midst of those mechanisms that transfer the individual imperceptibly from discipline to the law, from deviation to offence. Although it is true that prison punishes delinquency, delinquency is for the most part produced in and by an incarceration which, ultimately, prison perpetuates in its turn. The prison is merely the natural consequence, no more than a higher degree, of that hierarchy laid down step by step. The delinquent is an institutional product. It is no use being surprised, therefore, that in a considerable proportion of cases the biography of convicts passes through all these mechanisms and establishments, whose purpose, it is widely believed, is to lead away from prison. That one should find in them what one might call the index of an irrepressibly delinquent 'character': the prisoner condemned to hard labour was meticulously produced by a childhood spent in a reformatory, according to the lines of force of the generalized carceral system. Conversely, the lyricism of marginality may find inspiration in the image of the 'outlaw', the great social nomad, who prowls on the confines of a docile, frightened order. But it is not on the fringes of society and through successive exiles that criminality is born, but by means of ever more closely placed insertions, under ever more insistent surveillance, by an accumulation of disciplinary coercion. In short, the carceral archipelago assures, in the depths of the social body, the formation of delinquency on the basis of subtle illegalities, the overlapping of the latter by the former and the establishment of a specified criminality. J· But ·perhaps the most important effect of the carceral system and of its extension well beyond legal imprisonment is that it succeeds in making the power to punish natural and legitimate, in lowering at least the threshold of tolerance to penality. It tends to efface what may he exorbitant in the exercise of punishment. It does this by playing the two registers in which it is deployed - the legal register of justice and the extra-legal register of discipline - against
+
+one� another. In effect, the great continuity of the carceral system throughout the law and its sentences gives a sort of legal sanction to the disciplinary mechanisms, to the decisions and judgements that they enforce. Throughout this network, which comprises so many 'regional' institutions, relatively autonomous and independent, is transmitted, with the 'prison-form', the model of justice itself. The regulations of the disciplinary establishments may reproduce the law, the punishments imitate the verdicts and penalties, the surveillance repeat the police model; and, above all these multiple establishments, the prison, which in relation to them is a pure form, unadulterated and unmitigated, gives them a sort of official sanction. The carceral, with its long gradation stretching from the convictship or imprisonment with hard labour to diffuse, slight limitations, communicates a type of power that the law validates and that justice uses as its favourite weapon. How could the disciplines and the power that functions in them appear arbitrary, when they merely operate the mechanisms of justice itself, even with a view to mitigating their intensity? When, by generalizing its effects and transmitting it to every level, it makes it possible to avoid its full rigour? Carceial continuity and the fusion of the prison-form make it possible to legalize, or in any case to legitimate disciplinary power, which thus avoids any element of excess or abuse it may entail. But, conversely, the carceral pyramid gives to the power to inflict legal punishment a context in which it appears to be free of all excess and all violence. In the subtle gradation of the apparatuses of discipline and of the successive 'embeddings' that they involve, the prison does not at all represent the unleashing of a different kind of power, but simply an additional degree in the intensity of a mechanism that has continued to operate since the earliest forms of legal punishment. Between the latest institution of 'rehabilitation', where one is taken in order to avoid prison, and the prison where one is sent after a definable offence, the difference is (and must be) scarcely perceptible. There is a strict economy that has the effect of rendering as discreet as possible the singular power to punish. There is nothing in it now that recalls the former excess of sovereign power when it revenged its authority on the tortured body of those about to be executed. Prison continues, on those who are entrusted to it, a work begun elsewhere, which the whole of society pursues on
+
+each individual through innumerable mechanisms of discipline. By means of a carceral continuum, the authority that sentences infiltrates all those other authorities that supervise, transform, correct, improve. It might even be said that nothing really distinguishes them any more except the singularly 'dangerous' character of the delinquents, the gravity of their departures from normal behaviour and the necessary solemnity of the ritual. But, in its function, the power to punish is not essentially different from that of curing or educating. It receives from them, and from their lesser, smaller task, a sanction from below; but one that is no less important for that, since it is the sanction of technique and rationality. The carceral 'naturalizes' the legal power to punish, as it 'legalizes' the technical power to discipline. In thus homogenizing them, effacing what may be violent in one and arbitrary in the other, attenuating the effects of revolt that they may both arouse, thus depriving excess in either of any purpose, circulating the same calculated, mechanical and discreet methods from one to the other, the carceral makes it possible to carry out that great 'economy' of power whose formula the eighteenth century had sought, when the problem of the accumula-
+
+tion and useful administration of men first emerged.
+
+By operating at every level of the social body and by mingling ceaselessly the art of rectifying and the right to punish, the universality of the carceral lowers the level from which it becomes natural and acceptable to be punished. The question is often posed as to how, before and after the Revolution, a new foundation was given to the right to punish. And no doubt the answer is to be found in the theory of the contract. But it is perhaps more important to ask the reverse question: how were people made to accept the power to punish, or quite simply, when punished, tolerate being so. The theory of the contract can only answer this question by the fiction of a juridical subject giving to others the power to exercise over him the right that he himself possesses over them. It is highly probable that the great carceral continuum, which provides a communication between the power of discipline and the power of the law, and extends without interruption from the smallest coercions to the longest penal detention, constituted the technical and real, immediately material counterpart of that chimerical granting of the right to
+
+4t With this new economy of power, the carceral system, which is its basic instrument, permitted the emergence of a new form of 'law': a mixture oflegality and nature, prescription and constitution, the norm. This had a whole series of effects: the internal dislocation of the judicial power or at least of its functioning; an increasing difficulty in judging, as if one were ashamed to pass sentence; a furious desire on the part of the judges to judge, assess, diagnose, recognize the normal and abnormal and claim the honour of curing or rehabilitating. In view of this, it is useless to believe in the good or bad consciences of judges, or even of their unconscious. Their immense 'appetite for medicine' which is constantly manifested from their appeal to psychiatric experts, to their attention to the chatter of criminology - expresses the major fact that the power they exercise has been 'denatured'; that it is at a certain level governed by laws; that at another, more fundamental level it functions as a normative power; it is the economy of power that they exercise, and not that of their scruples or their humanism, that makes them pass 'therapeutic' sentences and recommend 'rehabilitating' periods of imprisonment. But, conversely, if the judges accept ever more reluctclntly to condemn for the sake of condemning, the activity of judging has increased precisely to the extent that the normalizing power has spread. Borne along by the omnipresence of the mechanisms of discipline, basing itself on all the carceral apparatuses, it has become one of the major functions of our society. The judges of normality are present everywhere. We are in the society of the teacher-judge, the doctor-judge, the educator-judge, the 'social worker' -judge; it is on them that the universal reign of the normative is based; and each individual, wherever he may find himself, subjects to it his body, his gestures, his behaviour, his aptitudes, his achievements. The carceral network, in its compact or disseminated forms, with its systems of insertion, distribution, surveillance, observation, has been the greatest support, in modern society, of the normalizing
+
+power.
+
+5. The carceral texture of society assures both the real capture of the body and its perpetual observation; it is, by its very nature, the apparatus of punishment that conforms most completely to the new economy of power and the instrument for the formation of knowledge that this very economy needs. Its panoptic functioning
+
+enables it to play this double role. By virtue of its methods of fixing, dividing, recording, it has been one of the simplest, crudest, also most concrete, but perhaps most indispensable conditions for the development of this immense activity of examination that has objectified human behaviour. If, after the age of 'inquisitorial' justice, we have entered the age of 'examinatory' justice, if, in an even more general way, the method of examination has been able to spread so widely throughout society, and to give rise in part to the sciences of man, one of the great instruments for this has been the multiplicity and close overlapping of the various mechanisms of incarceration. I am not saying that the human sciences emerged from the prison. But, if they have been able to be formed and to produce so many profound changes in the episteme, it is because they have been conveyed by a specific and new modality of power: a certain policy of the body, a certain way of rendering the group of men docile and useful. This policy required the involvement of definite relations of knowledge in relations of power; it called for a technique of overlapping subjection and objectification; it brought with it new procedures of individualization. The carceral network constituted one of the armatures of this power-knowledge that has made the human sciences historically possible. Knowable man (soul, individuality, consciousness, conduct, whatever it is called) is the object-effect of this analytical investment, of this domination-observation.
+
+6. This no doubt explains the extreme solidity of the prison, that slight invention that was nevertheless decried from the outset. If it had been no more than an instrument of rejection or repression in the service of a state apparatus, it would have been easier to alter its more overt forms or to find a more acceptable substitute for it. But, rooted as it was in mechanisms and strategies of power, it could meet any attempt to transform it with a great force of inertia. One fact is characteristic: when it is a question of altering the system of imprisonment, opposition does not come from the judicial institutions alone; resistance is to be found not in the prison as penal sanction, but in the prison with all its determinations, links and extrajudicial results; in the prison as the relay in a general network of disciplines and surveillances; in the prison as it functions in a panoptic regime. This does not mean that it cannot be altered, nor that it is once and for all indispensable to our kind of society. One may, on
+
+the ,;:ontrary, site the two processes which, in the very continuity of the processes that make the prison function, are capable of exercising considerable restraint on its use and of transforming its internal functioning. And no doubt these processes have already begun to a large degree. The first is that which reduces the utility (or increases its inconveniences) of a delinquency accommodated as a specific illegality, locked up and supervised; thus the growth of great national or international illegalities directly linked to the political and economic apparatuses (financial illegalities, information services, arms and drugs trafficking, property speculation) makes it clear that the somewhat rustic and conspicuous work force of delinquency is proving ineffective; or again, on a smaller scale, as soon as the economic levy on sexual pleasure is carried out more efficiently by the sale of contraceptives, or obliquely through publications, films or shows, the archaic hierarchy of prostitution loses much of its former usefulness. The second process is the growth of the disciplinary networks, the multiplication of their exchanges with the penal apparatus, the ever more important powers that are given them, the ever more massive transference to them of judicial func-1tions; now, as medicine, psychology, education, public assistance, 'social work' assume an ever greater share of the powers of supervision and assessment, the penal apparatus will be able, in turn, to become medicalized, psychologized, educationalized; and by the same token that turning-point represented by the prison becomes less useful when, through the gap between its penitentiary discourse and its effect of consolidating delinquency, it articulates the penal power and the disciplinary power. In the midst of all these mechanisms of normalization, which are becoming ever more rigorous in their application, the specificity of the prison and its role as link are
+
+losing something of their purpose.
+
+If there is an overall political issue around the prison, it is not therefore whether it is to be corrective or not; whether the judges, the psychiatrists or the sociologists are to exercise more power in it than the administrators or supervisors; it is not even whether we should have prison or something other than prison. At present, the problem lies rather in the steep rise in the use of these mechanisms of normalization and the wide-ranging powers which, through the
+
+In I 836, a correspondent wrote to La Phalange: 'Moralists, philosophers, legislators, flatterers of civilization, this is the plan of your Paris, neatly ordered and arranged, here is the improved plan in which all like things are gathered together. At the centre, and within a first enclosure: hospitals for all diseases, almshouse,. for all types of poverty, madhouses, prisons, convict-prisons for men, women and children. Around the first enclosure, barracks, courtrooms, police stations, houses for prison warders, scaffolds, houses for the executioner and his assistants. At the four corners, the Chamber of Deputies, the Chamber of Peers, the Institute and the Royal Palace. Outside, there are the various services that supply the central enclosure, commerce, with its swindlers and its bankruptcies; industry and its furious struggles; the press, with its sophisms; the gambling dens; prostitution, the people dyirig of hunger or wallowing in debauchery, always ready to lend an ear to the voice of the Genius of Revolutions; the heartless rich ... Lastly the ruthless war of all against all' (La Phalange, 10 August
+
+1836).
+
+I shall stop with this anonymous text. We are now far away from the country of tortures, dotted with wheels, gibbets, gallows, pillories; we are far, too, from that dream of the reformers, less than fifty years before: the city of punishments in which a th<;,Jusand small theatres would have provided an endless multicoloured representation of justice in which the punishments, meticulously produced on decorative scaffolds, would have constituted the permanent festival of the penal code. The carceral city, with its imaginary 'geo-politics', is governed by quite different principles. The extract from La Phalange reminds us of some of the more important ones: that at the centre of this city, and as if to hold it in place, there is, not the 'centre of power', not a network of forces, but a multiple network of diverse elements - walls, space, institution, rules, discourse; that the model of the carceral city is not, therefore, the body of the king, with the powers that emanate from it, nor the contractual meeting of wills from which a body that was both individual and collective was born, but a strategic distribution of elements of different natures and levels. That the prison is not the daughter of laws, codes or the judicial apparatus; that it is not subordinated to the court and the docile or clumsy instrument of the sentences that
+
+it hpnds out and of the results that it would like to achieve; that it is
+
+the court that ·
+
+is external and subordinate to the prison. That in the
+
+central position that it occupies, it is not alone, but linked to a whole series of 'carceral' mechanisms which seem distinct enough - since they are intended to alleviate pain, to cure, to comfort - but which all tend, like the prison, to exercise a power of normalization. That these mechanisms are applied not to transgressions against a 'central' law, but to the apparatus of production - 'commerce' and 'industry' -to a whole multiplicity of illegalities, in all their diversity of nature and origin, their specific role in profit and the different ways in which they are dealt with by the punitive mechanisms. And that ultimately what presides over all these mechanisms is not the unitary functioning of an apparatus or an institution, but the necessity of combat and the rules of strategy. That, consequently, the notions of institutions of repression, rejection, exclusion, marginalization, are not adequate to describe, at the very centre of the carceral city, the formation of the insidious leniencies, unavowable petty cruelties, small acts of cunning, calculated methods, techniques, 'sciences' that permit the fabrication of the disciplinary individual. In this central and centralized humanity, the effect and instrument of complex power relations, bodies and forces subjected by multiple mechanisms of 'incarceration', objects for discourses that are in themselves elements for this strategy, we must hear the distant roar
+
+of battle.
+
+At this point I end a book that must serve as a historical background to various studies of the power of normalization and the
+
+formation of knowledge in modern society.
+
+PART ONE TORTURE I The hody of the condemned
+
+I The public execution of traitors described by William Blackstone, Commentari�s on the Laws of England, vol. 4, I766 9, 89. Since the French translation was intended to bring out the humaneness of English legislation, in contrast with the old ordinance of I76o, the French translator adds the following note: 'In this form of execution, which is so terrifying to see, the guilty man does not suffer much pain,
+
+or for long.'
+
+2. In any case, I could give no notion by references or quotations what this book owes to Gilles Deleuze and the work he is undertaking with Felix Guattari. I should also have quoted a number of pages from R. Castell's Psyclr.analysme and say how much I am indebted to
+
+Pierre Nora.
+
+3 I shall study the birth of the prison only in the French penal system. Differences in historical developments and institutions would make a detailed comparative examination too burdensome and any attempt to
+
+describe the phenomenon as a whole too schematic.
+
+2. Tlr.e spectacle of tlr.e scaffold
+
+I The name given to two fortresses in old Paris, the Grand and the Petit Chatelet. The first, demolished in I8o2., was situated on the right bank of the Seine. It was the seat of the criminal jurisdiction of the viscounty and provostry of Paris. The second, on the left bank,
+
+near the Hotei-Dieu, served as a prison [Tr.].
+
+2. In the catalogues of judicial proofs, the confession appears in about the thirteenth or fourteenth century. Bernard of Pavia does not refer to it, but it is mentioned by Hostiemis. Crater's definition is character-
+
+In medieval law, the confession was valid only when made by an
+
+adult and before the adversary. Cf. Levy.
+
+3 The Ga1\_ette trihunaux, 6 July t837, reports, from a Gloucester newspaper, the 'atrocious and disgusting' conduct of an executioner who after hanging a condemned man 'took the corpse by the shoulders, violently turned it round and struck it several times saying: "Are you dead enough now?" then, turning towards the crowd, laughing and
+
+jeering, he made several indecent remarks'.
+
+4 Argenson, 241. Cf. also Barbier, 455· One of the first episodes of this affair was very typical of popular agitation concerning penal justice in the eighteenth century. The lieutenant-general of police, Berryer, had seized 'libertine children without confession'; the guards agreed to hand them back to their parents 'only when given money'; it was said that the children were intended to provide for the king's pleasure. The crowd, having discovered an informer, killed him 'with an inhumanity carried to the farthest excess' and 'dragged him after his death, a rope around his neck, to M. Berryer's door'. Now, this informer was a thief who would have been broken on the wheel with his accomplice Raffiat, had he not agreed to act as an informer; he was greatly appreciated by the police on account of his knowledge of all thel intricacies of the plot; and he was 'highly regarded in his new trade'. We have an example here that is interesting on a number of counts: a movement of revolt triggered off by a relatively new means of repression, which was not penal justice, but the police; a case of that technical collaboration between delinquents and police, which was to become normal from the eighteenth century onwards; a riot in which people took it upon themselves to torture a condemned man who had
+
+unjustly escaped the scaffold.
+
+5 Those whom R. Mandrou calls the two great ones: Cartouche and Mandrin, to whom one should add Guilleri (Mandrou, I u). In England, Jonathan Wild, Jack Sheppard and Claude Duval played a some-
+
+what similar role.
+
+6 This title is to be found not only in the Bibliotheque de Troyes, but
+
+also in the Bibliotheque de Normandie (cf. Helot).
+
+7 Cf., for example, Lacretelle: 'In order to satisfy this need for strong emotion, in order to deepen the impression of a great example, one allows these terrible stories to circulate. The poets of the people take them up and spread their fame to every part of the land. One day a family hears at its door the story in song of the crime and execution
+
+PA RT TWO PUNIS HMENT
+
+I Genera/ired punishment
+
+I Mogensen, 326. The author shows that in Auge crimes of violence were four times less numerous on the eve of the Revolution than at the end of the reign of Louis XIV. Generally speaking, the work directed by Pierre Chaunu on criminality in Normandy shows the same rise in fraud at the expense of violence. Cf. articles by B. Boutelet, J. C. Gegot and V. Boucheron in the Annales Je NormanJie of I962, I966 and I97I. For Paris, cf. Petrovitch. The same phenomenon, it seems,
+
+took place in England: cf. Hibbert, 72 and Tobias, 37ff.
+
+2 Le Roy-Ladurie, I973· Cf. also Farge who confirms this tendency: between I750 and I75 5, 5 per cent of those convicted for stealing food were sent to the galleys, but 15 per cent between 1775 and 1790: 'The courts became more severe as time went on ... The values useful to a society that wished to be ordered and respectful of property were
+
+under threat' (Farge, Ijo--42).
+
+3 On this criticism of 'excessive power' and of its bad distribution in the judicial apparatus, cf. in particular Dupaty, 1788, Lacretelle and
+
+Target.
+
+4 Cf. N. Bergasse on the judicial power: 'Deprived of any kind of activity against the political regime of the State and having no influence on the wills that come together to form that regime or to maintain it, it must have at its disposal, in order to protect all individual!> and all rights, such a force that, all-powerful in defending and assisting that regime, it should become absolutely nil as soon as its destination is changed in any attempt to use it to oppress' (Bergasse, 11-12). Rousseau, 28. It should be noted that these ideas of Rousseau's were used in the Constituent Assembly by certain deputies who wished to maintain a system of very strict penalties. And, curiously enough, the principles of the Social Contract could be used to support the old correspondence of atrocity between crime and punishment. 'The protection due to citizens requires that penalties be measured according to the atrocity of the crimes and not sacrifice, in the name of humanity, humanity itself' (Mougins de Roquefort, who quotes this passage from
+
+the Social Contract: cf. Mougins, 637).
+
+6 Duport, Archives parlementaires, X, 744· One might also cite in support the different competitions proposed at the end of the eighteenth century by learned societies and academies: 'How is the mildness of these investigations and penalties to be reconciled with the certainties of a prompt and exemplary punishment, so that civil society
+
+jnds the greatest possible security for liberty and humanity?' (Economic Society of Berne, I777). Marat responded with his Plan de Ugislation criminelle. 'What are the means of alleviating the rigour of the penal laws in F ranee without damage to public safety?' (Academie de Chalons-sur-Marne, I78o; the winners were Brissot and Bernardi); 'does the extreme severity of the laws tend to diminish the number and enormity of crimes in a depraved nation?' (Academie de Marseille,
+
+I786; the winner was Eymar).
+
+7 G. Target, Observations sur le projet Ju Code penal, in Locre, 7-8. It
+
+is to be found in an inverted form in Kant.
+
+8 'Society does not see in the punishments it inflicts the barbarous pleasure of making a human being suffer; it sees it as a necessary precaution to prevent similar crimes, to protect society from the evils
+
+with which murder threatens it' (Barnave, 9).
+
+9 Beccaria, 2.6. Cf. also Brissot: 'If pardon is equitable, the law is bad; when legislation is good, pardons are only crimes against the law'
+
+(Brissot, 2.00 ).
+
+IO Mably, Jl.7· Cf. also Vattel: 'It is not so much the atrocity of the penalties as the exactitude with which they are carried out that keeps
+
+everybody within his duty' (Mably, 163).
+
+I 1 Co�trary to what Carnot or Helie and Chauveau say, recidivism was very clearly punished in a number of laws under the Ancien Regime.
+
+The ordinance of 1
+
+.
+
+549 declares that the malefactor who repeats his
+
+crime is an 'execrable, infamous being, eminently pernicious to the commonwealth'; recidivism for blasphemy, theft, vagabondage, etc.,
+
+were subject to special penalties.
+
+12. Le Peletier, Jl.l-2.. The following year, Bellart made what may be regarded as the first defence of a crime passionel. This was the Gras
+
+affair. Cf. Annales du harreau modeme, ISl.J, III, 34·
+
+2. Tile gentle way in punisnment
+
+I Le Peletier de Saint-Fargeau. The authors who abandoned the death penalty envisaged some definite penalties: Brissot, 29-JO. Dufriche de Valaze, 344: perpetual imprisonment for those who have been judged
+
+'irremediably wicked'.
+
+2 Masson, IJ9· Yet the objection made against penal labour was that it implied a recourse to violence (Le Peletier) or that it represented a profanation of the sacred character of work (Duport). Rabaud Saint :£tienne got the term 'forced labour' adopted in contra-distinction to 'free labour that belongs exclusively to free men' (Arcnives Parlemen-
+
+3 Part of this code was translated in the introduction to the French
+
+translation of Colquhoun, 1807, I, 84.
+
+4 This explains the numerous prison regulations concerning the exactions of the warders, the security of the premises and the inability of prisoners to communicate among themselves. For example, the judgement of the Dijon Parlement of 21 September 1706. Cf. also
+
+Serpillon, 6oi-47·
+
+This is repeated exactly in the declaration of 4 March 1724 on recidivist thieves or that of 18 July 1724 concerning vagabondage. A boy, who was too young to go to the galleys, remained in a prison until he was old enough to be sent there, sometimes to serve the whole of his sentence. Cf. Crime et crimin.aliti en France sous !'Ancien Regime, 266ff. 6 Phalaris, tyrant of the Greek town of Agrigentum in Sicily, reigned about s6o B.c. He is said to have roasted men alive in a brazen bull.
+
+His name is used here to typify tyrants in general [Tr.].
+
+7 Briey, 'Tiers Etat', quoted in Desjardin, 484. Cf. Gaubert and Denis, 203. One also finds in the cahiers demands for the maintenance of
+
+houses of detention that families might use.
+
+8 Cf. Thorsten Sellin, Pioneering in Penology, 1944, which gives an exhaustive study of the Rasphuis and the Spinhuis of Amsterdam. One may leave to one side another 'model', often cited in the eighteenth century. This is the one proposed by Mabillon in the Rejlexions sur les prisons des ordres religieux, republished in 1845. It seems that this work was exhumed in the nineteenth century at a time when the Catholics were disputing with the Protestants the place they had taken up in the philanthropic movement and in certain administrative bodies. Mabillon's work, which seems to have remained relatively unknown and uninfluential, sets out to show that 'the first thought of the American penitentiary system' is 'a quite monastic and French thought, whatever one might say by way of giving it a Genevan or Pennsylvanian
+
+origin' (L. Faucher).
+
+9 Vilan XIV, 64; this memoir, which is bound up with the foundation of the prison at Ghent, remained unpublished until 1841. The frequency of the penalty of banishment emphasized still further the relations between crime and vagabondage. In 1771, the States of Flanders remarked that 'penalties of banishment imposed on beggars remained ineffectual, in view of the fact that the States send to one another subjects that they find pernicious at home. As a result, a beggar, chased in this way from place to place, will finally get himself hanged, whereas, if he had been given the habit of work, he would not have
+
+10 [he Quakers certainly also knew the Rasphuis and Spinhuis of Amsterdam. Cf. Sellin, 109-10. In any case, Walnut Street Prison was a continuation of the Almshouse opened in 1767 and of the penal legislation that the Quakers had wished to impose despite the English
+
+administration.
+
+11 On the disorders caused by this law, cf. Rush, 5-9 and Vaux, 45· It should be noted that in �he report by J. L. Siegel, which had inspired the Rasphuis of Amsterdam, it was envisaged that penalties would not be proclaimed publicly, that prisoners would be brought into the prison at night, that warders would swear not to reveal their identity
+
+and that no visits would be permitted (Sellin, 27-8).
+
+12 B. Rush, who was one of the inspectors, notes after a visit to Walnut Street: 'Moral cares: preaching, reading of good books, cleanliness of clothes and rooms, baths; one does not raise one's voice, little wine, as little tobacco as possible, little obscene or profane conversation. Constant work: the gardens taken care of; it is beautiful: 1,200 head of
+
+cabbage' (in Teeters, 1935, so).
+
+13 Rush, 14. This idea of an apparatus for transforming human beings is already to be found in Hanway's project for a 'reformatory': 'The idea of a hospital and that of a malefactor are incompatible; but let us try 1W make the prison an authentic and effective reformatory, instead
+
+of it being like the others a school of vice' (Hanway, p). 14 Cf. the criticism made by Rush of punitive spectacles, in particular
+
+those imagined by Dufriche du Valaze (Rush, 5-9).
+
+PART THREE DI SCIPLINE
+
+1 Docile bodies
+
+I shall choose examples from military, medical, educational and industrial institutions. Other examples might have been taken from
+
+colonization, slavery and child rearing.
+
+2 Cf. what La Metherie wrote after a visit to Le Creusot: 'The buildings for so fine an establishment and so large a quantity of different work should cover a sufficient area, so that there will be no confusion among
+
+the workers during working time' (La Metherie, 66).
+
+3 J.-B. de Ia Salle, ConJuite Jes ecoles chrltiennes, B.N. Ms. I 1759. 248-9. A little earlier Batencour proposed that classrooms should be divided into three parts: 'The most honourable for those who are learning Latin ... It should be stressed that there are as many places at the tables as there will be writers, in order to avoid the confusion usually caused by the lazy.' In another, those who are learning to read: a bench
+
+for the rich and a bench for the poor 'so that vermin will not be passed on'. A third section for newcomers: 'When their ability has been
+
+recognized, they will be given a place' (M.I.D.B., 56--7).
+
+4 The success of the Prussian troops can only be attributed to the 'excellence of their discipline and their exercise; the choice of exercise is not therefore a matter of indifference; in Prussia the subject has been studied for forty years with unremitting application' (Saxe, II,
+
+249)·
+
+Writing exercise: ' ... 9: Hands on the knees. This command is conveyed by one ring on the bell; 10: hands on the table, head up; 11: clean the slates: everyone cleans his slate with a little saliva, or better still with a piece of rag; u: show the slates; IJ: monitors, inspect. They inspect the slates with their assistants and then those of their own bench. The assistants inspect those of their own bench and every-
+
+one returns to his own place.'
+
+6 This mixture appears clearly in certain classes of the apprenticeship contract: the master is obliged to give his pupil - in exchange for his money and his labour - all his knowledge, without keeping any secret from him; otherwise, he is liable to a fine. Cf., for example, Grosre-
+
+naud, 62.
+
+7 F. de Ia Noue recommended the creation of military academies at the end of the sixteenth century, suggesting that one should learn in them 'how to handle horses, to practise with the dagger, with and without shield, to fence, to perform on horseback, to jump; if swimm�ng and wrestling were added, it would be to the good, for all this makes the
+
+person robust and more subtle' (Noue, 181-2).
+
+8 Through the schools at Liege, Devenport, Zwolle, Wesel; and thanks also to Jean Sturm and his memorandum of 153 8 for the organization of a gymnasium at Strasburg. Cf. Bulletin de !a sociite d'histoire du
+
+protestantisme, XXV, 499-505.
+
+It should be noted that the relations between the army, religious organization and education are very complex. The 'decury', the unit of the Roman army, is to be found in Benedictine monasteries, as the unit of work and no doubt of supervision. The Brothers of the Common Life borrowed it and adapted it to their own education organization: the pupils were grouped in. tens. It was this unit that the Jesuits took up in the scenography of their schools, thus reintroducing a military model. But the decury was replaced in turn by an even more
+
+military schema, with ranks, columns, lines.
+
+9 Guibert, 18. In fact, this very old problem came into the forefront once more in the eighteenth century, for the economic and technical
+
+reasons that we are about to see; and the 'prejudice' in question had been discussed very often by others besides Guibert himself (followers
+
+of F olard, Pirch, Mesnii-Durand).
+
+10 In the sense in which this term was used after 1759·
+
+11 The movement that brought the rifle into widespread use may be
+
+roughly dated from the battle of Steinkirk, 1699·
+
+11 On this importance of geometry, see J. de Beausobre: 'The science of war is essentially geometrical. .. The arrangement of a battalion and a squadron on a whole front and at so much height is alone the effect of an as yet unknown, but profound geometry' (Beausobre, 307). 13 ]ourNZI pour /'instruction e/erruntaire, April 18 16. Cf. Tronchot, who has calculated that pupils must have been given over 100 commands a day (without counting exceptional orders); for the morning alone twenty-six commands communicated by the voice, twenty-three by signs, thirty-seven by rings of the bell, and twenty-four by whistle, which means a blow on the whistle or a ring on the bell every three
+
+minutes.
+
+1 The means of correct training
+
+1 R�g{ement pour l'infanterie prussienne, Fr. trans., Arsenal, MS. 4007, fo. 144." For older plans see Praissac, 17-8 and Montgommery, 77· For the new plans, cf. Beneton de Morange, Histoire de Ia guerre, 1741, 61-4 and Dissertations sur les Tentes; cf. also the many regulations such as the Instruction sur /e service des reg/ements de Cava/erie dans /es camps,
+
+19 June 1753·
+
+1 Arch. nat. MM 666--9. Jeremy Bentham recounts that it was while visiting the Ecole Militaire that his brother first had the idea of the
+
+Panopticon.
+
+3 Demia, 17-9. One might note a phenomenon of the same kind in the organization of schools; for a long time 'prefects' were, independently of the teachers, entrusted with the moral responsibility for small groups of pupils. After 1761, above all, one sees the appearance of a new type of supervision, which was more administrative and more integrated into the hierarchy; supervisors, maltres de quarrier, maitres
+
+suhalttrnes. Cf. Dupont-Ferrier, 154 and 476.
+
+3 Panopticism
+
+1 Archives militaires de Vincennes, A 1, s 16 91 sc. Piece. This regulation is broadly similar to a whole series of others that date from the
+
+2 In the Postscript to eke Panopticon, 1791, Bentham adds dark inspection galleries painted in black around the inspector's lodge, each
+
+making it possible to observe two storeys of cells.
+
+J In his first version of the Panopticon, Bentham had also imagined an acoustic surveillance, operated by means of pipes leading from the cells to the central tower. In the Postscript he abandoned the idea, perhaps because he could not introduce into it the principle of dissymmetry and prevent the prisoners from hearing the inspector as well as the inspector hearing them. Julius tried to develop a system of dis-
+
+symmetrical listening (Julius, 18).
+
+4 Imagining this continuous flow of visitors entering the central tower by an underground passage and then observing the circular landscape of the Panopticon, was Bentham aware of the Panoramas that Barker was constructing at exactly the same period (the first seems to have dated from 1787) and in which the visitors, occupying the central place, saw unfolding around them a landscape, a city or a battle. The
+
+visitors occupied exactly the place of the sovereign gaze.
+
+In the second half of the eighteenth century, it was often suggested that the army should be used for the surveillance and general partitioning of the population. The army, as yet to undergo discipline in the seventeenth century, was regarded as a force capable of instilling it.
+
+Cf.; for example, Servan, Le Sofdat citoyen, 1780.
+
+6 Arsenal, MS. 2565. Under this number, one also finds regulations for charity associations of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuri�. 7 Le Maire in a memorandum written at the request of Sartine, in answer to sixteen questions posed by Joseph II on the Parisian police.
+
+This memorandum was published by Gazier in 1879.
+
+PART FOUR PRISON
+
+I Complete and austere institutions
+
+I The play between the two 'natures' of the prison still continues. A few days ago [summer 1974] the head of state recalled the 'principle' that detention ought to be no more than a 'deprivation of liberty' - the pure essence of imprisonment, freed of the reality of prison; and added that the prison could be justified only by its 'corrective' or rehabilitating
+
+effects.
+
+2 Treilhard, 8-9. The same theme is often to be found in the years immediately prior to this: 'The penalty of detention pronounced by the law has above all the object of correcting individuals, that is to say, of making them better, of preparing them by trials of shorter or longer
+
+dyration, to take up their place once more in society without abusing it ... The surest ways of making individuals better are work and education.' Education consists not only in reading and arithmetic, but also in reconciling the prisoners with 'ideas of order, morality, respect for themselves and for others' (Beugnot, prefect of Seine-Inferieure, order issued F rimaire, Year X). In the reports that Chaptal demanded from the General Councils of the departements, over a dozen asked for
+
+prisons in which the inmates could be made to work.
+
+3 The most important were no doubt those proposed by Lucas, Marquet-Wasselot, Faucher, Bonneville, and a little later by Ferrus. It should be noted that most of them were not philanthropists, criticizing the carceral institution from the outside, but were bound up, in one way or another, with the administration of the prisons. They were official
+
+technicians.
+
+4 In Germany, Julius directed the }ahrhiicher fur Scrafs-und Besserungs
+
+Anstalten.
+
+Although these newspapers were above all organs of defence on the part of those in prison for debt and had on several occasions dissociated themselves from delinquents as such, one finds the statement that 'the columns of Pauvre }ac9ues are not devoted to, an exclusive speciality. The terrible law of constraint by body and its disastrous application will not be the only target of the journalist prisoner .. . Pauvre Jac'iues will draw the attention of its readers to places of reclusion and detention, prisons and almshouses; it will not keep silent on places where the guilty man is handed over to torture when the law condemns him only to work . . .' (Pauvre }aci:Jues, Ist year, no. 7). Similarly, the Ga1\_ette de Saince-Pelagie campaigned for a penitentiary system whose aim would be 'the amelioration of the species', any other being 'the expression of a still barbarous society' (21 March 1833). 6 The discussion that began in France about 1830 was still continuing in 1 850; Charles Lucas, the advocate of Auburn, was the inspiration behind the order of 1839 on the running of the maisons cencrales (work in common and absolute silence). The wave of revolt that followed and perhaps the general agitation in the country in the years 1842-3 resulted in the adoption in 1844 of the Pennsylvanian regime of absolute isolation, advocated by Demetz, Blouet and T ocqueville. But the second penitentiary congress in 1847 opted against this method. 7 'Every man', said Fox, 'is illuminated by the divine light and I have seen it shine through every man.' It was in the spirit of the Quakers and of Walnut Street that the prisons of Pennsylvania, Pittsburgh and
+
+8 Abbe Petigny, Allocution aJressee aux prisonniers, a /'occasion Je /'inauguration Jes bdtiments cellulaires Je Ia prison Je Versailles. Cf., a few years later, in Tlr.e Count of Monte Cristo, a very clearly Christological version of resurrection after incarceration; in this case prison teaches not docility to the law, but the power, acquired through a secret knowledge, to dispense justice beyond the injustice of the
+
+magistrates.
+
+9 G. A. Real. Before this, several instructions from the Ministry of the Interior had stressed the need for providing work for prisoners: 5 F ructidor Year VI, 3 Messidor Year VIII, 8 Pluviose and 2.8 Ventose Year IX, 7 Brumaire Year X. Immediately after the codes of I 8o8 and I8Io, one still finds new instructions:. 2.0 October I8I I, 8 December I8n; or again the long order of I8 I6: 'It is of the greatest importance to keep prisoners occupied as much as possible. One must instil in them a desire to work, distinguishing between the fate of those who are occupied and that of prisoners who wish to remain idle. The first will be better fed and have more comfortable beds than the second.' Melun and Clairvaux were very soon organized into great workshops. I o Bonneville, I 846, G. Bonneville proposed measures of 'preparatory liberty', but also of 'afflictive additions' or an extension of imprisonment if it was shown that 'the penal prescription, fixed approximately according to the probable degree of the prisoner's obduracy was not enough to produce the effect expected of it'. This extension was not to exceed one eighth of the original penalty; preparatory liberty could begin after three quarters of the sentence had been served (Traice Jes
+
+diverses institutions complementaires, 2.5 Iff).
+
+II In Ga:rette Jes tribunaux. Cf. also Marquet-Wasselot, I8J2., 74-5. Lucas notes that minor offenders 'are generally recruited among the urban populations' and that 'the majority of those sentenced to hard labour come from the agricultural populations' (Lucas, I, 46--50). I 2. 'If one treats of the administrative question by abstracting the question of buildings, one runs the risk of drawing up principles that are based on no reality; whereas, with a sufficient knowledge of administrative needs, an architect may accept a particular system of imprisonment
+
+that theory may have dismissed as Utopian' (Blouet, I).
+
+I 3 'The English reveal their genius for mechanics in everything they do .. ·. and they want their buildings to function as a machine subject
+
+to the action of a single motor' (Baltard, I 8).
+
+I4 One should study how the practice of biography became widespread at about the same time as the constitution of the individual delinquent in the punitive mechanisms: the biography or autobiography of prisoners
+
+ia Appert; the drawing up of biographical files on the psychiatric model; the use of biography in the defence of accused persons. On the last point one might compare the great justificatory memoirs of the late eighteenth century written for the three men condemned to the wheel, or for Jeanne Salmon - and the defences of criminals in the period of Louis Philippe. Chaix d'Est-Ange pleaded for La Ronciere: 'If long before the crime, long before the charge is laid, you can scrutinize the defendant's life, penetrate into his heart, find its most hidden corners, lay bare all his thoughts, his entire soul .. .' (Di'scours
+
+et plaidoyers, III, 166).
+
+2. Illegalities and delif11Juency
+
+1 Revue de Pan's, 7 June 1836. This part of the spectacle, in 1836, was no longer public; only a few privileged spectators were admitted to it. The account of the riveting of the convicts' chains to be found in the Revue de Paris corresponds exactly - to the point even of using the same words - with that of the Dernier jour d'un condamni, 182.9. 2. The Ga'{ette des trihunaux regularly published these lists and these 'criminal' notices. From the following description people would be able to recognize Delacollonge: 'Old cloth trousers over a pair of boots, a peaked cap of the same stuff and a grey overall ... A coat of blue stuff' (6 June 1836). Later, it was decided to disguise Delacollonge in order to protect him from the violence of the crowd. The Ga'{ette des �rihunaux immediately described the disguise: 'Striped trousers,
+
+blue linen overalls, a straw hat' (2.0 July).
+
+3 Revue de Paris, June 1836. Cf. Claude Gueux: 'Feel all those heads ... each of these fallen men has below him his own bestial type. . . Here is the lynx, here the cat, here the monkey, here the vulture, here the
+
+hyena.'
+
+4 Revue de Paris, 7 June 1836. According to the Ga'{ette des trihunaux, Thorez, who commanded the chain-gang of 19 July, wished to remove these ornaments: 'It is not fitting that, as you go to the convict-
+
+ship to expiate your crimes, you should push .
+
+effrontery so far as to
+
+decorate your hair, as if you were going to your wedding.'
+
+Revue de Paris, 7 June 1836. On this date, the chain-gang had been shortened in order to prevent this merry-go-round and soldiers had been commanded to maintain order up to the departure of the chaingang. The convicts' Sabbath is described in the Dernier jour d'un condamni: 'Society was represented there by the gaolers and the horrified and curious bystanders. The criminal defined the intentions of society and made of this horrible punishment a family festival.'
+
+6 A song of the same kind is quoted by the GQ{ette des trihunaux of 10 April I8J6. It was sung to the tune of the 'Marseillaise'. The patriotic war song clearly became the song of the social war: 'What do these stupid people want of us, do they come to insult us in our misfortune? They stare at us calmly. Our butchers do not horrify them.' 7 There is a class of writers who 'have striven to glorify the crimes of certain exceptionally skilled malefactors, give them the leading roles and expose the agents of authority to their sallies, their jeers and their ill-disguised mockery. Whoever has seen a performance of Auherge du Adrets or Rohert Macaire, a drama celebrated among the people, will recognize without difficulty the correctness of my observations. It is the triumph, the apotheosis, of audacity and crime. Honest folk and the forces of public order are ridiculed from beginning to end' (F regier,
+
+II, 187-8).
+
+8 Gat.ette des trihunaux, 23 July 1837. On 9 August, the Gat.ette reported that the carriage had overturned on the outskirts of Guingamp: instead of mutinying, the prisoners, 'helped their guardians to put their common vehicle back on its wheels'. Yet on 30 October, it noted
+
+an escape at Valence.
+
+9 Text addressed to L'Atelier, October 1842, by a worker imprisoned for joining a workers' association. It was able to note this protest at a time when the same newspaper was waging a campaign against competition from penal labour. The same issue carried a letter from another worker on the same subject. Cf. also La Fratemite, Marcl). 1842,
+
+1st year, no. 10.
+
+10 Gat.ette des trihunaux, 3 December 1829. Cf. also Gat.ette des trihunaux, 19 July 1839; the Ruche populaire, August 1840; La Fraternitl, July-
+
+August 1847.
+
+1 1 This campaign was very vigorous before and after the passing of new regulations for the maisons centrales in 1839· The regulations were severe (silence, abolition of wine and tobacco, reduction in food) and they were followed by revolts. On 3 October 1840, Le Moniteur wrote: 'It was scandalous to see prisoners gorging themselves with wine, meat, game, delicacies of all kinds and treating prison as a convenient hostelry where they could procure all the comforts that
+
+the state of liberty often refused them.'
+
+u In 1826, many of the General Councils demanded that deportation be substituted for constant and ineffective incarceration. In 1842, the General Council of the Hautes-Alpes demanded that the prisons become 'truly expiatory'; those of Drome, Eure-et-Loir, Nievre,
+
+13 4\,ccording to an investigation carried out in 1839 among the directors of the maisons cemrales. The director of the maison centrale of Embrun remarked: 'The excessive comfort in the prisons probably contributes a great deal to the terrible increase in the number of recidivists.' While the director at Eysses remarked: 'The present regime is not severe enough, and if one thing is certain it is that for many of the inmates prison has its attr;-actions and that they find in prison depraved pleasures that are entirely to their liking.' The director at Limoges: 'The present regime of the maisons centrales which, for the recidivists, are in fact little more than boarding houses, is in no way repressive' (Cf. Moreau-Christophe, 1840, 86). Compare these remarks with declarations made, in July 1974, by the leaders of the union of prison workers
+
+concerning the effects of liberalization in prisons.
+
+14 On the problem of deportation, cf. Barbe-Marbois and the discussion between Blosseville and La Pilorgerie (on the subject of Botany Bay). Bure, Marengo and L. de Carne, among others, drew up plans for the
+
+colonization of Algeria with delinquents.
+
+1 S One of the first episodes was the organization under police supervision of the maisons de tolerance (I SlJ), which went well beyond the provisions of the law of 14 July 1791, concerning surveillance in brothels. Cf.1 on this subject the manuscripts collected by the Prefecture of police (lo-l6). In particular, the following circular from the Prefect of police, dated 14 June 18lJ: 'The establishment of houses of prostitution ought naturally to be regarded with displeasure by any man who is concerned with public morality; I am not surprised that the Commissioners of police oppose to the utmost of their powers the establishment of houses in their various quarters ... The police believed that they had done much towards public order if they had succeeded in enclosing prostitution within tolerated houses over which its action may be constant and uniform and which would not be able to escape
+
+surveillance.'
+
+J6 The book by Parent-Duchatelet on Prostitu!ion a Paris, I8J6, may be read as evidence of this link, encouraged by the police and penal institutions, between the delinquent milieu and prostitution. The case of the Italian Mafia transplanted to the United States and used both to extract illicit profits and for political ends is a fine example of the
+
+colonization of an illegality of popular origin.
+
+17 On this role of delinquents for police and especially political surveillance, cf. the memorandum written by Lemaire: 'Informers' are people who 'expect indulgence for themselves'; they are usually 'bad subjects who expose others who are worse still. Furthermore, it is enough for
+
+someone to have his name in the police register for him never to be
+
+lost sight of.'
+
+18 Of the resistance of lawyers to participating in this functioning,' there is abundant evidence from as early as the Restoration (which proves that it is in no way a recent phenomenon). In particular the liquidation or rather the re-utilization of the Napoleonic police posed certain problems. But the difficulties continued. Cf. Belleyme's first speech after his appointment in 182.5, in which he sought to differentiate himself from his predecessors: 'Legal ways are open to us ... Brought up in the school of law, educated in the school of so worthy a magistrature ... we are the auxiliaries of justice .. .' (Belleyme); see also the
+
+very interesting pamphlet by Moli�ne, De Ia Iiberti.
+
+19 For contemporary views of Lacenaire, see the dossier drawn up by M. Lebailly in his edition of Lacenaire's Mimoires, 1968, 2.97-304. 2.0 The circle of the years 1835-6: Fieschi, who served the penalty common to parricides and regicides, was one of the reasons why Riviere, the parricide, was condemned to death despite a memorandum whose astonishing character was no doubt muffied by the brilliance of Lacenaire, of his trial, and of his writings, which were. published thanks to the head of the Surete (censored to some extent), at the beginning of I8J6, some months before his accomplice Fran<;ois was to provide, with the chain-gang of Brest, one of the last great circus shows of crime. A circle of illegalities and delinquencies, the circle of
+
+discourse of crime and on crime.
+
+2.1 At the end of the eighteenth century Colquhoun gave some ide� of the difficulty of the task for a city like London (Colquhoun, 2.7-9; 2.93-4). 2.2. 'No other class is subjected to a surveillance of this kind; it is exercised almost in the same way as that of released prisoners; it seems to place the workers in the category that we now call the dangerous class of
+
+society' (L'Atelier, 5th year, no. 6, March 1845).
+
+2.3 Apart from the Ga:r\_ette des trihunaux and the Courrier des trihunaux,
+
+the Journal des concierges.
+
+2.4 Cf. L'Atelier, June 1844, petition to the Chambre de Paris that prisoners should be made to do 'unhealthy and dangerous work'; in April 1845, the newspapers quoted a case in Brittany where a large number of military convicts died of fever while working on canalbuilding. Why were the prisoners not working with mercury or whitelead in November 184 5? . . . Cf. also the Dimocratie politique of the
+
+years 1844-5.
+
+2.5 In L' Atelier, of November 1843, there was an attack against the Mysteres de Paris because they showed the delinquents in too good a
+
+ijght, stressing their picturesqueness, their vocabulary, and because there was too much emphasis on the fatal character of a proclivity to crime. In La Ruche populaire similar attacks on the theatre are to be
+
+found.
+
+26 Cf. In La Ruch.e populaire (December I8J9) Vin�ard replied to an article by Balzac published in Le Siecle. Balzac had said that a charge of theft was to be made with prudence and discretion when it concerned a rich man whose slightest dishonesty immediately became known: 'Say, Monsieur, with your hand on your conscience, whether the contrary does not occur every day whether, with a great fortune and an elevated rank in society, one does not find a thousand solutions, a
+
+thousand means to hush up some unfortunate affair.'
+
+27 In La Fraternitl, March 1847, there is a discussion of the Drouillard affair and reference is made to thefts in the naval administration at Rochefort. In June 1847, there was an article on the Boulmy trial and on the Cubiere-Pellaprat affair; and, in July-August 1847, on the Benier-Lagrange-Jussieu affair, which involved misappropriation of
+
+public funds.
+
+28 'Licensed prostitution, direct material theft, house-breaking, murder, brigandage for the lower classes; while skilful spoliation, indirect, refiped theft, clever exploitation of human cattle, carefully planned and brilliantly executed betrayals, transcendent pieces of sharp practice in short, all the truly elegant vices and lucrative crimes which the law is far too polite to interrupt remain the monopoly of the upper classes'
+
+(I December 1838).
+
+29 Cf., for example, what La Ph.alange said of Delacollonge or of £lira-
+
+bide on I August I8J6 and 1 October I84o.
+
+J Th.e carceral
+
+1 'Anything that helps to tire the body helps to expel bad thoughts; so care is taken that games consist of violent exercise. At night, they (all asleep the moment they touch the pillow' (Ducpetiaux, I854, 375-6). 2 Cf., for example, the following description of workers' accommodation built at Lille in the mid-nineteenth century: 'Cleanliness is the order of the day. It is the heart of the regulations. There are a number of severe provisions against noise, drunkenness, disorders of all kinds. A serious offence brings expulsion. Brought back to regular habits of order and economy, the workers no longer desert the workshops on Mondays. . . The children are better supervised and are no longer a cause of scandal. .. Prizes are given for the upkeep of the dwellings,
+
+for good behaviour, for signs of devotion and each year these prizes are competed for by a large number of competitors' (Houz� de
+
+l'Aulnay, IJ-I f).
+
+.
+
+3 Crime was explicitly defined by certain jurists such as Muyart de Vouglans, 1767, 108 and 1780, J, or Rousseaud de Ia Combe, 1-1.
+
+Bibliography
+
+Aguet, J. P., Les Greves sous Ia monarchie de Juil!et, 1954·
+
+Agulhon, M., La view sociale en Provence, 1970. Almanach populaire de Ia France, L', 1839.
+
+Amhoise, Projet de reglement pour l'acierie d', Archives nationales, f. n,
+
+IJOI.
+
+Anchel, R., Crimes et chtitiments au XVIIJe siecle, 19JJ·
+
+Annales du harreau moderne, III, IS:zJ.
+
+Archives nationales, MM 658, 30 March 1758 and MM 666, 15 September
+
+1763.
+
+Archives militaires de Vincennes, A 1,516 91 sc. Arch.iv�s parlementaires, XII, XXVI, LXXII.
+
+Argenson, Marquis d', Journal et memoires, VI, 1859-67 edn.
+
+Aries, P., L'Enfant et lafamille, 196o.
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+Atelier, L', October 184o; March 1841; October 1841; November 1843;
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+June· 1844; March 1845.
+
+Aylies, S., Du systeme penitentiaire, 1837.
+
+Ayrault, P., L'Ordre,formalite et instructionjudiciaire.
+
+Baltard, L., Arch.itectonograph.ie des prisons, 1819.
+
+Barbe-Marbois, F. de, Rapport sur!' etat des prisons du Calvados, de!' Eure,
+
+Ia Manch.e et Ia Seine lnflrieure, 1813. Barbier, E.-J.-F., Journal, IV, ed. 1847-56.
+
+Barnave, A., 'Discours a Ia Constituante', Archives parlementaires,
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+XXVII, 6 July 1791.
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+Batencourt, J. de, Instruction meth.odique pour !'ecole paroissiale, 1669. Beaumont, E. de and Tocqueville, A. de, Note sur le systeme penitentiaire,
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+
+Le Systeme penitentiaire aux Etats-Unis, ed. 1845.
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+Beausobre, J. de, Commentaire sur les defenses des places, II, 1757· Beccaria, C. de, Traiti des de/its et des peines, 1764, ed. 1856.
+
+Belleyme, M. de, Histoire de !'administration.
+
+Marquet-Wasselot, J. J., La Ville du refuge, I8J2.
+
+L' Ethnographie des prisons, I 84I.
+
+Marx, Karl, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, ed. I954·
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+Capital, val. I, ed. I970.
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+Masson, L., La Revolution penale en 1791, I 899.
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+Meir, G. Codina, Aux sources de Ia pedagogie des }esuites, I968.
+
+M.I.D.B. (Batencourt), Instruction methodique pour I' ecole paroissiale, I669.
+
+Mittermaier, K. J., Traire de Ia preuve, I848 (Fr. trans.).
+
+Mogensen, N. W., Aspects de Ia sociitl augeronne aux XVIJe et XVIIJe
+
+siecles, I97I.
+
+Molene, A. de, De l'humanire des lois criminelles, I8JO. Monfalcon, J. B., Histoire des insurrections a Lyon, I8J4. Montgommery, J. de, La Milicefranfaise, ed. I6J6.
+
+Moreau-Christophe, L., De Ia mortalite et de Ia folie dans le regime
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+penitentiaire, I 839. Polemiques penitentiaires, I 840.
+
+Mougins de Roquefort, J. J., 'Discours a Ia Constituante', Arch. pari.
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+XXVI.
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+Muyart de Vouglans, P. F., lnstituts au droit criminel, I757· Refutation du Traite des de/its et des peines, I767.
+
+Les lois criminelles en France, I78o.
+
+Nantes, Archives municipales de, F.F. 124.
+
+Navereau, A., Le Logement er les usrensiles des gens de guerre de, 14.39 a
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+1789, I924·
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+Nicolas, Si Ia torture est un moyen a verifier les crimes, I682. Noue, F. de Ia, Discours politiques et militaires, I6I4.
+
+Ollyffe, G., An Essay to Prevent Capital Crimes, 1:JJ1.
+
+Oppenheim, Reglement provisoire pour Ia fahrique de M.S., I809, in Hayem, J., Memoires et documents pour revenir a l'histoire du commerce, I9I I. 'Ordonnace du Ier janvier 1766, pour regler !'exercise de l'infanterie'.
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+siecle (unpublished).
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+Petion de Villeneuve, J., 'Discours a Ia Constituante', Arch. par!., XXVI. Petrovitch, P., Crime et crimina/ire en France XVJ/LXVI/fe siecles, I97I·
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+Soulatges, J. A., Traiti des crimes, I, 1762..
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+Stoobant, L., in Annales de Ia Societe d'histoire de Gand, III, 1898.
+
+Swedish Discipline, The, London, 1632. (anon.).
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+Touquet, H. du, De Ia condition des classes pauvres, 1846. Treilhard, J. B., Motifs du code d'instruction criminelle, 1808.
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\ No newline at end of file
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+# Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature
+
+RICHARD RORTY
+
+Princeton University Press Princeton, New Jersey
+
+Copyright © 1979 by Princeton University Press Published by Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey
+
+All Rights Reserved
+
+Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
+
+Rorty, Richard.
+
+Philosophy and the mirror of nature.
+
+Includes index.
+
+1. Philosophy. 2. Philosophy, Modern. and body. 4. Representation (Philosophy) (Philosophy) 6. Civilization-Philosophy. B53·R68 190 79- 84013 ISBN 0-691-07236-1 ISBN 0-691-02016-7 pbk. 3. Mind 5. Analysis I. Title.
+
+Publication of this book has been aided by a grant from The National Endowment for the Humanities
+
+This book has been composed in Linotype Baskerville
+
+Princeton University Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+Second printing, with corrections, 1980
+
+TO M. V. R. When we think about the future of the world, we always have in mind its being at the place where it would be if it continued to move as we see it moving now. We do not realize that it moves not in a straight line, but in a curve, and that its direction constantly changes.
+
+Philosophy has made no progress? If somebody scratches where it itches, does that count as progress? If not, does that mean it wasn't an authentic scratch? Not an authentic itch? Couldn't this response to the stimulus go on for quite a long time until a remedy for itching is found?
+
+Wenn wir an die Zukunft der Welt denken, so meinen wir immer den Ort, wo sie sein wird, wenn sie so weiter Hiuft, wie wir sie jetzt laufen sehen, und denken nieht, da�s sie nieht gerade lauft, sondern in einer Kurve, und ihre Riehtung sieh konstant andert. (Ludwig Wittgenstein, Verrnischte Berner· kungen, Frankfurt, 1977, p. 14·)
+
+Die Philosophie hat keinen Fortschritt gemaeht? Wenn Einer kratzt, wo es ihn juckt, muss ein Fortschritt zu sehen sein? 1st es sonst kein echtes Kratzen, oder kein echtes Jucken? Und kann nieht diese Reaktion auf die Reizung lange Zeit so weitergehen, ehe ein Mittel gegen das Jucken gefunden wird? (Ibid., pp. 163-164.)
+
+# Contents
+
+| PART ONE: CHAPTER I: | Preface Introduction Our Glassy Essence The Invention of the Mind | xiii 3 15 17 |
+|----------------------|-------------------------------------------------------------------|--------------|
+| 1. | CRITERIA OF THE MENTAL | 17 |
+| 2. | THE FUNCTIONAL, THE PHENOMENAL, | |
+| | AND THE IMMATERIAL | 22 |
+| 3. | THE DIVERSITY OF MIND-BODY | |
+| | PROBLEMS | 32 |
+| 4. | MIND AS THE GRASP OF UNIVERSALS | 38 |
+| 5. | ABILITY TO EXIST SEPARATELY FROM | |
+| | THE BODY | 45 |
+| 6. | DUALISM AND "MIND-STUFF" | 61 |
+| CHAPTER II: | Persons Without Minds | 70 |
+| 1. | THE ANTIPODEANS | 70 |
+| 2. | PHENOMENAL PROPERTIES | 78 |
+| 3. | INCORRIGIBILITY AND RAW FEELS | 88 |
+| 4. | BEHAVIORISM | 98 |
+| 5. | SKEPTICISM ABOUT OTHER MINDS | 107 |
+| 6. | MATERIALISM WITHOUT MIND-BODY | |
+| | IDENTITY | 114 |
+| 7. | EPISTEMOLOGY AND "THE PHILOSOPHY | |
+| | OF MIND" | 125 |
+| PART TWO: | Mirroring | 129 |
+| CHAPTER III: | The Idea of a "Theory of Knowledge" | 131 |
+
+- 1. EPISTEMOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY' S SELF-IMAGE 131
+- 2. LOCKE' S CONFUSION OF EXPLANATION WITH JUSTIFICATION 139
+- 3. KANT'S CONFUSION OF PREDICATION WITH SYNTHESIS 148
+- 4. KNOWLEDGE AS NEEDING "FOUNDATIONS" 155
+
+### CHAPTER IV: Privileged Representations 165
+
+- 1. APODICTIC TRUTH, PRIVILEGED REPRE-SENTATIONS, AND ANALYTIC PHILOSOPHY 165
+- 2. EPISTEMOLOGICAL BEHAVIORISM 173
+- 3. PRE-LINGUISTIC AWARENESS 182
+- 4. THE" 'IDEA' IDEA" 192
+- 5. EPISTEMOLOGICAL BEHAVIORISM, PSYCHOLOGICAL BEHAVIORISM, AND LANGUAGE 209
+
+### CHAPTER V: Epistemology and Empirical Psychology 213
+
+- 1. SUSPICIONS ABOUT PSYCHOLOGY 213
+- 2. THE UNNATURALNESS OF EPISTEMOLOGY 221
+- 3. PSYCHOLOGICAL STATES AS GENUINE EXPLANATIONS 230
+- 4. PSYCHOLOGICAL STATES AS REPRESENTATIONS 244
+
+### CHAPTER VI: Epistemology and Philosophy of Language 257
+
+- 1. PURE AND IMPURE PHILOSOPHY OF LANGUAGE 257
+- 2. WHAT WERE OUR ANCESTORS TALKING ABOUT? 266
+- 3. IDEALISM 273
+- 4. REFERENCE 284
+- 5. TRUTH WITHOUT M1RRORS 295
+- 6. TRUTH, GOODNESS, AND RELATIVISM 306
+
+# PART THREE: Philosophy
+
+| CHAPTER VII: | From Epistemology to Hermeneutics | 315 |
+|---------------|-----------------------------------|-----|
+| 1. | COMMENSURATION AND CONVERSATION | 315 |
+| 2. | KUHN AND INCOMMENSURABILITY | 322 |
+| 3. | OB J ECTIVITY AS CORRESPONDENCE | |
+| | AND AS AGREEMENT | 333 |
+| 4. | SPIRIT AND NATURE | 343 |
+| CHAPTER VIII: | Philosophy Without Mirrors | 357 |
+| 1. | HERMENEUTICS AND EDIFICATION | 357 |
+| 2. | SYSTEMATIC PHILOSOPHY AND | |
+| | EDIFYING PHILOSOPHY | 365 |
+| 3. | EDIFICATION, RELATIVISM, AND | |
+| | OB J ECTIVE TRUTH | 373 |
+| 4. | EDIFICATION AND NATURALISM' | 379 |
+| 5. | PHILOSOPHY IN THE CONVERSATION | |
+| | OF MANKIND | 389 |
+| | Index | 395 |
+
+# Preface
+
+ALMOST as soon as I began to study philosophy, I was impressed by the way in which philosophical problems appeared, disappeared, or changed shape, as a result of new assumptions or vocabularies. From Richard McKeon and Robert Brumbaugh I learned to view the history of philosophy as a series, not of alternative solutions to the same problems, but of quite different sets of problems. From Rudolph Carnap and Carl Hempel I learned how pseudoproblems could be revealed as such by restating them in the formal mode of speech. From Charles Hartshorne and Paul Weiss I learned how they could be so revealed by being translated into Whiteheadian or Hegelian terms. I was very fortunate in having these men as my teachers, but, for better or worse, I treated them all as saying the same thing: that a "philosophical problem" was a product of the unconscious adoption of assumptions built into the vocabulary in which the problem was stated-assumptions which were to be questioned before the problem itself was taken seriously.
+
+Somewhat later on, I began to read the work of Wilfrid Sellars. Sellars's attack on the Myth of the Given seemed to me to render doubtful the assumptions behind most of modern philosophy. Still later, I began to take Quine'S skeptical approach to the language-fact distinction seriously, and to try to combine Quine'S point of view with Sellars's. Since then, I have been trying to isolate more of the assumptions behind the problematic of modern philosophy, in the hope of generalizing and extending Sellars's and Quine's criticisms of traditional empiricism. Getting back to these assumptions, and making clear that they are optional, I believed, would be "therapeutic" in the way in which Carnap's original dissolution of standard textbook problems was "therapeutic." This book is the result of that attempt.
+
+The book has been long in the making. Princeton University is remarkably generous with research time and sabbaticals. so it is embarrassing to confess that without the further assistance of the American Council of Learned Societies and the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation I should probably never have written it. I began thinking out its plot while holding an ACLS Fellowship in 1969-1970, and wrote the bulk of the first draft while holding a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1973-1974. I am most grateful to all three institutions for their assistance.
+
+Many people-students at Princeton and elsewhere, audiences at papers given at various conferences, colleagues and friends-have read or listened to various drafts of various sections of this book. I made many changes of both substance and style in response to their objections, and am very grateful. I regret that my memory is too poor to list even the most important instances of such help, but I hope that here and there readers may recognize the beneficial results of their own comments. I do wish, however, to thank two people-Michael Williams and Richard Bernstein-who made very helpful comments on the penultimate version of the entire book, as did an anonymous reader for the Princeton University Press. I am also grateful to Raymond Geuss, David Hoy, and Jeffrey Stout, who took time out to help me resolve last-minute doubts about the final chapter.
+
+Finally, I should like to thank Laura Bell, Pearl Cavanaugh, Lee Ritins, Carol Roan, Sanford Thatcher, Jean Toll, and David Velleman for patient help in transforming what I wrote from rough copy into a printed volume.
+
+
+
+Portions of Chapter IV appeared in Neue Hefte fur Philosophie 14 (1978). Portions of Chapter V appeared in Body, Mind and Method: Essays in Honor of Virgil C.
+
+Aldrich, ed. Donald F. Gustafson and Bangs L. Tapscott (Dordrecht, 1979). Other portions of that chapter appeared in Philosophical Studies 31 (1977). Portions of Chapter VII appeaJ;ed in Acta Philosophica Fennica, 1979. I am grateful to the editors and publishers concerned for permission to reprint this material.
+
+# Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature
+
+# Introduction
+
+PHILOSOPHERS usually think of their discipline as one which discusses perennial, eternal problems-problems which arise as soon as one reflects. Some of these concern the difference between human beings and other beings, and are crystallized in questions concerning the relation between the mind and the body. Other problems concern the legitimation of claims to .know, and are crystallized in questions concerning the "foundations" of knowledge. To discover these foundations is to discover something about the mind, and conversely. Philosophy as a discipline thus sees itself as the attempt to underwrite or debunk claims to knowledge made by science, morality, art, or religion. It purports to do this on the basis of its special understanding of the nature of knowledge and of mind. Philosophy can be foundational in respect to the rest of culture because culture is the assemblage of claims to knowledge, and philosophy adjudicates such claims. It can do so because it understands the foundations of knowledge, and it finds these foundations in a study of man-as-knower, of the "mental processes" or the "activity of representation" which make knowledge possible. To know is to represent accurately what is outside the mind; so to understand the possibility and nature of knowledge is to understand the way in which the mind is able to construct such representations. Philosophy's central concern is to be a general theory of representation, a theory which will divide culture up into the areas which represent reality well, those which represent it less well, and those which do not represent it at all (despite their pretense of doing so).
+
+We owe the notion of a "theory of knowledge" based on an understanding of "mental processes" to the seventeenth century, and especially to Locke. We owe the notion of
+
+"the mind" as a separate entity in which "processes" occur to the same period, and especially to Descartes. We owe the notion of philosophy as a tribunal of pure reason, upholding or denying the claims of the rest of culture, to the eighteenth century and especially to Kant, but this Kantian notion presupposed general assent to Lockean notions of mental processes and Cartesian notions of mental substance.
+
+In the nineteenth century, the notion of philosophy as a foundational discipline which "grounds" knowledge-claims was consolidated in the writings of the neo-Kantians. Occasional protests against this conception of culture as in need of "grounding" and against the pretensions of a theory of knowledge to perform this task (in, for example, Nietzsche and William James) went largely unheard. "Philosophy" became, for the intellectuals, a substitute for religion. It was the area of culture where one touched bottom, where one found the vocabulary and the convictions which permitted one to explain and justify one's activity as an intellectual, and thus to discover the significance of one's life.
+
+At the beginning of our century, this claim was reaffirmed by philosophers (notably Russell and Husser!) who were concerned to keep philosophy "rigorous" and "scientific." But there was a note of desperation in their voices, for by this time the triumph of the secular over the claims of religion was almost complete. Thus the philosopher could no longer see himself as in the intellectual avant-garde, or as protecting men against the forces of superstition.1 Further, in the course of the nineteenth century, a new form of culture had arisen-the culture of the man of letters, the intellectual who wrote poems and novels and political treatises, and criticisms of other people's poems and novels and treatises. Descartes, Locke, and Kant had written in a
+
+1 Terms such as "himself" and "men" should, throughout this book, be taken as abbreviations for "himself or herself," "men and women," and so on.
+
+period in which the secularization of culture was being made possible by the success of natural science. But by the early twentieth century the scientists had become as remote from most intellectuals as had the theologians. Poets and novelists had taken the place of both preachers and philosophers as the moral teachers of the youth. The result was that the more "scientific" and "rigorous" philosophy became, the less it had to do with the rest of culture and the more absurd its traditional pretensions seemed. The attempts of both analytic philosophers and phenomenologists to "ground" this and "criticize" that were shrugged off by those whose activities were purportedly being grounded or criticized. Philosophy as a whole was shrugged off by those who wanted an ideology or a self-image.
+
+It is against this background that we should see the work of the three most important philosophers of our century-Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Dewey. Each tried, in his early years, to find a new way of making philosophy "foundational"-a new way of formulating an ultimate context for thought. Wittgenstein tried to construct a new theory of representation which would have nothing to do with mentalism, Heidegger to construct a new set of philosophical categories which would have nothing to do with science, epistemology, or the Cartesian quest for certainty, and Dewey to construct a naturalized version of Hegel's vision of history. Each of the three came to see his earlier effort as self-deceptive, as an attempt to retain a certain conception of philosophy after the notions needed to flesh out that conception (the seventeenth-century notions of knowledge and mind) had been discarded. Each of the three, in his later work, broke free of the Kantian conception of philosophy as foundational, and spent his time warning us against those very temptations to which he himself had once succumbed. Thus their later work is therapeutic rather than constructive, edifying rather than systematic, designed to make the reader question his own motives for philosophizing rather than to supply him with a new philosophical program.
+
+Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Dewey are in agreement that the notion of knowledge as accurate representation, made possible by special mental processes, and intelligible through a general theory of representation, needs to be abandoned. For all three, the notions of "foundations of knowledge" and of philosophy as revolving around the Cartesian attempt to answer the epistemological skeptic are set aside. Further, they set aside the notion of "the mind" common to Descartes, Locke, and Kant-as a special subject of study, located in inner space, containing elements or processes which make knowledge possible. This is not to say that they have alternative "theories of knowledge" or "philosophies of mind." They set aside epistemology and metaphysics as possible disciplines. I say "set aside" rather than "argue against" because their attitude toward the traditional problematic is like the attitude of seventeenthcentury philosophers toward the scholastic problematic. They do not devote themselves to discovering false propositions or bad arguments in the works of their predecessors (though they occasionally do that too). Rather, they glimpse the possibility of a form of intellectual life in which the vocabulary of philosophical reflection inherited from the seventeenth century would seem as pointless as the thirteenth-century philosophical vocabulary had seemed to the Enlightenment. To assert the possibility of a post-Kantian culture, one in which there is no all-encompassing discipline which legitimizes or grounds the others, is not necessarily to argue against any particular Kantian doctrine, any more than to glimpse the possibility of a culture in which religion either did not exist, or had no connection with science or politics, was necessarily to argue against Aquinas's claim that God's existence can be proved by natural reason. Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Dewey have brought us into a period of "revolutionary" philosophy (in the sense of Kuhn's "revolutionary" science) by introducing new maps of the terrain (viz., of the whole panorama of human activities) which simply do not include those features which previously seemed to dominate.
+
+This book is a survey of some recent developments in philosophy, especially analytic philosophy, from the point of view of the anti-Cartesian and anti-Kantian revolution which I have just described. The aim of the book is to undermine the reader's confidence in "the mind" as something about which one should have a "philosophical" view, in "knowledge" as something about which there ought to be a "theory" and which has "foundations," and in "philosophy" as it has been conceived since Kant. Thus the reader in search of a new theory on any of the subjects discussed will be disappointed. Although I discuss "solutions to the mind-body problem" this is not in order to propose one but to illustrate why I do not think there is a problem. Again, although I discuss "theories of reference" I do not offer one, but offer only suggestions about why the search for such a theory is misguided. The book, like the writings of the philosophers I most admire, is therapeutic rather than constructive. The therapy offered is, nevertheless, parasitic upon the constructive efforts of the very analytic philosophers whose frame of reference I am trying to put in question. Thus most of the particular criticisms of the tradition which I offer are borrowed from such systematic philosophers as Sellars, Quine, Davidson, Ryle, Malcolm, Kuhn, and Putnam.
+
+I am as much indebted to these philosophers for the means I employ as I am to Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Dewey for the ends to which these means are put. I hope to convince the reader that the dialectic within analytic philosophy, which has carried philosophy of mind from Broad to Smart, philosophy of language from Frege to Davidson, epistemology from Russell to Sellars, and philosophy of science from Carnap to Kuhn, needs to be carried a few steps further. These additional steps will, I think,
+
+put us in a position to criticize the very notion of "analytic philosophy," and indeed of "philosophy" itself as it has been understood since the time of Kant.
+
+From the standpoint I am adopting, indeed, the difference between "analytic" and other sorts of philosophy is relatively unimportant-a matter of style and tradition rather than a difference of "method" or of first principles. The reason why the book is largely written in the vocabulary of contemporary analytic philosophers, and with reference to problems discussed in the analytic literature, is merely autobiographical. They are the vocabulary and the literature with which I am most familiar, and to which I owe what grasp I have of philosophical issues. Had I been equally familiar with other contemporary modes of writing philosophy, this would have been a better and more useful book, although an even longer one. As I see it, the kind of philosophy which stems from Russeli and Frege is, like classical Husserlian phenomenology, simply one more attempt to put philosophy in the position which Kant wished it to have-that of judging other areas of culture on the basis of its special knowledge of the "foundations" of these areas. "Analytic" philosophy is one more variant of Kantian philosophy, a variant marked principally by thinking of representation as linguistic rather than mental, and of philosophy of language rather than "transcendental critique," or psychology, as the discipline which exhibits the "foundations of knowledge." This emphasis on language, I shall be arguing in chapters four and six, does not essentially change the Cartesian-Kantian problematic, and thus does not really give philosophy a new self-image. For analytic philosophy is still committed to the construction of a permanent, neutral framework for inquiry, and thus for all of culture.
+
+It is the notion that human activity (and inquiry, the search for knowledge, in particular) takes place within a framework which can be isolated prior to the conclusion of inquiry-a set of presuppositions discoverable a prioriwhich links contemporary philosophy to the Descartes-
+
+Locke-Kant tradition. For the notion that there is such a framework only makes sense if we think of this framework as imposed by the nature of the knowing subject, by the nature of his faculties or by the nature of the medium within which he works. The very idea of "philosophy" as something distinct from "science" would make little sense without the Cartesian claim that by turning inward we could find ineluctable truth, and the Kantian claim that this truth imposes limits on the possible results of empirical inquiry. The notion that there could be such a thing as "foundations of knowledge" (all knowledge-in every field, past, present, and future) or a "theory of representation" (all representation, in familiar vocabularies and those not yet dreamed of) depends on the assumption that there is some such a priori constraint. If we have a Deweyan conception of knowledge, as what we are justified in believing, then we will not imagine that there are enduring constraints on what can count as knowledge, since we will see "justification" as a social phenomenon rather than a transaction between "the knowing subject" and "reality." If we have a Wittgensteinian notion of language as tool rather than mirror, we will not look for necessary conditions of the possibility of linguistic representation. If we have a Heideggerian conception of philosophy, we will see the attempt to make the nature of the knowing subject a source of necessary truths as one more self-deceptive attempt to substitute a "technical" and determinate question for that openness to strangeness which initially tempted us to begin thinking.
+
+One way to see how analytic philosophy fits within the traditional Cartesian-Kantian pattern is to see traditional philosophy as an attempt to escape from history-an attempt to find nonhistorical conditions of any possible historical development. From this perspective, the common message of Wittgenstein, Dewey, and Heidegger is a historicist one. Each of the three reminds us that investigations of the foundations of knowledge or morality or language or society
+
+may be simply apologetics, attempts to eternalize a certain contemporary language-game, social practice, or self-image. The moral of this book is also historicist, and the three parts into which it is divided are intended to put the notions of "mind," of "knowledge," and of "philosophy," respectively, in historical perspective. Part I is concerned with philosophy of mind, and in chapter one I try to show that the socalled intuitions which lie behind Cartesian dualism are ones which have a historical origin. In chapter two, I try to show how these intuitions would be changed if physiological methods of prediction and control took the place of psychological methods.
+
+Part II is concerned with epistemology and with recent attempts to find "successor subjects" to epistemology. Chapter three describes the genesis of the notion of "epistemology" in the seventeenth century, and its connection with the Cartesian notions of "mind" discussed in chapter one. It presents "theory of knowledge" as a notion based upon a confusion between the justification of knowledge-claims and their causal explanation-between, roughly, social practices and postulated psychological processes. Chapter four is the central chapter of the book-the one in which the ideas which led to its being written are presented. These ideas are those of Sellars and of Quine, and in that chapter I interpret Sellars's attack on "givenness" and Quine's attack on "necessity" as the crucial steps in undermining the possibility of a "theory of knowledge." The holism and pragmatism common to both philosophers, and which they share with the later Wittgenstein, are the lines of thought within analytic philosophy which I wish to extend. I argue that when extended in a certain way they let us see truth as, in James's phrase, "what it is better for us to believe," rather than as "the accurate representation of reality." Or, to put the point less provocatively, they show us that the notion of "accurate representation" is simply an automatic and empty compliment which we pay to those beliefs which are successful in helping us do what we want to do. In chapters
+
+five and six I discuss and criticize what I regard as reactionary attempts to treat empirical psychology or philosophy of language as "successor subjects" to epistemology. I argue that only the notion of knowledge as "accuracy of representation" persuades us that the study of psychological processes or of language--qua media of representation-can do what epistemology failed to do. The moral of part II as a whole is that the notion of knowledge as the assemblage of accurate representations is optional-that it may be replaced by a pragmatist conception of knowledge which eliminates the Greek contrast between contemplation and action, between representing the world and coping with it. A historical epoch dominated by Greek ocular metaphors may, I suggest, yield to one in which the philosophical vocabulary incorporating these metaphors seems as quaint as the animistic vocabulary of pre-classical times.
+
+In part III I take up the idea of "philosophy" more explicitly. Chapter seven interprets the traditional distinction between the search for "objective knowledge" and other, less privileged, areas of human activity as merely the distinction between "normal discourse" and "abnormal discourse." Normal discourse (a generalization of Kuhn's notion of "normal science") is any discourse (scientific, political, theological, or whatever) which embodies agreed-upon criteria for reaching agreement; abnormal discourse is any which lacks such criteria. I argue that the attempt (which has defined traditional philosophy) to explicate "rationality" and "objectivity" in terms of conditions of accurate representation is a self-deceptive effort to eternalize the normal discourse of the day, and that, since the Greeks, philosophy's self-image has been dominated by this attempt. In chapter eight I use some ideas drawn from Gadamer and Sartre to develop a contrast between "systematic" and "edifying" philosophy, and to show how "abnormal" philosophy which does not conform to the traditional Cartesian-Kantian matrix is related to "normal" philosophy. I present Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Dewey as philosophers whose
+
+aim is to edify-to help their readers, or society as a whole, break free from outworn vocabularies and attitudes, rather than to provide "grounding" for the intuitions and customs of the present.
+
+I hope that what I have been saying has made clear why I chose "Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature" as a title. It is pictures rather than propositions, metaphors rather than statements, which determine most of our philosophical convictions. The picture which holds traditional philosophy captive is that of the mind as a great mirror, containing various representations-some accurate, some not-and capable of being studied by pure, nonempirical methods. Without the notion of the mind as mirror, the notion of knowledge as accuracy of representation would not have suggested itself. Without this latter notion, the strategy common to Descartes and Kant-getting more accurate representations by inspecting, repairing, and polishing the mirror, so to speak-would not have made sense. Without this strategy in mind, recent claims that philosophy could consist of "conceptual analysis" or "phenomenological analysis" or "explication of meanings" or examination of "the logic of our language" or of "the structure of the constituting activity of consciousness" would not have made sense. It was such claims as these which Wittgenstein mocked in the Philosophical Investigations, and it is by following Wittgenstein's lead that analytic philosophy has progressed toward the "post-positivistic" stance it presently occupies. But Wittgenstein's flair for deconstructing captivating pictures needs to be supplemented by historical awareness-awareness of the source of all this mirrorimagery-and that seems to me Heidegger's greatest contribution. Heidegger's way of recounting history of philosophy lets us see the beginnings of the Cartesian imagery in the Greeks and the metamorphoses of this imagery duting the last three centuries. He thus lets us "distance" ourselves from the tradition. Yet neither Heidegger nor Wittgenstein lets us see the historical phenomenon of mirrorimagery, the story of the domination of the mind of the West by ocular metaphors, within a social perspective. Both men are concerned with the rarely favored individual rather than with society-with the chances of keeping oneself apart from the banal self-deception typical of the latter days of a decaying tradition. Dewey, on the other hand, though he had neither Wittgenstein's dialectical :acuity nor Heidegger's historical learning, wrote his polemics against traditional mirror-imagery out of a vision of a new kind of society. In his ideal society, culture is no longer dominated by the ideal of objective cognition but by that of aesthetic enhancement. In that culture, as he said, the arts and the sciences would be "the unforced flowers of life." I would hope that we are now in a position to see the charges of "relativism" and "irrationalism" once leveled against Dewey as merely the mindless defensive reflexes of the philosophical tradition which he attacked. Such charges have no weight if one takes seriously the criticisms of mirrorimagery which he, Wittgenstein, and Heidegger make. This book has little to add to these criticisms, but I hope that it presents some of them in a way which will help pierce through that crust of philosophical convention which Dewey vainly hoped to shatter.
+
+# PART ONE
+
+# OUf Glassy Essence
+
+# The Invention of the Mind
+
+### 1. CRITERIA OF THE MENTAL
+
+Discussions in the philosophy of mind usually start off by assuming that everybody has always known how to divide the world into the mental and the physical-that this distinction is common-sensical and intuitive, even if that between two sorts of "stuff," material and immaterial, is philosophical and baffling. So when Ryle suggests that to talk of mental entities is to talk of dispositions to behave, or when Smart suggests that it is to talk of neural states, they have two strikes against them. For why, if anything like behaviorism or materialism is true, should there be anything like this intuitive distinction?
+
+We seem to have no doubt that pains, moods, images, and sentences which "flash before the mind," dreams, hallucinations, beliefs, attitudes, desires, and intentions all count as "mental" whereas the contractions of the stomach which cause the pain, the neural processes which accompany it, and everything else which can be given a firm location within the body count as nonmental. Our unhesitating classification suggests that not only have we a clear intuition of what "mentality" is, but that it has something to do with non-spatiality and with the notion that even if the body were destroyed the mental entities or states might somehow linger on. Even if we discard the notion of "mind-stuff," even if we drop the notion of res cogitans as subject of predication, we seem able to distinguish mind from body nonetheless, and to do so in a more or less Cartesian way.
+
+These purported intuitions serve to keep something like Cartesian dualism alive. Post-Wittgensteinian philosophers who oppose behaviorism and materialism tend to grant to Wittgenstein and Strawson that in some sense there is nothing there but the human organism, and that we must give up the notion of this organism as made out of a bit of
+
+res cogitans nonspatially associated with a bit of res extensa. But, they say, the Cartesian intuition that the mentalphysical distinction is unbridgeable by empirical means, that a mental state is no more like a disposition than it is like a neuron, and that no scientific discovery can reveal an identity remains. This intuition seems to them enough to establish an unbridgeable gap. But such neo-dualist philosophers are embarrassed by their own conclusions, since although their metaphysical intuitions seem to be Cartesian, they are not clear whether they are entitled to have such things as "metaphysical intuitions." They tend to be unhappy with the notion of a method of knowing about the world prior to and untouchable by empirical science.
+
+In this situation, it is tempting for the dualist to go linguistic and begin talking about "different vocabularies" or "alternative descriptions." This jargon suggests that the dualistic intuition in question is merely one of the differences between ways of talking about the same phenomenon, and thus seems to lead one from something like dualism to something like Spinoza's double-aspect theory. But the question "two descriptions of what?" makes this a difficult position to hold onto. To reply "two descriptions of organisms" seems all right until we ask, "Are organisms physical?" or "Is there more to organisms, even human organisms, than the actual and possible dispositions of their parts?" Neo-dualists are usually happy to concede a whole raft of mental states to Ryle, and to say that beliefs, desires, attitudes, and intentions (not to mention skills, virtues, and moods) are all merely ways of talking about organisms, their parts, and the actual and possible movements of those par.ts. (But they may insist, following Brentano and Chisholm, that no Rylean necessary and sufficient conditions can be provided). But when they come to pains, mental images, and occurrent thoughts-short-term mental states which look, SO to speak, event-like rather than disposition-like-they hesitate. And well they should. For the difference between dualism and materialism would vanish if once they said that to describe an organism as in pain is simply one way of talking about a state of its parts. These parts, remember, must be physical parts, since once we have Kantized and Strawsonized Descartes the notion of "mental part" will no longer even seem to make sense. What more could a defender of mind-body identity ask for than the admission that talk of how one feels is just an alternative way of reporting on how suitable portions of one's anatomy (presumably neurons) are?
+
+We thus have the following dilemma: either neo-dualists must construct an epistemological account of how we know a priori that entities fall under two irreducibly distinct ontological species, or else they must find some way of expressing their dualism which relies on neither the notion of "ontological gap" nor that of "alternative description." But before casting about for ways of resolving this dilemma, we should look more closely at the notion of "ontological species" or "ontological gap." What sort of notion is this? Do we have any other examples of ontological gaps? Any other case in which we know a priori that no empirical inquiry can identify two entities? We know, perhaps, that no empirical inquiry can identify two spatio-temporal entities which have different locations, but that knowledge seems too trivial to be relevant. Is there any other case in which we know a priori about natural ontological kinds? The only examples which I can think of are the distinctions between finite and infinite, between human and divine, and between particular and universal. Nothing, we intuit, could cross those divides. But these examples do not seem very helpful. We are inclined to say that we do not know what it would be for something infinite to exist. If we try to clarify the orthodox notion of "the divine" we seem to have either a merely negative conception, or else one explicated in terms of the notions of "infinity" and "immateriality."
+
+Since reference to infinity explains the obscure by the more obscure, we are left with immateriality. We feel vaguely confident that if the infinite could exist, it, like the universal, could only be exemplified by the immaterial. If it makes any sense to speak of the existence of universals, it would seem that they must exist immaterially, and that is why they can never be identified with spatio-temporal particulars. But what does "immaterial" mean? Is it the same thing as "mental"? Even though it is hard to· see more in the notion of being "physical" than being "material" or "spatiotemporal," it is not clear that "mental" and "immaterial" are synonyms. If they were, then such disputes as that about the status of universals between conceptualists and realists would look even sillier than they do. Nevertheless, the opposite of "mental" is "physical" and the opposite of "immaterial" is "material." "Physical" and "material" seem synonymous. How can two distinct concepts have synonymous opposites?
+
+At this point we may be tempted to recur to Kant and explain that the mental is temporal but not spatial, whereas the immaterial-the mystery beyond the bounds of senseis neither spatial nor temporal. This seems to give us a nice neat threefold distinction: the physical is spatio-temporal; the psychological is non spatial but temporal; the metaphysical is neither spatial nor temporal. We can thus explain away the apparent synonymy of "physical" and "material" as a confusion between "nonpsychological" and "nonmetaphysical." The only trouble is that Kant and Strawson have given convincing arguments for the claim that we can only identify mental states as states of spatially located persons.1 Since we have given up "mind-stuff," we are bound to take these arguments seriously. This brings us almost full circle, for now we want to know what sense it
+
+1 See Kant's "Refutation of. Idealism" at K.d.r.V. B27411. and P. F. Strawson, Individuals (London, 1959), chap. 2, and The Bounds of Sense (London, 1966), pp. 162fl.
+
+makes to say that some states of a spatial entity are spatial and some are not. It is no help to be told that these are its functional states-for a person's beauty and his build and his fame and his health are functional states, yet intuition tells us that they are not mental states either. To clarify our intuition, we have to identify a feature shared by our pains and beliefs but not by our beauty or our health. It will not help to identify the mental as that which can survive death or the destruction of the body, since one's beauty can survive death and one's fame can survive the destruction of one's body. If we say that one's beauty or one's fame exists only relationally, in the eyes or the opinion of others, rather than as states of oneself, then we get sticky problems about how to distinguish merely relational properties of persons from their intrinsic states. We get equally sticky problems about a person's unconscious beliefs, which may be discovered only after his death by psycho-biographers, but which are presumably as much his mental states as those beliefs which he was aware of having during his lifetime. There may be a way of explaining why a person's beauty is a nonintrinsic relational property whereas his unconscious paranoia is a nonrelational intrinsic state; but that would seem to be explaining the obscure by the more obscure.
+
+I conclude that we cannot make non-spatiality the criterion of mental states, if only because the notion of "state" is sufficiently obscure that neither the term spatial state nor the term nonspatial state seems useful. The notion of mental entities as nonspatial and of physical entities as spatial, if it makes any sense at all, makes sense for particulars, for subjects of predication, rather than for the possession of properties by such subjects. We can make some dim sort of pre-Kantian sense out of bits of matter and bits of mindstuff, but we cannot make any post-Kantian sense out of spatial and nonspatial states of spatial particulars. We get a vague sense of explanatory power when we are told that human bodies move as they do because they are inhabited
+
+by ghosts, but none at all when we are told that persons have nonspatial states.
+
+I hope that I have said enough to show that we are not entitled to begin talking about the mind·body problem, or about the possible identity or necessary non-identity of mental and physical states, without first asking what we mean by "mental." I would hope further to have incited the suspicion that our so-called intuition about what is mental may be merely our readiness to fall in with a specifically philosophical language-game. This is, in fact, the view that I want to defend. I think that this so-called intuition is no more than the ability to command a certain technical vocabulary-one which has no use outside of philosophy books and which links up with no issues in daily life, empirical science, morals, or religion. In later sections of this chapter I shall sketch a historical account of how this technical vocabulary emerged, but before doing so, I shall beat some neighboring bushes. These are the possibilities of defining "mental" in terms of the notion of "intentionality" and in terms of the notion of being "phenomenal"-of having a characteristic appearance, an appearance somehow exhaustive of reality.
+
+### 2. THE FUNCTIONAL, THE PHENOMENAL, AND THE IMMATERIAL
+
+The obvious objection to defining the mental as the intentional is that pains are not intentional-they do not represent, they are not about anything. The obvious objection to defining the mental as "the phenomenal" is that beliefs don't feel like anything-they don't have phenomenal properties, and a person's real beliefs are not always what they appear to be. The attempt to hitch pains and beliefs together seems ad hoc-they don't seem to have anything in common except our refusal to call them "physical." We. can gerrymander, of course, so as to make pain the acquisition of a belief that one of one's tissues is damaged, construing pain reports as Pitcher and Armstrong construe perceptual reports.2 But such a tactic still leaves us with something like a dualistic intuition on our hands-the in. tuition that there is "something more" to being conscious of a pain or a sensation of redness than being tempted to acquire a belief that there is tissue·damage or a red object in the vicinity. Alternatively, we can gerrymander the other way and simply confine the term mental to what does have phenomenal properties, abandoning beliefs and desires to Armstrong to identify with the physical. But that tactic runs up against the intuition that whatever the mind.body problem is, it is not the feeling-neuron problem. If we expel representations, intentional states, from the mind we are left with something like a problem of the relation between life and nonlife, rather than a mind-body problem.
+
+Still another tactic would be simply to define "mental" disjunctively as "either phenomenal or intentional." This suggestion leaves it entirely obscure how an abbreviation for this disjunction got entrenched in the language, or at least in philosophical jargon. Still, it does direct our attention to the possibility that the various "mental" items are held together by family resemblances. If we consider thoughtsoccurrent thoughts, flashing before the mind in particular words-or mental images, then we seem to have something which is a little like a pain in being phenomenal and a little like a belief in being intentional. The words make the thoughts phenomenal and the colors and shapes make the images phenomenal, yet both of them are of something in the required intentional sense. If I suddenly and silently say to myself, "Good Lord, I left my wallet on that cafe·table in Vienna," or if I have an image of the wallet on the table, then I am representing Vienna, the wallet, the table, etc.-I have all these as intentional objects. So perhaps we should think of thoughts and mental images as the paradigmatic
+
+2See George Pitcher, A Theory of Perception (Princeton, 1971); D. M. Armstrong, Perception and the Physical World (London and New York, IgGl) and A Materialist Theory of the Mind (London and New York, 1968).
+
+mental entities. Then we can say that pains and beliefs get classified as mental through their resemblance to these paradigms, even though the resemblance is in two quite different respects. The relationship between the various candidates for mentality could then be illustrated by the following diagram:
+
+| | without phenomenal with phenomenal |
+|-------------------------------|----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------|
+| represen tational | |
+| nonrepresen tational | |
+| proper | ties |
+| raw feels--e | .g., |
+| pa ins and what babies | |
+| intentional, non intentional, | proper ties beliefs, desires, occurrent thoughts, intentions mental images "the merely |
+| | p hysical" have when they see colored objects |
+
+Suppose for the moment that we settle for this "family resemblance" answer to the question "what makes the mental mental?"-viz., that it is one or another family resemblance to the paradigmatically mental. Now let us turn back to our original question, and ask what makes us fill in the fourth box with "the merely physical?" Does "physical" mean merely "what doesn't fit in the other three boxes?" Is it a notion which is entirely parasitic on that of "mental?" Or does it somehow tie in with "material" and "spatial," and how does it do so?
+
+To answer this, we have to ask two subquestions: "Why is the intentional nonmaterial?" and "Why is the phenomenal nonmaterial?" The first question may seem to have a fairly straightforward answer. If we take "the material" to be "the neural," for example, we can say that no amount of inspection of the brain will reveal the intentional character of the pictures and inscriptions found there. Suppose that all persons struck by the thought "I left my wallet on a cafe-table in Vienna," in those very English words, have an identical series of neural events concomitant with the thought. This seems a plausible (though probably false) hypothesis. But it is not plausible that all those who acquire the belief that they have left their wallet on a cafe-table in Vienna have this series of events, for they may formulate their belief in quite other words or in quite other language. It would be odd if a Japanese and an English thought should have the same neural correlate. It is equally plausible that all those who suddenly see the same missing wallet on the same distant table in their mind's eye should share a second series of neural events, though one quite different from that correlated with the thinking of the English sentence. Even such neat concomitance would not tempt us to "identify" the intentional and the neurological properties of the thought or the image, any more than we identify the typographical and the intentional properties of the sentence "I left my wallet on a cafe-table in Vienna" when we meet it on the printed page. Again, the concomitance of pictures of wallets on cafe-tables against a Viennese background with certain properties of the surfaces of paper and canvas does not identify the intentional property "being about Vienna" with the arrangement of pigments in space. So we can see why one might say that intentional properties are not physical properties. But, on the other hand, this comparison between neurological and typographical properties suggests that there is no interesting problem about intentionality. Nobody wants to make philosophical heavy weather out of the fact that you can't tell merely from the way it looks what a sentence means, or that you can't recognize a picture of X as a picture of X without being familiar with the relevant pictorial conventions. It seems perfectly clear, at least since Wittgenstein and Sellars, that the "meaning" of typographical inscriptions is not an extra "immaterial" property they have, but just their place in a context of surrounding events in a language-game, in a form of life. This goes for brain-inscriptions as well. To say that we cannot observe intentional properties by looking at the brain is like saying that we cannot see a proposition when we look at a Mayan codex-we simply do not know what to look for, because we do not yet know how to relate what we see to a symbolsystem. The relation between an inscription-on paper or, given the hypothesized concomitance, in the brain-and what it means is no more mysterious than the relation between a functional state of a person, such as his beauty or his health, and the parts of his body. It is just those parts seen in a given context.
+
+So the answer to the question "Why is the intentional nonmaterial?" is "because any functional state-any state which can only be grasped by relating what is observed to a larger context-is, in a trivial sense, nonmaterial." The problem is in trying to relate this trivial notion of being "nonmaterial"-which means merely something like "not immediately evident to all who look"-with the philosophically pregnant sense of "immateriality." To put it another way, why should we be troubled by Leibniz's point that if the brain were blown up to the size of a factory, so that we could stroll through it, we should not see thoughts? If we know enough neural correlations, we shall indeed see thoughts-in the sense that our vision will reveal to us what thoughts the possessor of the brain is having. If we do not, we shall not, but then if we stroll through any factory without having first learned about its parts and their relations to one another, we shall not see what is going on. Further, even if we could find no such neural correlations, even if cerebral localization of thoughts was a complete failure, why would we want to say that a person's thoughts or mental images were nonphysical simply because we cannot give an account of them in terms of his parts? To use an example from Hilary Putnam, one cannot give an account of why square pegs do not fit into round holes in terms of the elementary particles which constitute the peg and the hole, but nobody finds a perplexing ontological gap between macrostructure and microstructure.
+
+I think that we can link the trivial sense of "nonmaterial" (which applies to any functional, as opposed to observable, state) with the pregnant sense of "immaterial" only by resurrecting Locke's view of how meaning attaches to inscriptions-the view which Wittgenstein and Sellars attack. For Locke the meaningfulness-the intentional characterof an inscription was the result of its production by, or encoding of, an idea. An idea, in turn, was "what is before a man's mind when he thinks." So the way to see the intentional as the immaterial is to say that neither a sequence of processes in the brain nor some ink on paper can represent anything unless an idea, something of which we are aware in that "immediate" way in which we are aware of pains, has impregnated it. In a Lockean view, when we walk through Leibniz's factory we do not see thoughts not because, as for Wittgenstein, we cannot yet translate brainwriting, but because we cannot see those invisible (becai1se nonspatial) entities which infuse the visible with intentionality. For Wittgenstein, what makes things representational or intentional is the part they play in a larger context -in interaction with large numbers of other visible things. For Locke, what makes things representational is a special causal thrust-what Chisholm describes as the phenomenon of sentences deriving intentionality from thoughts as the moon derives its light from the sun.s
+
+So our answer to the question "How can we convince ourselves that the intentional must be immaterial?" is "First we must convince ourselves, following Locke and Chisholm and pace Wittgenstein and Sellars, that intentionality is intrinsic only in phenomenal items-items directly before the mind." If we accept that answer, however, we are still only part of the way to resolving the issue. For since the problem with which we have been wrestling has been caused precisely by the fact that beliefs do not have phenomenal properties, we now have to ask how Locke, following Descartes, can conflate pains and beliefs under the common term idea-how he can convince himself that a
+
+SRoderick Chisholm, "Intentionality and the Mental" in Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science 2 (1958), 533.
+
+belief is something which is "before the mind" in the way in which a mental image is, how he can use the same ocular imagery for mental images and for judgments. I shall discuss the origin of this Cartesian-Lockeall use of the term idea below. But for the moment I shall pass over the issue and come to the second subdivision of the question "Why should the mental be thought of as immaterial?"-namely, why should the phenomenal be thought of as immaterial? Why do some neo-dualist philosophers say that how something feels, what it is like to be something, cannot be identical with any physical property, or at least any physical property which we know anything about?
+
+A trivial answer to this question would be that we can know all about something's physical properties and not know how it feels-especially if we can't talk to it. Consider the claim that babies and bats and Martians and God and panpsychistically viewed rocks all may inhabit different phenomenal "quality spaces" from those we inhabit.� So they may. But what does this have to do with non-physicality? Presumably those who say that the phenomenal is
+
+4 This claim has been presented very forcefully in Thomas Nagel's "What Is It Like to Be a Bat?" Philosophical Review 83 (1974), 435- 450. I have learned a great deal from Nagel's work in philosophy of mind, although I disagree heartily with him on almost every point. I think that the difference between our views goes back to the question (raised most sharply by Wittgenstein) of whether "philosophical intuitions" are more than residua of linguistic practices, but I am not sure how this issue is to be debated. Nagel's intuition is that "facts about what it is like to be an X are very peculiar" (p. 437), whereas I think that they look peculiar only if, following Nagel and the Cartesian tradition, we hold that "if physicalism is to be defended, the phenomenological features must themselves be given a physical account" (p. 437). In later sections of this chapter, I try to trace the history of the philosophical language-game in which this claim is at home. For the Davidsonian reasons offered in chapter four, section 4, below, I do not think physicalism subject to such a constraint. Physicalism, I argue there, is probably true (but uninteresting) if construed as predicting every event in every space-time region under some description or other, but obviously false if construed as the claim to say everything true.
+
+nonphysical are not complaining that being told how the atoms of the bat's brain are laid out will not help one feel like a bat. Understanding about the physiology of pain does not help us feel pain either, but why should we expect it to, any more than understanding aerodynamics will help us fly? How can we get from the undoubted fact that knowing how to use a physiological term (e.g., "stimulation of Cfibers") will not necessarily help us use a phenomenological term (e.g., "pain") to an ontological gap between the referents of the two terms? How can we get from the fact that knowing Martian physiology does not help us translate what the Martian says when we damage his tissues to the claim that he has got something immaterial we haven't got? How, to COme to the point, do we know when we have two ways of talking about the same thing (a person, or his brain) rather than descriptions of two different things? And why are neo-dualists so certain that feelings and neurons are an instance of the latter?
+
+I think that the only reply such philosophers have to offer is to point out that in the case of phenomenal properties there is no appearance-reality distinction. This amounts to defining a physical property as one which anybody could be mistaken in attributing to something, and a phenomenal property as one which a certain person cannot be mistaken about. (E.g., the person who has the pain cannot be mistaken about how the pain feels.) Given this definition, of course, it is trivially the case that no phenomenal property can be a physical one. But why should this epistemic distinction reflect an ontological distinction? Why should the epistemic privilege we all have of being incorrigible about how things seem to us reflect a distinction between two realms of being?
+
+The answer presumably has to go something like this: Feelings just are appearances. Their reality is exhausted in how they seem. They are pure seemings. Anything that is not a seeming (putting the intentional to one side for the moment) is merely physical-that is, it is somethin,g which
+
+can appear other than it is. The world comes divided into things whose nature is exhausted by how they appear and things whose nature is not. But if a philosopher gives this answer he is in danger of changing from a neo-dualist into a plain old-fashioned Cartesian dualist, "mind-stuff" and all. For now he has stopped talking about pains as states of people or properties predicated of people and started talking about pains as particulars, a special sort of particular whose nature is exhausted by a single property. Of what could such a particular be made, save mind-stuff? Or, to put it another way, what could mind-stuff be save something out of which such thin, wispy, and translucent things can be made? As long as feeling painful is a property of a person or of brain-fibers, there seems no reason for the epistemic difference between reports of how things feel and reports of anything else to produce an ontological gap. But as soon as there is an ontological gap, we are no longer talking about states or properties but about distinct particulars, distinct subjects of predication. The neo-dualist who identifies a pain with how it feels to be in pain is hypostatizing a property-painfulness-into a special sort of particular, a particular of that special sort whose esse is percipi and whose reality is exhausted in our initial acquaintance with it. The neo-dualist is no longer talking about how people feel but about feelings as little self-subsistent entities, floating free of people in the way in which universals float free of the instantiations. He has, in fact, modeled pains on universals. It is no wonder, then, that he can "intuit" that pains can exist separately from the body, for this intuition is simply the intuition that universals can exist independently of particulars. That special sort of subject of predication whose appearance is its reality-phenomenal pain-turns out to be simply the painfulness of the pain abstracted from the person having the pain. It is, in short, the universal painfulness itself. To put it oxymoronically, mental particulars, unlike mental states of people, turn out to be universals.
+
+This then is the answer I want to give to the question: Why do we think of the phenomenal as immaterial? We do so because, as Ryle put it, we insist on thinking of having a pain in ocular metaphors-as having a funny sort of par- . ticular before the eye of the mind. That particular turns out to be a universal, a quality hypostatized into a subject of predication. Thus when neo-dualists say that how pains feel are essential to what pains are, and then criticize Smart for thinking of the causal role of certain neurons as what is essential to pain, they are changing the subject. Smart is talking about what is essential to people being in pain, whereas neo-dualists like Kripke are talking about what is essential for something's being a pain. Neo-dualists feel unafraid of the question "What is the epistemological basis for your claim to know what is an essential property of pain?" for they have arranged things so that pains have only one intrinsic property-namely, feeling painful-and so the choice of which properties are to count as essential to them is obvious.
+
+Let me now summarize the results of this section. I have said that the only way to associate the intentional with the immaterial is to identify it with the phenomenal, and that the only way to identify the phenomenal with the immaterial is to hypostatize universals and think of them as particulars rather than abstractions from particulars-thus giving them a non-spatio-temporal habitation. It turns out, in other words, that the universal-particular distinction is the only metaphysical distinction we have got, the only one which moves anything at all outside of space, much less outside of space-time. The mental-physical distinction then is parasitic on the universal-particular distinction, rather than conversely. Further, the notion of mind-stuff as that out of which pains and beliefs are made makes exactly as much or as little sense as the notion of "that of which universals are made." The battle between realists and conceptualists over the status of universals is thus empty because we have no idea of what a mind is save that it is made of whatever universals are made of. In constructing both a Lockean idea and a Platonic Form we go through exactly the same process-we simply lift off a single property from something (the property of being red, or painful, or good) and then treat it as if it itself were a subject of predication, and perhaps also a locus of causal efficacy. A Platonic Form is merely a property considered in isolation and considered as capable of sustaining causal relations. A phenomenal entity is precisely that as well.
+
+### 3. THE DIVERSITY OF MIND-BODY PROBLEMS
+
+At this point we might want to say that we have dissolved the mind-body problem. For, roughly speaking, all that is needed to find this problem unintelligible is for us to be nominalists, to refuse firmly to hypostatize individual properties. Then we shall not be fooled by the notion that there are entities called pains which, because phenomenal, cannot be physical. Following Wittgenstein, we shall treat the fact that there is no such thing as "a misleading appearance of pain" not as a strange fact about a special ontological genus called the mental, but just as a remark about a languagegame-the remark that we have the convention of taking people's word for what they are feeling. From this "language-game" point of view, the fact that a man is feeling whatever he thinks he's feeling has no more ontological significance than the fact that the Constitution is what the Supreme Court thinks it is, or that the ball is foul if the umpire thinks it is. Again following Wittgenstein, we shall treat the intentional as merely a subspecies of the functional, and the functional as merely the sort of property whose attribution depends upon a knowledge of context rather than being observable right off the bat. We shall see the intentional as having no connection with the phenomenal, and the phenomenal as a matter of how we talk. The mind-body problem, we can now say, was merely a resl1lt of Locke's unfortunate mistake about how words get meaning, combined with his and Plato's muddled attempt to talk about adjectives as if they were nouns.
+
+As fast dissolutions of philosophical problems go, this one has its points. But it would be silly to think that we had resolved anything by arriving at this diagnosis. It is as if a psychiatrist were to explain to a patient that his unhappiness is a result of his mistaken belief that his mother wanted to castrate him, together with his muddled attempt to think of himself as identical with his father. What the patient needs is not a list of his mistakes and confusions but rather an understanding of how he came to make these mistakes and become involved in these confusions. If we are going to get rid of the mind-body problem we need to be able to answer such questions as the following:
+
+How did these rather dusty little questions about the possible identity of pains and neurons ever get mixed up with the question of whether man "differed in kind" from the brutes-whether he had dignity rather than merely value?
+
+Given that people thought that they survived the destruction of their bodies long before Locke and Plato began to make specifically philosophical confusions, haven't we left something out when we treat the mind as simply an assemblage of phenomenal and intentional states?
+
+Isn't there some connection between our ability to have knowledge and our having minds, and is this accounted for by referring simply to the fact that persons, like inscriptions, have intentional properties?
+
+All these are good questions, and nothing that I have said so far helps answer them. To answer them, I think, nothing will serve save the history of ideas. Just as the patient needs to relive his past to answer his questions, so philosophy needs to relive its past in order to answer its questions\_ So far I have, in the customary manner of contemporary philosophers of mind, been flinging around terms like "phenomenal," "functional," "intentional," "spatial" and
+
+the like as if these formed the obvious vocabulary in which to discuss the topic. But of course the philosophers who created the language which gave us the mind-body problem did not use this vocabulary, or anything close to it. If we are to understand how we got the intuitions which make us think that there must be a real, indissoluble, philosophical problem somewhere in the neighborhood, we have to set aside our up-to-date jargon and think in the vocabulary of the philosophers whose books gave us those intuitions. In my Wittgensteinian view, an intuition is never anything more or less than familiarity with a language-game, so to discover the source of our intuitions is to relive the history of the philosophical language-game we find ourselves playing.
+
+The "mind-body problem" which I have just "dissolved" concerns only a few of the notions which, emerging at different points in the history of thought, have intertwined to produce a tangle of interrelated problems. Questions like "How are intentional states of consciousness related to neural states?" and "How are phenomenal properties such as painfulness related to neurological properties?" are parts of what I shall call the "problem of consciousness." This problem is distinct from such pre-philosophical problems about personhood as "Am I really only this mass of flesh and bone?" and from such Greek philosophical problems about knowledge as "How can we have certainty about the changing?" "How can knowledge be of the unchanging?" and "How can the unchanging become internal to us by being known?" Let us call the "problem of personhood" that of what more a human being is than flesh. This problem has one form in the pre-philosophical craving for immortality, and another in the Kantian and romantic assertion of human dignity-but both cravings are quite distinct from problems about consciousness and about knowledge. Both are ways of expressing our claim to be something quite different from the beasts that perish. Let us call the "problem of reason" that of how to spell out the Greek claim that the crucial difference between men and beasts is that we can know-that we can know not merely singular facts but universal truths, numbers, essences, the eternal. This problem takes different forms in Aristotle's hylomorphic account of knowing, Spinoza's rationalist account, and Kant's transcendental account. But these issues are distinct both from those about the interrelations between two sorts of things (one spatial and the other nonspatial) and from issues concerning immortality and moral dignity. The problem of consciousness centers around the brain, raw feels, and bodily motions. The problem of reason centers around the topics of knowledge, language, and intelligence-all our "higher powers." The problem of personhood centers around attributions of freedom and of moral responsibility.
+
+In order to sort out some of the relations among these three problems, I shall offer a list of ways of isolating beings which have minds in contrast to the "merely physical" "the body," "matter," the central nervous system, "nature" or "the subject matter of the positive sciences." Here are some, though hardly all, of the features which philosophers have, at one time or another, taken as marks of the mental:
+
+- 1. ability to know itself incorrigibly ("privileged access")
+- 2. ability to exist separately from the body
+- 3. non-spatiality (having a nonspatial part or "element")
+- 4. ability to grasp universals
+- 5. ability to sustain relations to the inexistent ("intentionality")
+- 6. ability to use language
+- 7. ability to act freely
+- 8. ability to form part of our social group, to be "one of us"
+- 9. inability to be identified with any object "in the world"
+
+This is a long list, and it could easily be lengthened.5 But
+
+5 See Herbert Feigl, The "Mental" and the "Physical" (Minneapolis, 1967) for a similar list, and for illuminating comments on the relationships between the various items.
+
+it is important to go through these various suggestions about what it is to have a mind, for each of them has helped philosophers to insist on an unbridgeable dualism between mind and body. Philosophers have constantly seized upon some distinctive feature of human life in order to give our intuition of our uniqueness a "firm philosophical basis." Because these firm bases are so varied, naturalisms and materialisms, when not shrugged off as hopeless attempts to jump a vast ontological (or epistemological, or linguistic) gulf, · are often treated as trivially true but pointless. They are pointless, it is explained, because our uniqueness has nothing whatever to do with whichever abyss the naturalist has laboriously filled in, but everything to do with some other abyss which has all the while been gaping just behind his back. In particular, the point is often made that even if we settled all questions about the relation between pains and neurons, and similar questions arising out of incorrigibilitY-(l) above-we should still have dealt, at best, only with (2) and (3) among the other marks of the mental. We should still have left everything relevant to reason (notably [4], [5] and [6]) and everything relevant to personhood (notably [7], [8] and [9]) as obscure as ever.
+
+I think that this point is quite right, and further, that if it had been appreciated earlier the problem of consciousness would not have loomed so large as it has in recent philosophy. In the sense of having pains as well as neurons, we are on a par with many if not all of the brutes, whereas we presumably share neither reason nor personhood with them. It is only if we assume that possession of any nonphysical inner state is somehow, via (3), connected with (4) or (5) that we will think that light shed upon raw feels would reflect off onto representational mental states, and thereby illuminate our capacity to mirror the world around us. Again, only the assumption that life itself (even that of the fetus, the brain-12 Cf. ibid., p. 242 for Bacon's claim that "the soul is the simplest of substances." He quotes a Lucretian passage from Vergil in support: purumque reliquit / aethereum sensum atque aural simplicis ignem (Aeneid, VI, 747). The notion that the soul must be made of some very special fine·grained material in order to be capable of knowledge goes back to Anaxagoras. Antiquity wavered between voiis as utterly . incor· poreal and as made of some very special, very pure matter. Such wavering was inevitable, given the unimaginability of the non-spatio·temporal and the notion that reason must resemble the non-spatio-temporal forms or truths which it grasps.
+
+suggest that we secrete theorems and symphonies as our spleen secretes dark humors. Professional philosophers shy away from these "crude pictures" because they have other pictures-thought to be less crude-which were painted in the later seventeenth century. But the sense that the nature of reason is a "permanent problem" and that anyone who doubts our uniqueness should study mathematics persists. The Ov,w,> which quickened the Homeric heroes, St. Paul's 71'v£vp,a, and Aquinas's active intellect, are all quite different notions. But for present purposes we can coalesce them, as Isabella does, in the phrase Glassy Essence. They are all things which corpses do not have and which are distinctively human. The powers manifested by Achilles were not those of Theaetetus or the Apostles or St. Thomas, but the "intellectual essence" of the scholastics inherited the dualistic notions which gathered force between Homer and Anaxagoras, were given canonical form by Plato, were toned down by Aristotle, and then became entangled (in St. Paul) with a new and determinedly other-worldly religious cult.13
+
+13 The vague common-sense dualism of body and so'll which lay ready to hand for Descartes was a product of the vocabulary of vernacular translations of the Bible as much as of anything else. So, in order to see how recent and parochial the Cartesian distinction is, it is worth noting that the authors of the Bible did not have anything much like the Cartesian contrast between "consciousness" and "insensate matter" in mind. On Jewish conceptions and their influence on St. Paul, see Onians, Origins ot European Thought, pp. 48ofI. On St. Paul himself. it is useful to note that, unlike modern writers on philosophy of mind, he does not identify body (<1wp,a) with what is buried after death. The latter is <1a.p� (flesh) whereas, according to J.A.T. Robinson, "<1wp,a is the nearest equivalent of our word 'personality' " (The Body: A Study in Pauline Theology [London, 1952], p. 28; contrast Keith Campbell, Body and Mind [New York, 1970], p. 2: "Provided you know who you are, it is easy to say what your body is: it is what the undertakers bury when they bury you.") As Robinson says (p. 3lD.), it is not that <1wp,a and <1a.p� are distinct parts of man but rather "the whole man differently regarded." The notion of man divided into parts does not come naturally to non-philosophers even after Plato; see van Peursen, Body, Soul, Spirit. chap. 6. For examples of the un-Cartesian ways in which <1Wp,a., <1a.p�, y,,,X';', and 71'".6p,a. are used by Paul, see 1 Corinthians 15:35-54In the "mirror" images of the Renaissance humanists, the differences between Homer and Augustine, Plotinus and Thomas, were flattened out to produce a vague but emphatic dualism-ape and essence-which everyone knew philosophers were supposed to know about, even though few could guess what they might hope to say about it. Recent philosophy of mind has tended to lump this vague conglomerate-man's Glassy Essence-together with the post-Cartesian notions of "consciousness" or "awareness." In the next section I shall try to show how different they are.
+
+### 5. ABILITY TO EXIST SEPARATELY FROM THE BODY
+
+The only point in the previous section at which argument intruded was in the mention of the Thomistic (and possibly Aristotelian) inference to the "separable," immaterial character of JlOUC; from a hylomorphic conception of knowledge-a conception according to which knowledge is not the possession of accurate representations of an object but rather the subject's becoming identical with the object. To see the difference between this argument and the various Cartesian and contemporary arguments for dualism, we need to see how very different these two epistemologies are. Both lend themselves to the imagery of the Mirror of Nature. But in Aristotle's conception intellect is not a mirror inspected by an inner eye. It is both mirror and eye in one. The retinal image is itself the model for the "intellect which becomes all things, " whereas in the Cartesian model, the intellect inspects entities modeled on retinal images. The substantial forms of frogness and starness get right into the Aristotelian intellect, and are there in just the same way they are in the frogs and the stars-not in the way in which frogs and stars are reflected in mirrors. In Descartes's conception-the one which became the basis for "modern" epistemology-it is representations which are in the "mind." The Inner Eye surveys these representations hoping to find some mark which will testify to their fidelity.
+
+Whereas skepticism in the ancient world had been a matter of a moral attitude, a style of life, a reaction to the pretensions of the intellectual fashions of the day,a skepticism in the manner of Descartes's First Meditations was a perfectly definite, precise, "professional" question: How do we know that anything which is mental represents anything which is not mental? How do we know whether what the Eye of the Mind sees is a mirror (even a distorted mirror-an enchanted glass) or a veil? The notion of knowledge as inner representation is so natural to us that Aristotle's model may seem merely quaint, and Cartesian (as opposed to Pyrrhonian "practical") skepticism seems to us so much a part of what it is to "think philosophically" that we are amazed that Plato and Aristotle never confronted it directly. But if we see that the two models-the hylomorphic and the representative-are equally optional, perhaps we can see the inferences to mind-body dualism
+
+which stem from each as just as optional. In an article called "Why Isn't the Mind-Body Problem
+
+14, See Philip P. Hallie on Greek skepticism as "eudaemonistic practical-wisdom philoSophy" whose "doubt, rather than being an instrument for rolling back the veil of sense-experience, is a means of wiping oft the excrescences that befoul man's life and lead him into endless, bitter conflicts with his fellow men" (Scepticism, Man and God [Middletown, Conn., 1964], p. 7). It is not clear what role the notion of the veil of ideas played in ancient skepticism, but it seems to have been incidental, rather than central in the way in which the Locke-Berkeley-Kant tradition made it central. Charlotte Stough (Greek Scepticism [Berkeley, 1969], p. 24) describes Pyrrho as viewing TO a,p6p.EPOP as "a curtain between subject and object, screening the real world from his view." However it is not clear that TO a,p6p.EPOP is much like a Lockean idea, which is incorrigibly before the mind, purely mental simply because incorrigibly known. The closest ancient thought seems to come to a notion of a class of incorrigibly knowable mental entities is the Stoic doctrine of KaTahTJ1I'T'"" «PTallla (d. Stough, pp. 38-40), but this is defined as a representation exactly corresponding to its object and therefore compelling assent, which is hardly Locke's notion. See also Josiah B. Gould, "Being, the World and Appearance in Early Stoicism and Some Other Greek Philosophers," Review of Metaphysics 27 (1974), 261-288, especially pp. 277ft.
+
+Ancient?"15 Wallace Matson has noted the principal point which divides Greek from seventeenth-century ways of looking at the separation of mind from body:
+
+The Greeks did not lack a concept of mind, even of a mind separable from the body. But from Homer to Aristotle, the line between mind and body, when drawn at all, was drawn so as to put the processes of sense perception on the body side. That is one reason why the Greeks had no mind-body problem. Another is that it is difficult, almost impossible, to translate such a sentence as "What is the relation of sensation to mind (or soul)?" into Greek. The difficulty is in finding a Greek equivalent for "sensation" in the sense philosophers make it bear .... "Sensation" was introduced into philosophy precisely to make it possible to speak of a conscious state without committing oneself as to the nature or even existence of external stimuli.16
+
+One can sum up both of Matson's points by saying that in Greek there is no way to divide "conscious states" or "states of consciousness"-events in an inner life-from events in an "external world." Descartes, on the other hand, used "thought" to cover doubting, understanding, affirming, denying, willing, refusing, imagining, and feeling, and said
+
+15 Wallace Matson, "Why Isn't the Mind-Body Problem Ancient?" in Mind, Matter tind Method: Essays in Philosophy and Science in Honor ot Herbert Feigl, ed. Paul Feyerabend and Grover Maxwell (Minneapolis, 1966), pp. 92-102.
+
+16 Matson, "Mind-Body Problem," p. 101. He goes on to argue that neither aJrrIJT}rrts nor aJrrIJT}p.a will do as an equivalent of "sensation." 4>ttP'rarrp.a is a tempting possibility, but even to translate Aristotle's use of it as "mental image" is not above suspicion, and one could not call a pain a tj>ttvrarrp.a. On the difficulty of interpreting Aquinas's notion of phantasma, see Anthony Kenny, "Intellect and Imagination in St. Thomas" in Aquinas: A Collection ot Critical Essays, ed. Kenny (Garden City, N.Y., 1969), pp. 293-294. The point Matson makes in the final sentence of this quotation is backed up by Thomas Reid's account of the term "sensation." See his Essays on the Intellectual Powers ot Man (Cambridge, Mass., 1969), p. 249 (and essay II, passim).
+
+that even if I dream that I see light "properly speaking this in me is called feeling, and used in this precise sense that is no other thing than thinking."17 Once Descartes had entrenched this way of speaking it was possible for Locke to use "idea" in a way which has no Greek equivalent at all, as meaning "whatsoever is the object of the understanding when a man thinks" or "every immediate object of the mind in thinking."18 As Kenny puts it, the modern use of the
+
+17 In Meditation II Descartes starts by defining a "thing which thinks" as "a mind or soul, or an understanding, or a reason" (res eogitans, id est, mens, sive animus, sive intelleetus, sive ratio) and quickly goes on to "What is a thing which thinks? It is a thing which doubts, understands, affirms, denies, wills, refuses, and also imagines and feels" (italics added; "Nempe dubitans, intel/igens, affirmans, negans, volens, nolens, imaginans quoque, et sentiens"). Then he continues with the second passage cited above (hoe est proprie quod in me sentire appelatur; atque hoe praeeise sie sumptum nihil aliud est quam cogitare). All three texts are at pp. 184-186 in Oeuvres Philosophiques, ed. Alquie (Paris, 1967), vol. II (pp. 152-153 in vol. 1 of the Haldane and Ross translation). See also Principles I, sec. 9: "By the word thought I understand all that of which we are conscious of operating in us (tout ce qui se fait en nous de telle sorte que nous I'apereevons immediatement par nous-memes). And that is why not only understanding, willing, imagining, but also feeling (sentir) are here the same thing as thought" (Oeuvres Philosophiques Ill, p. 95; Haldane and Ross, I, p. 222). On translating res eogitans as "consciousness" see Robert McRae, "Descartes' Definition of Thought" in Cartesian Studies, ed. R. J. Butler (Oxford, 1972), pp. 55-70. 18 The first quotation is from the Essay (I, i, 8) and the second from the "Second Letter to the ,Bishop of Worcester." Immediacy as the mark of the mental (with the criterion of immediacy being incorrigibility) became an unquestioned presupposition in philosophy because of such passages as these. As so often in philosophy, neologistic usage became the mark of an understanding of "distinctively philosophical" topics and issues. Thus we find Hume saying, " ... all the conclusions, which the vulgar form under this head, are directly contrary to those which are confirmed by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that everything, which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, and is interrupted, and dependent on the mind; whereas the vulgar confound perceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continued existence to
+
+the very things we feel and see" (Treatise, I, iv, ii). Jonathan Bennett notes that "Locke's thought is dominated by his attempt to use 'idea'
+
+word idea derives through Locke from Descartes, "and Descartes was consciously giving it a new sense ... it was a new departure to use it systematically for the contents of a human mind."19 More important, there had been no term,
+
+univocally as a key term in his accounts of perception and of meaning -or, in shorthand, his use of 'idea' to cover both sense·data and concepts" and says that this "embodies his substantive mistake, shared with Berkeley and Hume and others in the empiricist tradition, of assimilating the sensory far too closely to the intellectual" (Bennett, Locke, Berkeley, Hume: Central Themes [Oxford, 1971], p. 25). This mistake, however, goes back to Descartes and was embodied equally in the rationalist tradition. It is part of what Wilfrid Sellars calls the "framework of givenness" common to both traditions, and has always been the target of those influenced by Hegel. Cf. Sellars's Science, Perception and Reality (London and New York, 1963), pp. 127 and 155-156. Sellars's and Bennett's complaints are presaged by H. L. Prichard, and before him by T. H. Green, whom I discuss briefly below in chapter three, section 2.
+
+19 Anthony Kenny, "Descartes on Ideas" in Descartes: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Willis Doney (Garden City, N.Y., 1967), p. '226. See Descartes's definitions of "pensee" as "tout ce qui est tellement en nous, que nous en sommes immediatement connaissants" and of "idee" as "cette forme de chacune de nos pen sees, par la perception immediate de laquelle nous avons connaissance de ses memes pensees" (Replies to Second Objections, Alquie edition, 11, 586). John Yolton, however, takes issue with Kenny (and with Alquie and other commentators who take the traditional line-which I am taking here-that Descartes's doctrine of representative perception was a sharp, and perhaps disastrous, break with the scholastic tradition of direct realism.) In his "Ideas and Knowledge in Seventeenth-Century Philosophy" (Journal of the History of Philosophy 13 [1975], 145-165) he cites Descartes's characterization of "idee" as "une maniere ou fa�on de penser" in the Third Meditation (Alquie, II, 439) as evidence that Descartes held an "act" theory of ideas which was compatible with scholastic direct realism. Here and in other works Yolton has suggested that the usual story (common to, e.g., Etienne Gilson and J. H. Randall) about the emergence of epistemological skepticism out of a theory of representative perception created by Descartes and Locke may be too simple-minded. A similar line is taken by Brian O'Neil in Epistemological Direct Realism in Descartes' Philosophy (Albuquerque, N.M., 1974), pp. 96-97 : "Descartes' long struggle was an effort to retain and relate the theory of esse objectivum and the doctrine of simple natures." O'Neil agrees with Jean century took it seriously enough to permit it to pose the problem of the veil of ideas, the problem which made epistemology central to philosophy.
+
+Once Descartes had invented that "precise sense" of "feeling" in which it was "no other than thinking," we began to lose touch with the Aristotelian distinction between reason-as-grasp-of-universals and the living body which takes care of sensation and motion. A new mind-body distinction was required-the one which we call that "between consciousness and what is not consciousness." This was not a distinction between human faculties but a distinction between two series of events, such that many events in one series shared many characteristics with many events in
+
+originality of his notion of "thinking" to cover both sense and intellect. Gareth Matthews (in "Consciousness and Life," Philosophy 52 [1977], 13-26) cites a striking example from Contra Academicos, bk. 3, sec. 11, chap. 26 and comments:
+
+The picture of human beings as having ... both an "inside" and' an "outside" is so commonplace, so (as it may seem to us) commonsensical, that we find it hard to realize how strikingly modern it is. But to appreciate its modernity one need only cast about for statements of it earlier than Descartes. One does find interesting anticipations of it in Augustine, but not much earlier, and not much between the time of Augustine and that of Descartes. (p. 25)
+
+Matthews's point (like Matson'S) seems to me a useful corrective to the claim that Ryle was attacking a basic human intuition when he attacked the notion of the ghost in the madline, rather than merely a Cartesian idiosyncrasy. Such a claim is made, for example, by Stuart Hampshire ("Critical Study" of The Concept of Mind, Mind 59 [1950], 237-255, esp\_ sec. 2)\_ On the other hand, Hampshire's criticism is strengthened by the suggestion (made to me in conversation by Michael Frede) that the apparent novelty of Cartesian doctrines of representative perception and of human beings' "inner space" is mitigated if one reads Hellenistic philosophy and appreciates the role of the Stoics in Renaissance thought. If Frede is right, and especially if Yolton is also right on the issues discussed above in note 19, then there are many more continuities in the history of philosophic discussion of these topics than the story I am telling (which is borrowed from the Gilson-Randall historiographical tradition) would allow.
+
+the other, while nonetheless differing toto caelo because one was an event in extended, and the other in nonextended, substance. It was more like a distinction between two worlds than like a distinction between two sides, or even parts, of a human being. The "Ideal World" of philosophers like Royce inherits the prestige and the mystery of the Glassy Essence of the Renaissance, but it is self-contained in a way in which a part of a man could never be.22 To show that mind was imaginable apart from body was thus an entirely different project from that found in the tradition which stemmed from Aristotle. In Aristotle, the faculty which received universals without embodying them in matter was "separable" and it was hard (without some help from extra-philosophical concerns, such as Christianity) to say whether one should view it as a special power which the body had, a separate substance attached to each mature hum,m body, or perhaps a single substance which was somehow shared among as many men and angels as there happened to be. Aristotle vacillated between the first and second options, with the second having the usual attrac-
+
+22 See Royce's description of Cartesian subjectivism as "The Rediscovery of the Inner Life" (the title of chapter III of his The Spirit of Modern Philosophy [New York, 1892]) and as opening the way to an understanding that the real world must be "mental" (the conclusion he draws triumphantly in chapter XI). See also chapter I of Lovejoy's The Revolt Against Dualism (La Salle, Ill., 1930), in which Lovejoy insists, against those who would dethrone Descartes, that the veil of ideas is a problem which arises for all who hold
+
+the primary and most universal faith of man, his inexpugnable real· ism, his two-fold belief that he is on the one hand in the midst of realities which are not himself nor mere obsequious shadows of himself, a world which transcends the narrow confines of his own transient being; and, on the other hand, that he can himself somehow reach beyond those confines and bring these external existences within the compass of his own life, yet without annulment of their tran-
+
+scendence. (p. 14) To Aristotle, Aquinas, Dewey, or Austin this "realism" would seem as artificial and farfetched as Royce's idealism.
+
+tions offered by the possibility of surviving death. Medieval philosophy vacillated between the second and third. But in all these disputes the controversy was not about the survival of "consciousness" but about the indestructibility of reason.23 Once mind is no longer synonymous with reason,
+
+23 Thus Augustine leads off his treatise "On the Immortality of the Soul" with what he regards as the simplest and most decisive argu· ment of all: the soul is immortal because it is the subject (i.e., the seat) of science, which is eternal. In chapter II, for example, he says: "The human body is mutable and reason is immutable. For all which does not exist always in the same mode is mutable, but that two and two are four exists always in the same mode .... This sort of reasoning, then, is immutable. Therefore, reason is immutable" (Concerning the Teacher and On the Immortality of the Soul, trans. George Leckie [New York, 1938], p. 61). Between Plato's Phaedo and the seventeenth century, the standard philosophical argument for immortality had always revolved around our ability to do what beasts cannot-know un· changing truths rather than just particular facts. Even Descartes, although he opened the floodgates to an entirely new conception of the difference between mind and body, was inclined to backtrack to the standard position and say that the body was responsible for all the actions which we share with brutes-for example, flight from danger. Thus in the Fourth Responses he says that reflex action occurs "with· out the aid of mind," and that this is no more a marvel than that "light reflected from the body of a wolf in the eyes of a sheep should be capable of exciting a motion of flight" (Oeuvres Philosophiques, ed. Alquie, II, 671; Haldane and Ross, II, 104). But his treatment of feeling as a sort of thinking would seem to force him into the paradoxical claim (which neither Aristotle nor Augustine would have any reason to make) that the feeling of terror which accompanies our flight has no parallel within the sheep. See the argument in a letter to Henry More (February 5, 1649) at p. 885 of vol. III of the Alquie edition. In such passages as this, the ambiguity of "thought" between "reasoning" and "consciousness" comes to a head. Descartes needs the former sense to avoid paradox and to maintain a link with the tradition, and the latter sense to establish a dualism of extended and nonextended sub· stance. For a review of relevant Cartesian texts and a good account of the impact of Descartes's view on later philosophy, see Norman Malcolm, "Thoughtless Brutes," Proceedings and Addresses of the American Philosophical Association 46 (1973), 5-20. Malcolm, however, thinks that my question of why Descartes repackaged pains and thoughts so as
+
+then something other than our grasp of universal truths must serve as the mark of mind.
+
+If we look in Descartes for a common factor which pains, dreams, memory-images, and veridical and hallucinatory perceptions share with concepts of (and judgments about) God, number, and the ultimate constituents of matter, we find no explicit doctrine. Descartes tells us that we have a clear grasp of the distinction between the extended and the nonextended, and so we do (in the same trivial sense in which we might claim a clear grasp of the distinction between the finite and the infinite), but this does not help with the borderline cases (sensory grasp of particulars) which are, as it happens, the heart of the matter. For it is just the status of the "confused ideas of sense and imagination" which makes the difference between mind-as-reason and mind-as-consciousness.
+
+The answer I should like to give to the question "What common factor did Descartes find?" is "indubitability," that is, the fact that pains, like thoughts and most beliefs, are such that the subject cannot doubt that he has them, whereas doubt is possible about everything physical. If we give this answer, then we can see what Royce called "Descartes's rediscovery of the inner life" as the discovery of the true
+
+to include them within the same substance is answered by saying that what is common to imagining, willing, sensing, feeling, etc. is that in all of them "there is an object of awareness." (Malcolm, "Descartes's Proof That His Essence Is Thinking" in Descartes: A Collection of Criti· cal Essays, ed. Willis Doney, p. 317n.) In other words, Malcolm thinks that intentionality is sufficient to unite all the things which Descartes wants to unite under cogitatio and pensee. I do not think that this will work for pains. In any case it runs together the genuine intentionality of linguistic representations and the pseudo. intentionality (as Sellars calls it) of sensations which Aquinas kept separate. It is just this coa· lescence by Descartes which needs explanation. Or, to put it an· other way, what needs explanation is just the origin of the notion of "awareness" in the phrase "object of awareness." On the distinction between genuine and pseudo-intentionality, see Sellars, "Being and Be· ing Known" in Science, Perception and Reality.
+
+essence of consciousness-that there is no distinction between appearance and reality, whereas everywhere else there is. The trouble with offering this answer, however, is that it is never explicitly given by Descartes himself. So the best I can do to justify it is to say that something is needed to explain Descartes's repackaging of the various items which Aristotle and Aquinas had separated, that nothing else seems to do, and that indubitability was so close to the heart of the author of the First Meditation that it seems a natural motive for his conceptual revolution.
+
+Margaret Wilson has noted that we can find in Descartes an argument for mind-body dualism (a dualism drawn along the revisionist lines I have been describing) which is a simple "argument from doubt." This argument says that what we can doubt exists cannot, by Leibniz's law, be identical with what we cannot doubt exists. As Wilson says, this argument is "universally recognized to be fallacious."24 It is fallacious, if for no other reason, because Leibniz's law does not apply to intentional properties. But, Wilson continues, the argument for dualism in the Sixth Meditation is not a version of this fallacious argument. It turns instead on the notion of "a complete thing" (which seems the same as the notion of "substance" in the sense of the term in which Descartes will admit only three substances-thought, extension, and God). The crucial premise is "I can clearly and distinctly understand that something can be a complete thing if it has X (a psychological property) even if it lacks cf> (a physical property)" (p. 14).
+
+I think that Wilson's analysis is right, and that she is also right when she says that this argument as a whole "is no better than the distinction between clear and distinct perception and 'mere' perception," concerning which she doubts whether "recent essentialists' appeals to intuition/' are on better ground (p. 14). In my view, however, the prin-
+
+24 See Margaret Wilson, "Descartes: the Epistemological Argument for Mind-Body Distinctness," Nous 10 (1976), 7-8. I am much indebted to Wilson for careful and helpful comments on a draft of this chapter.
+
+cipal question raised by her analysis is how Descartes managed to convince himself that something which included both pains and mathematical knowledge was "a complete thing" rather than two things. This in turn reduces to the question of how he was able to give "penser" the extended sense of "consciousness" while still seeing it as the name of a separate substance, in the way in which )IOU. and inteZ-Zeclus had been made familiar as the names of separate substances. In my view, as I have said, "essentialist intuitions" and "clear and distinct perceptions" are always appeals to linguistic habits entrenched in the language by our predecessors. So what needs explanation is how Descartes was able to convince himself that his repackaging was "intuitive."
+
+Granted that the "argument from doubt" has no merit, I think that nevertheless it is one of those cases of "finding bad reasons for what we believe on instinct" which serves as a due to the instincts which actually do the convincing. The hunch in question here was, I think, that the indubitably known mathematical truths (once their proofs had been worked through so as to make them clearly and distinctly perceived with a sort of "phenomenal" vividness and non-discursiveness) and the indubitable momentary states of consciousness had something in common-something permitting them to be packaged inside of one substance. Thus Descartes says:
+
+Now as to what concerns ideas, if we consider them only in themselves and do not relate them to anything else beyond themselves, they cannot properly speaking be false; for whether I imagine a goat or a chimera, it is not the less true that I imagine the one rather than the other.25
+
+Speaking of the imaginary beings created by painters, he' says that even if
+
+25 Meditation III, Alquie edition, II, 193.
+
+most of the work of changing the notion of "mind" to be done under the table, not by any explicit argument but simply by verbal maneuvers which reshuffled the deck slightly, and slightly differently, at each passage in which
+
+the mind-body distinction came to the fore.28 If I am right in thinking that Descartes's badly argued hunch, the one which made him able to see pains and thoughts as modes of a single substance, was that indubitability was the common factor they shared with nothing physical, then we can see him as working his way around toward a view in which indubitability is no longer the mark of eternality, but rather of something for which the Greeks had no name-consciousness. Whereas previous philosophers had more or less followed Plato in thinking that only the eternal was known with certainty, Descartes was substituting "clear and distinct perception"-that is, the sort of unconfused knowledge gained by going through a process of analysis-for "indubitability" as a mark of eternal truths. This left indubitability free to serve as a criterion of the mentnl. For although the thought that I am in pain does not count as a clear and distinct perception, it can no more be successfully doubted than the thought that I exist. Whereas Plato and the tradition had made the lines between confusion and clarity, dubitability and indubitability, and the mind and the body coincide, Descartes was
+
+soul substance. ("Concerning the Thomistic and Cartesian Dualisms: A Rejoinder to Professor Mourant," Journal of Philosophy 54 [1957], 387.)
+
+28 Such unconscious sleight·of-hand, when practiced by men of Descartes's boldness of imagination, is an occasion for gratitude rather than censure. No great philosopher has avoided it, and no intellectual revolution could succeed without it. In "Kuhnian" terminology, no revolution can succeed which employs a vocabulary commensurable with the old, and thus none can succeed by employing arguments which make unequivocal use of terms shared with the traditional wisdom. So bad arguments for brilliant hunches must necessarily precede the normalization of a new vocabulary which incorporates the hunch. Given that new vocabulary, better arguments become possible, although these will always be found question-begging by the revolution's victims.
+
+now rearranging them. The result was that from Descartes on we have to distinguish between the special metaphysical ground for our certainty about our inner states ("nothing is closer to the mind than itself") and the various epistemological reasons which ground our certainties about anything else. This is why, once this distinction was drawn clearly, and once Descartes's own confusion between certainty that something exists and certainty about its nature was dissipated, empiricism began to edge out rationalism. For our certainty that our concept of "painful" or "blue" signifies something real edges out our certainty that we have a clear and distinct perception of such simple natures as "substance," "thought," and "motion." With Lockean empiricism, foundationalist epistemology emerged as the paradigm of philosophy.29
+
+Descartes himself was forever trying to hold on to standard Platonic and scholastic distinctions with one hand while deconstructing them with the other. Thus we find him, when challenged by Hobbes,30 using the pineal gland to
+
+29 The discovery of the possibility of an empiricist foundationalism is connected with what Ian Hacking has described in The Emergence of Probability (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1975) as the invention · of the notion of "evidence" in the modern sense-a notion which was a prerequisite for foundationalist projects, and a fortiori for empiricism. This invention, as well as the eventual triumph of empiricism, was connected with the distinction between the high and low sciences (d. Hacking, p. 35, and T. S. Kuhn, The Essential Tension [Chicago, 1978], chap. 3). A fuller account of these Cartesian shifts would bring these themes together.
+
+30 See his claim that Hobbes confuses ideas properly so-called with "les images des choses materielles depeinte en la fantasie corporelle," the latter being the pineal gland, in Replies to Third Objections, Alquie edition, II, 611. Margaret Wilson, in "Cartesian Dualism" (in Descartes: Critical and Interpretive Essays, ed. Michael Hooker, [Baltimore, 1978]) suggests, on the basis of such passages, that we should be cautious about attributing to him the view that "we clearly and dis· tinctly perceive our sensations apart from any physical state or occurrence." Caution is indeed called for, but this is not to say that there is a way of making Descartes's denial of this claim consistent with the more "mainline" dualistic passages in the Meditations. (This essay of Wilson's also makes the useful point that Descartes himself, unlike reintroduce the distinction between the sensitive and intellective souls, and using it again to recreate the standard Pauline association between the passions and the flesh in The Passions of the Soul. But this dissimulation was laughed out of court by, for example, Spinoza, who saw clearly that a confused, but purely mental, idea could do everything which animal spirits or "la fantasie corporelle" could do.31 Once such second-generation Cartesians, who viewed Descartes himself as having one foot still implanted in the scholastic mud, had purified and "normalized" Cartesian doctrine, we got the full-fledged version of the " 'idea' idea," the one which made it possible for Berkeley to think of extended substance as a hypothesis of which we had no need. This thought could never have occurred to a pre-Cartesian bishop, struggling with the flesh rather than with intellectual confusion. With this full-fledged " 'idea' idea" there came the possibility of philosophy as a discipline which centered around, of all things, epistemology, rather than around God and morality.32 Even for Descartes himself, the
+
+Gassendi, Hobbes, and Spinoza, did not believe in psychophysical parallelism and thus did adopt the view that nonphysical forces operated in the mind which made it impossible to predict thoughts physiologically. )
+
+31 See Spinoza, Ethics, the first and last paragraphs of part III and the discussion of animal spirits in the preface to part v.
+
+32 This full-fledged . . 'idea' idea" (blandly presupposed by Hume in the passage cited in note 18 above) is the one Reid despairingly protested against; in this protest he was preceded by Arnauld and succeeded in later centuries by T. H. Green and by John Austin. John Yolton has pointed out to me a passage in Arnauld's Des vraies et des fausses idees (Oeuvres, Paris and Lausanne, 1780, vol. 39, p. 190) which brings in the mirror-imagery (going back to Plato, Republic 51Oa) that I have been treating as the .original sin of epistemology:
+
+Since all men were at first infants, and since they then were occupied only with their bodies and with the things which their senses encountered, they spent a long time without knowing of any other sight (vue) than the corporeal, which they attribute to their eyes. They could not avoid noticing two facts. The first is that it is necessary that the object be before our eyes if we are to see it. This is
+
+matter of the relation between body and soul was not something for philosophy; philosophy had, so to speak, risen above the practical wisdom sought by the ancients and had become professional, almost as professional as mathematics, whose subject symbolized the indubitability characteristic of the mind. "It is only in daily life and ordinary discourse, abstaining from meditating and studying matters which excite the imagination, that one learns to grasp (concevoir) the union of body and soul ... that union which everyone experiences without philosophizing."83 The Cartesian change from mind-as-reason to mind-as-inner-arena was not the triumph of the prideful individual subject freed from scholastic shackles so much as the triumph of the quest for certainty over the quest for wisdom. From that time . forward, the way was open for philosophers either to attain the rigor of the mathematician or the mathematical physicist, or to explain the appearance of rigor in these fields, rather than to help people attain peace of mind. Science, rather than living, became philosophy's subject, and epistemology its center.
+
+### 6. DUALISM AND "MIND-STUFF"
+
+I can summarize the resul t of the previous section by saying the notion of the "separation between mind and
+
+what they call presence (presence) and this makes them regard the presence of the object as a necessity for sight. The second fact is that we sometimes see visible things in mirrors, or in water, or in other things which represent them. Thus they believe, wrongly, that they do not then see the things themselves, but only their images.
+
+Compare Austin on "the philosophers' use of 'directly perceive' " (Sense and Sensibilia [Oxford, 1962], p. 19) and on mirror-images (ibid., pp.
+
+31, 50). For a valuable survey of post-Cartesian accounts of what Descartes should have meant by "idea" (including Arnauld's last-ditch attempt to treat ideas as acts, in the manner of Brentano, Husserl, and G. E. Moore), see Robert McRae, " 'Idea' as a Philosophical term in the 17th Century," Journal of the History of Ideas 26 (1965), 175-190.
+
+33 Letter to Princess Elizabeth, June 28, 1643 (Alquie edition, III, 45). cited in van Peursen, Body, Soul, Spirit, p. 25·
+
+body" means different things, and is proved by different philosophical arguments, before and after Descartes. The hylomorphic epistemology which thought of grasping universals as instancing in one's intellect what the frog instanced in its flesh was, thanks to the rise of mathematical physics, being replaced by a law-event framework which explained froghood as possibly a merely "nominal" essence. So the notion of reason as a faculty of grasping universals was not available for use in a premise proving the distinctness of the mind from the body. The notion which would define what could "have a distinct existence from the body" was one which would draw a line between the cramps in one's stomach and the associated feeling in one's mind.
+
+I have suggested that the only criterion which will draw this line is indubitability-that closeness to the Inner Eye which permits Descartes to say (in a sentence which would have astonished Isabella and antiquity) that "nothing is easier for the mind to know than itself."34 But this may seem strange, since the obvious Cartesian candidate for such a mark would seem to be non-spatiality. Descartes insists over and over again that we can separate mind from "extended substance," thereby viewing it as nonextended substance. Further, the first and most common-sensical rebuttal offered to contemporary philosophers who suggest that pains might be identical with brain processes is drawn straight from Descartes: viz., pains "in" amputated limbs are nonspatial-the argument being that if they had any spatial location they would be in an arm, but since there is no arm, they must be of a quite different ontological sort.
+
+34 This passage occurs in a splendid non sequitur following the example of the piece of wax in Meditation II: since even bodies are not known "proprie" by sense or imagination but only by intellect, it is clear that nihil facilius aut evident ius mea mente posse a me percipi (Alquie, II, 192; Haldane and Ross, I, 157). The argument depends upon cou· fusion between the cogito as proof of my existence and as isolation of my essence.
+
+Philosophers still insist that "it makes no sense at all to locate the occurrence of a thought at some place within your body," 35 and they tend to attribute this insight to Descartes. But, as I have argued in section 2 above, we would hardly think of a thought or a pain as a thing (a particular distinct from a person, rather than a state of a person) which was not locatable unless we already had the notion of a nonextended substance of which it might be a portion. No intuition that pains and thoughts are nonspatial antedates, or can ground an argument for, the Cartesian notion of the mind as a distinct substance (a nonspatial one). There is, however, more to be said about how the notion of "nonspatial substance," and thus of "mindstuff," entered philosophy, and thus about why contemporary philosophy of mind finds itself talking about pains and beliefs rather than people having pains or beliefs. Going over this further material will, I hope, make clearer how very different Cartesian dualism is from the "dualism" of contemporary discussions.
+
+We need to bear in mind that the nonspatial substance which Kant and Strawson reject as an incoherent notion was a seventeenth-century notion, and that it is a commonplace of intellectual history that strange things happened to the notion of "substance" in that century. For Aristotle, and still for St. Thomas, the paradigm of a substance was an individual man or frog. Detached parts of men or frogs were, like clumps of turf or pailsful of water, dubious borderline cases-they were "capable of existing separately" in one sense (spatial separation), but they did not have the functional unity or "nature" which proper substances should have. Aristotle, when worried about such cases, was wont to dismiss them as "mere potencies"-as neither accidents, like the frog's color, nor proper actual i-
+
+35 Jerome Shaffer, Philosophy of Mind (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1968), p. 48; d. Norman Malcolm, "Scientific Materialism and the Identity Theory," Dialogue 3 (1g64), 115-125·
+
+ties, like the living, leaping frog itself.36 Descartes pretends that he is using "distinct substance" in the standard sense of "capable of separate existence," but he does not mean either spatial separation or functional unity.37 He means something like "capable of having everything else disappear [or be "thought away"] and still being around."38 This definition of "capacity for separate existence" fits the One, the Platonic Ideas, and Aristotle's Unmoved Movers, but almost nothing else. Given such a definition, it is hardly surprising that there should turn out to be, at most, only three substances-God, mind, and matter. Nor is it surprising that Malebranche and Berkeley should begin to have doubts about the third candidate, and Spinoza about both third and second. It would not have occurred to Aristotle to think that frogs, stars, and men were simply so many accidents of one big substance merely on the ground that if
+
+36 Cf. Metaphysics l040b, 5-10 on "heaps." I discuss the tension between Aristotle's criteria for being a substance-"separate existence" and "unity"-in "Genus as Matter," in Exegesis and Argument: Studies in Greek Philosophy in Honor of Gregory Vlastos, ed. Edward N. Lee
+
+et al. (Dordrecht, 1973). 37 Descartes thinks that a human hand, whether or not detached, is a perfectly good example of substance. Cf. Fourth Responses (Alquie, II, 663; Haldane and Ross, II, 99), where he says that the sense in which a hand is an "incomplete substance" is unimportant and is merely a matter of "not forming a whole distinct from every oilier thing" (en un autre sens on les peut appeler incompletes, non qU'elles aient rien d'incomplet en tant qu'eUes sont des substances, mais seulement en tant qu'el/es se rapportent a quelqu'autre substance avec laquelle elles composent un tout par soi et distinct de tout autre). There is, however, a tension in Descartes between the view that any material thing (a hand, a dust mote) is a substance and ilie notion (clear in Spinoza) that these iliings are only modes of a larger substance (e.g., matter-as·a-whole).
+
+38 This definition gives Descartes trouble since it suggests ilie Spinozaistic view that God, on whom everyiliing else must be thought to depend, is the only substance. The point is discussed by L. J. Beck, The Metaphysics of Descartes (Oxford, 1965), p. 110, who says: "The apparent inconsistency in using ilie word substantia, or even res, to connote the self of the Cogito is due, in no small measure, to trying to put new wine into old bottles, to express the Cartesian doctrine in ilie
+
+we imagine all the other bodies in the world (e.g., earth and air) annihilated, the frog and the human could hardly be imagined to survive. But precisely this notion of one big substance was what was needed to provide a "philosophical foundation" of Galilean mechanics while heaping scorn on traditional hylomorphic explanations.39 When matter-asall-the-atoms- (or vortices) -put-together replaced matter-aspotentiality, it was promoted to the rank of substance (absorbing all the old nonhuman Aristotelian substances into itself) and left only Aristotle's "pure actuality" (the vou, which is the Unmoved Movers and may not be distinct from the "separable" vou, in individual men) as a possible
+
+We contemporary inheritors of the Cartesian distinction between mind and matter have lost touch with the notion of "substance" in its seventeenth-century definition. The notion of existence a se was never intelligible to the vulgar, and Kant succeeded in making it unintelligible even to professional philosophers. So when we assent to the claim that there is an obvious distinction between a category of things which can exist in space and another category of things which cannot, we are not assenting to Descartes's claim that mind and matter are distinct entities "which depend on nothing else for their existence." Many contemporary philosophers who agree that it is nonsense to
+
+39 Cf. E. A. Burtt, Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Physical Science (Garden City, N.Y., 1955), chap. IV. At p. II, Burtt says, "The fact is, and this is of central importance for our whole study, Descartes' real criterion is not permanence but the possibility of mathematical handling; in his case, as with Galileo, the whole course of his thought from his adolescent studies on had inured him to the notion that we know objects only in mathematical terms." The resulting distinction between primary and secondary qualities supplies the motive to regard paradigmatic Aristotelian substances as merely modes of res extensa.
+
+40Cf. Fourth Responses (Alquie, II, 662; Haldane and Ross, II, 98) where Descartes says that "concevoir pleinement" and "concevoir que c'est une chose complete" are synonymous, apoint which he thinkS helps explain how we grasp that soul and body are two substances.
+
+speak of the location of a pain or a thought nevertheless insist, pace Descartes, that a stream of consciousness without a body is unimaginable. Such philosophers are content to think of mental entities as states of persons rather than "bits of ghostly stuff," and to let nonlocatability be a sign of the adjectival status of states rather than of the peculiar makeup of certain particulars. Since a man's build, personality, weight, hilarity, or charm is not capable of being pinpointed in space, why should his beliefs and desires be? So it seems plausible to say that Descartes's insight was merely a recognition of the difference between parts of persons or states of those parts (e.g., cramps of their stomachs) on the one hand and certain states of the whole person on the other, misleadingly stated in a corrupted scholastic vocabulary as a distinction of "substance."
+
+This account of what it means to say that the mind is nonspatial provides a convenient way of simultaneously stating and dissolving one mind-body problem. For few people are worried by an ontological gap between what is signified by names and what is signified by adjectives. However, like most behaviorist-style solutions to the mind-body problem, this one has difficulties with thoughts and raw feels-events as opposed to dispositions. It is easy to view beliefs and desires and moods as (in Ryle's phrase) "traits of intellect and character" which require no nonmaterial medium as substrate but only the man himself. It is harder to think of raw feels, mental images, and thoughts this way.41 They suggest an immaterial stream of consciousness rushing invisibly and
+
+intangibly through the interstices of the brain, perhaps-41 The point is made in various ways by Hampshire. Austin, and Ayer in their respective reviews of The Concept of Mind reprinted in Ryle: A Collection of Critical Essays. ed. O. P. Wood and George Pitcher (Garden City. N.Y.. 1970). For ways of extending Ryle's methods to perceptions and the associated raw feels. see Pitcher. A Theory of Perception. On perceptions as dispositions to belief, and the discussion of "adverbial materialism," see James Cornman, Materialism and Sensations (New Haven, 1971). See also Richard Rorty, "Incorrigibility as the Mark of the Mental," Journal of Philosophy 67 (1970), 406-409.
+
+because it seems so natural to regard them as things rather than states of things. So contemporary philosophers, returning to an Aristotelian and vulgar notion of "thing" instead of Descartes's sophisticated and extravagant notion of "substance," are inclined to split the difference between Aristotle and Descartes. That is, they think that Aristotle neglected certain particulars-for example, pains and raw feelswhereas Descartes pointlessly took them to be accidents of one big nonextended substance, just as he took frogs and atoms to be accidental configurations of one big extended substance called Matter. This permits contemporary philosophers to have mental entities without the soul, and thus without appearing to be haunted by the Invisible and Intangible Man of religious belief (a notion which they read into Descartes-not without some encouragement from Descartes himself).
+
+This dualism based on "separate existence from the body" -a fourth sort-is quite different from the dualism between a person and his ghost, or between a person and his Aristotelian passive intellect, or between res cogitans and res extensa. But it is also a partial dualism-as partial, in equal and opposite ways, as that of the ancients. Whereas the ancients took only the universal-grasping part of Descartes's nonextended substance as "separately existing," contemporary dualists (conceding beliefs, desires, and the like to Ryle as ways of speaking of dispositions) take only event-like candidates for mentality as "separately existing." Whereas Thomists, for example, accuse Descartes of having pointlessly endowed sense with the immateriality which is the prerogative of reason, contemporary dualists accuse him of having pointlessly endowed mathematical knowledge and decisions on conduct with the immaterial thinghood which belongs to pains, after-images, and occurrent thoughts. For the ancients, the mind was most obviously capable of separate existence when it contemplated the unchanging and was itself unchanging. For the moderns, it is most obviously so capable when it is a blooming, buzzing collection of raw
+
+feels.42 Whoever is right, it is clear that neither ancients nor moderns share Descartes's "clear and distinct perception" of the separability of all the items he lumped together under "thinking."
+
+Descartes's only improvement on the Homeric notion of an Invisible and Intangible Man was to strip the intruder of humanoid form. By thus making the possible intruders among bodies less easily identifiable, he made them more philosophical. They were more philosophical in that, like the vov. of Aristotle and the Glassy Essence of Isabella, they were not shady homunculi, but rather essentially unpicturable entities. Since to be concerned with philosophical matters was to be concerned with that which the eye cannot see nor the ear hear, both seventeenth-century nonextended substance and contemporary nonlocatable thoughts and feels were thought to be more philosophically respectable than the ghosts for whose peace religious believers pray. But contemporary philosophers, having updated Descartes, can be dualists without their dualism making the slightest difference to any human interest or concern, without interfering with science or lending any support to religion. For insofar as dualism reduces to the bare insistence that pains and thoughts have no places, nothing whatever hangs on the dis-
+
+tinction between mind and body. Let me now remind the reader of the course I have followed in this chapter. In sections 1-2 I argued that we could make no sense of the notion of "mental entities" as a distinct ontological genus without invoking the notion of "phenomenal entities" such as pains, entities whose being was exhausted by the single property of, for example, painfulness. I claimed that the real problem was not to abjure such
+
+42 "Whereas, for Plato, rational thoughts were the paradigmatic activities of the soul, such lowly events as itches, toothaches, and twinges are now among those typically mentioned in philosophical discussion as mental events" Gaegwon Kim, "Materialism and the Criteria of the Mental," Synthese 22 [1971), 336).
+
+hypostatized universals but to explain why anyone had taken them seriously, and how they came to seem relevant to discussions of the nature of personhood and of reason. I hope that sections 3-6 have given an idea of how I think these historical questions can be answered (although I am painfully aware of the lacunae in the story I have told). My answer to the question "Why do we tend to lump the intentional and the phenomenal together as 'the menta!'?" is that Descartes used the notion of the "incorrigibly known" to bridge the gap between them. So I now need to spell out more fully my own anti-Cartesian, Wittgensteinian, view of the nature of "our privileged access to the mental." In the following chapter, therefore, I put aside personhood and reason, and discuss consciousness almost exclusively. I shall try to show that the purportedly metaphysical "problem of consciousness" is no more and no less than the epistemological "problem of privileged access," and that once this is seen questions about dualism versus materialism lose their interest.
+
+# Persons Without Minds
+
+### 1. THE ANTIPODEANS
+
+Far away, on the other side of our galaxy, there was a planet on which lived beings like ourselves-featherless bipeds who built houses and bombs, and wrote poems and computer programs. These beings did not know that they had minds. They had notions like "wanting to" and "intending to" and "believing that" and "feeling terrible" and "feeling marvelous." But they had no notion that these signified mental �tates-states of a peculiar and distinct sort--quite different from "sitting down," "having a cold," and "being sexually aroused." Although they used the notions of believing and knowing and wanting and being moody of their pets and their robots as well as of themselves, they did not regard pets or robots as included in what was meant when they said, "We all believe ... " or "We never do such things as .... "That is to say, they treated only members of their own species as persons. But they did not explain the difference between persons and non-persons by such notions as "mind," "consciousness," "spirit," or anything of the sort. They did not explain it at all; they just treated it as the difference between "us" and everything else. They believed in immortality for themselves, and a few believed that this would be shared by the pets or the robots, or both. But this immortality did not involve the notion of a "soul" which separated from the body. It was a straightforward matter of bodily resurrection followed by mysterious and instantaneous motion to what they referred to as "a place above the heavens" for good people, and to a sort of cave, beneath the planet'S surface, for the wicked. Their philosophers were concerned primarily with four topics: the nature of Being, proofs of the existence of a Benevolent and
+
+Omnipotent Being who would carry out arrangements for the resurrection, problems arising out of discourse about nonexistent objects, and the reconciliation of conflicting moral intuitions. But these philosophers had not formulated the problem of subject and object, nor that of mind and matter. There was a tradition of Pyrrhonian skepticism, but Locke's "veil of ideas" was unknown, since the notion of an "idea" or "perception" or "mental representation" was also unknown. Some of their philosophers predicted that the beliefs about immortality which had been central in earlier periods of history, and which were still held by all but the intelligentsia, would someday be replaced by a "positivistic" culture purged of all superstitions (but these philosophers made no mention of an intervening "metaphysical" stage).
+
+In most respects, then, the language, life, technology, and philosophy of this race were much like ours. But there was one important difference. Neurology and biochemistry had been the first disciplines in which technological breakthroughs had been achieved, and a large part of the conversation of these people concerned the state of their nerves. When their infants veered toward hot stoves, mothers cried out, "He'll stimulate his C-fibers." When people were given clever visual illusions to look at, they said, "How odd! It makes neuronic bundle G-14 quiver, but when I look at it from the side I can see that it's not a red rectangle at all." Their knowledge of physiology was such that each wellformed sentence in the language which anybody bothered to form could easily be correlated with a readily identifiable neural state. This state occurred whenever someone uttered, or was tempted to utter, or heard, the sentence. This state also sometimes occurred in solitude and people reported such occasions with remarks like "I was suddenly in state S-296, so I put out the milk bottles." Sometimes they would say things like "It looked like an elephant, but then it struck me that elephants don't occur on this continent, so I realized that it must be a mastodon." But they would also sometimes say, in just the same circumstances, things like "I had G-412 together with F-ll, but then I had S-147, so I realized that it must be a mastodon." They thought of mastodons and milk bottles as objects of beliefs and desires, and as causing certain neural processes. They viewed these neural processes as interacting causally with beliefs and desires-in just the same way as the mastodons and milk bottles did. Certain neural processes could be deliberately self-induced, and some people were more skillful than others in inducing certain neural states in themselves. Others were skilled at detecting certain special states which most people
+
+could not recognize in themselves. In the middle of the twenty-first century, an expedition from Earth landed on this planet. The expedition included philosophers, as well as representatives of every other learned discipline. The philosophers thought that the most interesting thing about the natives was their lack of the concept of mind. They joked among themselves that they had landed among a bunch of materialists, and suggested the name Antipodea for the planet-in reference to an almost forgotten school of philosophers, centering in Australia and New Zealand, who in the previous century had attempted one of the many futile revolts against Cartesian dualism in the history of Terran philosophy. The name stuck, and so the new race of intelligent beings came to be known as Antipodeans. The Terran neurologists and biochemists were fascinated by the wealth of knowledge in their field which the Antipodeans exhibited. Since technical conversation on these subjects was conducted almost entirely in offhand references to neural states, the Terran experts eventually picked up the ability to report their own neural states (without conscious inference) instead of reporting their thoughts, perceptions, and raw feels. (The physiologies of the two species were, fortunately, almost identical.) Everything went swimmingly, except for the difficulties met by the philosophers.
+
+The philosophers who had come on the expedition were,
+
+as usual, divided into two warring camps: the tenderminded ones who thought philosophy should aim at Significance, and the tough-minded philosophers who thought that it should aim at Truth. The philosophers of the first sort felt that there was no real problem about whether the Antipodeans had minds. They held that what was important in understanding other beings was a grasp of their mode of being-in-the-world. It became evident that, whatever Existentiale the Antipodeans were using, they certainly did not include any of those which, a century earlier, Heidegger had criticized as "subjectivist." The whole notion of "the epistemological subject," or the person as spirit, had no place in their self-descriptions, nor in their philosophies. Some of the tender-minded philosophers felt that this showed that the Antipodeans had not yet broken out of Nature into Spirit, or, more charitably, had not yet progressed from Consciousness to Self-Consciousness. These philosophers became town-criers of inwardness, attempting to bully the Antipodeans across an invisible line and into the Realm of Spirit. Others, however, felt that the Antipodeans exhibited the praiseworthy grasp of the union of 7rOA€JlM and M)'o .. which was lost to Western Terran consciousness through Plato's assimilation of ovula to iSla. The Antipodean failure to grasp the notion of mind, in the view of this set of philosophers, showed their closeness to Being and their freedom from the temptations to which Terran thought had long since succumbed. In the contest between these two views, equally tender-minded as both were, discussion tended to be inconclusive. The Antipodeans themselves were not much help, because they had so much trouble translating the background reading necessary to appreciate the problem-Plato's Theaetetus, Descartes's Meditations, Hume's Treatise, Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, Hegel's Phenomenology, Strawson's Individuals, etc.
+
+The tough-minded philosophers, as usual, found a much more straightforward and clean-cut question to discuss. They did not care what the Antipodeans thought about
+
+themselves, but rather focused on the question: Do they in fact have minds? In their precise way, they narrowed this question down to: Do they in fact have sensations? It was thought that if it became clear whether they had, say, sensations of pain, as well as stimulated C-fibers, when touching hot stoves, everything else would be plain sailing. It was clear that the Antipodeans had the same behavioral dispositions toward hot stoves, muscle cramps, torture, and the like as humans. They loathed having their C-fibers stimulated. But the tough-minded philosophers asked themselves: Does their experience contain the same phenomenal properties as ours? Does the stimulation of C-fibers feel painful? Or does it feel some other, equally awful, way? Or does feeling not come into it at all? These philosophers were not surprised that the Antipodeans could offer noninferential reports of their own neural states, since it had been learned long since that psychophysiologists could train human subjects to report alpha-rhythms, as well as various other physiologically describable cortical states. But they felt baffled by the question: Are some phenomenal properties being detected by an Antipodean who says, "It's my C-fibers again-you know, the ones that go off every time you get burned or hit or have a tooth pulled. It's just awful."?
+
+It was suggested that the question could only be answered experimentally, and so they arranged with the neurologists that one of their number should be wired up to an Antipodean volunteer so as to switch currents back and forth between various regions of the two brains. This, it was thought, would also enable the philosophers to insure that the Antipodeans did not have an inverted spectrum, or anything else which might confuse the issue. As it turned out, however, the experiment produced no interesting results. The difficulty was that when the Antipodean speech center got an input from the C-fibers of the Earthling brain it always talked only about its C-fibers, whereas when the Earthling speech center was in control it always talked only about pain. When the Antipodean speech center was asked what the C-fibers felt like it said that it didn't quite get the notion of "feeling," but that stimulated C-fibers were, of course, terrible things to have. The same sort of thing happened for the questions about inverted spectra and other perceptual qualities. When asked to call off the colors on a chart, both speech centers called off the usual color-names in the same order. But the Antipodean speech center could also call off the various neuronic bundles activated by each patch on the chart (no matter which visual cortex it happened to be hooked up to). When the Earthling speech center was asked what the colors were like when transmitted to the Antipodean visual cortex, it said that they seemed just as usual.
+
+This experiment seemed not to have helped. For it was still obscure whether the Antipodeans had pains. It was equally obscure whether they had one or two raw feels when indigo light streamed onto their retinas (one of indigo, and one of neural state C-6g2)-or whether they had no raw feels at all. The Antipodeans were repeatedly questioned about how they knew it was indigo. They replied that they could see that it was. When asked how they knew they were in C-6g2, they said they "just knew" it. When it was suggested to them that they might have unconsciously inferred that it was indigo on the basis of the C-6g2 feel, they seemed unable to understand what unconscious inference was, or what "feels" were. When it was suggested to them that they might have made the same inference to the fact that they were in state C-6g2 on the basis of the raw feel of indigo, they were, of course, equally baffled. When they were asked whether the neural state appeared indigo, they replied that it did not-the light was indigo--and that the questioner must be making some sort of category mistake. When they were asked whether they could imagine having C-6g2 and not seeing indigo, they said they could not. When asked whether it was a conceptual truth or an empirical generalization that these two experiences went together, they replied that they were not sure how to tell the difference. When asked
+
+whether they could be wrong about whether they were seeing indigo, they replied that they of course could, but could not be wrong about whether they seemed to be seeing indigo. When asked whether they could be wrong about whether they were in state C-692, they replied in exactly the same way. Finally, skillful philosophical dialectic brought them to realize that what they could not imagine was seeming to see indigo and failing to seem to be in state C-692. But this result did not seem to help with the questions: "Raw feels?" "Two raw feels or one?" "Two referents or one referent under two descriptions?" Nor did any of this help with the question about the way in which stimulated C-fibers appeared to them. When they were asked whether they could be mistaken in thinking that their C-fibers were stimulated, they replied that of course they could-but that they could not imagine being mistaken about whether their C-fibers seemed to be stimulated.
+
+At this point, it occurred to someone to ask whether they could detect the neural state which was the concomitant of "seeming to have their C-fibers stimulated." Antipodeans replied that there was, of course, the state T-435 which was the constant neural concomitant of the utterance of the sentence "My C-fibers seem to be stimulated," state T-497 which went with "It's just as if my C-fibers were being stimulated," state T-293 which went with "Stimulated C-fibersl" and various other neural states which were concomitants of various other roughly synonymous sentences-but that there was no further neural state which they were aware of in addition to these. Cases in which Antipodeans had T-435 but no stimulation of C-fibers included those in which, for example, they were strapped to what they were falsely informed was a torture machine, a switch was theatrically turned on, but nothing else was done.
+
+Discussion among the philosophers now switched to the topic: Could the Antipodeans be mistaken about the Tseries of neural states (the ones which were concomitants of understanding or uttering sentences)? Could they seem to be having T-435 but not really be? Yes, the Antipodeans said, cerebroscopes indicated that sort of thing occasionally happened. Was there any explanation of the cases in which it happened-any pattern to them? No, there did not seem to be. It was just one of those odd things that turned up occasionally. Neurophysiology had not yet been able to find another sort of neural state, outside the T-series, which was a concomitant of such weird illusions, any more than for certain perceptual illusions, but perhaps it would someday.
+
+This answer left the philosophers still in difficulties on the question of whether the Antipodeans had sensations of pain, or anything else. For there now seemed to be nothing which the Antipodeans were incorrigible about except how things seemed to them. But it was not clear that "how things seemed to them" was a matter of what raw feels they had, as opposed to what they were inclined to say. If they had the raw feel of painfulness, then they had minds. But a raw feel is (or has) a phenomenal property-one which you cannot have the illusion of having (because, so to speak, having the illusion of it is itself to have it). The difference between stimulated C-fibers and pains was that you could have the illusion of stimulated C-fibers (could have, e.g., T-435) without having stimulated C-fibers, but could not have the illusion of pain without having pain. There was nothing which the Antipodeans could not be wrong about except how things seemed to them. But the fact that they could not "merely seem to have it seem to them that ... " was of no interest in determining whether they had minds. The fact that "seems to seem ... " is an expression without a use is a fact about the notion of "appearance," not a tip-off to the presence of "phenomenal properties." For the appearancereality distinction is not based on a distinction between subjective representations and objective states of affairs; it is merely a matter of getting something wrong, having a false belief. So the Antipodeans' firm grasp of the former distinction did not help philosophers tell whether to ascribe the latter to them.
+
+# 2. PHENOMENAL PROPERTIES
+
+Coming back now to the present, what should we say about the Antipodeans? The first thing to do, presumably, is to look more closely at the notion of "phenomenal property," and in particular at the disanalogy between apprehending a physical phenomenon in a misleading way and apprehending a mental phenomenon in a misleading way. Kripke's account of the distinction sums up the intuition on which defenders of dualism have usually relied, so we may begin a closer look by trying to apply his terminology:
+
+Someone can be in the same epistemic situation as he would be if there were heat, even in the absence of heat, simply by feeling the sensation of heat; and even in the presence of heat, he can have the same evidence as he would have in the absence of heat simply by lacking the sensation S. No such possibility exists in the case of pain or in other mental phenomena. To be in the same epistemic situation that would obtain if one had a pain is to have a pain; to be in the same epistemic situation that would obtain in the absence of a pain is not to have a pain .... The trouble is that the notion of an epistemic situation qualitatively identical to one in which the observer had a sensation S simply is one in which the observer had that sensation. The same point can be made in terms of the notion of what picks out the reference of a rigid designator [an expression which designates the same object in all the possible worlds in which it designates at all]. In the case of identity of heat with molecular motion the important consideration was that although "heat" is a rigid designator, the reference of that designator was determined by an accidental property of the referent, namely the property of producing in us the sensation S . . . . Pain, on the other hand, is not picked out by one of its accidental properties; rather it is picked out by the property of being pain itself, by its immediate phenomenological quality. Thus pain, unlike heat, is not only rigidly designated by "pain" but the reference of the designator is determined by an essential property of the referent. Thus it is not possible to say that although pain is necessarily identical with a certain physical state, a certain phenomenon can be picked out in the same way we pick out pain without being correlated with that physical state\_ If any phenomenon is picked out in exactly the same way that we pick out pain, then that phenomenon is pain.1
+
+These considerations suggest that the real question is: Do the Antipodeans pick out mental phenomena by accidental properties? If we assume for the moment that they do have pains, could they perhaps miss the "immediate phenomenological quality" and note only the accidental feature of being constantly accompanied by stimulated C-fibers? Or, if they cannot exactly miss an immediate phenomenological quality, might they perhaps fail to have a name for it, and thus fail to pick out the entity that has the quality by an essential property? To put it another way, since the Antipodeans do not pick out pain "in exactly the same way that we pick out pain," can we conclude that whatever they have it is not pain? Is one's epistemic relation to one's raw feels necessary as well as sufficient to establish the existence of the raw feel in question? Or should we say that actually they do pick out pain in exactly the way that we do-because when they say, "Oohl Stimulated C-fibersl" they feel exactly what we feel when we say, "Painl"? Actually, perhaps, they were feeling pain and calling that feeling "the state of seeming to have one's C-fibers stimulated," and they are in the same epistemic situation relative to seeming to have their C-fibers stimulated as we are in seeming to see something red, and to all other such incorrigible states.
+
+1Saul Kripke, "Naming and Necessity" in Semantics of Natural Language, ed. Donald Davidson and Gilbert Harman (Dordrecht, 1972), pp. 339-340. For criticism of Kripke's discussion of dualism and materialism, see Fred Feldman, "Kripke on the Identity Theory," and William Lycan, "Kripke and the Materialists," both in Journal of Philosophy 71 (1974), 665-689.
+
+It now looks as if what we need is some quite general criterion for deciding when two things are "really" the same thing described in two different ways. For there seems nothing distinctive about the present conundrum which makes it depend upon the peculiarities of the mental. If we agree that what counts in deciding whether the Antipodeans have raw feels is incorrigibility-the inability to have an illusion of ... -the general problem about alternative descriptions will still prevent us from applying this criterion and thus resolving the issue. This problem is not one which is going to receive a neat, clear-cut, readily applicable solution. For nothing general will resolve every tension between saying,
+
+You're talking about X's all right, but practically everything you say about them is false
+
+and saying instead,
+
+Since practically nothing you say is true of X's, you can't be talking about X's.
+
+But let us put aside this difficulty for the moment (returning to it in chapter six) and consider the still more depressing point that anyone who even tried to state general criteria for assimilating or distinguishing referents of expressions would need some general ontological categoriessome firm, if coarse, way of blocking things out-just to get started. It would help, in particular, to have a distinction between mental entities and physical entities. But the problem about the Antipodeans puts this whole distinction in doubt. To see why it does so, suppose that there are no criteria for "mental phenomenon" save Kripke's epistemic one.2 This supposition identifies "the mental" with raw feels, passing thoughts, and mental images. It excludes such
+
+2 I defended a qualified form of this supposition in "Incorrigibility as the Mark of the Mental," Journal of Philosophy 67 (1970), 399-424. See also Jaegwon Kim, "Materialism and the Criteria of the Mental," Synthese 22 (1972), 323-345, esp. 336-341.
+
+things as beliefs, moods, and the like (which, though indubitably "higher," are nonetheless not parts of our incorrigibly reportable inner life, and hence not such as to encourage the Cartesian kind of distinction between two ontological realms). The supposal amounts, in other words, to the claim that (1 ) it is sufficient for being a mental state that the thing in question be incorrigibly knowable by its possessor, and (2) we do not literally attribute any nonphysical states (e.g., beliefs) to beings which fail to have some such incorrigibly knowable states. (This conforms to Antipodean practice, as well as to our intuition that dogs have nonphysical states simply by virtue of having pains, whereas computers do not, even by virtue of offering us novel and exciting truths.) On this supposition, then, there will be nothing to answer to the question "When they report that their C-fibers seem to be firing, are they reporting a feeling (perhaps the same feeling that we report by "pain!") or are they just making the noises which are triggered by their neurons being in certain states?" And if this is so, since the role played in our lives by reports of feelings is the same as the role played in Antipodean lives by reports of neurons, we face the further question: Are we reporting feelings or neurons when we use "pain"?
+
+To see that this is a real issue, consider the implications of the identity of functional role. If it is the case that the Antipodeans have the entire range of culture that we do, if they are as intentional in their discourse and as self-consciously aesthetic in their choice of objects and persons as we, if their yearning for moral excellence and immortality is as great, they are likely to think our philosophers' interest in whether they have minds is a bit parochial. Why, they wonder, does it make such a difference? Why, they may ask us, do we think that we have these odd things called "feels" and "minds"? Now that they have taught us micro-neurology, cannot we see that talk of mental states was merely a place-holder for talk of neurons? Or, if we really do have some funny extra states besides the neurological ones, are they really all that important? Is the possession of such states really the basis for a distinction between ontological categories?
+
+These last sets of questions illustrate how lightly the Antipodeans take the controversy which, among Terran philosophers, is the hard-fought issue between materialists and epiphenomenalists. Further, the success of Antipodean neurology, not only in the explanation and control of behavior but in supplying the vocabulary for the Antipodean self-image, shows that none of the other Terran theories about "the relation between mind and body" can even get a look-in. For parallelism and epiphenomenalism can only be differentiated on some non-Humean view of causationsome view according to which there is a causal mechanism to be discovered which will show which way causal lines run. But nobody, not even the most diehard Cartesian, imagines that when a molecule-by-molecule account of the neurons is before us (as, ex hypothesi, it is before the Antipodeans) there will still be a place to look for further causal mechanisms. (What would "looking" amount to?) So even if we abandon Hume, we are still in no position to be parallelist, except on some a priori ground according to which we "just know" that the mental is a self-contained causal realm. As for interactionism, the Antipodeans would not dream of denying that beliefs and desires, for example, interact causally with irradiations of the retina, movements of the arm, and so on. But they view talk of such an interaction not as yoking different ontological realms but as a handy (because brief) reference to function rather than to structure. (It is as philosophically unproblematic as a transaction between a government and an individual. No set of necessary and sufficient conditions stated in terms of just who did what to whom can be given for a remark about such a transaction, any more than for remarks about beliefs caused by radiations and movements caused by beliefs-but who would have thought they could?) Interaction
+
+from its course by a raw feel, or drained of some of its power by a raw feel, or something of the sort. But the Antipodean neurologists have no need of such hypotheses.
+
+If there is no way of explaining to the Antipodeans our problems and theories about mind and body-no way of making them see that this is the paradigm case of an onto· logical divide-we ought to be prepared to face up to the possibility that the "materialist" Antipodeans (as opposed to the more charitable "epiphenomenalist" ones) are right: we have just been reporting neurons when we thought we were reporting raw feels. It was just a happenstance of our cultural development that we got stuck so long with placeholders. It is as if, while perfecting many sublunary disciplines, we had never developed astronomy and had remained pre-Ptolemaic in our notions of what was above the moon. We would doubtless have many complicated things to say about holes in the black dome, movements of the dome as a whole, and the like-but once we were clued in we could redescribe what we had been reporting easily enough.
+
+At this point, however, there is a familiar objection to be dealt with. It is expressed in such remarks as the following:
+
+... in the case of stabbing pains, it is not possible to hold that the micro-picture is the real picture, that perceptual appearances are only a coarse duplication, for in this case we are dealing with the perceptual appearances themselves, which cannot very well be a coarse duplicate of themselves.s
+
+It is all very well to claim that hurtfulness is how activity of the C-fibers in the cortex appears, that the smell of onion is how the shape of onion molecules appears to a human with a normal nasal system .... This deals with the pain, smell or color apprehended and, relegating it to the category of appearance, renders it ontically neutral.
+
+II Richard Brandt, "Doubts about the Identity Theory," in Dimen· sions of Mind, ed. Sidney Hook (New York, 1961), p. 70.
+
+But it leaves us with a set of seemings, acts of imperfect apprehension, in which the phenomenal properties are grasped. So we must ask the new question: Is it possible that things can seem to be in a certain way to a merely material system? Is there a way in which acts of imperfect apprehension can be seen to be ontically neutral?
+
+... The materialist account of real men can find no place for the fact that our imperfect apprehension is by phenomenal property and not by, for example, beliefs just spontaneously arising.4
+
+This objection common to Brandt and Campbell seems at first blush to be that one can only misdescribe things if one is not a "merely material system"-for such systems cannot have things appear to them differently from what they are. But this will not do as it stands, for, as I suggested earlier, the distinction between reality and appearance seems merely the distinction between getting things right and getting things wrong-a distinction which we have no trouble making for simple robots, servo-mechanisms, etc. To make the objection plausible we must say that "appearance" in the present context is a richer notion-one which has to be explicated by the notion of "phenomenal property." We must hold some principle like:
+
+(P) Whenever we make an incorrigible report on a state of ourselves, there must be a property we are presented with which induces us to make the report.
+
+But this principle, of course, enshrines the Cartesian notion that "nothing is closer to the mind than itself," and involves an entire epistemology and metaphysics, a specifically dualistic one.5 So it is not surprising, once we have encapsu-
+
+4 Keith Campbell, Body and Mind (New York, 1960), pp. 106-107, 109.
+
+S George Pitcher has worked out an account of the linguistic behavior we display in reporting pains without using such a premise. Pitcher takes pains to be reports of damaged peripheral tissue, whereas the Antipodeans take them to be reports of states of the central nervous
+
+lated this view in the notion of "phenomenal property," that "the materialist account ... can find no place for the fact that our imperfect apprehension is by phenomenal property."
+
+Still, we must ask whether there is some pre-philosophical intuition which is preserved in (P) and which can be separated from the Cartesian picture. What exactly is the difference between misdescribing something like a star and misdescribing something like a pain? Why does the former seem obviously possible and the latter unimaginable? Perhaps the answer goes something like this. We expect the star to look the same even after we realize that it is a faraway ball of flame rather than a nearby hole, but the pain ought to feel different once we realize that it is a stimulated C-fiber, for the pain is a feeling, as the star is not a visual appearance. If we give this answer, however, we are still stuck with the notion of "feeling" and with the puzzle about whether the Antipodeans have any feelings. What, we must ask, is the difference between feeling a pain and simply reacting to a stimulated C-fiber with the vocable "pain," avoidancebehavior, and the like? And here we are inclined to say: no difference at all from the outside, but all the difference in the world from the inside. The difficulty is that there will
+
+system. In his view, it is a mistake to think of the common-sense concept of pain as the concept of a mental particular. I would want to say that it is the concept of a mental particular, but claim that his analysis of the epistemological status of pains applies, mutatis mutandis, equally well wherever one stands on this question. See Pitcher, "Pain Perception," Philosophical Review 79 (1970), 368-393. Pitcher's general strategy is a defense of direct realism and is also found in his A Theory of Perception (Princeton, 1971) and in D. M. Armstrong, Perception and the Physical World (London and New York, 1961) and A Material· ist Theory of the Mind (London and New York, 1968). This strategy seems to me essentially right, and enough to show that the mentalparticular view is optional. But I am dubious about Pitcher's and Armstrong's metaphilosophical stance, which would make this view a philosopher's misconstrual of what we believe, rather than a correct account of what we believe (but need not continue to believe).
+
+never be any way in which we can explain this difference to the Antipodeans. The materialist Antipodeans think that we don't have any feelings, because they do not think there is such a thing as "feeling." The epiphenomenalist Antipodeans think that there may be such things, but cannot imagine why we make such a fuss about having them. The Terran philosophers who think that Antipodeans do have feelings but don't know it have reached the terminal stage of philosophizing mentioned by Wittgenstein: they just feel like uttering an inarticulate sound. They cannot even say to the Antipodeans that "it's different for us on the inside" because the Antipodeans do not understand the notion of "inner space"; they think "inside" means "inside the skull." There, they rightly remark, it isn't different. The Terran philosophers who think that the Antipodeans don't have feelings are in a better position only because they feel it beneath their dignity to argue with mindless beings about whether they have minds.
+
+We seem to be getting nowhere with pursuing the objection offered by Brandt and Campbell. Let us try another tack. In the materialist view, every appearance of anything is going to be, in reality, a brain-state. So, it would seem, the materialist is going to have to say that the "coarse" duplicate of a brain-state (the way stimulated C-fibers feel) is going to be another brain-state. But, we may then say, let that other brain-state be the referent of "pain" rather than the stimulated C-fibers. Every time the materialist says "but that's just our description of a brain-state," his opponent will reply, "Okay, let's talk about the brain-state which is the 'act of imperfect apprehension' of the first brain-state."6
+
+became visible to itself when slightly clouded. A neural
+
+And so the materialist seems to be pressed ever backwardwith the mental cropping up again wherever error does. It is as if man's Glassy Essence, the Mirror of Nature, only
+
+system can't have clouds but a mind can. So minds, we conclude, cannot be neural systems.
+
+Consider now how the Antipodeans would view "acts of imperfect apprehension." They would see them not as cloudy portions of the Mirror of Nature but as a result of learning a second-rate language. The whole notion of incorrigibly knowable entities, as opposed to being incorrigible about how entities seem to be-the 11Otion of "seemings" as themselves a kind of entity-strikes them as a deplorable way of speaking. The whole Terran vocabulary of "acts of apprehension," "cognitive states," "feelings," etc. strikes them as an unfortunate turn for a language to have taken. They see no way of getting us out of it except by proposing that we raise some of our children to speak Antipodean and see whether they don't do as well as a control group. The Antipodean materialists, in other words, see our notion of "mind and matter" as a reflection of an unfortunate linguistic development. The Antipodean epiphenomenalists are baffled by the question "What is the neural input to the Terrestrial speech center which produces pain reports as well as C-fiber reports?" Those Terrestrial philosophers who think that Antipodeans do have feelings think that the Antipodean language is "inadequate to reality." Those Terrestrial philosophers who think that the Antipodeans don't have feelings rest their case on a theory of language-development according to which the first things named are the things "better known to us"-raw feels-so that the absence of a name for feeling entails the absence of feeling.
+
+To sharpen the issue a bit further, perhaps we may drop from consideration the Antipodean epiphenomenalists and the Terrestrial skeptics. The former's problem about the neurology of pain reports seems insoluble; if they are to continue charitably to ascribe states to Earthmen which are unknown to Antipodeans they will have to swallow a whole dualistic system, irrefutable by further empirical inquiry, in order to explain our linguistic behavior. As for the Terran skeptic's claim that the Antipodeans have no raw feels, this is based entirely on the a priori dictum that one cannot have a raw feel and lack a word for it. Neither intellectual position-the extreme charity of the Antipodean epiphenomenalist and the parochial distrust of the Terrestrial skeptic-is attractive. We are left with the Antipodean materialist saying "They think they have feelings but they don't" on the one hand and Terrestrial philosophers saying "They have feelings but don't know it" on the other hand. Is there a way out of this impasse, given that every empirical result (brain-switching, etc.) seems to weigh equally on both sides? Are there powerful philosophical methods which will cut through the problem and either settle it or offer some . happy compromise?
+
+# 3. INCORRIGIBILITY AND RAW FEELS
+
+One philosophical method which will do no good at all is "analysis of meanings." Everybody understands everybody else's meanings very well indeed. The problem is that one side thinks there are too many meanings around and the other side too few. In this respect the closest analogy one can find is the conflict between inspired theists and uninspired atheists. An inspired theist, let us say, is one who "just knows" that there are supernatural beings which play certain explanatory roles in accounting for natural phenomena. (They are not to be confused with natural theologians-who offer the supernatural as the best explanation of these phenomena.) Inspired theists have inherited their picture of the universe as divided into two great ontological realms-the supernatural and the natural-along with their language. The way they talk about things is inextricably tied up with-or at least strikes them as inextricably tied up with-references to the divine. The notion of the supernatural does not strike them as a "theory" any more than the notion of the mental strikes us as a "theory." When they encounter atheists they view them as people who don't know what's going on, although they admit that atheists
+
+seem able to predict and control natural phenomena very nicely indeed. ("Thank heaven," they say, "that we are not as those natural theologians are, or we too might lose touch with the real.") The atheists view these theists as having too many words in their language and too many meanings to bother about. Enthusiastic atheists explain to inspired theists that " all there really is is ... ," and the theists reply that one should realize that there are more things in heaven and earth .... And so it goes. The philosophers on both sides may analyze meanings until they are blue in the face, but all such analyses are either "directional" and "reductive" (e.g., "noncognitive" analyses of religious discourse, which are the analogue of "expressive" theories of pain reports) or else simply describe alternative "forms of life," culminating in nothing more helpful than the announcement: "This language-game is played." The theists' game is essential to their self-image, just as the image of man's Glassy Essence is essential to the Western intellectual's, but neither has a larger context available in which to evaluate this image. Where, after all, would such a context come from?
+
+Well, perhaps from philosophy. When experiment and "meaning analysis" fail, philosophers have traditionally turned to system-building-inventing a new context on the spot, so to speak. The usual strategy is to find a compromise which will enable both those who favor Occam's Razor (e.g., materialists, atheists) and those who cling to what they "just know" to be viewed indulgently as having achieved "alternate perspectives" on some larger reality which philosophy has just adumbrated. Thus some tenderminded philosophers have risen above the "warfare between science and theology" and seen Bonaventure and Bohr as possessing different, noncompetitive "forms of consciousness." The question "consciousness of what?" is answered by something like "the world" or "the thing-in-itself" or "the sensible manifold" or "stimulations." It does not matter which of these is offered, since all are terms of art designed to name entities with no interesting features save placid neutrality. The analogue of this tactic among tough. minded philosophers of mind is neutral monism, in which the mental and the physical are seen as two "aspects" of some underlying reality which need not be described further. Sometimes we are told that this reality is intuited (Bergson) or is identical with the raw material of sensation (Russell, Ayer), but sometimes it is simply postulated as the only means of avoiding epistemological skepticism (james, Dewey). In no case are we told anything about it save that "we just know what it's like" or that reason (i.e., the need to avoid philosophical dilemmas) requires it. Neutral monists like to suggest that philosophy has discovered, or should look for, an underlying substrate, in the same way in which the scientist has discovered molecules beneath elements, atoms beneath molecules, and so on. But in fact the "neutral stuff" which is neither mental nor physical is not found to have powers or properties of its own, but simply postulated and then forgotten about (or, what comes to the same thing, assigned the role of ineffable
+
+datum).7 This tactic cannot help in coping with the question which the tough-minded Terrestrial philosophers raised 7 Urging that philosophers need to do more than this, Cornelius Kampe has suggested that the mind-body identity theory will make sense only if we provide "a theoretical framework (or an ontology for the common idiom) of such a type as to provide a link for the two diverse phenomena whose identity is asserted." His motive for this revival of neutral monism is his belief that making sense of an identity theory requires that "the subjective.objective distinction must be abandoned, as must the privileged status of first· person introspective reports." Such a change, he says, would "drastically affect the logic of our language." I think Kampe is right that giving up the subjective. objective distinction would have such a drastic effect, but wrong in thinking that giving up privileged access would. As I think Sellars has shown, and as I have been arguing here, the subjective-objective distinction (the notion of "seems") can get along quite well without the notions of "mind," "phenomenal property," etc. (Cf. Kampe, "Mind·Body Identity: A Question of Intelligibility," Philosophical Studies 25 [1974], 63-67.)
+
+about the Antipodeans: Do they have raw feels or don't they?
+
+The problem about the Antipodeans can be summarized as follows:
+
+- 1. It is essential to raw feels that they be incorrigibly knowable
+
+together with
+
+- 2. There is nothing which the Antipodeans think themselves incorrigible about
+
+seems to leave us either with
+
+- 3. The Antipodeans do not have raw feels
+
+or with
+
+- 4. The Antipodeans do not know about their own incorrigible knowledge.
+
+The trouble with (3) is that the Antipodeans have pretty much the behavior, physiology, and culture that we do. Further, we can train Antipodean infants to report raw feels, and take themselves to be incorrigible about them. These considerations seem to drive us toward (4). But (4) sounds silly, and needs at least to be softened to
+
+4'. The Antipodeans do not know about their own capacity for incorrigible knowledge
+
+which is a little odd but at least has a few parallels. (Compare "John XXIII had to be convinced by argument of his own infallibility upon succeeding to the papacy.") However, if we press (4'), the teachability of Antipodean infants seems to leave us up in the air between
+
+- 5. The Antipodeans can be taught to recognize their own raw feels
+
+5'. The Antipodeans can be taught, thanks to the presence of neural concomitants of raw feels, to simulate reports of raw feels without actually having any.
+
+One might hope to resolve this new dilemma by finding a bilingual Antipodean. But the bilingual does not have "inside" knowledge about the meanings of the foreign expressions; he just has the same sort of theory which the lexiconmaker has. Consider an adult Antipodean who has come to speak English. He says, "I am in pain" or the Antipodean for "My C-fibers are firing," depending on which he's speaking. If a Terran interlocutor tells him that he really isn't in pain he points out that the remark is a deviant utterance, and claims privileged access. When Antipodean interlocutors show him that his C-fibers aren't in fact firing he says something like "That's funny; they certainly seem to be. That's why 1 told the Terrans 1 was in pain," or perhaps something like "That's funny; I'm certainly in what the Terrans call 'pain,' and that never happens except when my C-fibers are firing." It is hard to see that he would have any strong preference for either locution, and harder to see that philosophers could make anything out of a preference if he had one. Once again, we seem driven to the rhetorical question "But what does it feel like?"-to which the bilingual Antipodean replies, "It feels like pain." When asked, "Doesn't it also feel like C-fibers?" he explains that there is no concept of "feeling" in Antipodean, and so it would not occur to him to say that he felt his C-fibers firing, although of course he is aware of it whenever they do.
+
+If this seems paradoxical, it is presumably because we think that "noninferential awareness" and "feeling" are pretty well synonymous. But pointing this out is no help. If we treat them as synonymous, then of course Antipodean does have the concept of a state called "feeling," but it still doesn't have the concept of "feelings" as intentional objects of knowledge. Antipodean has the verb but not the noun, so
+
+language can express the notion of "state such that one cannot be mistaken in thinking one is in it"-namely, the state of it seeming to one that ... -but still be puzzled about whether these states are the same things as the pains and other raw feels in which the Terrans are so interested. On the one hand, it seems all they could be talking about, for he remembers having learned to say "pain" when and only when his C-fibers seem to be firing. On the other hand, the Terrans insist that there is a difference between being in a state such that it seems to one that one is ... and having a raw feel. The former state is an epistemic position toward something about which doubt is possible. The latter state automatically puts one in an epistemic position toward something about which doubt is impossible.
+
+So the dilemma seems to boil down to this: We must affirm or deny
+
+- 6. any report of how something seems to one is a report of a raw feel.
+
+The only ground for affirming it seems to be that it is a corollary of the converse of (1), that is:
+
+- 7. It is essential to whatever is incorrigibly knowable that it be a raw feel.
+
+But (7) is just a form of the principle invoked by the Brandt-Campbell objection above, viz.:
+
+- (P) Whenever we make an incorrigible report on a state of ourselves, there must be a property which we are presented with which induces us to make the report
+
+and in this principle everything turns on the notion "presented with"-a notion which harks straight back to the metaphors of the "Eye of the Mind," "presence to consciousness," and the like, which are in turn derived from the initial image of the Mirror of Nature--o£ knowledge as a set of immaterial representations. If we adopt this principle, then, oddly enough, we can no longer be skeptics: the Antipodeans automatically have raw feels. We must choose (5) over (5'). Since we do not contest that it seems to some Antipodean that his stomach is cramped or his C-fibers firing, and since we grant incorrigibility to such reports, we must grant that he has some raw feels which are the "basis" for his seems-statements and which he could be trained to report by learning an appropriate vocabulary. But this means, paradoxically enough, that a species of behaviorism is entailed by the very principle that incarnates the Cartesian image of the Eye of the Mind-the very image which has often been accused of leading to the "veil of ideas" and to solipsism. We should only be able to be skeptics and assert (5')-that simulation might be all the Antipodeans could do-by holding that when the Antipodeans made seems-statements they were not really meaning what we meant by them, and that the deviance, in Antipodean, of the expression "You may be mistaken in saying that it seems to you that your C-fibers are firing" does not suffice to show that the Antipodeans have any incorrigible knowledge. That is, we should have to reconstrue the behavior which we initially took to be exhibited, and base our skepticism about their raw feels on a more general skepticism about their possession of knowledge (or of some kinds of knowledge). But it is difficult to see how we could make skepticism about this plausible except on some antecedent conviction that they were mindless-a conviction which would a fortiori rule out raw feels. So skepticism here will have to be groundless and Pyrrhonian.8 On the other 8 I want to distinguish between "mere," or Pyrrhonian, skepticism and the specifically "Cartesian" form of skepticism which invokes the "veil of ideas" as a justification for a skeptical attitude. "Pyrrhonian" skepticism, as I shall use the term, merely says, "We can never be cer· tain; so how can we ever know?" "Veil of ideas" skepticism, on the other hand, has something more specific to say, viz., "Given that we shall never have certainty about anything except the contents of our own minds, how can we ever justify an inference to a belief about any·
+
+hand, if we deny (6)-if we disengage seeming from the having of mental states and abandon the Cartesian pictures -then we have to face up to the possibility that we ourselves never had any feelings, any mental states, any minds, any Glassy Essence. This paradox seems so overwhelming as to drive us right back to (P) and the Mirror of Nature.
+
+So the problem comes down to a choice among three troubling possibilities. We have to either share our Glassy Essence with any being which seems to speak a language containing seems-statements, or become Pyrrhonian skeptics, or else face up to the possibility that this essence was never ours. If we grant (7) above-the premise which makes being a raw feel essential to being an object of incorrigible knowledge-then we must admit either (a) that the Antipodean language, just by virtue of containing some incorrigible reports, is about raw feels, or (b) that we shall never know whether the Antipodeans speak a language just because we shall never know whether they have raw feels, or (c) that the whole issue about raw feels is a fake because the example of the Antipodeans shows that we never had any raw feels ourselves.
+
+These three possibilities correspond roughly to three standard positions in the philosophy of mind-behaviorism, skepticism about other minds, and materialism. Rather than adopt any of these three, however, I suggest that we deny (7), and with it (P). That is, I suggest that we abandon the notion that we possess incorrigible knowledge by virtue of a special relation to a special kind of object called "mental objects." This suggestion is a corollary of Sellars's attack on the Myth of the Given. I shall present that attack in more detail in chapter four, but here I merely note that this myth is the notion that such epistemic relations as "direct knowledge" or "incorrigible knowledge" or "certain knowledge" are to be understood on a causal, para-mechan-
+
+skepticism, see Richard Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes (New York, 1964).
+
+ical model, as a special relation between certain objects and the human mind which enables knowledge to take place more easily or naturally or quickly. If we think of incorrigible knowledge simply as a matter of social practice -of the absence of a normal rejoinder in normal conversation to a certain knowledge·claim-then no principle like (7) or (P) will seem plausible.
+
+In the last two sections I have been treating "mental object" as if it were synonymous with "incorrigibly knowable object," and thus as if to have a mind were the same thing as having incorrigible knowledge. I have disregarded immateriality and the ability to abstract, which were discussed in chapter one, and intentionality, which will be discussed in chapter four. My excuse for pretending that the mind is nothing but a set of incorrigibly introspectible raw feels, and that its essence is this special epistemic status, is that the same pretense is current throughout the area called "philosophy of mind." This area of philosophy has come into existence in the thirty years since Ryle's The Concept of Mind. The effect of that book was to make issues about minds and bodies turn almost entirely on the cases which resisted Ryle's own logical behaviorist attempt to dissolve Cartesian dualism-namely, raw feels. Wittgenstein's discussion of sensations in Philosophical Investigations seemed to offer the same sort of attempt at dissolution. Thus many philosophers have taken it for granted that "the mindbody problem" was the question of whether raw feels could be viewed as dispositions to behave. Thus the only possibilities have seemed to be the ones I have just cited: (a) granting that Ryle and Wittgenstein were right, and that there are no mental objects, (b) saying that they were wrong, and that therefore Cartesian dualism stands intact, with skepticism about other minds a natural consequence, and (c) some form of mind-brain identity theory, according to which Ryle and Wittgenstein were wrong, but Descartes is not thereby vindicated.
+
+The effect of setting up the issues in this way is to focus
+
+on pains, while paying less attention to the side of the mind which is, or should be, of more concern to epistemology-beliefs and intentions. (The balance has been somewhat redressed in recent years thanks to philosophers of mind who try to build bridges with empirical psychology. Their work will be discussed in chapter five.) But it is still the case that "the mind-body problem" is thought of primarily as a problem about pains, and the distinctive point about pains is just the one mentioned by Kripke-that there seems no such thing as an appearance-reality distinction in regard to our knowledge of them. In fact, as I have tried to show in chapter one, this is only one of several "mind-body problems," each of which has contributed to the fuzzy notion that there is something especially mysterious about man which makes him capable of knowing, or of certain special sorts of knowing.
+
+For the remainder of this chapter, however, I shall try to support my claim that we should drop (P) and thus be neither dualists, skeptics, behaviorists, nor "identity-theorists." I do not know how to argue against (P) directly, since the claim that incorrigible knowledge is a matter of being presented with a phenomenal property is not so much a claim as an abbreviation for an entire theory-a whole set of terms and assumptions which center around the image of mind as mirroring nature, and which conspire to give sense to the Cartesian claim that the mind is naturally "given" to itself. It is this image itself which has to be set aside if we are to see through the seventeenth-century notion that we can understand and improve our knowing by understanding the workings of our mind. I hope to show the difference between setting it aside and adopting any of the positions which presuppose this image. So the remainder of this chapter is devoted to behaviorism, skepticism, and the mind-body identity theory, in an attempt to differentiate my position from each of these. In the concluding section of the chapter-"Materialism without Identity"-I attempt to say something more positive, but this attempt needs to be linked up with the discussion of other "mind-body problems" in chapter one in order to appear plausible.
+
+### 4. BEHAVIORISM
+
+Behaviorism is the doctrine that talk of "inner states" is simply an abbreviated, and perhaps misleading, way of talking of dispositions to behave in certain ways. In its Rylean or "logical" form-with which I shall be concerned in what follows-its central doctrine is that there is a necessary connection between the truth of a report of a certain raw feel and a disposition to such-and-such behavior. One motive for holding this view is a distrust of what Ryle called "ghosts in machines," the Cartesian picture of people, and another is the desire to prevent the skeptic about other minds from raising the question of whether the person writhing on the floor has feels of the sort which the skeptic himself would have when he writhes. In the logical behaviorist view, reports of such feels are to be taken not to refer to nonphysical entities, and perhaps not to any entities at all save to the writhing or the disposition to writhe.
+
+This doctrine has been attacked on the ground that there seems no way to fill in a description of the requisite disposition to behave without giving infinitely long lists of possible movements and noises. It has also been attacked on the ground that whatever "necessity" there is in the area is not a matter of "meaning" but simply an expression of the fact that we customarily explain certain behavior by reference to certain inner states-so that the necessity is no more "linguistic" or "conceptual" than that which connects the redness of the stove to the fire within. Finally, it has been attacked as the sort of philosophical paradox which would only occur to a mind obsessed with instrumentalist or verificationist dogma-eager to reduce all unobservables to observables in order to avoid any risk of believing in something unreal.
+
+All these criticisms are, I think, quite justified. The classic
+
+statements of logical behaviorism do indeed presuppose just the distinctions between observation and theory and between language and fact which philosophers would, as I shall argue in chapter four, do well to give up. But the feeling that the behaviorist is on to something remains. One point which he has going for him is that it seems absurd to suggest that we might someday, after years of fruitful conversation with the Antipodeans, have ground for saying, "Ah, no raw feels; so no minds; so no language, and not persons after all." The suggestion that we might find ourselves compelled to say that they had no raw feels makes us ask whether we can even imagine what such a compulsion could be like. It also makes us realize that even if we somehow were so compelled, we should almost certainly not draw the suggested inferences. On the contrary, we might begin to share the Antipodeans' bewilderment about why we had cared so much about this question. We should begin to appreciate the quizzical attitude which the Antipodeans adopt toward the whole topic-the same attitude with which the Polynesians viewed missionaries' preoccupation with the question "Are these descendants of Shem or of Ham?" The behaviorist's strong point is that the more one tries to answer them the more pointless the tough-minded philosopher's questions "Minds or no minds?" "Raw feels or no raw feels?" seem to become.
+
+But this good point begins to go bad as soon as it is put as a thesis about "necessary connections" established by "analysis of meanings." Ryle's insight was frustrated by the positivistic epistemology he inherited. Instead of saying that incorrigible knowledge was just a matter of what practices of justification were adopted by one's peers (the position which I shall call "epistemological behaviorism" in chapter four), he was led to say that a certain type of behavior formed a necessary and sufficient condition for the ascription of raw feels, and that this was a fact about "our language." He then was confronted by a stubborn problem. The fact that our language licensed the inference to the
+
+presence of such feels made it difficult, without falling back on materialism, to deny that there really were ghostly entities to report. Thus the two motives behind logical behaviorism came into conflict, since the desire to find a "logical" barrier to skepticism about other minds seems to lead back toward dualism. For if we take the notion that a given linguistic practice, a given piece of behavior, is enough (pace the skeptic) to show the necessity of raw feels within, in whatever sense raw feels exist, then it seems necessary to say that our conversational experience with the Antipodeans entails that they have raw feels in whatever sense we have raw feels. That is, it seems necessary to adopt the following view:
+
+(PI) The ability to speak a language which includes incorrigible seems-statements entails the presence of raw feels in speakers of that language, in whatever sense raw feels are present in us.
+
+It is easy to heap ridicule on the notion that we can discover the truth of such a claim by doing something called "analyzing meanings."9 It seems easy to say (with the skeptic) that we might have the ability without the feels. But it is hard, as Wittgenstein and Bouwsma have made clear, actually to tell a coherent story about what we have imagined. Despite this, (PI) has a certain plausibility. The reason it is plausible is that it is, once again, a corollary of:
+
+(P) Whenever we make an incorrigible report on a state of ourselves, there must be a property with which we are presented which induces us to make this report-
+
+a principle vital to the image of the Mirror of Nature. It is the picture according to which "appearance" is not just mistaken belief but mistaken belief generated by a particu-
+
+9 For a sample of such ridicule, see Hilary Putnam, "Brains and Behavior" in Mind, Language and Reality, vol. II (Cambridge, 1975).
+
+lar mechanism (a misleading thing getting before the Eye of the Mind) which makes the connection between behavior and raw feel seem so necessary. It is the picture according to which three things are involved when a person gets something wrong (or, by extension, right): the person, the object he is talking about, and the inner representation of that object.
+
+Ryle thought that he had eschewed this picture, but that he was unable to do so is shown by his attempt to show, paradoxically and fruitlessly, that there were no such things as incorrigible reports. Ryle was afraid that if there were any such reports, then something like (P) would have to be true in order to explain their existence. For he thought that if there were such a thing as an ability to make incorrigible noninferential reports on inner states, this would show that someone who knew nothing of behavior could know everything about inner states, and thus that Descartes was right after all. He rightly criticized the usual Cartesian account of introspection as a piece of "para-optics," but he did not have another account available and thus was forced into the impossible position of having to deny the phenomenon of privileged access altogether. He devoted the least convincing chapter of The Concept of Mind ("Self-Knowledge") to the paradoxical claim that "the sorts of things that I can find out about myself are the same as the sorts of things that I can find out about other people, and the methods of finding them out are much the same."10 The result was that many philosophers who agreed that Ryle had shown that beliefs and desires were not inner states agreed also that he had left raw feels untouched, and thus that a choice still had to be made between dualism and materialism.11
+
+10Gilbert Ryle, The Concept of Mind (New York, 1965), p. 155. The reference to "para·optics" is at p. 159· 11Sellars's "Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind" (in Science, Perception and Reality [London and New York, 1963]) took the first step beyond Ryle. Sellars showed that even though the fact that be-
+
+To put Ryle's mistake in other words, he believed that if one could show a "necessary connection" between ascriptions of behavioral dispositions and ascriptions of inner states, then one would have shown that there were really no inner states. But this instrumentalist non sequitur can be avoided, as can (P), while preserving the antiskeptical point that the behavior of the Antipodeans is quite enough evidence to warrant the attribution to them of as much or as little of an inner life as we ourselves possess. The metaphysical inference which the behaviorist is tempted to make-the inference that there is no Glassy Essence within -is, in isolation, as implausible as any other instrumentalist claim. (Compare: "There are no positrons; there are just dispositions on the part of electrons to .... " "There are no electrons; there are just dispositions on the part of macroscopic objects to .... " "There are no physical objects; there are just dispositions on the part of sense-contents to .... ") Stripped of its pretensions to rigor, the behaviorist position simply comes down to reminding us that the notion of raw
+
+havior is evidence for raw feels is "built into the very logic" of concepts of raw feels, this does not mean that there can be no raw feels, any more than the parallel point about macro· phenomena and microentities dictates the operationalist claims that there can be no microentities. Sellars there said what Ryle should have said in his chapter on "Self-Knowledge" but did not-viz\_, that introspective reporting was no more mysterious than any other noninferential report, and did not require the Myth of the Given (and thus did not require paraoptics) for its explanation. Unfortunately, however, Sellars did not draw the conclusion that, as Armstrong was later to say, there was no such thing as "logically privileged access" but only "empirically privileged access" (Armstrong, A Materialist Theory of the Mind [London, 1968], p. 108). This point, which is vital to the vi�w I am presenting in this book, is suggested by everything Sellars says, but Quine's attack on the logical-empirical distinction was required to make it possible to get around the shibboleth of "logically necessary connections" which Ryle had built into the philosophy of mind. As I suggest in chapter four, Sellars has never quite been able to swallow Quineanism full strength, and his talk of "the very logic of these concepts" was unfortunately in the Rylean tradition.
+
+feel only has a role in the context of a picture which connects certain sorts of behavior (introspective reports) with others (reports of physical objects) in terms of a certain image of what human beings (not just their minds) are like. The behaviorist is looking at the social role of the notion of "pain" and not attempting to burrow behind it to the ineffable phenomenological quality which pains have. The skeptic has to insist that it is this quality-which you only know of from your own experience-which counts. The reason why the behaviorist keeps edging himself into the paradoxical metaphysical position of denying that there are nondispositional mental causes for behavioral dispositions is put by Wittgenstein as follows:
+
+How does the philosophical problem about mental processes and states and about behaviorism arise?-The first step is the one that altogether escapes notice. We talk of processes and states and leave their nature undecided. Sometime perhaps we shall know more about them-we think. But that is just what commits us to a particular way of looking at the matter. For we have a definite concept of what it means to learn to know a process better. (The decisive movement in the conjuring-trick has been made, and it was the very one that we thought quite innocent.)12
+
+Alan Donagan provides an admirable gloss on this passage, saying that
+
+the Cartesians ... transformed the grammatical facts which we summed up in the proposition that sensation is non-dispositional and private into the grammatical fiction that sensations are states or processes in a private, and hence non-material, medium.
+
+The behaviorists, on the other hand,
+
+12 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (London and New York, 1953), pt. I, sec. 308.
+
+the first sort (and which are thus "reducible" to those of the first sort).
+
+The Cartesians thought that the only sorts of entities which were naturally suited to be directly present to consciousness were mental states. The behaviorists, at their epistemological best, thought that the only sort of entities directly present to consciousness were states of physical objects. The behaviorists prided themselves on escaping the notions of our Glassy Essence and the Inner Eye but they remained true to Cartesian epistemology in retaining the notion of an Eye of the Mind which got some things firsthand. Science, in this view, infers to other things entailed by "ground-floor" entities, and philosophy then reduces these other things back down again. The behaviorists gave up the notion that "nothing is better known to the mind than itself" but they kept the notion that some things were naturally knowable directly and others not, and the metaphysical corollary that only the first were "really real." This doctrine-that the most knowable was the most real-which George Pitcher has dubbed the "Platonic Principle,"15 added to the principle of the Naturally Given, produced either an idealistic or panpsychist reduction of the physical to the mental, or a behaviorist or materialist reduction in the other direction. The choice between the two sorts of reduction depends, I think, not so much on difficulties in psychology or philosophy but on one's general notion of what wisdom is like, and thus of what philosophy is good for. Is it to emphasize the aspects of man reached by public methods of common conversation and scientific inquiry? Or rather a personal and inarticulate sense of "something far more deeply interfused"? This choice has little to do with philosophical argument or with the image of the Mirror of Nature. But the image-and particularly the metaphor
+
+15 Cf. Pitcher, Theory of Perception, p. 23 and Plato, Republic 478B: "So if the real is the object of knowledge, then the object of belief must be something other than the real."
+
+of the Inner Eye-serves the purposes of both disputants equally well, which is why debate between them has been so lengthy and so inconclusive. Both have a clear sense of what is best known, and knowing a process means either knowing it that way, or else showing that it "really is nothing but" something else which is known that way.
+
+If we look at the controversy between the behaviorist and the skeptic about other minds from the Antipodean point of view, the first thing we realize is there is no place for the "Naturally Given." There is, to be sure, a place for the notion of "direct knowledge." This is simply knowledge which is had without its possessor having gone through any conscious inference. But there is no suggestion that some entities are especially well suited to be known in this way. What we know noninferentially is a matter of what we happen to be familiar with. Some people (those who sit in front of cloud-chambers) are familiar with, and make noninferential reports of, elementary particles. Others are familiar with diseases of trees, and can report "another case of Dutch elm disease" without performing any inferences. All Antipodeans are familiar with the states of their nerves, and all Terrans with their raw feels. The Antipodeans do not suggest that there is something suspiciously metaphysical or ghostly about raw feels-they just do not see the point of talking about such things instead of talking about one's nerves. Nor, of course, does it help if the Terrans explain that though (putting aside the possibility of unconscious inference) perhaps anything can be known noninferentially it does not follow that anything except certain naturally suitable entities can be known incorrigibly. For the Antipodeans do not have the notion of entities known incorrigibly but only of reports (seems-statements) which are incorrigible and which may be about any sort of entity. They understand that the Terrans do have the former notion, but they are baffled why they think they need it, although they can see how, in ignorance of neurology, a lot of strange notions might have become current.
+
+### 5. SKEPTICISM ABOUT OTHER MINDS
+
+When we turn to the skeptic about other minds-the person who emphasizes that there can be inner states without behaviorial accompaniments-we again have a perfectly sound intuition blown up into a paradox. The sound intuition is just that raw feels are as good particulars as tables or archangels or electrons-as good inhabitants of the world, as good candidates for ontological status. The question "Do the Antipodeans have raw feels?" is no fishier or more "metaphysical" than the question "Do they have red blood?" or "Do they have the moral sense?" Further, we do indeed have a special, superior way of knowing about our own raw feels-we have privileged access to private entities.
+
+This good point begins to turn bad, however, when the principle of the Naturally Given suggests that since raw feels are so very well known indeed, they must be entities of a very special sort-processes in a private "non-material medium," perhaps. It turns bad, so to speak, when more is made of man's Glassy Essence than the fact that man's knowledge is a Mirror of Nature, and when the question arises "What kind of special and marvelous material, or non-material, could do that mirroring?" There is nothing wrong, so to speak, with saying that people have to be pretty special to know so much more than the beasts of the field; even the Antipodeans say the same. But when we try to go from
+
+- to
+- 1. We know our minds better than we know anything else
+- 2. We could know all about our minds even if we knew nothing else
+
+to
+
+- 3. Knowing whether something has a mind is a matter of knowing it as it knows itself
+
+then we can never say why we should not be solipsists. The transition from ( 1 ) to (2) is made natural, though not necessitated, by the principle of the Naturally Given and the metaphor of the Inner Eye. For if we think of the Eye simply turning inward and spotting a raw feel, the whole complex of social institutions and behavioral manifestations which surround reports of such raw feels seems irrelevant. Just because it is irrelevant, we are impelled to move from (2) to (3)-all we shall ever know about our fellows (if we have any), we now say wistfully, is their behavior and their social position. We shall never know how it is with them within, if indeed there is any "within" there. The effect of this is that we stop thinking of our friends and neighbors as people and start thinking of them as husks surrounding a mysterious thing (the Glassy Essence, the private nonmate· rial medium) which only professional philosophers, perhaps, can describe but which we know (or hope) is there. The notion that introspection is a glimpse into another ontological realm is not (and here the Wittgensteinians are quite right) something whi�ecomes obvious when we actually do some introspecting. No haunting sense of spying on the uncanny comes over us when we turn the Eye of the Mind inward. The notion that we are doing so is a product of the epistemological notions which let us slide from ( 1 ) to (2) to (3). Here, as elsewhere, epistemology precedes, and tempts us into, metaphysics.
+
+But the artificial uncanniness produced by too much epistemology should not lead us (and here some Wittgensteinians are quite wrong) to think that there can be nothing inside at all. Nor should we think our privileged access to our own mental states is a mystery requiring either metaphysical defense or skeptical destruction. The force of the skeptic's original sound intuition can be brought out by emphasizing this last point. I shall do so by taking a critical look at TNittgensteinian arguments that mental entities have a sort of diminished ontological responsibility, and that the whole notion of "private" entities and of privileged access to them is somehow misguided. It has been emphasized by Strawson that Wittgenstein had two distinct sorts of "hostility"-one to privacy and one to immediacy. The latter, I think, was crucially important, but the former was entirely misguided.I6
+
+Consider the famous passage in which Wittgenstein says that a sensation "is not a something, but not a nothing eitherl The conclusion was only that a nothing would serve just as well as a something about which nothing could be said."17 This directs attention to the paradoxical thing about the skeptic's claim-the insistence that it is the "special incommunicable felt qualities" of inner states which matter. But if we distinguish between the claim that
+
+We have privileged access to our own pains
+
+and the claim that
+
+We know which mental states we are in purely by virtue of their special felt qualities
+
+we can avoid the paradox and let a sensation be as much a something as a table. The former claim merely says that there is no better way of finding out whether somebody is in pain than by asking him, and that nothing can overrule his
+
+16 Cf. P. F. Strawson, "Review of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations" in the anthology cited in note 13, p. 62. I have argued elsewhere that we can save Wittgenstein's epistemological insights, which center around the impossibility of learning the meaning of words without antecedent "stage-setting," without getting caught up in a hostility to privacy which led Wittgenstein to the edge of behaviorism and which led some of his followers over the edge. In the view I would recommend, Wittgenstein's critique of "pure ostensive definition" can be generalized into Sellars's doctrine that we cannot know the meaning of one word without knowing the meaning of a lot of others, and thus can be used to show what is wrong with the notion of the Eye of the Mind, without drawing any metaphysical corollaries. See my "Wittgenstein, Privileged Access, and Incommunicability," American Philosophical Quarterly 7 (1970), 192-205 and "Verificationism and Transcendental Arguments," Nous 5 (1971), 3-14.
+
+17Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, pt. I, sec. 304.
+
+own sincere report. The latter says that the mechanism which makes this privilege possible is his inspection of the "phenomenological properties" of his own mental states. To get from the first claim to the second we need the Cartesian model of self-knowledge as analogous to observation-the image of the Inner Eye-and the notion that stomach cramps, for example, are not Naturally Given in the way in which the feelings produced by stomach cramps are. This is the notion which, brought to bear on the Antipodeans, produces the notion that they can't be directly acquainted with their C-fibers but must be making an "unconscious" inference from "special, felt qualities."
+
+If we drop the notion that the only way in which we can have "direct knowledge" of an entity is by being acquainted with its "special, felt, incommunicable qualities," then we can have privileged access without paradox. We can drop this notion if, with Wittgenstein, we note that unless there were such a thing as typical pain behavior we would never be able to teach a child the meaning of, for example, "tooth· ache." More generally, we can note that the way in which the pre-linguistic infant knows that it has a pain is the way in which the record-changer knows the spindle is empty, the plant the direction of the sun, and the amoeba the temperature of the water. But this way has no connection with what a language-user knows when he knows what pain is�that it is mental rather than physical, typically produced by injured tissues, etc. The mistake which Wittgenstein exposed was to assume that we learn what a pain is in the second sense by casting linguistic garb over our knowledge of what pain is in the first sense-by clothing our direct acquaintance with special felt, incommunicable qualities in words (thus rendering ourselves forever skeptical about whether the same incommunicable quality is being named when our friends use the same word). The notion that knowledge in the first sense-the sort manifested by behavioral discrimination-is the "foundation" (rather than simply one possible causal antecedent) of knowledge in the
+
+second sense is itself one more product of the Cartesian model. For as long as it is thought that the Naturally Given is known through and through simply by being seen by the Inner Eye, it will seem odd to suggest that the behavior and environment which we must know about in order to use the word "pain" in ordinary conversation should have anything to do with what "pain" means. The image of the Mental Eye, combined with the notion that language consists of names of the Naturally Given plus abbreviations for instrumentalistic criteria for detecting the presence of all entities not Naturally Given, produces skepticism. For these assumptions guarantee that the facts about behavior and environment of which behaviorists and Wittgensteinians make much should seem irrelevant to the "essence" of pain. For that essence is determined simply by what is named.18
+
+From the Antipodean point of view, the notion of "private entities"-entities about which only one person has incorrigible knowledge-is strange but not incomprehensible. It strikes the Antipodeans as clear but pointless. What would strike them as unintelligible is the notion of entities so private, so to speak, that knowledge of them is not only privileged but incommunicable. These indeed, they might say, are not entities at all. Contrariwise, the Wittgensteinian temptation to suggest that sensations have some sort of halfway existence between nothings and somethings-that they "drop out" of the world like the beetles-in-boxes of Wittgenstein's famous analogy-comes from running to-
+
+18 One might argue about whether Wittgenstein's views on sensations were a corollary of his views about meaning, or whether the epistemological views reflected in the former entail his philosophy of language. I do not think that such an argument would be fruitful. As I shall suggest in chapter six, there is no particular reason to view philosophy of language as "prior" to other parts of philosophy. In particular, I do not think that disputes about the "theory of reference" (which I discuss in section 4 of chapter six) help to illuminate the issue which Kripke raises about the essence of pain in the passage cited in section 2 of this chapter. Questions about rigid designation leave questions about essence wide open.
+
+gether the notions of incorrigibility and incommunicability. If we assimilate the two, and realize the skeptical implications of incommunicability, then we will indeed be skeptical about privileged access to private entities. But this skepticism will not be the sort the Antipodeans have. They are skeptical because they think such entities and such access are de trop, not because they think that the notions of them are "conceptual confusions."
+
+Traditional Cartesian skeptics about other minds are of still a third sort. They just doubt whether other people have, for example, pains. This skepticism is no more refutable and no more interesting than skepticism about whether the table exists when there is no one about to perceive it. It is, after all, quite possible that tables vanish when nobody is around. It is quite possible that our companions always simulate pain-behavior without ever having any pains. It is quite possible that the world is a very different sort of place than we imagine. But this kind of skepticism would never have occupied philosophers' attention if it were not for the notion of the Naturally Given, and the consequent suggestion that everything (our friend's mind, as well as his table and his body) which is not a fragment of our own Inner Mirror-a part of our own Glassy Essence-is just a "posit," "an inference," "a construction," or something equally dubious which requires metaphysical system-building (Descartes, Kant) or discoveries about "our language" (Russell, Ayer) for its defense. Such redescriptions of reality or language are supposed to show that it is impossible for the skeptic to doubt what he doubts without making some wholesale intellectual mistake-"misunderstanding the nature of matter" (Kant) or "misunderstanding the logic of our language" (Ayer). But it is not impossible, it is just pointless, unless some further reason for doubt is given other than that certainty cannot be had.
+
+We should not think that philosophers of the seventeenth century misunderstood the nature of the mind by, so to speak, systematically distorting ordinary language (Ryle).
+
+Nor should we think that since the naive metaphysics of common sense generates skeptical problems we need to replace it by, say, a neutral monism (Spinoza), or a panpsychism (Whitehead, Hartshorne), or a materialism (Smart). The seventeenth century did not "misunderstand" the Mirror of Nature or the Inner Eye any more than Aristotle misunderstood natural motion or Newton gravity. They hardly could misunderstand it, since they invented it. The charge that this set of images inaugurated an era of philosophy which centered around epistemological skepticism is sound enough, but it is important to see that this was not because other minds were somehow especially susceptible to skepticism. They are no more susceptible than anything else that is outside one's own mind. The seventeenth century gave skepticism a new lease on life because of its epistemology, not its philosophy of mind. Any theory which views knowledge as accuracy of representation, and which holds that certainty can only be rationally had about representations, will make skepticism inevitable.
+
+The veil-of-ideas epistemology which took over philosophy in the seventeenth century transformed skepticism from an academic curiosity (Pyrrhonian skepticism) and a concrete and local theological issue (the authority of the church versus that of the individual reader of Scripture) into a cultural tradition.19 It did so by giving rise to a new philosophical genre-the system which brings subject and object together again. This reconciliation has been the goal of philosophical thought ever since. Ryle and Wittgenstein are misleading when they say that there must be something wrong with the seventeenth-century picture which has held us captive, on the ground that in ordinary life we have no difficulty telling what has a mind and what doesn't, nor
+
+19 See Popkin, Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes and Maurice Mandelbaum, Philosophy, Science, and Sense· Perception (Baltimore, 1964) for discussions of various factors which contributed to the formation of this tradition. For a more radical interpretation, see Jacques Maritain, The Dream of Descartes (New York, 1944).
+
+whether tables persist out of sight. It is as if we said that the imitation of Christ cannot be a suitable ideal because in ordinary life we have no trouble recognizing the bounds placed on love by prudence and self-interest. The images which generate philosophical (and poetic) traditions are not likely to be attended to outside the study, just as the counsels of perfection which religion proffers are not likely to be noticed on weekdays. If philosophy is an attempt to see how "things, in the largest sense of the term, hang together, in the largest sense of the term," then it will always involve the construction of images which will have characteristic problems and will beget characteristic genres of writing. One may wish to say, as I do, that the seventeenth-century image is outworn-that the tradition which it inspired has lost its vitality. But that is quite a different criticism from saying that this tradition misunderstood something or failed to solve a problem. Skepticism and the principal genre of modern philosophy have a symbiotic relationship. They live one another's death, and die one another's life. One should see philosophy neither as achieving success by "answering the skeptic," nor as rendered nugatory by realizing that there is no skeptical case to be answered. The story is more complicated than that.
+
+### 6. MATERIALISM WITHOUT MIND-BODY IDENTITY
+
+Like the behaviorist and the skeptic about other minds, the materialist has a sound intuition which becomes paradoxical when stated in the vocabulary of the tradition to which it is a reaction. Encouraged by reflection on the Antipodeans, the materialist thinks it likely that reference to neurological microstructures and processes may replace reference to short-term mental states (sensations, thoughts, mental images) in the explanation of human behavior. (If he is wise, he does not think the same for beliefs, desires, and other long-term-and not incorrigibly knowablemental states, but is content to view them as properties of persons rather than of minds, in the manner of Ryle.) Not content with this plausible prediction, however, he wishes to say something metaphysical. The only thing to be said seems to be that "mental states are nothing but neural states." But this sounds paradoxical. So he tries various tactics to mitigate the paradox. One such tactic is to say that the nature of the mind has so far been misunderstood, and that once we understand it correctly we shall see that it is not paradoxical to say that it may turn out to be the nervous system. Behaviorism is one form of this tactic, and it is compatible with materialism in the sense that the claim:
+
+When we talk about mental events we are really talking about behavioral dispositions
+
+though not compatible with:
+
+When we talk about mental events we are really talking about neural events
+
+is compatible with:
+
+There are, however, other things relevant to prediction and explanation of behavior than the systematic interrelationships of dispositions with events in the external world, and among these are the neural events which sometimes cause the onset of such dispositions.
+
+It has been customary in recent discussions, however, to take behaviorism and materialism as two quite different ways-mild and violent, respectively-of modifying the seventeenth-century picture of the mind. In this spirit, materialists have fastened on those mental entities most recalcitrant to Ryle's dispositional analyses-the raw feels, the passing thoughts, the mental images-and tried to show that these are to be construed, roughly, as "whatever it is which causes the onset of certain behavior or behavioral dispositions." This so-called topic-neutral analysis of the mind (by, especially, J.J.C. Smart and David Armstrong) runs into trouble, however, over the intuitive distinction between "whatever mental state it is which causes the onset ... " and "whatever physical state it is which causes the onset. ... " To put it another way, the intuition that there is some difference between materialism and parallelism makes us feel that there is something misleading, or at least incomplete, in topic-neutral accounts of what makes the mental mental. Or, to put it still another way, if our notion of "mind" is what topic-neutral analyses say it is, it is very hard to explain the existence of a mind-body problem.20 We may say that the lack of a fine-grained neurological account promoted the notion that there is something distinctive about the mind-that it must be something ghostlybut this tactic simply splits the traditional notion of the mental into two parts: the causal role and the Glassy Essence believed to play this causal role. Topic-neutral analyses obviously cannot capture, and do not want to capture, the latter. But it seems mere gerrymandering to split our concept of a "mental state" into the portion which is compatible with materialism and the portion which is not, and then say that only the former is "essential" to the concept.21
+
+We can put the attempt at "topic-neutral" analyses in perspective by seeing it as one way to get around the following argument for dualism:
+
+- 1. Some statements of the form "I just had a sensation of pain" are true
+- 2. Sensations of pain are mental events
+- 3. Neural processes are physical events
+- 4. "Mental" and "physical" are incompatible predicates
+- 5. No sensation of pain is a neural event
+- 6. There are some nonphysical events
+
+20 See M. C. Bradley's "Critical Notice" of J.J.C. Smart's Philosophy and Scientific Realism, Australasian Journal of Philosophy 42 (1964), 262-283, on this point. My own "Incorrigibility as the Mark of the Mental," Journal of Philosophy 67 (1970), 399-424, begins with a discussion of this point, and was inspired by Bradley's review of Smart.
+
+21 Doing so is the inverse of Kripke's Cartesian claim that the "immediate phenomenological quality" of pain is essential to it.
+
+Ryleans, and some Wittgensteinians, taking mentality to consist in accessibility to privileged access, and indulging what Strawson calls "a hostility to privacy," deny (2). Panpsychists have denied (3).22 "Reductive" materialists such as Smart and Armstrong, who offer "topic-neutral" analyses of mentalistic terms, challenge (4). "Eliminative" materialists like Feyerabend and Quine deny (1). This last position claims the advantage over the "reductive" version of not having to offer revisionary "analyses" of terms, and thus not having to get involved with dubious notions such as "meaning" and "analysis." It does not say that we have been misleadingly calling neural processes "sensations," but merely that there are no sensations. Nor does it say that the meaning of the term sensation can be analyzed in such a way as to produce such unexpected results as the denial of (4). It is fully "Quinean" and wholly anti-Rylean in the sense that it happily accepts all the things which the dualist would like to construe the man in the street as saying, and merely adds, "So much the worse for the man in the street."
+
+This position seems to hold out hope of a sense in which the materialists' metaphysical claim "Mental states are nothing but neural states" can be cheaply bought. For now it can be defended without the need to do anything as laborious or as shady as "philosophical analysis." We can say that although in one sense there just are no sensations, in another sense what people called "sensations," viz., neural states, do indeed exist. The distinction of senses is no more sophisticated than when we say that the sky does not exist,
+
+22 Hartshorne and Whitehead are perhaps the clearest examples in recent philosophy. I have argued against Whitehead's version of this doctrine in "The Subjectivist Principle and the Linguistic Turn" in Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy, ed. George Kline (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1963). A panpsychist view is also suggested by Thomas Nagel's proposal for an "objective phenomenology" which would "permit questions about the physical basis of experience to assume a more intelligible form" ("What Is It Like to Be a Bat?" Philosophical Review 83 [1974], 449). However, in both Hartshorne and Nagel, panpsychism tends to merge with neutral monism.
+
+but that there is something which people call the sky (the appearance of a blue dome as a result of refracted sunlight) which does exist (although, as the prevalence of the Brandt-Campbell objection discussed in section 2 shows, the analogy cannot be pressed so as to make a mental state the "appearance" of a neural state). So it looks as if the argument for dualism above can be handled by saying that all the dualist is entitled to is the following premise:
+
+I . Some statements of the form "I just had a sensation of pain" are as properly taken as true as "The sky is overcast" and "The sun is rising," but none of them is true.
+
+If we substitute (I') for ( I ) in the argument, then we will substitute the following for (2):
+
+2 '. If there were any sensations of pain, they would be mental events
+
+and then draw the conclusion:
+
+6'. The things which people have been calling "sensations" are physical (and, specifically, neural) events.
+
+We can then conclude that although there are no mental events, the things which people have called mental events are physical events, even though "mental" and "physical" are as incompatible as "rising above the horizon" and "standing still."
+
+This attempt at a cheap version of the identity of minds and brains will work well enough if we refrain from pressing questions about criteria of identity of reference, just as topic-neutral analyses will work well enough if we refrain from pressing questions about identity of meaning. 1 do not, however, think that there are criteria for the identity of either which are useful in philosophically controversial cases. So 1 do not think that "eliminative materialism" is a more plausible version of the thesis of mind-brain identity than "reductive materialism." When we try to make sense of any claim of the form "There aren't really any X's; what you have been talking about are nothing but Y's," it is always possible to object that (a) "X" refers to X's, and (b) we cannot refer to what does not exist. So to get around this standard criticism the eliminative materialist would have to say either that "sensation" does not refer to sensations, but to nothing at all, or that "refer" in the sense of "talk about" is not subject to (b). Either line is defensible, and I defend the second in discussing the notion of reference in connection with the so-called problem of conceptual change in chapter six below. But since I think that the reductive and eliminative versions of the identity theory are both merely awkward attempts to throw into current philosophical jargon our natural reaction to an encounter with the Antipodeans, I do not think that the difference between the two should be pressed. Rather, they should both be abandoned, and with them the notion of "mind-body identity." The proper reaction to the Antipodean story is to adopt a materialism which is not an identity theory in any sense, and which thus avoids the artificial notion that we must wait upon "an adequate theory of meaning (or reference)" before deciding issues in the philosophy of mind.23
+
+23 This is not to say that the controversies surrounding the reductive and eliminative forms of the identity theory have been pointless. On the contrary, I think that they have been very useful, and particularly so because of their interplay with questions in the philosophy of language. But I think that the upshot of this interplay has been, first, to bolster Quine's view that the notion of "sameness of meaning" cannot be invoked to solve philosophical problems where the notion of "coextensive" has failed, and, second, to show that the sense of "really talking about" used in such discussions as that about materialism is not interestingly connected with the Fregean notion of reference (in which one cannot refer to what does not exist). (The latter point is argued in chapter six.) Having adopted an eliminative materialist position some years ago ("Mind-Body Identity, Privacy and Categories," Review of Metaphysics 19 [1965], 25-54), I am very grateful to the people whose criticisms of this article eventually led me to what I hope is a clearer understanding of the issues. I am especially indebted to publications by, or conversations with, Richard Bernstein, Eric Bush,
+
+This amounts to saying, once again, that the materialist should stop reacting to stories such as that about the Antipodeans by saying metaphysical things, and confine himself to such claims as "No predictive or explanatory or descriptive power would be lost if we had spoken Antipodean all our lives." It is pointless to ask whether the fact that cerebroscopes correct Antipodean reports of inner states shows that they are not mental states, or shows rather that mental states are really neural states. It is pointless not just because nobody has any idea how to resolve the issue, but because nothing turns on it. The suggestion that it has a clear-cut answer depends upon the pre-Quinean notion of "necessary and sufficient conditions built into our language" for the application of the terms "sensation," "mental," and the like, or upon some similar essentialism.24 Only a philosopher with a lot invested in the notion of "ontological status" would need to worry about whether a corrigibly re-
+
+David Coder, James Cornman, David Hiley, William Lycan, George Pappas, David Rosenthal, Steven Savitt, and Richard Sikora. The reader interested in following up the similarities and differences be· tween reductive and eliminative materialism might consult Cornman,
+
+Materialism and Sensations (New Haven, 1971), Lycan and Pappas, "What Is Eliminative Materialism?" Australasian Journal of Philosophy 50 (1972), 149-159, Bush, "Rorty Revisited," Philosophical Studies 25 (1974), 33-42, and Hiley, "Is 'Eliminative Materialism' Materialism?" Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 38 (1978), 325'337.
+
+24 I injudiciously invoked such a notion in "Incorrigibility as the Mark of the Mental," cited in note 20 above. I there concluded that the development of due respect for cerebroscopes would mean the discovery that there had never been any mental events. But this is overdramatized, and tries to establish more of a difference between eliminative and reductive materialism than (as Lycan and Pappas have shown) there really is. I have been greatly helped to see the flaws in my earlier view by correspondence with David Coder concerning his "The Funda· mental Error of Central State Materialism," American Philosophical Quarterly 10 (1973), 28g-298, and with David Rosenthal concenting his "Mentality and Neutrality," Journal of Philosophy 73 (1976), 386- 415.
+
+portable pain was "really" a pain or rather a stimulated Cfiber. 25
+
+If we stop asking questions about what counts as "mental" and what does not, and instead recall that incorrigibility is all that is at issue in puzzles about the Antipodeans, then we can see the argument for dualism offered above as an overdramatized version of the following argument:
+
+- 1. Some statements of the form "I just had a sensation of pain" are true 2'. Sensations of pain are incorrigibly reportable 3'. Neural events are not incorrigibly reportable 4'. Nothing can be both corrigibly and incorrigibly reportable
+- 5. No sensation of pain is a neural event
+
+Here the temptation to avoid (5) by denying (1 ) is much less great, for (4') is more easily criticized than ,(4). It is hard to say that "mental" really means "something that might turn out to be physical," just as it is hard to say that "criminal behavior" really means "behavior which might turn out to be innocent." That is why detailed attempts at topicneutral analysis in hopes of denying (4) seem foredoomed. But it is relatively easy to deny (4') and say that something can be corrigibly reportable (by those who know neurology)
+
+25 But this is not to say that the Antipodeans would have no impact on philosophy. The disappearance of psychology as a discipline distinct from neurology, and similar cultural developments, might eventually free us from the image of the Mirror of Nature much more effectively than philosophers' identity theories. Outside of philosophy, there would be a bit of "blurring" in ordinary speech (a bit of "not knowing what to say" when the sincere introspector defied the cerebroscope), but common sense, language, and culture have survived worse muddles than this. Compare, for example, conversations between moralistic judges and psychiatrists who produce a case history to show that "criminal" is inappositely applied to the accused's behavior. Nobody but an overzealous philosopher would think that there was an essence of "crime" determined by looking at, for example, "our language" and capable of resolving judges' dilemmas.
+
+and incorrigibly reportable (by those who don't), as easy as to say, "Something can be treated rather than punished (by those who understand psychology) and punished rather than treated (by those who don't)." For in both these latter examples we are talking about social practices rather than "intrinsic properties of the entities in question" or "the logic of our language." It is easy to imagine different social practices in regard to the same objects, actions, or events, depending upon the degree of intellectual and spiritual development of the culture in question ("higher" stages of development being, pace Hegel, those in which Spirit is
+
+less self-conscious). So by denying (4') we seem to open the way for denying (5), and saying that "sensation" and "brain process" are just two ways of talking about the same thing. Having earlier heaped scorn on both neutral monists and identity theorists, I may now seem to be edging into their camp. For the question now arises: Two ways of talking about what? Something mental or something physical?
+
+But here, I think, we have to resist our natural metaphysical urge, and not reply, "A third thing, of which both mentality and physicality are aspects." It would be better at this point to abandon argument and fall back on sarcasm, asking rhetorical questions like "What is this mental-physical contrast anyway? Whoever said that anything one mentioned had to fall into one or other of two (or half-a-dozen) ontological realms?" But this tactic seems disingenuous, since it seems obvious (once the psychology departments stop doing experiments with questionnaires and slide shows, and just do it all with cerebroscopes) that "the physical" has somehow triumphed.
+
+But what did it triumph over? The mental? What was that? The practice of making incorrigible reports about certain of one's states? That seems too small a thing to count as an intellectual revolution. Perhaps, then, it triumphed over the sentimental intellectual's conviction that there was a private inner realm into which publicity, "scientific meth-
+
+od," and society could not penetrate. But this is not right either. The secret in the poet's heart remains unknown to the secret police, despite their ability to predict his every thought, utterance, and movement by monitoring the cerebroscope which he must wear day and night. We can know which thoughts pass through a man's mind without understanding them. Our inviolable uniqueness lies in our poetic ability to say unique and obscure things, not in our ability to say obvious things to ourselves alone.
+
+The real difficulty we encounter here is, once again, that we are trying to set aside the image of man as possessor of a Glassy Essence, suitable for mirroring nature with one hand, while holding on to it with the other. If we could ever drop the whole cluster of images which Antipodeans do not share with us, we would not be able to infer that matter had triumphed over spirit, science over privacy, or anything over anything else. These warring opposites are notions which do not make sense outside of a cluster of images inherited from the Terran seventeenth century. No one except philosophers, who are professionally obligated to take these images seriously, will be scandalized if people start saying, "The machine told me that it didn't really hurt-it only, very horribly, seemed to." Philosophers are too involved with notions like "ontological status" to take such developments lightly, but no other part of culture is. (Consider the fact that only philosophers remain perplexed about how one can have unconscious motives and desires.) Only the notion that philosophy should provide a permanent matrix of categories into which every possible empirical discovery and cultural development can be fitted without strain impels us to ask unanswerable questions like "Would this mean that there were no minds?" "Were we wrong about the nature of the mind?" "Were the Antipodeans right in saying, 'There never were any of those things you called "raw feels" '?"
+
+Finally, the same overambitious conception of philosophy, stemming from the same set of seventeenth-century
+
+images, is responsible for materialists' fears that unless cerebral localization and "philosophical analysis" cooperate to "identify" the mind and the body, then "the unity of science" is endangered. If we follow Sellars in saying that science is the measure of all things, then we shall not worry about cerebral localization turning out to be a flop, much less about materialist "analyses" of our everyday mentalistic vocabulary succumbing to counter-examples. We shall not interpret either failure as showing that science has all the while been riding on two horses-one solid and one ghostly -which may start galloping off in opposite directions at any moment. Science's failure to figure out how the brain works will cause no more danger to science's "unity" than its failure to explain mononucleosis, or the migration of butterflies, or stockmarket cycles. Even if neurons turn out to "swerve"-to be buffeted by forces as yet unknown to science-Descartes would not be vindicated. To think otherwise is to commit the fallacy of omne ignotum pro spectro -taking everything one cannot understand to be a ghost, something known in advance to be beyond the reach of science, and which must therefore be despairingly handed over to philosophy.26 If we do not think of philosophy as supply-
+
+26 This point can be made a bit more precisely by using Meehl and Sellars's distinction between "physical." ("an event or entity is physical, if it belongs in the space-time network") and "physical." ("an event or entity is physical. if it is definable in terms of theoretical primitives adequate to describe completely the actual states though not necessarily the potentialities of the universe before the appearance of life"). This distinction (drawn in "The Concept of Emergence," Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science, I [1956], 252) can be multiplied to distinguish "physical." from appropriate senses of "physicaln" defined in terms of "the universe before the appearance of linguistic behavior" (" ... of intentional action," "of beliefs and desires," etc.). For any such distinction, the point to be emphasized is that science's failure to explain something in terms of physicaln (for n greater than I) entities does nothing to show that the explanation must be in terms of nonphysical. entities. The point is put to good use by Geoffrey Hellman and Frank Thompson in "Physicalism: Ontology, Determination and Reduction," Journal of Philosophy 72 (1975), 551 -564 and "Physicalist
+
+ing a permanent ontological frame for any possible scientific result (consisting, e.g., of categories like "mental" and "physical") we shall not think of science's failure as a vindication of Descartes, any more than we regard science's failure to explain the origin of the first living cell as a vindication of Aquinas. If the neurons do swerve, or if the brain works holistically rather than atomistically, this does not help show that we do, after all, have clear and distinct ideas of "the mental" and "the physical." These so-called ontological categories are simply the ways of packaging rather heterogenous notions, from rather diverse historical sources, which were convenient for Descartes's own purposes. But his purposes are not ours. Philosophers should not think of his artificial conglomerate as if it were a discovery of something preexistent-a discovery which because "intuitive" or "conceptual" or "categorical" sets permanent parameters for science and philosophy.
+
+### 7. EPISTEMOLOGY AND "THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND"
+
+I hope that the two chapters on the "mind-body problem" which the reader has just finished have persuaded him of at least the following points:
+
+Unless we are willing to revive Platonic and Aristotelian notions about grasping universals, we shall not think that knowledge of general truths is made possible by some special, metaphysically distinctive, ingredient in human beings.
+
+Unless we wish to revive the seventeenth century's somewhat awkward and inconsistent use of the Aristotelian notion of "substance" we shall not make sense of the notion of two ontological realms-the mental and the physical.
+
+Materialism," Nous 11 (1977), 309-346. Their version of "materialism without identity" should be compared with Davidson's in his "Mental Events" (discussed irl chapter four below).
+
+Unless we wish to affirm what I have called Principle (P)-roughly, the claim that a distinctive metaphysical property of "presence to consciousness" grounds some of our noninferential reports of our states-we shall not be able to use the notion of "entities whose appearance exhausts their reality" to bolster the mental-physical distinction.
+
+The notion that there is a problem about mind and body originated in the seventeenth century's attempt to make "the mind" a self-contained sphere of inquiry. The idea was to offer a para-mechanical account of mental processes which, somehow, would underwrite some claims to knowledge and disallow other claims. The paradigm of the "epistemological turn" taken by philosophy in the seventeenth century was what Kant called "the physiology of the human understanding of the celebrated Mr. Locke"-a causal account of mental processes which is supposed to criticize and justify knowledge-claims. To get this notion off the ground required the Cartesian replacement of the ancient and medieval problem of reason by the modern problem of consciousness. If what I have been saying in the past two chapters is right, the persistence of notions like the "mindbody problem" and "the philosophy of mind" is due to the persistence of the notion that there is some link between the older notions of reason or personhood and the Cartesian notion of consciousness. Part II of this book attempts to dissolve the modern version of the problem of reasonthe notion that there is a problem about the possibility or extent of accurate representation which is the concern of a discipline called "epistemology." Insofar as it succeeds, this attempt frees us from the notion of human knowledge as an assemblage of representations in a Mirror of Nature, and thus reinforces the claim of part I that we can do witho.ut the notion of our Glassy Essence. If knowledge is not a matter of accuracy of representations, in any but the most trivial and unproblematic sense, then we need no inner mirror, and there is thus no mystery concerning the relation of that mirror to our grosser parts.
+
+Even if the problems of consciousness and reason are both dissolved, however, that of personhood might seem to remain intact, since this notion draws on our moral intuitions, intuitions which seem unlikely to be merely the results of misguided Greek or seventeenth-century attempts to construct models of knowing or of the mind. Insofar as personhood is discussed in this book, it is in part III, in connection with the notion of "philosophy." There I try to show how the peculiarly philosophical project of picking out which entities are persons, and therefore possess moral dignity, on the basis of some "objective criterion"-for example, their possession of a Glassy Essence-is a confusion between, roughly, science and ethics. Part III tries to suggest a way of viewing our moral consciousness which avoids this idea.
+
+Parts II and III thus pick up the notions which I listed in chapter one, section 3, above as "marks of the mental" but have not discussed in part 1. They suggest ways of handling these notions-for example, intentionality, moral dignity-once the notion of a special mental ingredientour Glassy Essence-is dropped. So I hope that some of the doubts which have emerged in the reader's mind in the course of part I, and some of the questions which may have been left dangling, will be resolved in the remainder of the book.
+
+# PART TWO
+
+# Mirroring
+
+# The Idea of a "Theory of Knowledge"
+
+### l. EPISTEMOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY'S SELF-IMAGE
+
+The notion that there is an autonomous discipline called "philosophy," distinct from and sitting in judgment upon both religion and science, is of quite recent origin. When Descartes and Hobbes denounced "the philosophy of the schools" they did not think of themselves as substituting a new and better kind of philosophy-a better theory of knowledge, or a better metaphysics, or a better ethics. Such distinctions among "fields of philosophy" were not yet drawn. The idea of "philosophy" itself, in the sense in which it has been understood since the subject became standardized as an academic subject in the nineteenth century, was not yet at hand. Looking backward we see Descartes and Hobbes as "beginning modern philosophy," but they thought of their own cultural role in terms of what Lecky was to call "the warfare between science and theology." They were fighting (albeit discreetly) to make the intellectual world safe for Copernicus and Galileo. They did not think of themselves as offering "philosophical systems," but as contributing to the efflorescence of research in mathematics and mechanics, as well as liberating intellectual life from ecclesiastical institutions. Hobbes defined "philosophy" as "such knowledge of effects of appearances, as we acquire by true ratiocination from the knowledge we have first of their causes of generation."l He had no wish to distinguish what he was doing from something else called "science." It was not until after Kant that our modern philosophy-science distinction took hold. Until the power of the
+
+1Thomas Hobbes, De Corpore, chap. I, sec. 2.
+
+churches over science and scholarship was broken, the energies of the men we now think of as "philosophers" were directed toward demarcating their activities from religion. It was only after that battle had been won that the question of separation from the sciences could arise.
+
+The eventual demarcation of philosophy from science was made possible by the notion that philosophy's core was "theory of knowledge," a theory distinct from the sciences because it was their foundation. We now trace that notion back at least to Descartes's Meditations and Spinoza's De Emendatione Intellectus, but it did not achieve self-consciousness until Kant. It did not become built into the structure of academic institutions, and into the pat, unreflective self-descriptions of philosophy professors, until far into the nineteenth century. Without this idea of a "theory of knowledge," it is hard to imagine what "philosophy" could have been in the age of modern science. Metaphysics-considered as the description of how the heavens and the earth are put together-had been displaced by physics. The secularization of moral thought, which was the dominating concern of European intellectuals in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, was not then viewed as a search for a new metaphysical foundation to take the place of theistic metaphysics. Kant, however, managed to transform the old notion of philosophy-metaphysics as "queen of the sciences" because of its concern with what was most universal and least material-into the notion of a "most basic" discipline-a foundational discipline. Philosophy became "primary" no longer in the sense of "highest" but in the sense of "underlying." Once Kant had written, historians of philosophy were able to make the thinkers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries fall into place as attempting to answer the question "How is our knowledge possible?" and even to project this question back upon the ancients.2
+
+2 On the difference between histories of philosophy written before and after Kant, see Maurice Mandelbaum, "On the Historiography of
+
+This Kantian picture of philosophy as centered in epistemology, however, won general acceptance only after Hegel and speculative idealism had ceased to dominate the intellectual scene in Germany. It was only after people like Zeller began saying that it was time to stop throwing up systems and to get down to the patient labor of sorting out the "given" from the "subjective additions" made by
+
+Philosophy," Philosophy Research Archives, vol. II (1976); John Pass· more's article on "Historiography of Philosophy" in The Encyclopedia of Philosophy (New York, 1967); Lucien Braun, Histoire de I'Histoire de la Philosophie (Paris, 1973), esp. chap. 5; Victor Cousin, Introduction d I'Histoire de la Philosophie (Paris, 1868), douzieme le,>on, "Des Historiens de la Philosophie." Mandelbaum (p. 713) says of the frequency with which the concept of the history of philosophy was discussed in the last decade of the eighteenth century in Germany that "I believe it to be the case-although my documentation is insufficient to make this more than a conjecture-that this discussion must have been instigated through the impact of Kant's work in that period : by the sense that his system was at one and the same time an end and a new beginning." All these writers emphasize the contrast between Brucker's Historia Critica Philosophiae of 1742-1 767 and the histories of Tiedemann (Geist der spekulativen Philosophie, 1791-1797) and Tennemann (Geschichte der Philosophie, 1789-1819). Brucker devotes about one-tenth of his space to the modern "syncretic philosophers" (i.e., those who do not fit into one of the ancient schools) and includes (besides the now standard sequence consisting of Bacon, Descartes, Hobbes, Spinoza, etc.) some twenty-odd other figures (e.g., Machiavelli, Kepler, Boyle). These are dropped from consideration by Tiedemann, who originates the canonical short list of "great modern philosophers." Tennemann tells us that "the history of philosophy is the exhibition of the successive stages in the development of philosophy, the exhibition of the strivings of Reason to realize the idea of a science of the ultimate bases and laws of Nature and of Freedom," having previously told us that reason begins with the faculty of "unifying the manifold of representations," and continues from there to the ultimate unification of scientific thought. (Geschichte der Philosophie, vol. I, Leipzig, 1798, pp. xxix, xxvi.) His history of philosophy already has the "dramatic" quality which we associate with Hegel's. He gives us both a canon of those who are to count as philosophers, based on how closely their work can be thought to resemble Kant's, and the notion of progress in philosophy from the ancients to the moderns.
+
+the mind that philosophy could be thoroughly professionalized.a The "back to Kant" movement of the 1860s in Germany was also a "let's get down to work" movement-a way of separating the autonomous nonempirical discipline of philosophy from ideology on the one hand and from the rising science of empirical psychology on the other. The picture of "epistemology-and-metaphysics" as the "center of philosophy" (and of "metaphysics" as something which emerges out of epistemology rather' than vice versa), which was established by the neo-Kantians, is the one built into philosophy curricula today.4 The expression theory of knowledge itself attained currency and respectability only after Hegel had gone stale. The first generation of Kant's admirers used Vernunftkritik as a handy label for "what
+
+a Cf. Edouard Zeller, "Ober Bedeutung und Aufgabe der Erkenntnistheorie" in Vortrage und Abhandlungen, Zweite Sammlung (Leipzig, 1877), p. 495. Zeller's essay is one of a long sequence since Kant which announces that the day of the philosophical amateur is over and that the professionals are now in charge. For a later version, see G. J. Warnock, English Philosophy Since 1900 (London, 1958), p. 171: " ... philosophy has only rather recently achieved professional status" and p. 172: " ... it is only quite recently that the subject matter, or rather the tasks, of philosophy have come to be clearly distinguished from those of other disciplines." (Warnock is speaking of the period 1900- 1958.) I do not know the earliest appearance of such claims, but note Ernst Reinhold's use of the term Philosophen von Profession to contrast with the aUe wissenschaftlich Gebildete for whom his Handbuch der allgemeinen Geschichte der Philosophie is intended. (Handbuch ... , Erster Theil, Gotha, 1828, p. v) The Einleitung to Reinhold's history is useful for confirming Mandelbaum's claim (d. note 2 above) about the relation of Kantian thought to the replacement of "chronicles of the opinions of the philosophers" by "history of philosophy" in the modern sense.
+
+4As I shall be arguing in more detail below, especially in chapter six, the contemporary notion of philosophy of language as "first philosophy" is not so much a change from the older claim that epistemology was "first" as a minor variant upon it. The central claim of philosoplIy since Kant has been that the "possibility of representing reality" was what needed explanation, and for this project the difference between mental and linguistic representations is relatively unimportant.
+
+Kant did," and the words Erkenntnislehre and Erkenntnistheorie were invented a bit later (in 1808 and 1832 respectively).5 But Hegel and idealistic system-building had by then intervened to obscure the question "What is the relation of philosophy to other disciplines?" Hegelianism produced an image of philosophy as a discipline which somehow both completed and swallowed up the other disciplines, rather than grounding them. It also made philosophy too popular, too interesting, too important, to be properly professional; it challenged philosophy professors to embody the World-Spirit, rather than simply getting on with their Fach. The essay of Zeller's which (according to Mauthner) "first raised the term 'Erkenntnistheorie' to its present academic dignity," 6 ends by saying that those who believe that we can spin all the sciences out of our own spirit may continue on with Hegel, but anyone saner should recognize that the proper task of philosophy (once the notion of the thing-in-itself, and thus the temptations of idealism, are rejected) is to establish the objectivity of the knowledge-claims made in the various empirical disciplines.
+
+5 Cf. Hans Vaihinger, "Dber den Ursprung des Wortes 'Erkenntnis· theorie: " Philosophische Monatshe/te, vol. XII (Leipzig, 1876), pp. 84· 90 for the history of the term. Vaihinger presents the view, which mosl neo·Kantians seemed to share, and which I am adopting here, that Locke was the first to "have a clear consciousness that all metaphysical and ethical discussion must be preceded by epistemological investiga· tions," and that what Descartes and Spinoza said along these lines was merely occasional and unsystematic (p. 84). I am indebted for the ref· erence to Vaihinger (as well as for other references and for many enlightening ideas) to an unpublished paper by Ian Hacking on the rise of epistemology as a discipline.
+
+6 Fritz Mauthner, W6rterbuch der Philosophie (Munich and Leipzig, 1910), s.v. "Erkenntnistheorie," vol. 1, p. 296: "ein ausschliesslich deutscher Ausdruck, von Reinhold der Sohne (nach Eisler) gepragt, aber erst durch Zeller zu seiner jetzigen akademischen Wiirde pro· moviert." The same claim for Zeller is made by Vaihinger, "Wortes ·Erkenntnistheorie: " p. 89. Vaihinger's article is both a report on, and an example of, the new "professionalized" self· image which neo· Kantian philosophers were in the course of creating.
+
+This will be done by the appropriateness of the a priori contributions brought to bear in perception.7 Erkenntnistheorie thus appears in 1862 as a way out from both "idealism" and "speculation." Fifteen years later, Zeller notes there is no longer any need to point out the proper role of Erkenntnistheorie, since this is now commonly accepted, especially by "our younger colleagues."8 Thirty years further on, William James would bemoan "the gray-plaster temperament-of
+
+our bald-headed young Ph.D. 's, boring each other at seminaries, writing those direful reports of literature in the Philosophical Review and elsewhere, fed on 'books of reference' and never confounding 'Aesthetik' with 'Erkennt-
+
+nistheorie.' "9 In this chapter I want to trace some of the crucial stages in the transition from the campaigns of Descartes and Hobbes against "the philosophy of the schools" to the nineteenth century's reestablishment of philosophy as an autonomous, self-contained, "scholastic," discipline. I shall try to back up the claim (common to Wittgenstein and Dewey) that to think of knowledge which presents a "problem," and about which we ought to have a "theory," is a product of viewing knowledge as an assemblage of representations-a view of knowledge which, I have been arguing, was a product of the seventeenth century. The moral to be drawn is that if .this way of thinking of knowledge is optional, then so is epistemology, and so is philosophy as it has understood itself since the middle of the last century. The story I shall be telling about how philosophy-as-epistemology attained self-certainty in the modern period will go like this:
+
+Descartes's invention of the mind-his coalescence of beliefs and sensations into Lockean ideas-gave philosophers new ground to stand on. It provided a field of inquiry which seemed "prior" to the subjects on which the ancient
+
+7 Zeller, "Erkenntnistheorie," pp. 494-495.
+
+8 Ibid., p. 496.
+
+9 William James, Letters, ed. Henry James (Boston, 1920), p. 228 (letter to George Santayana of May 2, 1905).
+
+philosophers had had opinions. Further, it provided a field within which certainty, as opposed to mere opinion, was possible.
+
+Locke made Descartes's newly contrived "mind" into the subject matter of a "science of man"-moral philosophy as opposed to natural philosophy. He did this by confusedly thinking that an analogue of Newton's particle mechanics for "inner space" would somehow be "of great advantage in directing our Thoughts in the search of other Things"lO and would somehow let us "see, what Objects our Understandings were, or were not fitted to deal with."ll
+
+This project of learning more about what we could know and how we might know it better by studying how our mind worked was eventually to be christened "epistemology." But before the project could come to full self-consciousness, a way had to be found of making it a nonempirical project. It had to be a matter of armchair reflection, independent of physiological discoveries and capable of producing necessary truths. Whereas Locke had retained the new inner space of research-the workings of the newly invented Cartesian mind-he had not been able to hold onto Cartesian certainty. Locke's "sensualism" was not yet a suitable candidate for the vacant position of "queen of the sciences. "
+
+Kant put philosophy "on the secure path of a science" by putting outer space inside inner space (the space of the constituting activity of the transcendental ego) and then claiming Cartesian certainty about the inner for the laws of what had previously been thought to be outer. He thus reconciled the Cartesian claim that we can have certainty only about our ideas with the fact that we already had certainty-a priori knowledge-about what seemed not to be ideas. The Copernican revolution was based on the notion that we can only know about objects a priori if we "constitute" them, and Kant was never troubled by the question of how we could have apodictic knowledge of these "constitut-
+
+10John Locke, Essay I, 1, i.
+
+11Ibid., "Epistle to the Reader."
+
+ing activities," for Cartesian privileged access was supposed to take care of that.12 Once Kant replaced the "physiology of the human understanding of the celebrated Mr. Locke" with (in Strawson's words) "the mythical subject of transcendental psychology," "epistemology" as a discipline came of age.
+
+Besides raising "the science of man" from an empirical to an a priori level, Kant did three other things which helped philosophy-as-epistemology to become self-conscious and self-confident. First, by identifying the central issue of epistemology as the relations between two equally real but irreducibly distinct sorts of representations-"formal" ones (concepts) and "material" ones (intuitions)-he made it possible to see important continuities between the new epistemological problematic and problems (the problems of reason and of universals) which had bothered the ancients and the medievals. He thereby made it possible to write "histories of philosophy" of the modern sort. Second, by linking epistemology to morality in the project of "destroying reason to make room for faith" (that is, destroying Newtonian determinism to make room for the common moral consciousness), he revived the notion of a "complete philosophical system," one in which morality was "grounded" on something less controversial and more scientific. Whereas the ancient schools had each had a view of human virtue designed to match their view of what the world was like, Newton had preempted views on the latter subject. With Kant, epistemology was able to step into metaphysics' role of guarantor of the presuppositions of morality. Third, by
+
+taking everything we say to be about something we have 12 See K.d.rY., Bxvi-xvii: The supposition that "objects must conform to our knowledge," Kant says, "agrees better with the supposition that it should be possible to have knowledge of objects a priori, determining something in regard to them prior to their being given." The question of how we know what conditions they must conform to-how to validate knowledge-claims made from the transcendental standpoint-is discussed neither here nor elsewhere in the first Critique.
+
+"constituted," he made it possible for epistemology to be thought of as a foundational science, an armchair discipline capable of discovering the "formal" (or, in later versions, "structural," "phenomenological," "grammatical," "logical," or "conceptual") characteristics of any area of human life. He thus enabled philosophy professors to see themselves as presiding over a tribunal of pure reason, able to determine whether other disciplines were staying within the legal limits set by the "structure" of their subject matters.13
+
+### 2. LOCKE'S CONFUSION OF EXPLANATION WITH JUSTIFICATION
+
+The "epistemological turn" taken by Descartes might not have captured Europe's imagination had it not been for a crisis of confidence in established institutions, a crisis expressed paradigmatically in Montaigne. But we should distinguish traditional Pyrrhonian skepticism about our ability to attain certainty from the new veil-of-ideas skep. ticism which Descartes made possible by carving out inner space. Traditional skepticism had been troubled principally by the "problem of the criterion"-the problem of validating procedures of inquiry while avoiding either circularity or dogmatism. This problem, which Descartes thought he had solved by "the method of clear and distinct ideas," had little to do with the problem of getting from inner space to outer space-the "problem of the external world" which
+
+13 Kant's fondness for jurisprudential metaphors has often been remarked. It is also found in the neo-Kantians. See, for example, Zeller's "Ober die Aufgabe der Philosophie und ihre Stellung zu den iibrigen Wissenschaften" (Vortriige und Abhandlungen, Zweite Sammlung. pp. 445-466). In the course of sketching the philosopher's pretensions as overseer of culture, he speaks of the Rechtstitel which each discipline should secure from philosophy and says that "there is no branch of human knowledge of which the roots do not reach down into philo· sophical terrain, for all science springs from the knowing spirit and borrows its laws from that spirit's procedures" (p. 465).
+
+became paradigmatic for modern philosophy.14 The idea of a "theory of knowledge" grew up around this latter problem-the problem of knowing whether our inner representa. tions were accurate. The idea of a discipline devoted to "the nature, origin, and limits of human knowledge"-the textbook definition of "epistemology"-required a field of study called "the human mind," and that field of study was what Descartes had created. The Cartesian mind simultaneously made possible veil-of-ideas skepticism and a discipline devoted to circumventing such skepticism.
+
+This is not to say, however, that the invention of the Cartesian mind is a sufficient condition for the development of epistemology. That invention gave us the notion of inner representations, but this notion would not have given rise to epistemology without the confusion I attributed to Locke -the confusion, of which Descartes was largely innocent, between a mechanistic account of the operations of our mind and the "grounding" of our claims to knowledge. This is what T. H. Green was to call
+
+the fundamental confusion, on which all empirical psychology rests, between two essentially distinct questions-
+
+14The uneasy relations between these two forms of skepticism are illustrated by section XII of Hume's Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, "Of the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy." Hume wants to distinguish the skepticism of Descartes's First Meditation (which he thought hyperbolical and impossible) both from his own veil-of-ideas skepticism based on the view that "nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image or perception" (David Hume, Philosophical Works [Boston and Edinburgh, 1854], vol. 4, p. 173) and from Pyrrhonism, or excessive skepticism (p. 183). He was anxious to separate the second from the third and to insist that one not take the merely "professional" and "technical" skepticism of the "new way of ideas" seriously. Hume did not think of himself as finding new arguments to support Sextus; rather he was anxious to show that the skeptical outcome of Locke's project showed not (as Kant and Russell were to believe) the need for a new and better sort of epistemology but the need to appreciate the unimportance of epistemology and the importance of sentiment. On Pyrrhonism in the period before Descartes, see Richard Popkin, History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes (New York, 1964).
+
+one metaphysical, What is the simplest element of knowledge? the other physiological, What are the conditions in the individual human organism in virtue of which it becomes a vehicle of knowledge?15
+
+Green's distinction between an "element of knowledge" and "the conditions of the organism" reminds us that a claim to knowledge is a claim to have justified belief, and that it is rarely the case that we appeal to the proper functioning of our organism as a justification. Granted that we sometimes justify a belief by saying, for example, "I have good eyes," why should we think that chronological or compositional "relations between ideas," conceived of as events in inner space, could tell us about the logical relations between propositions? After all, as Sellars says:
+
+In characterizing an episode or a state as that of knowing, we are not giving an empirical description of that episode or state; we are placing it in the logical space of reasons, of justifying and being able to justify what one says.1S
+
+How was it that Locke should have committed what Sellars calls "a mistake of a piece with the so-called 'naturalistic fallacy' in ethics," the attempt to "analyze epistemic facts without remainder into non-epistemic facts"?17 Why should he have thought that a causal account of how one comes to have a belief should be an indication of the justification one has for that belief?
+
+The answer, I think, is that Locke, and seventeenth-century writers generally, simply did not think of knowledge as justified true belief. This was because they did not think of knowledge as a relation between a person and a proposi-
+
+15 T. H. Green, Hume and Locke [Green's "Introductions" to Hume's Treatise], ed. Ramon Lemos (New York, 1968), p. 19.
+
+16Wilfrid Sellars, Science, Perception and Reality (London and New York, 1963), p. 169.
+
+17 Ibid., p. 131. For a development of Sellars's point, with application to recent phenomenalisms, see Michael Williams, Groundless Belief (Oxford, 1977), esp. chap. 2.
+
+tion. We find it natural to think of "what S knows" as the collection of propositions completing true statements by S which begin "I know that .... " When we realize that the blank may be filled by such various material as "this is red," "e = mc2," "my Redeemer liveth," and "I shall marry Jane," we are rightly skeptical of the notion of "the nature, origin, and limits of human knowledge," and of a "department of thought" devoted to this topic. But Locke did not think of "knowledge that" as the primary form of knowledge. He thought, as had Aristotle, of "knowledge of" as prior to "knowledge that," and thus of knowledge as a relation between persons and objects rather than persons and propositions. Given that picture, the notion of an examination of our "faculty of understanding" makes sense, as does the notion that it is fitted to deal with some sorts of objects and not with others. It makes even more sense if one is convinced that this faculty is something like a wax tablet upon which objects make impressions, and if one thinks of "having an impression" as in itself a knowing rather than a causal antecedent of knowing.
+
+It was just the notion of an "impression" upon which Reid-the great eighteenth-century enemy of the "'idea' idea"-fastened, to be followed by Green in the following century, and by a host of others (H. A. Prichard, Wilfrid Sellars, J. L. Austin, Jonathan Bennett) in our own. Reid says:
+
+There is no prejudice more natural to man, than to conceive of the mind as having some similitude to body in its operations. Hence, men have been prone to imagine, that as bodies are put in motion by some impulse or impression made upon them by contiguous bodies; so the mind is made to think and to perceive by some impression made upon it, or some impulse given to it by contiguous bodies.18
+
+18 Thomas Reid, Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, reprinted with an introduction by Baruch Brody (Cambridge, Mass., 1969). p. 100.
+
+Green, in a passage following the one quoted from him above, says that only through the confusion between elements of knowledge (propositions) and physiological conditions can "any idea be described as an 'impression' at all .. .. A metaphor, interpreted as a fact, becomes the basis of (Locke's) philosophical system."19 Sellars (speaking of Hume rather than Locke) diagnoses a confusion between:
+
+- 1. An impression of a red triangle as a red and triangular item which is immediately and noninferentially known to exist and to be red and triangular. [and]
+- 2. An impression of a red triangle as a knowing that a red and triangular item exists.20
+
+All three criticisms are protests against the notion that a quasi-mechanical account of the way in which our immaterial tablets are dented by the material world will help us know what we are entitled to believe.
+
+Locke presumably thought himself justified in running together the two senses of "impression" distinguished by Sellars because he thought the dents in our quasi-tablet to be (as Ryle puts it) self-intimating. Thus he says: " ... imprinting, if it signify any thing, being nothing else, but the making certain Truths to be perceived. For to imprint anything on the Mind without the Mind's perceiving it, seems to me hardly intelligible."21 It is as if the tabula rasa were perpetually under the gaze of the unblinking Eye of the Mind-nothing, as Descartes said, being nearer to the mind than itself. If the metaphor is unpacked in this way, however, it becomes obvious that the imprinting is of less interest than the observation of the imprint-all the knowing gets done, so to speak, by the Eye which observes the
+
+19 Green, Hume and Locke, p. 11.
+
+20 Wilfrid Sellars, Philosophical Perspectives (Springfield, Ill., 1967), p. 211.
+
+21 Locke, Essay, I, 2, V.
+
+imprinted tablet, rather than by the tablet itself. Locke's success, accordingly, depended upon not unpacking the metaphor, on leaving intact the ambiguity between the quasi-red-and-triangular quasi-object in inner space and knowledge that such an object was there. Whereas Aristotle had not had to worry about an Eye of the Mind, believing knowledge to be the identity of the mind with the object known, Locke did not have this alternative available. Since for him impressions were representations, he needed a faculty which was aware of the representations, a faculty which judged the representations rather than merely had them-judged that they existed, or that they were reliable, or that they had such-and-such relations to other representations. But he had no room for one, for to postulate such a faculty would have intruded a ghost into the quasi-machine whose operation he hoped to describe. He kept just enough of Aristotle to retain the idea of knowledge as consisting of something object-like entering the soul,22 but not enough to avoid either skeptical problems about the accuracy of representations or Kantian questions about the difference between intuitions with and without the "I think." To put it another way, the Cartesian conglomerate mind which Locke took for granted resembled Aristotelian vov.. just enough to give a traditional flavor to the notion of "impression" and departed from it just enough to make Humean skepticism and Kantian transcendentalism possible. Locke was balancing awkwardly between knowledge-asidentity-with-object and knowledge-as-true-judgment-aboutobject, and the confused idea of "moral philosophy" as an empirical "science of man" was possible only because of this transitional stance.23
+
+22 Reid thought that Aristotle, in his doctrine of phantasms, had begun the descent down the slippery slope which led to Hume. Cf. Essays, p. 133.
+
+23 In his ground breaking The Emergence of Probability (Cam· bridge, 1975), Ian Hacking suggests that the idea of evidence, as a relation of confirmation holding between propositions, was just begin·
+
+Still another way of describing the tension in Locke's thought is to see it as pulled on one side toward physiology and on another side toward Aristotle. Reid and Green, once again, agree in this diagnosis. Reid says of Descartes that
+
+he sometimes places the ideas of material objects in the brain ... yet he sometimes says, that we are not to conceive the images or traces in the brain to be perceived as if there were eyes in the brain; these traces are only occasions on which, by the laws of the union of soul and body, ideas are excited in the mind .... Descartes seems to have hesitated between the two opinions, or to have passed from the one to the other. Mr. Locke seems, in like manner, to have wavered between the two; sometimes representing the ideas of material things as being in the brain, but more frequently as in the mind itself.24
+
+Green, discussing Locke's "ideas of reflection," speaks of his "confusion of thought and matter in the imaginary cerebral tablet" and says that
+
+Locke disguises the difficulty from himself and his reader by constantly shifting both the receptive subject and the impressive matter. We find the "tablet" perpetually receding. First it is the "outward part" or bodily organ. Then it is the brain .... Then it is the perceptive mind, which takes an impression of the sensation or has an idea of it. Finally, it is the reflective mind .... 25
+
+The reason for the shuffling which Reid and Green criticize is that if (like Aristotle and Locke) one tries to model all
+
+ning to emerge in the seventeenth century. If Hacking is right, then this fact sheds considerable light on the various awkward blendings of propositional and (purported) non propositional knowledge in the work of the British empiricists. See especially Hacking's remarks on Locke, Berkeley, and Hume in chapter 19·
+
+24 Reid, Essays, pp. 147.148.
+
+25 Green, Hurne and Locke, p. u; d. also p. 163.
+
+knowledge on sense-perception, then one will be torn between the literal way in which part of the body (e.g., the retina) can have the same quality as an external object and the metaphorical way in which the person as a whole has, for example, froghood "in mind" if he has views about frogs. The notion of an "immaterial tablet" splits the difference between simple physiological fact and speculative metaphor, and any philosophy which uses it will be torn both ways. It is precisely the choice of sense-perception as a model, and in particular of ocular imagery, which makes both Aristotle and Locke attempt to reduce "knowledge that"-justified true belief in propositions-to "knowledge of" construed as "having in mind." Since Locke views himself as an up-to-date scientist he would love to cash the "tablet" metaphor in physiological terms. Since he cannot, shuffling is his only option. When he shuffles back toward Aristotle, he begins to talk about a "reflective mind" which is very un-tablet-like indeed.
+
+However, the most important shuffle in Locke's treatment of knowledge is not between brain and voVs but, as I have said, between knowledge as something which, being the simple having of an idea, can take place without judgment, and knowledge as that which results from forming justified judgments. This is the shuffle which Kant detected as the basic error of empiricism-the error most vigorously expressed in his criticism of the confusion of "a succession of apprehensions with an apprehension of succession," but which bears equally upon the confusion between merely having two "juxtaposed" ideas-froghood and greennessand "synthesizing" these into the judgment "Frogs are usually green." Just as Aristotle has no clear way to relate grasping universals to making judgments, no way to relate the receptivity of forms into the mind to the construction of propositions, neither has Locke. This is the principal defect of any attempt to reduce "knowledge that" to "knowledge of," to model knowing on seeing.
+
+This defect in Locke was thought by Green, and by most
+
+writers in epistemology in the nineteenth century, to have been made good by Kant. Green sums up his own basic criticism of British empiricism in the following passage:
+
+Locke's empiricism becomes invincible as soon as it is admitted that qualified things are "found in nature" without any constitutive action of the mind. As the only effective way of dealing with Locke is to ask-After abstraction of all that he himself admitted to be the creation of thought, what remains to be merely found?-so Hume must be met in limine by the question whether, apart from such ideas of relation as according to his own showing are not simple impressions, so much as the singular proposition is possible. If not, then the singularity of such proposition does not consist in any singleness of presentation to sense.26
+
+The phrase "constitutive action of the mind" is the tip-off to Green's own view of the matter, which is summed up in the slogan of the British Idealists: Only Thought Relates. They viewed this doctrine as an abbreviation of Kant's slogan that "intuitions without concepts are blind." Kant's discovery was supposed to have been that there are no "qualified things"-no objects-prior to "the constitutive action of the mind." An object-something of which several predicates are true-is thus always a result of synthesis.
+
+With Kant, the attempt to formulate a "theory of knowledge" advanced half of the way toward a conception of knowledge as fundamentally "knowing that" rather than "knowing of "-halfway toward a conception of knowing which was not modeled on perception. Unfortunately, however, Kant's way of performing the shift still remained within the Cartesian frame of reference; it was still phrased as an answer to the question of how we could get from inner space to outer space. His paradoxical answer was that outer space was constructed out of the Vorstellungen which
+
+26 Ibid., pp. 185-186.
+
+inhabited inner space. Nineteenth-century attempts to preserve the insight that knowledge i s a relation to propositions rather than to objects while avoiding Kantian paradox also remained within the Cartesian frame, and thus were "idealisms." The only object of which they could conceive was one constituted by the synthesis of Lockean ideas, and thus they devoted themselves to identifying the ensemble of such objects with the thing-in-itself. So in order to understand the idea of "epistemology" as the twentieth century inherited it, we need to turn from Locke's confusion between explanation and justification to Kant's confusion between predication (saying something about an object) and synthesis (putting representations together in inner space).
+
+### 3. KANT'S CONFUSION OF PREDICATION WITH SYNTHESIS
+
+For a person to form a predicative judgment is for him to come to believe a sentence to be true. For a Kantian transcendental ego to come to believe a sentence to be true is for it to relate representations (Vorstellungen) to one another: two radically distinct sorts of representations, concepts on the one hand and intuitions on the other. Kant provided a framework for understanding the confusing seventeenthcentury intellectual scene when he said that "Leibniz intelh!ctualized appearances, just as Locke ... sensualized all concepts of the understanding."21 He thereby created the standard version of "the history of modern philosophy" according to which pre-Kantian philosophy was a struggle between "rationalism," which wanted to reduce sensations to concepts, and "empiricism," which wanted the inverse reduction. Had Kant instead said that the rationalists wanted to find a way of replacing propositions about secondary qualities with propositions which somehow did the same job but were known with certainty, and that the empiricists opposed this project, the next two centuries of philosophical thought might have been very different. For
+
+21 K.d.T.V. All7l, B3117.
+
+if the "problem of knowledge" had been stated in terms of the relations between propositions and the degree of certainty attaching to them, rather than in terms of putative components of propositions, we might not have inherited our present notion of "the history of philosophy. "According to standard neo-Kantian historiography, from the time of the Phaedo and Metaphysics Z through Abelard and Anselm, Locke and Leibniz, and right down to Quine and Strawson reflection which was distinctively philosophical has concerned the relation between universals and particulars. Without this unifying theme, we might not have been able to see a continuous problematic, discovered by the Greeks and worried at continuously down to our own day, and thus might never have had the notion of "philosophy" as something with a twenty-five-hundred-year history. Greek thought and seventeenth-century thought might have seemed as distinct both from each other and from our present concerns as, say, Hindu theology and Mayan numerology.
+
+For better or worse, however, Kant did not take this pragmatic turn. He talked about inner representations rather than sentences. He simultaneously gave us a history of our subject, fixed its problematic, and professionalized it (if only by making it impossible to be taken seriously as a "philosopher" without having mastered the first Critique). He did so by building into our conception of a "theory of knowledge" (and thus our conception of what distinguished philosophers from scientists) what C. I. Lewis called "one of the oldest and most universal philosophical insights," viz.:
+
+There are, in our cognitive experience, two elements; the immediate data, such as those of sense, which are presented or given to the mind, and a form, construction, or interpretation, which represents the activity of thought.28
+
+The "insight," however, is neither old nor universal. It is no older than the notion that we possess something called
+
+28Lewis, Mind and the World-Order (New York, 1956), p. 38.
+
+"cognitive experience." The term experience has come to be the epistemologists' name for their subject matter, a name for the ensemble of Cartesian cogitationes, Lockean ideas. In this sense, "experience" is a term of philosophical art (quite distinct from the everyday use, as in "experience on the job," in which it is equivalent to i}L7rHpla). Lewis's claim that when we look at this ensemble we find it falling into two kinds makes it sound as if the man in the street, untutored in philosophy, could simply be asked to turn his mental eye inward and notice the distinction. But a man who does not know that Locke used "experience" to include only "ideas of sensation and reflection" and to exclude judgments, and that Kant used it to cover "both the object and the method of knowledge, the combination, in accordance with the laws of thought, of all functions of knowledge,"29 may be baffled about what he is supposed to look at, much less what distinction he is to notice.
+
+Strawson repeats Lewis's claim when he says "the duality of general concepts ... and particular instances of general concepts encountered in experience" is a "fundamental duality, inescapable in any philosophical thinking about experience or empirical knowledge."30 This version is less misleading than Lewis's, simply because it includes the word philosophical. For the reason this duality is inescapable in philosophical thinking about experience is just that those who do not find it do not call themselves "philosophers." We can only explain what "philosophical thinking about experience" is by reference to the sort of thing which Kant did. Psychologists can go on about stimuli and responses, but
+
+29 Heinrich Ratke, Systematisches Handlexikon zu Kants Kritik der Reinen Vernunft (Hamburg, 1929), p. 62 : "Erfahrung bezeichnet sowohl den Gegenstand als die Methode der Erkenntnis, den denkgesetzlichen Zusammenhang aller Funktionen der Erkenntnis." Kant's usage is, indeed, such that no definition less fuzzy and less richly ambiguous than Ratke's could do it justice. On the philosophic sense of "experience," see John Dewey, Experience and Nature (New York, 1958), p. II.
+
+SO P. F. Strawson, The Bounds of Sense (London, 1966), p. 20.
+
+this is blosse Naturalismus, and does not count as "philosophical." Common sense can talk about experience in its banal way-pondering whether we have had enough experience with something to make a judgment about it, for example, but this too is not philosophical. Thought is only philosophical if, like Kant's, it looks for causes of, rather than merely reasons for, claims to empirical knowledge, and if the resulting causal account is compatible with anything which psychological inquiry might come up with.31 Philosophical thinking of the sort which finds this duality inescapable is supposed to do more than just tell us that normally we have knowledge when we have justified true belief, referring us to common sense and common practice for details about what counts as justification. It is supposed to explain how knowledge is possible, and to do that in some a priori way which both goes beyond common sense and yet avoids any need to mess about with neurons, or rats, or questionnaires.
+
+Given these somewhat exiguous requirements and no knowledge of the history of philosophy we might well be puzzled about just what was wanted and about where to begin. Such puzzlement can only be alleviated by getting the hang of terms like "Being versus Becoming," "sense versus intellect," "clear versus confused perceptions," "simple versus complex ideas," "ideas and impressions," "concepts and intuitions." We will thereby get into the epistemological language-game, and the professional form of life called
+
+31 It may seem shocking to call Kant's account "causal," but the notion of "transcendental constitution" is entirely parasitical on the Descartes-Locke notion of the mechanics of inner space, and Kant's self-deceptive use of "ground" rather than "cause" should not be permitted to obscure this point. If we eliminate from Kant what Strawson calls "the mythical subject of transcendental psychology" we can make no sense of the Copernican revolution. I have discussed Strawson's ver· sion of what remains of Kant once one forgets the Copernican revolu· tion in "Strawson's Objectivity Argument," Review of Metaphysics 24 (1970), 207-244,
+
+"philosophy." When we begin our philosophical meditations we do not, as Lewis and Strawson suggest, inevitably stumble across the intuition-concept distinction. Rather, we would not know what counted as "experience," much less as being philosophical about it, unless we had mastered that distinction. For, once again, the notion of a "theory of knowledge" will not make sense unless we have confused causation and justification in the manner of Locke, and even then it will seem fuzzy until we have isolated some entities in inner space whose causal relations seem puzzling. "Concepts" and "intuitions" are exactly the entities required. If Kant had gone straight from the insight that "the singular proposition" is not to be identified with "the singularity of a presentation to sense" (nor, for that matter, to intellect) to a view of knowledge as a relation between persons and propositions, he would not have needed the notion of "synthesis." He might have viewed a person as a black box emitting sentences, the justification for these emissions being found in his relation to his environment (including the emissions of his fellow black boxes). The question "How is knowledge possible?" would then have resembled the question "How are telephones possible?" meaning something like "How can one build something which does that?" Physiological psychology, rather than "epistemology, " would then have seemed the only legitimate follow-up to the De Anima and the Essay Concerning Human Understanding.
+
+It is important, however, before leaving Kant behind, to ask how he contrived to make the concept-intuition distinction look both plausible and intriguingly problematic. To understand this, we must notice that the Kantian "synthesis" required for a judgment differs from the Humean "association of ideas" in being a relation which can hold only between ideas of two different sorts-general ideas and particular ideas .• The notions of "synthesis" and the concept-intuition distinction are thus tailor-made for one another, both being invented to make sense of the paradoxical but unquestioned assumption which runs through the first Critique-the assumption that manifoldness is "given" and that unity is made. That assumption is spelled out in the claim that inner space does contain something like what Hume found there, a collection of "singular presentations to sense," but that these "intuitions" cannot be "brought to consciousness" unless "synthesized" by a second set of representations (unnoticed by Hume)-the conceptswhich enter into one-many relations with batches of intuitions. Unofficially, to be sure, the reason for this assumption is that it is required by the strategy of the Copernican revolution, to insure that objects will conform to our knowledge rather than be able to demand conformity from US.52 But officially, it is used as a premise in the "Transcendental Deduction" to argue that the "Copernican" strategy works. The "Deduction" is supposed to show that we can only be conscious of objects constituted by our own synthesizing activity. Officially, then, we are supposed just to see that
+
+of all representations, combination is the only one which cannot be given through objects .... For where the understanding has not previously combined, it cannot dissolve, since only as having been combined by the understanding can anything that allows of analysis be given to the faculty of representation.ss
+
+But how, if we have not read Locke and Hume, do we know that the mind is presented with a diversity? Why should we think that sensibility "in its original receptivity"S4 presents us with a manifold, a manifold which, however, "cannot be represented as a manifold"35 until the under-
+
+S2 K.d.r.V., Bxvii. 3S Ibid., B130. 34 Ibid., Aloo.
+
+S5 Ibid., Agg. According to the Transcendental Aesthetic, of course, the manifold is spatio-temporal from the outset. But the Analytic con· tradicts this (cf., e.g., AI02, B160n), and the argument of the Analogies would not go through unless the doctrine of the Aesthetic were abandoned. Cf. Robert Paul Wolff, Kant's Theory of Mental Activity (Cambridge, Mass., Ig63), pp. 151ff. on this point.
+
+standing has used concepts to synthesize it? We cannot introspect and see that it does, because we are never conscious of unsynthesized intuitions, nor of concepts apart from their application to intuitions. The doctrine that we are not so conscious is precisely Kant's advance in the direction of taking knowledge to be of propositions rather than of objects-his step away from the attempts of Aristotle and Locke to model knowing on perceiving. But if it is not an evident pre-analytic fact that such a manifold exists, how can we use the claim that sensibility presents us with a manifold as a premise? How, in other words, do we know that a manifold which cannot be represented as a manifold is a manifold? More generally, if we are going to argue that
+
+we can only be conscious of synthesized intuitions, how do we get our information about intuitions prior to synthesis? How, for instance, do we know that there is more than one of them?86
+
+This last question can be answered by saying that if there were only one then synthesis would be unnecessary. But this just leads us around a rather small circle. What we want to know is whether concepts are synthesizers, and it is no help to be told that they couldn't be unless there were a lot of intuitions awaiting synthesis. At this point, I think, we must confess that "intuition" and "concept," in their Kantian senses, are susceptible only of contextual definitibns; like "electron" and "proton," they have sense only as elements in a theory which hopes to explain something. But with that admission, of course, we snap the last links to Locke's and Descartes's appeals to that special certainty with which we are aware of "what is closest to our minds" and "easiest for us to know." The assumption that diversity
+
+86 Suppose a mystic tells us that intuition presents us with unitythe white radiance of eternity-whereas conceptual thinking (like a dome of many-colored glass) breaks this up into a multiplicity. How could we decide whether he or Kant was right about whether unity was correlated with receptivity or with spontaneity? How could it matter?
+
+is found and unity made turns out to have its sole justification in the claim that only such a "Copernican" theory will explain our ability to have synthetic a priori knowledge.37
+
+But if we view the whole Kantian story about synthesis as only postulated to explain the possibility of synthetic a priori knowledge, if we accept the claim that the quasipsychological goings-on described in the "Deduction" have no introspective ground, we shall no longer be tempted by the "Copernican" strategy. For the claim that knowledge of necessary truths about made ("constituted") objects is more intelligible than about found objects depends upon the Cartesian assumption that we have privileged access to the activity of making. But on the interpretation of Kant just given, there is no such access to our constituting activities. Any mystery which attaches to our knowledge of necessary truths will remain. For postulated theoretical entities in inner space are not, by being inner, any more useful than such entities in outer space for explaining how such knowledge can occur.
+
+### 4. KNOWLEDGE AS NEEDING "FOUNDATIONS"
+
+It may be objected to my treatment of Kant that there is, in fact, a pre-analytic distinction between intuitions and concepts, one as old as Plato. Sensory intuitions, one could argue, are identified first of all as the source of knowledge of contingent truths, and concepts as the source of knowledge of necessary truths. The conflict between rationalism and empiricism, in this view, is not, as I have been claiming, Kant's invidious way of describing his predecessors in terms
+
+37 To put the point another way, Kant's own transcendental ideal· ism cuts the ground out from under the "Transcendental Deduction" -for either the machinery (synthesis) and the raw material (concepts, intuitions) described in the "Deduction" are noumenal, or they are phenomenal. If phenomenal, then, contrary to the premises of the "Deduction," we can be aware of them. If noumenal, then nothing (including what the "Deduction" says) can be known of them.
+
+of his own new distinction, but is as old as the discovery of the dramatic difference between mathematical truth and more humdrum truths. I have been speaking as if the familiar oppositions between sense and intellect, confused and clear ideas, etc., were all parts of a modern artifact called "theory of knowledge." But, even if one grants that the "philosophical" sense of "experience" is a modern artifact, surely the Greek distinction between sense and intellect was a genuine discovery, as much a discovery as that of the rigorous provability of geometrical truth? And surely Kant was asking a good question when he asked how necessary (e.g., mathematical) truth was possible?
+
+This objection gives me a chance to introduce a final point to round out my account of the origin and nature of the idea of a "department of thought concerned with the origin and nature of human knowledge." Plato, in my view, did not discover the distinction between two kinds of entities, either inner or outer. Rather, as I have remarked earlier, he was the first to articulate what George Pitcher has called the "Platonic Principle"-that differences in certainty must correspond to differences in the objects known.3s This principle is a natural consequence of the attempt to model knowledge on perception and to treat "knowledge of" as grounding "knowledge that." If it is assumed that we need distinct faculties to "grasp" such different objects as bricks and numbers (as we have distinct sense-organs for colors and for smells) then the discovery of geometry will seem to be the discovery of a new faculty called voV�. This in turn will generate the problem of reason discussed in chapter one.
+
+It is so much a part of "thinking philosophically" to be impressed with the special character of mathematical truth that it is hard to shake off the grip of the Platonic Principle. If, however, we think of "rational certainty" as a matter of victory in argument rather than of relation to an object
+
+3S Cf. chapter two, note 15.
+
+known, we shall look toward our interlocutors rather than to our faculties for the explanation of the phenomenon. If we think of our certainty about the Pythagorean Theorem as our confidence, based on experience with arguments on such matters, that nobody will find an objection to the premises from which we infer it, then we shall not seek to explain it by the relation of reason to triangularity. Our certainty will be a matter of conversation between persons, rather than a matter of interaction with nonhuman reality. So we shall not see a difference in kind between "necessary" and "contingent" truths. At most, we shall see differences in degree of ease in objecting to our beliefs. We shall, in short, be where the Sophists were before Plato brought his principle to bear and invented "philosophical thinking": we shall be looking for an airtight case rather than an unshakable foundation. We shall be in what Sellars calls "the logical space of reasons" rather than that of causal relations to objects.39
+
+The major point I wish to make about the necessarycontingent distinction is just that the notion of "foundations of knowledge"-truths which are certain because of their causes rather than because of the arguments given for them -is the fruit of the Greek (and specifically Platonic) analogy between perceiving and knowing. The essential feature of the analogy is that knowing a proposition to be true is to be identified with being caused to do something by an object. The object which the proposition is about imposes the proposition's truth. The idea of "necessary truth" is just the idea of a proposition which is believed because the "grip" of the object upon us is ineluctable. Such a truth is necessary in the sense in which it is sometimes necessary to believe that what is before our eyes looks red-there is a
+
+39 For a sympathetic account of the Sophists, and pre· Platonic thought generally, which accords with this view, see Laszlo Versenyi, Socratic Humanism (New Haven, 1963). See also Heidegger's discussion of Protagoras in The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays, trans. William Lovitt (New York, 1977), pp. 143-147.
+
+power, not ourselves, which compels us. The objects of mathematical truths will not let themselves be misjudged or misreported. Such paradigmatically necessary truths as the axioms of geometry are supposed to have no need of justification, of argument, of discussion-they are as undiscussable as the command of Zeus shaking the lightning, or of Helen beckoning to her bed. (Putatively rational allo:yK1] is, so to speak, just a sublimated form of brute (3f.a.)
+
+The notion of "concept" can, if one likes, be thought of as "the source of knowledge of necessary truths," but this does not mean that Lewis and Strawson are right in thinking that the concept-intuition distinction is pre-analytically given. It is merely the modern version of a set of optional metaphors-the ones chosen by Plato, the ones which have become definatory of "philosophical thinking." Plato's primary distinction was not between two kinds of entities in inner space, two sorts of inner representations. Although he toyed with "inner space" metaphors (as in the aviary image of the Theaetetus and in his use of "in the soul" [til Tfi y;vxfi]), and at times approximated Descartes's imagery of the Eye of the Mind inspecting various-more or less compellinginner pictures, his thought was essentially "realistic." The Platonic distinction to which mathematical truth gave rise was metaphysical rather than epistemological-a distinction between the worlds of Being and of Becoming. What corresponds to the metaphysical distinctions on the "divided line" of Republic VI are distinctions not between kinds of nonpropositional inner representations, but between grades of certainty attaching to propositions. Plato did not focus on the idea of non propositional inner entities, but rather on that of the various parts of the soul and of the body being compelled in their respective ways by their respective objects. Plato, like Descartes, based a model of man on the distinction between two sorts of truth, but these were two quite different models. More important, however, the idea that the existence of mathematical truth requires some such explanatory model is not something pre-analytic, given at
+
+the beginning of philosophical reflection. It is a product of the choice of a certain set of metaphors for talking about knowledge, the perceptual metaphors which underlie both Platonic and modern discussions.40
+
+So much, then, for the objection with which I began this section. I want now to enlarge on the point that the idea of "foundations of knowledge" is a product of the choice of perceptual metaphors. To recapitulate, we can think of knowledge as a relation to propositions, and thus of justification as a relation between the propositions in question and other propositions from which the former may be inferred. Or we may think of both knowledge and justification as privileged relations to the objects those propositions are about. If we think in the first way, we will see no need to end the potentially infinite regress of propositionsbrought-forward-in-defense-of-other-propositions. It would be foolish to keep conversation on the subject going once everyone, or the majority, or the wise, are satisfied, but of course we can. If we think of knowledge in the second way, we will want to get behind reasons to causes, beyond argument to compulsion from the object known, to a situation in which argument would be not just silly but impossible, for anyone gripped by the object in the required way will be unable to doubt or to see an alternative. To reach that point is to reach the foundations of knowledge. For Plato, that point was reached by escaping from the senses and opening up the faculty of reason-the Eye of the Soul-to the World of Being. For Descartes, it was a matter of turning the Eye of the Mind from the confused inner representations to the dear and distinct ones. With Locke, it was a matter of reversing Descartes's directions and seeing "singular presentations to sense" as what should "grip" us-what we cannot and should not wish to escape from. Before Locke, it would not have occurred to anyone to look for foundations for knowledge in the realm of the senses. Aristotle, to 40 It is perhaps obvious that my discussion of Platonic ocular meta· phors is indebted to both Dewey and Heidegger.
+
+be sure, had remarked that we cannot be in error about how things appear to us, but the idea of basing knowledge on appearances would have struck both him and Plato as absurd. What we want to have as an object of knowledge is precisely what is not an appearance, and the idea of propositions about one sort of object (the appearances) being evidence for propositions about another sort of object (what is really there) would not have made sense to either of them.
+
+After Descartes, however, the appearance-reality distinction began to slip out of focus, and was replaced by the inner-outer distinction. The question "How can I escape from the realm of appearance?" was replaced by the question "How can I escape from behind the veil of ideas?" To this question, Locke had an answer: Make the same use of your certainty about how things appear to your senses as Plato made of the axioms of geometry-use them as premises to infer everything else (only inductively, rather than, as in Plato, deductively). This answer looked good only until Hume got to work on it, but it had a certain innocent charm. It satisfied the same need to be gripped, grasped, and compelled which Plato had felt, yet "simple ideas of sensation" seemed less pretentious and more up-to-date than Platonic Forms. By the time of Kant, therefore, it looked as if there were two alternative foundations for knowledge -one had to choose between the interiorized version of the Forms, Cartesian clear and distinct ideas, on the one hand, and Humean "impressions" on the other. In both cases, one was c.hoosing objects to be compelled by. Kant, in rejecting both these putative objects as essentially incomplete and powerless to compel unless combined with one another in "synthesis," was the first to think of the foundations of knowledge as propositions rather than objects. Before Kant, an inquiry into "the nature and origin of knowledge" had been a search for privileged inner representations. With Kant, it became a search for the rules which the mind had set up for itself (the "Principles of the Pure Understandstudy of the evidential relations between basic and non basic propositions, and these relations were viewed as a matter of "logic" rather than of empirical fact. In the German tradi· tion, on the other hand, the defense of freedom and spir. ituality through the notion of "constitution" was retained as the distinctive mission of the philosopher. Logical empiri. cism and, later, analytic philosophy were dismissed by most German (and many French) philosophers as not "transcen· dental," and therefore neither methodologically sound nor properly edifying. Even those with the gravest doubts about most Kantian doctrines never doubted that something like his "transcendental turn" was essential. On the Anglo·Saxon side, the so·called linguistic turn was thought to do the job of demarcating philosophy from science, while freeing one of any vestiges of, or temptation to, "idealism" (which was
+
+thought the besetting sin of philosophy on the Continent). On both sides of the Channel, however, most philosophers have remained Kantian. Even when they claim to have "gone beyond" epistemology, they have agreed that philos· ophy is a discipline which takes as its study the "formal" or "structural" aspects of our beliefs, and that by examining these the philosopher serves the cultural function of keeping the other disciplines honest, limiting their claims to what can be properly "grounded." The great exceptions to this neo·Kantian consensus are, once again, Dewey, Wittgen· stein, and Heidegger. In connection with the topic of this section-the notion of "foundations" of knowledge as based on an analogy with the compulsion to believe when staring at an object-it is Heidegger who is especially important. For Heidegger has tried to show how the epistemological notion of "objectivity" derives from, as he puts it, the Platonic "identification of cpUut<; with ilUa"-of the reality of a thing with its presence before us.41 He is concerned to explore the way in which the West became obsessed with the notion of our primary relation to objects as analogous
+
+41 Martin Heidegger, Introduction to Metaphysics, trans. Ralph Manheim (New Haven, 1959), p. 185.
+
+to visual perception, and thus to suggest that there could be other conceptions of our relations to things. The historical roots of the Aristotle-Locke analogy of knowledge to perception are beyond the scope of this book, but we can at least take from Heidegger the idea that the desire for an "epistemology" is simply the most recent product of the dialectical development of an originally chosen set of metaphors.42
+
+To describe this development as a linear sequence is of course simplistic, but perhaps it helps to think of the original dominating metaphor as being that of having our beliefs determined by being brought face-to-face with the object of the belief (the geometrical figure which proves the theorem, for example). The next stage is to think that to understand how to know better is to understand how to improve the activity of a quasi-visual faculty, the Mirror of Nature, and thus to think of knowledge as an assemblage of accurate representations. Then comes the idea that the way to have accurate representations is to find, within the Mirror, a special privileged class of representations so compelling that their accuracy cannot be doubted. These privileged foundations will be the foundations of knowledge, and the discipline which directs us toward them-the theory of knowledge-will be the foundation of culture. The theory of knowledge will be the search for that which compels the mind to belief as soon as it is unveiled. Philosophyas-epistemology will be the search for the immutable structures within which knowledge, life, and culture must be contained-structures set by the privileged representations which it studies. The neo-Kantian consensus thus appears as the end-product of an original wish to substitute confrontation for conversation as the determinant of our belief.
+
+In part III I try to show how things look if conversation is thought sufficient and the search for confrontation abandoned, and thus if knowledge is not conceived of as rep-
+
+42 Martin Heidegger, The End of Philosophy, ed. and trans. Joan Stambaugh (New York. 1973). p. 88.
+
+resentations in the Mirror of Nature. In the next three chapters, however, I shall try first (in chapter four) to sketch the shape the neo-Kantian consensus took in twentieth-century philosophy, and the confusion into which one form of this consensus-"analytic philosophy"-has recently fallen. This will involve describing, and defending, Quine's and Sellars's attacks on the notion of privileged representation. In chapters five and six I take up two putative "successor subjects" to philosophy-as-epistemology-empirical psychology and philosophy of language, respectively-which remain within the neo-Kantian consensus by taking philosophy to be, paradigmatically, the study of representing.
+
+# Privileged Representations
+
+1. ApODICTIC TRUTH, PRIVILEGED REPRESENTATIONS, AND ANALYTIC PHILOSOPHY
+
+At the end of the nineteenth century, philosophers were justifiably worried about the future of their discipline. On the one hand, the rise of empirical psychology had raised the question "What do we need to know about knowledge which psychology cannot tell us?"! Ever since Descartes's attempt to make the world safe for clear and distinct ideas and Kant's to make it safe for synthetic a priori truths, ontology had been dominated by epistemology. So the "naturalization" of epistemology by psychology suggested that a simple and relaxed physicalism might be the only sort of ontological view needed. On the other hand, the tradition of German idealism had declined-in England and America-into what has been well described as "a continuation of Protestantism by other means." The idealists purported to save the "spiritual values" which physicalism seemed to neglect by invoking Berkeleian arguments to get rid of material substance and Hegelian arguments to get rid of the individual ego (while resolutely ignoring Hegel's historicism). But few took these high-minded efforts seriously. The earnest reductionism of Bain and Mill and the equally earnest romanticism of Royce drove aesthetical ironists like James and Bradley, as well as social
+
+1 This question has echoed through our own century, in ways described in the following chapter. Psychology was born out of philosophy in the confused hope that we might get back behind Kant and recapture Lockean innocence. Ever since, psychologists have vainly protested their neglect by neo-Kantian philosophers (of both the analytic and the phenomenological sorts).
+
+reformers like the young Dewey, to proclaim the unreality of traditional epistemological problems and solutions. They were provoked to radical criticisms of "truth as correspondence" and "knowledge as accuracy of representations," thus threatening the entire Kantian notion of philosophy as metacriticism of the special disciplines. Simultaneously, philosophers as various as Nietzsche, Bergson, and Dilthey were undermining some of the same Kantian presuppositions. For a time, it seemed as if philosophy might turn away once and for all from epistemology, from the quest for certainty, structure, and rigor, and from the attempt to constitute itself a tribunal of reason.
+
+The spirit of playfulness which seemed about to enter philosophy around 1900 was, however, nipped in the bud. Just as mathematics had inspired Plato to invent "philosophical thinking," so serious-minded philosophers turned to mathematical logic for rescue from the exuberant satire of their critics. The paradigmatic figures in this attempt to recapture the mathematical spirit were HusserI and Russell. Husserl saw philosophy as trapped between "naturalism" and "historicism," neither of which offered the sort of "apodictic truths" which Kant had assured philosophers were their birthright.2 Russell joined HusserI in denouncing the psychologism which had infected the philosophy of mathematics, and announced that logic was the essence of philosophy.s Driven by the need to find something to be
+
+2 Cf. Edmund Husser!, "Philosophy as Rigorous Science," in Phenomenology and the Crisis of Philosophy, ed. and trans. Quentin Lauer (New York, 1965), p. 120. In this essay (published in 1910), Husser! analyzed both naturalism and historicism as forms of skepticism and relativism. See, for example, pp. 76'79, 122. He began his criticism of naturalism by repeating the attack on psychological conceptions of logic made in his Logical Investigations. (Cf. pp. BofI. on naturalism's self-refutation through its reduction of norms to fact.)
+
+s Bertrand Russell ended the chapter called "Logic as the Essence of Philosophy" in his Our Knowledge of the External World (London, 1914) with the following claims:
+
+apodictic about, Russell discovered "logical form" and Husser! discovered "essences," the "purely formal" aspects of the world which remained when the non formal had been "bracketed." The discovery of these privileged representations began once again a quest for seriousness, purity, and rigor,4 a quest which lasted for some forty years. But, in the end, heretical followers of Husser! (Sartre and Heidegger) and heretical followers of Russell (Sellars and Quine) raised the same sorts of questions about the possibility of apodictic truth which Hegel had raised about Kant. Phenomenology gradually became transformed into what Husser! despairingly called "mere anthropology,"5 and "ana-
+
+wings. It has, in my opinion, introduced the same kind of advance into philosophy as Calileo introduced into physics, making it possi. ble at last to see what kinds of problems may be capable of solution,
+
+and what kinds must be abandoned as beyond human powers. And where a solution appears possible, the new logic provides a method which enables us to obtain results that do not merely embody per· sonal idiosyncrasies, but must command the assent of all who are competent to form an opinion.
+
+For my present purposes, the standard charge (made, e.g., by Dummett and by Anscombe) that Russell confused the specifically seman tical doc· trines of Frege and Wittgenstein, which did spring from the new logic, with epistemological doctrines which did not, is irrelevant. The charge is fair enough, but without this very confusion the analytic movement either would not have got off the ground, or would have been quite a different thing. Only in the last two decades has a clear distinction be· tween "linguistic philosophy" and "philosophy of language" begun to be made. See chapter six, section I, for more on this distinction.
+
+4 See Russell, Our Knowledge of the External World, p. 61 (in the American edition [New York, 1924]), and Husserl, Phenomenology, pp. 1IO·II1.
+
+5 See Herbert Spiegelberg, The Phenomenological Movement, 2d ed. (The Hague, 1965), I, 275'283, and David Carr's "Translator's Intro· duction" to Edmund Husserl, The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology (Evanston, 1970), pp. xxv·xxxviii. See also Ryle's reaction to Sein und Zeit, exemplifying the kinship be· tween Anglo.Saxon projects influenced by Russell and Husserl's origi. nal project: "It is my personal opinion that qua First Philosophy Phenomenology is at present heading for bankruptcy and disaster and will end either in self· ruinous Subjectivism or in a windy Mysticism" lytic" epistemology (i.e., "philosophy of science") became increasingly historicist and decreasingly "logical" (as in Hanson, Kuhn, Harre, and Hesse). So, seventy years after HusserI's "Philosophy as Rigorous Science" and Russell's "Logic as the Essence of Philosophy," we are back with the same putative dangers which faced the authors of these manifestoes: if philosophy becomes too naturalistic, hard-nosed positive disciplines will nudge it aside; if it becomes too historicist, then intellectual history, literary criticism, and similar soft spots in "the humanities" will swallow it Up.6
+
+The full story of the splendors and the miseries of phenomenology and analytic philosophy is, obviously, far beyond the scope of this book. The story I want to tell in this chapter is merely how the notion of two sorts of representations-intuitions and concepts-fell into disrepute in the latter days of the analytic movement. I have been claiming that the Kantian picture of concepts and intuitions getting together to produce knowledge is needed to give sense to the idea of "theory of knowledge" as a specifically philosophidll discipline, distinct from psychology. This is
+
+(Mind, 1929; cited by Spiegelberg, I, 347). Ryle's prescient point was that the coming of "existential phenomenology" meant the end of phenomenology as "rigorous science."
+
+6 I think that in England and America philosophy has already been displaced by literary criticism in its principal cultural function-as a source for youth's self-description of its own difference from the past.
+
+e£. Harold Bloom, A Map of Misreading (New York, 1975), p. 39: The teacher of literature now in America, far more than the teacher
+
+of history or philosophy or religion, is condemned to teach the presentness of the past, because history, philosophy and religion have withdrawn as agents from the Scene of Instruction, leaving the bewildered teacher of literature at the altar, terrifiedly wondering whether he is to be sacrifice or priest.
+
+This is roughly because of the Kantian and antihistoricist tenor of Anglo-Saxon philosophy. The cultural function of teachers of philosophy in countries where Hegel was not forgotten is quite different, and closer to the position of literary critics in America. See my "Professionalized Philosophy and Transcendentalist Culture," Georgia Review 30 (1976), 757-769.
+
+equivalent to saying that if we do not have the distinction between what is "given" and what is "added by the mind," or that between the "contingent" (because influenced by what is given) and the "necessary" (because entirely "within" the mind and under its control), then we will not know what would count as a "rational reconstruction" of our knowledge. We will not know what epistemology'S goal or method could be. These two distinctions were attacked at intervals throughout the history of the analytic movement. Neurath had questioned Carnap's appeal to the given, for example, and doubts had often been expressed about Russell's notion of "knowledge by acquaintance" and Lewis's "expressive language." These doubts only came to a head, however, in the early 195os, with the appearance of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations, Austin's mockery of "the ontology of the sensible manifold," and Sellars'.s "Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind." The distinction between the necessary and the contingent-revitalized by Russell and the Vienna Circle as the distinction between "true by virtue of meaning" and "true by virtue of experience"-had usually gone unchallenged, and had formed the least common denominator of "ideal language" and "ordinary language" analysis. However, also in the early fifties, Quine'S "Two Dogmas of Empiricism" challenged this distinction, and with it the standard notion (common to Kant, Husserl, and Russell) that philosophy stood to empirical science as the study of structure to the study of content. Given Quine's doubts (buttressed by similar doubts in Wittgenstein's Investigations) about how to tell when we are responding to the compulsion of "language" rather than that of "experience," it became difficult to explain in what sense philosophy had a separate "formal" field of inquiry, and thus how its results might have the desired apodictic character. For these two challenges were challenges to the very idea of a "theory of knowledge," and thus to philosophy itself, conceived of as a discipline which centers around such a theory.
+
+In what follows, I shall confine myself to discussing two radical ways of criticizing the Kantian foundations of analytic philosophy-Sellars's behavioristic critique of "the whole framework of givenness" and Quine's behavioristic approach to the necessary-contingent distinction. I shall present both as forms of holism. As long as knowledge is conceived of as accurate representing-as the Mirror of Nature-Quine's and Sellars's holistic doctrines sound pointlessly paradoxical, because such accuracy requires a theory of privileged representations, ones which are automatically and intrinsically accurate. So the response to Sellars on givenness and Quine on analyticity is often that they have "gone too far"-that they have allowed holism to sweep them off their feet and away from common sense. In order to defend Sellars and Quine, I shall be arguing that their holism is a product of their commitment to the thesis that justification is not a matter of a special relation between ideas (or words) and objects, but of conversation, of social practice. Conversational justification, so to speak, is naturally holistic, whereas the notion of justification embedded in the epistemological tradition is reductive and atomistic. I shall try to show that Sellars and Quine invoke the same argument, one which bears equally against the given-versus-nongiven and the necessary-versus-contingent distinctions. The crucial premise of this argument is that we understand knowledge when we understand the social justification of belief, and thus have no need to view it as accuracy of representation.
+
+Once conversation replaces confrontation, the notion of the mind as Mirror of Nature can be discarded. Then the notion of philosophy as the discipline which looks for privileged representations among those constituting the Mirror becomes unintelligible. A thoroughgoing holism has no place for the notion of philosophy as "conceptual," (is "apodictic," as picking out the "foundations" of the rest of knowledge, as explaining which representations are "purely given" or "purely conceptual," as presenting a "canonical notation" rather than an empirical discovery, or as isolating "trans-framework heuristic categories." If we see knowledge as a matter of conversation and of social practice, rather than as an attempt to mirror nature, we will not be likely to envisage a metapractice which will be the critique of all possible forms of social practice. So holism produces, as Quine has argued in detail and Sellars has said in passing, a conception of philosophy which has nothing to do with the quest for certainty.
+
+Neither Quine nor Sellars, however, has developed a new conception of philosophy in any detail. Quine, after arguing that there is no line between science and philosophy, tends to assume that he has thereby shown that science can replace philosophy. But it is not clear what task he is asking science to perform. Nor is it clear why natural science, rather than the arts, or politics, or religion, should take over the area left vacant. Further, Quine's conception of science is still curiously instrumentalist. It is based on a distinction between "stimuli" and "posits" which seems to lend aid and comfort to the old intuition-concept distinction.
+
+Yet Quine transcends both distinctions by granting that stimulations of sense-organs are as much "posits" as anything else. It is as if Quine, having renounced the conceptual-empirical, analytic-synthetic, and language-fact distinctions, were still not quite able to renounce that between the given and the postulated. Conversely, Sellars, having triumphed over the latter distinction, cannot quite renounce the former cluster. Despite courteous acknowledgment of Quine's triumph over analyticity, Sellars's writing is still permeated with the notion of "giving the analysis" of various terms or sentences, and with a tacit use of the distinction between the necessary and the contingent, the structural and the empirical, the philosophical and the scientific. Each of the two men tends to make continual, unofficial, tacit, heuristic use of the distinction which the other has transcended. It is as if analytic philosophy could not be written without at least one of the two great Kantian distinctions, and as if neither Quine nor Sellars were willing to cut the last links which bind them to Russell, Carnap, and "logic as the essence of philosophy."
+
+Analytic philosophy cannot, I suspect, be written without one or the other of these distinctions. If there are no intuitions into which to resolve concepts (in the manner of the AUfbau) nor any internal relations among concepts to make possible "grammatical discoveries" (in the manner of "Oxford philosophy"), then indeed it is hard to imagine what an "analysis" might be. Wisely, few analytic philosophers any longer try to explain what it is to offer an analysis. Although there was a great deal of meta philosophical literature in the 1930S and 1940S under the aegis of Russell and Carnap, and another spate of such literature in the 1950S which took the Philosophical Investigations and The Concept of Mind as paradigms,1 there is now little attempt to bring "analytic philosophy" to self-consciousness by explaining how to tell a successful from an unsuccessful analysis. The present lack of metaphilosophical reflection within the analytic movement is, I think, symptomatic of the sociological fact that analytic philosophy is now, in several countries, the entrenched school of thought. Thus in these countries anything done by philosophers who employ a certain style, or mention certain topics, counts (ex officiis suis, so to speak) as continuing the work begun by Russell and Carnap. Once a radical movement takes over the establishment against which it revolted, there is less need for methodological self-consciousness, self-criticism, or a sense of location in dialectical space or historical time.
+
+I do not think that there any longer exists anything identifiable as "analytic philosophy" except in some such stylistic or sociological way. But this is not a disparaging remark, as if some legitimate expectation had been disap-
+
+7 I attempted to summarize this literature, up through 1965, in t he introduction to The Linguistic Turn, ed. Richard Rorty (Chicago, 1967)·
+
+pointed. The analytic movement in philosophy (like any movement in any discipline) worked out the dialectical consequences of a set of assumptions, and now has little more to do. The sort of optimistic faith which Russell and Carnap shared with Kant-that philosophy, its essence and right method discovered at last, had finally been placed upon the secure path of a science-is not something to be mocked or deplored. Such optimism is possible only for men of high imagination and daring, the heroes of their times.
+
+### 2. EPISTEMOLOGICAL BEHAVIORISM
+
+The simplest way to describe the common features of Quine's and Sellars's attacks on logical empiricism is to say that both raise behaviorist questions about the epistemic privilege which logical empiricism claims for certain assertions, qua reports of privileged representations. Quine asks how an anthropologist is to discriminate the sentences to which natives invariably and wholeheartedly assent into contingent empirical platitudes on the one hand and necessary conceptual truths on the other. Sellars asks how the authority of first-person reports of, for example, how things appear to us, the pains from which we suffer, and the thoughts that drift before our minds differs from the authority of expert reports on, for example, metal stress, the mating behavior of birds, or the colors of physical objects. We can lump both questions together and simply ask, "How do our peers know which of our assertions to take our word for and which to look for further confirmation of?" It would seem enough for the natives to know which sentences are unquestionably true, without knowing which are true "by virtue of language." It would seem enough for our peers to believe there to be no better way of finding out our inner states than from our reports, without their knowing what "lies behind" our making them. It would also seem enough for us to know that our peers have this acquiescent attitude.
+
+That alone seems sufficient for that inner certainty about our inner states which the tradition has explained by "immediate presence to consciousness," "sense of evidence," and other expressions of the assumption that reflections in the Mirror of Nature are intrinsically better known than nature itself. For Sellars, the certainty of "I have a pain" is a reflection of the fact that nobody cares to question it, not conversely. Just so, for Quine, the certainty of "All men are animals" and of "There have been some black dogs." Quine thinks that "meanings" drop out as wheels that are not part of the mechanism,8 and Sellars thinks the same of "self-authenticating non-verbal episodes."9 More broadly, if assertions are justified by society rather than by the character of the inner representations they express, then there is no point in attempting to isolate privileged representations.
+
+Explaining rationality and epistemic authority by reference to what society lets us say, rather than the latter by the former, is the essence of what I shall call "epistemological behaviorism," an attitude common to Dewey and Wittgenstein. This sort of behaviorism can best be seen as a species of holism-but one which requires no idealist metaphysical underpinnings. It claims that if we understand the rules of a language-game, we understand all that there is to understand about why moves in that languagegame are made (all, that is, save for the extra understanding obtained from inquiries nobody would call epistemological-into, for example, the history of the language, the structure of the brain, the evolution of the species, and the political or cultural ambiance of the players). If we are behaviorist in this sense, then it will not occur to us to invoke either of the traditional Kantian distinctions. But
+
+8 For an interpretation of Quine as attacking the explanatory utility of the "philosophical notion of meaning," see Gilbert Harman, "Quine on Meaning and Existence, I," Review of Metaphysics 21 (1967), 124' 151, esp. 125, 135-141.
+
+9 Wilfrid Sellars, Science, Perception and Reality (London and New York, 1963), p. 167.
+
+can we just go ahead and be behaviorist? Or, as Quine's and Sellars's critics suggest, doesn't behaviorism simply beg the question?IO Is there any reason to think that fundamental epistemic notions should be explicated in behavioral terms?
+
+This last question comes down to: Can we treat the study of "the nature of human knowledge" just as the study of certain ways in which human beings interact, or does it require an ontological foundation (involving some specifically philosophical way of describing human beings)? Shall we take "s knows that p" (or "s knows noninferentially that p," or "S believes incorrigibly that p," or "S's knowledge that p is certain") as a remark about the status of S's reports among his peers, or shall we take it as a remark about the relation between subject and object, between nature and its mirror? The first alternative leads to a pragmatic view of truth and a therapeutic approach to ontology (in which philosophy can straighten out pointless quarrels between common sense and science, but not contribute any arguments of its own for the existence or inexistence of something). Thus for Quine, a necessary truth is just a statement such that nobody has given us any interesting alternatives which would lead us to question it. For Sellars, to say that a report of a passing thought is incorrigible is to say that nobody has yet suggested a good way of predicting and controlling human behavior which does not take sincere first-person contemporary reports of thoughts at facevalue. The second alternative leads to "ontological" explanations of the relations between minds and meanings, minds and immediate data of awareness, universals and particulars, thought and language, consciousness and brains, and so on. For philosophers like Chisholm and Berg-
+
+10For this sort of criticism of Quine's behaviorism, see H. P. Grice and P. F. Strawson, "In Defense of a Dogma," Philosophical Review 65 (1956), pp. 141-156. For such criticisms of Sellars, see Roderick Chisholm's criticisms of his claims about intentionality, in their correspondence printed in Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science 2 (1958), pp. 52 1ff.
+
+mann, such explanations must be attempted if the realism of common sense is to be preserved. The aim of all such explanations is to make truth something more than what Dewey called "warranted assertability": more than what our peers will, ceteris paribus, let us get away with saying. Such explanations, when ontological, usually take the form of a redescription of the object of knowledge so as to "bridge the gap" between it and the knowing subject. To choose between these approaches is to choose between truth as "what it is good for us to believe" and truth as "contact with reality."
+
+Thus the question of whether we can be behaviorist in our attitude toward knowledge is not a matter of the "adequacy" of behaviorist "analyses" of knowledge-claims or of mental states. Epistemological behaviorism (which might be called simply "pragmatism," were this term not a bit overladen) has nothing to do with Watson or with Ryle. Rather, it is the claim that philosophy will have no more to offer than common sense (supplemented by biology, history, etc.) about knowledge and truth. The question is not whether necessary and sufficient behavioral conditions for "s knows that p" can be offered; no one any longer dreams they can. Nor is the question whether such conditions can be offered for "s sees that p," or "It looks to S as if p," or "s is having the thought that p." To be behaviorist in the large sense in which Sellars and Quine are behaviorist is not to offer reductionist analyses, but to refuse to attempt a certain sort of explanation: the sort of explanation which not only interposes such a notion as "acquaintance with meanings" or "acquaintance with sensory appearances" between the impact of the environment on human beings and their reports about it, but uses such notions to explain the reliability of such reports.
+
+But, once again, how are we to decide whether such notions are needed? It is tempting to answer on the basis of an antecedent decision about the nature of human beings-a decision on whether we need such notions as "mind," "stream of consciousness," and the like to describe them. But this would be the wrong answer. We can take the Sellars-Quine attitude toward knowledge while cheerfully "countenancing" raw feels, a priori concepts, innate ideas, sense-data, propositions, and anything else which a causal explanation of human behavior might find it helpful to postulate.ll What we cannot do is to take knowledge of these "inner" or "abstract" entities as premises from which our knowledge of other entities is normally inferred, and without which the latter knowledge would be "ungrounded." The difference is between saying that to know a language is to be acquainted with the meanings of its terms, or that to see a table is to have a rectangular sense-impression, and explaining the authority of tokens of "All men are animals" or "That looks like a table" by virtue of the prior (internal, private, nonsocial) authority of a knowledge of meanings or of sense-impressions. Behaviorism in epistemology is a matter not of metaphysical parsimony, but of whether authority can attach to assertions by virtue of relations of "acquaintance" between persons and, for example, thoughts, impressions, universals, and propositions. The difference between the Quine-Sellars and the Chisholm-Bergmann outlooks on these matters is not the difference between lush and spare landscapes, but more like the difference between moral philosophers who think that rights and responsibilities are a matter of what society bestows and those who think that there is something inside a man which society "recognizes" when it makes its bestowal. The two schools of moral philosophy do not differ on the point that human beings have rights worth dying for. They differ rather about whether, once we have
+
+1 1I defend this claim when I discuss empirical psychology in chapter five. Sellars and Quine themselves, unfortunately, do not see the matter in this carefree way. For criticism of Quine's flight from intentions, see section 4 below. This criticism can be applied, mutatis mutandis, to Sellars's insistence on the claim that "the scientific image" excludes in· tentions; but Sellars's point is more subtle, and is involved with his Tractarian notion of picturing, criticized below in chapter six, section 5.
+
+understood when and why these rights have been granted or denied, in the way in which social and intellectual historians understand this, there is more to understand. They differ, in short, about whether there are "ontological foundations for human rights," just as the Sellars-Quine approach differs from the empiricist and rationalist traditions about whether, once we understand (as historians of knowledge do) when and why various beliefs have been adopted or discarded, there is something called "the relation of knowledge to reality" left over to be understood.
+
+This analogy with moral philosophy lets us focus the issue about behaviorism in epistemology yet again: the issue is not adequacy of explanation of fact, but rather whether a practice of justification can be given a "grounding" in fact. The question is not whether human knowledge in fact has "foundations," but whether it makes sense to suggest that it does-whether the idea of epistemic or moral authority having a "ground" in nature is a coherent one. For the pragmatist in morals, the claim that the customs of a given society are "grounded in human nature" is not one which he knows how to argue about. He is a pragmatist because he cannot see what it would be like for a custom to be so grounded. For the Quine-Sellars approach to epistemology, to say that truth and knowledge can only be judged by the standards of the inquirers of our own day is not to say that human knowledge is less noble or important, or more "cut off from the world," than we had thought. It is merely to say that nothing counts as justification unless by reference to what we already accept, and that there is no way to get outside our beliefs and our language so as to find some test other than coherence.
+
+To say that the True and the Right are matters of social practice may seem to condemn us to a relativism which, all by itself, is a reductio of a behaviorist approach to either knowledge or morals. I shall take up this charge in discussing historicism, in chapters seven and eight. Here I shall simply remark that only the image of a discipline-philosophy-which will pick out a given set of scientific or moral views as more "rational" than the alternatives by appeal to something which forms a permanent neutral matrix for all inquiry and all history, makes it possible to think that such relativism must automatically rule out coherence theories of intellectual and practical justification. One reason why professional philosophers recoil from the claim that knowledge may not have foundations, or rights and duties an ontological ground, is that the kind of behaviorism which dispenses with foundations is in a fair way toward dispensing with philosophy. For the view that there is no permanent neutral matrix within which the dramas of inquiry and history are enacted has as .a corollary that criticism of one's culture can only be piecemeal and partial-never "by reference to eternal standards." It threatens the neo-Kantian image of philosophy's relation to science and to culture. The urge to say that assertions and actions must not only cohere with other assertions and actions but "correspond" to something apart from what people are saying and doing has some claim to be called t he philosophical urge. It is the urge which drove Plato to say that Socrates' words and deeds, failing as they did to cohere with current theory and practice, nonetheless corresponded to something which the Athenians could barely glimpse. The residual Platonism which Quine and Sellars are opposing is not the hypostatization of nonphysical entities, but the notion of "correspondence" with such entities as the touchstone by which to measure the worth of present practice.12
+
+12 Unfortunately, both men tend to substitute correspondence to physical entities, and specifically to the "basic entities" of physical science (elementary particles, or their successors). Sellars's {a-no -Jay Rosenberg's) attempt to salvage something from the Platonic notion of knowledge as accuracy of picturing is criticized below (chapter six, section 5). My own attitude is Strawson's (and Heidegger's): "The cor· respondence theory requires, not purification, but elimination." (P. F. Strawson, "Truth," reprinted in Truth, ed. George Pitcher [Englewood Cliffs, N.J. , 1964], p. 32)-or, more mildly, it requires separation from epistemology and relegation to semantics. (See Robert Brandom,
+
+I am claiming, in short, that the Quine-Sellars attack on the Kantian notion of two sorts of representations-intuitions "given" to one faculty, and concepts (or meanings) "given" to another-is not the attempt to substitute one sort of account of human knowledge for another, but an attempt to get away from the notion of "an account of human knowledge." It amounts to a protest against an archetypal philosophical problem: the problem of how to reduce norms, rules, and justifications to facts, generalizations, and explanations.1s For this reason, we will not find neutral metaphilosophical ground on which to argue the issues Quine and Sellars raise. For they are not offering an "account" to be tested for "adequacy" but pointing to the futility of offering an "account." To refuse, as both do, to justify assertions by appeal to behavioristically unverifiable episodes (in which the mind recognizes its own direct acquaintance with an instantiation of blueness or with the meaning of "blue") is just to say that justification must be holistic. If we are not to have a doctrine of "knowledge by acquaintance" which will give us a foundation, and if we do not simply deny that there is such a thing as justification, then we will claim with Sellars that "science is rational not because it has a foundation, but because it is a self-correcting enterprise which can put any claim in jeopardy,
+
+"Truth and Assertability," Journal of Philosophy 73 [1976], pp. 137- 149·)
+
+13 Cf. Sellars's claim that "the idea that epistemic facts can be analyzed without remainder-even 'in principle'-into nonepistemic facts, whether phenomenal or behavioural, public or private, with no matter how lavish a sprinkling of subjunctives and hypo the ticals is, I believe, a radical mistake-a mistake ot a piece with the so-called 'naturalistic fallacy' in ethics" (Science, Perception and Reality, p. 131). I would argue that the importance of Sellars's approach to epistemology is that he sees the true and interesting irreducibility in the area not as between one sort of particular (mental, intentional) and another (physical) but as between descriptions on the one hand and norms, practices, and values on the other. (See note 17 below.)
+
+though not all at once."14 We will say with Quine that knowledge is not like an architectonic structure but like a field of force,15 and that there are no assertions which are immune from revision. We will be holistic not because we have a taste for wholes, any more than we are behaviorist because of a distaste for "ghostly entities," but simply because justification has always been behavioristic and holistic. Only the professional philosopher has dreamed that it might be something else, for only he is frightened by the epistemological skeptic. A holistic approach to knowledge is not a matter of antifoundationalist polemic, but a distrust of the whole epistemological enterprise. A behavioristic approach to episodes of "direct awareness" is not a matter of antimentalistic polemic, but a distrust of the Platonic quest for that special sort of certainty associated with visual perception. The image of the Mirror of Nature-a mirror more easily and certainly seen than that which it mirrors-suggests, and is suggested by, the image of philosophy as such a quest.
+
+If what I have been saying so far is sound, there is no way to argue for the views of Sellars and Quine except by replying to their critics. There is no neutral ground on which to stand and show that they have overcome, respectively, "the given" and "the analytic" in a fair fight. The best we can do is to disentangle the pure form of their criticisms of the tradition from various extraneous issues which their critics (and, to some extent, Quine and Sellars themselves) have introduced, and thereby perhaps to mitigate the paradoxical air of their doctrines. In the next section, I shall take up Sellars's attack on the Myth of the Given, and try to disentangle it from the "unfair to babies" implications of the claim that there is no such thing as pre-linguistic awareness. Next, I shall take up Quine's attack on the distinction between language and fact and try to disentangle
+
+14 Sellars. Science, Perception and Reality, p. 170.
+
+IG W.V.O. Quine, From a Logical Point of View (Cambridge, Mass., 1953). p. 42.
+
+it from Quine's unhappy reductionist claims about the "indeterminacy" of translation and of the Geisteswissenschaften. When Sellars's and Quine's doctrines are purified, they appear as complementary expressions of a single claim: that no "account of the nature of knowledge" can rely on a theory of representations which stand in privileged relations to reality. The work of these two philosophers enables us to unravel, at long last, Locke's confusion between explanation and justification, and to make clear why an "account of the nature of knowledge" can be, at most, a description of human behavior.
+
+### 3. PRE-LINGUISTIC AWARENESS
+
+In "Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind," Sellars formulates "psychological nominalism" as the view that
+
+all awareness of sorts, resemblances, facts, etc., in short all awareness of abstract entities-indeed, all awareness even of particulars-is a linguistic affair. According to it, not even the awareness of such sorts, resemblances, and facts as pertain to so-called immediate experience is presupposed by the process of acquiring the use of language.16
+
+The existence of raw feels-pains, whatever feelings babies have when looking at colored objects, etc.-is the obvious objection to this doctrine. To counter this objection, Sellars invokes the distinction between awareness-as-discriminativebehavior and awareness as what Sellars calls being "in the logical space of reasons, of justifying and being able to justify what one says" (p. 169). Awareness in the first sense is manifested by rats and amoebas and computers; it is simply reliable signaling. Awareness in the second sense is manifested only by beings whose behavior we construe as the utterance of sentences with the intention of justifying the utterance of other sentences. In this latter sense awareness is justified true belief-knowledge-but in the former
+
+16 Sellars, Science, Perception and Reality, p. 160.
+
+sense it is ability to respond to stimuli. The bulk of "Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind" is an argument that such ability is a causal condition for knowledge but not a ground for knowledge. This view has as a corollary that knowledge of particulars or of concepts is not temporally prior to knowledge of propositions (but always an abstraction from the latter), and thus that empiricist accounts of language-learning and of the nonpropositional basis for propositional knowledge are inevitably misguided. The crucial premise of this argument is that there is no such thing as a justified belief which is nonpropositional, and no such thing as justification which is not a relation between propositions. So to speak of our acquaintance with redness or with an instantiation of redness as "grounding" (as opposed to being a causal condition of) our knowledge that "this is a red object" or that "redness is a color" is always a mistake.
+
+Children and photoelectric cells both discriminate red objects, but pre-linguistic children are thought to "know what red is" in some sense in which photoelectric cells do not. But how can the child know what pain is if all awareness of anything "is a linguistic affair?" Here Sellars needs another distinction. This time it is between "knowing what X is like" and "knowing what sort of thing an X is." The latter involves being able to link the concept of Xness up with other concepts in such a way as to be able to justify claims about X's. On Sellars's Wittgensteinian view, in which to have a concept is to use a word, these two abilities are the same ability. It follows that we cannot have one concept without having many, nor can we come "to have a concept of something because we have noticed that sort of thing"; for "to have the ability to notice a sort of thing is already to have the concept of that sort of thing" (p. 176). But to "notice a sort of thing" is to notice under a description, not just to respond discriminatively to it. What, then, is it to know what pain is like without knowing or noticing what sort of thing it is?
+
+It is just to have pain. The snare to avoid here is the notion that there is some inner illumination which takes place only when the child's mind is lighted up by language, concepts, descriptions, and propositions, and does not take place when the child inarticulately wails and writhes. The child feels the same thing, and it feels just the same to him before and after language-learning. Before language, he is said· to know the thing he feels just in case it is the sort of thing which in later life he will be able to make noninferential reports about. That latent ability is what sets him apart from the photoelectric cell, not his greater sensitivity. Thus he may respond directly to a lack of oxygen in the air, the overly rapid motion of molecules, kinky alpha-rhythms in his brain, and so on, but he is not said to "know what they are" unless and until he comes to grasp the relevant vocabulary. But suffocation, heat, ecstasy, pain, fire, redness, parental hostility, mother love, hunger, loudness, and the like, are "known" pre-linguistically, or so ordinary speech would have it. They are known just by being had or felt. They are known without being able to be placed in classes, or related in any other way to anything else.
+
+There is no reason for Sellars to object to the notion of "knowing what pain (or redness) is like," for this would only support the Myth of the Given, and contradict psychological nominalism, if there were some connection between knowing what pain feels like and knowing what sort of thing pain is. But the only connection is that the former is an insufficient and unnecessary causal condition for the latter. It is insufficient for the obvious reason that we can know what redness is like without knowing that it is different from blue, that it is a color, and so on. It is unnecessary because we can know all that, and a great deal more, about redness while having been blind from birth, and thus not knowing what redness is like. It is just false that we cannot talk and know about what we do not have raw feels of, and equally false that if we cannot talk about them we may nevertheless have justified true beliefs about them. What is special about language is not that it "changes the quality of our experience" or "opens up new vistas of consciousness" or "synthesizes a previously unconscious manifold" or produces any other sort of "inner" change. All that its acquisition does is to let us enter a community whose members exchange justifications of assertions, and other actions, with one anotherY
+
+So Sellars may be taken as saying to traditional empiricism: knowing what things are like is not a matter of being justified in asserting propositions. To this, the empiricist is likely to reply, as have Roderick Firth and others, that such a view confuses concepts with words.1s Sellars,
+
+17 Cf. ibid., p. 169: "The essential point is that in characterizing an episode or a state as that of knowing, we are not giving an empirical description of that episode or state; we are placing it in the logical space of reasons, of justifying and being able to justify what one says."
+
+18 See Roderick Firth, "Coherence, Certainty, and Epistemic Priority," reprinted in Empirical Knowledge, ed. Roderick Chisholm and Robert Swartz (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1973). Firth attempts to resolve a problem created by the "coherence theory of concepts": viz., since "we cannot fully understand 'looks red' unless we possess the contrasting concept 'is red,' then it would seem that it is not logically possible to have the concept 'looks red' [as C. I. Lewis's doctrine of
+
+"sense meaning" would require] before we have the concept 'is red' " (p. 461). Firth says that the underlying paradox is easily dissolved if we do not confuse concepts with the words used to express them. It is a genetic fact, but a fact with philosophical implications, that when a child first begins to use the word "red" with any consistency he applies it to things that look red to him .... To call this a "primitive form" of the concept "looks red" is to acknowledge that in some sense the child cannot fully understand adult usage until he is able to distinguish things that merely look red from things that really are red; but we must not suppose that the child somehow loses his primitive concept when he acquires a more sophisticated one. (pp. 461-462)
+
+For a more detailed polemic against the Ryle-Wittgenstein-Sellars identification of having concepts with using words, see Brand Blanshard's Reason and Analysis (La Salle, Ill., 1962), chap. IX. Something like Firth's notion of a "primitive concept" recurs in a criticism of Sellars Wittgenstein, and others who "exaggerate" the importance of language are said to beg the question in favor of psychological nominalism by assuming that to have a concept is to have the use of a word. Sellars can rejoin with the following dilemma: either grant concepts to anything (e.g., record-changers) which can respond discriminatively to classes of objects, or else explain why you draw the line between conceptual thought and its primitive predecessors in a different place from that between having acquired a language and being still in training. This dilemma highlights the fact that traditional notions of given ness have run together raw feels and ability to discriminate, using the lack of the first to eliminate machines and include babies, and then using the presence of the second to make what babies have resemble propositional knowledge. The argument between Sellars and his critics on this point boils down to: Shall we take conceptualization as a matter of classification or of justification? Sellars can say that he will give up the term concep.t to those who wish to endow record-changers or their protoplasmic counterparts with concepts, as long as he can have some other term to indicate what we have when we can place classifications in relation to other classifications in the way language-users do when they argue about what class a given item should fall in. Once again, Sellars falls back on saying that justification is a matter of social practice, and that everything which is not a matter of social practice is no help in understanding the justification of human knowledge, no matter how helpful it may be in understanding its acquisition. The naturalistic and the genetic fallacies have, Sellars thinks, combined in traditional empiricism to produce the view that we would be in a better position to congratulate ourselves on accurately mirroring nature (or to lament our failure) if we could only bring to consciousness the stages of our childhood develop-
+
+by William S. Robinson, "The Legend of the Given," in Action, Knowledge and Reality, ed. H.-N. Castaneda (Indianapolis, 1975), pp. 83'108.
+
+ment. Confused by Descartes's conDation of thought and feeling, bemused by the virgin innocence of Locke's wax tablet, and frightened by the fact that if truth is in the whole then certainty is nowhere, empiricists have fastened on "what red feels like" as the key to our knowledge of the natural world. For Sellars, this is like fastening on what the baby feels like when its feeding is delayed as the key to the common moral consciousness.
+
+To sum up, Sellars's psychological nominalism is not a theory of how the mind works, nor of how knowledge is born in the infant breast, nor of the "nature of concepts," nor of any other matter of fact. It is a remark about the difference between facts and rules, a remark to the effect that we can only come under epistemic rules when we have entered the community where the game governed by these rules is played. We may balk at the claim that knowledge, awareness, concepts, language, inference, justification, and the logical space of reasons all descend on the shoulders of the bright child somewhere around the age of four, without having existed in even the most primitive form hitherto. But we do not balk at the thought that a cluster of rights and responsibilities will descend on him on his eighteenth birthday, without having been present in even the most primitive form hitherto. The latter situation is, to be sure, more clear-cut than the former, since there is no mark of the former occasion save some adult's casual remark (e.g., "the kid knows what he's talking about"). But in both cases what has happened is a shift in a person's relations with others, not a shift inside the person which now suits him to enter such new relationships. It is not as if we might be mistaken in thinking that a four-year-old has knowledge but that no one-year-old does, any more than we might be mistaken in taking the statute's word for the fact that eighteen-year-olds can marry freely whereas seventeen-year-olds cannot. It may be injudicious to take the prattle of certain four-yearolds seriously, just as it may have been injudicious to have set the age of legal responsibility so low, but no greater understanding of how knowledge (or responsibility) "works" will decide such matters.
+
+Thus Sellars should not be expected to offer arguments for a "theory of the relation between language and thought," for thoughts are inner episodes which may or may not (depending on the needs of empirical psychology) be thought of as necessarily linked to language, to brain-states, or to various other things. As an epistemologist, Sellars is not offering a theory about inner episodes. Rather, he is noting that the traditional, nonbehaviorist notion of "epistemology" is the confusion of an account of such episodes with an account of the right to make certain assertions. This is to adopt the view that philosophy (and, specifically, "philosophy of mind") cannot, by supplying a loftier critical point of view, reinforce or diminish the confidence in our own assertions which the approval of our peers gives us. Sellars's psychological nominalism does not stem from behaviorism as a thesis about what the mind is or is not. It stems only from epistemological behaviorism in the sense defined above, a sense indistinguishable from epistemological holism. To be behaviorist in this sense is simply to "divide through" by any and all mental events and faculties and to view our practices of justifying assertions as not needing empirical or "ontological" ground\_19
+
+Having reverted yet again to the community as source of epistemic authority, I shall end this section by reemphasizing that even the non conceptual, nonlinguistic knowledge of what a raw feel is like is attributed to beings on the basis of their potential membership in this com-
+
+other (e.g., ethical) uses of language.
+
+19 I shall be claiming in chapter eight that this attitude toward the relation between philosophy of mind and epistemology (or, more largely, between any scientific or metaphysical description of man on the one hand and any remark about the justification for his actions linguistic or otherwise--on the other) is central to Wittgenstein's efforts in the Investigations. I think that, like Sellars's own application of the distinction between describing men and judging them, it is a natural corollary of the Tractatus's rigorous separation of fact-stating from all
+
+munity. Babies and the more attractive sorts of animal are credited with "having feelings" rather than (like photoelectric cells and animals which no one feels sentimental about -e.g., flounders and spiders) "merely responding to stimuli." This is to be explained on the basis of that sort of community feeling which unites us with anything humanoid. To be humanoid is to have a human face, and the most important part of that face is a mouth which we can imagine uttering sentences in synchrony with ap· propriate expressions of the face as a whole.20 To say, with common sense, that babies and bats know what pain and red are like, but not what the motion of molecules or the change of seasons is like, is just to say that we can fairly readily imagine them opening their mouths and remarking on the former, but not on the latter. To say that a gadget (consisting of a photoelectric cell hitched up to a tape recorder) which says "red!" when and only when we shine red light on it doesn't know what red is like is to say that we cannot readily imagine continuing a conversation with the gadget. To say that we just don't know whether androids who have been manufactured out of protoplasm (and are all ready to go except for the speech center, which is about to be installed) know what red is like is not to confess scientific or philosophical bafflement concerning the nature of subjectivity.21 It is merely to say that things with roughly human faces which look as if they might someday be conversational partners are usually credited with "feelings," but that if we know too much about how these things
+
+20 For a good explication of the force and ramifications of Wittgenstein's view that the human body is the best picture of the human soul, see Virgil Aldrich, "On What It Is Like to Be a Man," Inquiry 16 (1973), 355-366. See also Stuart Hampshire, Thought and Action (Lon-
+
+don, 1959), chap. 1. 21 See Hilary Putnam, "Robots: Machines or Artificially Created Life?" reprinted in Modern Materialism, ed. J. O'Connor (New York, 1969), esp. p. 262 : " ... the question: Are robots conscious? calls for a decision, on our part, to treat robots as fellow members of our linguistic community, or not to so treat them."
+
+have been put together we may be loath to think of them as even potential partners.22
+
+This view of the attribution of pre-linguistic awarenessas a courtesy extended potential or imagined fellow-speakers of our language-has as a corollary that moral prohibitions against hurting babies and the better looking sorts of animals are not "ontologically grounded" in their possession of feeling. It is, if anything, the other way around. The moral prohibitions are expressions of a sense of community based on the imagined possibility of conversation, and the attribution of feelings is little more than a reminder of these prohibitions. This can be seen by noticing that nobody except philosophers of mind cares whether the raw feel of pain or redness is different for koalas than for us, but that we all care quite a bit about a koala when we see it writhing about. This fact does not mean that our or the koala's pain "is nothing but its behavior"; it just means that writhing is more important to our ability to imagine the koala asking us for help than what is going on inside the koala. Pigs rate much higher than koalas on intelligence tests, but pigs don't writhe in quite the right humanoid way, and the pig's face is the wrong shape for the facial expressions which go with ordinary conversation. So we send pigs to slaughter with equanimity, but form societies for 'the protection of koalas. This is not "irrational," any more than it is irrational to extend or deny civil rights to the moronic (or fetuses, or aboriginal tribes, or Martians). Rationality, when viewed as the formation of syllogisms based on discovery of "the facts" and the application of
+
+22 This does not mean that we are right to be loath, nor that we are wrong. I merely want to call attention to the traditional fear that biologists or psychologists, in their attitude toward their fellow men, may "murder to dissect." We are tempted, when we are particularly good at predicting something's behavior on the basis of its internal structure, to be "objective" about it-that is, to treat it as an en-soi rather than a pour-soi and "one of us." Philosophers have, I think, nothing much to say about when this temptation is justified or unjustified. Novelists and poets, however, do.
+
+such principles as "Pain should be minimized" or "Intelligent life is always more valuable than beautiful unintelligent beings," is a myth. Only the Platonic urge to say that every moral sentiment, and indeed every emotion of any sort, should be based on the recognition of an objective quality in the recipient makes us think that our treatment of koalas or whites or Martians is a "matter of moral principle." For the "facts" which must be discovered to apply the principle are, in the case of the koala's or the white's "feelings," not discoverable independently of sentiment.23 The emotions we have toward borderline cases depend on the liveliness of our imagination, and conversely. Only the notion that in philosophy we have a discipline able to give good reasons for what we believe on instinct lets us think that "more careful philosophical analysis" will help us draw a line between coldness of heart and foolish sentimentality.
+
+This claim that animals' knowledge of what some things are like has little to do with justified true belief, but a lot to do with morals, follows naturally from the Sellarsian notion that the inside of people and quasi-people is to be explained by what goes on outside (and, in particular, by their place in our community) rather than conversely. Ever since Descartes made methodological solipsism the mark of rigorous and professional philosophical thinking, philosophers have wanted to find the "ground" of cognition,
+
+23 It is notorious that moral philosophers are of little help in deciding what is to count as a moral agent, as having dignity rather than value, as among the beings whose happiness is to be maximized, as one of those one must take one's chance on turning out to be while still behind the veil of ignorance, etc. Sellars discusses the topic briefly and inconclusively in terms of the question of whether all members of an epistemic community are members of an ethical communitywhether "the intersubjective intention to promote epistemic welfare implies the intersubjective intention to promote welfare sans phrase" (Science and Metaphysics [London and New York, 1968], p. 225). For the effect of holism on meta-ethics and on the Platonic urge just men· tioned, see J. B. Schneewind, "Moral Knowledge and Moral Princi· pIes" in Knowledge and Necessity, ed. G. A. Vesey (London and New York, 1970).
+
+morality, aesthetic taste, and anything else that matters within the individual. For how could there be anything in societies which individuals had not put there? Only since Hegel have philosophers begun toying with the notion that the individual apart from his society is just one more animal. The antidemocratic implications of this view, not to mention its historicist and relativist implications, have made it difficult for Hegelian modes of thought to have any impact on the hard core of analytic philosophy-epistemology, philosophy of language, and philosophy of mind. But Sellars's "Empiricism and the Philosophy of Mind" self-described as "incipient Meditations Hegeliennes"24 succeeds in prying raw feels and justified true belief apart and depriving raw feels of their status as privileged representations. It thereby shows how behaviorism in epistemology can avoid the confusion between explanation and justification which made empiricist epistemology seem possible and necessary. In chapters seven and eight I shall try to show how the emphasis on the priority of the public to the private which results from repudiating empiricism paves the way for further Hegelian and Heideggerian projects of deconstruction.
+
+# 4. THE " 'IDEA' IDEA"
+
+Having argued that Sellars's attack on the Myth of the Given is compatible with kindness to babies and animals and thus with the common moral consciousness, I now want to argue that Quine's attack on the " 'idea' idea" and the distinction between language and fact is compatible with the intellectual respectability of the Geisteswissenschaften. Quine'S doctrines of the "indeterminacy of translation" and the "inscrutability of reference" have led him to claim that there is no "matter of fact" involved in attributions of meaning to utterances, beliefs to people, and aspirations . to cultures. I think that here again some distinctions will take
+
+24 Sellars, Science, Perception and Reality, p. 148.
+
+care of putative counter-intuitive consequences of epistemological behaviorism, letting us see it as clearing the ground for morality and high culture rather than depriving them of "objective truth."
+
+What Quine calls the " 'idea' idea" is the view that language is the expression of something "inner" which must be discovered before we can tell what an utterance means, or interpret the linguistic behavior of utterers (e.g., attribute beliefs, desires, and cultures to them). To abandon this idea is at once to abandon the logical-empiricist notion of "truth in virtue of meaning" and the sometime Oxonian notion of "conceptual truth," since there are no meanings or concepts from which truths might be read off. This attitude toward the concept of "concept" makes it possible to dismiss Kant's distinction between necessary truths (which can be determined by looking at concepts alone [analytic truth] or pure concepts and pure forms of intuition alone [synthetic a priori truth]) and contingent truths (which require reference to empirical intuitions). But Quine regards concepts and meanings as merely one species of intentions, and he wishes to obliterate all intentions. Thus, admitting that "means," "believes," and "desires," for example, have no behavioristic equivalents (as Brentano and Chisholm, in an effort to preserve some kernel of truth in traditional mind-body dualism, had also attempted to show), Quine concludes that this shows that the notions of "belief" and "desire" are (for "scientific" purposes) as dispensable as those of "concept" and "intuition":
+
+One may accept the Brentano thesis either as showing the indispensability of intentional idioms and the importance of an autonomous science of intention, or as showing the baselessness of intentional idioms and the emptiness of a science of intention. My attitude, unlike Brentano's, is the second. To accept intentional usage at face value is, we saw, to postulate translation relations as somehow objectively valid though indeterminate
+
+in principle relative to the totality of speech dispositions. Such postulation promises little gain in scientific insight if there is no better ground for it than that the supposed translation relations are presupposed by the vernacular of semantics and intention.25
+
+Quine thinks this anti-intentionalism of a piece with his polemic against analyticity. But it is not. The author of "Two Dogmas of Empiricism" should have said that concepts and meanings are harmless if posited to give explanations of our behavior, and become harmful only when treated as the source of a special kind of truth and of a special sort of authority for certain assertions. In particular, we would expect him to say that the reasons normally given for translating languages one way rather than another (or for ascribing one set of beliefs and desires rather than an odd alternative which would predict the same linguistic behavior) are justified simply by their internal coherence, and that such practices as translation and ascription of intentional states are justified by their social utility. Quine grants the utility, but he thinks it philosophically important to insist that the sort of truth proffered in such remarks as " 'Hund' is German for 'dog,' " and "Robinson believes in God" is not the sort of truth which expresses "matter of fact."26 He thus offers us a distinction between truth by convenience and truth by correspondence, so to speak, rather than the old positivist distinction between
+
+25 W.V.O. Quine, Word and Object (Cambridge, Mass., 1960), p. 221. 26 See Words and Objections: Essays on the Work of W. V. Quine, ed. Donald Davidson and Jaakko Hintikka (Dordrecht, 1969), p. 303, where Quine says:
+
+Consider ... the totality of truths of nature, known and unknown, observable and unobservable, past and future. The point about indeterminacy of translation is that it withstands even all this truth, the whole truth about nature. This is what I mean by saying that, where indeterminacy of translation applies, there is no real question of right choice; there is no fact of the matter even to within the acknowledged under-determination of a theory of nature.
+
+truth by convention and truth confirmed by sensory experience. Truths about meanings and beliefs and propositions are, somehow, not really truths in the full sense of the term-just as the positivists used to say that necessary truths were not really "about the world."
+
+The holism and pragmatism of "Two Dogmas" would seem to make this distinction between two sorts of truth as difficult to maintain as the older distinctions which Quine is concerned to attack. Many critics of Quine have noted this point, and have diagnosed his insistence on this distinction as a hangover of traditional empiricism.27 I agree with most of these criticisms, and shall not attempt to summarize or synthesize them (beyond noting that such critics unite in remarking that any sort of "indeterminacy" which we can find in translation will show up, equally harmlessly, in the Naturwissenschaften). But by examining the notion of "inscrutability of reference" we may get some understanding of the "empiricist" intuitions which make Quine persist in talk of "correspondence," and which hold him back from the Hegelian implications of his own behaviorism and holism.
+
+Quine summarizes the argument of his "Ontological Relativity" by saying:
+
+27 The best-known criticism of this sort is Noam Chomsky's "Quine'S Empirical Assumptions" in Words and Objections. The point is most convincingly made, however, by Hilary Putnam in "The Refutation of Conventionalism," Nous 8 (1974), 38: "If the adoption of one system of analytical hypotheses rather than another permits a great simplification of such sciences as neurophysiology, psychology, anthropology, etc., then why should we not say that what we mean by 'translation' is translation according to the manuals that have this property?" Putnam rightly diagnoses Quine's doctrine of the special indeterminacy of translation as following from a kind of essentialism. It is, roughly, one in which we know in advance that what cannot be put in the vocabulary of the physics of the day is so inessential as to be merely "in the eye of the beholder," a matter of subjective convenience. See also Christopher Boorse, "The Origins of the Indeterminacy Thesis," Journal of Philosophy 72 (1975), 369-387, and Richard Rorty, "Inde· terminacy of Translation and of Truth," Synthese 23 (1972), 443-462.
+
+What makes sense is to say not what the objects of a theory are, absolutely speaking, but how one theory of objects is interpretable or reinterpretable in another. ... What our present reflections are leading us to appreciate is that the riddle about seeing things upside down, or in complementary colors, should be taken seriously and its moral applied widely. The relativistic thesis to which we have come is this, to repeat: it makes no sense to say what the objects of a theory are, beyond saying how to interpret or reinterpret that theory in another. ... Talk of subordinate theories and their ontologies is meaningful but only relative to the background theory with its own primitively adopted and ultimately inscrutable ontology.28
+
+One would think this relativistic thesis the natural and happy result of the approach to knowledge and science which Quine shares with Sellars, were it not for the disturbing phrase "primitively adopted and ultimately inscrutable ontology." On a full-blooded holistic view, the question "Are we really referring to rabbits or rabbit-stages? formulae or G6del numbers?" would be regarded neither as senseless, nor as sensible only when relativized to a background language,29 but as like "Are we really talking about nations or about groups of individual persons?" or "Are we really talking about witches or about hallucinatory psychotics?" The latter questions have a sense if we give them a sense-that is, if something further depends upon the answer. It is easy to imagine situations in which sense would be given to them; it is harder, but not impossible, for the rabbit-versus-rabbit-stage case. But Quine is not
+
+28 W.V.O. Quine, Ontological Relativity and Other Essays (New
+
+York, 1969), pp. 50-51. 29 See ibid., pp. 47ff. Hartry Field has shown that Quine's notion of "relativization to a background language" and "taking reference at face value" are incompatible with his general line of argument. See his "Quine and the Correspondence Theory," Philosophical Review 83 (1974). 207ff. But this difficulty is not relevant to my present purposes.
+
+interested in the question of that way of giving sense. His claims about indeterminacy and inscrutability are not supposed to tie in with the needs of science or practice. Admitting that linguists never dream of taking advantage of indeterminacy to translate the short expressions normally uttered when rabbits break cover as "another rabbit-stagel" Quine says:
+
+The implicit maxim guiding his [the linguist's] choice of "rabbit" ... is that an enduring and relatively homogenous object, moving as a whole against a contrasting background, is a likely reference for a short expression. . . . The maxim is his own imposition, toward settling what is objectively indeterminate. It is a very sensible imposition, and I would recommend no other. But I am making a philosophical point.30
+
+A "philosophical point" in this sense is, at a minimum, one that has no relevance to deciding how the world is. Quine teeters between the older positivist view that such points are disreputably "metaphysical" and the more Oxonian philosophy-as-therapy view that such peculiarly philosophical points serve as antidotes to a 7TPWTOV .y£fiBo<; such as the " 'idea' idea." We might, however, take this particular philosophical point as offering an antidote against, if anything, the notions of "ontology" and of "reference." That is, we might fall back on the more old-fashioned view that just as the behaviorist approach to "truth by virtue of meaning" in "Two Dogmas" left us with no notion of "sameness of meaning" save (as Harman says) the commonsensical and philosophically uninteresting one in which "The president went to Vietnam" and "Johnson went to Vietnam" mean the same thing, so the behaviorist approach to "ontology" of "Ontological Relativity" leaves us with no notion of "sameness of reference" save the common-sensical and philosophically uninteresting one in which talk about rabbit-stages and talk about rabbits are talk about the same
+
+30Quine, Ontological Relativity, p. 34·
+
+things (in different ways).31 The philosophical notion of "reference" seems to Quine to contrast with that of meaning because:
+
+Reference, extension, has been the firm thing; meaning, intension, the infirm. The indeterminacy of translation now confronting us, however, cuts across extension and intension alike. The terms "rabbit," "undetached rabbit part," and "rabbit stage" differ not only in meaning; they are true of different things. Reference itself proves behaviorally inscrutable.32
+
+But this relative firmness was itself merely the product of Quine's claim that intensions, for which there were no criteria of identity, were flabbier entities than extensions, for which there were. The problem about identity-conditions for intensions boils down, Quine thinks, to that of how "two eternal sentences should be related in order that, where 'P' and 'q' stand for them, we be entitled to say that
+
+[P] is the same proposition as [q] rather than another."ss But to think that this question can be answered is to think, Quine says, that there is some synonymy relation which makes a sentence of one language the right translation of a sentence of another.34
+
+We have now, however, come full circle. The firmness of reference is what it is because of a putative contrast with an infirmness about meaning. But this infirmness is only present if translation is indeterminate in some way in which physics is not. So if we accept the standard criticisms of Quine's "double" indeterminacy of translation (an indeterminacy which differs from that of physical theory in
+
+31 The example of common·sensical sameness of meaning comes from Harman, "Quine," p. 142. For more on the distinction between the common·sensical and the philosophical senses of "talking about" or referring, see my "Realism and Reference," Monist 59 (1976), 32 1-340, and chapter six, section 4.
+
+32 Quine, Ontological Relativity, p. 35.
+
+that there is no "matter of fact" in the former case), then we have no reason for being startled at reference's faring no better, and no reason for thinking that the behavioral inscrutability of reference leads to any conclusions save "so much the worse for reference" or "rabbit-stages and rabbits are just the same things." Since "reference" here means a specifically philosophical notion, whose inscrutability is a specifically philosophical point which depends upon holding rabbits and rabbit-stages further apart than any scientific or practical need would hold them, we might feel entitled to adopt the same insouciant attitude toward this inscrutability which Quine adopts toward the specifically philosophical notion of synonymy and toward Brentano's thesis of the irreducibility of the intentional.
+
+We should indeed adopt this attitude,3S but not before looking more closely at Quine'S vacillation on the subject of ontology. To say that the philosophical notion of reference is one we can well do without is, as Quine would agree, to say that ontology is also. Since it is because of a concern for ontology that Quine takes reference seriously, it will help to see how hard it is for him to reconcile this concern with his holistic claim that there is no "first philosophy" higher than and prior to ordinary scientific inquiry.36 This latter view would seem to incline him toward Sellars's view that "science is the measure of all things, of what is that it is, and of what is not that it is not."37 Nevertheless, Quine claims that the practical indispensability of intentional idioms should not blind us to the fact that:
+
+If we are limning the true and ultimate structure of reality, the canonical scheme for us is the austere scheme that knows no quotation but direct quotation and no
+
+35I argue again for doing so in chapter seven.
+
+36See "On Carnap's Views on Ontology" in Quine, Ways of Paradox (New York, 1968) and "Epistemology Naturalized" in Ontological Relativity.
+
+37 The phrase is from Sellars, Science, Perception and Reality, p. 173·
+
+propositional attitudes but only the physical constitutions and behavior of organisms.3s
+
+This project, he claims, is continuous with that of science because:
+
+Each elimination of obscure constructions or notions that we manage to achieve, by paraphrase into more lucid elements, is a clarification of the conceptual scheme of science. The same motives that impel scientists to seek ever simpler and clearer theories adequate to the subject matter of their special sciences are motives for simplification and clarification of the broader framework shared by all the sciences .... The quest of a simplest, clearest overall pattern of canonical notation is not to be distinguished from a quest of ultimate categories, a limning of the most general traits of reality. Nor let it be retorted that such constructions are conventional affairs not dictated by reality; for may not the same be said of a physical theory? True, such is the nature of reality that one physical theory will get us around better than another; but similarly for canonical notations. (p. 161)
+
+The catch, of course, comes in knowing what "obscurity" and "clarity" are. The Geisteswissenschaften, Quine thinks, employ notions which are so unclear that we must simply rub them out when limning the structure of reality. All is clear, however, in the physical sciences save when these invoke numbers, functions, properties, etc., in which case we interpret these as sets, an interpretation which the physical scientist can regard with sublime indifference. But the unclarity of "belief," "meaning," "translates as ... ," etc. are irredeemable; there is nothing on hand in set theory to replace them with; they can survive only on grounds of practical convenience.39
+
+38 Quine, Word and Object, p. 22 1.
+
+39 Harman ("Quine," p. 126) puts a more charitable interpretation upon Quine's views on these matters. According to Harman,
+
+It is not that he thinks intensional objects, propositions or meanings, are a queer kind of entity (as one might believe that electrons must
+
+Why, however, do "believes in ... " and "translates as ... " owe more to the necessities of practice than "is the same electron as ... "and "is the same set as ... "? Why do the Naturwissenschaften limn reality while the Geisteswissenschaften merely enable us to cope with it? What is it that sets them apart, given that we no longer think of any sort of statement having a privileged epistemological status, but of all statements as working together for the good of the race in that process of gradual holistic adjustment made famous by "Two Dogmas of Empiricism"? Why should not the unit of empirical inquiry be the whole of culture (including both the Natur- and the Geisteswissenschaften) rather than just the whole of physical science?
+
+Trying to answer these rhetorical questions leads us to a genuine contradiction in Quine's view. It comes out most clearly in a passage in which he is trying to argue that the practical dictates of translation have no epistemological implications:
+
+"Save logical truth" is conventional in character because of the indeterminacy of translation .... The very want of determinacy puts a premium on adhering to this strong and simple rule as a partial determinant. ... "Save logical truth" is both a convention and a wise one. And we see also that it gives logical truth no epistemological status distinct from that of any obvious truths of a so-called factual kind.40
+
+be a queer kind of entity). His complaint is not that intensional objects, as something abstract, offend his sensibilities in the way that they no doubt offend the sensibilities of Nelson Goodman. . . . Quine's argument ... is that the various views in that cluster [which invoke such entities] are theories that don't explain what they purport to explain. So his attitude toward intensional objects is similar to his attitude toward phlogiston or the ether (or witches).
+
+Quine seems blandly to endorse Harman's interpretation at Words and Objections, p. 296. But I do not think that this interpretation can be reconciled with many of the arguments in Word and Object and elsewhere, although I agree that it represents the attitude which Quine should have adopted.
+
+40 Words and Objections, p. 318.
+
+But if conventionality depends upon a special indeterminacy of translation, then we may not say, as Quine does in a passage quoted previously, that physical theory is a "conventional affair not dictated by reality." If the permanence of logical truth is merely a practical rule, rather than an insight into the nature of reality, then if physical theory is such an insight, it cannot also be a practical rule.
+
+To sum up his vacillations, we may note that Quine wants to assert all the following:
+
+- 1. There is such a thing as ontology, governed by "scruples about what objects one may assume" and based on a distinction between "irresponsible reification and its opposite."41
+- 2. There is no special epistemological status which any sentence has apart from its role in the maintaining that "field of force" which is human knowledge and whose aim is coping with sensory irradiations.
+- 3. So there is no such thing as direct acquaintance with sense-data or meanings which would give inviolability to reports by virtue of their correspondence to reality, apart from their role in the general scheme of belief.
+- 4. So epistemology and ontology never meet, since our scruples about what objects to assume are not dictated by our acquaintance with either universals or particulars.
+- 5. But there is nevertheless a distinction to be made between those parts of the web of belief which express matters of fact and those which do not, and ontology insures that we can detect this difference.
+
+If he is to assert (5) as well as (1)-(4), Quine must give a sense to the distinction between "matter of fact" and "convention" which has no links with the usual instrumentalistphenomenalist distinction-that between what we are really acquainted with and what we "posit" to cope with stimuli.
+
+41 Quine, Word and Object, pp. llg·120.
+
+The only way he can do so, as far as I can see, is simply to pick out the elementary particles of contemporary physics as paradigmatically matter-of-factual and explain that the sense in which there is no matter of fact about meanings or beliefs is that different things can be said about what a sentence means or a man believes without any implications for the movements of these particles. This tactic makes his preference for physics over psychology, and thus his concern about "irresponsible reification," purely aesthetic. Further, it will not work. For alternative biochemical (e.g.) as well as alternative psychological theories will be compatible with all and only the same movements of the same particles. Unless and until there is a genuine deduction of all true nomological statements from the laws of physics (which no one seriously expects), there will be no complaint to be made about intentions which cannot be made about mitochondria.42
+
+42 Dagfinn Ff/lllesdal ("Meaning and Experience" in Mind and Lan· guage, ed. S. Guttenplan [Oxford, 1975]) suggests a way of construing Quine's indeterminacy thesis designed to show that "Quine's position is more interesting if his ontological bias towards physicalism is regarded as a consequence of a more fundamental epistemological bias towards empiricism." (p. 33) The suggestion is that
+
+. . . all the truths there are, are included in the theory of nature. As we noted earlier, in our theory of nature we try to account for all our experiences. And the only entities we are justified in assuming are those that are appealed to in the simplest theory that accounts for all this evidence. These entities and their properties and interrelations are all there is to the world, and all there is to be right or wrong about. All truths about these are included in our theory of nature. In translation we are not describing a further realm of reality, we are just correlating two comprehensive theories concerning all there is. (p. 32)
+
+However, I do not see how we can tell when we have stopped describing and started correlating descriptions. Or, to put it in another way, I do not see how we can mark off "nature" from something else save by finding some sense of "account for all our experiences" in which something less than the whole of culture can account for all our experiences.
+
+An alternative way of tracing the indeterminacy thesis to empiri-
+
+Quine is led into these difficulties, I think, by an attempt to preserve the view which he, like Sellars, inherits from Carnap and ultimately from Wittgenstein's Tractatus: the view that the world can be "completely described" in an extensional language. It is intensionality rather than intentionality which is the real bugbear, for only the non-truthfunctional character of intentional discourse makes its presumed subject more disreputable than, say, irreducibly biochemical talk of mitochondria. Reducibility to talk of particles is only a cover for reducibility to truth-functional discourse. The particles do not matter, but logical form does. The lack of clear identity-conditions for intentions is a disaster not because of some ghostliness which ensues, but simply because this lack leaves certain sentences nonextensional. But if this is so, then we can achieve Quine's ends without employing his means. We can do so by granting that the world can be completely described in a truthfunctional language, while simultaneously granting that pieces of it can also be described in an intensional one, and simply refraining from invidious comparisons between
+
+cism is offered by John McDowell ("Truth Conditions, Bivalence, and Verificationism" in Truth and Meaning, ed. G. Evans and J. McDowell [Oxford, 1976]). McDowell thinks that Quine may be asserting "a ver· sion, not quite happily formulated, of the strong verificationist objec· tion to realism in a theory of meaning." (p. 65) This objection is that to construe an assertion's truth as "underdetermined by what is observa· ble" would, if we construed the statement "realistically," require us to attribute to the speaker "a conception of truth as being independent of what is observable." (p. 64) Since the latter is, for the verificationist, absurd, it shows that we must not construe the statement "realistically." This strategy, however, seems to involve finding a sense for "determination by what is observable" which would keep biology and exclude translation, and, once again, I do not see how this is to be done. So I conclude that the tension between (4) and (5) remains, despite the attempts of friendly critics of Quine to reformulate his point in a way that renders it safe from Chomsky's criticism that the only indeterminacy in the area is the familiar underdetermination of theory by observation (a criticism which both F!43 Donald Davidson, "Mental Events" in Experience and Theory, ed. L. Foster and J. W. Swanson (Amherst, Mass., 1970), pp. 94-g6.
+
+vocabularies, there is no reason whatever for thinking that those vocabularies which lend themselves to truth-functional formulations "limn the true and ultimate structure of reality" in a way in which intensional vocabularies do not. The extensional-intensional distinction turns out to have no more and no less philosophical interest than the distinction between nations and people: it is capable of inciting reductionist emotion, but not capable of providing a special reason for embarking on reductionist projects.
+
+Davidson's distinction gives us a way of seeing that an intentional vocabulary is just one more vocabulary for talking about portions of a world which can, indeed, be completely described without this vocabulary. We can share Carnap's intuition that the movement of anything can be predicted on the basis of the movement of elementary particles, and that if we simply kept track of all those particles we would be keeping track of (though not explaining) all that there is, without speaking, with Quine, of "the baselessness of intentional idioms and the emptiness of a science of intention." One vocabulary-that of particle physics-may work for every portion of the universe, whereas talk of mitochondria, emeroses, cabinet ministers, and intentions is called for only here and there. But the distinction between the universal and the specific is not the distinction between the factual and the "empty," still less that between the real and the apparent, or the theoretic and the practical, or nature and convention.
+
+Davidson, however, links his own project to Quine'S in a misleading way when he says that "the heteronomic character of general statements linking the mental and the physical traces back to this central role of translation in the description of all propositional attitudes, and to the indeterminacy of translation," 44 and also when he cites with approval Quine'S remark that "Brentano's thesis of the irreducibility of intentional idioms is of a piece with the thesis of indeterminacy of translation."45 Both remarks sug-
+
+HIbid., p. 97.
+
+45 Ibid., p. 97n., quoting Quine, Word and Object, p. 22 1.
+
+gest that the relation between statements which offer translations and behaviorese is special in some way that the relation between statements about mitochondria and those about elementary particles is not. Both suggest Quine's odd doctrine of the "double" indeterminacy of translation. But if what I have been saying is right, irreducibility is always just irreducibility, and never a clue to "ontological" differences. There are lots of vocabularies in the language within which one might expect to get a comprehensive theory phrased in homonomic generalizations, and science, political theory, literary criticism, and the rest will, God willing, continue to create more and more such vocabularies. To abandon the notion that in philosophy we have a discipline which guards against "irresponsible reification" and systematizes our "scruples about what objects one may assume" would be to take irreducibility in our stride and thus to judge each such vocabulary on pragmatic or aesthetic grounds alone. Quine's strictures against Carnap's attempt to divide philosophy from science are just what is needed to help us realize that there is no such discipline, and thus just what is needed to see that the Geisteswissenschaften would have not become more wissenschaftlich, or more ontologically respectable, if Brentano and Dilthey had turned out to be wrong about their irreducibility. Unfortunately, however, Quine'S enduring conviction that symbolic logic must somehow have "ontological implications" leads him to make more of translation, intentionality, and the .. 'idea' idea" than needs to be made.
+
+I have devoted this long section to arguing that Quine'S attack on "truth by virtue of meaning" as an explanation of putatively necessary truths should not be confused with his attack on "meanings" as ideas in the mind, ideas which determine the accuracy of translations in a way that linguistic behavior cannot. The former is indeed a pseudo-explanation; there are, for the holistic reasons given in "Two Dogmas," no privileged representations. But Quine'S distrust of privileged representations leads him to distrust all representations, to distrust the " 'idea' idea" itself. Yet ideas in the mind are no more or less disreputable than neurons in the brain, mitochondria in the cells, passions in the soul, or moral progress in history. The damage done by the "'idea' idea" in modern philosophy was done by the pseudo-explanation of epistemic authority through the notion of "direct acquaintance" by the "Eye of the Mind" with mental entities such as sense-data and meanings. But this is epistemological damage, not ontological damage. If I am right in the criticisms of Quine I have been making (and in the general line I am taking in this book) the only way in which one can do ontological damage is to block the road of inquiry by insisting on a bad old theory at the expense of a good new theory. It may be claimed that nineteenth-century introspectionist psychology did briefly block the road of inquiry, but even if that were so it would be quite a different thing from saying that the Geisteswissenschaften are preventing us from seeing reality plain, or that their shady ontology must be tolerated for the sake of practical ends. The lesson of epistemological behaviorism is just that there is no "philosophical point" to be made about translation or intentionality, nor about any other "ontological" subject. Rather, it helps us see that explanatory power is where we find it, and that the philosophical attempt to distinguish between "scientific" and "unscientific" explanations is needless.
+
+### 5. EPISTEMOLOGICAL BEHAVIORISM, PSYCHOLOGICAL BEHAVIORISM, AND LANGUAGE
+
+In the previous chapter I said that the epistemological tradition confused the causal process of acquiring knowledge with questions concerning its justification. In this chapter I have presented Sellars's criticism of the Myth of the Given and Quine's criticism of the notion of truth by virtue of meaning as two detailed developments of this more general criticism. If we accept these criticisms, and
+
+therefore drop the notion of epistemology as the quest, initiated by Descartes, for those privileged items in the field of consciousness which are the touchstones of truth, we are in a position to ask whether there still remains something for epistemology to be. I want to urge that there does not. To understand the matters which Descartes wanted to understand-the superiority of the New Science to Aristotle, the relations between this science and mathematics, common sense, theology, and morality-we need to turn outward rather than inward, toward the social context of justification rather than to the relations between inner representations. This attitude has been encouraged in recent decades by many philosophical developments, particularly those stemming from Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations and from Kuhn's Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Some of these developments will be canvassed in chapters seven and eight. Before doing so, however, I shall discuss two attempts to preserve something from the Cartesian tradition, attempts which may seem to shed some doubt on our ability simply to drop the image of the Mirror of Nature altogether.
+
+The first of these attempts is the revolt against logical behaviorism in the philosophy of psychology, leading to the development of explanations of behavior in terms of inner representations without, necessarily, any linkup with the justification of beliefs and actions. I have already said that once explanation and justification are held apart there is no reason to object to explanation of the acquisition of knowledge in terms of representations, and that such explanations can be offered without resuscitating the traditional "mind-body problem." But I think that the defense of such explanations against Ryle and Skinner can easily be distorted into a rehabilitation of the traditional seventeenthcentury philosophical problematic, and thus I shall devote chapter five to a discussion of such defenses. My aim will be to disassociate empirical psychology from the remnants of
+
+epistemology by defending it against both Wittgensteinian criticisms and Chomskyan compliments.
+
+The second attempt to preserve something from the Cartesian tradition which I shall discuss is the effort, within recent philosophy of language, to specify "how language hooks onto the world," thus creating an analogue of the Cartesian problem of how thought hooks onto the world. An attempt to use the notions of the reference of terms and the truth of sentences to aid in understanding the matters which troubled Descartes seems to me doomed to failure, but such a program is very tempting. Because language is a "public" Mirror of Nature, as thought is a "private" one, it seems that we should be able to reformulate a great many Cartesian and Kantian questions and answers in linguistic terms, and thereby rehabilitate a lot of standard philosophical issues (e.g., the choice between idealism and realism). I devote chapter six to various efforts at such rehabilitation, and argue that semantics should be kept as pure of epistemology as should psychology.
+
+Once both the inner representations needed in psychological explanation and the word-world relations needed by semantics to produce a theory of meaning for natural languages are seen as irrelevant to issues of justification, we can see the abandonment of the search for privileged representations as the abandonment of the goal of a "theory of knowledge." The urge toward such a theory in the seventeenth century was a product of the change from one paradigm of understanding nature to another, as well as of the change from a religious to a secular culture. Philosophy as a discipline capable of giving us a "right method of seeking truth" depends upon finding some permanent neutral framework of all possible inquiry, an understanding of which will enable us to see, for example, why neither Aristotle nor Bellarmine was justified in believing what he believed. The mind as Mirror of Nature was the Cartesian tradition's response to the need for such a framework. If there are no privileged representations in this mirror, then it will no longer answer to the need for a touchstone for choice between justified and unjustified claims upon our belief. Unless some other such framework can be found, the abandonment of the image of the Mirror leads us to abandon the notion of philosophy as a discipline which adjudicates the claims of science and religion, mathematics and poetry, reason and sentiment, allocating an appropriate place to each. In chapters seven and eight I develop this point further.
+
+# Epistemology and Empirical Psychology
+
+### 1. SUSPICIONS ABOUT PSYCHOLOGY
+
+The line of thought I have called "epistemological behaviorism" has produced a prejudice against the notion of "mental entities" and "psychological processes." A certain picture of man's higher faculties, common to Descartes and Locke, has been gradually erased by the work of such writers as Dewey, Ryle, Austin, Wittgenstein, Sellars, and Quine. However, this picture-the one which gave rise to the seventeenth-century notion of a "veil of ideas," and thus to epistemological skepticism-has not been replaced by a new and clearer picture. On the contrary, there is widespread fratricidal disagreement among anti-Cartesians about what, if anything, to say about the mind. Ryle's magic word "disposition" is no longer in favor, but more up-to-date notions such as "functional state" are offered as substitutes. Anything smacking of either Skinnerian methodological behaviorism or Rylean "logical" behaviorism is looked at askance, but it is agreed that there must be some way of avoiding such reductive efforts without falling back into the sort of dualism which engendered the traditional "problems of modern philosophy." The counter-intuitive consequences of behaviorism, reductively interpreted, are illustrated by Malcolm's polemic against much recent work by psychologists:
+
+Thus, it is the facts, the circumstances surrounding the behavior, that give it the property of expressing recognition. This property is not due to something that goes on inside.
+
+It seems to me that if this point were understood by
+
+philosophers and psychologists, they would no longer have a motive for constructing theories and models for recognition, memory, thinking, problem solving, understanding, and other "cognitive processes."1
+
+If we follow out this line of thought, we can decide that the whole empirical science of psychology is based on a mistake, and that there is no middle ground for research between common-sensical explanations of behavior on the one hand and neurophysiology on the other. The notion that there is a middle ground for psychology to investigate will, in this view, be a product of Malcolm's "myth of cognitive processes and structures"-what Ryle called "Descartes' Myth." Malcolm seems inclined to take the matter to this point, for example, in his description of the Chomskyan notion of an "internalized system of rules" as typical of the root mistake of the "traditional theory of Ideas," viz.:
+
+The assumption ... that in speaking a person must be guided. There must be something at hand that shows him how to speak, how to put words together grammatically and with coherent sense .... What is being explained is knowledge-both knowing that and knowing how. The presence in him of the structure of the language or of its system of rules is supposed to account for this knowledge -to explain how he knows. (p. 389)
+
+If we once see that "our understanding of human cognitive powers is not advanced by replacing the stimulus-response mythology with a mythology of inner guidance systems" (p. 392), Malcolm thinks, we shall not think that there are any explanations to be looked for in this area.
+
+It is certainly true that the model of the mind which led Descartes and Locke to construct the "traditional philosophical problems" was built into the terminology of the
+
+1 Norman Malcolm, "The Myth of Cognitive Processe� and Structures," in Cognitive Development and Epistemology, ed. Theodore Mischel (New York and London, 1971), p. 387.
+
+young science of psychology.2 It would be surprising if the overthrow of this model did not have some effect upon work in that science. Yet it would be equally surprising if a discipline now several generations away from its philosophical origins should be unable to stand on its own feet. There must, we suspect, be psychological research programs which cannot be endangered by a philosophical criticism of the vocabularies used by their designers.
+
+Wittgensteinian criticisms (like Malcolm's) of such programs often seem based on a fallacious move from
+
+to
+
+- 1. The meaning of terms referring to the mental is to be explained in terms of behavior (where "behavior" is short-hand for "functions relating circumstances and stimuli to behavior") rather than by interior ostension
+
+- 2. Psychology can concern itself only with empirical correlations between bits of behavior and external circumstances.
+
+The inference, as successive crItICS of Ryle have pointed out, has no greater force than the parallel inference made by operationalist philosophers of science about physics.3 Fodor, for example, remarks that the psychologist is quite prepared to admit that certain features in behavior and in the social matrix are necessary conditions for the occurrence of thoughts, recognitions, emotions, etc., but he urges that there may be lots of equally necessary "inner" conditions as wel1.4 So if the psychological investigator has sense enough to avoid defining, for example, "act of recognition" in terms of purely inner events, presumably he can take
+
+2See, for example, J. C. Flugel and Donald J. West, A Hundred Years of Psychology (London, 1964), chapters one and two.
+
+3The point was first made, I believe, by Albert Hofstader in "Profes· sor Ryle's Category-Mistakes," Journal of Philosophy 47 (1951), 257- 270•
+
+4Jerry Fodor, "Could There Be a Theory of Perception?" Journal of Philosophy 63 (1g66), 371.
+
+advantage of behavior and surroundings to identify his data. What more than this can be required to avoid the charge of mythologizing? It might, of course, turn out that there were no "intervening variables" worth postulating, but this could presumably only be discovered a posteriori, by trying and failing. As P. C. Dodwell says, replying to Malcolm:
+
+On Malcolm's view, psychologists would have to restrict themselves to investigations of simple empirical relationships such as that which might obtain between memory and sleep deprivation. But it is extremely difficult to see how this restriction could be justified. The factors which psychologists investigate in human memory are empirical relationships, although usually of a more complicated sort than the one just mentioned. Who, then, should make the decision on which empirical relationships are to be cleared for investigation? Not philosophers, surely.5
+
+This reply seems to me entirely convincing, but we can nevertheless profit from considering the reasons why a reductive operationalism has seemed so much more palatable for psychology than for physics. Why have philosophers begrudged psychologists the right to dream up whatever theoretical entities and processes might help them to explain our behavior? One such reason has already been given: the confusion between the claims labeled (1) and (2) above. This confusion rested upon the fear, found in Husser! and Dilthey as well as in Wittgensteinians like Winch and Kenny, that subjecting human behavior to mechanistic explanation in terms of "psychological processes" would obscure the distinction between persons and things, between the human reality studied by the Geisteswissenschaften and the rest of reality studied by the Naturwissenschaften. More will be said in later chapters about that distinction, but for
+
+5 P. C. Dodwell, "Is a Theory of Conceptual Development Necessary?" in Cognitive Development and Epistemology (cited in note 1 above), P· 382.
+
+now we may be content with Dodwell's reply. Fear of mechanism and loss of personhood is a ground for suspicion of all the behavioral sciences, and does not catch what philosophers have found especially dubious about psychology. The more directly relevant reasons for suspicion are those which suggest that psychologists should be more mechanistic rather than less, that they should cut straight through the mental to the neurophysiological.
+
+The first reason is simply the urge toward unified science, which is not so much the urge to reduce the Many to the One as the conviction that seventeenth-century science discovered that everything could be explained by atoms and the void, and that philosophy has a moral duty to preserve this insight. This conviction, however, has been softened by a dim awareness of quantum mechanics, so that an ontological respect for insensate matter has been replaced by a sociological respect for professors of physics. Philosophers' references to "the physical" are now standardly accompanied by a note explaining that any entity will count as "physical" which is invoked by the "physical sciences." Before Quine, when "reduction" was still the heart of the logical-empiricist program, philosophers thought themselves able to make actual contributions to the unification of science by "analyzing the meanings" of terms used in sociology, psychology, etc. Since Quine's attack on meaning, however, the need to reduce everything to whatever-physicists-will-countenance has been replaced by a still vaguer feeling that the sciences other than physics become "more scientific" when they can replace functional descriptions of theoretical entities (e.g., "gene") with structural descriptions (e.g., "DNA molecule"). This feeling is evanescent in cases like sociology and economics, where nobody wants to press for the physical realization of postulated theoretical entities, but it persists in psychology, whose theoretical entities have roughly the sort of concreteness which invites replacement by neurophysiology. But why, given Quinean reasons for thinking that no interesting necessary and sufficient conditions for the application of the terms of one discipline can be given in the terms of another, should we be so impatient for such replacement? No one thought that genetics involved appeal to dubious entities because DNA was a long time coming. So what accounts for the instinctive feeling that psychologists are blocking the road of inquiry?
+
+To answer this, we must turn to a second reason for suspicion of postulated mental entities and processes. We may call this, following Ryle, the fear of ghosts. The thought that by countenancing the mental, even temporarily, we are losing the scientific spirit, comes from two sources. The first, which I discussed in chapter one, is the confusion of the post-Cartesian conception of "consciousness" with the pre-philosophical notion of the soul as what leaves the body at death. The second is the epistemological argument that introspectibility carries with it privileged access, and that since such epistemic privilege must be based on an ontological difference (mental entities being intrinsically better known to their possessors than anything physical could be known to anyone), we must deny the existence of the mental-qua-introspectable on pain of making part of our knowledge of reality depend upon unverifiable reports. Such an argument is rarely offered so boldly, but something like it underlies a great deal of both positivistic and Wittgensteinian hostility to the menta1.6 However, just as the notion of the "unity of science" as a program for philosophical research cannot survive Quine's attack on "meaning," so this epistemological argument cannot survive Sellars's treatment of "givenness." In Sellars's account of immediate knowledge, introspection is a learned ability, and the dark suspicion that subjects will turn out to introspect whatever the experimenter tells them they ought to be able to introspect is largely justified. For our immediate knowledge
+
+6 See, for example, Malcolm's "expression theory" of first-person mentalistic reports, based on a passage in the Philosophical Investigations.
+
+of mental events is not, according to Sellars, a mark of distinct ontological status, and the incorrigibility of firstperson reports, like all matters concerning epistemic status, is a sociological rather than a metaphysical concern. But giving up the special ghostly status which had been supposed to make privileged access possible redeems the methodological respectability of appeals to introspection. For we can now see that teaching people to introspect thoughts, or nostalgia, or blood-pressure, or kinky alpha-rhythms, is simply a matter of utilizing connections within the organism-presumably the connections between the speech center and the rest of the nervous system-as scientific instruments. The fact that such training must take its point of departure from intersubjectively available circumstances is enough to insure that nothing sneaky is going on. The "subjectivity" and "unscientific" character of introspective reports are thus no more philosophically significant than the defects of spectroscopes. Once "subjective reports" are seen as a matter of heuristic convenience, rather than of permitting someone's unsupported word to refute a promising scientific hypothesis, we can clear away the unfortunate associations of introspectionist psychology with rationalism's appeal to clear and distinct ideas and Protestantism's appeal to the individual conscience.
+
+I conclude that the Quinean and Sellarsian arguments I have outlined in the preceding chapter also serve to clear psychology of the standard suspicions which empiricistic and physicalistic philosophers have brought against it. The suspicions which come from the other direction-from the need to preserve human uniqueness, free will, and the integrity of the Geisteswissenschaften-will be discussed in chapters seven and eight. In the present chapter, I shall stick to the question: Can we find any relevance to traditional philosophical problems concerning knowledge in actual or expected results of empirical psychological research? Since I wish to say that these "philosophical problems" should be dissolved rather than solved, it is predictable that I should give a negative answer. But this negative answer needs considerable defense, since many philosophers who have been impressed by the arguments against privileged representations marshaled by Quine and Sellars nevertheless want to replace traditional "foundationalist" epistemology by the use of psychological results to produce a general theory of inner representations. I shall be arguing that such a "new epistemology" can offer nothing relevant to issues of justification, and that consequently it
+
+has no relevance to the cultural demands which led to the emergence of epistemology in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Nor, consequently, can it aid in maintaining the image of philosophy as a discipline which stands apart from empirical inquiry and explains the relevance of the results of such inquiry to the rest of culture.
+
+To make this point I shall discuss two suggestions current in the recent philosophical literature, all of which attribute to psychology a greater degree of philosophical importance than I think it deserves. The first is Quine's suggestion that psychology can investigate the "relations between theory and evidence" which used to be the subject matter of epistemology. In section 2 I shall argue that these relations cannot be restated in psychological terms. The second is the claim that the analogies between program states of computers and psychological states of persons and between "hardware" states of computers and neurophysiological states of bodies give a new and interesting sense to the notion that our knowledge consists of an "inner representation" of the world. This claim has been developed in greatest detail by Fodor; in sections 3 and 4 I shall be arguing that Fodor runs together a sense of "representation" in which representations may be judged accurate or inaccurate, and another in which they may not. These two senses, I hold, mark out the respective domains of epistemology and psychology.
+
+### 2. THE UNNATURALNESS OF EPISTEMOLOGY
+
+In an essay called "Epistemology Naturalized," Quine reviews the various embarrassments confronting efforts to provide a "foundation for science" and finally considers Wittgenstein's sardonic attitude toward this enterprise: Carnap and the other logical positivists of the Vienna Circle had already pressed the term "metaphysics" into pejorative use, as connoting meaninglessness; and the
+
+term "epistemology" was next. Wittgenstein and his followers, mainly at Oxford, found a residual philosophical vocation in therapy: in curing philosophers of the delusion that there were epistemological problems. But I think that at this point it may be more useful to say rather that epistemology still goes on, though in a new setting and a clarified status. Epistemology, or something like it, simply falls into place as a chapter of psychology and hence of natural science. It studies a natural phenomenon, viz., a physical human subject. This human subject is accorded a certain experimentally controlled input-certain patterns of irradiation in assorted frequencies, for instance-and in the fullness of time the subject delivers as output a description of the three-dimensional external world and its history. The relation between the meager input and the torrential output is a relation that we are prompted to study for somewhat the same reason that always prompted epistemology; namely, in order to see how evidence relates to theory, and in what ways one's theory of nature transcends any available evidence.7
+
+Consider first Quine'S claim that the motive behind epistemology has always been "to see how evidence relates to theory, and in what ways one's theory of nature transcends any available evidence." Most intellectual historians have
+
+7 W. V. O. Quine, Ontological Relativity and Other Essays (New York, 1969), pp. 82·83·
+
+found it striking that what we now call the "theory of knowledge" plays so little part in the thought of writers before the seventeenth century. In Quine's account of epistemology, it is hard to see why this should be so. We might suggest that the need for a choice between radically distinct theories about planets and ballistic missiles became intense in the time of Galileo and Descartes, and that consequently the mind of the West was newly struck with the way in which "one's theory of nature transcends any available evidence." But this suggestion is rather thin. There were plenty of competing theories about the heavens in ancient and medieval times, but we have to rummage about quite a bit to find anything called "epistemology" in Plato and Aristotle, if epistemology means noting the gaps between theory and evidence and comparing ways of crossing those gaps. We can fasten with glad cries upon some passages in the Theaetetus and the De Anima; neo-Kantian historians of Greek philosophy like Zeller often have. But little to the purpose will turn up elsewhere in the fourth century, and practically nothing in the Posterior Analytics (where Aristotle, who knew all about controversy between competing scientific theories, and competed with the best of them, discusses the status and methodology of science). When Cartesianism burst upon a startled world in the seventeenth century, it was not because a new view was being offered about long-debated questions concerning the relations between theory and evidence. It was rather because questions were being taken seriously which, as Gilson remarked with some indignation, the scholastics had been too sensible to ask.s
+
+S"From the point of view of medieval philosophy, Descartes plays the role of the indisciplinatus-someone who takes pride in insisting, no matter what discipline is in question, on the same degree of certainty, no matter how inappropriate. In a word, Descartes no longer recognizes an intermediary between the true and the false; his philosophy is the radical elimination of the notion of 'the probable.''' (Etienne Gilson, Etudes sur Ie Role de la Pensee Medievale dans la Formation du Systeme Cartesien [Paris, 1930], p. 235.)
+
+To understand why the seventeenth century became intrigued with the relation between theory and evidence, we need to ask why Descartes's fantasies captured Europe's imagination. As Quine says: "Epistemologists dreamed of a first philosophy, firmer than science and serving to justify our knowledge of the external world."9 But why did everybody suddenly start dreaming the same dream? Why did the theory of knowledge become something more than the languid academic exercise of composing a reply to Sextus Empiricus? The dream of a first philosophy firmer than science is as old as the Republic, and we may agree with Dewey and Freud that the same primordial urges lie behind both religion and Platonism. But that does not tell us why anyone should think that first philosophy consists in, of all things, epistemology.
+
+It may seem heavy-handed to press Quine's phrases in this way. I am doing so nevertheless because I think that understanding modern philosophy requires a more radical break with the tradition than Quine wants to make, or than is needed for his purposes. His genial "Don't let's throw out epistemology-let's let it be psychology" line is entirely reasonable if our aim is to show what in empiricism can be saved once we throw out the dogmas. But if we want to know why anybody thought it worthwhile, much less exciting or morally obligatory, to be an empiricist, we have to step back from the whole subject and press questions which Quine can safely neglect. To help achieve this distance, I turn now to some of the things Quine says about psychology. I want to show how very remote any psychological discovery of the sort he envisages will be from any concern with the foundations of science or with the relation between theory and evidence.
+
+The link between empirical psychology of perception and empiricist epistemology is, I think, provided largely by the loose use of such words as "evidence," "information," and
+
+9 w. v. o. Quine, "Grades of Theoreticity," in Experience and Theory, ed. L. Foster and J. W. Swanson (Amherst, Mass., 1970), p. 2.
+
+"testimony." This use permits Quine to say things like "The nerve endings ... are the place of input of unprocessed information about the world"10 and "It is simply the stimulations of our sensory receptors that are best looked upon as the input to our cognitive mechanism."ll Suppose we ask: Could psychology discover that it is not at the retina (the first nerve cells to be troubled by light rays) that information begins to be processed? Could it discover that it is actually in the lens, or perhaps only just where the optic nerve merges into the visual cortex? Could it discover that everything up to the latter point was not information but just electricity? Presumably not, since it is hard to see what would count as an experimental criterion of "information" or "processing." Quine, however, writes as if there could be such criteria. He notes that epistemology has always been torn between two criteria for being "datal": "causal proximity to the physical stimulus" and "the focus of awareness." But, he says:
+
+The dilemma is dissolved, and the strain relieved, when we give up the dream of a first philosophy firmer than science. If we are seeking only the causal mechanism of our knowledge of the external world, and not a justification of that knowledge in terms prior to science, we can settle after all for a theory of vision in Berkeley's style based on color patches in a two-dimensional field. . . . We can look upon man as a black box in the physical world, exposed to externally determinable stimulatory forces as input and spouting externally determinable testimony about the external world as output. Just which of the inner workings of the black box may be tinged with awareness is as may be.12
+
+10 Ibid., p. 3.
+
+11 Quine, "Epistemology Naturalized," in Ontological Relativity, p. 84·
+
+12 Quine, "Grades of Theoreticity," in Experience and Theory, pp.
+
+2-3·
+
+But if we forget justification and look for causal mechanisms, we are certainly not going to be talking about color patches in a two-dimensional visual field. We shall have no use for the distinction between what is given and what is inferred, and no need for the notion of a "visual field" to hold the former. We may talk about irradiated patches on a two-dimensional retina or pulses in the optic nerve, but this will be a matter of choosing a black box, not of discovering touchstones for inquiry. Quine dissolves a dilemma only by changing the motive of inquiry. If one were only interested in causal mechanisms, one would never have worried one's head about awareness. But the epistemologists who dreamed the dream Quine describes were not only interested in causal mechanisms. They were interested in making, for example, an invidious distinction between Galileo and the professors who refused to look through his telescope.
+
+If there are indeed no experimental criteria for where the real data come, then Quine's suggestion that we give up the notion of "sense data" and speak causally of nerve endings and epistemologically of observation sentences13 does not resolve a dilemma which has plagued epistemology. Rather it lets epistemology wither away. For if we have psychophysiology to cover causal mechanisms, and the sociology and history of science to note the occasions on which observation sentences are invoked or dodged in constructing and dismantling theories, then epistemology has nothing to do. We would think that this result would be congenial to Quine, but in fact he resists it. The resistance is clearest when he rebukes such writers as Polanyi, Kuhn, and Hanson for wanting to drop the notion of observation altogether.14 Quine thinks this a perfectly good notion, and wants to reconstruct it in terms of intersubjectivity. He defines an "observation sentence" as "one on which all speakers of the language give the same verdict when given the
+
+13 Ibid., p. 3.
+
+14Ibid., p. 5; cf. "Epistemology Naturalized," p. 87·
+
+same concurrent stimulation. To put the point negatively, an observation sentence is one that is not sensitive to differences in past experience within the speech community."15 Quine thinks that by excluding the blind, the insane, and a few more "occasional deviants" (p. 88n.) we can tell which are the sentences which "depend on present sensory stimulation and on no stored information beyond what goes into understanding the sentence" (p. 86). This amounts to defining "present sensory stimulation" in terms of the uncontroversiality of certain sentences. Quine thinks that this preserves the force of the empiricist insight while abandoning the notions about meaning which are associated with the " 'idea' idea."
+
+I think Quine is right in taking this line in order to preserve what was true in empiricism, for doing so makes it quite clear that if anything "replaces" epistemology it is the history and sociology of science, and is certainly not psychology. But this is not Quine'S reason. Consider another passage about "data":
+
+What to count as observation now can be settled in terms of the stimulation of sensory receptors, let consciousness fall where it may.
+
+In the old anti-psychologistic days the question of epistemological priority was moot. What is epistemologically prior to what? Are Gestalten prior to sensory atoms ... ? Now that we are permitted to appeal to physical stimulation, the problem dissolves; A is epistemologically prior to B if A is causally nearer than B to the sensory receptors. Or, what is in some ways better, just talk explicitly in terms of causal proximity to sensory receptors and drop the talk of epistemological priority. (pp. 84-85)
+
+What is puzzling is that we have defined "observation sentence" in terms of the consensus gentium; we can divide observation from theory without knowing or caring which bits of our body are the sensory receptors, much less how far down the nerves the "processing" begins. We do not
+
+15 Quine, "Epistemology Naturalized," pp. 86-87.
+
+need any psychophysiological account of causal mechanisms to isolate what is intersubjectively agreeable-we just do this in ordinary conversation. So presumably psychology has nothing to tell us about causal proximity which is worth knowing by those who wish to continue "epistemology in a psychological setting." To put it another way, once we have picked out the observation sentences conversationally rather than neurologically, further inquiry into "how evidence relates to theory" would seem to be a matter for Polanyi, Kuhn, and Hanson. For what could psychology add to their accounts of how scientists form and discard theories? Quine says of them that
+
+... some iconoclastic philosophers of science have taken to questioning the notion of observation only now that it ceases to present a problem. Theirs is, I think, a delayed reaction against the dubiety of the old notion of datum. Now that we have thrown off the old dream of a first philosophy, let us exult rather in our new access to unproblematical concepts. Neural input is one, and observation sentence as just now defined is another.16
+
+But these concepts, where unproblematic, are not new. As electricity, neural input is not new; as "information" it is problematic. The notion of "observation sentence" as Quine has defined it is as old as the first lawyer who asked a witness, "But what did you actually see?" If we are to exult over anything, it is that we are no longer asking certain questions-not that we have found something new to do or some new terms in which to think. Quine has told us that we gave up bothering about consciousness when we -gave up rational reconstruction. But he seems to be bringing it right back again by explicating observationality in terms of intersubjectivity. So he should either let Polanyi, Kuhn, and Hanson say that "observation" is just a matter of what we can agree on these days, or he should show how psychological discoveries can make something more of this notion. If
+
+16 Quine, "Grades of Theoreticity," pp. 4-5.
+
+they cannot, then defining "dependence on present sensory stimulation" in terms of intersubjectivity will just be invoking an old epistemological honorific to no psychological purpose.
+
+My discussion of Quine has pressed his words with tiresome literalness. Quine probably does not care about the fate of the word "epistemology." What he does care about, perhaps, is his Deweyan position that science and philosophy are continuous-not to be viewed as having different methods or subjects. He is opposed to loose Oxonian talk about "philosophy as the analysis of concepts," and he associates Wittgenstein and "therapeutic positivism" with this sort of talk. I have been suggesting that we emphasize rather what Dewey and Wittgenstein have in commontheir view that a natural quest for understanding has been run together, by modern philosophers, with an unnatural quest for certainty. In this view, the hopes and fears which psychology at various times inspired among philosophers are equally misguided,17 To say with Wisdom and Bouwsma that "epistemology" is a collection of obsessive concerns with certainty to be dissolved by therapy. and to say with Quine that epistemological impulses should be satisfied by psychological results. may both be viewed as ways of saying: We can have psychology or nothing.
+
+17 See Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (London, 1953), p. 232, on "the confusion and barrenness of psychology": "The existence of the experimental method makes us think we have the means of solving the problems which trouble us; though problem and method pass each other by." See also Dewey's warnings about the movement which was eventually to become the "behavioristic psychology" which Quine admires: "The older dualism between sensation and idea is repeated in the current dualism of peripheral and central structures and functions; the older dualism of body and soul finds a distinct echo in the current dualism of stimulus and response ... "; again, " ... sensation as stimulus does not mean any particular psychical existence. It means simply a function, and will have its value shift according to the special work requiring to be done." ("The Reflex Arc Concept in Psychology," in The Early Works of John Dewey, vol. 5 [Carbondale, 1972], pp. 96, 107.)
+
+If it were not that one of my concerns in this book is to ask why we have such a phenomenon as "philosophy" in our culture, the matter could be left at that. But for this historical question the difference between nothing and psychology is important. Dewey emphasized the religious and social motives behind the non-"scientific" aspects of philosophy, and joined his insistence on the continuity between philosophy and science with an invidious distinction between what philosophy had been and what it should become. Quine is reluctant to flirt with a genetic fallacy, and genially disposed to see himself and Locke as fellow-inquirers into "the relation between theory and evidence": Locke, he thinks, was misled by a bad theory of meaning, but we moderns may now be led aright (toward psychology) by a good one. But this geniality hides precisely what is important for historical understanding: Locke's concern about the skeptic's suggestion that our subjective modes of apprehension might hide reality from us, and Quine's refusal to be troubled by skepticism at all.
+
+Quine's remoteness from skeptical concerns is shown by his assimilation of elements of experience to elements of knowledge, and of explanation to justification. Psychology, by finding the elements of experience, explains knowledge. Epistemology, by (putatively) finding elements of knowledge, justifies nonelementary knowledge. Nobody would want "human knowledge" (as opposed to some particular theory or report) justified unless he had been frightened by skepticism. Nobody would assimilate epistemology to psychology unless he were so little frightened by skepticism as to regard "grounding human knowledge" as a bit of a joke. So, though we may heartily agree with Quine that if there are discoveries to be made about human knowledge they are likely to come from psychology, we can also sympathize with the view which Quine attributes to Wittgenstein: The thing to do with epistemology is to "cure philosophers of the delusion that there were epistemological problems." Such therapy does not separate philosophy from
+
+science: it takes philosophy to be just common sense or science mobilized to provide "reminders for a particular purpose."18
+
+### 3. PSYCHOLOGICAL STATES AS GENUINE EXPLANATIONS
+
+To get a psychological theory which would say something about the relation between theory and evidence we need, at a minimum, one which will reproduce "internally" the ordinary "public" justification of assertions by circumstances and other assertions. We need, in other words, mental entities which can bear the same relations to public assertions and to one another as do premises and conclusions in speeches, as the testimonies of witnesses to the charges in law courts, and so on. But whenever a psychological theory is proposed which answers to this need, the cry of "infinite regress" is likely to be raised. Thus we find Malcolm saying:
+
+If we say that the way in which a person knows that something in front of him is a dog is by seeing that the creature "fits" his Idea of a dog, then we need to ask "How does he know that this is an example of fitting?" What guides his judgment here? Does he not need a second-order Idea which shows him what it is like for something to fit an Idea? That is, will he not need a model of fitting? ... An infinite regress has been generated and nothing has been explained.I9
+
+The difficulty, made familiar by Ryle, is that if we are not content to take "He sees it" as a sufficient justification for
+
+18 Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, p. 50.
+
+19 Malcolm, "Myth of Cognitive Processes," p. 391. Compare Ryle, The Concept of Mind (New York, 1949), chap. 7, and Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, pp. l11 3-215. See also John Passmore, Philosophical Reasoning (London, 1961), chap. 2 ("The Infinite Regress Argument"), where he discusses Ryle's use of the argument. I have compared Wittgenstein's and Peirce's anti-Cartesian employment of this argument in "Pragmatism, Categories, and Language," Philosophical Review 49 (1g61), 197-223.
+
+the man's knowing that there is a dog before him, then we shall not be able to take anything else as a justification either. For insofar as a mentalistic account provides merely a causal explanation of recognition by sight, it does not seem to answer the question "How does he know?" It does not tell us anything about the man's evidence for his view, but only about his coming to hold it. On the other hand, insofar as it does offer a justification of the original public knowledge-claim, it provides an occasion to press for further justification.
+
+Fodor criticizes Ryle's claim that nothing "para-mechanical" could improve our understanding of perceptual recognition, and remarks that "the appealing simplicity of Ryle's position is purchased by begging precisely the sorts of question theories of perception and learning have traditionally attempted to answer."20 He proceeds to argue that "some simple story about learned associations" will not do to answer these questions:
+
+But if what the various ways of performing "Lillibulero" have in common is something abstract, it would appear to follow that the system of expectations that constitutes one's recipe for hearing the song must be abstract in the same sense ....
+
+. . . The relevant expectations must be complicated and abstract, since perceptual identities are surprisingly independent of physical uniformities among stimuli. Since it is precisely this perceptual "constancy" that psychologists and epistemologists have traditionally supposed unconscious inferences and other para-mechanical transactions will be needed to explain, it seems relevant to remark that Ryle's treatment has begged all the issues that constancy raises. (pp. 377-378)
+
+We may agree with Fodor that if there are "issues that constancy raises" then Ryle has begged them. But Ryle
+
+20 Fodor, "Could There Be a Theory of Perception?" Journal of Philosophy 63 (1966), 375·
+
+could easily reply that the notion of "complicated and abstract expectations" (e.g., a set of unconscious inferences involving reference to some rules, or some abstract paradigms) is what makes it appear that there are issues here. Perhaps only the picture of a little man in the mind, applying rules drawn up in nonverbal but still "abstract" terms, makes us ask "How is it done?" Had we not had this picture imposed on us, Ryle can say, we would respond with something like "It's only possible because of having a complicated nervous system-doubtless some physiologist will someday tell us just how it works." The notion of nonphysiological "models" would not occur, in other words, if we did not already have the whole Cartesian bag of tricks in hand.
+
+This reply can be restated a bit more precisely. Suppose we agree with Fodor that recognition of similarity among potentially infinite differences is recognition of something "abstract"-Lillibulerohood, say. What does it mean to say that "one's recipe for hearing the song must be abstract in the same sense"? Presumably that it must be able to distinguish similarity among potentially infinite differences. But then there is no use for the notion of "non-abstract recipe," since any recipe must be able to do this. The possible qualitative variations among the ingredients for a batch of chocolate chip cookies are also potentially infinite. So if we are to talk about "complicated sets of expectations" (or "programs" or "systems of rules") at all, we shall always be talking about something "abstract"-precisely as abstract, in fact, as the characteristic whose recognition (or the task whose accomplishment) we wish to explain. But then we are in a dilemma: either the acquisition of these sets of expectations or rules requires the postulation of new sets of expectations or rules, or they are unacquired. If the former horn is grasped, Malcolm's infinite regress really will be generated by Fodor's principle that recognition of the abstract requires use of the abstract, for what holds of recognition should hold of acquisition. If we grasp the latter horn, then we seem to be back with Ryle: to say that people have an unacquired ability to recognize similarity among infinite differences is hardly to say anything explanatory about "the issues that constancy raises."
+
+So, Ryle can conclude, these issues are either "conceptual" issues about the sufficient conditions for the ordinary application of terms like "recognize," or else issues about physiological mechanisms. The latter sort of issue involves no problems about regresses, since nobody thinks that "constancy" requires postulating "abstract" mechanisms in photoelectric cells or tuning forks. Yet is there any difference between middle C and "Lillibulerohood," save that we have dubbed the former a "concrete acoustic quality" and the latter an "abstract similarity?" We could specify a thousand accidental features (timbre, volume, presence of light, color of the object emitting the sound) which the tuning fork ignores, just as the Lillibulero-recognizer does. Since the abstract-concrete distinction is as relative to a given data-base as the complex-simple distinction, it looks as if, in saying that psychological explanation requires reference to abstract entities, we are simply claiming that explaining the sort of thing mammals can do requires reference to different-categorically different-sorts of things from explaining what amoebas, tuning forks, cesium atoms, and stars can do. But how do we know that? And what does "categorically" mean here? Once again, Ryle can say that if we did not already have the Cartesian picture (of an Inner Eye looking at the rules posted on the walls of the mental arena), we should not know what to make of the claim.
+
+So much for the strength of the infinite-regress argument. Now consider the sort of rejoinder to it which would be made by someone like Dodwell, who argues that nonphysiological model-building is, a priori, neither good nor bad, but is to be justified by its fruits. Dodwell is impressed by the analogy between brains and computers: "The single most powerful influence on psychologists' ideas about cognitive processes at present is the nexus of concepts which has been developed for computer programming."21 Nevertheless, he admits:
+
+It might be argued that the computer analogy is trivial, because a program merely codifies a set of operations which are like cognitive operations, but no more explains thinking than does writing down a set of rules for solving arithmetic problems .. .. To say that a computer program can "explain" thinking, then, would have about the same force as to say that a set of logical formulas "explain" the laws of correct deductive argument. (pp. 371-372)
+
+To this argument he replies that the computer analogy only has force once one distinguishes levels:
+
+... explanations of what goes on in problem solving by a computer can be given at different levels .... The implementation of a program has to be explained in terms of computer hardware, just as, presumably, the implementation of thinking has in some sense to be explained by processes which actually occur in the central nervous system. The subroutines by which particular computations are made can be explained by reference to the "machine language" and the step-by-step algorithms by which solutions are found .... The principle of the subroutine operation is not itself to be understood and explained just by examining the hardware, in just the same way that the point of multiplication tables could not be grasped by examining the brain. Similarly, an understanding of how the subroutines themselves work does not explain the principle of solving problems in terms of a sequence of steps .... For that, one must look at the executive process, which in the machine embodies the overall organization and goal of the program, and in the human being a less dearly understood "goal directedness." (p. 372)
+
+21 Dodwell, "Is a Theory of Conceptual Development Necessary?" P· 37°·
+
+The importance of levels is illustrated, for example, by the fact that experimentation may give us reason to say that we recognize visual patterns by a template-matching process rather than a feature-extraction process (p. 379). To say this is neither a "conceptual" remark (about "the executive process") nor a "physiological" one (about "hardware"), but it may be genuinely explanatory nonetheless. The notion of "subroutine" seems to give us just what psychology needs-an explanation of what the middle ground between common sense and physiology might be good for.
+
+But how does this notion help us avoid an infinite-regress argument? Presumably Malcolm and Ryle would urge that either "templates" or abstract ideas of the features extracted (depending upon which model one picks) themselves produce the same problems as the "constancy" they are supposed to explain. But DodweU can reply that they would only do this if they were supposed to be answers to such general questions as "How is abstraction (recognition, constancy) possible?" To such questions, he can say, there is no answer, except the pointless remark that nature has evolved suitable hardware to get the job done. For any of DodweU's models will indeed be anthropomorphic, in the sense of envisaging a little inferrer in the brain checking his (or its) templates or ticking off features. This inferrer's powers of abstraction or recognition will be as problematic as those of his host, and it does not make them less so to say that he (or it) is a little machine rather than a little man.22
+
+22 This would be doubted by some psychologists. Gregory, citing with approval HelmholU's notion of "unconscious inferences" involved in perception, says that
+
+we must be clear that there is no "little man inside" doing the arguing, for this leads to intolerable philosophical difficulties. He1mholu certainly did not think this, but his phrase "unconscious inferences" and his description of perceptions as "unconscious conclusions" did perhaps suggest, at the time, to people unfamiliar with computers, some such unacceptable idea. But our familiarity with computers should remove temptation towards confusion of this kind. For we no
+
+Anthropomorphic models here are no more misleading than the programmer's anthropomorphic remark that "the machine won't understand the problem if you use Polish notation, because it only knows about .... "To complain that "templates"-like Locke's "ideas"-are a reduplication of the explanandum is like claiming that the particles which make up the Bohr atom are a reduplication of the billiard balls whose behavior they help explain. It turns out to be fruitful to postulate little billiard balls inside big ones, so why not postulate little people inside big ones (or little rats inside big rats)? Every such "model" is, in Sellars's phrase, accompanied by a "commentary" which lists the features of the modeled entity "abstracted from" in the model,23 It seems reasonable to suggest that the implicit commentary on all anthropomorphic models in psychology goes something like this:
+
+As long as we stay on the level of subroutines we shall feel free to talk anthropomorphically about inferences and other operations "unconsciously" performed by the person, or performed (neither "consciously" nor "unconsciously") by brain centers or other organs spoken of as if they themselves were persons. The use of such phrases
+
+longer think of inference as a uniquely human activity involving consciousness. (The Intelligent Eye [New York, 1970], p. 30.)
+
+I think it misleading to say that the little man leads to "intolerable philosophical difficulties," because I do not see that little machines are less "conscious" than little men. To adopt what Dennett calls the "intentional stance" toward batches of transistors or neurons is to speak of them as we speak of conscious beings, and to add "but of course they are not really conscious" seems merely to say that we have no moral responsibilities to them. We can neither inquire which such batches are, in Quine's phrase, "tinged with awareness" nor discover that inferences can be performed by beings not so tinged. Familiarity with computers does not bring about such a discovery; it only makes attribution of the intentional stance more common and casual.
+
+23 See Wilfrid Sellars, Science, Perception and Reality (London and New York, 1963), p. 182 on "commentaries" and pp. 19211. on red senseimpressions.
+
+does not commit us to attributing intellect and character to brain centers any more than speaking of a "red senseimpression" as the common factor in various illusions commits us to the existence of something both "inner" and red. But once we get off the "subroutine" level and onto the hardware level, anthropomorphism is no longer in place.
+
+To see the force of this commentary, suppose that some special sort of neural current came down the optic nerve when and only when psychological theory predicted the occurrence of a red sense-impression (and so for all other perceptual situations). If we knew this fact, we should simply skip the "subroutine" explanation and go straight to hardware. The notion of "sense-impression" would no longer have a role (unless there were other theoretical entities postulated by psychological theory which required this notion for their explication). If things did turn out to be as simple as this, then the "computer" analogy would no longer seem particularly relevant-any more than it does for one-celled animals, where the step from behavior to physiology is too short to make the notion of "levels" seem in point.
+
+This is to say that if physiology were simpler and more obvious than it is, nobody would have felt the need for psychology. This conclusion may seem odd, particularly in the light of Dodwell's remark (quoted above) that "the principle of the subroutine operation is not itself to be understood and exphined just by examining the hardware, in just the same way that the point of multiplication tables could not be grasped by examining the brain."24 But this
+
+24 Fodor also has suggested that the distinction between "functional" (or "program") analysis and "mechanical" (or "hardware") analysis in
+
+psychology is irreducible and not just a matter of convenience. See his "Explanations in Psychology," in Philosophy in America, ed. M. Black (Ithaca, 1965), p. 177. I have argued against this suggestion in "Functionalism, Machines, and Incorrigibility," Journal of PhilosOPhy 69 (1972), 203-220.
+
+remark is seriously misleading. It embodies a confusion between the evident:
+
+If we did not know what multiplication was, looking into the brain would never tell us
+
+and the dubious:
+
+If we did know what multiplication was, we could not tell that someone was doing a certain bit of multiplication by looking at his brain.
+
+The latter is dubious because we just do not know whether or not there are quite simple neurophysiological parameters associated with certain mental operations. It is immensely unlikely that there are, but there is no a priori reason why some suitable brain-probe-cum-microscope might not show something which the trained observer would report as "Ah, you're multiplying forty-seven by twenty-five" (and be right every time). More generally, the question of what is best explained in hardware terms and what in program terms depends entirely on how ad hoc the hardware happens to be, and on how perspicuously it is laid out. Ad hocness and perspicuousness are, obviously, relative to choice of vocabulary and level of abstraction-but then so is the hardwaresoftware distinction itself.25 Given the right sort of hardware and the right parameters, it certainly is possible to "understand and explain the principle of the subroutine just by examining the hardware." Indeed, we can imagine machines in which it would be easier to find out what the machine was up to by opening it up and looking than by reading the program.
+
+Since the brain is almost certainly not such a machine, the point here is one of principle, but the principle has
+
+25 On this sort of relativity, see William Kalke, "What Is Wrong with Fodor and Putnam's Functionalism," Nous 3 (1969), 83-94' For criticism of Kalke's paper and of my own parallel paper (cited in note 24), see B. J. Nelson, "Functionalism and the Identity Theory," Journal of Philosophy 73 (1 976), 37911.
+
+philosophical importance. For it shows that the distinction between psychology and physiology is not a distinction between two distinct subject matters in any stronger a sense than is, say, the distinction between chemistry and physics. It might have turned out that chemical phenomena such as the formation of compounds never had anything to do with the submicroscopic makeup of the elements in question. But in fact they do, and so now whether we use physicists' or chemists' terms to explain a reaction is a matter of convenience or pedagogy. If it turns out that physiology has as much to do with multiplying as electrons have to do with explosions, then the psychology-physiology distinction will be equally pragmatic. So the paradoxical conclusion offered earlier-that had physiology been more obvious psychology would never have arisen--can be reaffirmed. Indeed, we can strengthen it and say that if the body had been easier to understand, nobody would have thought that we had a mind.26
+
+It is time now to sum up this way of dealing with the infinite-regress argument. The central point is just that explanatory entities postulated by psychologists reduplicate problems in the explananda only when these problems are bad problems anyway-for example, "How is recognition possible?" Philosophers like Malcolm and Ryle are accustomed to bad philosophical answers to bad philosophical questions: "How is motion possible?-as the actualization of the potential qua potential"; "Why does nature follow laws?-because of God's benevolence and omnipotence." Consequently they tend to see such questions lurking behind even quite specific and limited research programs. They are not always wrong, since psychologists still some-
+
+26 As I trust chapter two has made clear, I do not mean by this that we should not have thought of ourselves as having beliefs and desires, and as seeing, inferring, and so on. But we would not have saddled ourselves with the notions of a "separable active intellect," a Cartesian "immaterial substance," or Lockean ideas. Our concept of mind would have been much closer to Ryle's or Aristotle's than to the Cartesian concept we presently have.
+
+times offer their latest "model" as resolving ancient philosophical problems.27 But suppose such models as those Dodwell has in mind-proposals about subroutines which are neither introspectable (like the "executive process") nor physiologically decipherable (like the "hardware")-are viewed neither as contributions to resolving Cartesian pseudo-problems nor as discoveries about some nonphysical sort of entity. Then the infinite-regress argument has no force. For whether or not hardware-correlates for these subroutines ever turn up, the success in prediction and control of behavior made possible by the experimental discovery of such subroutines would be enough to show the reality of the objects of psychological inquiry.28 Dodwell's
+
+27 See, for example, Seymour Papert's "Introduction" to Warren S. McCulloch, Embodiments of Mind (Cambridge, Mass., 1965). Papert, in explaining the importance of McCulloch's work, tells us that "we
+
+need no longer be trapped by the dilemma" of a split ... between psychology, which was based on mechanism but which was unable to reach the complex properties of thought, and philosophy, which took the properties of thought seriously but could be satisfied with no conceivable mechanism. (p. xiv)
+
+The insight which is to resolve this dilemma has as its "principal conceptual step"
+
+the recognition that a host of physically different situations involving the teleonomic regulation of behavior in mechanical, electrical, and even social systems should be understood as manifestations of one basic phenomenon: the return of information to form a closed central loop. (p. xvi)
+
+Papert here supposes that the "properties of thought" which bothered philosophers were those relevant to purposiveness. But neither the distinction between justification and causal explanation nor that between consciousness and its lack-which are the two great ways of dividing epistemology from psychology-is clarified by clarifying purposiveness. Nor would Bergsonians, who are worried by purposiveness, feel soothed by contemplating automatic record-changers.
+
+28 It is tempting to think of "intervening variables" postulated by psychologists (with "subroutines" written in terms of them) as mere place-holders for undiscovered neurological processes. We usually do, indeed, assume that when neurophysiology reaches a certain point it will serve as a touchstone for choice among competing psychological suggestion is that nothing succeeds like such success when it is a matter of establishing the nonmythical and "scientific" character of one's subject, and this may pretty well be the last word on the matter.
+
+Applying this point to the Rylean dilemma about acquired and unacquired abilities I sketched, we can cheerfully admit that any such model-building must grant that nature has wired in some unacquired abilities to perform higher-order mental operations. At least some of those little men performing subroutines in various brain-centers will have to have been there since birth. But why not? If one gives up the notion that empirical psychology is going to do what the British Empiricists failed to do-show how a tabula rasa gets changed into a complicated informationprocessing device by impacts upon peripheral sense-organs
+
+-then one will not be surprised that half of the adult's subroutines were wired into the infant's brain on instructions from the chromosomes. Further, it will not strike one as important to our understanding of the nature of man or his mind to discover just which were wired in then and which came along later.29 Finally, it will not seem odd that
+
+"models of the mind." But it is important to see that even if we somehow discovered that neurophysiology will never reach the stage we had hoped for, this disappointment would not make the psychologists' work any more dubious, either "methodologically" or "metaphysically."
+
+29 The notion that it is important to discover what is "innate" comes out in such questions as "Does all knowledge (information is the contemporary term) come through the sense organs or is some knowledge contributed by the mind itself?" G. J. and E. J. Gibson, "Perceptual Learning: Differentiation or Enrichment?" Psychological Review 62 [1955], 32.) Gibson and Gibson take this Kantian question with entire seriousness, and urge that, pace Hume and Helmholtz, perceptual learning is not unconscious inference from memory-traces, but simply "increased sensitivity to the variables of the stimulus array" (p. 40). Yet it is very difficult to imagine how experiment could help decide between this view and, say, Gregory's neo-Helmholtzian interpretation of standard experiments in perceptual learning. Cf. R. L. Gregory, Eye and Brain (New York and Toronto, 1966), especially such passages
+
+something "abstract" (like a capacity for recognizing similarity in difference) is as unacquired as such "concrete" capacities as making a differential response to C-sharp. For we can simply remind ourselves that the latter is itself as "abstract" as an ability could well be, and no more abstract than any ability must be. The whole notion of concreteversus-abstract abilities, which is accepted as uncritically by Fodor as by Kant, is of a piece with the notion of the "irreducibly physical" versus the "irreducibly psychical." Nobody can say how to draw these lines except in relation to the temporary purposes of inquiry. But the Cartesian attempt to draw them once and for all and the "empiricist" and "behaviorist" attempts to "reduce" the one to the other have created the view that certain deep mysteries which had confounded the philosophers may yet be penetrated by psychological research. The incautious use of the infinite-regress argument by Malcolm and Ryle should be seen, I believe, as an understandable reaction against this notion that psychology can succeed in solving problems which philosophers have posed.
+
+I can now tie together the result of examining the "infinite regress" argument with that of the last section by saying that the notion of psychological states as inner representa· tions is unobjectionable but fairly uninteresting. To say that psychological states are states postulated to explain behavior, ones which we do not yet know how to identify with physiological states, is not to discover the true nature of the mind; it is only to reemphasize that there is no "nature" to be known. The analogy between minds and computers drawn by Dodwell and Fodor is better than Plato's analogy between minds and aviaries simply because the
+
+as at p. II: "The senses do not give us a picture of the world directly; rather they provide evidence for checking hypotheses about what lies before us." See Fodor's discussion of Gibson, which I cite and briefly discuss in section 4.
+
+former avoids the epistemologically (not metaphysically) misleading picture of introspection as observation of our interior. Illumination from such analogies is a matter of responding to what philosophers are worried about, and they are worried about unified science on the one hand and "subjectivity" on the other. If we agree that mentalistic explanations would not have arisen if our hardware had been more perspicuous, that will be enough to make the mindbody distinction pragmatic rather than ontological. That, in turn, is enough to reconcile us to the fact that we may never get a neurophysiological account of what is going on inside us which is as perspicuously related to psychological states as the engineer's account of how the hardware "realizes" the computer's program. Once, for Quinean reasons, we stop thinking that the possibility or impossibility of such an account can be determined by "philosophical analysis," we can see that the unity of science is only endangered by ghosts, not by the unknown or the irreducible. Just as the suggestion that the atoms of Democritus and Newton's shining lights are merely geometrodynamical bumps does not bother anybody's "physicalistic" instincts, neither does Putnam's point that we shall never have a micro-particulate explanation of why square pegs will not fit in round holes. The permanent need for mentalistic talk only seems dangerous to philosophers who think of "the mental" as involving reference to ghosts, and Sellars's treatment of the givenness of the mental takes care of them. Sellars shows that when we introspect, no nonphysical item is present to a nonphysical observer. He thus wards off the threatened loss of "scientific objectivity." Once again, the seeds of metaphysical problems are found in epistemological difficulties, and specifically in the notion that to understand how we have a right to be so sure that we are nostalgic we must erect an ontological divide between nostalgia and neurons.
+
+### 4. PSYCHOLOGICAL STATES AS REPRESENTATIONS
+
+We must, however, beware of attempts to erect a new sort of mental-physical barrier on the line which divides the abstract from the concrete, representations from non-representations, rather than along lines of greater and less certainty. To see what such an attempt looks like, consider Fodor's rehabilitation of traditional empiricist accounts of perception:
+
+It is, I take it, an empirical question whether psychological processes are computational processes. But if they are, then what must go on in perception is that a description of the environment that is not couched in a vocabulary whose terms designate values of physical variables is somehow computed on the basis of a description that is couched in such a vocabulary.so
+
+Fodor rightly says that if we are to have anything like a "psychological problem of perception" we must have some such model in mind. He criticizes Gibson's suggestion that we could avoid "the problem of how the (presumed) stimulus invariants are detected" by "distinguishing between the stimulus for the sensory transducers (viz., physical energies) and the stimulus for the perceptual organs (viz., abstract invariants)" by saying:
+
+... this way trivialization lies. If one is allowed to use the notion of a stimulus so as to distinguish the input to the retina (light energy) from the input to the optic system (patterns of light energy which exhibit invariances relevant, e.g., to the explanation of perceptual constancies), why not also talk about the stimulus for the whole organism (viz., perceptibles)? Thus, the answer to "How do we perceive bottles?" would go: "It is necessary and sufficient for the perception of a bottle that one detect the presence of the stimulus invariant bottle."
+
+so Jerry Fodor, The Language of Thought (New York, 1975), p. 47.
+
+... What this shows, 1 think, is not that the psychological problem of perception is a muddle, but that stating the problem requires choosing (and motivating) a proprietary vocabulary for the representation of inputs. 1 have argued that the vocabulary of values of physical parameters is appropriate on the plausible assumption that sensory transducers detect values of physical parameters and that all perceptual knowledge is mediated by the activity of sensory transducers. (p. 49n.)
+
+Here Fodor confronts the question 1 raised in discussing Quine's attempt to view psychology as naturalized epistemology: If the choice of what is datal is a matter of something deeper than consensus among observers, expressible in ordinary language, then what criterion can the psychologist use in isolating the "input to our cognitive mechanism"? Quine wobbles on the point, but Fodor firmly and sensibly tells us that, unless we take something which our subject need not know about as his input, we shall trivialize the notion of "processing in the cognitive mechanism." To my earlier rhetorical question "Could psychology discover that the input to the cognitive mechanism is not at the retina, but rather halfway down the optic nerve?" Fodor would presumably answer: Yes, for doing it one way rather than another depends upon which way of drawing lines around black boxes best splits the organism into the sort of transducers and processors whose descriptions make up a general and fruitful theory of cognitive processing.
+
+Notice that this answer takes away any connection between the question "How do we recognize bottles?" and the question "What is indubitably given to the mind, such as to serve as an infallible touchstone for inference?" For the question "What does the subject have a right to believe without conscious inference?" or, more precisely, "What sort of thing can he justify merely by such remarks as 'I saw it clear as 1 see you now' or 'I know English'?" has nothing whatever to do with the question "What bit of the organism shall we pick as interface with the world?" or more precisely, "What choice shall we make of 'a proprietary vocabulary for the representation of inputs'?" Fodor is admirably explicit on this point:
+
+But whatever relevance the distinction between states of the organism and states of its nervous system may have for some purposes, there is no particular reason to suppose that it is relevant to the purposes of cognitive psychology. (p. 52)
+
+... the states of the organism postulated in theories of cognition would not count as states of the organism for purposes of, say, a theory of legal or moral responsibility. But so what? What matters is that they should count as states of the organism for some useful purpose. In particular, what matters is that they should count as states of the organism for purposes of constructing psychological theories that are true. (p. 53)
+
+We need only add that what goes for moral or legal responsibility goes also for epistemic responsibility-the organism'S being justified in believing this or that. No roads lead from the discovery of the organism's various interfaces with the world to criticisms of the organism's views about the world, or, more generally, from psychology to epistemology. What the empiricists got right about perception was that the sense-organs must be thought of as having a vocabulary that is impoverished compared to the "vocabulary in which the hypotheses are couched" -couched by either the processing unit(s) or the subject itself. They were doubtless also right in commending Calileo for preferring his eyes to his Aristotle, but this epistemological judgment has no particular connection with their theory of perception.
+
+We can now see that Fodor's picture of the mind as a system of inner representations has nothing to do with the image of the Mirror of Nature I have been criticizing\_ The crucial point is that there is no way to raise the skeptical question "How well do the subject's internal representations represent reality?" about Fodor's "language of thought." In particular there is no way to ask where, or how well, the products of spontaneity's theories represent the source of receptivity's evidence, and thus no way to be skeptical about the relation between appearance and reality. Nor is there anything general to say about the gap between the evidence contributed by receptivity and the theories contrived by spontaneity. A different sort of gap is crossed by the requirement that the vocabulary of a sensory mechanism be composed of "natural kind terms in some (ideally completed) physical science" (p. 45). This vocabulary will be "more impoverished" than that of the "processors" in the sense that there will be a many-one relation between sets of values of physical parameters and the terms which the processors use in their hypotheses. The relation will thus be like that between science and common sense. The Quinean "underdetermination of theory by evidence" is thus built into the model, in that many common-sensical ways of speaking will be compatible with the one true (ideally completed) description of the world by physical science, and many possible "processor" languages can mediate between these. To find out something epistemological by learning features of "the language of thought" would only be possible if, in between the scientific vocabulary used by sensory mechanisms and the various vocabularies consciously used by the subject, there were a vocabulary used by the processors, knowledge of which would help the subject discover the truth about things in general. Only this sort of "psychological reality" could take the place of "what is given to the mind without interpretation" as an epistemological touchstone of justification. But it is hard to see why the psychological reality of certain colors, grammars, or moral principles will correspond to their use in explaining or judging nonpsychological realities. We should expect such correspondence only if we view the processing units which psychological theory isolates as in some way "our better part," the successor of reason as the natural ruler over the rest of the soul, or as our true self. Fodor and cognitive psychology have no interest in any such honorific status for the internal code; that code, like FORTRAN, or the binary representation of numbers, is just a code, not an aid in tell-
+
+ing the true from the false. To see this point against the background of the previous chapters, recall the claim that the epistemological tradition confused causal explanations of the acquisition of belief with justifications of belief. When. causal explanations are given in the internal code, the assumption that this code can be used to detect the acquisition of true belief would amount to the assumption that "truth-generating mental processes" were natural kinds within psychological theory. But Fodor would presumably agree that there is no reason whatever to think that such evaluative terms mark out such natural kinds. As he says about creativity:
+
+It may be that the processes we think of as creative don't form a natural kind for purposes of psychological explanation, but that, nevertheless, every instance of such a process is an instance of rule-guided, computational activity of one sort or another .... The categories creative / boring may simply cross-classify the taxonomy that psychology employs.
+
+My main point, however, is that the mere fact that creative mental processes are mental processes does not ensure that they have explanations in the language of psychology under any of their descriptions. It may be that good ideas ... are species of mental states which don't have mental causes. (pp. 201-202)
+
+The rise of the notion of knowledge as a matter of rightly ordered inner representations-an unclouded and undistorting Mirror of Nature-was due to the notion that the difference between the man whose beliefs were true and the man whose beliefs were false was a matter of "how their minds worked." If this phrase is taken in the sense of "what they would say in a conversation," it is true but shallow and unphilosophical. To make it deep and philosophical, one must believe, with Descartes and Locke, that a taxonomy of mental entities and processes will lead to discoveries which will provide one with a method of discovering truth, and not just truth about the mind.sl But Fodor's envisaged psychological taxonomy is not an epistemological taxonomy. It leaves both the method and the substance of the various other disciplines which make up culture to sink or swim on their own. Only the assumption that one day the various taxonomies put together by, for example, Chomsky, Piaget, Levi-Strauss, Marx, and Freud will all flow together and spell out one great Universal Language of Nature-an assumption sometimes attributed to structuralism -would suggest that cognitive psychology had epistemo· logical import. But that suggestion would still be as misguided as the suggestion that, since we may predict everything by knowing enough about matter in motion, a completed neurophysiology will help us demonstrate Galileo's superiority to his contemporaries. The gap between explaining ourselves and justifying ourselves is just as great whether a programming language or a hardware language is used in the explanations.
+
+It might be thought, however, that if we construe epistemology not as certifying success in discovering truth but rather as developing canons of rationality, then a knowledge of the internal code will give us something to go on. Fodor, perhaps unintentionally, suggests such a view when
+
+31 Cf. Hiram Caton, The Origins of Subjectivity: An Essay on Des· cartes (New Haven, 1973), p. 53: "The great difference between the Aristotelian and Cartesian methodology is that, for Descartes, mind is a principle of science." Contrast the lack of connection between the De Anima and the Posterior Analytics with Locke's assumption that an inquiry into "the grounds and degrees of belief, opinion and assent" can be carried out by a "historical, plain method" which begins with "the original of those ideas, notions, or whatever else you please to call them, which a man observes, and is conscious to himself he has in his mind, and the ways whereby the understanding comes to be furnished with them" (Essay I, 1, ii.iii).
+
+he speaks of the discovery of this code as showing "how rationality is structured." But the only content he gives to this notion of "rationality" is provided by the following passage:
+
+If the main line of this book is right, then the language of thought provides the medium for internally representing the psychologically salient aspects of the organism's environment; to the extent that it is specifiable in this language-and only to this extent-does such information fall under the computational routines that constitute the organism's cognitive repertoire .... But now I want to add that some organisms, at least, appear to have considerable freedom in determining how this representational system shall be employed and that that freedom is typically rationally exploited .... If subjects really do calculate how internal representations are to be deployed, then these calculations, too, must be defined over representations; i.e., over representations of representations. Some properties of the language of thought must, in short, be represented in the language of thought since the ability to represent representations is, presumably, a precondition of the ability to manipulate representations rationally.32
+
+Here "rationality" means the adjustment of means to ends, and the ability of organisms to do this with their representations differs from their ability to do it with their hormones only in that a metalinguistic vocabulary is required to describe the former ability. But to grasp the metalinguistic vocabulary which the organism uses for this purpose is not to grasp anything as general as the phrase "the structure of rationality" might suggest, but rather something as particular as the tricks the programmer employs to insure that the computer will switch from one subroutine to another as needed to optimize efficiency. We do not understand more
+
+32 Fodor, The Language of Thought, p. 172.
+
+about what it is to be a rational inquirer or agent from understanding such tricks than we do from understanding what makes the pituitary gland release this hormone rather than that. Nor would it make sense to criticize the subject's conscious representation of his environment-that is, the vocabulary in which he states his views-on the ground that it did not represent these aspects as well as do "the com· putational routines that constitute the organism's cognitive repertoire." "Rational" is no better than "true" (or "honest" or "chaste" or "good") as a candidate for an evaluative no· tion which we might understand better by knowing how our mind works. For our judgment as to how rationally evolution has designed us, or how rational evolution has managed to make us, must be made by reference to our views on the ends we are to serve. Knowledge of how our mind works is not more relevant than knowledge of how our glands or our molecules work to the development or correction of such views.
+
+If we are to find epistemological relevance in the doc· trine of internal representations, then, it will have to be in the rationalist overtones of the "innatist" views common to Chomsky and Fodor rather than their explicit antireductionist intent. An inference from the Chomsky-Fodor notion of a wired-in language (and metalanguage) of thought to a rationalist epistemology is offered by Vendler. Consider the following provocatively anti-Wittgensteinian passage:
+
+.. . the most reasonable explanation is that a child must learn his native tongue in a way similar to the way one learns a second language. He must have, in other words, a native equipment that codes the fundamental illocution· ary, syntactic, and semantic features of any possible human language .... Such a system of native "ideas" provides the framework which is then filled up progressively through the influence of a more specific code representing the features of the mother tongue .... As for the content of this native stock of concepts, we can at the present time
+
+do no more than make educated guesses. Yet, I think, the task of spelling it out in detail is not an impossible one: Aristotle, Descartes, Kant, and recently Chomsky have succeeded in marking out domains that must belong to this framework .... These are, then, the "clear and distinct" ideas which lend intelligibility to the rest. They are "a priori" in origin and self-contained in their development: experience cannot change their content. No experience is relevant to one's idea of what it is to assert or to request something; what it is to believe or to decide; what is truth or necessity; what is a person, an object, a process, or a state; what are change, purpose, causation, time, extension, and number. If these ideas need clarification, the way to obtain it is to reflect on what we all implicitly know and show forth in the correct use of language . . .. aa
+
+This inference from a wired-in vocabulary to a set of beliefs which can only be "clarified" and not changed runs up against Quine's criticism of the distinctions between fact and language, science and philosophy, clarifying meanings and changing beliefs. But a more fundamental objection is that Vendler requires not just the premise that there is a fixed language of thought but the premise that our knowledge of the nature of that language is itself immune to correction on the basis of experience. This is the same premise which Kant used when explaining that we could understand our possession of synthetic a priori truths if and only if our mind contributed those truths.54 But Fodor's claim that the discovery of the language of thought will be a longdrawn-out empirical process has as a corollary that we may always be quite wrong about what this language is, and thus wrong about what is a priori. Kant's claim that if we know what goes on inside we can legitimize our certainties before the tribunal of pure reason harks back to Descartes's
+
+a3 Zeno Vendler, Res Cogitans (Ithaca, N.Y., 1972), pp. 140-141.
+
+34 K.d.r.V., Bxvii.
+
+claim that "nothing is easier for the mind to know than itself." But though epistemology is an armchair discipline, psychology is not; this is one reason why psychology cannot serve epistemological ends.3s
+
+I can sum up this discussion of inner representations by recurring once more to the confusion between explanation and justification. The notion of "representation," as it is employed by psychologists, is ambiguous as between, roughly, pictures and propositions-between, for example, retinal images (or their counterparts somewhere deep in the visual cortex) and beliefs such as "That's red and rectangular." Only the latter serve as premises, but only the former are "unmediated," and the tradition of British empiricism ran them together, with familiar results. Fodor's representationsin-the-processors are propositions rather than pictures, so they are not subject to Green's and Sellars's criticisms of the empiricist notion of "givenness." On the other hand, they are not necessarily propositions toward which the subject has attitudes. Indeed, the subject's attitudes toward those propositions of which he is cognizant float free of the views of the processors. As Dennett remarks in criticism of Fodor,
+
+35 An interesting non-Chomskyan attempt to link up epistemology with psychology is offered by Gilbert Harman in Thought (Princeton, 1973). He finds the connection between the two in the topic of "Gettier examples"-examples in which true justified belief is not knowledge because, roughly, a person is assumed to have used a false premise in the inference which led him to the belief in question. Harman needs a theory of "real reasons" for believing, and this leads him to what he describes as "psychologism" (pp. 15f1'.). However, it is not clear whether Harman can find a link between empirical psychological inquiry and the armchair postulation of specific unconscious inferences (involving "real reasons") as demanded by our intuitions about Gettier examples. See Michael Williams, "Inference, Justification and the Analysis of Knowledge," Journal of Philosophy 75 (1978), 249-263, and Harman's "Using Intuitions about Reasoning to Study Reasoning: A Reply to Williams," ibid., 433-438. If Harman is able to establish such a link he will have isolated something right in Locke's attempt to treat knowledge in terms of the mechanics of inner space. But a link between justification and psychological processes would still be missing.
+
+two subjects can hold the same belief even if their respective processors don't even speak the same language.a6 So there need be no inference from the propositions held by the processors to those held by the subject, even though attributing various propositional attitudes to processors may be the best possible way of explaining how the subject came to hold the belief that he did. Unlike the empiricist's "ideas," the causal process which runs from the retinal images through various propositional attitudes held by various processors to the output of the subject's speech center need not correspond to any train of inference which justifies the subject's views. Explanation may be private, in the sense that, for all we know or care, physiological quirks might make yellow men or red-haired men process information in quite different languages and by quite different methods than do white men, web-footed men, or whatever. But justification is public, in the sense that dispute between these various people about what to believe will probably make no reference to how their quirky minds work, nor should it. So the claim that we possess a system of internal representations embodies, at worst, not only the confusion between pictures and propositions but a more general confusion between causation and inference.
+
+In fact, however, this confusion is present only in philosophical interpretations of cognitive psychology, not in actual psychological explanation. When Wittgensteinians criticize psychology it is not really psychology but the confusion of epistemology with psychology which is their target. Psychologists, out of a misguided urge to be "philosophical,"
+
+sometimes make this confusion. Contemporary psychologists, in revolt against behaviorism, sometimes like to think a6 Daniel Dennett, "Critical Notice" of The Language of Thought, Mind 86 (1977), 278: "If one agrees with Fodor that it is the job of cognitive psychology to map the psychologically real processes in people, then since the ascription of belief and desire is only indirectly tied to such processes, one might well say that beliefs and desires are not the proper objects of study of cognitive psychology."
+
+of themselves as doing "scientifically" what Locke and Kant did in their armchairs. But there is all the difference in the world between saying:
+
+We must isolate those nonpropositional items of awareness which are the foundation for belief in propositions and saying:
+
+We can treat items such as patterns of neural excitation as if they were beliefs in order to use the metaphor of "inference from data" in constructing models of mental processes.37
+
+Psychologists need say only the latter. If they confine themselves to this, they can follow Putnam in treating the distinction between "brain process" and "mental process" as of no greater philosophical interest than that between "hardware description" and "description of the program."3S The temptation to say the former-the epistemologically motivated temptation to "discover the link between the mind and the body"-can be treated on a par with the temptation to raise the question "How can the computer tell that the pattern of electrical charges coming down the wire is the total of the day's cash receipts?" The whole seventeenthcentury notion that we learn more about what we should believe by understanding better how we work can be seen to be as misguided as the notion that we shall learn whether to grant civil rights to robots by understanding better how they work. The man-machine analogy will be seen as helping us not only as a source for useful models of organisms,
+
+37 On this difference, see the strictures of J. O. Urmson, "Recognition," Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 56 (1955-56), 259-280.
+
+38 See Putnam's 1960 article "Minds and Machines," reprinted in Mind, Language and Reality (Cambridge, 1975), pp. 362-385 (especially the concluding paragraphs). Putnam was the first philosopher to point out clearly that the moral of the analogies between computers and people was not "Computers help us understand the relation between mind and body" but rather "There cannot be any problem about the relation between mind and body."
+
+but as helping us bear in mind the difference between men as objects of explanation and men as moral agents, concerned to justify their beliefs and their actions. It may also help us, as I shall be claiming in chapters seven and eight, to give up the notion that these two ways of viewing ourselves need to be "synthesized."
+
+# Epistemology and Philosophy of Language
+
+### 1. PURE AND IMPURE PHILOSOPHY OF LANGUAGE
+
+There are two sources for the discipline presently called "philosophy of language." One is the cluster of problems pointed out by Frege and discussed, for example, by Wittgenstein in the Tractatus and by Carnap in Meaning and Necessity. These are problems about how to systematize our notions of meaning and reference in such a way as to take advantage of quantificational logic, preserve our intuitions about modality, and generally produce a clear and intuitively satisfying picture of the way in which notions like "truth," "meaning," "necessity," and "name" fit together. I shall call this set of problems the subject matter of "pure" philosophy of language-a discipline which has no epistemological parti pris, nor, indeed, any relevance to most of the traditional concerns of modern philosophy. An ancestry can be traced for some of Frege's problems in Parmenides, Plato's Sophist, and some other ancient and medieval writings, but they are issues which rarely intersect with other textbook "problems of philosophy."l
+
+The second source for contemporary philosophy of language is explicitly epistemological. The source of this "impure" philosophy of language is the attempt to retain Kant's picture of philosophy as providing a permanent ahistorical framework for inquiry in the form of a theory of knowledge. The "linguistic turn," as I have said in chapter four, started as the attempt to produce a nonpsychologistic empiricism by rephrasing philosophical questions as questions of "logic."
+
+1Consider the difficulty of tying in the Sophist with the Repu blic, or Meaning and Necessity with the Logical Structure of the World.
+
+Empiricist and phenomenalist doctrines could now, it was thought, be put as the results of "the logical analysis of language" rather than as empirical psychological generalizations. More generally, philosophical points about the nature and extent of human knowledge (e.g., those which Kant made about knowledge-claims concerning God, freedom, and immortality) could be stated as remarks about language.
+
+Treating philosophy as the analysis of language seemed to unite the merits of Hume with those of Kant. Hume's empiricism seemed substantively true, but methodologically shaky because it reposed on nothing more than an empirical theory of the acquisition of knowledge. Kant's criticisms of "bad" philosophy (e.g., natural theology) seemed both more systematic and more forceful than Hume's, but seemed to presuppose the possibility of a nonempirical methodology. Language, unlike transcendental synthesis, seemed a suitably "natural" field of inquiry-but, unlike introspective psychology, linguistic analysis seemed to offer the promise of a priori truth. To say that a material substance was constituted by the synthesis of a manifold of intuition under an a priori concept seemed "metaphysical" whereas to say that any meaningful remark about such a substance could be put in terms of phenomenalistic hypothetical statements seemed both necessarily true and methodologically unmysterious.2 Kant had taught that the only way in which a priori knowledge could be possible was if it were knowledge of our contribution-the contribution of our faculty of spontaneity-to the constitution of the object of knowledge. Rephrased by Bertrand Russell and C. I. Lewis, this became the view that every true statement contained our contribution (in the form of the meanings of the component terms)
+
+2 Cf. Hilary Putnam's discussion of idealism and phenomenalism in Mind, Language and Reality (Cambridge, 1975), pp. 14-19. Putnam there presents the traditional view, which I have been denying, that the "linguistic turn" enabled philosophers to provide substantive solutions to traditional problems.
+
+as well as the world's (in the form of the facts of senseperception).
+
+The attack on this latter notion which I described in chapter four has produced two strikingly different movements in recent philosophy of language. One of these is best represented by Davidson, and the other by Putnam. The first reaction is in the direction of a purified and de-epistemologized conception of the philosophy of language. One outcome of so recasting the subject is to discard what Davidson calls "the third dogma" of empiricism, namely, the "dualism of scheme and content, of organizing system and something waiting to be organized"-a dogma which I have argued in chapter four is central to epistemology generally as well as to empiricism in particular. 3 Davidson distinguishes between philosophical projects which form part of "the theory of meaning properly so-called" and those motivated by "some adventitious philosophical puritanism."4 Roughly, Frege and Tarski pursued the first sort of project, whereas Russell and Carnap and Quine mingled pure theory of meaning with impure epistemological considerations-those which led them, at various times and in various ways, to various forms of operationalism, verificationism, behaviorism, conventionalism, and reductionism.5 Each of these was an expression of an underlying "philosophical puritanism" which held that anything incapable of being "logically constructed" out of certainties (the data of sense, or the rules of language) was suspicious.
+
+In Davidson's view, the question of "how language works" has no special connection with the question of "how knowledge works." The fact that truth is discussed in con-
+
+3See Donald Davidson, "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme,"
+
+Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association 47 (1 973-74), 11 . 4Donald Davidson, "Truth and Meaning," Synthese 7 (1967), 316.
+
+5 Putnam trenchantly criticizes Quine on this point. Cf. Putnam, Mind, Language and Reality, pp. 153-191 ("The Refutation of Conventionalism"). However, as I shall be arguing, Putnam himself becomes involved in the same confusion.
+
+nection with both questions should not mislead us into thinking that we can infer
+
+A theory of meaning will analyze the meaning of all referring expressions other than those for sensory qualia in terms of those which do refer to sensory qualia
+
+from
+
+Our only evidence for empirical truths is the patterns of qualia in our sensory fields.
+
+A theory of meaning, for Davidson, is not an assemblage of "analyses" of the meanings of individual terms, but rather an understanding of the inferential relations between sentences.6 To understand these relations is to understand the truth-conditions for the sentences of English, but for lots of simple sentences ("An oak is a tree," "Russia is our fatherland," "Death is inevitable") there are no more enlightening truth-conditions to be given than for "Snow is white."
+
+The case is different with sentences ascribing beliefs or actions, however, or those containing adverbial modifiersor any other sentence such that the inferential relationships obtaining between it and neighboring sentences are not revealed by the ordinary apparatus of quantificational logic without reparsing. In these cases, we get truth-conditions which are not trivial, are hard to construct, and are testable only by their susceptibility to integration within a theory of truth-conditions for other sentences. "The desired effect," Davidson says, "is standard in theory building: to extract a rich concept (here something reasonably close to translation) from thin little bits of evidence (here the truth values of sentences) by imposing a formal structure on enough bits."7 Not only has this program nothing to do with epis-
+
+6 See Davidson, "Truth and Meaning," pp. 316-318.
+
+7 Donald Davidson, "In Defense of Convention T" in Truth, Syntax and Modality, ed. H. Leblanc (Amsterdam, 1973), p. 84. For the bland metaphysical upshot of the theory, see Davidson's "The Method of
+
+temology, but its "ontological" results are bound to be bland. It does not, for example, serve any of the usual sentimental purposes of metaphysical system-building to learn from Davidson that we probably just have to go ahead and quantify over persons, rather than "reducing" them to things, in order to have a truth-theory for action-sentences. The philosophical interest of the program is, indeed, largely negative: by showing what philosophy of language comes to when purified of attempts to imitate either Kant or Hume, it throws the "adventitious puritanisms" of earlier programs into bold relief. The actual results of the hard work on adverbial modification and the like which would result from concerted efforts to carry out Davidson's suggestions would do little to help or hinder any solution of any of the textbook problems of philosophy.
+
+Davidson's work can best be seen as carrying through Quine'S dissolution of the distinction between questions of meaning and questions of fact-his attack on the linguistic reinterpretation of Kant's distinction between the receptivity of sense and the a priori concepts given by spontaneity. Davidson is saying that if we are serious in renouncing an a priori knowledge of meaning, then the theory of meaning is going to be an empirical theory. Thus there can be no special province for such a theory save, roughly, the traditional province of the grammarian-the attempt to find ways of describing sentences which help to explain how those sentences are used. From this perspective, Quine'S "canonical notation" should not be conceived of as an attempt "to limn the true and ultimate structure of reality," 8 but rather as an attempt to find the most perspicuous ways of describing a fairly small portion of reality�the use of language. The point of constructing a "truth theory of English" is not to enable philosophical problems to be put
+
+Truth in Metaphysics," Midwest Studies in Philosophy � (1977), pp. 244-254, especially the concluding paragraphs.
+
+8 W.V.O. Quine, Word and Object (Cambridge, Mass., 1960), p. 22 1.
+
+in a formal mode of speech, nor to explain the relationship between words and the world, but simply to lay out perspicuously the relation between parts of a social practice (the use of certain sentences) and other parts (the use of other sentences).
+
+The opposite approach to Davidson's in recent philosophy of language is found in Dummett and in Putnam. Dummett still holds to the slogan common to Vienna and Oxford-the claim that "philosophy has, as its first if not its only task, the analysis of meanings." Davidson, as far as I can see, has no such attachment to the notion of "analyzing meanings." Dummett goes on to say something which Davidson does not, and which he would, as far as I can see, have no reason to say: "the theory of meaning, which is the search for such a model, is the foundation of all philosophy, and not epistemology, as Descartes misled us into believing."9
+
+In the view which I am urging in this book, this claim is multiply misleading. For it is misleading to say that Descartes misled us into believing that epistemology was the foundation of all philosophy. Rather, what he did was to make it possible for Locke and Kant to develop an epistemological problematic which replaced the scholastic problematic. He made possible a discipline in which metaphysics was a matter of making the world safe for clear and distinct ideas and for moral obligation, and in which the problems
+
+of moral philosophy became problems of meta-ethics, problems of the justification of moral judgment. This is not to make epistemology the foundation of philosophy so much as to invent something new--epistemology-to bear the 9 Michael Dummett, Frege's PhilosoPhy of Language (London, 1973),
+
+p. 559. In his polemics against Davidson's holism, Dummett insists that one cannot have an adequate philosophy of language without the two Kantian distinctions (given-versus-interpreted and necessary-versus-contingent) attacked by Quine and Sellars. See especially "What Is a Theory of Meaning? (I)" in Samuel Guttenplan, ed., Mind and Language (Oxford, 1975), pp. 97-138. The defense of the former distinction is most explicit at p. 137 and of the latter at pp. 117ff.
+
+name "philosophy." The picture of ancient and medieval philosophy as concerned with things, the philosophy of the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries with ideas, and the enlightened contemporary philosophical scene with words has considerable plausibility. But this sequence should not be thought of as offering three contrasting views about what is primary, or what is foundational. It is not that Aristotle thought that one could best explain ideas and words in terms of things, whereas Descartes and Russell rearranged the order of explanation. It would be more correct to say that Aristotle did not have-did not feel the need of-a theory of knowledge, and that Descartes and Locke did not have a theory of meaning.10 Aristotle's remarks about knowing do not offer answers, good or bad, to Locke's questions, any more than Locke's remarks about language offer answers to Frege's.
+
+Dummett sees philosophy of language as foundational because he sees epistemological issues now, at last, being formulated correctly as issues within the theory of meaning. He agrees with Descartes about the importance of the issues which emerged out of the "way of ideas," but he thinks that we have only recently been able to state them properly. Just as Spinoza and Leibniz thought that they were doing well what the scholastic metaphysicians had done awkwardly (e.g., investigating the nature of substance), so Dummett and Putnam think that they are doing well what epistemologists have done awkwardly (investigating the issue between realism and idealism). But Descartes, we can see by hindsight, was self-deceived; by the time of Kant it became clear that if we start from Cartesian concerns we are not going to be able to raise the good old metaphysical questions. Davidson stands to Russell, Putnam, and Dummett, in this respect, as Kant stood to Descartes, Spinoza, and Leibniz. Davidson's distinction between giving a theory of meaning
+
+10 See Ian Hacking, Why Does Language Matter to PhilosOPhy? (Cambridge, 1975), p. 43·
+
+and "adventitious philosophical puritanism" is a contemporary parallel to Kant's distinction between the legitimate and the illegitimate uses of reason.
+
+If we adopt this view of new philosophical paradigms nudging old problems aside, rather than providing new ways of stating or solving them, then we will see the second ("impure") type of philosophy of language as a last nostalgic attempt to hook up a new kind of philosophical activity with an old problematic. We will see Dummett's notion of philosophy of language as "first philosophy" as mistaken not because some other area is "first" but because the notion of philosophy as having foundations is as mistaken as that of knowledge having foundations. In this conception, "philosophy" is not a name for a discipline which confronts permanent issues, and unfortunately keeps misstating them, or attacking them with clumsy dialectical instruments. Rather, it is a cultural genre, a "voice in the conversation of mankind" (to use Michael Oakeshott's phrase), which centers on one topic rather than another at some given time not by dialectical necessity but as a result of various things happening elsewhere in the conversation (the New Science, the French Revolution, the modern novel) or of individual men of genius who think of something new (Hegel, Marx, Frege, Freud, Wittgenstein, Heidegger), or perhaps of the resultant of several such forces. Interesting philosophical change (we might say "philosophical progress," but this would be question-begging) occurs not when a new way is found to deal with an old problem but when a new set of problems emerges and the old ones begin to fade away. The temptation (both in Descartes's time and in ours) is to think that the new problematic is the old one rightly seen. But, for all the reasons Kuhn and Feyerabend have offered in their criticism of the "textbook" approach to the history of inquiry, this temptation should be resisted.
+
+In this chapter, I shall be largely engaged in urging this "Kuhnian" conception of the relation between philosophy of language and traditional philosophical problems, in oppOSItiOn to Dummett's more familiar (and, I think, generally accepted) view of their relation. I shall do so by criticizing "impure" philosophy of language and its illicit transfers of problems from epistemology into philosophy of language. Evidently, I cannot survey the whole field, so I shall stick to a topic that provides the greatest temptation to think -that explanations of how language works will also help us see how "language hooks onto the world" and thus how truth and knowledge are possible. This is the so-called issue of conceptual change, around which most recent polemics about "realism," "pragmatism," "verificationism," "idealism," and "conventionalism" have centered. I think that Davidson is right in saying that the notion of "conceptual change" is itself incoherent, and that we need to see through it in order to recognize why debates about it seem both so important and so unlikely to be resolved.
+
+So I shall, in the next section, discuss the issues purportedly raised by theory-change for epistemology on the one hand and for philosophy of language on the other. Then, in succeeding sections, I shall discuss Putnam's "realistic" response to these issues in some detail, since Putnam's work seems to me the clearest statement of an "impure" program. I shall be contrasting it with a "pure" or "pragmatist" or "language-game" approach to language, which I think is illustrated by Sellars and by Wittgenstein as well as by Davidson (despite the differences which may seem to set these three in opposition to one another). I hope thereby to show that the issue between the two approaches is not a replay of the issues which separated realists from idealists and pragmatists in the days of philosophy-as-epistemology, and indeed is not really an issue about language at all. I shall be claiming that if we press Quine's and Davidson's criticisms of the language-fact and scheme-content distinctions far enough, we no longer have dialectical room to state an issue concerning "how language hooks onto the world" between the "realist" and the "idealist" (or the "pragmatist"). The need to construct such an issue seems to me
+
+one more manifestation of the Kantian need for an overarching permanent neutral matrix within which to "place" and criticize past and future inquiry. This nostalgia for philosophy as an architectonic and encompassing discipline survives in contemporary philosophy of language only because of the vague association of "language" with "the a priori" and of the latter with "philosophy. " Insofar as there is a real issue between "realists" and "pragmatists" in conlemporary philosophy of language it seems to me a metaphilosophical one-the issue about whether philosophy can retain its Kantian self-image once the notion of language as the source of a priori knowledge is dropped. On this point, to be sure, I shall be siding with the "pragmatists." But I hope that my discussion may help to frame this metaphilosophical issue in less Aesopian language than that in which it is usually stated.
+
+### 2. WHAT WERE OUR ANCESTORS TALKING ABOUT?
+
+Was Aristotle wrong about motion being divided into natural and forced? Or was he talking about something different from what we talk about when we talk about motion? Did Newton give right answers to questions to which Aristotle had given wrong answers? Or were they asking different questions? This sort of conundrum has inspired a great deal of the best work in philosophy of science and philosophy of language in recent years. Yet, like most philosophical puzzles, its motives and presuppositions are of more interest than the various solutions which have been offered. Why, after all, should we think that there is a more interesting answer to these questions than to the question of whether the ship of Theseus endured the change of each of its planks? Why should we think that the question "What did they mean?" or "What were they referring to?" is going to have a determinate answer? Why should it not be answerable in either way, depending on what heuristic con· siderations are relevant to some particular historiographical purpose?
+
+The reason we think that there should be determinate answers here is, at a first approximation, that we think that the history of the pursuit of truth should be different from the history of poetry or politics or clothes. We may well feel that questions like "Did the Greeks mean 'temperance' by uWcf>p0uVvrl' and "Do the Nuer refer to the soul as kwoth?" can be dismissed by saying that there is no special reason to think that any given one-word expression in one culture can be matched with a one-word expression in a very different culture. Indeed, we may feel that even lengthy paraphrases will be of little help, and that we must just get into the swing of the exotic language-game.ll But in the case of science, such an attitude seems perverse. Here, we are inclined to say, there jolly well is something out there-motion and its laws, for example-which people either meant to refer to, or at least were referring to without realizing it. Scientific inquiry is supposed to discover what sorts of objects there are in the world and what properties they have. Anybody who conducted serious inquiry could only have been asking which predicates were to be pinned on which things. When we find it hard to say which thing Aristotle was talking about, we feel that there must be a right answer somewhere, because he must have been talking about some of the things we talk about. Even if he imagined unreal objects and uninstantiated properties, he must have given sense to his talk about them by some intertwined talk about, or other interaction with, what was really there. This feeling is the root of instrumentalist remarks like "All this talk about kinds and laws of motion is just a complicated way of classifying sensory experiences." This need to say that talk about something we don't recognize is "really"
+
+11See Clifford Geertz, "Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture" in his The Interpretation of Cultures (New York, 1973)·
+
+talk about something we do recognize used to be gratified by simply assuming (in "Whiggish" fashion) that our misguided ancestors had "really" been talking about whatever our best-approved contemporary inquirers claimed that they were talking about. Thus we were told that Aristotle had really been talking about gravitation when he spoke of natural downward motion, that ignorant sailors really referred to the horns of narwhals when they talked of those of unicorns, that "caloric fluid" was a misleading way of describing the transmission of energy between bouncing molecules, and that Kierkegaard was describing our relations to our fathers in the flesh when he talked of Abraham's relation to God.
+
+Two developments have made philosophers nervous in recent years about this "what they were really talking about" strategy. These developments are, roughly, breakdowns of each of the two "dogmas of empiricism" identified by Quine. The first dogma enshrined what Quine called "essentialism"-the notion that one could distinguish between what people were talking about and what they were saying about it by discovering the essence of the object being discussed. In its linguistic form, this was the doctrine that one could discover which term in our language translated a term in that of the ancient scientists, and then discover the essence of the referent of both terms by distinguishing between the analytic statements which told one the terms' meaning and the synthetic statements which expressed possibly false beliefs about this referent. The second dogma held that such a translation could always be found, and that such analytic statements could always be formula:ted, because to determine the meaning of any referring expression one need only discover which reports in a "neutral observation language" would confirm, and which would disconfirm, a statement asserting the existence of the referent in question.
+
+The conviction that science differed from softer discourse in having "objective reference" to things "out there" was bolstered in pre-Quinean days by the thought that even if there were no such things as Aristotelian essences that could become immaterially present in the intellect, there certainly were points of contact with the world in the presentations of sense\_ This contact, plus the ability of an operationalist "meaning-analysis" to characterize the essence of the referent in terms of the presentations to be expected from it, seemed to give science what was lacking in religion and politics-the ability to use contact with the real as the touchstone of truth. The horror which greeted Quine's overthrow of the dogmas, and Kuhn's and Feyerabend's examples of the "theory-Iadenness" of observation, was a result of the fear that there might be no such touchstone. For if we once admitted that Newton was better than Aristotle not because his words better corresponded to reality but simply because Newton made us better able to cope, there would be nothing to distinguish science from religion or politics. It was as if the ability to tell the analytic from the synthetic, and the observational from the theoretical, was all that stood between us and "irrationalism."
+
+I have suggested in previous chapters that this identification of rationality with the philosophical dogmas of the day reflects the fact that, since Kant, philosophy has made it its business to present a permanent neutral framework for culture. This framework is built around a distinction between inquiry into the real-the disciplines which are on "the secure path of a science" -and the rest of culture. This is the sort of distinction which we find in the last paragraph of Hume's Enquiry, in the first paragraph of the preface to the second edition of the Critique of Pure Reason, and in the manifestoes by Russell and Husserl cited in chapter four. If philosophy is essentially the formulation of the distinction between science and nonscience, then endangering current formulations seems to endanger philosophy itself, and with it rationality (of which philosophy is seen as the vigilant guardian, constantly fending off the forces of darkness). Given this conception of the dogmas which
+
+Quine overthrew, the response of many philosophers was to find some way of formulating the desired distinction which would (a) keep the philosophy of language as much in the center of the picture as it had been since the days of the Vienna Circle, (b) not involve any recourse to the notion of language as the realm of the a priori, (c) provide an answer to questions about whether Newton and Aristotle had a common referent (and if so, what it was). This desire was the root of what has come to be called "the theory of reference," a term now roughly coextensive with what I have been calling "impure philosophy of language."
+
+Before this desire became explicit, however, there was a preliminary stage of disarray which found philosophers asking for a theory of "meaning-change." This demand arose primarily from a reaction to Feyerabend's claim that the traditional empiricist view had presupposed a "condition of meaning invariance"-presupposed, that is, that "all future theories will have to be phrased in such a manner that their use in explanations does not affect what is said by the [other] theories, or factual reports to be explained."12 Feyerabend, like Kuhn, was concerned to show that the meaning of lots of statements in the language, including lots of "observation" statements, got changed when a new theory came along; or, at least, that granting that such change took place made more sense of the facts of the history of science than the standard textbook view which kept meanings constant and let only beliefs change. The response of many philosophers to such historical examples was to grant that meanings could shift as a result of new discoveries-that the permanent neutral framework of meanings within which rational inquiry could be conducted was not so permanent as had been thought. But, they said, there must be such a thing as a "rational" and principled change of meaning, and it is now our task, as the guardians and explicators of
+
+12 Paul Feyerabend, "How To Be a Good Empiricist" in Challenges to Empiricism, ed. Harold Morick (Belmont, Calif., 1972), p. 169.
+
+the rationality natural to natural scientists, to explain what principles are involved. Feyerabend himself had been content to suggest that meanings changed every time any feature of use changed, but cooler heads thought there must be some middle view between "meanings remain and beliefs change" and "meanings change whenever beliefs do." This led to the feeling that there ought to be a way to mark off a change of beliefs within Kuhn's "normal science" from the shift in norms which occurred in a "scientific revolution." Granted, philosophers said, that the textbook account of theorychange is misleading, still, anything the historiographer of science needs philosophy can provide. We shall set about to discover those conditions in which successive changes in belief produce something that is not merely a change in belief but a change in "conceptual scheme."13
+
+The notion that it would be all right to relativize sameness of meaning, objectivity, and truth to a conceptual scheme, as long as there were some criteria for knowing when and why it was rational to adopt a new conceptual scheme, was briefly tempting. For now the philosopher, the
+
+13 Fred Suppe, in his "The Search for Philosophic Understanding of Scientific Theories" (in The Structure of Scientific Theories, ed. Suppe [Urbana. 1974), pp. 3'241) classifies this project as the attempt to construct a "Weltanschauungen analysis" of scientific theory-change (d. esp. pp. 127ff.). Many of the authors whom Suppe discusses would. I think. quarrel with the implications of the term, and with some of the details of Suppe's presentation. But the general lines of Suppe's treatment of this period in the development of recent philosophy of science seem to me accurate and illuminating. Another document useful for understanding this period is Conceptual Change. ed. Glenn Pearce and Patrick Maynard (Dordrecht. 1973). which has some very useful papers on the question of "meaning-change." especially those by Binkley, Sellars. Putnam. Barrett. and Wilson. The line I am taking in this wapter is in harmony with Binkley's and Sellar's papers. but I think that both men take too seriously the question which Binkley formulates as "How is our system of epistemic appraisal to be applied in contexts of changing meanings?" (p. 71). In my view. there is no such system-no overarching structure of rationality. Barrett's criticisms of Putnam chime with those offered by Fine and by me in the articles cited below in note 26.
+
+guardian of rationality, became the man who told you when you could start meaning something different, rather than just the man who told you what you meant. But this attempt to retain the philosopher's traditional role was doomed. All the Quinean reasons why he could not do the one were also reasons why he could not do the other. The philosopher had been portrayed, since the beginnings of "the linguistic turn," as a man who knew about concepts by knowing about the meanings of words, and whose work therefore transcended the empirical. But as soon as it was admitted. that "empirical considerations" (e.g., the discovery that there were spots on the moon, the discovery that the Etats-Generaux would not go home) incited but did not require "conceptual change" (e.g., a different concept of the heavens or of the state), the division of labor between the philosopher and the historian no longer made sense. Once one said that it was rational to abandon the Aristotelian conceptual scheme as a result of this or that discovery, then "change of meaning" or "shift in conceptual scheme" meant nothing more than "shift in especially central beliefs." The historian can make the shift from the old scheme to the new intelligible, and make one see why one would have been led from the one to the other if one had been an intellectual of that day. There is nothing the philosopher can add to what the historian has already done to show that this intelligible and plausible course is a "rational" one. Without what Feyerabend called "meaning invariance," there is no special method (meaning-analysis) which the philosopher can apply. For "meaning invariance" was simply the "linguistic" way of stating the Kantian claim that inquiry, to be rational, had to be conducted within a permanent framework knowable a priori, a scheme which both restricted possible empirical content and explained what it was rational to do with any empirical content which came along. Once schemes became temporary, the scheme-content distinction itself was in danger, and with it the Kantian notion of philosophy as made possible by our a priori knowledge of our own contribution to inquiry (the schematic, formal element-e.g., "language").
+
+### 3. IDEALISM
+
+Philosophers came to realize fairly quickly that the search for a criterion of meaning-change was as disastrous to the notion of philosophy qua analysis of meanings as the notion of the right to revolt had been to political philosophy qua study of sovereignty. So they realized that Feyerabend had misstated his own point when he spoke of "meaning-change." This criticism was most effectively made by Putnam:
+
+Feyerabend cannot escape the same difficulties that have bedeviled the Positivists .... To see that this is the case, it suffices to recall that for Feyerabend the meaning of a term depends upon a whole theory containing the term . . . . One might, of course, take the radical line that any change in theory is a change in the meaning of terms .... But I expect Feyerabend would not take this line. For to say that any change in our empirical beliefs about XS is a change in the meaning of the term X would be to abandon the distinction between questions of meaning and questions of fact. To say that the semantical rules of English cannot at all be distinguished from the empirical beliefs of English speakers would just be to throw the notion of a seman tical rule of English overboard .. .. All appearance of sensation would have vanished if Feyerabend had taken this course. For the "sensation" here depends on sliding back and forth between a noncustomary conception of meaning and the customary conception.14
+
+Appreciation of this point led philosophers into a second stage of the debate over our relation to ancestral theories and exotic cultures. It was recognized that if one was whole-
+
+14 Putnam, Mind, Language and Reality, pp. 124-125.
+
+heartedly Quinean in one's attitude toward the notion of "meaning" one would not even want to ask "Did they mean the same thing by '---'?" What, then, had all the fuss been about? Presumably about how we could assign truthvalues to various statements. We want to know whether to �ay, "Aristotle said mostly false things about motion" or rather to say, "Aristotle said mostly true things about what he called 'motion,' but we don't believe there is any such thing." Further, we want to say in some cases, "Here Aristotle goofed, even in his own terms" and in other cases, "Here we have a statement which would be true if anything in Aristotelian physics were, but which, alas, refers to something which does not exist and thus is false." Or, to put it still another way, we want to distinguish between Aristotelian falsehoods which are a result of the nonexistence of what he was talking about, and those which result from his misuse of his own theoretical apparatus-just as we want to distinguish between the falsehood of "Holmes lived on Baker Street" and that of "Holmes was married." To make the distinction between internal questions (where the answers are given within the culture, the theory, the story, the game) and external ones (answered by whether it is a culture we are members of, a theory we accept, a story we believe, a game we play), we can get along with the notion of "reference" and skip that of "meaning. " "Meaning" only seemed important because it provided a way to pick out an object in the world, which we could then determine to be the same or not the same as some object countenanced by our own culture, theory, story, or game. Once we give up the notion of meaning, we also give up the notion of reference as determined by meaning-of the "defining attributes" of a term picking out the referent of the term.
+
+The need to pick out objects without the help of definitions, essences, and meanings of terms produced, philosophers thought, a need for a "theory of reference" which would not employ the Fregean machinery which Quine had rendered dubious. This call for a theory of reference be-
+
+came assimilated to the demand for a "realistic" philosophy of science which would reinstate the pre-Kuhnian and pre-Feyerabendian notion that scientific inquiry made progress by finding out more and more about the same objects.15 It was not that either Kuhn or Feyerabend had denied this, but rather that their views about the incommensurability of alternative theories suggested that the only notions of "truth" and "reference" we really understood were those which were relativized to a "conceptual scheme." If there was no necessity that there be a single observation language common to all alternative theories, as Feyerabend and Kuhn had suggested (and Quine and Sellars had given further reasons for believing), then the empiricist notion that one could always give operational definitions of theoretical terms had to be dropped. Quine's attack on the first dogma had made the notion of "definition" dubious, and his holistic attack on the second, combined with Sellars's claim that "given ness to sense" was a matter of acculturation, made the notion of "operational definition" doubly dubious. The antireductionist implications of all this anti-empiricist polemic were such that something which seemed much like idealism began to become intellectually respectable. It seemed possible to say that the question of what was real or true was not to be settled independently of a given conceptual framework, and this in turn seemed to suggest that perhaps nothing really existed apart from such frameworks.16 So the notion that we could find a common matrix
+
+15 Cf. ibid., pp. I 96ff.
+
+16 Actually, this suggestion only occurred to critics of Quine and Kuhn, who then pounced upon it as a reductio. Cf. Suppe, "Search for Philosophical Understanding," p. 151: " ... if science always views the world through a disciplinary matrix ... then isn't Kuhn committed to some form of antiempirical idealism?" Israel Schemer makes the charge of idealism in chapter I of his Science and Subjectivity (Indianapolis, 1976) but in later chapters he seems to me to show how, even after we have given up C. I. Lewis's notion of the "given" and most of the empiricist mythology discussed in chapter four, we can nevertheless have control of theory by observation (in the form of control by less
+
+of inquiry-something which overs panned all actual and possible "conceptual frameworks"-was very attractive to those who felt that there must be something true about the old-fashioned pre-Quine an and pre-Kuhn ian notion of increasingly accurate representations of nature being found in its mirror.
+
+Actually, however, this clamor about "idealism" is a red herring. It is one thing to say (absurdly) that we make objects by using words and something quite different to say that we do not know how to find a way of describing an enduring matrix of past and future inquiry into nature except in our own terms-thereby begging the question against "alternative conceptual schemes." Almost no one wishes to say the former. To say the latter is, when disjoined from scary rhetoric about "losing touch with the world," just a way of saying that our present views about nature are our only guide in talking about the relation between nature and our words. To say that we have to assign referents to terms and truth-values to sentences in the light of our best notions of what there is in the world is a platitude. To say that truth and reference are "relative to a conceptual scheme" sounds as if it were saying something more than this, but it is not, as long as "our conceptual scheme" is taken as simply a reference to what we believe now-the collection of views which make up our present-day culture. This is all that any argument offered by Quine, Sellars, Kuhn, or Feyerabend would license one to mean by "conceptual scheme." However, Putnam, having cleared up part of the
+
+controversial beliefs over more controversial beliefs). Scheffler's claim (p. 39) that "we simply have a false dichotomy in the notion that observation must be either a pure confrontation with an undifferentiated given, or else so conceptually contaminated that it must render circular any observational test of a hypothesis" seems just what Kuhn himself would want to say about the issue. As Michael Williams has pointed out to me, Kuhn is simply not concerned with skepticism, either pro or con, but is almost always read by philosophers as if he were advancing skeptical arguments.
+
+confusion created by Feyerabend's talk of meaning-change, unfortunately proceeded to treat the difference between Feyerabend and himself not as a difference between taking the notion of "meaning" seriously and abandoning it, but rather as the difference between an "idealistic" and a "realistic" theory of meaning.
+
+To see how this pseudo-issue developed is to understand the final stage in the development of "the theory of reference" out of the so-called problem of conceptual change. Putnam says, for example:
+
+What is wrong with positivist theory of science is that it is based on an idealist or idealist-tending world view, and that that view does not correspond to reality. However, the idealist element in contemporary positivism enters precisely through the theory of meaning; thus part of any realist critique of positivism has to include at least "a sketch of a rival theory,17
+
+By an "idealist-tending world view," Putnam means roughly a view which "regards or tends to regard the 'hard facts' as just facts about actual and potential experiences, and all other talk as somehow just highly derived talk about actual and potential experiences"(p. 209). He thereby treats positivism's desire for operational definitions as motivated not by a need to guarantee an analytic-synthetic distinction and thus a fixed framework for inquiry (in the way I have treated it above), but by a Berkeleian desire to avoid questions about the relation between experience and an independent reality. This is, I think, wrong-headed as history, but it is not particularly important. What is important is Putnam's insistence that "the positivist today is no more entitled than Berkeley was to accept scientific theory and practice-that is, his own story leads to no reason to think that scientific theory is true or that scientific practice tends to discover truth" (p. 20g)\_ Putnam thinks
+
+17 Putnam, Mind, Language and Reality, p. 207.
+
+of philosophers as typically having either strongly "antirealistic or strongly realistic intuitions" :
+
+. . . the anti realist does not see our theory and Archimedes' theory as two approximately correct descriptions of some fixed realm of theory-independent entities, and he tends to be sceptical about the idea of "convergence" in science-he does not think our theory is a better description of the same entities that Archimedes was describing. But if our theory is just our theory, then to use it in deciding whether or not X lies in the extension of xpvao" is just as arbitrary as using Neanderthal theory to decide whether or not X lies in the extension of xpvao". The only theory that it is not arbitrary to use is the one the speaker himself subscribes to.
+
+The trouble is that for a strong antirealist truth makes no sense except as an intra-theoretic notion .... The antirealist can use truth intra-theoretically in the sense of a "redundancy theory"; but he does not have the notions of truth and reference available extra-theoretically. But extension is tied to the notion of truth. The extension of a term is just what the term is true of. Rather than try to retain the notion of extension via an awkward operationalism, the antirealist should reject the notion of extension as he does the notion of truth (in any extratheoretic sense). Like Dewey, for example, he can fall back on a notion of "warranted assertibility" instead of truth .... Then he can say that "X is gold (xpvao,,)" was warrantedly assertible in Archimedes' time and is not warrantedly assertible today ... but the assertion that X was in the extension of xpvao" will be rejected as meaningless, like the assertion that "X is gold (xpvao,,)" was true. (p. 236)
+
+It is difficult to find a philosopher who meets Putnam's criteria for being an "antirealist." Kuhn occasionally hints that he finds the notion of "a better description of the same entities" objectionable, but most philosophers who have been influenced by his criticisms of positivistic philosophy of science have seen no need to go this far. Again, philosophers who are dubious about the notion of a theory of connections between words and the world, and who, like Sellars, are inclined to relativize "true" to conceptual frameworks, nevertheless would never call meaningless either of the assertions which Putnam thinks they ought to call meaningless. Sellars would interpret "warranted assertible in our conceptual framework but not true" as an implicit reference to another, perhaps not yet invented, conceptual framework in which the statement in question would not be warranted assertible. Philosophers who, like James and Dewey and Strawson, are dubious about the "correspondence theory of truth," nevertheless have no sympathy with the notion of nature as malleable to thought, or with the inference from "one cannot give a theory-independent description of a thing" to "there are no theory-independent things." As usual in debates between "idealists" and "realists," both sides wish the other to assume the burden of proof. The so-called idealist claims to be able to give a satisfactory sense to everything which common sense, and even the philosophy of language, wants to say, and asks what the realist can possibly add. The realist insists that the idealist view has counter-intuitive consequences which only a theory of a relation called "correspondence between thought {or words) and the world" can safeguard us against.
+
+Putnam has three lines of argument, each designed to show that there is a significant issue between the realist and his opponent and that the realist is right. The first is an argument against construing "true" as meaning "warrantedly assertible" or any other "soft" notion having to do with relations of justification. This is 'supposed to show that only a theory about relations between words and the world can offer a sa'tisfactory construal. The second is an argument to the effect that a certain kind of sociological fact which needs explanation-the reliability of standard methods of scientific inquiry, or the utility of our language
+
+as an instrument for coping with the world-can only be explained on realist grounds. The third is an argument that only the realist can avoid inferring from "many terms used in the sciences of the past did not refer" to "it is overwhelmingly likely that no term used by our scientists refers," a conclusion he finds objectionable.1s I think that only the third of these arguments really joins issue with a reallife opponent. My examination of this argument will consist of the discussions of reference, truth, and relativism in the next three sections. In the remainder of this section, however, I shall try to say enough in criticism of Putnam's first two arguments to show why only the third need be taken seriously.
+
+Putnam's claim that no notion like "warranted assertible" will have the same syntactic features as "true" is perfectly justified. But it is not clear that it is relevant to any philosopher's claim. Philosophers who suggest that "true" means "warranted assertible" usually either (a) relativize the notion of truth to a language, theory, stage of inquiry, or conceptual scheme, or (b) explain that we do not need a notion of "true" once we have the notion of "warranted assertible." In other words, they either suggest a revision in our normal use of "true, " or suggest abandoning the term altogether. As Putnam himself notes, arguments against such notions as analyses of "true" are as easy as Moore's arguments against attempts to define "good," and for pretty much the same reason. "True but not warranted assertible" makes as good sense as, for example, "good but not conducive to the greatest happiness" or "good but disapproved of by all cultures so far." Philosophers who are concerned (as Tarski and Davidson are not) to tell us something about truth which will explain or underwrite the success of our search for truth are like philosophers who
+
+18 Putnam, "What Is 'Realism'?" Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 1976, p. 194. (Reprinted with changes as Lectures II-III in his Meaning and the Moral Sciences [London, 1978], a book which appeared after this chapter was written.)
+
+want to tell us more about "good" than that it is used to commend, something which will explain or underwrite moral progress. But there may be little of this sort to be said. To use the analogy with moral philosophy once again, it is no help in understanding either why "good" is indefinable, or how it is used, to explain that a good action is one which corresponds to the Form of the Good, or to the Moral Law. It is equally pointless to be told that true statements correspond to the way the world is.19
+
+The appropriate position for the "antirealist" is just to admit that nothing will explicate "theory-independent truth," just as nothing will explicate "noninstrumental goodness" or "nonfunctional beauty," and to move the burden of proof back to Putnam. The way in which it should be shoved back is, roughly, to ask, "What would we lose if we had no ahistorical theory-independent notion of truth?" This question seems as reasonable as the question "What did we gain when Socrates taught us to use 'good' in such a way that 'bad for me, but nevertheless good,' 'bad for Athens, but nevertheless good' and even 'abhorrent to the gods, but nevertheless good' made sense?" That we have such notions of truth and of goodness-notions which float free of all questions of justification-is unquestionable. It is equally unquestionable that this notion of truth has certain properties which no notion of assertibility or justification is going to have (e.g., to cite some of those which Putnam notes: if a statement is true, so are its logical consequences; if two statements are true, so is their conjunction; if a statement is true now it always is). This notion may not be much older than the time of Socrates and Aris-
+
+19 See Nelson Goodman, "The Way the World Is" in his Problems and Projects (Indianapolis, 1972), pp. 24-32, esp. p. 31 : "There are many ways the world is, and every true description captures one of them." Goodman's point seems to me to have been developed best by Davidson, in "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme" (discussed below) and in "Mental Events" (discussed in chapter four, section 5 above).
+
+totle, before which "logical consequence" would not have been intelligible. But, whatever the provenance, the fact that we possess such a notion is in itself no guarantee that there will be an interesting philosophical theory about it. Most of what passes for discussion of "truth" in philosophy books is, in fact, about justification, just as most of what passes for discussion of "goodness" is about pleasure and pain. The price of sharply distinguishing the transcendentalia from their common-sense counterparts may be to leave one without material for theory-construction, and without problems to resolve.
+
+Putnam, however, is very explicit that there are problems to be resolved which have nothing to do with justification, and the second of the arguments to which I have referred is a direct reply to the question "What do we need the notion of truth, as opposed to justification, for?" Putnam's answer is that we need it to explain the reliability of our procedures of inquiry. More specifically, we need it to explain the fact of "convergence" in science-the fact that the old bad theories nonetheless present, as they approach our own time, better and better approximations of our present theories.20 The obvious objection to this starting point is that this "convergence" is an inevitable artifact of historiography. It seems clear that there will always be a natural way of telling the story of theory-succession (or of the succession of religions or forms of government) which shows our predecessors gradually, if jerkily, progressing to where we are now. There is no reason to think that the antirealist will lack a story to tell about the causal effects upon our ancestors of the objects spoken of by our present theory. He too can describe how these objects helped to bring about justified but false descriptions of themselves, followed by equally justified, incompatible, and slightly better descriptions, and so on down to our own day. If, however, "convergence" is seen not as a
+
+20 See Putnam, "Reference and Understanding," in Meaning and the Moral Sciences, pp. 97·1l9. l owe my knowledge of this paper to a preprint kindly supplied by Professor Putnam.
+
+fact about the history of the various disciplines but as a fact about the results of tests of new theories, then the realist may seem in a better position to make use of this fact. Boyd, who has collaborated with Putnam in developing this line of argument, interprets "convergence" as the "reliability" of such a principle as
+
+it should be inquired, in the light of available theoretical knowledge, under what circumstances the causal claims made by the theory might plausibly go wrong, either because alternative causal mechanisms plausible in the light of existing knowledge might be operating instead of those indicated by the theory, or because causal mechanisms of sorts already known might plausibly be expected to interfere with those required by the theory in ways which the theory does not anticipate.21
+
+It is hard to imagine anyone taking exception to such a principle, so the issue is not joined until Boyd claims that we can only account for this principle's leading to useful results "on a realistic understanding of the relevant collateral theories":
+
+Suppose you always "guess" where theories are most likely to go wrong experimentally by asking where they are most likely to be false as accounts of causal relations, given the assumption that currently accepted laws represent probable causal knowledge. And suppose your guessing procedure works-that theories really are most likely to go wrong-to yield false experimental predictionsjust where a realist would expect them to .... What explanation beside scientific realism is possible? Certainly not the mere effect of conventionally or arbitrarily adopted scientific traditions .... Unless, as no empiricist would suggest, the world is molded by our conventions, there is no way that the reliability of this principle could merely be a matter of convention. (p. 12)
+
+21 Richard N. Boyd, "Realism, Underdetermination and a Causal Theory of Evidence," Now 7 (1973), 11.
+
+Boyd here confuses the sense in which a procedure is reliable in respect of an independent test (as thermometers are reliable indicators of how uncomfortable it is outside) with the sense in which a procedure is reliable because we cannot imagine an alternative. To check new theories by old ones is not an optional procedure. How else would we check them? The fact that new theories often go wrong just where old ones say they might is not something which requires explanation. It would require explanation if they went wrong somewhere else. We could only make it appear that the "nonrealist" is at a loss to explain the relevance of old >theories to testing new ones if we ,took this straw man to be claiming that new theories arrive completely equipped with equally new observational languages, testing pro· cedures, and regulative principles of their own. But a "new theory" is simply a rather minor change in a vast network of beliefs. Its truth, as James said, is largely a matter of its ability to perform "a marriage function" between the deposit of old truth and the "anomaly" which suggested it in the first place. Only some of Feyerabend's more strained conceits suggest that we should grant a new theory immunity from any test based on the results of an old one. Such suggestions have nothing to do with the question of whether we need a notion of "truth" in addition to one of "warranted assertibility."
+
+### 4. REFERENCE
+
+To show that we do need such a notion we must turn to Putnam's third argument, which has the virtue of presenting us with a more plausible "antirealist" than those who have been discussed so far. This argument centers around what Putnam calls the need to block "the disastrous meta-induction that concludes 'no theoretical term ever refers.' "22
+
+22 Putnam, "What Is Realism?" p. 194.
+
+What if we accept a theory from the standpoint of which electrons are like phlogiston?
+
+Then we will have to say electrons don't really exist. What if this keeps happening? What if all the theoretical entities postulated by one generation (molecules, genes, etc., as well as electrons) invariably "don't exist" from the standpoint of later science?-this is, of course, one form of the old skeptical "argument from error"-how do you know you aren't in error now? But it is the form in which the argument from error is a serious worry for many people today, and not just a "philosophical doubt."
+
+One reason this is a serious worry is that eventually the following meta-induction becomes overwhelmingly compelling: just as no term used in the science of more than 50 (or whatever) years ago referred, so it will turn out that no term used now (except maybe observation terms, if there are such) refers. (pp. 183-184)
+
+Putnam says that blocking this meta-induction is "obviously a desideratum for the Theory of Reference." This is puzzling, for two reasons. First, it is not clear what philosophical standpoint could show that revolutionary change in science had come to an end-that we will not stand to our descendants as our primitive animist ancestors stand to us. How are we supposed to step outside our own culture and evaluate its place relative to the end of inquiry? Second, even if there were such a philosophical standpoint, it is not clear how the theory of reference could possibly supply it. Suppose we have decisive intuitions about the answer to such questions as "If Jones did not do the mighty deeds attributed to him, but Smith (previously unknown to history) did most of them, does 'Jones' refer to Jones or to Smith?" Suppose, less plausibly, that our intuitions about such puzzle cases as this are firm enough to lead us to a general theory which informs us, without appeal to intuition, that we and Dalton refer to the same things by "molecule" whereas "caloric fluid" was never used to refer to the mo-
+
+tion of molecules.23 Such a theory might push the premises of the suggested meta-induction farther into the past-since now we might have to look back five thousand years rather than fifty years for a science none of whose theoretical terms referred. But this could hardly satisfy a skeptic who had developed a serious worry about the status of our science relative to that of, say, the Galactic civilization of the future. Such a skeptic would presumably only be satisfied by a theory of reference which showed that at all ages and places scientists had mostly been referring to the same things, thus depriving the meta-induction in question of any interesting premises.
+
+Now in one obvious sense we know perfectly well-prior to any theory-that they have been referring to the same things. They were all trying to cope with the same universe, and they referred to it, although doubtless often under unfruitful and foolish descriptions. To discover, as a result of the next scientific revolution, that there are no genes, molecules, electrons, etc., but only space-time bumps, or hypnotic suggestions from the Galactic hypnotists who have manipulated our scientists since the time of Galileo, or whatever, would still not put us out of touch with either the world or our ancestors. For we would proceed to tell the same sort of story of the emergence of better descriptions of the world out of false, confused, unfruitful, descriptions of the world which we tell about, say, the rise of Milesian science -in both cases, it would be the story of a triumph of reason, and in both cases it would be the application of reason to the same world. In general, there is no intelligible suggestion one can make about what the world might really turn out to be like which seems a basis for "serious worry." (The suggestion that there might be some unintelligible description of the world-one which was expounded within an untranslatable conceptual scheme-is another worry al-
+
+23 l owe the example to Rom Harre's The Principles of Scientific Thinking (Chicago, 1970), p. 55.
+
+together, which has no need for, and no possibility of getting, inductive support. I discuss this other worry in connection with Davidson's attack on ,the notion of "conceptual scheme" in the following section.)
+
+Still, this notion of "bad description of the same thing" may seem to fudge an issue. "Reference" seems an all-ornothing affair. It may seem better to say that "caloric fluid" either does or does not refer to the motion of molecules than to say that "caloric fluid" and "motion of molecules" are two abbreviations for (be�ter and worse) descriptions of the same phenomenon, whatever it may eventually turn out to be. We may feel that referring to the motion of molecules should be like referring to individual people or middle-sized physical objects-we either pick out them or we don't. This feeling is enhanced if we have recently been reading Tarski, and further enhanced if we are disinclined to view theoretical statements in the quasi-instrumentalist way Sellars does-as material principles of inference licensing the utterance of other statements. We will then want sentences like "Heat is the motion of molecules" to be true in the straightforward "corresponding" way that "White is the typical color of snow" is true. So it may seem important, for purposes of understanding "how language works," to think in terms of expressions' "picking out entities" rather than simply being used "to describe reality." Let it be so. Still, it is hard to see why we need do more to assuage the skeptic than ,to be "Whiggish" in our historiography. We can just write things up so as to make even the most primitive of animists talk about, for example, the motion of molecules, radium, genes, or whatever. We do not thereby assuage his fear that molecules may not exist, but then no discovery about how words relate to the world will do that. For "the world," as known by that theory, is just the world as known to ,the science of the day.
+
+So far, then, we have the following dilemma: either the theory of reference is called upon to underwrite the success of contemporary science, or else it is simply a decision about
+
+how to write the history of science (rather than the provision of a "philosophical foundation" for such historiography). The one task seems too much to ask, and the other too slight to merit the title of "theory." At this point it would be well to ask where the notion of "theory of reference" came from in the first place. What sort of thing is it that it should be burdened with the task of blocking skepticism, thus doing the job we had always hoped epistemology would do? In my view, the notion that there is such a theory results from running together two quite different considerations, namely:
+
+the fact, noted by Kripke, Donnellan, and others, that there are counter-examples to the Searle-Strawson criterion for reference-that is, that S refers, in his use of "X," to whatever entity would make most of his central beliefs about X true24
+
+the fact that the usual (Frege, Searle, Strawson) assumption that meaning, in the sense of beliefs or intentions (or, more generally, entities in the heads of users of words), determines reference suggests ,that the more false beliefs we have the less "in touch with the world" we are.
+
+The two considerations taken together suggest that the usual "intentionalist" notion of how words hook onto the world is both wrong in particular cases and philosophically disastrous. So in recent "impure" philosophy of language, it has become almost a dogma that the "idealist"-sounding doctrines of Quine, Wittgenstein, Sellars, Kuhn, Feyerabend (and other heroes of this book) are to be refuted by
+
+24 Most recent discussion of these counter-examples stems from Keith Donnellan, "Proper Names and Identifying Descriptions" and Saul Kripke. "Naming and Necessity." both of which appear in Semantics of Natural Language, ed. Davidson and Harman (Dordrecht, 1972). See Stephen P. Schwartz, ed., Naming, Necessity and Natural Kinds (Ithaca, 1976) for further articles attempting to construct a general theory to deal with such counter-examples. and a useful review of the literature in the editor's "Introduction."
+
+going back to the first principles of semantics, overturning Frege's "intentionalist" theory of reference, and substituting something better.25 The idea is that if the world reaches up and hooks language in factual (e.g., causal) relationships, then we shall always be "in touch with the world," whereas in the old Fregean view we are in danger of losing the world, or may never have hooked onto it in the first place.
+
+We should, however, be suspicious of the notion of a clash between an old-intentionalist-and a new, "causal" (or, more generally, nonintentionalist and therefore "real· ist") theory of reference. The clash is produced by the equivocity of "refer." The term can mean either (a) a factual relation which holds between an expression and some other portion of reality whether anybody knows it holds or not, or (b) a purely "intentional" relation which can hold between an expression and a nonexistent object. Call the one "reference" and the other "talking about." We cannot refer to Sherlock Holmes but we can talk about him, and similarly for phlogiston. "Talking about" is a commonsensical notion; "reference" is a term of philosophical art. "Talking about" ranges over fictions as well as realities, and is usele,s for realist purposes. The assumption that people's beliefs determine what they are talking about works as well or as badly for things which exist as for things which do not, as long as questions about what exists do not arise. In a communi1ty where there are no conflicting theories (physical, historical, "ontological," or whatever), but in which it is well known that some of the people and things truly spoken of do exist while others are fictions, we could indeed use the Searle-Strawson criteria. We are talking about whatever most of our beliefs are true of. The puzzle cases (the cases in which intuition tells us that people are not talking about whatever entity makes most of their beliefs true) arise only when we know something they don't.
+
+25 Putnam's "The Meaning of 'Meaning' " and his "The Refutation of Conventionalism" (both included in his Mind, Language and Reality) are the fullest expressions of this attitude.
+
+Thus if we discover ,that there was a hitherto unknown man named Smith who did 99 percent of the deeds attributed to a mythical Jones, but that the tales about Jones actually accreted around a man named Robinson, we may want to say thM when we speak of Jones we are really talking about Robinson and not about Smith.
+
+If this notion of "really talking about" is confused with reference, it becomes easy to think (as do Putnam and Kripke) that we have "intuitions" about reference, intuitions which might be the basis for a nonintentional and "theory-independent" "theory of reference." But this is to think that the question
+
+- a. What is the best way to express the falsehood of the usual beliefs about Jones-by saying that they were about nothing at all, truths about a fiction, or false· hoods about a reality?
+
+should be answered on the basis of an answer to
+
+- b. Is there an entity in the world connected to our use of "J ones" by the relation of "reference"?
+
+In the view Putnam and Kripke adopt, (b) is a sensible question, and is antecedent to (a). Answering (a) is not a matter of expository or historiographical convenience, in this view, but a matter of hard fact-a fact determined by the answer to (b). In the view I am recommending, (b) does not arise. The only factual issue in the neighborhood concerns the existence or nonexistence of various entities which are talked about. Once we have decided on the latter factual question, we can adopt one of four attitudes toward beliefs in which (by the common-sensical Searle-Strawson criterion) the person in question is talking about nonexistent entities: We can
+
+- l. declare all of them false (Russell) or truth-valueless (Strawson)
+
+or
+
+or
+
+- 2. divide them into the ones which are false or truthvalueless because they are about nothing and those which are "really about" some real thing and which thus may be true
+
+3· divide them into the ones which are false or truthvalueless because they are about nothing and those which are "really about" fictional entities, and which thus may perhaps be true
+
+4· combine strategies (2) and (3).
+
+The "really" in "really about" marks our departure from the Searle-Strawson criterion for aboutness, but it does not mark an invocation of our intuitions concerning a matter of fact. It is like the notion of "really a good thing to have done" used when, although somebody has acted in a prima facie shameful way, a more extended and informed view of the matter suggests that common-sensical criteria of moral worth should be set aside. In the moral case, we are not having an intuition about the factual connection between the deed and the Form of the Good; we are simply recasting our description of the situation in a way which avoids paradox and maximizes coherence. Similarly in the case of decisions about who was really talking about what.
+
+It may seem that the issue between the view I am suggest· ing and the Putnam-Kripke view turns on the question of "Meinongianism"-of whether one can refer to fictions. But it does not. In the sense in which the use of the term refer is governed by the inference from
+
+UN" refers and N is �
+
+then of course one cannot refer to fictions. This is the usual way in which the term refer is used, and I have no wish to use it differently. But the moral I draw from the fact that this condition defines the notion of "reference" is that "reference" has nothing in particular to do with either "talking about" or "really talking about." "Reference" only arises when one has made one's decision about the various strategies used ·to express the error that one finds in the world-the decision among (1)-(4) above-and then wishes to cast the result of one's decision into "canonical" form, that is, into a language which uses standard quantificational logic as a matrix. This is what I meant by saying that "reference" is a term of art. It is also ,the reason it is not something we have intuitions about. So I conclude that the "intuition" wi·th which the Searle-Strawson criterion conflicts is merely the intui,tion that when there is dispute about what exists there may be dispute as to what is "really being talked about," and that the criterion for "really about" is not the Searle-Strawson one.
+
+Wha·t, then, is it? There is no answer to this question, no such "criterion." The considerations which dictate choice between strategies (1)-(4) above are so diverse that the request for a criterion is out of place. We might be tempted to say that "really talking about" is a relation that can hold between an expression and what we think exists, as opposed to "talking about," which holds between an expression and what its user thinks exists, and to "refers," which can hold only between an expression and what really and truly does exist. But this would be wrong, since, once again, not only can we talk about nonexistent entities, but we can be discovered to have really been talking about nonexistent entities. Really talking about X is not the same as talking about a real X. "Really" here is just a matter of "placing" the relative ignorance of the person being discussed in the context of the relatively greater knowledge claimed by the speaker. There are as many ways of doing that as there are
+
+contexts of discourse. Consider, for example, "You think you are talking about Thales, but you are really talking about a tale told by Herodotus"; "You think you are talking about your analyst, but you are really talking about yourself"; "You think you are talking about a fictional deity named Artemis, but you are actually talking about a fleshand-blood woman who lived in Thebes in the ninth century B.C. " ; "You think you are talking about lithium, but you are really talking about kryptonite."26
+
+I think, then, that the quest for a theory of reference represents a confusion between the hopeless "semantic" quest for a general theory of what people are "really talking about," and the equally hopeless "epistemological" quest for a way of refuting the skeptic and underwriting our claim to be talking about nonfictions. Neither the one nor the other demand need be satisfied for the purposes of a Davidsonian "pure" philosophy of language. The first demand is, roughly, a demand for a decision-procedure for solving difficult cases in historiography, anthropological description, and the like-cases where nothing save tact and imagination will serve. The latter demand is for some transcendental standpoint outside our present set of representations from which we can inspect the relations between those representations and their object. (This is the demand which Berkeley told us we could not meet, which Kant met only by calling the world "appearance," and which the image of the Mirror of Nature makes us think we ought to be able to meet.) The question "What determines reference?" is ambiguous between a question about the best procedure for comparing large coherent sets of false beliefs (other epochs, cultures, etc.) with ours and a question about how to refute the skeptic. Debates about theories of reference get their
+
+26 I have developed this view about reference at greater length in "Realism and Reference," The Monist 59 (1976), 321-340. For a parallel criticism of Putnam on this topic, see Arthur Fine, "How to Compare Theories: Reference and Change," Nous 9 (1975), 17-32.
+
+concreteness from attempts to answer the first part of the question, and their philosophical interest from hints that they might somehow answer the second. But nothing can refute the skeptic-nothing can do what epistemology hoped to do. For we discover how language works only within the present theory of the rest of the world, and one cannot use a part of one's present theory to underwrite the rest of it. Theory of reference is as hopeless as a "theory of transcendental constitution of the object" for this purpose.
+
+Putnam (in an address delivered after the bulk of this chapter was written) has largely recanted his "metaphysical realism"-the project of explaining successful reference by some means which does not presuppose that success. In this address, he makes the point I have just been making about "causal theories." He says that what the metaphysical realist wanted, but could not have, is a view of "truth as radically nonepistemic"-that is, one in which "the theory that is 'ideal' from the point of view of operational utility, inner beauty and elegance, 'plausibility; simplicity, 'conservatism; etc., might be false."27 The metaphysical realist thought he needed to say this because it seemed the only way of clearly separating "true" from "warranted assertible." But, as Putnam says, even if one defines "true" a la Tarski in terms of the relation of satisfaction, we shall be able to map any set of beliefs onto the world in terms of this relation. Further, there will be lots of different ways in which this can be done, and there are no constraints on ways of doing it other than constraints on theories generally. Our best theory about what we are referring to is merely noncontroversial fallout from our best theory about things in general. As Putnam says: ". . . a 'causal' theory of reference is not (would not be) of any help here: for how 'causes' can uniquely refer is as much of a puzzle as how 'cat' can, on the
+
+27 Putnam, "Realism and Reason," Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association, vol. 50 (1977), p. 485. (This paper has now been reprinted in Meaning and the Moral Sciences. The passage appears there at p. 125).
+
+metaphysical realist picture."28 Similarly, no matter what nonintentional relation is substituted for "cause" in our account of how the things in the content reach up and determine the reference of the representations making up the scheme, our theory about what the world is made of will produce, trivially, a self-justifying theory about that relation.
+
+### 5. TRUTH WITHOUT MIRRORS
+
+Putnam's recantation comes down to saying that there is no way to make some empirical discipline do what transcendental philosophy could not do-that is, say something about the scheme of representations we are employing which will make clear its tie to the content we wish to represent. But if there is no such way, then we can fall in with Davidson's claim that we need to drop the scheme-content distinction altogether. We can admit that there is no way to make the notion of "scheme" do what philosophers traditionally wanted to do with it-that is, make clear certain special constraints which "rationality" exerts and which explain why our ideal theories must "correspond to reality." Putnam now agrees with Goodman and Wittgenstein: to think of language as a picture of the world-a set of representations which philosophy needs to exhibit as standing in some sort of nonintentional relation to what they represent-is not useful in explaining how language is learned or understood. But, at least in his writings prior to his recantation, he thought that we could still make use of this picture of language for purposes of a naturalized epistemology; language-as-picture was not a useful image for understanding how one used language, but it was useful for explaining the success of inquiry, just as "a map is successful if it corresponds in an appropriate way to a particular part of the earth." Putnam is here making the same move as that made
+
+28 Putnam, "Realism and Reason," p. 486 (p. 126 in Meaning and the Moral Sciences).
+
+by Sellars and Rosenberg. These men do identify "true" with "warranted assertible by us" (thereby allowing truth about nonexistent objects) but they then proceed to describe "picturing" as a nonintentional relation which supplies an Archimedean point by reference to which we may say that our present theory of the world, though to be sure true, may not picture the world as adequately as some successor theory. The difference in terminology is unimportant, since what all three philosophers want is simply to make it possible to answer the question "What guarantees that our changing theories of the world are getting better rather than worse?" All three want a Wittgensteinian meaning-as-use theory to handle what I have called the problems of "pure" philosophy of language, and a Tractarian picturing relation to handle epistemological problems.
+
+Putnam's criticism of his own previous attempts to make sense of such a transcendental guarantee applies equally to Sellars and Rosenberg. He says:
+
+Metaphysical realism collapses just at the point at which it claims to be distinguishable from Peircean realismi.e., from the claim that there is an ideal theory .... Since Peirce himself (and the verificationists) always said metaphysical realism collapses into incoherence at just that point, and realists like myself thought they were wrong, there is no avoiding the unpleasant admission that "they were right and we were wrong" on at least one substantive issue.29
+
+Compare this passage with Sellars's discussion of Peirce:
+
+... although the concepts of "ideal truth" and "what really exists" are defined in terms of a Peircian conceptual structure they do not require that there ever be a Peirceish community. Peirce himself fell into difficulty because, by not taking into account the dimension of "picturing," he
+
+29 Putnam, "Realism and Reason," p. 489 (p. 130 in Meaning and the Moral Sciences).
+
+had no Archimedean point outside the series of actual and possible beliefs in terms of which to define the ideal or limit to which members of this series might approximate.SO
+
+Sellars's point here is that Peirce's identification of "the truth" with "the opinion fated to be ultimately agreed to by all" makes it seem that the very existence of truth and reality depends upon such hazardous matters as the continuation of the race and of the Enlightenment's notions of rational inquiry. So Sellars wants to substitute a way of looking at human inquiry which views "fated to be agreed upon" as a description of a causal process which leads to the creation of self-representings by the universe. Thus we find Rosenberg echoing the later Peirce's idealistic metaphysics of evolutionary love:
+
+We can understand our representational actIvItIes only by redescribing them in terms of the concepts of a total theory of the universe as a physical system which, of natural necessity, evolves subsystems which in turn necessarily project increasingly adequate representations of the whole. To put it crudely, we must come to see the physical universe as an integrated physical system which necessarily "grows knowers" and which thereby comes to mirror itself within itself.s1
+
+Both Sellars and Rosenberg rightly view the coming-intobeing of the Mirror of Nature as made possible by the existence of minds, but they urge (as does Putnam) that mentality and intentionality are irrelevant to understanding how the Mirror mirrors. The crucial sort of representingthe one which helps us say how and why we are superior to our ancestors-is one which takes place not relative to a scheme of conventions, not relative to intentions: "Picturing
+
+30 Wilfrid Sellars, Science and Metaphysics (London and New York, 1968), p. 142•
+
+31 Jay Rosenberg, Linguistic Representation (Dordrecht, 1974), p. 144.
+
+is a complex matter-of-factual relation and, as such, belongs in quite a different box from the concepts of denotation and of truth."32
+
+So if Putnam's recantation is right, it bears directly on the point that Sellars and Rosenberg thought crucial. Putnam is saying that the attempt to get a set of nonintentional relationships (such as those offered by a causal theory of reference or by a Sellarsian notion of "more adequate picturing") is always vitiated by the fact that those relationships are simply further parts of the theory of the world of the present day. This criticism of any possible naturalization of episte· mology leaves us, Putnam thinks, with what he calls "internal < realism"-the view that we can explain the "mundane fact that language-using contributes to getting our goals, achieving satisfaction, or what have you" by saying "not that language mirrors the world but that speakers mirror the world-i.e., their environment-in the sense of constructing a symbolic representation of that environment."33 Internal realism, in this sense, is just the view that, according to our own representational conventions, we are representing the universe better than ever. But that, in turn, is just complimenting ourselves for, say, having invented the term lithium to represent lithium, which hasn't been represented for all these years. The difference between the recanted "metaphysical" realism and the uncontroversial internal realism is the difference between saying that we are successfully representing according to Nature's own conventions of representation and saying that we are successfully representing according to our own. It is the difference between, roughly, science as a Mirror of Nature, and as a set of working diagrams for coping with nature. To say that we are coping, by our lights, pretty well is true but trivial. To say that we are mirroring correctly is "only a picture," and one which we have never been able to make
+
+82 Sellars, Science and Metaphysics, p. 136.
+
+33Putnam, "Realism and Reason," p. 483 (p. 123 in Meaning and the Moral Sciences).
+
+sense of. Nature may, for all we know, necessarily grow knowers which represent her, but we do not know what it would mean for Nature to feel that our conventions of representations are becoming more like her own, and thus that she is nowadays being represented more adequately than in the past. Or, rather, we can make sense of this only if we go all the way with the Absolute Idealists, and grant that epistemological realism must be based on personalistic pantheism.
+
+I have been trying in this section to present Putnam's simple but devastating point that nonintentional relations are as theory-relative as intentional relations as a general criticism of the whole attempt to naturalize epistemology by first transforming it into the philosophy of language and then getting a naturalistic account of meaning and reference. The common motive of Quine's "Epistemology Naturalized," Daniel Dennett's hints at an "evolutionary epistemology," the revivification by Kripke and Fisk of the Aristotelian notions of essence and natural necessity, various causal theories of reference, and Sellarsian theories of picturing has been to de-transcendentalize epistemology while nevertheless making it do what we had always hoped it might: tell us why our criteria of successful inquiry are not just our criteria but also the right criteria, nature's criteria, the criteria which will lead us to the truth. If this motive is finally given up, then philosophy of language is simply "pure" Davidsonian semantics, a semantics which does not depend upon mirror-imagery, but which, on the contrary, makes it as difficult as possible to raise philosophically interesting questions about meaning and reference.
+
+Let me now proceed, therefore, to describe how Davidson ties in his discussion of ,truth with his attack on the "schemecontent" distinction and mirror-imagery generally. In the first place, he wants to say that the notion of statements' being true because they correspond to ("picture," "adequately represent") reality is just fine for all the cases in which it is philosophically uncontroversial-cases like "Snow is white." It is even fine for such cases as "Perseverence keeps honor bright," "Our theory of the world corresponds to physical reality," and for "Our moral philosophy conforms to the Idea of the Good." These too are true if and only if the world contains the right sorts of things, and is laid out in the way the statements suggest. There is no occasion, in Davidson's view, for "philosophical puritanism" which would depopulate the world of honor, or physical reality, or the Idea of the Good. If one wants to say that there are no such things, then one can give an alternative theory of the world which does not contain them, but this will not be a semantical theory. Discussions of the way in which truth is correspondence to reality float free of discussions of what there is in heaven and earth. No roads lead from the project of giving truth-conditions for the sentences of English (English as it is spoken, containing all sorts of theories about all sorts of things) to criteria for theory-choice or to the construction of a canonical notation which "limns the true and ultimate structure of reality." Correspondence, for Davidson, is a relation which has no ontological preferences-it can tie any sort of word to any sort of thing. This neutrality is an expression of the fact that, in a Davidsonian view, nature has no preferred way of being represented, and thus no interest in a canonical notation. Nor can nature be corresponded to better or worse, save in the simple sense that we can have more or fewer true beliefs.34
+
+34 I am not sure where Davidson stands on the question of truth about fictions, and whether he would allow that a relation of "satisfaction" can hold between "Sherlock Holmes" and Sherlock Holmes. I would hope that he would, since this would underline the separation between Tarskian semantics and "realistic" epistemology which I am emphasizing. In the view I am putting forward, "Sherlock Holmes roomed with Dr. Watson" is as true, and as little in need of "philosophical analysis" as "Snow is white." This means that there can be true statements which do not contain referring expressions. This consequence will not be disturbing if one remembers the distinction between "referring" and "talking about," and thus the distinction between "not
+
+In the second place, Davidson thinks that the notion of "representational scheme" or "conceptual framework" or "intended correspondence" attempts to disjoin the notion of "truth" from that of "meaning," and thus must fail. His most effective way of putting this comes in his claim that the notion of an "alternative conceptual scheme"-for example, one which would contain none of the referring expressions used in ours-is the notion of a language which is "true but not translatable." After . a sustained criticism of several
+
+referring" and "talking about nothing." But I do not feel clear enough about the issues surrounding the interpretation of Tarski's notion of "satisfaction" to feel confident about the relation between this notion and either of the two others. The general line I want to take is that there are true statements about fictions, values, and numbers, as well as about cats on mats, and that the attempt to find something like "correspondence" in terms of which to "analyze" the former truths on the model of the latter is pointless. Sellars puts this point by saying that not all true statements "picture" the world-only the "basic empirical" ones. I would prefer to say that no true statements picture the world-that picturing is "only a picture," one which has served only to produce ever more convoluted Sprachstreit.
+
+On the interpretation of Tarski, see Sellars's claim that "seman tical statements of the Tarski·Carnap variety do not assert relations be· tween linguistic and extra·linguistic items" (Science and Metaphysics, p. 82) and the contrast between "the 'picture' sense of 'correspond' and the Tarski.Carnap sense of 'correspond' " (p. 143). Sellars's view is that all semantic statements are about intensions, and that "picturing" has nothing to do with semantics. For contrasting views, see John Wallace, "On the Frame of Reference," in Semantics of Natural Language, ed. Davidson and Harman, and Hartry Field, "Tarski's Theory of Truth," Journal of Philosophy 69 (1972).
+
+For an attempt to work out a view of "true" which distinguishes it from "assertible" without attempting to construe it as "standing in a correspondence relation to the extra-linguistic," see Robert Brandom, "Truth and Assertibility," Journal of PhilosoPhy 73 (1976), 137.149. Brandom gives an account of why we need "true" in addition to "assertible" for the purpose of what I am calling "pure" philosophy of language-understanding how language works, as opposed to how it hooks onto the world. He thereby diagnoses, I believe, the fundamental confusion between the need for this concept in semantics and the need for it in epistemology, a confusion which motivates "impure" philosophy of language.
+
+variations on the traditional mirror-imagery (conceptual schemes as "fitting" reality better or worse, or "classifying" reality differently from one another), Davidson concludes:
+
+The trouble is that the notion of fitting the totality of experience, like the notions of fitting the facts, or being true to the facts, adds nothing intelligible to the simple concept of being true. To speak of sensory experience rather than the evidence, or just the facts, expresses a view about the source or nature of evidence, but it does not add a new entity to the universe against which to test conceptual schemes.
+
+So, he says:
+
+Our attempt to characterize languages or conceptual schemes in terms of the notion of fitting some entity has come down, then, to the simple thought that something is an acceptable conceptual scheme or theory if it is true. Perhaps we better say largely true in order to allow sharers of a scheme to differ on details. And the criterion of a conceptual scheme different from our own now becomes: largely true but not translatable. The question whether this is a useful criterion is just the question how well we understand the notion of truth, as applied to language, independent of the notion of translation. The answer is, I think, that we do not understand it independently at all.3s
+
+Davidson's reason for saying that we do not understand this derives from what he calls a "certain holistic view of meaning":
+
+If sentences depend for their meaning on their structure, and we understand the meaning of each item in the struc-
+
+35 Davidson, "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme," p. 16. Unfortunately Davidson in that paper misinterprets Kuhn as meaning "untranslatable" by "incommensurable" (p. 12). It is important for my argument in this book to separate sharply these two notions. See chapter seven, section 1.
+
+ture only as an abstraction from the totality of sentences in which it features, then we can give the meaning of any sentence (or word) only by giving the meaning of every sentence (and word) in the language.36
+
+This holistic view of meaning amounts to the view that a theory of meaning for a language must do no more than "give an account of how the meanings of sentences depend upon the meanings of words" (p. 304). The crucial move is to say that we need not think that "individual words must have meanings at all, in any sense that transcends the fact that they have a systematic effect on the meanings of the sentences in which they occur" (p. 305). The traditional view is that we anchor language to the world by giving meaning by ostension (or some other non intentional mechanismone which presupposes no "stage-setting in the language") to certain individual words, and then going on holistically from there. Davidson's neo-Wittgensteinian point is that even "red" and "mama" have uses-can help make possible the statement of truths-only in the context of sentences and thus of a whole language (d. p. 308). Whatever role ostension (or neural pathways, or any other nonintentional setup) plays in learning a language, one need not know anything about these mechanisms to know the language, nor to know how to translate that language. The same goes, Davidson points out, for Tarskian truth-conditions for the sentences of English, and this is why it turns out that "a theory of meaning for the language L shows 'how the meanings of sentences depend upon the meanings of words' if it contains a (recursive) definition of truth-in-V'; for
+
+what we require for a theory of meaning for a language L is that without appeal to any (further) semantical notions it place enough restrictions on the predicate 'is T' [in the schema: s is T if and only if p] to entail all sentences got from schema T when 's' is replaced by a structural
+
+36 Davidson, "Truth and Meaning," p. 308.
+
+description of a sentence of L and 'p' by that sentence, ... [and so] the condition we have placed on satisfactory theories of meaning is in essence Tarski's Convention T. (P· 309)
+
+So, Davidson invites us to conclude:
+
+Since Convention T embodies our best intuition as to how the concept of truth is used, there does not seem to be much hope for a test that a conceptual scheme is radically different from ours if that test depends on the assumption that we can divorce the notion of truth from that of translation.37
+
+Let me try to restate the gist of this argument by pointing out the connection between Davidson's holism about meaning and his disdain for the notion of "scheme." Someone who is not a holist in this sense will think that understanding a language is a matter of two distinct processes-tying some individual words on the world via os tension, and then letting other words build up meanings around this central core in the course of being used. He will also think that understanding what "truth" means involves "analyzing" every true sentence until os tensions which would make it true become apparent. This picture of holism ceasing to apply at the point at which reference is least problematicat the interface between language and the world where demonstratives do their work-is one way to get the schemecontent distinction going. If we think of language in this way, we will be struck by the thought that somebody else (the Galactics, say) will have "cut up" the world differently in their original acts of ostension and thus given different meanings to the individual words in the "core" of their language. The rest of their language will thus be infected by this divergence from our way of giving meaning to the "core" of English, and so there will be no way for us to com-
+
+37 Davidson, "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme," p. 17.
+
+municate-no common points of reference, no possibility of translation. Davidson's attack on these metaphors parallels Max Black's Wittgensteinian criticism of the so-called inverted-spectrum problem-the possibility that some people may (for colors and presumably all other perceptual "quality spaces") start off on the wrong foot. Black points out that we can "divide through" by the difference for all purposes of communication-language will, of course, go through equally well no matter what we were ostending.38 Similarly, Davidson can say that if a difference in the original ostension does not show up at the holistic level-in the use of the sentences that contain the word-then the theory of meaning for the language can divide through by that difference.
+
+Still, we might want to insist that Davidson's argument concerns only what it is to give a theory of meaning and a theory of truth. We might claim that all he could possibly do is show that we cannot verify the existence of a language which gives a true description of the world unless it is translatable into our own, and that this would not show that there cannot be one. This line of argument would be analogous to the criticism of Black's way of dealing with the "inverted spectrum" problem, and similar Wittgensteinian antiskeptical strategies, as "verificationist. "39 I shall close this chapter by replying to this objection.
+
+38 See Max Black, "Linguistic Method in Philosophy" in Language and Philosophy (Ithaca, 1949), esp. pp. 3.8. Black treats the "inverted spectrum" as a paradigm of the sort of skeptical argument which the approach to language he is recommending helps debunk. He is, I think, right in this. Indeed, there is a perspective from which all of what I called "epistemological behaviorism" in chapter four can be derived
+
+from the sort of argument which Black offers here. 39 For this sort of objection, see Barry Stroud, "Transcendental Ar· guments," Journal of Philosophy 65 (1g68), 241'256. I have attempted to deal with this objection in "Verificationism and Transcendental Ar· guments," Nous 5 (1971), 3.14, and with some related objections in
+
+"Transcendental Arguments, Self· Reference and Pragmatism" in Transcendental Arguments and Science. ed. Peter Bieri, Rolf Horstmann and Lorenz Kriiger (Dordrecht. 1979), 77-103.
+
+### 6. TRUTH, GOODNESS, AND RELATIVISM
+
+In order to get a somewhat broader view of the issue about verificationism, consider the following suggestions:
+
+N one of our terms refer
+
+N one of our beliefs are true
+
+No translation is possible between English and the language which represents the way the world is
+
+None of our moral intuitions are right (participate in the Idea of the Good, reflect the Moral Law, or whatever)
+
+I take the least plausible of these to be the last. The reason is that what we take to be moral-to be even a candidate for participation in the Idea of the Good-is something which roughly satisfies, or is at least not too repugnant to, our present moral intuitions. Are we being rash in thinking of "morally right" as meaning "rather like our own ideal of
+
+behavior, only more so"? Is this to neglect a real possibility simply because of the verificationist intuition that we cannot recognize anybody who does not appeal to our intuitions as having anything to say about morality?
+
+I think that we can answer these questions best by distinguishing between a philosophical sense of "good" in respect to which "the naturalistic fallacy" arises and an ordinary sense in respect to which it does not. If we ask, "What are the necessary and sufficient conditions for something's being good?" we may say, with G. E. Moore, that it is always an open question whether good has anything to do with any conditions which might be mentioned. Words like "good," once they have been handled in the way that the philosophical tradition has handled them, acquire a sense in respect to which this is so. They become the name of a focus imaginarius, an Idea of Pure Reason whose whole point is not to be identifiable with the fulfillment of any set of conditions. This is not to say that a:ya8o� served pre-Platonic Greeks as the name of such an unconditioned, nor that any word served this purpose before the Pythagoreans and the Orphics and Plato invented idealism (in both its senses). But now there is a specifically philosophical use of "good," a use which would not be what it is unless Plato, Plotinus, Augustine, and others had helped construct a specifically Platonic theory of the absolute difference between the eternal and the spatio-temporal. When Moore appealed to our sense for the meaning of "good" he was appealing to nothing less than this sense, a sense which it is rather hard to get hold of without the knowledge of the history of Western thought commoner in Bloomsbury than in Birmingham. Principia Ethica should be read, as should the Euthyphro, as a work of edifying pedagogy and quiet moral revolution, rather than as an effort to describe current linguistic or intellectual practice.
+
+There is also, however, an ordinary sense of "good," the sense the word has when used to commend-to remark that something answers to some interest. In this sense, too, one is not going to find a set of necessary and sufficient conditions for goodness which will enable one to find the Good Life, resolve moral dilemmas, grade apples, or whatever. There are too many different sorts of interests to answer to, too many kinds of things to commend and too many different reasons for commending them, for such a set of necessary and sufficient conditions to be found. But this is a quite different reason for the indefinability of "good" than the one I just gave for the indefinability of the philosophical sense of "good." In its homely and shopworn sense, the reason why "good" is indefinable is not that we might be altogether wrong about what good men or good apples are, but simply that no interesting descriptive term has any interesting necessary and sufficient conditions. In the first, philosophical sense of "good," the term is indefinable because anything we say about what is good may "logically" be quite irrelevant to what goodness is. The only way to get a homely and shopworn mind to grasp this first sense is to start it off with Plato or Moore and hope that it gets the Idea.
+
+My point in suggesting that there are two senses of "good" is, of course, to make plausible the suggestion that there are also two senses apiece of "true" and "real" and "correct representation of reality," and that most of the perplexities of epistemology come from vacillation between them Gust as most of the perplexities of meta-ethics come from vacillating between senses of "good"). To begin by pursuing the analogy between goodness and truth, consider the homely use of "true" to mean roughly "what you can defend against all comers." Here the line between a belief's being justified and its being true is very thin. That is why Socrates had trouble explaining the difference between these two notions to his interlocutors, the same trouble we philosophy professors still have in explaining it to our freshmen. When the pragmatists identified truth with "what we will believe if we keep inquiring by our present lights" or "what it is better for us to believe" or with "warranted assertibility," they thought of themselves as following in the footsteps of Mill, and doing for science what the utilitarians had done for morality-making it something you could use instead of something you could merely respect, something continuous with common sense instead of something which might be as remote from common sense as the Mind of God.
+
+It is the homely and shopworn sense of "true" which Tarski and Davidson are attending to, and the special philosophical sense to which Putnam applies his "naturalistic fallacy" argument.40 The two concerns pass each other by. Davidson's is the "pure" project of finding a way of diagramming the relations among the sentences of English so as to make perspicuous why people call some longer sentences "true" by seeing this as a function of their calling shorter sentences "true." Putnam's is the "impure" project of show-
+
+40 See "Reference and Understanding" (Meaning and the Moral Sciences, p. 108), where Putnam makes explicit the analogy between his strategy with "true" and Moore's with "good."
+
+ing you that the most complete possible understanding of this matter will leave you as open as ever to the possibility that you have no true beliefs at all. So it will, but, once again, there is an ambiguity at hand which makes the irrelevance look like an opposition. Davidson can say, without any attempt at anticipating the end of inquiry and blocking Putnam's skeptical "meta-induction," that most of our beliefs are true. This claim follows from his claim that we cannot understand the suggestion that most of them are false-a suggestion which has sense only when backed up with the phony notion of an "alternative, untranslatable, conceptual scheme." But it is of no force against the skeptic except insofar as it challenges him to make concrete his suggestion that we have got it all wrong -a project as difficult as it would be to make concrete the more limited claim that all our sentences which end " ... is morally right" are false. Davidson, like Kant, is saying that we cannot project from the fact that this or that central belief turns out to be false, or this or that moral intuition to be perverse and prejudiced, to the possibility that all of them will turn out so. Only in the context of general agreement does doubt about either truth or goodness have sense. The skeptic and Putnam avoid this point by switching to the specifically "philosophical" sense of "good" and "true" which, like the Ideas of Pure Reason, are designed precisely to stand for the Unconditioned-that which escapes the context within which discourse is conducted and inquiry pursued, and purports to establish a new context.
+
+Davidson seems verificationist and conventionalist and relativist if one interprets his claim that "most beliefs are true" as the claim that we are getting close to the end of inquiry, to a grasp of the way the world is, to an utterly unclouded Mirror of Nature. But this is like interpreting him as claiming that we are close to the top of Plato's divided line, to a dear vision of the Idea of the Good. Such an interpretation takes both "true" and "good" as names for the accurate fitting of a scheme of representations to something which supplies a content for that scheme. But as Davidson says:
+
+It would be wrong to summarize by saying we have shown how communication is possible between people who have different schemes, a way that works without need of what there cannot be, namely a neutral ground, or a common coordinate system. For we have found no intelligible basis on which it can be said that schemes are different. It would be equally wrong to announce the glorious news that all mankind-all speakers of language, at leastshare a common scheme and ontology. For if we cannot intelligibly say that schemes are different, neither can we intelligibly say that they are one.
+
+In giving up dependence on the concept of an uninterpreted reality, something outside all schemes and science, we do not relinquish the notion of objective truthquite the contrary. Given the dogma of a dualism of scheme and reality, we get conceptual relativity, and truth relative to a scheme. Without the dogma, this kind of relativity goes by the board. Of course truth of sentences remains relative to language, but that is as objective as can be. In giving up the dualism of scheme and world, we do not give up the world, but reestablish unmediated touch with the familiar objects whose antics make our sentences and opinions true or false.41
+
+To suggest that Davidson is verificationist and relativist in saying that most of our beliefs are true or that any language can be translated into English is just to say that he is not using the "Platonic" notions of Truth and Goodness and Reality which "realists" . need to make their realism
+
+41 Davidson, "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme," p. 20. I have tried to develop the contrast between giving up the world (as common sense takes it to be) and giving up the World (as the Thing. in-Itself, the World which we might never get right) in "The World Well Lost," Journal of Philosophy 69 (1972), 649-666, esp. 662-663.
+
+dramatic and controversial ("metaphysical" rather than "internal," in Putnam's sense). But neither is Davidson "refuting" these Platonic notions by exhibiting their "inconsistency." All he can do with them is do what Kant did with the Ideas of Pure Reason-show how they function, what they can and cannot do .. The trouble with Platonic notions is not that they are "wrong" but that there is not a great deal to be said about them-specifically, there is no way to "naturalize" them or otherwise connect them to the rest of inquiry, or culture, or life. If you ask Dewey why he thinks Western culture has the slightest notion of what goodness is, or Davidson why he thinks that we ever talk about what really exists or say anything true about it, they are likely to ask you what makes you have doubts on the subject. If you reply that the burden is on them, and that they are forbidden to argue from the fact that we would never know it if the skeptic were right to the impossibility of his being right, Dewey and Davidson might both reply that they will not argue in that way. They need not invoke verificationist arguments; they need simply ask why they should worry about the skeptical alternative until they are given some concrete ground of doubt. To call this attempt to shift the burden back to the skeptic "verificationism," or a confusion of the order of knowledge with the order of being, is like calling "verificationist" the man who says that he will not worry about whether the things he has called "red" are really red until some concrete alternative is provided. The decision about whether to have higher than usual standards for the application of words like "true" or "good" or "red" is, as far as I can see, not a debatable issue. But I suspect it is the only remaining issue between realists and pragmatists, and I am fairly sure that the philosophy of language has not given us any interesting new debating points.
+
+# PART THREE
+
+Philosophy
+
+# From Epistemology to Hermeneutics
+
+### l. COMMENSURATION AND CONVERSATION
+
+I have argued (in chapter three) that the desire for a theory of knowledge is a desire for constraint-a desire to find "foundations" to which one might cling, frameworks beyond which one must not stray, objects which impose themselves, representations which cannot be gainsaid. When I described the recent reaction against the quest for foundations as "epistemological behaviorism" (in chapter four) I was not suggesting that Quine and Sellars enable us to have a new, better, "behavioristic" sort of epistemology. Rather, they show us how things look when we give up the desire for confrontation and constraint. The demise of foundational epistemology, however, is often felt to leave a vacuum which needs to be filled. In chapters five and six I criticized various attempts to fill it. In this chapter I shall be talking about hermeneutics, so I want to make clear at the outset that I am not putting hermeneutics forward as a "successor subject" to epistemology, as an activity which fills the cultural vacancy once filled by epistemologically centered philosophy. In the interpretation I shall be offering, "hermeneutics" is not the name for a discipline, nor for a method of achieving the sort of results which epistemology failed to achieve, nor for a program of research. On the contrary, hermeneutics is an expression of hope that the cultural space left by the demise of epistemology will not be filled-that our culture should become one in which the demand for constraint and confrontation is no longer felt. The notion that there is a permanent neutral framework whose "structure" philosophy can display is the notion that the objects to be confronted by the mind, or the rules
+
+which constrain inquiry, are common to all discourse, or at least to every discourse on a given topic. Thus epistemology proceeds on the assumption that all contributions to a given discourse are commensurable. Hermeneutics is largely a struggle against this assumption.
+
+By "commensurable" I mean able to be brought under a set of rules which will tell us how rational agreement can be reached on what would settle the issue on every point where statements seem to conflict.! These rules tell us how to construct an ideal situation, in which all residual disagreements will be seen to be "noncognitive" or merely verbal, or else merely temporary-capable of being resolved by doing something further. What matters is that there should be agreement about what would have to be done if a resolution were to be achieved. In the meantime, the interlocutors can agree to differ-being satisfied of each other's rationality the while. The dominating notion of epistemology is that to be rational, to be fully human, to do what we ought, we need to be able to find agreement with other human beings. To construct an epistemology is to find the maximum amount of common ground with others. The assumption that an epistemology can be constructed is the assumption that such common ground exists. Sometimes this common ground has been imagined to lie outside usfor example, in the realm of Being as opposed to that of Becoming, in the Forms which both guide inquiry and are its goal. Sometimes it has been imagined to lie within us, as in the seventeenth century's notion that by understanding our own minds we should be able to understand the right method for finding truth. Within analytic philosophy, it 1 Note that this sense of "commensurable" is not the same as "as· signing the same meaning to terms." This sense-which is the one often used in discussing Kuhn-does not seem to me a useful one, given the fragility of the notion of "sameness of meaning." To say that parties
+
+to a controversy "use terms in different ways" seems to me an unenlightening way of describing the fact that they cannot find a way of agreeing on what would settle the issue. See chapter six, section 3, on
+
+this point.
+
+has often been imagined to lie in language, which was supposed to supply the universal scheme for all possible content. To suggest that there is no such common ground seems to endanger rationality. To question the need for commensuration seems the first step toward a return to a war of all against all. Thus, for example, a common reaction to Kuhn or Feyerabend is that they are advocating the use of force rather than persuasion.
+
+The holistic, antifoundationalist, pragmatist treatments of knowledge and meaning which we find in Dewey, Wittgenstein, Quine, Sellars, and Davidson are almost equally
+
+offensive to many philosophers, precisely because they abandon the quest for commensuration and thus are "relativist." If we deny that Ithere are foundations to serve as common ground for adjudicating knowledge-claims, the notion of the philosopher as guardian of rationality seems endangered. More generally, if we say that there is no such thing as epistemology and that no surrogate can be found for it in, for example, empirical psychology or the philosophy of language, we may be seen as saying that there is no such thing as rational agreement and disagreement. Holistic theories seem to license everyone to construct his own little wholehis own little paradigm, his own little practice, his own little language-game-and then crawl into it.
+
+I think that the view that epistemology, or some suitable successor-discipline, is necessary to culture confuses two roles which the philosopher might play. The first is that of the informed dilettante, the polypragmatic, Socratic intermediary between various discourses. In his salon, so to speak, hermetic thinkers are charmed out of their self-enclosed practices. Disagreements between disciplines and discourses are compromised or transcended in the course of the conversation. The second role is that of the cultural overseer who knows everyone's common ground-the Platonic philosopher-king who knows what everybody else is really doing whether they know it or not, because he knows about the ultimate context (the Forms, the Mind, Language)
+
+within which they are doing it. The first role is appropriate to henneneutics, the second to epistemology. Hermeneutics sees the relations between various discourses as those of strands in a possible conversation, a conversation which presupposes no disciplinary matrix which unites the speakers, but where the hope of agreement is never lost so long as the conversation lasts. This hope is not a hope for the discovery of antecedently existing common ground, but simply hope for agreement, or, at least, exciting and fruitful disagreement. Epistemology sees the hope of agreement as a token of the existence of common ground which, perhaps unbeknown to the speakers, unites them in a common rationality. For hermeneutics, to be rational is to be willing to refrain from epistemology-from thinking that there is a special set of terms in which all contributions to the conversation should be put-and to be willing to pick up the jargon of the interlocutor rather than translating it into one's own. For epistemology, to be rational is to find the proper set of terms into which all the contributions should be translated if agreement is to become possible. For epistemology, conversation is implicit inquiry. For hermeneutics, inquiry is routine conversation. Epistemology views the participants as united in what Oakeshott calls an universitas -a group united by mutual interests in achieving a common end. Henneneutics views them as united in what he calls a societas-persons whose paths through life have fallen together, united by civility rather than by a common goal, much less by a common ground.2
+
+My use of the terms epistemology and hermeneutics to stand for these ideal opposites may seem forced. I shall try to justify it by noting some of the connections between holism and the "henneneutic circle." The notion of knowledge as accurate representation lends itself naturally to the notion that certain sorts of representations, certain expressions, certain processes are "basic," "privileged," and "foun-
+
+2 Cf. "On the Character of a Modern European State" in Michael Oakeshott. On Human Conduct (Oxford, 1975).
+
+dational." The criticisms of this notion which I have canvassed in previous chapters are backed up with holistic arguments of the form: We will not be able to isolate basic elements except on the basis of a prior knowledge of the whole fabric within which these elements occur. Thus we will not be able to substitute the notion of "accurate representation" (element-by-element) for that of successful accomplishment of a practice. Our choice of elements will be dictated by our understanding of the practice, rather than the practice's being "legitimated" by a "rational reconstniction" out of elements. This holist line of argument says that we shall never be able to avoid the "hermeneutic circle" -the fact that we cannot understand the parts of a strange culture, practice, theory, language, or whatever, unless we know something about how the whole thing works, whereas we cannot get a grasp on how the whole works until we have some understanding of its parts. This notion of interpretation suggests that coming to understand is more like getting acquainted with a person than like following a demonstration. In both cases we play back and forth between guesses about how to characterize particular statements or other events, and guesses about the point of the whole situation, until gradually we feel at ease with what was hitherto strange. The notion of culture as a conversation rather than as a structure erected upon foundations fits well with this hermeneutical notion of knowledge, since getting into a conversation with strangers is, like acquiring a new virtue or skill by imitating models, a matter of CppOVT/O" " rather than
+
+€.7I'tO'rr}1L7I. The usual way of treating the relation between hermeneutics and epistemology is to suggest that they should divide up culture between them-with epistemology taking care of the serious and important "cognitive" part (the part in which we meet our obligations to rationality) and hermeneutics charged with everything else. The idea behind such a division is that knowledge in the strict sense-i7l'WT�1L7I -must have a Myo .. , and that a .\oyo .. can only be given by
+
+the discovery of a method of commensuration. The idea of commensurability is built into the notion of "genuine cognition," so that what is "only a matter of taste" or "of opinion" need not fall within epistemology's charge, and conversely, what epistemology cannot render commensu-
+
+rable is stigmatized as merely "subjective." The pragmatic approach to knowledge suggested by epistemological behaviorism will construe the line between discourses which can be rendered commensurable and those which cannot as merely that between "normal" and "abnormal" discourse-a distinction which generalizes Kuhn's distinction between "normal" and "revolutionary" science. "Normal" science is the practice of solving problems against the background of a consensus about what counts as a good explanation of the phenomena and about what it would take for a problem to be solved. "Revolutionary" science is the introduction of a new "paradigm" of explanation, and thus of a new set of problems. Normal science is as close as real life comes to the epistemologist's notion of what it is to be rational. Everybody agrees on how to evaluate everything everybody else says. More generally, normal discourse is that which is conducted within an agreed-upon set of conventions about what counts as a relevant contribution, what counts as answering a question, what counts as having a good argument for that answer or a good criticism of it. Abnormal discourse is what happens when someone joins in the discourse who is ignorant of these conventions or who sets them aside. 'E'lTtuT�P.1J is the product of normal discourse -the sort of statement which can be agreed to be true by all participants whom the other participants count as "ra· tional." The product of abnormal discourse can be anything from nonsense to intellectual revolution, and there is no discipline which describes it, any more than there is a discipline devoted to the study of the unpredictable, or of "creativity." But hermeneutics is the study of an abnormal discourse from the point of view of some normal discourse -the attempt to make some sense of what is going on at a stage where we are still too unsure about it to describe it, and thereby to begin an epistemological account of it. The fact that hermeneutics inevitably takes some norm for granted makes it, so far forth, "Whiggish." But insofar as it proceeds nonreductively and in the hope of picking up a new angle on things, it can transcend its own Whiggishness.
+
+From this point of view, then, the line between the respective domains of epistemology and hermeneutics is not a matter of the difference between the "sciences of nature" and the "sciences of man," nor between fact and value, nor the theoretical and the practical, nor "objective knowledge" and something squishier and more dubious. The difference is purely one of familiarity. We will be epistemological where we understand perfectly well what is happening but want to codify it in order to extend, or strengthen, or teach, or "ground" it. We must be hermeneutical where we do not understand what is happening but are honest enough to admit it, rather than being blatantly "Whiggish" about it. This means that we can get epistemological commensuration only where we already have agreed-upon practices of inquiry (or, more generally, of discourse)-as easily in "academic" art, "scholastic" philosophy, or "parliamentary" politics as in "normal" science. We can get it not because we have discovered something about "the nature of human knowledge" but simply because when a practice has continued long enough the conventions which make it possible -and which permit a consensus on how to divide it into parts-are relatively easy to isolate. Nelson Goodman has said of inductive and deductive inference that we discover its rules by discovering what inferences we habitually accept;3 so it is with epistemology generally. There is no
+
+3 Nelson Goodman's pragmatist attitude toward logic is nicely summed up in a passage which, once again, calls the "hermeneutic circle" to mind: "This looks flagrantly circular .. .. But this circle is a virtuous one . . . . A rule is amended if it yields an inference we are unwilling to accept; an inference is rejected if it violates a rule we are
+
+difficulty getting commensuration in theology or morals or literary criticism when these areas of culture are "normal." At certain periods, it has been as easy to determine which critics have a "just perception" of the value of a poem as it is to determine which experimenters are capable of making accurate observations and precise measurements. At other periods-for example, the transitions between the "archaeological strata" which Foucault discerns in the recent intellectual history of Europe-it may be as difficult to know which scientists are actually offering reasonable explanations as it is to know which painters are destined for immortali ty.
+
+### 2. KUHN AND INCOMMENSURABILITY
+
+In recent years, debates about the possibility of epistemology as opposed to hermeneutics have gained a new concreteness as a result of the work of T. S. Kuhn. His Structure of Scientific Revolutions owed something to Wittgenstein's criticisms of standard epistemology, but it brought those criticisms to bear on received opinion in a fresh way. Since the Enlightenment, and in particular since Kant, the physical sciences had been viewed as a paradigm of knowledge, to which the rest of culture had to measure up. Kuhn's lessons from the history of science suggested that controversy within the physical sciences was rather more like ordinary conversation (on the blameworthiness of an action, the qualifications of an officeseeker, the value of a poem, the desirability of legislation) than the Enlightenment had suggested. In particular, Kuhn questioned whether philosophy of science could construct an algorithm for choice among scientific theories. Doubt on this point made his readers doubly doubtful on the question of whether epistemology could, starting from science, work its way out-
+
+unwilling to amend." (Fact, Fiction and Forecast [Cambridge. Mass .• 1955]. p. 67·)
+
+ward to the rest of culture by discovering the common ground of as much of human discourse as could be thought of as "cognitive" or "rational."
+
+Kuhn's examples of "revolutionary" change in science were, as he himself has remarked, cases of the sort which hermeneutics has always taken as its special assignmentcases in which a scientist has said things which sound so silly that it is hard to believe that we have understood him properly. Kuhn says that he offers students the maxim:
+
+When reading the works of an important thinker, look first for the apparent absurdities in the text and ask yourself how a sensible person could have written them. When you find an answer, ... when these passages make sense, then you may find that more central passages, ones you previously thought you understood, have changed their meaning.4
+
+Kuhn goes on to say that this maxim does not need to be told to historians, who, "consciously or not, are all practitioners of the hermeneutic method." But Kuhn's invocation of such a maxim was disturbing to philosophers of science who, working within the epistemological tradition, were bound to think in terms of a neutral scheme ("observation language," "bridge laws," etc.) which would make Aristotle and Newton, for example, commensurable. Such a scheme could, they thought, be used to render hermeneutical guesswork unnecessary. Kuhn's claim that there is no commensurability between groups of scientists who have different paradigms of a successful explanation, or who do not share the same disciplinary matrix, or both,5 seemed to many such philosophers to endanger the notion of theorychoice in science. For the "philosophy of science"-the name
+
+4 T. S. Kuhn, The Essential Tension (Chicago, 1977), p. xii.
+
+5 See "Second Thoughts on Paradigms" (in ibid.) for Kuhn's distinction between two "central" senses of "paradigm," blended in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions but now distinguished-"paradigm" as achieved result and paradigm as "disciplinary matrix."
+
+under which "epistemology" went when it hid itself among the logical empiricists-had envisaged itself as providing an algorithm for theory-choice.
+
+Kuhn's claim that no algorithm was possible save a post factum and Whiggish one (one which constructed an epistemology on the basis of the vocabulary or assumptions of the winning side in a scientific dispute) was, however, obscured by Kuhn's own "idealistic"-sounding addenda. It is one thing to say that the "neutral observation language" in which proponents of different theories can offer their evidence is of little help in deciding between the theories. It is another thing to say that there can be no such language because the proponents "see different things" or "live in different worlds." Kuhn, unfortunately, made incidental remarks of the latter sort, and philosophers pounced upon them. Kuhn wished to oppose the traditional claim that "what changes with a paradigm is only the scientist's interpretation of observations that themselves are fixed once and for all by the nature of the environment and of the perceptual apparatus." 6 But this claim is innocuous if it means merely that the results of looking can always be phrased in terms acceptable to both sides ("the fluid looked darker," "the needle veered to the right," or, in a pinch, "red here nowl "). Kuhn should have been content to show that the availability of such an innocuous language is of no help whatever in bringing decision between theories under an algorithm, any more than in bringing decisions about guilt or innocence in jury trials under an algorithm, and for the same reasons. The problem is that the gap between the neutral language and the only languages useful in deciding the issue at hand is too great to be bridged by "meaning postulates" or any of the other mythological entities that traditional empiricist epistemology invoked.
+
+Kuhn should have simply discarded the epistemological project altogether. But instead he called for "a viable al-
+
+6 T. S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 2d ed. (Chicago, 1970), p. 120.
+
+ternate to the traditional epistemological paradigm"7 and said that "we must learn to make sense of statements that at least resemble 'the scientist afterward [after the revolution] works in a different world: " He thought we must also make sense of the claims that "when Aristotle and Galileo looked at swinging stones, the first saw constrained fall, the second a pendulum" and that "pendulums were brought into existence by something very like a paradigm-induced gestalt switch." The unfortunate result of these remarks was to set the pendulum swinging between realism and idealism once again. In order to guard against the confusions of traditional empiricism, we need make no more of the gestaltswitch in question than the fact that people became able to respond to sensory stimulations by remarks about pendulums, without having to make an intervening inference. Kuhn was right in saying that "a philosophical paradigm initiated by Descartes and developed at the same time as Newtonian dynamics" needed to be overthrown, but he let his notion of what counted as a "philosophical paradigm" be set by the Kantian notion that the only substitute for a realistic account of successful mirroring was an idealistic account of the malleability of the mirrored world. We do indeed need to give up the notion of "data and interpretation" with its suggestion that if we could get to the real data, unpolluted by our choice of language, we should be "grounding" rational choice. But we can get rid of this notion by being behaviorist in epistemology rather than by being idealist. Hermeneutics does not need a new epistemological paradigm, any more than liberal political thought requires a new paradigm of sovereignty. Hermeneutics, rather, is what we get when we are no longer epistemological.
+
+Putting aside Kuhn's incidental "idealism," then, we may focus simply on Kuhn's claim that no algorithm for theorychoice is available. This led his critics to claim that he was
+
+7 This and all other quotations from Kuhn in this paragraph are from ibid., pp. 120-121.
+
+licensing every scientist to set up his own paradigm and then define objectivity and rationality in terms of that paradigm-the criticism which, as I said above, has been customarily made of any holistic, nonfoundational theory of knowledge. Thus Kuhn wrote:
+
+In learning a paradigm the scientist acquires theory, methods and standards together, usually in an inextricable mixture ....
+
+That observation ... provides 'our first explicit indication of why the choice between competing paradigms regularly raises questions that cannot be resolved by the criteria of normal science .... Like the issue of competing standards, [it] can be answered only in terms of criteria that lie outside of normal science altogether, and it is that recourse to external criteria that most obviously makes paradigm debates revolutionary.8
+
+And critics such as Scheffler often glossed him as follows:
+
+... the comparative evaluation of rival paradigms is quite plausibly conceived of as a deliberative process occurring at a second level of discourse ... regulated, to some degree at least, by shared standards appropriate to second-order discussion. The passage just quoted suggests, however, that such sharing of second-order standards is impossible. For to accept a paradigm is to accept not only theory and methods, but also governing standards of criteria which serve to justify the paradigm as against its rivals .... Paradigm differences are thus inevitably reflected upward, in criterial differences at the second level. It follows that each paradigm is, in effect, inevitably self-justifying, and that paradigm debates must fail of objectivity: again we appear driven back to non-rational conversions as the final characterization of paradigm shifts within the community of science.9
+
+8 Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 1St ed. (Chicago, 1961), pp. 108-lOg.
+
+9 Israel Scheffler, Science and Subjectivity (Indianapolis, Ig67), p. 84.
+
+It is certainly possible to argue that "paradigm differences are thus inevitably reflected upward," but Kuhn did not in fact argue in this way. He merely said that such reflection into meta-discourse makes it harder to resolve controversies about paradigm shifts than it is to resolve controversies within normal science. So far, critics like Scheffler would not disagree; indeed, as Kuhn has noted, "most philosophers of science would ... now regard the sort of algorithm which has traditionally been sought as a not quite attainable ideal."10 The only real question which separates Kuhn from his critics is whether the sort of "deliberative process" which occurs concerning paradigm shifts in the sciences (the sort of process which, as Kuhn shows in The Copernican Revolution, can stretch out over a century) is different in kind from the deliberative process which occurs concerning, for example, the shift from the ancien regime to bourgeois democracy, or from the Augustans to the Romantics.
+
+Kuhn says that the criteria of choice between theories (even within normal science, where hermeneutic problems may not yet arise) "function not as rules, which determine choice, but as values, which influence it" (p. 331). Most of his critics would agree even to this, but they would insist that the crucial question is whether we can find a range of specifically scientific values which should affect such choice, as opposed to "extraneous considerations" (the impact of science on theology, the future of life on earth, and the like) which should not be allowed to enter the "deliberative process." The criteria themselves Kuhn identifies as "accuracy, consistency, scope, simplicity, and fruitfulness" (p. 322)-a more or less standard list-and we might be tempted to say that it would be "unscientific" to permit any values save these to influence our choice. But the trade-offs between satisfaction of these various criteria provide room for endless rational debate. As Kuhn says:
+
+Though the historian can always find men-Priestly, for instance-who were unreasonable to resist [a new theory]
+
+10 Kuhn. Essential Tension. p. 326.
+
+for as long as they did, he will not find a point at which resistance becomes illogical or unscientific.11
+
+But can we then find a way of saying that the considerations advanced against the Copernican theory by Cardinal BeIIarmine-the scriptural descriptions of the fabric of the heavens-were "illogical or unscientific?"12 This, perhaps, is the point at which the battle lines between Kuhn and his critics can be drawn most sharply. Much of the seventeenth century's notion of what it was to be a "philosopher," and much of the Enlightenment's notion of what it was to be "rational," turns on Galileo's being absolutely right and the church absolutely wrong. To suggest that there is room for rational disagreement here-not simply for a black-andwhite struggle between reason and superstition-is to endanger the very notion of "philosophy." For it endangers the notion of finding "a method for finding truth" which takes Galilean and Newtonian mechanics as paradigmatic.13 A whole complex of mutually reinforcing ideas-philosophy as a methodological discipline distinct from the sciences, epistemology as the provision of commensuration, rationality as possible only on the common ground which makes possible commensuration-seems endangered if the question about Bellarmine is answered in the negative.
+
+Kuhn does not give an explicit answer to the question, but his writings provide an arsenal of argument in favor of a negative answer. In any case, a negative answer is implied
+
+11 Kuhn, Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 2d ed., p. 159.
+
+12 The historical role of Bellarmine's sophisticated objections to Co· pernican theories is described by Giorgio de Santillana in The Crime of Galileo (Chicago, 1955). The significance of Bellarmine's position is discussed by Michael Polanyi in Personal Knowledge (Chicago, 1958).
+
+13 Mechanics was taken as paradigmatic in a double sense by the founders of "modern philosophy." On the one hand, "the method of finding truth" had to be the one which Newton followed, or at least one which would come up with Newtonian results. On the other hand, in such writers as Locke, Newtonian mechanics was a model for the mechanics of "inner space" (the "para. mechanical" mental operations satirized by Reid and Ryle).
+
+by the argument of the present book. The crucial consideration is whether we know how to draw a line between science and theology such that getting the heavens right is a "scientific" value, and preserving the church, and the general cultural structure of Europe, is an "unscientific" value.H The argument that we do not centers around the claim that the lines between disciplines, subject matters, parts of culture, are themselves endangered by novel substantive suggestions. This argument can be put in terms of the scope of the criterion of "scope"-one of the standard desiderata for theories listed above. Bellannine thought the scope of Copernicus's theory was smaller than might be thought. When he suggested that perhaps Copernican theory was really just an ingenious heuristic device for, say, navigational purposes and other sorts of practically oriented celestial reckoning, he was admitting that the theory was, within its proper limits, accurate, consistent, simple, and perhaps even fruitful. When he said that it should not be thought of as having wider scope than this he defended his view by saying that we had excellent independent (scriptural) evidence for believing that the heavens were roughly Ptolemaic. Was his evidence brought in from another sphere, and was his proposed restriction of scope thus "un-
+
+scientific"? What determines that Scripture is not an excellent source of evidence for ,the way the heavens are set up? Lots of things, notably the Enlightenment's decision that Christianity was mostly just priestcra£t. But what were 14 Another example of the same sort is the question raised about "objectivity" by Marxist critics of the traditional distinctions between areas of culture. See, for example, Herbert Marcuse, One·Dimensional Man (Boston, 1964), chaps. 6-7· More concretely, we can ask whether there is a clear way of separating out the "scientific" value of getting the heritability of intelligence right from the "political" value of discouraging racism. I think that Marcuse is right in saying that most of
+
+the ("bourgeois") intellectual apparatus of the Enlightenment is required to make this distinction. Unlike Marcuse, however, I would hope that we might retain the distinction even after discarding one piece of the apparatus-epistemologically centered "foundational" philosophy.
+
+Bellarmine's contemporaries-who mostly ,thought Scripture to be indeed the word of God-supposed to say to Bellarmine? What they did say, among other things, was that adherence to Scripture could be disjoined from adherence to various adventitious (e.g., Aristotelian and Ptolemaic) notions which had been used to interpret Scripture. (This was the sort of thing nineteenth-century liberal divines were later -to say in connection with Genesis and Darwin.) Were all these arguments about how liberal one's scriptural hermeneutics might legitimately be beside the point? They were attempts to limit, so to speak, the scope of Scripture (and thus of the church)-the opposite reaction to Bellarmine's own attempt to limit the scope of Copernicus. So the question about whether Bellarmine (and, perforce, Galileo's defenders) was bringing in extraneous "unscientific" considerations seems to be a question about whether there is some antecedent way of determining the relevance of one statement to another, some "grid" (to use Foucault's term) which determines what sorts of evidence there could be for statements about the movements of planets.
+
+Obviously, the conclusion I wish to draw is that the "grid" which emerged in the later seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was not there to be appealed to in the early seventeenth century, at the time that Galileo was on trial. No conceivable epistemology, no study of the nature of human knowledge, could have "discovered" it before it was hammered out. The notion of what it was to be "scientific" was in the process of being formed. If one endorses the values-or, perhaps, the ranking of competing valuescommon to Galileo and Kant, then indeed Bellarmine was being "unscientific." But, of course, almost all of us (including Kuhn, though perhaps not including Feyerabend) are happy to endorse 'them. We are the heirs of three hundred years of rhetoric about the importance of distinguishing sharply between science and religion, science and politics, science and art, science and philosophy, and so on. This
+
+rhetoric has formed the culture of Europe. It made us what we are today. We are fortunate that no little perplexity within epistemology, or within the historiography of science, is enough to defeat it. But to proclaim our loyalty to these distinctions is not to say that there are "objective" and "rational" standards for adopting them. Galileo, so to speak, won the argument, and we all stand on the common ground of the "grid" of relevance and irrelevance which "modern philosophy" developed as a consequence of that victory. But what could show that the Bellarmine-Galileo issue "differs in kind" from the issue between, say, Kerensky and Lenin, or that between the Royal Academy (circa 1910) and Bloomsbury?
+
+I can explain the notion of "difference in kind" which is in question here by reverting to the notion of commensurability. The desired difference is one which would permit us to say that any reasonable disinterested observer of the Bellarmine-Galileo controversy, taking all the relevant considerations into account, would come down on Galileo's side, whereas reasonable men still differ about the other issues I just mentioned. But this, of course, just brings us back around to the question of whether the values Bellarmine invoked were properly "scientific," whether his attitude counts as "disinterested," and his evidence as "relevant." At this point, it seems to me, we would do well to abandon the notion of certain values ("rationality," "disinterestedness") floating free of the educational and institutional patterns of the day. We can just say that Galileo was creating the notion of "scientific values" as he went along, that it was a splendid thing that he did so, and that the question of whether he was "rational" in doing so is out of place.
+
+As Kuhn says in connection with a smaller, though obviously related issue, we cannot differentiate scientific communities by "subject matter," but rather by "examining patterns of education and communication."15 To know
+
+15 Kuhn, Essential Tension, p. xvi.
+
+what counts as relevant to choice between theories about a certain subject is, in periods of normal inquiry, to belong to what Kuhn calls a "disciplinary matrix." In periods when the relevant community of inquirers is in question, in which the lines between "learned men," "mere empirics," and kooks (or, to alter the example, between "serious political thinkers" and "revolutionary pamphleteers") are getting fuzzy, the question of relevance is up for grabs. We cannot determine relevance by focusing on subject matter and saying, for example, "Don't bother with what Scripture said God did, just look at the planets and see what they do." Mere looking at the planets will be of no help in choosing our model of the heavens, any more than mere reading of Scripture. In 1550 a certain set of considerations was relevant to "rational" views on astronomy, and by 1 750 a largely different set of considerations was relevant. This change in what was thought relevant can be seen, by hindsight, as drawing proper distinctions among what was really there in the world ("discovering" that astronomy was an autonomous sphere of scientific inquiry), or it can be seen as a shift in cultural climate. It does not greatly matter which way we see it, as long as we are clear that the change was not brought about by "rational argument" in some sense of "rational" in which, for example, the changes lately brought about in regard to society's attitude toward slavery, abstract art, homosexuals, or endangered species, would not count as "rational."
+
+To sum up the line I am taking about Kuhn and his critics: the controversy between them is about whether science, as the discovery of what is really out there in the world, differs in its patterns of argumentation from discourses for which the notion of "correspondence to reality" seems less apposite (e.g., politics and literary criticism). Logical-empiricist philosophy of science, and the whole epistemological tradition since Descartes, has wanted to say that the procedure for attaining accurate representations in the Mirror of Nature differs in certain deep ways from the
+
+procedure for attaining agreement about "practical" or "aesthetic" matters. Kuhn gives us reason to say that there is no deeper difference than that between what happens in "normal" and in "abnormal" discourse. That distinction cuts across the distinction between science and nonscience. The fierce indignation with which Kuhn's work was greeted16 was natural, for the ideals of the Enlightenment not only are our most precious cultural heritage but are in danger of disappearance as totalitarian states swallow up more and more of humanity. But the fact that the Enlightenment ran together the ideal of ,the autonomy of science from theology and politics with the image of scientific theory as Mirror of Nature is not a reason for preserving this confusion. The grid of relevance and irrelevance which we inherit almost intact from the eighteenth century will be more attractive when it is no longer tied to this image. Shopworn mirror-metaphors are of no help in keeping intact the inheritance-both moral and scientific-of Galileo.
+
+### 3. OBJECTIVITY AS CORRESPONDENCE AND AS AGREEMENT
+
+Kuhn's critics have helped perpetuate the dogma that only where there is correspondence to reality is there the possibility of rational agreement, in a special sense of "rational" of which science is the paradigm. This confusion is aided by our use of "objective" to mean both "characterizing the view which would be agreed upon as a result of
+
+16 The ferocity was found, however, mainly among professional philosophers. Kuhn's description of how science works was no shock to the scientists whose rationality the philosophers were concerned to protect. But the philosophers combined a professional attachment to mirrormetaphors with an understanding of the central role these metaphors had played in the Enlightenment, and thus in making possible the institutional basis for modern science. They were right in seeing that Kuhn's criticism of the tradition went deep, and that the ideology which had protected the rise of modern science was in danger. They were wrong in thinking that the institutions still needed the ideology.
+
+argument undeHected by irrelevant considerations" and "representing things as they really are." The two are largely coextensive, and for non philosophical purposes no trouble arises from running them together. But if we begin to take seriously questions like "In just what sense is Goodness out there waiting to be represented accurately as a result of rational argument on moral questions?" or "In just what sense were there physical features of reality capable of being represented accurately only by differential equations, or tensors, before people thought of so representing them?" then tension between these two notions begins to arise. We have Plato to thank for the first sort of question and idealism and pragmatism to thank for the second SOIt. Neither question is answerable. Our natural inclination to return a robust "In no sense" to the first and an equally robust "In the fullest possible and most straightforward sense" to the second will be of no help in getting rid of these questions if we still feel the need to justify answers to such questions by constructing epistemological and metaphysical ,theories.
+
+Since Kant, the principal employment of such theories has been to support intuitions concerning the subjective-objective distinction-either attempts to show that nothing outside of natural science counts as "objective" or attempts to apply this honorific term to morals, or politics, or poems. Metaphysics, as the aHempt to find out what one can be objective about, is forced to ask about the similarities and differences among, for example, the discovery (as a result of finally resolving a long-standing moral dilemma) of a new article of the Moral Law, the discovery (by mathematicians) of a new sort of number or of a new set of spaces, the discovery of quantum indeterminacy, and the discovery that the cat is on the mat. The latter discovery-a homely point d'appui for the notions of "contact with reality," "truth as correspondence" and "accuracy of representation"-is the standard against which the others are compared in point of objectivity. The metaphysician must thus worry about the
+
+respects in which values, numbers, and wave packages resemble cats. The epistemologist must worry about the respects in which more interesting statements share the objectivity possessed by that triumph of mirroring-the appropriate utterance of "The cat is on the mat." In the view which follows from epistemological behaviorism, there is no interesting way to discover whether, for example, there is a Moral Law to be corresponded to. The fact that, for example, "the moral standards entailed by the nature of man" are more at home in Aristotle's hylomorphic universe than in Newton's mechanistic one is not a reason for thinking that there is or is not an "objeotive" Moral Law. Nor could anything else be. The trouble with metaphysics, just as the positivists said, is that nobody feels clear about what would count as a satisfactory argument within it, although, of course, the same goes for the "impure" philosophy of language which the positivists practiced (e.g., Quine'S thesis of the "non-factuality" of the intentional). In the view that I am recommending, we might, in an imaginary age in which consensus in these areas was almost complete, view morality, physics, and psychology as equally "objective." We might then relegate the more debatable areas of literary criticism, chemistry, and sociology to ,the realm of the "noncognitive," or "interpret them operationalistically," or "reduce" them to one or another "objective" discipline. The application of such honorifics as "objective" and "cognitive" is never anything more ,than an expression of the presence of, or the hope for, agreement among inquirers.
+
+Although it will involve some repetition of what has been said above, I think that the debate between Kuhn and his critics is worth taking up yet again in the context of a discussion of ,the "objective-subjective" distinction, simply because the grip of this distinction is so very powerful, and so charged with moral feeling. Once again, this moral feeling is a consequence of the (entirely justified) notion that the preservation of the values of the Enlightenment is our best hope. So in this section I shall try once again to cut the links which connect these values with the image of the Mirror of Nature.
+
+It is convenient to begin with Kuhn's own way of dealing with the claim that his view opens the floodgates to "subjectivi,ty." He says:
+
+"Subjective" is a term with several established uses: in one of these it is opposed to "objective," in another to "judgmental." When my critics describe the idiosyncratic features to which I appeal as subjective, they resort, erroneously I think, to the second of these senses. When they complain that I deprive science of objectivity, they conflate that second sense of subjective with ,the first.u
+
+In the sense in which "subjective features" are nonjudgmental, they are, Kuhn continues, "matters of taste"-the sort of thing nobody bothers to discuss, simple reports of one's state of mind. But, of course, the worth of a poem or a person is not, in this sense, a matter of taste. So, Kuhn can say, the worth of a scientific theory is a matter of "judgment, not taste" in the same sense.
+
+This reply to the charge of "subjectivity" is useful as far as it goes, but it does not reach the deeper fear behind the charge. This is the fear that there really is no middle ground between matters of taste and matters capable of being settled by a previously statable algorithm. The philosopher who sees no such middle ground is, I think, reasoning roughly as follows:
+
+- 1. All statements describe either internal states of human beings (their Glassy Essence, the possibly clouded Mirror) or states of external reality (nature).
+- 2. We can tell which statements are which by seeing which we know how to get universal agreement on.
+- 3. So the possibility of perpetual disagreement is an indication that, no matter how rational debate may seem to
+
+17Kuhn, Essential Tension, p. 336.
+
+be, there is really nothing to debate about-since the subject can only be internal sta'tes.
+
+This course of reasoning, shared by Platonists and positivists, produced in the latter the notion that by "analyzing" sentences we can discover whether they are indeed about the "subjective" or the "objective"-where "analysis" means finding out whether there is general agreement among sane and rational men on what would count as confirming their truth. Within traditional epistemology, this latter notion has only rarely been seen for what it is: an admission that our only usable notion of "objectivity" is "agreement" rather than mirroring. Even, for example, in Ayer's refreshingly frank remark that "we define a rational belief as one which is arrived at by the methods which we now consider reliable,"18 the notion of "reliability" still functions as a hint that we can only ·be rational by corresponding to the real. Not even his equally frank admission that all the privileged representations in the world will nevertheless permit a man to "sustain his convictions in th(! face of apparently hostile evidence if he is prepared to make the necessary ad hoc assumptions" (p. 95) is enough to defeat Ayer's conviction that in separating the "empirical" from the "emotive" and the "analytic" he is separating "truth about the world" from something else. This is because Ayer, like Plato, adds to the above chain of reasoning the further, foundationalist premise:
+
+4. We are able to eliminate the possibility of perpetual, undecidable rational disagreement only in those areas where unquestioned links to external reality provide a common ground for the disputants.
+
+The claim that where we can find no unquestioned links with (e.g., privileged representations of) the objects to be mirrored there is no possibility of an algorithm, conjoined with the claim that where there is no possibility of an algo-
+
+18 A. J. Ayer, Language, Truth and Logic (New York, 1970), p. 100.
+
+rithm there can be only the appearance of rational agreement, leads to the conclusion that the absence of relevant privileged representations shows that we have only "a matter of taste." Kuhn is right in saying that this is a long way from the ordinary notion of "taste," but, like the equally unordinary notion of truth as something which need have nothing to do with agreement, it has a long history within philosophy.l9 That history has to be understood if one is to see why such bland historiographical suggestions as Kuhn's should trouble the deeper unconscious levels of the trained philosophical mind.
+
+Perhaps the best way to deal with the charge of "subjectivism" brought against Kuhn is to make a distinction between senses of "subjective" other than the one he himself made in the passage I quoted. We can distinguish two senses of "subjective" which will stand roughly opposite each of the two senses of "objective" distinguished earlier. "Objectivity" in the first sense was a property of theories which, having been thoroughly discussed, are chosen by a consensus of rational discussants. By contrast, a "subjective" consideration is one which has been, or would be, or should be, set aside by rational discussants-one which is seen to be, or should be seen to be, irrelevant to the subject matter of the theory. To say that someone is bringing in "subjective" considerations to a discussion where objectivity is wanted is, roughly, to say that he is bringing in considerations
+
+19 Kant built this notion of truth about reality into German philos. ophy (and, a fortiori, into philosophy as a professionalized discipline which looked to the German universities for its model). He did so by distinguishing mere coping with phenomena from intellectually intuiting noumena. He also built the distinction between cognitive and aesthetic judgment, and the distinction between the latter and mere taste, into European culture. For purposes of the present dispute, however, his distinction between "aesthetic judgment" which can be right or wrong and "taste" which cannot drops out. Kuhn's critics could more cautiously (but, by their own lights, equally devastatingly) criticize him for making theory-choice in science a matter of aesthetic rather than cognitive judgment.
+
+which the others think beside the point. If he presses these outre considerations, he is turning normal inquiry into abnormal discourse-he is being ei,ther "kooky" (if he loses his point) or "revolutionary" (if he gains it). For a consideration to be subjective, in this sense, is simply for it to be unfamiliar. So judging subjectivity is as hazardous as judging relevance.
+
+In a more traditional sense of "subjective," on the other hand, "subjective" contrasts with "corresponding to what is out there," and thus means something like "a product only of what is in here" (in the heart, or in the "confused" portion of the mind which does not contain privileged representations and thus does not accurately reflect what is out there). In this sense "subjective" is associated with "emotional" or "fantastical," for our hearts and our imaginations are idiosyncratic, while our intellects are, at their best, identical mirrors of the self-same external objects. Here we get a linkup with "matters of taste," since the state of our emotions at a given moment (of which our unconsidered momentary reaction to a work of art is an example) is indeed undebatable. We have privileged access to what goes on inside us. In this way, the tradition since Plato has run together the "algorithm versus no algorithm" distinction with the "reason versus passion" distinction. The various ambiguities of "objective" and "subjeotive" illustrate the way in which the confusion can develop. If it were not for the traditional linkage of these distinctions, a historian of inquiry who emphasized similarities between the controversies of scientists and those of literary critics would not have been construed as endangering our minds by upgrading our hearts.
+
+Kuhn himself, however, occasionally makes too large concessions to the tradition, particularly when he suggests that there is a serious and unresolved problem about why the scientific enterprise has been doing so nicely lately. Thus he says:
+
+Even ,those who have followed me this far will want to know how a value-based enterprise of the sort I have described can develop as a science does, repeatedly producing powerful new techniques for prediction and control. To that question, unfortunately, I have no answer at all, but that is only another way of saying that I make no claim to have solved the problem of induction. If science did progress by virtue of some shared and binding algorithm of choice, I would be equally at a loss to explain its success. The lacuna is one I feel acutely, but its presence does not differentiate my position from the tradition.20
+
+As I have argued in connection with Putnam's "metaphysical realism" in the previous chapter, the lacuna should not be felt acutely. We should not regret our inability to perform a feat which no one has any idea of how to perform. The notion that we are faced by a challenge to fill this lacuna is one more result of hypostatizing the Platonic focus imaginarius-truth as disjoined from agreementand allowing the gap between oneself and that unconditional ideal to make one feel that one does not yet understand the conditions of one's existence.
+
+In the view I am advocating, the question "Why, if science is merely ... , does it produce powerful new techniques for prediction and control?" is like the question
+
+20 Kuhn. Essential Tension, pp. 332'333. There are other passages in that book in which, I should argue, Kuhn grants too much to the epistemological tradition. One is at p. xxiii. where he expresses the hope that philosophers' understanding of "reference determination and translation" will help clarify the issues. Another is p. 14, where he suggests that the philosophy of science has a quite distinct mission from the hermeneutic activities of the historian of science: "Philosophy's business is with rational reconstruction, and it need preserve only those elements of its subject essential to science as sound knowledge." This passage seems to me to preserve intact the myth that there is something called "the nature of sound knowledge" for philosophers to describe, an activity quite distinct from description of what counts as justification within the various disciplinary matrices constituting the culture of the day.
+
+"Why, if the change in moral consciousness in the West since 1750 is merely ... , has it been able to accomplish so much for human freedom?" We can fill the first blank with "adherence to the following binding algorithm . . ." or with "a succession of Kuhnian institutionalized disciplinary matrices." We can fill -the second with "the application of secular thought to moral issues" or "the guilty conscience of the bourgeoisie" or "changes in the emotional const�tution of those who control the levers of power," or with a lot of other phrases. In no case does anyone know what might count as a good answer. Retrospectively, "Whiggishly," and "realistically" we will always be able to see the achievement desired (prediction and control of nature, emancipation of the oppressed) as the result of getting a clearer view of what is there (the electrons, the galaxies, the Moral Law, human rights). But these are never the sorts of explanations philosophers want. They are, in Putnam's phrase, "internal" explanations-explanations which satisfy our need to tell a coherent causal story about our interactions with the world, but not our transcendental need to underwrite our mirroring by showing how it approximates to truth. To "solve the problem of induction," in the sense Kuhn intends, would be like "solving the problem of fact and value"; both problems survive only as names for a certain inarticulate dissatisfaction. They are the sort of problems which cannot be formulated within "normal philosophy"; all that happens is that this or that technical gimmick is occasionally labeled a "solution" to such a problem, in the vague hope of establishing contact with the past, or with eternity.
+
+What we need, rather than a solution to "the problem of induction," is the ability to think about science in such a way that its being a "value-based enterprise" occasions no surprise. All that hinders us from doing so is the ingrained notion that "values" are "inner" whereas "facts" are "outer" and that it is as much a mystery how, beginning with values, we could produce bombs as how, beginning with private
+
+inner episodes, we could avoid bumping into things. Here we come round once again to the bugbear of "idealism" and the notion that the search for an algorithm goes hand in hand with a "realistic" approach to science whereas a relaxation into the merely hermeneutic method of the historian sells the pass to ,the idealist. Whenever it is suggeSlted that the distinctions between theory and practice, fact and value, method and conversation be relaxed, an attempt to make the world "malleable Ito human will" is suspected. This produces, yet again, the positivist claim that we must either make a clear distinction between the "noncognitive" and the "cognitive," or else "reduce" the former to the latter. For the third possibility-reducing the latter to the former -seems to "spiritualize" nature by making it like history or literature, something which men have made rather than something they find. It is the third option that Kuhn seems, to some of his critics, to be suggesting. This renewed attempt to see Kuhn as verging upon "idealism" is, however, a muddled way of reiterating the claim Ithat something like (4) above is true-that we must see scientists as "in touch with external reality" and therefore able to reach rational agreement by means not avai.Iable to politicians and poets. The muddle consists in suggesting that Kuhn, by "reducing" the methods of scientists to those of politicians, has "reduced" the "found" world of neutrons to the "made" world of social relationships. Here again we find the notion that whatever cannot be discovered by a machine programmed with the appropriate algorithm cannot exist "objectively," and thus must be somehow a "human creation." In the following section, I shall try to bring together what I have been saying about objectivity with some themes from earlier portions of this book in the hope of showing that the distinction between epistemology and hermeneutics should not be thought of as paralleling a distinction between what is "out there" and what we "make up. "
+
+It must be confessed that the notion that there is a special set of methods appropriate for the "soft" disciplines-the Geisteswissenschaften-does have historical links with idealism. As Apel says, the present opposition between analytic philosophy and "hermeneutics" as philosophical strategies seems natural since
+
+the metaphysics of the spirit and of the subject in 19thcentury Idealism, which should be considered the foundations of the Geisteswissenschaften (although the latter certainly put more emphasis upon material research) are taken by the later Wittgenstein as a "disease" of language together with all other concepts of metaphysics in Western philosophy.21
+
+The notion that the empirical self could be turned over to the sciences of nature, but that the transcendental self, which constitutes the phenomenal world and (perhaps) functions as a moral agent, could not, has indeed done as much as anything else to make the spirit-nature distinction meaningful. So this metaphysical distinction lurks in the background of every discussion of the relations between the Geistes- and the Naturwissenschaften. The picture is further complicated by the vague notion that those who like to talk about "hermeneutics" are proposing to substitute a new kind of method (a suspiciously "soft" kind) for some other method (the "scientific method," say, or perhaps "philosophical analysis"). In this section I hope to show that hermeneutics, as discourse about as·yet-incommensurable discourses, has no particular connection with either (a) the "mind" side of Cartesian dualism, or (b) the "constituting" side of the Kantian distinction between the constituting and structuring faculty of spontaneity and the passive faculty of receptivity, or (c) the notion of a method for discovering
+
+21Karl·Otto Apel, Analytic Philosophy of Language and the Geistes· wissenschaften (Dordrecht, 1967), p. 35· Cf. also p. 53·
+
+the truth of sentences which competes wi,th the normal methods pursued in extra-philosophical disciplines. (Nonetheless, I think that this limited and purified sense of "hermeneutics" I am employing does link up with the use of the term by such writers as Gadamer, Apel, and Habermas. I shall 22 Ibid., p. 30.
+
+permanent neutral matrix for formulating all good explanatory hypotheses, and we have not the foggiest notion of how to get one. (This is compatible with saying ·that we do have a neutral, if unhelpful, observation language.) So epistemology-as the attempt to render all discourses commensurable by translating them into a preferred set of terms -is unlikely to be a useful strategy. The reason is not that "unified science" works only for one metaphysical realm and not for another, but that the Whiggish assumption that we have got such a language blocks the road of inquiry. We might always want to change the language in which we do our explaining. In particular, we might do this because we have found out how to translate a language spoken by the subjects of our explanation. But this would he just a special case of the permanent possibility of someone's having a better idea. Understanding the language spoken by the subjects, grasping the explanations they give of why they are doing this and that, may be helpful or may not. In the case of people who are particularly stupid, or psychotic, we rightly wave aside their explanations. We attribute intentions and actions to them in terms they do not accept and may not even understand. The familiar claim that a speaker's description of himself usually needs to he taken into account in determining what action he is performing is sound enough. But that description may perfectly well be set aside. The privilege attached to it is moral, rather than epistemic. The difference between his description and ours may mean, for example, that he should not be tried under our laws. It does not mean that he cannot be explained by our science.
+
+To say that we cannot understand a foreign culture if we insist on Whiggishly interpreting it as holding "too many" of our own beliefs and desires is just a generalization of the Kuhnian point that we cannot understand past scientists if we insist on doing the same thing to them. This can itself be generalized to the claim that we should not assume that the vocabulary used so far will work on everything else that turns up. The problem is not that spirits are inherently resistant to being predicted, but simply that there is no reason to think (and much reason not to think) that our own spirit has now got hold of the best vocabulary for formulating hypotheses which will explain and predict all the other spirits (or, perhaps, the other bodies). This point is made by Charles Taylor, who puts the question as follows:
+
+... we might be so scandalized by the prospect of such a hermeneutical science that we will want to go hack to the verification model. Why can we not take our understanding of meaning as part of the logic of discovery, as the logical empiricists suggest for our unformalizable insights, and still found our science on the exactness of our predictions?23
+
+and answers it by listing three reasons why "such exact prediction is radically impossible." He says that
+
+the third and most fundamental reason for the impossibility of hard prediction is that man is a self-defining animal. With changes in his self-definition go changes in what man is, such that he has to be understood in different terms. But the conceptual mutations in human history can and frequently do produce conceptual webs which are incommensurable, that is, where the terms can't be defined in relation to a common stratum of expressions. (p. 49)
+
+The point that what interferes with predicting the behavior of inhabitants of the unfamiliar culture is simply the incommensurability of their language seems to me exactly right, but I think Taylor proceeds to obscure his own point when he goes on to say:
+
+The success of prediction in the natural sciences is bound up with the fact that all states of the system, past and
+
+23 Charles Taylor, "Interpretation and the Sciences of Man," Review of Metaphysics 25 (1971), p. 48.
+
+future, can be described in the same range of concepts, as values, say, of the same variables. Hence all future states of the solar system can be charaoterized, as past ones are, in the language of Newtonian mechanics. . . . Only if past and future are brought under the same conceptual net can one understand the states of the latter as some function of the states of the former, and hence predict.
+
+This conceptual unity is vitiated in the sciences of man by the fact of conceptual innovation which in turn alters human reality. (P. 49)
+
+Here Taylor reinstates the notion of man as a being who changes from the inside by finding bet'ter (or, at least, novel) ways of describing, predicting, and explaining himself. Nonhuman beings, as mere etres-en-soi, do not get changed from inside but are simply described, predicted, and explained in a better vocabulary. This way of putting it leads us back into the bad old metaphysical notion that the universe is made up of two kinds of things. The sense in which human beings alter themselves by redescribing themselves is no more metaphysically exciting or mysterious than the sense in which they alter themselves by changing their diet, their sexual partners, or their habitation. It is just the same sense: viz., new and more interesting sentences become true of them. Taylor goes on to say that "the very terms in which the future will have to be characterized if we are to understand it properly are not all available to us at present" (p. 50), and he means this 1 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York, 1975), p. xi. Indeed, it would be reasonable to call Gadamer's book a tract against the very idea of method, where this is conceived of as an attempt at commensuration. It is instructive to note the parallels between this book and Paul Feyerabend's Against Method. My treatment of Gadamer is indebted to Alasdair MacIntyre; see his "Contexts of Interpreta-
+
+tion," Boston University Journal 24 (1976), 41-46.
+
+2 Gadamer, Truth and Method, p\_ xiii. 3 Cf. ibid., p. 15. "But we may recognize that Bildung is an element of spirit without being tied to Hegel's philosophy of absolute spirit, just as the insight into the historicity of consciousness is not tied to his philosophy of world history."
+
+important thing we can do. He does this by substituting the notion of Bildung (education, self-formation) for that of "knowledge" as the goal of thinking. To say that we become different people, that we "remake" ourselves as we read more, talk more, and write more, is simply a dramatic way of saying that the sentences which become true of us by virtue of such activities are often more important to us than the sentences which become true of us when we drink more, earn more, and so on. The events which make us able to say new and interesting things about ourselves are, in this nonmetaphysical sense, more "essential" to us (at least to us relatively leisured intellectuals, inhabiting a stable and prosperous part of the world) than the events which change our shapes or our standards of living ("remaking" us in less "spiritual" ways). Gadamer develops his notion of wirkungsgeschichtliches Bewusstsein (the sort of consciousness of the past which changes us) to characterize an attitude interested not so much in what is out there in the world, or in what happened in history, as in what we can get out of nature and history for our own uses. In this attitude, getting the facts right (about atoms and the void, or about the history of Europe) is merely propaedeutic to finding a new and more interesting way of expressing ourselves, and thus of coping wi,th the world. From the educational, as opposed to the epistemological or the technological, point of view, the way things are said is more important than the possession of truths.�
+
+� The contrast here is the same as that involved in the traditional quarrel between "classical" education and "scientific" education, mentioned by Gadamer in his opening section on "The Significance of the Humanist Tradition." More generally, it can be seen as an aspect of the quarrel between poetry (which cannot be omitted from the former sort of education) and philosophy (which, when conceiving of itself as super· science, would like to become foundational to the latter sort of education). Yeats asked the spirits (whom, he believed, were dictating A Vision to him through his wife's mediumship) why they had come. The spirits replied, "To bring you metaphors for poetry." A philosopher might have expected some hard facts about what it was like on the other side, but Yeats was not disappointed.
+
+Since "education" sounds a bit too flat, and Bildung a bit too foreign, I shall use "edification" to stand for this project of finding new, better, more interesting, more fruitful ways of speaking. The attempt to edify (ourselves or others) may consist in the hermeneutic activity of making connections between our own culture and some exotic culture or historical period, or between our own discipline and another discipline which seems to pursue incommensurable aims in an incommensurable vocabulary. But it may instead consist in the "poetic" activity of thinking up such new aims, new words, or new disciplines, followed by, so to speak, the inverse of hermeneutia;: the attempt to reinterpret our familiar surroundings in the unfamiliar terms of our new inventions. In either case, the activity is (despite the etymological relation between the two words) edifying without being constructive-at least if "constructive" means the sort of cooperation in the accomplishment of research programs which takes place in normal discourse. For edifying discourse is supposed to be abnormal, to take us out of our old selves by the power of strangeness, to aid us in becoming new beings.
+
+The contrast between the desire for edification and the desire for truth is, for Gadamer, not an expression of a tension which needs to be resolved or compromised. If there is a conflict, it is between the Platonic-Aristotelian view that the only way to be edified is to know what is out there (to reflect the facts accurately-to realize our essence by knowing essences) and the view that the quest for truth is just one among many ways in which we might be edified. Gadamer rightly gives Heidegger the credit for working out a way of seeing the search for objective knowledge (first developed by the Greeks, using mathematics as a model) as one human project among others.5 The point is, however, more vivid
+
+5 See the section called "The Overcoming of the Epistemological Problem ... " in Truth and Method, pp. 21 4ft, and compare Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Rob· inson (New York, 1962), sec. 32.
+
+in Sartre, who sees the attempt to gain an objective knowledge of the world, and thus of oneself, as an attempt to avoid the responsibility for choosing one's project.6 For Sartre, to say this is not to say that the desire for objective knowledge of nature, history, or anything else is bound to be unsuccessful, or even bound to be self-deceptive. It is merely to say that it presents a temptation to self-deception insofar as we think that, by knowing which descriptions within a given set of normal discourses apply to us, we thereby know ourselves. For Heidegger, Sartre, and Gadamer, objective inquiry is perfectly possible and frequently actual-the only thing to be said against it is that it provides only some, among many, ways of describing ourselves, and that some of these can hinder the process of edification.
+
+To sum up this "existentialist" view of objectivity, then: objectivity should be seen as conformity to the norms of justification (for assertions and for actions) we find about us. Such conformity becomes dubious and self-deceptive only when seen as something more than this-namely, as a way of obtaining access to something which "grounds" current practices of justification in something else. Such a "ground" is thought to need no justification, because it has become so clearly and distinctly perceived as to count as a "philosophical foundation." This is self-deceptive not simply because of the general absurdity of ultimate justification's reposing upon the unjustifiable, but because of the more concrete absurdity of thinking that the vocabulary used by present science, morality, or whatever has some privileged attachment to reality which makes it more than just a further set of descriptions. Agreeing with the naturalists that redescription is not "change of essence" needs to be followed up by abandoning the notion of "essence" altogether.7
+
+6 See Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness, trans. Hazel Barnes (New York, 1956), pt. two. chap. 3. sec. 5. and the "Conclusion" of the book.
+
+7 It would have been fortunate if Sartre had followed up his remark that man is the being whose essence is to have no essence by saying
+
+But the standard philosophical strategy of most naturalisms is to find some way of showing that our own culture has indeed got hold of the essence of man-thus making all new and incommensurable vocabularies merely "noncognitive" ornamentation.8 The utility of the "existentialist" view is that, by proclaiming that we have no essence, it permits us to see the descriptions of ourselves we find in one of (or in the unity of) the Naturwissenschaften as on a par with the various alternative descriptions offered by poets, novelists, depth psychologists, sculptors, anthropologists, and mystics. The former are not privileged representations in virtue of the fact that (at the moment) there is more consensus in the sciences than in the arts. They are simply among the repertoire of sel£-descriptions at our disposal.
+
+This point can also be put as an extrapolation from the commonplace that one cannot be counted as educatedgebildet-if one knows only the results of the normal Naturwissenschaften of the day. Gadamer begins Truth and Method with a discussion of the role of the humanist tradition in giving sense to the notion of Bildung as something having "no goals outside itsel£."9 To give sense to such a notion we need a sense of the relativity of descriptive vocabularies to periods, traditions, and historical accidents. This is what the humanist tradition in education does, and what training in the results of the natural sciences cannot do. Given that sense of relativity, we cannot take the notion of "essence"
+
+that this went for all other beings also. Unless this addition is made, Sartre will appear to be insisting on the good old metaphysical distinction between spirit and nature in other terms, rather than simply making the point that man is always free to choose new descriptions (for, among other things, himself).
+
+8Dewey, it seems to me, is the one author usually classified as a "naturalist" who did not have this reductive attitude, despite his incessant talk about "scientific method." Dewey's peculiar achievement was to have remained sufficiently Hegelian not to think of natural science as having an inside track on the essences of things, while becoming sufficiently naturalistic to think of human beings in Darwinian terms.
+
+9 Gadamer, Truth and Method, p. 12.
+
+seriously, nor the notion of man's task as the accurate representation of essences. The natural sciences, by themselves, leave us convinced that we know both what we are and what we can be-not just how to predict and control our behavior, but the limits of that behavior (and, in particular, the limits of our significant speech). Gadamer's attempt to fend off the demand (common to Mill and Carnap) for "objectivity" in the Geisteswissenschaften is the attempt to prevent education from being reduced to instruction in the results of normal inquiry. More broadly, it is the attempt to prevent abnormal inquiry from being viewed as suspicious solely because of its abnormality.
+
+This "existentialist" attempt to place objectivity, rationality, and normal inquiry within the larger picture of our need to be educated and edified is often countered by the "positivist" attempt to distinguish learning facts from acquiring values. From the positivist point of view, Gadarner's exposition of wirkungsgeschichtliche Bewusstsein may seem little more than reiteration of the commonplace that even when we know all the objectively true descriptions of ourselves, we still may not know what to do with ourselves. From this point of view, Truth and Method (and chapters six and seven above) are just overblown dramatizations of the fact that entire complaince with all the demands for justification offered by normal inquiry would still leave us free to draw our own morals from the assertions so justified. But from the viewpoints of Gadamer, Heidegger, and Sartre, the trouble with the fact-value distinction is that it is contrived precisely to blur the fact that alternative descriptions are possible in addition to those offered by the results of normal inquiries.lo It suggests that once "all the facts are in" nothing remains except "noncognitive" adoption of an attitude-a choice which is not rationally discussable. It disguises the fact that to use
+
+10See Heidegger's discussion of "values" in Being and Time, p. 133, and Sartre's in Being and Nothingness, pt. two, chap. I, sec. 4. Compare Gadamer's remarks on Weber (Truth and Method, pp. 461ft.).
+
+one set of true sentences to describe ourselves is already to choose an attitude toward ourselves, whereas to use another set of true sentences is to adopt a contrary attitude. Only if we assume that there is a value-free vocabulary which renders these sets of "factual" statements commensurable can the posi.tivist distinction between facts and values, beliefs and attitudes, look plausible. But the philosophical fiction that such a vocabulary is on the tips of our tongues is, from an educational point of view, disastrous. It forces us to pretend that we can split ourselves up into knowers of true sentences on the one hand and choosers of lives or actions or works of art on the other. These artificial diremptions make it impossible to get the notion of edification into focus. Or, more exactly, they tempt us to think of edification as having nothing to do with the rational faculties which are employed in normal discourse.
+
+So Gadamer's effort to get rid of the classic picture of man-as-essentially-knower-of-essences is, among other things, an effort -to get rid of the distinction between fact and value, and thus to let us think of "discovering the facts" as one project of edification among others. This is why Gadamer devotes so much time to breaking down the distinctions which Kant made among cognition, morality, and aesthetic judgment.n There is no way, as far as I can see, in which to argue the issue of whether to keep the Kantian "grid" in place or set it aside. There is no "normal" philosophical discourse which provides common commensurating ground for those who see science and edification as, respectively, "rational" and "irrational," and those who see the quest for objectivity as one possibility among others to be taken account of in wirkungsgeschichtliche Bewusstsein. If there is no such common ground, all we can do is to show how the other side
+
+11 See Gadamer's polemic against "the subjectivization of the aesthetic" in Kant's Third Critique (Truth and Method, p. 87) and compare Heidegger's remarks in "Letter on Humanism" on Aristotle's distinctions among physics, logie, and ethics (Heidegger, Basic Writings, ed. Krell [New York, 1976], p. 232).
+
+looks from our own point of view. That is, all we can do is be hermeneutic about the opposition�trying to show how the odd or paradoxical or offensive things they say hang together with the rest of what they want to say, and how what they say looks when put in our own alternative idiom. This sort of hermeneutics with polemical intent is common to Heidegger's and Derrida's attempts to deconstruct the tradition.
+
+### 2. SYSTEMATIC PHILOSOPHY AND EDIFYING PHILOSOPHY
+
+The hermeneutic point of view, from which the acquisition of truth dwindles in importance, and is seen as a component of education, is possible only if we once stood at another point of view. Education has to start from acculturation. So the search for objectivity and the self-conscious awareness of the social practices in which objectivity consists are necessary first steps in becoming gebildet. We must first see ourselves as en-so i-as described by those statements which are objectively true in the judgment of our peers-before there is any point in seeing ourselves as poursoi. Similarly, we cannot be educated. without finding out a lot about the descriptions of the world offered by our culture (e.g., by learning the results of the natural sciences). Later perhaps, we may put less value on "being in touch with reality" but we can afford that only after having passed through stages of implicit, and then explicit and self-conscious, conformity 'to the norms of the discourses going on around us.
+
+I raise this banal point that education-even the education of the revolutionary or the prophet-needs to begin with acculturation and conformity merely to provide a cautionary complement to the "existentialist" claim that normal participation in normal discourse is merely one project, one way of being in the world. The caution amounts to saying that abnormal and "existential" discourse is always parasitic upon normal discourse, that the
+
+possibility of hermeneutics is always parasItIC upon the possibility (and perhaps upon the actuality) of epistemology, and that edificMion always employs materials provided by the culture of the day. To attempt abnormal discourse de novo, without being able Ito recognize our own abnormality, is madness in the most literal and terrible sense. To insist on being hermeneutic where epistemology would do ---16 Heidegger's "Die Zeit des Weltbildes" (translated as "The Age of the World-View" by Marjorie Grene in Boundary II [1976]) is the best discussion of this difficulty I have come across.
+
+17 Derrida's recent writings are meditations on how to avoid these metaphors. Like Heidegger in "Aus einem Gesprach von der Sprache zwischen einem Japaner und einem Fragenden" (in Unterwegs zur Sprache [Pfullingen, 1959]), Derrida occasionally toys with the notion of the superiority of Oriental languages and of ideographic writing.
+
+thoughts, and see sentences as connected with other sentences rather than with the world. We have to see the term "corresponds to how things are" as an automatic compliment paid to successful normal discourse rather than as a relation to be studied and aspired to throughout the rest of discourse. To attempt to ex'tend Ithis compliment to feats of abnormal discourse is like complimenting a judge on his wise decision by leaving him a fat tip: it shows a lack of tact. To think of Wittgenstein and Heidegger as having views about how things are is not to be wrong about how things are, exactly; it is just poor taste. It puts them in a position which they do not want to be in, and in which they look ridiculous.
+
+But perhaps they should look ridiculous. How, then, do we know when to adopt a tactful attitude and when to insist on someone's moral obligation Ito hold a view? This is like asking how we know when someone's refusal to adopt our norms (of, for example, social organization, sexual practices, or conversational manners) is morally outrageous and when it is something which we must (at least provisionally) respect. We do not know such things by reference to general principles. We do not, for instance, know in advance that if a given sentence is uttered, or a given act performed, we shall break off a conversation or a personal relationship, for everything depends on what leads up to it. To see edifying philosophers as conversational partners is an alternative to seeing them as holding views on suhjects of common concern. One way of thinking of wisdom as something of which the love is not the same as that of argument, and of which the achievement does not consist in finding the correct vocabulary for representing essence, is to think of it as the practical wisdom necessary to participate in a conversation. One way to see edifying philosophy as the love of wisdom is to see it as the attempt to prevent conversation from degenerating into inquiry, into a research program. Edifying philosophers can never end philosophy, but they can help prevent it from attaining the secure path of a science.
+
+### 3. EDIFICATION, RELATIVISM, AND OBJECTIVE TRUTH
+
+I want now to enlarge this suggestion that edifying philosophy aims at continuing a conversation rather than at discovering truth, by making out of it a reply to the familiar charge of "relativism" leveled at the subordination of truth to edification. I shall be claiming that the difference between conversation and inquiry parallels Sartre's distinction between ,thinking of oneself as pour-soi and as en-soi, and thus !that the cultural role of the edifying philosopher is to help us avoid the self-deception which comes from believing that we know ourselves by knowing a set of objective facts. In the following section, I shaH try to make the converse point. There I shall be saying that the wholehearted behaviorism, naturalism, and physicalism I have been commending in earlier chapters help us avoid the self-deception of thinking that we possess a deep, hidden, metaphysically significant nature which makes us "irreducibly" different from inkwells or atoms.
+
+Philosophers who have doubts about traditional epistemology are often thought to be questioning the notion that at most one of incompatible competing theories can be true. However, it is hard to find anyone who actually does question this. When it is said, for example, that coherentist or pragmatic "theories of truth" allow for the possibility that many incompatible theories would satisfy the conditions set for "the truth," the coherentist or pragmatist usually replies that this merely shows that we should have no grounds for choice among these candidates for "the truth." The moral to draw, they say, is not that they have offered inadequate analyses of "true," but that there are some terms-for example, "the true theory," "the right thing to do "-which are, intuitively and grammatically, singular, but for which no set of necessary and sufficieIllt conditions can be given which will pick out a unique referent. This fact, they say, should not be surprising. Nobody thinks that there are necessary and sufficient conditions which will pick out, for example, the unique referent of "the best thing for her to have done on finding herself in that rather embarrassing situation," though plausible conditions can be given which will shorten a list of competing incompatible candidates. Why should it be different for the referents of "what she should have done in that ghastly moral dilemma" or "the Good Life for man" or "what the world is really made of"?
+
+To see relativism lurking in every attempt to formulate conditions for truth or reality or goodness which does not attem'pt to provide uniquely individuating conditions we must adopt the "Platonic" notion of the transcendental terms which I discussed above (chapter six, section 6). We must think of the true referents of .these terms (the Truth, the Real, Goodness) as conceivably having no connection whatever with the practices of justification which obtain among us. The dilemJlla created by this Platonic hypostatization is that, on the one hand, the philosopher must attempt to find criteria for picking out these unique referents, whereas, on the other hand, the only hints he has about what these criteria could be are provided by current practice (by, e.g\_, ,the best moral and scientific thought of the day). Philosophers thus condemn themselves to a Sisyphean task, for no sooner has an account of a transcendental term been perfected than it is labeled a "naturalistic fallacy," a confusion between essence and accident.I8 I think we get a clue to the cause of this self-defeCl!ting obsession from the fact that even philosophers who take the intuitive impossibility of finding conditions for "the one right thing to do" as a reason for repudiating "objeotive values" are loath to take the imp()5iSibility of finding individuating conditiol15 for the one true theory of the world as a reason for denying "objective physical reality." Yet they shou:ld, for formally the two notions are on a par. The reasons for and against adopting a "correspondence" approach to moral
+
+18 On this point, see William Frankena's classic "The Naturalistic Fallacy," Mind 68 (19119)'
+
+truth are the same as those regarding truth about the physical w'Orld. The giveaway comes, I think, when we find that the usual excuse for invidious treatment is that we are shoved around by physical reality but n'Ot by values.19 Yet what does being shoved around have to do with objectivity, accurate representation, or correspondence? Nothing, I think, unless we confuse contact with reality (a causal, nonintentional, non-description-relative relation) with dealing with reality (describing, explaining, predicting, and modi· fying it-all 'Of which are things we d'O under descripti'Ons). The sense in which physical reality is Peircean "Secondness" -unmediated pressure-has nothing to do with the sense in which 'One am'Ong all 'Our ways of describing, 'Or of coping with, physical reality is "the one right" way. Lack of mediati'On is here being confused with accuracy 'Of mediation. The absence 'Of descripti'On is c'Onfused with a privilege attaching t'O a certain description. Only by such a confusion can the inability to 'Offer individuating conditions f'Or the 'One true description 'Of material things be c'Onfused with insensitivity to the things' obduracy.
+
+Sartre helps us explain why this c'Onfusi'On is S'O frequent and why its results are purveyed with S'O much m'Oral earnestness. The noti'On 'Of "'One right way 'Of describing and explaining reality" supposedly c'Ontained in 'Our "intuition" ab'Out the meaning 'Of "true" is, for Sartre, just the n'Otion 'Of having a way of describing and explaining imposed on us in that brute way in which stones impinge on our feet. Or, to shift to visual metaph'Ors, it is the notion 'Of having reality unveiled to us, n'Ot as in a glass darkly, but with some unimaginable sort of immediacy which would make disc'Ourse and description superflu'Ous. If we c'Ould convert kn'Owledge fr'Om s'Omething discursive, something attained by continual adjustments of ideas 'Or words, int'O something as
+
+19 What seems to be a sense of being shoved around by values, they reductively say, is just physical reality in disguise (e.g., neural arrangements or glandular secretions programmed by parental conditioning).
+
+ineluctable as being shoved about, or being transfixed by a sight which leaves us speechless, then we should no longer have the responsibility for choke among competing ideas and words, theories and vocabularies. This attempt to slough off responsibility is what Sartre describes as the attempt to turn oneself into a thing-into an etre-en-soi. In the visions of the epistemologist, this incoherent notion takes the form of seeing the attainment of truth as a matter of necessity, either the "logical" necessity of the transcendentalist or the "physical" necessity of the evolutionary "naturalizing" epistemologist. From Sartre's point of view, the urge to find such necessities is the urge to be rid of one's freedom to erect yet another alternative theory or vocabulary. Thus the edifying philosopher who points out the incoherence of the urge is treated as a "relativist," one who lacks moral seriousness, because he does not join in the common human hope that the burden of choice will pass away. Just as the moral philosopher who sees virtue as Aristotelian selfdevelopment is thought to lack concern for his fellow man, so the epistemologist who is merely behaviorist is treated as one who does not share the universal human aspiration toward objective truth.
+
+Sartre adds to our understanding of the visual imagery which has set the problems of Western philosophy by helping us see why this imagery is always trying to transcend itself. The notion of an unclouded Mirror of Nature is the notion of a mirror which would be indistinguishable from what was mirrored, and thus would not be a mirror at all. The notion of a human being whose mind is such an unclouded mirror, and who knows this, is the image, as Sartre says, of God. Such a being does not confront something alien which makes it necessary for him ,to choose an attitude toward, or a description of, it. He would have no need and no ability to choose actions or descriptions. He can be called "God" if we think of the advantages of this situation, or a "mere machine" if we think of the disadvantages. From this point of view, to look for commensuration rather than simply continued conversation-to look for a way of making further redescription unnecessary by finding a way of reducing all possible descriptions to oneis to aHempt escape from humanity. To abandon the notion that philosophy must show all possible discourse naturally converging to a consensus, just as normal inquiry does, would be to abandon the hope of being anything more than merely human. It would thus be to abandon the Platonic notions of Truth and Reality and Goodness as entities which may not be even dimly mirrored by present practices and beliefs, and to settle back into the "relativism" which assumes that our only useful notions of "true" and "reaf" and "good" are extrapolations from those practices and beliefs.
+
+Here, finally, I come around to the suggestion with which I ended the last section-that the point of edifying philosophy is to keep the conversation going rather than to find objective truth. Such truth, in the view I am advocating, is the normal result of normal discourse. Edifying philosophy is not only abnorma-l but reactive, having sense only as a protest against attempts to close off conversation by proposals for universal commensuration through the hypostatization of some privileged set of descriptions. The danger which edifying discourse tries to avert is -that some given vocabulary, some way in which people might come to think of themselves, wiU deceive them into thinking that from now on all discourse could be, or should be, normal discourse. The resulting freezing-over of culture would be, in the eyes of edifying phi'losophers, the dehumanization of human beings. The edifying philosophers are thus agreeing with Lessing's choice of the infinite striving for truth over "all of Truth."20 For the edifying philosopher the very idea of being presented with "all of Truth" is absurd, because the Platonic notion of Truth itself is absurd. It is absurd
+
+20 Kierkegaard made this choice the prototype of his own choice of "subjectivity" over "system." Cf. Concluding Unscientific Postscript, trans. David Swenson and Walter Lowrie (Princeton, 1941), p. 97.
+
+either as the notion of truth about reality which is not about reality-under"a-certain-description, or as the notion of truth about reality under some privileged description which makes all other descriptions unnecessary because it is commensurable with each of them.
+
+To see keeping a conversation going as a sufficient aim of philosophy, to see wisdom as consisting in the aJbility to sustain a conversation, is to see human beings as generators of new descriptions rather than beings one hopes to be able to describe accurately. To see the aim of philosophy as truthnamely, the truth about the terms which provide ultimate commensuration for all human inquiries and activities-is to see human beings as objects rather than subjects, as existing en-soi rather than as both pour-soi and en-soi, as both described objects and describing subjects. To think that philosophy will permit us to see the describing subject as itself one sort of described object is to think that all possible descriptions can be rendered commensurable with the aid of a single descriptive vocabulary-that of philosophy itself. For only if we had such a notion of a universal description could we identify human-beings-under-a-givendescription with man's "essence." Only with such a notion would that of a man's having an essence make sense, whether or not that essence is conceived of as the knowing of essences. So not even by saying that man is subject as well as object, pour-soi as well as en-soi, are we grasping our essence. We do not escape from Platonism by saying that "our essence is to have no essence" if we then try to use ,this insight as the basis for a constructive and systematic attempt to find out further truths about human beings.
+
+That is why "existentialism"-and, more generally, edifying philosophy-can be only reactive, why it falls into selfdeception whenever it tries to do more than send the conversation off in new directions. Such new directions may, perhaps, engender new normal discourses, new sciences, new philosophical research programs, and thus new objective truths. But they are not the point of edifying philosophy, only accidental byproducts. The point is always the sameto perform the social function which Dewey called "breaking the crust of convention," preventing man from deluding himself with the notion that he knows himself, or anything else, except under optional descriptions.
+
+### 4. EDIFICATION AND NATURALISM
+
+Iargued in chapter seven that it would be a good idea to get rid of the spirit-nature distinction, conceived as a division between human beings and other things, or between two parts of human beings, corresponding to the distinction between hermeneutics and epistemology. I want now to take up this topic again, in order to underline the point that the "existentialist" doctrines I have been discussing are compatible with the behaviorism and materialism I advocated in earlier chapters. Philosophers who would like to be simultaneously systematic and edifying have often seen them as incompatible, and have therefore suggested how our sense of ourselves as pour-soi, as capable of reflection, as choosers of alternative vocabularies, might itself be turned into a philosophical subject matter.
+
+Much recent philosophy-under the aegis of "phenomenology" or of "hermeneutics," or both-has toyed with this unfortunate idea. For example, Habermas and Apel have suggested ways in which we might create a new sort of transcendental standpoint, enabling us to do something like what Kant tried to do, but without falling into either scientism or historicism. Again, most philosophers who see Marx, Freud, or both as figures who need to be drawn into "mainstream" philosophy have tried to develop quasi-epistemological systems which center around the phenomenon which both Marx and Freud throw into relief----the change in behavior which results from change in self-description. Such philosophers see traditional epistemology as committed to "objectivizing" human beings, and �hey hope for a successor subject to epistemology which will do for "reflection" what the tradition did for "objectivizing knowledge."
+
+I have been insisting that we should not try to have a successor subject to epistemology, but rather try to free ourselves from the notion that philosophy must center around the discovery of a permanent framework for inquiry. In particular, we should free ourselves from the notion that philosophy can explain what science leaves unexplained. From my point of view, the attempt to develop a "universal pragmatics" or a ",transcendental hermeneutics" is very suspicious. For it seems to promise just what Sartre tells us we are not going to have-a way of -seeing freedom as nature (or, less cryptically, a way of seeing our creation of, and choice between, vocabularies in the same "normal" way as we see ourselves within one of those vocabularies). Such attempts start out by viewing the search for objective knowledge through normal discourse in the way I have suggested it should be viewed-as one element in edification. But they then often go on to more ambitious claims. 'rhe following passage from Habermas is an example:
+
+... the functions knowledge has in universal contexts of practical life can only be successfully analyzed in the framework of a reformulated transcendental philosophy. This, incidentally, does not entail an empiricist critique of the claim to absolute truth. As long as cognitive interests can be identified and analyzed through reflection upon the logic of inquiry in the natural and cultural sciences, they can Ilegitimately claim a "transcendental" status. They assume an "empirical" status as soon as they are analyzed as the result of natural history-analyzed, as it were, in terms of cultural anthropology.21
+
+21 Jiirgen Habermas, "Nachwort" to the second edition of Erkenntnis und Interesse (Frankfurt: Surkamp, 1973), p. 410; translated as "A Postscript to Knowledge and Human Interests," by Christian Lenhardt in Philosophy of the Social Sciences 3 (1973), 181. For a criticism of the line Habermas takes here-a criticism paralleling my own-see
+
+I want to claim, on the contrary, that there is no point in trying to find a general synoptic way of "analyzing" the "functions knowledge has in universal contexts of practical life," and ,that cultural anthropology (in a ,large sense which includes intellectual history) is all we need.
+
+Habermas and other authors who are impelled by the same motives see the suggestion that empirical inquiry suffices as incorporating an "objectivistic illusion." They tend to see Deweyan pragmatism, and the "scientific realism" of Sellars and Feyerabend, as the products of an inadequate epistemology. In my view, the great virtue of Dewey, Sellars, and Feyerabend is that they point the way toward, and partially exemplify, a nonepistemological sort of philosophy, and thus one which gives up any hope of the "transcendental." Habermas says that for a theory to "ground itself transcendentally" is for it to
+
+become familiar with the range of inevitable subjective conditions which both make the theory possible and place limits on it, for this kind of transcendental corroboration tends always to criticize an overly self-confident self-understanding of itself.22
+
+Specifically, this overconfidence consists in thinking that
+
+there can be such a thing as truthfulness to reality in the sense postulated by philosophical realism. Correspondence-theories of truth tend to hypostatize facts as entities in the world. It is the intention and inner logic of an epistemology reflecting upon the conditions of possible experience as such to uncover the objectivistic illusions of such a view. Every form of transcendental philosophy olaims to identify the conditions of the objectivity of ex-
+
+Michael Theunissen, Gesellschaft und Geschichte: Zur Kritik der Kritischen Theorie (Berlin, 1969), pp. 2011. (l owe the reference to Theunissen to Raymond Geuss.)
+
+22 Habermas, "Nachwort," p. 41 1; English translation, p. 182.
+
+perience by analyzing the categorical structure of objects of possible experience.23
+
+But Dewey, Wittgenstein, Sellars, Kuhn, and the other heroes of this book all have their own ways of debunking "truthfulness to reality in the sense postulated by philosophical realism," and none of them think that this is to be done by "analyzing the categorical structure of objects of possible experience."
+
+The notion tha:t we can get around ovel'Confident philosophical realism and positivistic reductions only by adopting something like Kant's transcendental standpoint seems to me the basic mistake in programs like that of Habermas (as well as in Husserl's notion of a "phenomenology of the life-world" which will describe people in some way "prior" to that offered by science). What is required to accomplish these laudable purposes is not Kant's "epistemological" distinction between the transcendental and the empirical standpoints, but rather his "existentialist" distinction between people as empirical selves and as moral agents.24 Normal scientific discourse can always be seen in two different ways-as the successful search for objective truth, or as one discourse among others, one among many projects we engage in. The former point of view falls in with the normal practice of normal science. There questions of moral choice or of edification do not arise, since they have already been preempted by the tacit and "self-confident" commitment to the search for objective truth on the subject in question. The latter point of view is one from which we
+
+23 Ibid., pp. 408-409; English translation, p. 180.
+
+2� Wilfrid Sellars uses this latter Kantian distinction to good effect in his insistence that personhood is a matter of "being one of us," of falling within the scope of practical imperatives of the form "Would that we all ... ," rather than a feature of certain organisms to be isolated by empirical means. I have invoked this claim several times in this book, particularly in chapter four, section 4. For Sellars's own use of it, see Science and Metaphysics (London and New York, 1968). chap. 7, and the essay "Science and Ethics" in his Philosophical Perspectives (Springfield, Ill., 1967).
+
+ask such questions as "What is the point?" "What moral is to be drawn from our knowledge of how we, and the rest of nature, work?" or "What are we to do with ourselves now that we know the laws of our own behavior?"
+
+The primal error of systematic philosophy has always been the notion that such questions are to be answered by some new ("metaphysical" or "transcendental") descriptive or explanatory discourse (dealing with, e.g., "man," "spirit," or "language"). This attempt to answer questions of justification by discovering new objective truths, to answer the moral agent's request for justifications with descriptions of a privileged domain, is the philosopher's special form of bad faith-his special way of substituting pseudo-cognition for moral choice. Kant's greatness was to have seen through the "metaphysical" form of this attempt, and to have destroyed the traditional conception of reason to make room for moral faith. Kant gave us a way of seeing scientific truth as something which could never supply an answer to our demand for a point, a justification, a way of claiming that our moral decision about what to do is based on knowledge of the nature of the world. Unfortunately, Kant put his diagnosis of science in terms of the discovery of "inevitable subjective conditions," to be revealed by reflection upon scientific inquiry. Equally unfortunately, he thought that there really was a decision procedure for moral dilemmas (though not based on knowledge, since our grasp of the categorical imperative is not a cognition).25 So he created new forms of philosophical bad faith-substituting ",transcendental" attempts to find one's true self for "metaphysical" attempts to find a world elsewhere. By tacitly identifying the moral agent with the constituting transcendental self, he left the road 25 See Kant's distinction between knowledge and necessary belief at K.d:r.V., A824-B852ff., and especially his use of Unternehmung as a synonym for the latter. This section of the First Critique seems to me the one which gives most sense to the famous passage about denying
+
+reason to make room for faith at Bxxx. At many other points, however, Kant inconsistently speaks of practical reason as supplying an enlarge. .
+
+ment of our knowledge.
+
+open to ever more complicated 'post-Kantian attempts to reduce freedom to nature, choice to knowledge, the pour-soi to the en-soi. This is the road I have been trying to block by recasting ahistorical and permanent distinctions between nature and spirit, "objectivizing science" and reflection, epistemology and hermeneutics, in terms of historical and temporary distinctions between the familiar and the unfamiliar, the normal and the abnormal. For -this way of treating these distinctions lets us see them not as dividing two areas of inquiry but as the distinction between inquiry and something which is not inquiry, but is rather the inchoate questioning out of which inquiries-new normal discourses-may (or may not) emerge.
+
+To put this claim in another way, which may help bring out its connections with naturalism, I am saying that the positivists were absolutely right in thinking it imperative to extirpate metaphysics, when "metaphysics" means the attempt to give knowledge of what science cannot know. For this is the attempt to find a discourse which combines the advantages of normality with those of abnormality-the intersubjective security of objective truth combined with the edifying character of an unjustifiable but unconditional moral claim. The urge to set philosophy on the secure path of a science is the urge to combine Plato's project of moral choice as ticking off the objective truths about a special sort of object (the Idea of the Good) with the sort of intersubjective and democratic agreement about objects found in normal science.26 Philosophy which was utterly unedifying, utterly irrelevant to such moral choices as whether or not to believe in God would count not as philosophy, but only as some special sort of science. So as soon as a program to put philosophy on the secure path of science succeeds, i-t simply
+
+26 The positivists themselves quickly succumbed to this urge. Even while insisting that moral questions were noncognitive they thought to give quasi-scientific status to their moralistic attacks on traditional philosophy-thus making themselves subject to self-referential criticisms concerning their "emotive" use of "noncognitive."
+
+converts philosophy into a boring academic specialty. Systematic philosophy exists by perpetually straddling the gap between description and justification, cognition and choice, getting the facts right and telling us how to live.
+
+Once -this point is seen, we can see more clearly why epistemology emerged as the essence of systematic philosophy. For epistemology is the attempt to see the patterns of justification within normal discourse as more than just such patterns. It is Ithe attempt to see them as hooked on to something which demands moral commitment-Reality, Truth, Objectivity, Reason. To be behaviorist in epistemology, on the contrary, is to look at the normal scientific discourse of our day bifocally, both as patterns adopted for various historical reasons and as the achievement of objective truth, where "objective truth" is no more and no less than the best idea we currently have about how to explain what is going on. From the point of view of epistemological behaviorism, the only truth in Habermas's claim that scientific inquiry is made possible, and limited, by "inevitable subjective conditions" is thalt such inquiry is made possible by the adoption of practices of justification, and that such practices have possible alternatives. But these "subjective conditions" are in no sense "inevitable" ones discoverable by "reflection upon the logic of inquiry." They are just the facts about what a given society, or profession, or other group, takes to be good ground for assertions of a certain sort. Such disciplinary matrices are studied by the usual empirical-cum-hermeneutic methods of "cultural anthropology." From 'the point of view of the group in question these subjective conditions are a combination of commonsensical practical imperatives (e.g., tribal taboos, Mill's Methods) with the standard current theory about the subject. From the point of view of rthe historian of ideas or the anthropologist they are the empirical facts about the beliefs, desires, and practices of a certain group of human beings. These are incompatible points of view, in the sense that we cannot be at both viewpoints simultaneously. But there is
+
+no reason and no need to subsume the two in a higher synthesis. The group in question may itself shift from the one point of view to the other (thus "objectivizing" their past selves through a process of "reflection" and making new sentences true of their present selves). But this is not a mysterious process which demands a new understanding of human knowledge. It is the commonplace fact that people may develop doubts about what they are doing, and thereupon begin to discourse in ways incommensurable with those they used previously.
+
+This goes also for the most spectacular and disturbing new discourses. When such edifying philosophers as Marx, Freud, and Sartre offer new explanations of our usual patterns of justifying our actions and assertions, and when these explanations are taken up and integrated into our lives, we have striking examples of the phenomenon of reflection's changing vocabulary and behavior. But as I argued in chapter seven, this phenomenon does not require any new understanding of theory-construction or theoryconfirmation. To say that we have changed ourselves by internalizing a new self-description (using terms like "bourgeois intelleotual" or "self-destruotive" or "self-deceiving") is true enough. But this is no more startling than the fact that men changed the data of botany by hybridization, which was in tum made possible by botanical theory, or that they changed their own lives by inventing bombs and vaccines. Meditation on the possibility of such changes, like reading science fiction, does help us overcome the self-confidence of "philosophical realism." But such meditation does not need to be supplemented by a transcendental account of the nature of reflection. All 27 Cf. Michael Oakeshott, "The Voice of Poetry in the Conversation of Mankind," in his Rationalism and Politics (New York, 1975).
+
+28 Wilfrid Sellars, Science, Perception and Reality (London and New York, 1963), p. 169.
+
+justification, and from there to the actual changes in those standards which make up intellectual history. This brings us to appreciate Sellars's own description of his mythical hero Jones, the man who invented the Mirror of Nature and thereby made modern philosophy possible:
+
+Does the reader not recognize Jones as Man himself in the middle of his journey from the grunts and groans of the cave to the subtle and polydimensional discourse of the drawing room, the laboratory, and the study, the language of Henry and William James, of Einstein and of the philosophers who, in their efforts to break out of discourse to an apx� beyond discourse, have provided the most curious dimension of all? (p. 196)
+
+In this book I have offered a sort of prolegomenon to a history of epistemology-centered philosophy as an episode in the history of European culture. Such philosophy goes back to the Greeks, and goes sideways into all sorts of nonphilosophical disciplines which have, at one time or another, proposed themselves as substitutes for epistemology, and thus for philosophy. So the episode in question cannot simply be identified with "modern philosophy," in the sense of the standard textbook sequence of great philosophers from Descartes to Russell and Husserl. But that sequence is, nevertheless, where the search for foundations for knowledge is most explicit. So most of my attempts to deconstruct the image of the Mirror of Nature have concerned these philosophers. I have tried to show how their urge to break out into an apx� beyond discourse is rooted in the urge to see social practices of justification as more than just such practices. I have, however, focused mainly on the expressions of this urge in the recent literature of analytical philosophy. The result is thus no more than a prolegomenon. A proper historical treatment would require both learning and skills which I do not possess. But I would hope that the prolegomenon has been sufficient to let one see contemporary issues in philosophy as events in a
+
+certain stage of a conversation-a conversation which once knew nothing of these issues and may know nothing of them again.
+
+The fact that we can continue the conversation Plato began without discussing the topics Plato wanted discussed, illustrates the difference between treating philosophy as a voice in a conversation and treating it as a subject, a Fach, a field of professional inquiry. The conversation Plato began has been enlarged by more voices than Plato would have dreamed possible, and thus by topics he knew nothing of. A "subject"-astrology, physics, classical philosophy, furniture design-may undergo revolutions, but it gets its selfimage from its present state, and its history is necessarily written "Whiggishly" as an account of its gradual maturation. This is the most frequent way of writing the history of philosophy, and I cannot claim to have avoided such Whiggery entirely in sketching the sort of history which needs to be written. But I hope that I have shown how we can see the issues with which philosophers are presently concerned, and with which they Whiggishly see philosophy as having always (perhaps unwittingly) been concerned, as results of historical accident, as turns the conversation has taken.29 It has taken this turn for a long time, but it might
+
+29 Two recent writers-Michel Foucault and Harold Bloom-make this sense of the brute factuality of historical origins central to their work. Cf. Bloom, A Map of Misreading (New York, 1975), p. 33: "All continuities possess the paradox of being absolutely arbitrary in their origins and absolutely inescapable in their teleologies. We know this so vividly from what we all of us oxymoronically call our love lives that its literary counterparts need little demonstration." Foucault says that his way of looking at the history of ideas "permits the introduction, into the very roots of thought, of notions of chance, discontinuity and materiality." ("The Discourse on Language," included in the Archae· ology of Knowledge [New York, 1972], p. 231) It is hardest of all to see brute contingency in the history of philosophy, if only because since Hegel the historiography of philosophy has been "progressive," or (as in Heidegger's inversion of Hegel's account of progress) "retrogressive," but never without a sense of inevitability. If we could once see the de· sire for a permanent, neutral, ahistorical, commensurating vocabulary as
+
+turn in another direction without human beings thereby losing their reason, or losing touch with "the real problems."
+
+The conversational interest of philosophy as a subject, or of some individual philosopher of genius, has varied and will continue to vary in unpredictable ways depending upon contingencies. These contingencies wiH range from what happens in physics to what happens in politics. The lines between disciplines will blur and shift, and new discipJines will arise, in the ways illustrated by Galileo's successful attempt to create "purely scientific questions" in the seventeenth century. The notions of "philosophical significance" and of "purely philosophical question," as they are currently used, gained sense only around the time of Kant. Our post-Kantian sense that epistemology or some successor subject is at the center of philosophy (and that moral philosophy, aesthetics, and social philosophy, for example, are somehow derivative) is a reflection of the fact that the professional philosopher's self-image depends upon his professional preoccupation with the image of the Mirror of Nature. Without the Kantian assumption that the philosopher can decide quaestiones juris concerning the claims of the rest of culture, this self-image col,lapses. That assumption depends on the notion that there is such a thing as understanding the essence of knowledge-doing what Sellars tells us we cannot do.
+
+To drop the notion of the philosopher as knowing something about knowing which nobody else knows so well would be to drop the notion that his voice always has an overriding claim on the attention of the other participants in the conversation. It would also be to drop the notion that there is something called "philosophical method" or "philosophical technique" or "the philosophical point of view"
+
+itself a historical phenomenon, then perhaps we could write the history of philosophy less dialectically and less sentimentally than has been possible hitherto.
+
+which enables the professional philosopher, ex officio, to have interesting views about, say, the respectability of psychoanalysis, the legitimacy of certain dubious laws, the resolution of moral dilemmas, the "soundness" of schools of historiography or literary criticism, and the like. Philosophers often do have interesting views upon such questions, and their professional training as philosophers is often a necessary condition for their having the views they do. But this is not to say that philosophers have a special kind of knowledge about knowledge (or anything else) from which they draw relevant corollaries. The useful kibitzing they can provide on ,the various topics I just mentioned is made possible by their familiarity with the historical background of arguments on similar topics, and, most importantly, by the fact that arguments on such topics are punctuated by stale philosophical cliches which the other participants have stumbled across in their reading, but about which professional philosophers know the pros and cons by heart.
+
+The neo-Kantian image of phillosophy as a profession, then, is involved with the image of the "mind" or "language" as mirroring nature. So it might seem that epistemological behaviorism and the consequent rejection of mirror-imagery entail the claim that there can or should be no such profession. But this does not follow. Professions can survive the paradigms which gave them birth. In any case, the need for teachers who have read the great dead philosophers is quite enough to insure that there will be philosophy departments as ,long as there are universities. The actual result of a widespread loss of faith in mirror-imagery would be merely an "enca'psulation" of the problems created by this imagery within a historical period. I do not know whether we are in fact at the end of an era. This will depend, I suspect, on whether Dewey, Wittgenstein, and Heidegger are taken to heart. It may be that mirror-imagery and "mainstream," systematic philosophy will be revitalized once again by some revolutionary of genius. Or it may be that the image of the philosopher which Kant offered is
+
+about to go the way of the medieval image of the priest. If that happens, even the philosophers themselves will no longer take seriously the notion of philosophy as providing "foundations" or "justifications" for the rest of culture, or as adjudicating quaestiones juris about the proper domains
+
+of other disciplines. Whichever happens, however, there is no danger of philosophy's "coming to an end." Religion did not come to an end in the Enlightenment, nor painting in Impressionism. Even if the period from Plato to Nietzsche is encapsulated and "distanced" in the way Heidegger suggests, and even if twentieth-century philosophy comes to seem a stage of awkward transitional backing and filling (as sixteenth-century philosophy now seems to us), there will be something caUed "philosophy" on the other side of the transition. For even if problems about representation look as obsolete to our descendants as problems about hylomorphism look to us, people will still read Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant, Hegel, Wittgenstein, and Heidegger. What roles these men will play in our descendants' conversation, no one knows. Whether the distinction between systematic and edifying philosophy will carry over, no one knows either. Perhaps philosophy will become purely edifying, so that one's selfidentification as a philosopher will be purely in terms of the books one reads and discusses, rather than in terms of the problems one wishes to solve. Perhaps a new form of systematic philosophy will be found which has nothing whatever to do with epistemology but which nevertheless makes normal philosophical inqui'ry possible. These Slpeculations are idle, and nothing I have been saying makes one more plausible than another. The only point on which I would insist is that philosophers' moral concern should be with continuing the conversation of the West, rather than with insisting upon a place for the traditional problems of modern philosophy within that conversation.
\ No newline at end of file
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+'. . . brilliant and very influential. . . stands up as an impressive and enduring work of philosophy, outstanding in its sweep, clarity and penetration.' Colin McGinn, *Times Higher Education Supplement*
+
+'(when) these lectures were first published eight years ago (in a collection), they stood analytic philosophy on its ear. Everybody was either furious, or exhilarated, or thoroughly perplexed. No one was indifferent. This welcome republication in a separate volume (with a helpful new preface, but no substantive changes) provides a chance to look back at a modern classic, and to say something about why it was found so shocking and liberating.' Richard Rorty, *London Review of Books*
+
+'Naming and Necessity' has had a great and increasing influence. It redirected philosophical attention to neglected questions of natural and metaphysical necessity and to the connections between these and theories of naming, and of identity. This seminal work, to which today's thriving essentialist metaphysics largely owes its impetus, is here reissued in a newly corrected form with a new preface by the author. If there is such a thing as essential reading in metaphysics, or in philosophy of language, this is it.
+
+Also by Saul Kripke
+
+Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language
+
+Basil Blackwell
+
+ISBN 0 631 128018
+
+
+
+NAMING AND NECESSITY · KRIPKE
+
+# Naming and Necessity
+
+
+
+SAUL KRIPKE
+
+# NAMING AND NECESSITY
+
+Saul A. Kripke
+
+![]()Basil Blackwell
+
+A P
+PO BU
+VAD
+
+PROPERTY OF THE
+PRAEST BRINCK OF THE
+CENTRAL UNIVERSITY
+UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
+
+1616
+
+Copyright © Saul A. Kripke 1972, 1980
+
+First published in
+G. Harman and D. Davidson (editors). *Semantics of Natural Language*
+(D. Reidel Publishing Co.,
+Dordrecht, Netherlands and Boston, USA, 1972)
+
+Revised and enlarged edition first published 1980
+Paperback edition 1981
+Reprinted 1984, 1986, 1988, 1990
+
+Basil Blackwell Ltd
+108 Cowley Road, Oxford OX4 1JF, UK
+
+All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
+reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
+in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
+recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of
+Basil Blackwell Limited.
+
+Except in the United States of America, this book is sold
+subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or
+otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated
+without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or
+cover other than that in which it is published and without a
+similar condition including this condition being imposed on the
+subsequent purchaser.
+
+*British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data*
+A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
+the British Library.
+
+ISBN 0-631-10151-9
+ISBN 0-631-12801-8 Pbk
+
+Printed in Great Britain by Billing & Sons Ltd, Worcester
+
+*for*
+MARGARET
+
+| Preface | | 1 |
+|-------------|--|-----|
+| Lecture I | | 22 |
+| Lecture II | | 71 |
+| Lecture III | | 106 |
+| Addenda | | 156 |
+
+# CONTENTS
+
+## **PREFACE**
+
+OriginallyIhadintendedtoreviseoraugment*NamingandNecessity*extensively.Considerabletimehaselapsed,andIhavecometorealizethatanyextensiverevisionorexpansionwoulddelaytheappearanceofaseparate,lessexpensiveeditionof*NamingandNecessity*indefmitely.Further,asfarasrevisionisconcerned,thereissomethingtobesaidforpreservingaworkinitsoriginalform,wartsandall.Ihavethusfollowedaveryconservativepolicyofcorrectionforthepresentprinting.Obviousprintingerrorshavebeencorrected,andslightchangeshavebeenmadetomakevarioussentencesorformulationsclearer.lAgoodindicationofmyconservativepolicyisinfO'ltnote56.Inthatfootnotetheletter-nomenclaturefortheyariousobjectsinvolved,inexplicablygarbledintheoriginalprinting,hasbeencorrected;butImakenomentionofthefactthattheargumentofthefootnotenowseemstometohaveproblemswhichdidnotknowwhenIwroteitandwhichatleastrequirefurtherdiscussion.2
+
+Thesameconsiderationsleadmetogiveupanyseriousattempttousethisprefacetoamplifymypreviousargument,toflUinlacunae,ortodealwithseriouscriticismsordifficulties.
+
+1IthankMargaretGilbertforhervaluablehelpinthisediting.
+
+IAlthoughIhavenothadtimeforcarefulstudyofNathanSalmon'scriticism*Uoumalo.fPhilosophy*(1979),pp.703-25)ofthisfootnote,itseemslikelythathiscriticismoftheargument,thoughrelatedtomine,isnotthesameandreconstructsitinawaythatdoesnotcorrespondtomyexactintentandmakestheargumentwmecessarilyweak.Also,thinkhadnoambitioninthisshortfootnoterigorouslytoprove'essentialismfromthetheoryofreference'alone.Thefootnotewassocompressedthatreadersmighteasilyreconstructthedetailsindifferingways.
+
+Obviously,asidefromsuchamplificationinthepreface,therearepassagesinthemonographotherthanjustfootnote56thatImightmodify.Idostandbytheprincipalthesesofmywork,andthepressureformuchrevisionisnotintense.will,however,usethisprefacebrieflytodescribethebackgroundandgenesisoftheleadingideasofthismonograph,andtodiscussafewmisapprehensionsthatseemtobecommon.amafraidthatImustdisappointthosereaderswhoalreadyfoundtheexpositioninthemonographsatisfactoryonthesepoints.RelativelylittlewillbeaddedtodealwithwhatIseeasthemoresubstantiveproblemsofthemonograph.Theissuesexplainedfurther-mostlyrelatedtomodalityandrigiddesignation-mayalreadyhavebeencleartomostreaders.Ontheotherhand,thosereaderswhofeltsympathetictosomeoftheobjectionsmentionedheremaywellbejustifiedinwishingforamorethoroughtreatment.fearthatinmostcases,thetreatmentofdisputedpointsallowableinthespaceofaprefaceissimplytooshorttoconvincemanyreaderswhowereinclinedtobelievetheobjections.Tosomeextent,brieftreatmentsofobjectionsmaydomoreharmthangood,sincethereaderwhowasconfusedmaythinkthatif*this*isallthatcanbereplied,theoriginalobjectionmusthavebeencogent.Nevertheless,IthoughtIshouldregisterbrieflywhyIthinkcertainreactionsaremisconceived.IhopethatinsomecasesIwillbeabletowriteatgreaterlength.HereImustpleadthatathoroughdiscussionisimpossiblewithintheboundsofthispreface.·
+
+Readerswhoarenewtothisbookcanusetheprefaceforfurtherclarificationofcertainpoints,andforabriefhistoryoftheirgenesis.Iwouldrecommendthatsuchreadersnotread
+
+theprefacefirst,butthattheyreturntoitforclarification(ifnecessary)aftertheyhavereadthemaintext.Theprefaceis*not*writteninsuchawayastobecompletelyself-contained.
+
+Theideasin*NamingandNecessity*evolvedintheearlysixties-mostoftheviewswereformulatedinabout1963-64.Ofcoursetheworkgrewoutofearlierformalworkinthemodeltheoryofmodallogic.AlreadywhenIworkedonmodallogicithadseemedtome,asWigginshassaid,thattheLeibnitzianprincipleoftheindiscernibilityofidenticals4wasasselfevidentasthelawofcontradiction.Thatsomephilosopherscouldhavedoubteditalwaysseemedtomebizarre.Themodeltheoreticstudyofmodallogic('possibleworlds'semantics)couldonlyconfirmthisconviction-theallegedcounterexamplesinvolvingmodalpropertiesalwaysturnedouttoturnonsomeconfusion:thecontextsinvolveddidnotexpressgenuineproperties,scopeswereconfused,orcoincidencebetweenindividualconceptswasconfusedwithidentitybetweenindividuals.Themodeltheorymadethiscompletelyclear,thoughitshouldhavebeenclearenoughontheintuitivelevel.Waivingfussyconsiderationsderivingfromthefactthat*x*neednothavenecessaryexistence,itwasclearfrom*(x)*0*(x*=*x)*andLeibnitz'slawthatidentityisan'internal'relation:*(x)(y)(x*=*y*::::>0*Xy).*(Whatpairs*(x,y)*couldbecounterexamples?Notpairsofdistinctobjects,forthentheantecedentisfalse;noranypairofanobjectanditselr:forthentheconsequentistrue.)If*'a'*and'b'arerigiditfollowsthat*'a*=*b',*iftrue,isanecessarytruth.If*'a'*and*'b'*are*not*rigiddesignators,nosuchconclusionfollowsaboutthe*statement'a*=*b'*(thoughthe*objects*designatedby*'a'*and*'b'*willbenecessarilyidentical).
+
+Inspeakingofrigiddesignators,wearespeakingofa
+
+Thussomepublishedcriticismsarenotdiscussedherebecausetheyare10frivolousthatIhopetheyarenotgivenwidecredence;othenbecausetheyaretoosubstantive;andyetother.simplyforlackofspace.Ileaveittothereadertodecidewhichcategorysubsumesanypanicularexample.
+
+ITheprinciplethatidenticalshaveallprop('rtiesincommon;schematically,(x)(y)(xyFx.:::>.Fy).Nottobeconfusedwiththeidentityofindiscernibles.
+
+thatcertainlyexistsinaformalmodallanguage.LogIcally,weasyetarecommittedtonothesisaboutthestatusofwhatweordinarilycall'names'innaturallanguage.Wemustdistinguishthreedistincttheses:(i)thatidenticalobjectsarenecessarilyidentical;(ii)thattrueidentitystatementsbetweenrigiddesignatorsarenecessary;(iii)thatidentitystatementsbetweenwhatwecall'names'inactuallanguagearenecessary.(i)and(ii)are(self-evident)thesesofphilosophicallogicindependentofnaturallanguage.Theyarerelatedtoeachother,though(i)isaboutobjectsand(ii)ismetalinguistic.((ii)rougWy'follows'from(i),usingsubstitutionofrigiddesignatorsforuniversalquantifiers-Isay'roughly'becausedelicatedistinctionsaboutrigidityarerelevant,seepage21n.21;theanalogousdeductionfornonrigiddesignatorsisfallacious.)From(ii)allthatstrictlyfollowsaboutso-called'names'innaturallanguageisthat*either*theyarenotrigid*or*trueidentitiesbetweenthemarenecessary.Ourintuitiveideaofnamingsuggeststhatnamesarerigid,butIsupposethatatonetimevaguelysupposed,influencedbyprevailingpresuppositions,thatsinceobviouslytherearecontingentidentitiesbetweenordinaryso-callednames,suchordinarynamesmustnotberigid.However,itwasalreadyclearfrom(i)-withoutanyinvestigationofnaturallanguage-thatthesupposition,commontophilosophicaldiscussionsofmaterialismatthattime,that*objects*canbe'contingentlyidentical',isfalse.Identitywouldbeaninternalrelationevenifnaturallanguagehadcontainednorigiddesignators.Theconfusedreferencetoobjectsas'contingentlyidentical'servedillegitimatelyasaphilosophicalcrutch:Itenabledphilosophers*simultaneously*tothinkofcertaindesignatorsasiftheywerenon-rigid(andhencefoundin'contingentidentities')*and*asiftheywererigid,theconflictbeingmuddledoverbythinkingofthecorresponding*objects*as'contingentlyidentical'.EvenbeforeIclearlyrealizedthetruesituationregardingpropernames,Ifeltlittlesympathyforthedarkdoctrineofarelationof'contingentidentity'.Uniquely
+
+identifyingpropertiescancoincidecontingently,butobjectscannotbe'contingentlyidentical'.
+
+EventuallyIcametorealize-thisrealizationinauguratedtheaforementionedworkof1963-64-thatthereceivedpresuppositionsagainstthenecessityofidentitiesbetweenordinarynameswereincorrect,thatthenaturalintuitionthatthenamesofordinarylanguagearerigiddesignatorscaninfactbeupheld.Partoftheefforttomakethisclearinvolvedthedistinctionbetweenusingadescriptiontogiveameaningandusingittofixareference.ThusatthisstageIrejectedtheconventionaldescriptiontheoryasanaccountofmeaning,thoughitsvalidityasanaccountofthefixingofareferencewasleftuntouched.ProbablyIletmyselfbecontentwiththispositionmomentarily,butthenaturalnextstepwastoquestionwhetherthedescriptiontheorygaveacorrectaccountevenofhowthereferencesofnameswerefixed.Theresultappearsinthesecondoftheselectures.Itwasashortsteptorealizethatsimilarremarksappliedtotermsfornaturalkinds.Theotherleadingideascamenaturallyasthings'fitintoplace'.
+
+Letmenotpayinadequatetributetothepowerofthethenprevailingcomplexofideas,emanatingfromFregeandfromRussell,thatIthenabandoned.Thenaturalanduniformmannerbywhichtheseideasappeartoaccountforavarietyofphilosophicalproblems-theirmarvelousinternalcoherenceisadequateexplanationfortheirlongappeal.Imyselfhavebeenshockedattheprevalenceofsomeideasinthephilosophicalcommunitywhichtomehavelittleornoappeal,butIhaveneverplacedthedescriptiontheoryofpropernamesinsuchacategory.AlthoughI,withothers,alwaysfeltsomestraininthisedifice,ittooksometimetogetfreeofitsseductivepower.
+
+6Italsobecameclearthatasymbolofanyactualorhypotheticallanguagethatis*not*arigiddesignatorissounlikethenamesofordinarylanguagethatitoughtnottobecalleda'name'.Inparticular,thiswouldapplytoahypotheticalabbreviationofnonrigiddefinitedescription.
+
+Althoughtheideaisnowafamiliarone,Iwillgiveabriefrestatementoftheideaofrigiddesignation,andtheintuitionaboutnamesthatunderliesit.Consider:
+
+(I)Aristotlewasfondofdogs.
+
+Aproperunderstandingofthisstatementinvolvesanunderstandingbothofthe(extensionallycorrect)conditionsunderwhichitisinfacttrue,*and*oftheconditionsunderwhichacourseofhistory,resemblingtheactualcourseInsomerespectsbutnotinothers,wouldbecorrectly(partially)describedby(I).Presumablyeveryoneagreesthatthereisacertainman-thephilosopherwecall'Aristotle'-suchthat,asamatteroffact,(I)istrueifandonlyif*he*wasfondofdogs.sThethesisofrigiddesignationissimply-subtlepointsaside1-thatthesameparadigmappliestothetruthconditionsof(I)asitdescribes*counterfactual*situations.Thatis,(I)trulydescribesacounterfactualsituationifandonlyifthesameaforementionedmanwouldhavebeenfondofdogs,hadthatsituationobtained.(Forgetthecounterfactualsituationswherehewouldnothaveexisted.)Bycontrast,Russellthinksthat(I)shouldbeanalyzedassomethinglike:8
+
+**aL**
+
+(2)Thelastgreatphilosopherofantiquitywasfondofdogs,
+
+andthatthisinturnshouldbeanalyzedas
+
+(3)Exactlyonepersonwaslastamongthegreatphilosophersofantiquity,andanysuchpersonwasfondofdogs.
+
+Theactualtruthconditionsof(3)agreeextensionallywiththosementionedabovefor(I),assumingthatAristotlewasthelastgreatphilosopherofantiquity.Butcounterfactually,Russell'sconditionscanvarywildlyfromthosesupposedbytherigiditythesis.WithrespecttoacounterfactualsituationwheresomeoneotherthanAristotlewouldhavebeenthelastgreatphilosopherofantiquity,Russell'scriterionwouldmake*thatotherperson's*fondnessfordogstherelevantissueforthecorrectnessOf(I)!
+
+SofarIhavesaidnothingthatdidnotthinkhadmadeclearbefore.Butitshouldbeapparentfromtheexplanationthatsomecriticismsaremisunderstandings.Somehavethoughtthatthesimplefactthattwopeoplecanhavethesamenamerefutestherigiditythesis.Itistruethatinthepresentmonographspokeforsimplicityasifeachnamehadauniquebearer.Idonotinfactthink,asfarastheissueofrigidityisconcerned,thatthisisamajoroversimplification.believethatmanyimportanttheoreticalissuesaboutthesemanticsofnames(probablynotall)wouldbelargelyunaffectedhadourconventionsrequiredthatnotwothingsshallbegiventhesamename.Inparticular,asshallexplain,theissueofrigiditywouldbeunaffected.
+
+Forlanguageaswehaveit,wecouldspeakofnamesashavingauniquereferentifweadoptedaterminology,anal-
+
+Thatiseveryone,evenRussell,wouldagreethatthisisatruematerialequivalence,giventhattherereallywasanAristotle.
+
+Inparticular,weignorethequestionwhattosayaboutcounterfactualsituationsinwhichAristotlewouldnothaveexisted.Seepage21note21.
+
+Taking'thelastgreatphilosopherofantiquity'tobethedescriptionRussellassociateswith'Aristotle'.LetadmirersofEpicureanism,Stoicism,etc.,notbeoffended;ifanyreaderthinksthatsomeonelaterthanAristotleisthetruereferentofthedescriptiongiven,letthatreadersubstituteanotherone.
+
+IassumeRussellis.rightinthatdefmitedescriptionscanatleast*sometimes*beinterpretednonrigidly.AsImentiononpage59footnote22,somephilosophersthinkthat,inaddition,thereisarigidsenseofdefmitedescriptions.AsIsayinthelatterfootnote,Iamnotconvincedofthis,butifthesephilosophersareright,myprincipalthesisisnotaffected.Itcontrastsnameswithnonrigiddescriptions,asadvocatedbyRussell.SeeSection2,pp.ofmypaper,'Speaker'sReferenceandSemanticReference',*MidwestStudies*i"*Philosophy,*II(1977),pp.255-76;alsoin*ContemporaryPerspectivesinthePhilosophyoflAnguage,*editedbyPeterA.French,TheodoreE.Uehling,
+
+Jr.,andHowardK.Wettstein,UniversityofMinnesotaPress,Minneapolis(1979),pp.6-27)forabriefdiscussionoftherelationoftheideaofrigiddefmitedescriptionstoDonnellan's'referential'descriptions.alsodiscusstherelationofbothofthesetothenotionofscope.
+
+ogoustothepracticeofcallinghomonymsdistinct'words',accordingtowhichusesofphoneticallythesamesOWldstonam:distinctobjectscountasdistinctnames.8Thisterminologycert.aml!doesnotagreewiththemostcommonusage,10butthmkItmayhaveagreatdealtorecommenditfortheoreticalpurposes.
+
+Butthemainpointisthat,howeveraphilosophicaltheorymaytreatsuch'homonymous'llnames,theissueisirrelevanttothequestionofrigidity.Asaspeakerofmyidiolect,callonly'Aristotle',thoughamawarethatotherpeople,mcludmgthemancall'Onassis'orperhaps'Aristotle'Onassis',hadthesamegivenname.Otherreadersmayuse'Aristotle'tonamemorethanoneobject(person,orpetanimal)andforthem(I)hasnounambiguoustruthconditions.Whenspokeof'thetruthconditions'of(I),perforceassum.;daparticularreadingfor(I).(Soofcourse,doestheclassicaldescriptiontheorist;*this*isnotanissuebetweenus.Classicaldescriptiontheorists,too,tendedtospeakforsimplicityasifnameshad
+
+Wliquereferences.)Inpracticeitisusualtosupposethatwhatismeantinaparticularuseofasentenceisunderstoodfromthecontext.Inthepresentinstance,thatcontextmadeitclearthatitwastheconventionaluseof'Aristotle'forthegreatphilosopherthatwasinquestion.Then,*given*thisfixedunderstandingof(I),thequestionofrigidityis:Isthecorrectnessof(I),*thusunderstood,*determinedwithrespecttoeachcounterfactualsituationbywhetheracertainsinglepersonwouldhavelikeddogs(hadthatsituationobtained)?answerthequestionaffirmatively.ButRussellseemstobecommittedtotheoppositeview,evenwhenwhat(I)expressesisfixedbythecontext.Onlygivensuchafixedunderstandingof(I)wouldRussellread(I)as(3)-notif'Aristotle'meantOnassis!-buttherigidityrequirementisviolated.Thisquestionisentirelyunaffectedbythepresenceorabsenceinthelanguageofotherreadingsof(I).Foreachsuchparticularreadingseparately,wecanaskwhetherwhatisexpressedwouldbetrueofacounterfactualsituationifandonlyifsomefixedindividualhastheappropriateproperty.*This*isthequestionofrigidity.
+
+Letmerecapitulatethepoint,ignoringforthisexpositionthedelicateproblemsabout'propositions'tobementionedattheendofthispreface.Tospeakof'thetruthconditions'ofasentencesuchas(I),itmustbetakentoexpressa*single*proposition-otherwiseitstruthconditionsevenwithrespecttotheactualworldarcindeterminate.Thusambiguouswordsorhomonyms(perhaps'dog'in(I))mustbereadinadeterminateway(canine!),indexicalsmustbeassigneddeterminatereferences,syntacticambiguitiesmustberesolved,anditmustbefixedwhether'Aristotle'namesthephilosopherortheshippingmagnate.Only*given*suchareadingcanRussellproposeananalysissuchas(3)-rightly,nooneeverfaultedhimonthisscore.ThenmyobjectiontoRussellisthatallthemanypropositionsexpressedbyvariousreadingsof(I)(assumingthatinallreadings'Aristotle'isapropername)would,if
+
+Actually,thecriterionshouldbesubtler,anddependsonone'stheoreticalviews.Thus,onthepictureadvocatedinthismonograph,twototallydistinct'historicalchains'thatbysheeraccidentassignphoneticallythesamenametothesamemanshouldprobablycountascreatingdistinctnamesdespitetheidentityofthereferents.Theidentitymaywellbeunknowntothespeaker,orexpressarecentdiscovery.(Similarly,adescriptiontheoristwhocountsnamesinthewaysuggestedpresumablywouldregardtwophoneticallyidenticalnameswithdistinctassociateddescriptionsasdistinct,evenifthetwodescriptionshappenuniquelytobetrueofthesameobject.)Butdistinctnessofthereferentswillbea*s'!fficienl*conditionfordistinctnessofthenames.
+
+Ishouldstressthatamnotdemandingorevenadvocatingthisusage,butmentionitasapossibilitytowhichIamsympathetic.Thepointthatrigidityhasnothingtodowiththequestionoftwopeoplehavingphoneticallythesamenameholdswhetherthisconventionisadoptedornot.
+
+10Eutperhapsoneuseof'Howmanynamesarethereinthistelephonebook?'isanexception(AnneJacobson).
+
+Eyusingthisterm,Idonotmeanto*commie*theanalysistoaparticularview(seealsothenextfootnote),thoughI*suggest*myown.Imeansimplythattwopeoplecanhavephoneticallythesamename.
+
+IIForexample,somephilosopherswouldassimilatepropernamestodemonstratives.Theirreferencevariesfromutterancetoutterancethewaythatofdemonstrativedocs.Thisdoesnotaffecttheissuesdiscussed,sincethereferenceofdemonstrativemustbegivenfordefinitepropositiontobeexpressed.AlthoughIdidnotdiscussthequestioninthepresentmonograph,ofcourseitwaspartofmyview(p.49n.16)that'this','1','you',etc.,arcallrigid(eventhoughtheirreferencesobviouslyvarywiththecontextofutterance).TIlerigidityofdemonstrativeshasbeenstressedbyDavidKaplan.
+
+hewereright,failtoconformtotheruleofrigidity.Thatis,nosuchpropositionconformstotherulethatthereisasingleindividualandasinglepropertysuchthat,withrespecttoeverycounterfactualsituation,thetruthconditionsofthepropositionarethepossessionofthepropertybythatindividual,inthatsituation.(IamrelyingonthefactthatinpracticeRussellinvariablyinterpretsordinarynamesnonrigidly.)Thatmorethanonepropositionmaybeexpressedby(I)isirrelevant:thequestioniswhethereachsuchpropositionisevaluatedasIdescribe,orisitnot.Theviewappliestoeachsuchpropositiontakenseparately.Detailedquestionsastohowthetheoryshouldincorporatethefactthatourlinguisticpracticeallowstwothingstohavephoneticallythesamenameneednotbesettledforthistobeclear.u
+
+Anothermisconceptionconcernstherelationofrigiditytoscope,whichapparentlytreatedtoobriefly.ItseemsoftentobesupposedthatallthelinguisticintuitionsIadduceonbehalfofrigiditycouldjustaswellbehandledbyreadingnan.lesinvarioussentencesasnonrigiddesignatorswithwidescopes,analogouslytowidescopedescriptions.Itwould,indeed,bepossibletointerpret*some*oftheseintuitionsasresultsofscopeambiguitiesinsteadofrigidity-thisIrecognizeinthemonograph.Tothisextenttheobjectionisjustified,butitseemstometobewrongtosupposethat*all*ourintuitionscanbehandledinthisway.Idealtwiththequestionratherbriefly,onpage62andintheaccompanyingfootnote25,butthediscussionseemstohavebeenoverlookedbymanyreaders.InthefootnoteI
+
+adducesomelinguisticphenomenathat,Ithink,supporttherigidityintuitionasopposedtoanexplanationintermsofscope.Manyofthesereadersevenseemtohaveoverlookedtheintuitivetestforrigidity,asemphasizedonpages48-49.Iwillnotrepeatorelaboratetheseconsiderationsinthispreface,eventhoughtheyseemtohavebeenstatedtoobriefly.Exigenciesofaprefacemaymakethefollowingremarkstoobriefaswell,butIshalldiscussthescopequestioninthelightofthepresentexplanationofrigidity.
+
+Ithasevenbeenassertedthatmyownviewitselfreducestoaviewaboutscope,thatthedoctrineofrigiditysimply*is*thedoctrinethatnaturallanguagehasaconventionthataname,inthecontextofanysentence,shouldbereadwithalargescopeincludingallmodaloperators,l3Thislatterideaisparticularlywideofthemark;intermsofmodallogic,itrepresentsatechnicalerror.Letmedealwithitfirst.(I)and(2)are'simple'sentences.Neithercontainsmodalorotheroperators,sothereisnoroomforanyscopedistinctions.14Noscopeconventionaboutmorecomplexsentencesaffectstheinterpretationof*these*sentences.Yettheissueofrigiditymakes
+
+SeeMichaelDummett,*Frcge*(Duckworth,1973),p.128.Unfortunately,manyofDummett'sotherideasorremarksontherelationofrigiditytoscopearetechnicallyerroneous-forexample,onthesamepagehesaysthatholdthatdescriptionsarcnever(?)rigidandequatesthisviewwiththeclaimthat'withinamodalcontext,thescopeofadefinitedescriptionshouldalwaysbetakentoexcludethemodaloperator.'Also,someofhiscommentsonlinguisticintuitionsseemtotobeinerror.cannotdealwiththesemattershere.
+
+Actuallythesentencesinquestionaretensedandthereforecanbeinterpretedinaformallanguagewithtenseoperators.Ifwetreattensethisway(itcanbetreatedinotherways),thenotherscopequestionscanariseowingtothe*tense*operators.Thequestionatissue,however,isabouttherelationofscopeto*modal*operators,whichdoesnotariseinthesesentenceseveniftenseoperatorsareusedintheiranalysis.Theassertionthatthesentencesinquestiongiverisetonoscopequestionscanbemadeliterallytrueeitherbytreatingtensewithoutusingoperatorsor(better)bytakingthecopulain(1)and(2)tobetenscless.
+
+senseasappliedtoboth.Myviewisthat'Aristotle'in(I)isrigid,but'thelastgreatphilosopherofantiquity'in(2)isnot.Nohypothesisaboutscopeconventionsformodalcontextsexpressesthisview;15itisadoctrineaboutthetruthconditions,withrespecttocounterfactualsituations,of(thepropositionsexpressedby)*all*sentences,including*simple*sentences.
+
+Thisshowsthattheviewthat*reduces*rigiditytoscopeinthemannerstatedissimplyinerror.Italsoindicatesoneweaknessofthe(rathermoreunderstandable)reactionthatattemptstousescopeto*replace*rigidity.Thedoctrineofrigiditysupposesthatapaintingorpicturepurportingtorepresentasituationcorrectlydescribedby(I)must*ipsofacto*purporttodepictAristotlehimselfasfondofdogs.Nopicture,purportingtorepresentsomeoneelseandhisfondnessfordogs,evenifitdepictstheotherindividualaspossessingallthepropertiesweusetoidentifyAristotle,representsacounterfactualsituationcorrectlydescribedby(I).Doesn'tthis,initself,obviouslyrepresentourintuitionsregarding(I)?Theintuitionisaboutthetruthconditions,incounterfactualsituations,ofpropositionexpressedby)a*simple*sentence.Nowide-scopeinterpretationofcertainmodalcontextscantakeitsplace.Totheextentthatatheorypreservesthisintuition,somuchthebetterforit.
+
+Anotherremark,notsodirectlyrelyingoncowlterfactualsituations,mayilluminatematters.InthemonographIarguedthatthetruthconditionsof'ItmighthavebeenthecasethatAristotlewasfondofdogs'conformtotherigiditytheory:noproofthatsomeperson*other*thanAristotlemighthavebeen
+
+?othfondofdogsandthegreatestphilosopherofantiquityISrelevanttothetruthofthequotedstatement.Thesituationisunchangedifwereplace'thegreatestphilosopherofantiquity'byanyother(nonrigid)defmitedescriptionthoughtofasidentifyingAristotle.Similarly,Iheld,'ItmighthavebeenthecasethatAristotlewasnotaphilosopher'expressesatruth,though'Itmighthavebeenthecasethatthegreatestphilosopherofantiquitywasnotaphilosopher'doesnot,contrarytoRussell'stheory.(Ananalogousexamplecouldbegivenforanyothernonrigididentifyingdescription.)Nowthelastquotedsentencewouldexpressatruthifthedescriptionusedwereread,contrarytomyintent,withwidescope.Soperhapsitmightbesupposedthattheproblemsimplyarisesfroman(unaccountable!)tendencytogive'Aristotle'awidescopereadingwhilethedescriptionsaregivenasmallscopereading;sentenceswithbothnamesanddescriptions,however,wouldbesubjectinprincipletobothreadings.Mypoint,however,wasthatthecontrastwouldholdifallthesentencesinvolvedwereexplicitlyconstruedwithsmallscopes(perhapsbyinsertingacolonafter'that').Further,gaveexamples(referredtoabove)toindicatethatthesituationwithnameswasnotinfactparalleltothatwithlargescopedescriptions.Proponentsofthecontraryviewoftenseemtohaveoverlookedtheseexamples,butthisisnotmypointhere.Thecontraryviewmustholdthatourlanguageandthoughtare,somehow,impotenttokeepthedistinctionstraight,thatitisthiswhichisresponsibleforthedifficulty.Itishardtoseehowthiscanbe:howdidwemakethedistinctionifwecannotmakeit?Iftheformulationwithathatclausereallyissotangledthatweareunabletodistinguishonereadingofitfromanother,whatabout:
+
+(4)What(I)expressesmighthavebeenthecase.
+
+expressthedesiredassertion,withnoscopeambIguIties?Ifnot,whatwoulddoso?(Theformulation
+
+11Thethesisthatnamesarerigidinsimplesentencesis,however,equivalent(ignoringcomplicationsarisingfromthepossiblenonexistenceoftheobject)tothethesisthatifamodaloperatorgovenuasimplesc:ntencecontaininganame,thetworeadingswithlargeandsmallscopesareequivalent.Thisis*not*thesameasthedoctrinethatnarurallanguagehasaconventionthatonlythelargescopereadingisallowed.Infact,theequivalencemakessenseonlyforalanguage\\herebothreadingsareadmissible.
+
+mightbeabitmorenaturalinadialogue:'Aristotlewasfondofdogs.''That'snotthecase,thoughitmighthavebeen.')Nowmyclaimisthatourunderstandingof(4)conformstothetheoryofrigidity.NopossiblesituationinwhichanyonebutAristotlehimselfwasfondofdogscanberelevant.
+
+Mymainremark,then,isthatwehaveadirectintuitionoftherigidityofnames,exhibitedinourunderstandingofthetruthconditionsofparticularsentences.Inaddition,varioussecondaryphenomena,about'whatwewouldsay',suchastheonesImentioninthemonographandothers,giveindirectevidenceofrigidity.HowdidRussell,forone,proposeatheoryplainlyincompatiblewithourdirectintuitionsofrigidity?Onereasonisthat,hereaselsewhere,hedidnotconsidermodalquestions;andthequestionoftherigidityofnamesinnaturallanguagewasrarelyexplicitlyconsideredafterhim.Second,itseemedtoRussellthatvariousphilosophicalargumentsnecessitatedadescriptiontheoryofnamesandaneliminativetheoryofdescriptions.Russellacknowledgedthathisviewswereincompatiblewithournaivereactions(thoughtherigidityissuewasnotmentioned),butpowerfulphilosophicalargumentsseemedtohimtocompeladoptionofhistheory.Regardingthequestionofrigidity,myownreplytooktheformofathoughtexperiment,alongthelinessketchedbrieflyfor'identityandschmidentity'onpage108ofthepresentmonograph.InthepresentcaseIimaginedahypotheticalformallanguageinwhicharigiddesignator'*a'*isintroducedwiththeceremony,'Let*"a"*(rigidly)denotetheuniqueobjectthatactuallyhaspropertyF,whentalkingaboutanysituation,actualorcounterfactllal.'Itseemedclearthatifaspeakerdidintroduceadesignatorintoalanguagethatway,theninvirtueofhisverylinguisticact,hewouldbeinapositiontosay'IknowthatFa',butnevertheless'Fa'wouldexpressacontingenttruth(proVidedthatFisnotanessentialpropertyoftheuniqueobjectthatpossessesit).First,thisshowedthat
+
+eplstenucquestionsshouldbeseparatedfromquestionsofnecessityandcontingency,andthattofixareferenceisnottogiveasynonym.Moreimportant,thissituationindicatedthattheevidenceordinarilyadducedtoshowthatnamesweresynonymouswithdescriptionscouldinsteadberationalizedbythishypotheticalmodel.Inaddition,themodelsatisfiedourintuitionsofrigidity.Giventhis,theburdenoftheargumentseemedtofallheavilyonthephilosopherwhowishedtodenyournaturalintuitionofrigidity.AsIsaidabove,thefurtherobservationthatordinarilyspeakersdonotevenfixreferencesbyidentifyingdescriptionsoftheusualtypecamelater.
+
+Iwillsaysomethingbrieflyabout'possibleworlds'.16(Ihopetoelaborateelsewhere.)InthepresentmonographIarguedagainstthosemisusesoftheconceptthatregardpossibleworldsassomethinglikedistantplanets,likeourownsurroundingsbutsomehowexistinginadifferentdimension,orthatleadtospuriousproblemsof'transworldidentification'.Further,ifonewishestoavoidthe*We!tmlgst*andphilosophicalconfusionsthatmanyphilosophershaveassociatedwiththe'worlds'terminology,Irecommendedthat'possiblestate(orhistory)oftheworld',or'counterfactualsitllation'mightbebetter.Oneshouldevenremindoneselfthatthe'worlds'terminologycanoftenbereplacedbymodaltalk-'Itispossiblethat.'
+
+Someoftheworstmisinterpretationsofrigiditywouldhavehadmuchleslcurrencyiftherelevantphilosophicaldiscussionshadbeenconductedinthecontextofarigorouspresentationintermsof'possibleworldssemantics'.didnotdothisthepresentmonographbothbecausedidnotwishtoresttheargumentheavilyonaformalmodelandbecausewishedthepresentat.oberatherteclmical.ToreaderswhoarethorougWymdlarWIth1I1tensIOnalsemanticstheroughoutlineofapresentationofmyViews111thesetermsshouldbeclearwithoutanexplicitdevelopment.Nevertheless,somemisunderstandingsoftherigidityconcept-includingsomeaspectsofthesementionedinthispreface-ledmetothinkthatatechnicalpresentationmighteliminatesomemisconceptions.EventuallycOIISiderationsoftimeandspaceledmetodecideagainstincludingsuchmaterial,butmaygIVesuchaformalexpositionelsewhere.
+
+ButIdonotwishtoleaveanyexaggeratedimpressionthatIrepudiatepossibleworldsaltogether,oreventhatIregardthemasaxnereformaldc:vice.Myownuseofthemshouldhavebeenextensiveenoughtoprecludeanysuchmisunderstanding.Infact,therearesomeconceptionsof'possibleworlds'thatIrepudiateandsomedonot.Ananalogyfromschool-infact,itisnotmerelyananalogy-willhelptoclarifymyview.Twoordinarydice(callthemdieAanddieB)arethrown,displayingtwonumbersfaceup.Foreachdie,therearesixpossibleresults.Hencetherearethirty-sixpossiblestatesofthepairofdice,asfarasthenumbersshownface-upareconcerned,thoughonlyoneofthesestatescorrespondstothewaythediceactuallywillcomeout.Wealllearnedinschoolhowtocomputetheprobabilitiesofvariousevents(assumingequiprobabiIityofthestates).Forexample,sincetherearejusttwostates-(dieA,*s;*dieB,6)and(dieA,6;dieB,S)-thatyieldatotalthrowofeleven,theprobabilityofthrowingelevenis2/361/18.
+
+Nowindoingtheseschoolexercisesinprobability,wewereinfactintroducedatatenderagetoasetof(miniature)'possibleworlds'.Thethirty-sixpossiblestatesofthediceareliterallythirty-six'possibleworlds',aslongaswe(fictively)ignoreeverythingabouttheworldexceptthetwodiceandwhattheyshow(andignorethefactthatoneorbothdicemightnothaveexisted).Onlyoneoftheseminiworlds-theonecorrespondingtothewaythediceinfactcomeup-isthe'actualworld',buttheothersareofinterestwhenweaskhowprobableorimprobabletheactualoutcomewas(orwillbe).Nowinthiselementarycase,certainconfusionscanbeavoided.Wehaveassumedthatthediceactuallydofall,thatsomeoneofthethirty-sixstatesisactual.Nowthe'actualworld'inthiscaseisthe*state*ofthedicethatisactuallyrealized.*Another*entity,more'concrete'thanthisstate,istheLesniewskian-Goodmanianphysicalentitywhichisthe'sum'ofthe
+
+twodice.Thiscomplexphysicalentity('thedice,'thoughtofasasingleobject)isbeforemeonthetable,afterthethrow,anditsactualpositiondeterminestheactualstateofthe(two)dice.Butwhenwetalkinschoolofthirty-sixpossibilities,innowaydoweneedtopositthattherearesomethirty-five*other*entities,existentinsomenever-neverland,correspondingtothephysicalobjectbeforeme.Norneedweaskwhetherthesephantomentitiesarecomposedof(phantom)'counterparts'oftheactualindividualdice,oraresomehowcomposedofthesameindividualdicethemselvesbutin'anotherdimension'.Thethirty-sixpossibilities,theonethatisactualincluded,are(abstract)*states*ofthedice,notcomplexphysicalentities.Norshouldanyschoolpupilreceivehighmarksforthequestion'Howdoweknow,inthestatewheredieAissixanddieBisfive,whetheritisdieAordieBwhichissix?Don'tweneeda"criterionoftransstateidentity"toidentifythediewithasix-notthediewithafive-withourdieA?'Theansweris,ofcourse,thatthestate(dieA,6;dieB,*S)*is*given*assuch(anddistinguishedfromthestate(dieB,6;dieA,S)).Thedemandforsomefurther'criterionoftransstateidentity'issoconfusedthatnocompetentschoolchildwouldbesoperverselyphilosophicalastomakeit.The'possibilities'simplyarenotgivenpurelyqualitatively(asin:onedie,6,theother,s).Iftheyhadbeen,therewouldhavebeenjusttwentyonedistinctpossibilities,notthirty-six.Andthestatesarenotphantomdice-pairs,viewedfromafar,aboutwhichwecanraiseepistemicallymeaningfulquestionsoftheform,'Whichdieisthat?'Nor,whenweregardsuchqualitativelyidenticalstatesas(A,6;B,*S)*and(A,*s;*B,6)asdistinct,needwesupposethatAandBarequalitativelydistinguishableinsomeotherrespect,say,color.Onthecontrary,forthepurposesoftheprobabilityproblem,thenumericalfaceshownisthoughtofasifitweretheonlypropertyofeachdie.Finally,insettingupthisinnocentlittleexerciseregardingthefallof
+
+dice,withpossibilitiesthatarenotdescribedpurelyqualitatively,wemakenoobscuremetaphysicalcommitmenttodiceas'bareparticulars',whateverthatmightmean.!?
+
+'Possibleworlds'arelittlemorethantheminiworldsofprobabilityblownlarge.ItistruethatthereareproblemsInthegeneralnotionnotinvolvedintheminiatureversion.Theminiatureworldsaretightlycontrolled,bothastotheobjectsinvolved(twodice),therelevantproperties(numberonfaceshown),and(thus)therelevantideaofpossibility.'Possibleworlds'aretotal'waystheworldmighthavebeen',orstatesorhistoriesofthe*entire*world.Tothinkofthetotalityofalloftheminvolvesmuchmoreidealizationandmoremind-bogglingquestions,thanthelessambitious'elementaryschoolanalogue.Certainlythephilosopherof'possibleworlds'musttakecarethathistechnicalapparatusnotpushhimtoaskquestionswhosemeaningfulnessisnotsupportedbyouroriginalintuitionsofpossibilitythatgavetheapparatusitspoint.Further,inpracticewecannotdescribeacompletecounterfactualcourseofeventsandhavenoneedtodoso.Apracticaldescriptionoftheextenttowhichthe'counterfactualsituation'differsintherelevantwayfromtheactualfactsissufficient;the'counterfactualsituation'couldbethoughtofasaminiworldoraministate,restrictedtofeaturesoftheworldrelevanttotheproblemathand.Inpracticethisinvolveslessidealizationbothastoconsideringentireworldhistoriesandastoconsidering*all*possibilities.Forpresentpurposes,however,theelementaryanaloguegivesafmemodelforthe
+
+appropriatemoralsregarding'possibleworlds',Thereisnothingwronginprinciplewithtakingthese,forphilosophicalorfortechnicalpurposes,as(abstract)entities-theinnocenceofthegrammarschoolanalogueshouldallayanyanxietiesonthatscore.18(Indeedthegeneralnotionof'samplespace'thatformsthebasisofmodernprobabilitytheoryisjustthatofsuchaspaceofpossibleworlds.)However,weshouldavoidthepitfallsthatseemmuchmoretemptingtophilosopherswiththeirgrandworldsthantoschoolchildrenwiththeirmodestversions.Therearenospecialgroundstosupposethatpossibleworldsmustbegivenqualitatively,orthatthereneedbeanygenuineproblemof'transworldidentification'-thefactthatlargerandmorecomplexstatesareinvolvedthatlinthecaseofthedicemakesnodifferencetothispoint.The'actualworld'-better,theactualstate,orhistoryoftheworld-shouldnotbeconfusedwiththeenormousscatteredobject
+
+17Withrespecttopossiblestatesoftheentireworld,donotmeantoassertcategoricallythat,justasinthecaseofthedice,therearequalitativelyidenticalbutdistinct(counterfactual)states.Whatdoassertisthatifthereisaphilosophicalargumentexcludingqualitativelyidenticalbutdistinctworlds,itcannotbebasedsimplyonthesuppositionthatworldsmustbestipulatedpurelyqualitatively.'Whatdefendisthe*propriety*ofgivingpossibleworldsintermsofcertainparticularsaswellasqualitatively,whetherornotthereareinfactqualitativelyidenticalbutdistinctworlds.
+
+18donotthinkof'possibleworlds'asprovidinga*reductive*analysisinanyphilosophicallysignificantsense,thatis,asuncoveringtheultimatenature,fromeitheranepistemologicalorametaphysicalpointofview,ofmodaloperators,propositions,etc.,oras'explicating'them.Intheactualdevelopmentofourthought,judgmentsinvolvingdirectlyexpressedmodallocutions('itmighthavebeenthecasethat')certainlycomeearlier.Thenotionofa'possibleworld',thoughithasitsrootsinvariousordinaryideasofwaystheworldmighthavebeen,comesatamuchgreater,andsubsequent,levelofabstraction.Inpractice,nowhocannotunderstandtheideaofpossibilityISlIkelytounderstandthatofa'possibleworld'either.Philosophically,wenomeansneedassumethatonetypeofdiscourseis'priorto'theother,Independentlyofthepurposesathand.Themainandtheoriginalmotivationforthe'possibleworldsanalysis'-andthewayitclarifiedmodallogic-wasthatitenabledmodallogictobetreatedbythesamesettheoretictechniquesof.modeltheorythatprovedsosuccessfulwhenappliedtoextensionallogic.ItISalsousefulinmakingcertainconceptsclear.
+
+Toreiterateanotherpoint:thenotionof*all*statesoftheentireworldthatarepossibleinthebroadest(metaphysical)senseinvolvesacertainamountofidealization,aswellasphilosophicalquestionshavenotdiscussed.Ifwerestricttheworldstoanarrowerclassofminiworlds,essentiallyalltheissuesregardingsay,rigiddesignators,remainthesame.SodothequestionsofIUodalsemantics.
+
+attitudetowardthesentencesexpressed.Howthisrelatestothequestionwhat'propositions'areexpressedbythesesentences,whetherthese'propositions'areobjectsofknowledgeandbelief,andingeneral,howtotreatnamesinepistemiccontexts,arevexingquestions.haveno'officialdoctrine'concerningthem,andinfactamunsurethattheapparatusof'propositions'doesnotbreakdowninthisarea.21Hence,Isidesteppedsuchquestions;nofirmdoctrineregardingthepointshouldbereadintomywords.
+
+Concerningrigidity:Inmanyplaces,bothinthisprefaceandinthetextofthismonograph,Ideliberatelyignoredelicatequestionsarisingfromthepossiblenonexistenceofanobject.alsoignorethedistinctionbetween*'dejure'*rigidity,wheretherefercnceofadesignatoris*stipulated*tobeasingleobject,whetherwearespeakingoftheactualworldorofacounterfactualsituation,andmcre*'defacto'*rigidity,whcreadescription'the*x*suchthat*Fx'*happenstouseapredicate'F'thatineachpossibleworldistrueofoneandthesameuniqueobject(e.g.,'thesmallestprime'rigidlydesignatesthenumbertwo).Clearlymythesisaboutnamesisthattheyarerigid*dejure,*butinthemonographIamcontentwiththeweakcrassertionofrigidity.SincenamesMerigid*de*jure-seep.78below-Isaythatapropernamerigidlydesignatesitsreferentevenwhenwespeakofcounterfactualsituationswherethatreferentwouldnothaveexisted.Thustheissuesaboutnonexistenceareaffected.Variouspeoplehavepersuadedmethatallthesequestionsdeserveamorecarefuldiscussionthangavetheminthemonograph,butmustleavethcmhere.
+
+thatsurroundsus.Thelattermightalsohavebeencalled'the(actual)world',butitisnottherelevantobjecthere.Thusthepossiblebutnotactualworldsarenotphantomduplicatesofthe'world'inthisothersense.Perhapssuchconfusionswouldhavebeenlesslikelybutfortheterminologicalaccidentthat'possibleworlds'ratherthan'possiblestates',or'histories',oftheworld,or'counterfactualsituations'hadbeenused.Certainlytheywouldhavebeenavoidedhadphilosophersadheredtothecommonpracticesofschoolchildrenandprobabilists.I
+
+Afinalissue:Somecriticsofmydoctrines,andsomesympathizers,seemtohavereadthemasasserting,oratleastimplying,adoctrineoftheuniversalsubstitutivityofpropernames.Thiscanbetakenassayingthatasentencewith'Cicero'initexpressesthesame'proposition'asthecorrespondingonewith'Tully',thattobelievethepropositionexpressedbytheoneistobelievethepropositionexpressedbytheother,orthattheyareequivalentforallsemanticpurposes.Russelldoesseemtohaveheldsuchaviewfor'logicallypropernames'.anditseemscongenialtoapurely'Millian'pictureofnaming,whereonlythereferentofthenamecontributestowhatisexpressed.But(andforallknow,evenMill20)neverintendedtogosofar.MyviewthattheEnglishsentence'HesperusisPhosphorus'couldsometimesbeusedtoraiseanempiricalissuewhile'HesperusisHesperus'couldnotshowsthatdonottreatthe*sentences*ascompletelyinterchangeable.Further,itindicatesthatthemodeoffixingthereferenceisrelevanttoourepistemic
+
+IIReasonswhyfmdthesequestionssovexingaretobefoundinmy'APuzzleAboutBelief',in*MeaningandUse*(ed.A.Margalit),Reidel,1979,pp.239-283.Ofcoursetheremaybcmorethanonenotionof'proposition',dependingonthedemandswemakeofthenotion.Thethesisofrigiditydoesofcourseimplyinterchangeabilityofcodesignativenamesin*modal*contexts,subjecttotheusualcaveataboutpossiblenonexistence.
+
+11Compare,e.g.,the'moderaterealism'regardingpossibleworldsofRobertStalnaker,'PossibleWorlds',*No4s,*vol.(1976),pp.*6S-7S·*
+
+*10*MichaelLockwood('OnPredicatingProperNames',*1MPhilosophicalReview,*vol.84,no.4,October,*1975,*pp.471-498)pointsout(p.491)thatMilldoes*not*take'CiceroisTully'tomeanthesameas'CiceroisCicero'butratherholdstheviewthatitmeansthat'Cicero'and'Tully'Mecodesignative.Healsopointsout(p.490)thatMillscessuchametalinguisti,ccomponentinallassertionsinvolvingnames.IhavenotinvestigatedtheinterpretationofMillfurther,soIhavenoviewastohisexactdoctrine.
+
+### LECTUREI:JANUARY20t19701
+
+hopethatsomepeopleseesomeconnectionbetweenthetwotopicsinthetitle.Ifnot,anyway,suchconnectionswillbedevelopedinthecourseofthesetalks.Furthermore,becauseoftheuseoftoolsinvolvingreferenceandnecessityinanalyticphilosophytoday,ourviewsonthesetopicsreallyhavewide-
+
+InJanuaryof1970,gavethreetalksatPrincetonUniversitytranscribedhere.Asthestyleofthetranscriptmakesclear,Igavethetalkswithoutawrittentext,and,infact,withoutnotes.Thepresenttextislightly.editedfromthetranscript;anoccasionalpassagehasbeenaddedtoexpandthethought,anoccasionalsentencehasbeenrewritten,butattempthasbeenmadetochangetheinformalstyleoftheoriginal.Manyofthefootnoteshavebeenaddedtotheoriginal,butafewwereoriginallyspokenasidesinthetalksthemselves.
+
+Ihopethereaderwillbearthesefactsinmindashereadsthetext.Imaginingitspoken,withproperpausesandemphases,mayoccasionallyfacilitatecomprehension.Ihaveagreedtopublishthetalksinthisformwithsomereservations.Thetimeallotted,andtheinformalstyle,necessitatedacertainamountofcompressionoftheargument,inabilitytotreatcertainobjections,andthelike.Especiallyintheconcludingsectionsonscientificidentitiesandthemind-bodyproblemthoroughnesshadtobesacrificed.Sometopicsessentialtoafullpresentationoftheviewpointarguedhere,especiallythatofexistencestatementsandemptynames,hadtobeomittedaltogether.Further,theinformalityofthepresentationmaywellhaveengenderedasacrificeofclarityatcertainpoints.Allthesedefectswereacceptedintheinterestofearlypublication.Ihopethatperhapswillhavethechancetodoamorethoroughjoblater.Torepeat,Ihopethereaderwillbearinmindthathe1Slargelyreadinginformallectures,notonlywhenheencountersrepetitionsorinfelicities,butalsowhenheencountersirreverenceorcom.
+
+rangingimplicationsforotherproblemsinphilosophythattraditionallymightbethoughtfar-removed,likeargumentsoverthemind-bodyproblemortheso-called'identitythesis'.Materialism,inthisform,oftennowgetsinvolvedinveryintricatewaysinquestionsaboutwhatisnecessarycontingentinidentityofproperties-questionslikethat.So,itisreallyveryimportanttophilosopherswhomaywanttoworkinmanydomainstogetclearabouttheseconcepts.Maybewillsaysomethingaboutthemind-bodyprobleminthecourseofthesetalks.Iwanttotalkalsopoint(Idon'tknowifcangetitin)aboutsubstancesnaturalkinds.
+
+ThewayIapproachthesematterswillbe,insomeways,quitedifferentfromwhatpeoplearethinkingtoday(thoughitalsohassomepointsofcontactwithwhatsomepeoplehavebeenthinkingandwritingtoday,andifIleavepeopleoutininformaltalkslikethis,IhopethatIwillbeforgiven).2SomeoftheviewsthatIhaveareviewswhichmayatfirstglancestrikesomeasobviouslywrong.Myfavoriteexampleisthis(whichIprobablywon'tdefendinthelectures-foronethingitdoesn'teverconvinceanyone):Itisacommonclaimintemporaryphilosophythattherearecertainpredicateswhich,thoughtheyareinfactempty-havenullextension-haveit
+
+Givenachancetoaddafootnote,IshallmentionthatRogersAlbritton,CharlesChastain,KeithDonnellan,andMichaelSlote(inadditionphilosophersmentionedinthetext,especiallyHilaryPutnam),haveindependentlyexpressedviewswithpointsofcontactwithvariousaspectsofwhatsayhere.Albrittoncalledtheproblemsofnecessityand*prioricity*naturalkindstomyattention,byraisingthequestionwhethercoulddiscoverthatlemonswerenotfruits.(Iamnotsurehewouldacceptallmyconclusions.)alsorecalltheinfluenceofearlyconversationswithAlbrittonandwithPeterGeachontheessentialityoforigins.Theapologyinthestillstands;awarethatthelistinthisfootnoteisfarfromcomprehensive.makeattempttoenumeratethosefriendsandstudentswhosestimulatingversationshavehelpedme.ThomasNagelandGilbertHarmandeservespecialthanksfurtheirhelpineditingthetranscript.
+
+Itisaroint,madebyDonnellan,athatundercertaincircumstancesaparticularspeakermayuseadefmitedescriptiontorefer,nottotheproperreferent,inthesensethatI'vejustdefmedit,ofthatdescription,buttosomethingelsewhichhewantstosingleoutandwhichhethinksistheproperreferentofthedescription,butwhichinfactisn't.Soyoumaysay,'Themanovertherewiththechampagneinhisglassishappy',thoughheactuallyonlyhaswaterinhisglass.Now,eventhoughthereisnochampagneinhisglass,andtheremaybeanothermanintheroomwhodoeshavechampagneinhisglass,thespeaker*intended*torefer,ormaybe,insomesenseof'refer',*did*refer,tothemanhethoughthadthechampagneinhisglass.Nevertheless,I'mjustgoingtousetheterm'referent
+
+asamatterofcontingentfactandnotasamatterofanysortofnecessity.Well,*that*Idon'tdispute;butanexamplewhichisusuallygivenistheexampleof*unicorn.*Soitissaidthatthoughwehaveallfoundoutthattherearenounicorns,ofcoursethere*might*havebeenunicorns.Undercertaincircumstancesthere*would*havebeenunicorns.AndthisisanexampleofsomethingIthinkisnotthecase.Perhapsaccordingtomethetruthshouldnotbeputintermsofsayingthatitisnecessarythatthereshouldbenounicorns,butjustthatwecan'tsayunderwhatcircumstancestherewouldhavebeenunicorns.Further,Ithinkthatevenifarcheologistsorgeologistsweretodiscovertomorrowsomefossilsconclusivelyshowingtheexistenceofanimalsinthepastsatisfyingeverythingweknowaboutunicornsfromthemythoftheunicorn,thatwouldnotshowthattherewereunicorns.NowIdon'tknowifI'mgoingtohaveachancetodefendthisparticularview,butit'sanexampleofasurprisingone.(IactuallygaveaseminarinthisinstitutionwhereItalkedaboutthisviewforacoupleofsessions.)So,someofmyopinionsaresomewhatsurprising;butletusstartoutwithsomeareathatisperhapsnotassurprisingandintroducethemethodologyandproblemsofthesetalks.
+
+Thefirsttopicinthepairoftopicsisnaming.ByanamehereIwillmeanapropername,i.e.,thenameofaperson,acity,acountry,etc.Itiswellknownthatmodernlogiciansalsoareveryinterestedindefinitedescriptions:phrasesoftheform'the*x*suchthat*epx',*suchas'themanwhocorruptedHadleyburg'.Now,ifoneandonlyonemanevercorruptedHadleyburg,thenthatmanisthereferent,inthelogician'ssense,ofthatdescription.Wewillusetheterm'name'sothatitdoes*not*includedefinitedescriptionsofthatsort,butonlythosethingswhichinordinarylanguagewouldbecalled'propernames'.Ifwewantacommontermtocovernamesanddescriptions,wemayusetheterm'designator',
+
+I
+
+'KeithDonnellan,'ReferenceandDefmiteDescriptions',*PhilosophicalReview*75(1966),pp.281-304.SeealsoLeonardLinsky,'ReferenceandReferents',in*PhilosophyandOrdinaryLanguage*(ed.Caton),UniversityofrIlinoisPress,Urbana,1963.Donnellan'sdistinctionseemsapplicabletonamesaswellastodescriptions.TwomenglimpsesomeoneatadistanceandthinktheyrecognizehimasJones.'WhatisJonesdoing?''Rakingtheleaves',Ifthedistantleaf-rakerisactuallySmith,theninsomesensetheyare*referring*toSmith,eventhoughtheybothuse'Jones'*asanameoJJones.*Inthetext,speakofthe'referent'ofanametomeanthethingnamedbythename-e.g.,Jones,notSmith-eventhoughaspeakermaysometimesproperlybesaidtousethenametorefertosomeoneelse.Perhapsitwouldhavebeenlessmisleadingtouseatechnicalterm,suchas'denote'ratherthan'refer'.Myuseof'refer'issuchastosatisfytheschema,'Thereferentof"X"isX',where'X'isreplaceablebyanynameordescription.amtentativelyinclinedtobelieve,inoppositiontoDonnellail,thathisremarksabolltreferencehavelittletodowithsemanticsortruth-conditions,thoughtheymayberelevanttoatheoryofspeech-acts.SpacelimitationsdonotpermitmetoexplainwhatImeanbythis,muchlessdefendtheview,exceptforabriefremark:Callthereferentofanameordescriptioninmysensethe'semanticreferent';foraname,thisisthethingnamed,foradescription,thethinguniquelysatisfyingthedescription.
+
+Thenthespeakermay*refer*tosomethingotherthanthesemanticreferentifhehasappropriatefalsebeliefs.rthinkthisiswhathappensinthenamingcasesandalsointheDonnellan'champagne'case;theonerequiresnotheorythatnamesareambiguous,andtheotherrequiresnomodificationofRussell'stheoryofdescriptions.
+
+ofthedescription'tomeantheobjectuniquelysatisfyingtheconditionsinthedefinitedescription.Thisisthesenseinwhichit'sbeenusedinthelogicaltradition.So,ifyouhaveadescriptionoftheform'the*x*suchthatfflX',andthereisexactlyone*x*suchthatfflX,thatisthereferentofthedescription.
+
+Now,whatistherelationbetweennamesanddescriptions?Thereisawellknownd<..>etrineofJohnStuartMill,inhisbook*ASystemofLogic,*thatnameshavedenotationbutnotconnotation.Touseoneofhisexamples,whenwell.o;ethename'Dartmouth'todescribeacertainlocalityinEngland,itmaybesocalledbecauseitliesatthemouthoftheDart.Buteven,hesays,hadtheDart(that'sariver)changeditscoursesothatDartmouthnolongerlayatthemouthoftheDart,wecouldstillwithproprietycallthisplace'Dartmouth',eventhoughthenamemaysuggestthatitliesatthemouthoftheDart.ChangingMill'sterminology,perhapsweshouldsaythatanamesuchas'Dartmouth'*does*havea'connotation'tosomepeople,namely,it*does*connote(nottome-Ineverofthis)thatanyplacecalled'Dartmouth'liesatthemouthoftheDart.Buttheninsomewayitdoesn'thavea'sense'.Atleast,itisnotpartofthe*meaning*ofthename'Dartmouth'thatthetownsonamedliesatthemouthoftheDart.SomeonewhosaidthatDartmouthdidnotlieattheDart'smouthwouldnotcontradicthimsel£
+
+Itshouldnotbethoughtthateveryphraseoftheform'thexsuchthatFx'isalwaysusedinEnglishasadescriptionratherthananame.IguesseveryonehasheardaboutTheHolyRomanEmpire,whichwasneitherholy,Romannoranempire.TodaywehaveTheUnitedNations.Hereitwouldseemthatsincethesethingscanbeso-«Strictlyspeaking,ofcourse,Russellsaysthatthenamesdon'tabbreviatedescriptionsanddon'thaveanysense;butthenhealsosaysthat,justbecausethethingsthatwecall'names'doabbreviatedescriptions,they'renotreallynames.So,since'WalterScott',accordingtoRussell,doesabbreviate:adescription,'WalterScott'isnotaname;andtheonlynamesthatreallyexistinordinarylanguageare,perhaps,demonstrativessuchas'this'or'that',usedonaparticularoccasiontorefertoanobjectwithwhichthespeakeris'acquainted'inRussell'ssense.Thoughwewon'tputthingsthewayRusselldoes,wecoulddescribeRussellassayingthatnames,astheyareordinarilycalled,dohavesense.Theyhavesenseinastrongway,namely,weshouldbeabletogiveadefmitedescriptionsuchthatthereferentofthename,bydefmition,istheobjectsatisfyingthedescription.Russellhimself,sinceheeliminatesdescriptionsfromhisprimitivenotation,seemstoholdin'OnDenoting'thatthenotionof'sense'isillusory.InreportingRussell'sviews,wethusdeviatefromhimintworespects.First,westipulatethat'names'shallbenamesasordinarilyconceived,notRussell's'logicallypropernames';second,weregarddescriptions,andtheirabbreviations,ashavingsense.
+
+speaker,is.Accordingtothedescriptionview,theanswerisclear.IfJoeDoakes'isjustshortfor'themanwhocorruptedHadleyburg',thenwhoevercorruptedHadleyburguniquelyisthereferentofthenameJoeDoakes'.However,ifthereis*not*suchadescriptivecontenttothename,thenhowdopeopleeverusenamestorefertothingsatall?Well,theymaybeinapositiontopointtosomethingsandthusdeterminethereferencesofcertainnamesostensively.ThiswasRussell'sdoctrineofacquaintance,whichhethoughttheso-calledgenuineorpropernamessatisfied.Butofcourseordinarynamesrefertoallsortsofpeople,likeWalterScott,towhomwecan'tpossiblypoint.Andourreferencehereseemstobedeterminedbyourknowledgeofthem.Whateverweknowaboutthemdeterminesthereferentofthenameastheuniquethingsatisfyingthoseproperties.Forexample,ifIusethename'Napoleon',andsomeoneasks,'Towhomareyoureferring?',willanswersomethinglike,'NapoleonwasemperoroftheFrenchintheearlypartofthenineteenthcentury;hewaseventuallydefeatedatWaterloo',thusgivingauniquelyidentifyingdescriptiontodeterminethereferentofthename.FregeandRussell,then,appeartogivethenaturalaccountofhowreferenceisdeterminedhere;Millappearstogivenone.
+
+Therearesubsidiaryargumentswhich,thoughtheyarebasedonmorespecializedproblems,arealsomotivationsforacceptingtheview.Oneisthatsometimeswemaydiscoverthattwonameshavethesamereferent,andexpressthisbyanidentitystatement.So,forexample(Iguessthisisahackneyedexample),youseeastarintheeveningandit'scalled'Hesperus'.(That'swhatwecallitintheevening,isthatright?-Ihopeit'snottheotherwayaround.)Weseeastarinthemorningandcallit'Phosphorus'.Well,then,infactwefindthatit'snotastar,butistheplanetVenusandthatHesperusandPhosphorusareinfactthesame.Soweexpressthisby'HesperusisPhos-
+
+phorus'.Herewe'recertainlynotjustsayingofanobjectthatit'sidenticalwithitsel£Thisissomethingthatwediscovered.Averynaturalthingtosayisthattherealcontent[isthat]thestarwhichwesawintheeveningisthestarwhichwesawinthemorning(or,moreaccurately,thatthethingwhichwesawintheeveningisthethingwhichwesawinthemorning).This,then,givestherealmeaningoftheidentitystatementinquestion;andtheanalysisintermsofdescriptionsdoesthis.
+
+Alsowemayraisethequestionwhetheranamehasanyreferenceatallwhenweask,e.g.,whetherAristotleeverexisted.Itseemsnaturalheretothinkthatwhatisquestionedisnotwhetherthis*thing*(man)existed.Oncewe've*got*thething,weknowthatitexisted.Whatreallyisqueriediswhetheranythinganswerstothepropertiesweassociatewiththename-inthecaseofAristotle,whetheranyoneGreekphilosopherproducedcertainworks,oratleastasuitablenumberofthem.
+
+Itwouldbenicetoanswerallofthesearguments.Iamnotentirelyabletoseemywayclearthrougheveryproblemofthissortthatcanberaised.Furthermore,I'mprettysurethatIwon'thavetimetodiscussallthesequestionsintheselectures.Nevertheless,Ithinkit'sprettycertainthattheviewofFregeandRussellisfalse.
+
+WhenspeakoftheFrege-Russellviewanditsvariants,includeonlythoseversionswhichgiveasubstantivetheoryofthereferenceofnames.Inparticular,Quine'sproposalthatina'canonicalnotation'anamesuchas'Socrates'shouldbereplacedbyadescription'theSocratizer'(where'Socratizes'isaninventedpredicate),andthatthedescriptionshouldthenbeeliminatedbyRussell'smethod,wasnotintendedasatheoryofreferencefornamesbutasaproposedreformoflanguagewithcertainadvantages.Theproblemsdiscussedherewillallapply,*mutatismutandis,*tothereformedlanguage;inparticular,thequestion,'Howisthereferenceof"Socrates"determined?'yieldstothequestion,'Howistheextensionof"Socratizes"determined?'OfcoursedonotsuggestthatQuinehaseverclaimedthecontrary.
+
+ManypeoplehavesaidthatthetheoryofFregeandRussellisfalse,but,inmyopinion,theyhaveabandoneditsletterwhileretainingitsspirit,namely,theyhaveusedthenotionofaclusterconcept.Well,whatisthis?TheobviousproblemforFregeandRussell,theonewhichcomesimmediatelytomind,isalreadymentionedbyFregehimsel£Hesaid,
+
+Inthecaseofgenuinelypropernameslike'Aristotle'opinionsasregardstheirsensemaydiverge.Assuchmay,e.g.,besuggested:Plato'sdiscipleandtheteacherofAlexandertheGreat.Whoeveracceptsthissensewillinterpretthemeaningofthestatement'AristotlewasborninStagira',differentlyfromonewhointerpretedthesenseof'Aristotle'astheStagiriteteacherofAlexandertheGreat.Aslongasthenominatumremainsthesame,thesefluctuationsinsensearetolerable.Buttheyshouldbeavoidedinthes),stemofademonstrativescienceandshouldnotappearinaperfectlanguage.'
+
+So,accordingtoFrege,thereissomesortofloosenessorweaknessinourlanguage.Somepeoplemaygiveonesensetothename'Aristotle',othersmaygiveanother.Butofcourseitisnotonlythat;evenasinglespeakerwhenasked'Whatdescriptionareyouwillingtosubstituteforthename?'maybequiteataloss.Infact,hemayknowmanythingsabouthim;butanyparticularthingthatheknowshemayfeelclearlyexpressesacontingentpropertyoftheobject.If'Aristotle'meant*themanwhotaughtAlexandertheGreat,*thensaying'AristotlewasateacherofAlexandertheGreat'wouldbeameretautology.Butsurelyitisn't;itexpressesthefactthatAristotletaughtAlexandertheGreat,somethingwecoulddiscovertobefalse.So,*beingtheteacherofAlexandertheGreat*cannotbepartof[thesenseof]thename.
+
+Themostcommonwayoutofthisdifficultyistosay'reallyitisnotaweaknessinordinarylanguagethatwecan'tsubstitutea*particular*descriptionforthename;that'sallright.Whatwereallyassociatewiththenameisa*family*ofdescriptions.'Agoodexampleofthisis(ifIcanfindit)in*PhilosophicalInvestigations,*wheretheideaoffamilyresemblancesisintroducedandwithgreatpower.
+
+Considerthisexample.Ifonesays'Mosesdidnotexist',thismaymeanvariousthings.Itmaymean:theIsraelitesdidnothavea*single*leaderwhentheywithdrewfromtheirleaderwasnotcalledtherecannothavebeenanyonewhoaccomplishedallthattheBiblerelatesofMoses-ButwhenImakeastatementaboutMoses,-amIalwaysreadytosubstitutesome*one*ofthosedescriptionsfor'Moses'?Ishallperhapssay:by'Moses'IunderstandthemanwhodidwhattheBiblerelatesofMoses,oratanyrate,agooddealofit.Buthowmuch?HaveIdecidedhowmuchmustbeprovedfalseformetogiveupmypropositionasfalse?Hasthename'Moses'gotafixedandunequivocaluseformeinallpossiblecases?7
+
+Accordingtothisview,anda*locusclassicus*ofitisSearle'sarticleonpropernames,8thereferentofanameisdeterminednotbyasingledescriptionbutbysomeclusterorfamily.Whateverinsomesensesatisfiesenoughormostofthefamilyisthereferentofthename.Ishallreturntothisviewlater.Itmayseem,asananalysisofordinarylanguage,quiteabitmoreplausiblethanthatofFregeandRussell.Itmayseemtokeepallthevirtuesandremovethedefectsofthistheory.
+
+Letmesay(andthiswillintroduceustoanothernewtopicbeforeIreallyconsiderthistheoryofnaming)thattherearetwowaysinwhichtheclusterconcepttheory,oreventhe
+
+GottlobFrege,'OnSenseandNominatum',translatedbyHerbertFeiglin*ReadingsinPhilosophicalAnalysis*(ed.byHerbertFeiglandWilfridSellars),AppletonCenturyCrofts,1949.p.86.
+
+LudwigWittgenstein.*PhilosophicalInvestigations,*translatedbyG.E.M.Anscombe,MacMillan,1953,§79.
+
+JohnR.Searle,'ProperNames',*Mind*67(1958),166-'73.
+
+theorywhichrequiresasingledescription,canbeviewed.Onewayofregardingitsaysthattheclusterorthesingledescriptionactuallygivesthemeaningofthename;andwhensomeonesays'WalterScott',hemeans*thematisllchthatsuchandsuchandsuchandsuch.*
+
+Nowanotherviewmightbethateventhoughthedescriptioninsomesensedoesn'tgivethe*meaning*ofthename,itiswhat*determinesitsreference*andalthoughthephrase'WalterScott'isn't*synonymous*with'themansuchthatsuchandsuchandsuchandsuch',orevenmaybewiththefamily(ifsomethingcanbesynonymouswithafamily),thefamilyorthesingledescriptioniswhatisusedtodeterminetowhomsomeoneisreferringwhenhesays'WalterScott'.Ofcourse,ifwhenwehearhisbeliefsaboutWalterScottwefindthattheyareactuallylUuchmorenearlytrueofSalvadorDali,thenaccordingtothistheorythereferenceofthIsnameisgoingtobeMr.Dali,notScott.Therearewriters,think,whoexplicitlydenythatnameshavemeaningatallevenmorestronglythanwouldbutstillusethispictureofhowthereferentofthenamegetsdetermined.AgoodcaseinpointisPaulZiff,whosays,veryemphatically,.thatnamesdon'thavemeaningatall,[that]theyarenotapartoflanguageinsomesense.Butstill,whenhetalksabouthowwedeterminewhatthereferenceofthenamewas,thenhegivesthispicture.Unfortunatelydon'thavethepassageinquestionwithme,butthisiswhathesays.9
+
+Thedifferencebetweenusingthistheoryasatheoryofmeaningandusingitasatheoryofreferencewillcomeoutalittlemoreclearlylateron.Butsomeoftheattractivenessofthetheoryislostifitisn'tsupposedtogivethemeaningofthename;forsomeofthesolutionsofproblemsthatI'vejustmentionedwillnotberight,oratleastwon'tclearlyberight,ifthedescriptiondoesn'tgivethemeaningofthename.Forexample,ifsomeonesaid'Aristotledoesnotexist'*means*'thereisnomandoingsuchandsuch',orintheexamplefromWittgenstein,'Mosesdoesnotexist',*means*'nomandidsuchandsuch',thatmightdepend(andinfact,think,doesdepend)ontakingthetheoryinquestionasatheoryofthemeaningofthename'Moses',notjustasatheoryofitsreference.Well,Idon'tknow.Perhapsallthatisimmediatenowistheotherwayaround:if'Moses'meansthesameas'themanwhodidsuchandsuch'thentosaythatMosesdidnotexististosaythatthemanwhodidsuchandsuchdidnotexist,thatis,thatnoonepersondidsuchandsuch.If,ontheotherhand,'Moses'isnotsynonymouswithanydescription,thenevenifitsreferenceisinsomesensedeterminedbyadescription,statementscontainingthenamecannotingeneralbe*analyzed*byreplacingthenamebyadescription,thoughtheymaybemateriallyequivalenttostatementscontainingadescription.Sotheanalysisofsingularexistencestatementsmentionedabovewillhavetobegivenup,unlessitisestablishedbysomespecialargument,independentofageneraltheoryofthemeanmgofnames;andthesameappliestoidentitystatements.Inanycase,thinkit'sfalsethat'Mosesexists'meansthatatall.
+
+8Ziff'smostdetailedstatementofhisversionofthec1uster··of-descriptionstheoryofthereferenceofnamesisin'AboutGod',reprintedin*PhilosopllicalTurnings,*CornellUniversityPress,Ithaca,andOxfordUniversityPress,London,1966,pp94--96.Abrieferstatementisinhis*SemanticAnalysis,*CornellUniversityPress,Ithaca,1960,pp.102-10ThosedeterministswhodenytheimportanceoftheindividualinhistorymaywellarguethathadMosesneverexisted,someoneelsewouldhavearisentoachieveallthathedid.Theirclaimcannotberefutedbyappealingtoacorrectphilosophicaltheoryofthemeaningof'Mosesexists'.
+
+insome(Ihope)nonpejorativesense.Weaskwhethersomethingmighthavebeentrue,ormighthavebeenfalse.Well,ifsomethingisfalse,it'sobviouslynotnecessarilytrue.Ifitistrue,mightithavebeenotherwise?Isitpossiblethat,inthisrespect,theworldshouldhavebeendifferentfromthewayitis?Iftheansweris'no',thenthisfactabouttheworldisanecessaryone.Iftheansweris'yes',thenthisfactabouttheworldisacontingentone.Thisinandofitselfhasnothingtodowithanyone'sknowledgeofanything.It'scertainlyaphilosophicalthesis,andnotamatterofobviousdefinitionalequivalence,eitherthateverything*apriori*isnecessaryorthateverythingnecessaryis*apriori.*Bothconceptsmaybevague.Thatmaybeanotherproblem.Butatanyratetheyaredealingwithtwodifferentdomains,twodifferentareas,theepistemologicalandthemetaphysical.Consider,say,Fermat'slasttheorem-ortheGoldbachconjecture.TheGoldbachconjecturesaysthatanevennumbergreaterthan2mustbethesumoftwoprimenumbers.Ifthisistrue,itispresumablynecessary,and,ifitisfalse,presumablynecessarilyfalse.Wearetakingtheclassicalviewofmathematicshereandassumethatinmathematicalrealityitiseitherorfalse.
+
+IftheGoldbachconjectureisfalse,thenthereisanevennumber,*n,*greaterthan2,suchthatfornoprimesPIand*Pt,*both<*n,*does*n*=*PI*+*Pt.*Thisfactabout*n,*iftrue,isverifiablebydirectcomputation,andthusisnecessaryiftheresultsofarithmeticalcomputationsarenecessary.Ontheotherhand,iftheconjectureistrue,theneveryevennumberexceeding2isthesumoftwoprimes.Coulditthenbethecasethat,althoughinfacteverysuchevennumberisthesumoftwoprimes,theremighthavebeensuchanevennumberwhichwasnotthesumoftwoprimes?Whatwouldthatmean?Suchanumberwouldhavetobeoneof4,6,8,10,...and,byhypothesis,sinceweareassumingGoldbach'sconjecturetobetrue,eachofthesecanbeshown,againbydirectcomputation,tobethesumof
+
+J.
+
+twoprimes.Goldbach'sconjecture,then,cannotbecontingentlytrueorfalse;whatevertruth-valueithasbelongstoitbynecessity.
+
+Butwhatwecansay,ofcourse,isthatrightnow,asfarasweknow,thequestioncancomeouteitherway.So,iotheabsenceofamathematicalproofdecidingthisquestion,noneofushasany*apriori*knowledgeaboutthisquestionineitherdirection.Wedon'tknowwhetherGoldbach'sconjectureistrueorfalse.Sorightnowwecertainlydon'tknowanything*apriori*aboutit.
+
+Perhapsitwillbeallegedthatwe*can*inprincipleknow*apriori*whetheritistrue.Well,maybewecan.Ofcourseaninfinitemindwhichcansearchthroughallthenumberscanorcould.ButIdon'tknowwhetherafmitemindcanorcould.Maybetherejustisnomathematicalproofwhatsoeverwhichdecidestheconjecture.Atanyratethismightormightnotbethecase.Maybethereisamathematicalproofdecidingthisquestion;maybeeverymathematicalquestionisdecidablebyanintuitiveproofordisproo£Hilbertthoughtso;othershavethoughtnot;stillothershavethoughtthequestionunintelligibleunlessthenotionofintuitiveproofisreplacedbythatofformalproofinasinglesystem.Certainlynooneformalsystemdecidesallmathematicalquestions,asweknowfromGOdel.Atanyrate,andthisistheimportantthing,thequestionisnottrivial;eventhoughsomeonesaidthatit'snecessary,iftrueatall,thateveryevennumberisthesumoftwoprimes,itdoesn'tfollowthatanyoneknowsanything*apriori*aboutit.Itdoesn'tevenseemtometofollowwithoutsomefurtherphilosophicalargument(itisaninterestingphilosophicalquestion)thatanyone*could*knowanything*apriori*aboutit.The'could',asIsaid,involvessomeothermodality.Wemeanthatevenifnoone,perhapseveninthefuture,knowsorwillknow*apriori*whetherGoldbach'sconjectureisright,inprinciplethereisaway,which*could*havebeen
+
+anecessarytruth.It'snottrivial,justbecausesomethingisknowninsomesense*apriori,*thatwhatisknownisanecessarytruth.
+
+Anothertermusedinphilosophyis'analytic'.Hereitwon'tbetooimportanttogetanycleareraboutthisinthistalk.Thecommonexamplesofanalyticstatements,nowadays,arelike'bachelorsareunmarried'.Kant(someonejustpointedouttome)givesasanexample'goldisayellowmetal',whichseemstomeanextraordinaryone,becauseit'ssomethingIthinkthatcanturnouttobefalse.Atanyrate,let'sjustmakeitamatterofstipulationthatananalyticstatementis,insomesense,truebyvirtueofitsmeaningandtrueinallpossibleworldsbyvirtueofitsmeaning.Thensomethingwhichisanalyticallytruewillbebothnecessaryand*apriori.*(That'ssortofstipulative.)
+
+AnothercategoryImentionedwasthatofcertainty.Whatevercertaintyis,it'sclearlynotobviouslythecasethateverythingwhichisnecessaryiscertain.Certaintyisanotherepistemologicalnotion.Somethingcanbeknown,oratleastrationallybelieved,*apriori,*withoutbeingquitecertain.You'vereadaproofinthemathbook;and,thoughyouthinkit'scorrect,maybeyou'vemadeamistake.Youoftendomakemistakesofthiskind.You'vemadeacomputation,perhapswithanerror.ThereisonemorequestionIwanttogointoinapreliminaryway.Somephilosophershavedistinguishedbetweenessentialism,thebeliefinmodality*dere,*andamereadvocacyofnecessity,thebeliefinmodality*dedicta.*Now,somepeoplesay:Let's*give*youtheconceptofnecessity.uAmuchworseBytheway,it'sacommonattitudeinphilosophytothinkthatoneshouldn'tintroduceanotionuntilit'sbeenrigorouslydefmed(accordingtosomepopularnotionofrigor).Hereamjustdealingwithanintuitivenotionandwillkeeponthelevelofanintuitivenotion.Thatis,wethinkthatsomethings,thoughtheyareinfactthecase,mighthavebeenotherwise.mightnothavegiventheselecturestoday.Ifthat'sright,thenitis*possible*thatI
+
+used,ofansweringthequestion*apriori.*Thisassertionisnottrivial.
+
+Theterms'necessary'and*'apriori',*then,asappliedtostatements,aretlotobvioussynonyms.Theremaybeaphilosophicalargumentconnectingthem,perhapsevenidentifyingthem;butanargumentisrequired,notsimplytheobservationthatthetwotermsareclearlyinterchangeable.(Iwillarguebelowthatinfacttheyarenotevencoextensive-thatnecessary*aposteriori*truths,andprobablycontingent*apriori*truths,bothexist.)
+
+Ithinkpeoplehavethoughtthatthesetwothingsmustmeanthesameforthesereasons:
+
+First,ifsomethingnotonlyhappenstobetrueintheactualworldbutisalsotrueinallpossibleworlds,then,ofcourse,justbyrunningthroughallthepossibleworldsinourheads,weoughttobeablewithenoughefforttosee,ifastatementisnecessary,thatitisnecessary,andthusknowit*apriori.*Butreallythisisnotsoobviouslyfeasibleatall.
+
+Second,Iguessit'sthoughtthat,conversely,ifsomethingisknown*apriori*itmustbenecessary,becauseitwasknownwithoutlookingattheworld.Ifitd(:'pendedonsomecontingentfeatureoftheactualworld,howcouldyouknowitwithoutlooking?Maybetheactualworldisoneofthepossibleworldsinwhichitwouldhavebeenfalse.Thisdependsonthethesisthattherecan'tbeawayofknowingabouttheactualworldwithoutlookingthatwouldn'tbeawayofknowingthesamethingabouteverypossibleworld.Thisinvolvesproblemsofepistemologyandthenatureofknowledge;andofcourseitisveryvagueasstated.Butitisnotreally*trivial*either.Moreimportantthananyparticularexampleofsomethingwhichisallegedtobenecessaryandnot*apriori*or*apriori*andnotnecessary,istoseethatthenotionsaredifferent,thatit'snottrivialtoargueonthebasisofsomething'sbeingsomethingwhichmaybewecanonlyknow*aposteriori,*thatit'snot
+
+wouldn'thavegiventheselectllrestoday.Quiteadifferentquestionistheepistemologicalquestion,howanypartIcularpersonknowsthatgavetheselecturestoday.supposeinthatcasehedocsknowthisis*aposteriori.*But,ifSGtI1eonewerebornwithinnatebcliefthatwasgoingtogivetheselecturestoday,whoknows?Rightnow,anyway,let'ssupposethatpeopleknowthis*aposteriori.*Atanyrate,thetwoquestionsbeingaskedarcdifferent.
+
+thing,somethingcreatinggreatadditionalproblems,iswhetherwecansayofanyparticularthatithasnecessaryorcontingentproperties,evenmakethedistinctionbetweennecessaryandcontingentproperties.Look,it'sonlya*statement*ora*stateojaffairs*thatcanbeeithernecessaryorcontingent!Whethera*particular*necessarilyorcontingentlyhasacertainpropertydependsonthewayit'sdescribed.Thisisperhapscloselyrelatedtotheviewthatthewaywerefertoparticularthingsisbyadescription.WhatisQuine'sfamousexample?Ifweconsiderthenumber9,doesithavethepropertyofnecessaryoddness?Hasthatnumbergottobeoddinallpossibleworlds?Certainlyit'strueinallpossibleworlds,let'ssay,itcouldn'thavebeenotherwise,that*nine*isodd.Ofcourse,9couldalsobeequallywellpickedoutas*the//lImberojplallets.*Itis*not*necessary,nottrueinallpossibleworlds,thatthenumberofplanetsisodd.Forexampleiftherehadbeeneightplanets,thenumberofplanetswouldnothavebeenodd.Andsoit'sthought:WasitnecessaryorcontingentthatNixonwontheelection?(Itmightseemcontingent,unlessonehassomeviewofsomeinexorableprocesses....)ButthisisacontingentpropertyofNixononlyrelativetoourreferringtohimas'Nixon'(assuming'Nixon'doesn'tmean'themanwhowontheelectionatsuchandsuchatime').ButifwedesignateNixonas'themanwhowontheelectionin1968',thenitwillbeanecessarytruth,ofcourse,thatthemanwhowontheelectionin1968,wontheelectionin1968.Similarly,whetheranobjecthasthesamepropertyinallpossibleworldsdepends
+
+notjustontheobjectitself,butonhowitisdescribed.Soit'sargued.
+
+Itisevensuggestedintheliterature,thatthoughanotionofnecessitymayhavesomesortofintuitionbehindit(wedothinksomethingscouldhavebeenotherwise;otherthingswedon'tthinkcouldhavebeenotherwise),thisnotion[ofadistinctionbetweennecessaryandcontingentproperties]isjustadoctrinemadeupbysomebadphilosopher,who(Iguess)didn'trealizethatthereareseveralwaysofreferringtothesamething.Idon'tknowifsomephilosophershavenotrealizedthis;butatanyrateitisveryfarfrombeingtruethatthisidea[thatapropertycanmeaningfullybeheldtobeessentialoraccidentaltoanobjectindependentlyofitsdescription]isanotionwhichhasnointuitivecontent,whichmeansnothingtotheordinaryman.Supposethatsomeonesaid,pointingtoNixon,'That'stheguywhomighthavelost'.SOiCleoneelsesays'Ohno,ifyoudescribehimas"Nixon",thenhemighthavelost;but,ofcourse,describinghimasthewinner,thenitisnottruethathemighthavelost'.Nowwhichoneisbeingthephilosopher,here,theunintuitiveman?'Itseemstomeobviouslytobethesecond.Thesecondmanhasaphilosophicaltheory.Thefirstmanwouldsay,andwithgreatconviction,'Well,ofcourse,thewinneroftheelection*lIl(ghthavebeensomeolleelse.*Theactualwinner,hadthecourseofthecampaignbeendifferent,mighthavebeentheloser,andsomeoneelsethewinner;ortheremighthavebeennoelectionatall.So,suchtermsas"thewinner"and"theloser"don'tdesignatethesameobjectsinallpossibleworlds.Ontheotherhand,theterm"Nixon"isjusta*name*of*thismall'.*Whenyonaskwhetheritisnecessaryorcontingentthat*Nixon*wontheelection,youareaskingtheintuitivequestionwhetherinsomecounterfactualsituation,*thisman*wouldinf.1Cthavelosttheelection.Ifsomeonethinksthatthenotionofanecessaryorcontingentproperty(forgetwhetherthere*are*anynontrivial
+
+necessaryproperties[andconsider]justthe*meaningfulness*ofthenotion12isaphilosopher'snotionwithnointuitivecontent,heiswrong.Ofcourse,somephilosophersthinkthatsomething'shavingintuitivecontentisveryinconclusiveevidenceinfavorofit.Ithinkitisveryheavyevidenceinfavorofanything,myselfIreallydon'tknow,inaway,whatmoreconclusiveevidenceonecanhaveaboutanything,ultimatelyspeaking.But,inanyevent,peoplewhothinkthenotionofaccidentalpropertyunintuitivehaveintuitionreversed,Ithink.
+
+Whyhavetheythoughtthis?Whiletherearemanymotivationsforpeoplethinkingthis,oneisthis:Thequestionofessentialpropertiesso-calledissupposedtobeequivalent(anditisequivalent)tothequestionof'identityacrosspossibleworlds'.Supposewehavesomeone,Nixon,andthere'sanotherpossibleworldwherethereisnoonewithallthepropertiesNixonhasintheactualworld.Whichoneoftheseotherpeople,ifany,isNixon?Surelyyoumustgivesomecriterionofidentityhere!Ifyouhaveacriterionofidentity,thenyoujustlookintheotherpossibleworldsatthemanwhoisNixon;andthequestionwhether,inthatotherpossibleworld,Nixonhascertainproperties,iswelldefined.Itisalsosupposedtobewelldefined,intermsofsuchnotions,whetherit'strueinallpossibleworlds,ortherearesomepossibleworldsinwhichNixondidn'twintheelection.But,it'ssaid,theproblemsofgivingsuchcriteriaofidentityareverydifficult.Sometimes
+
+inthecaseofnumbersitmightseemeasier(butevenhereit'sarguedthatit'squitearbitrary).Forexample,onemightsay,andthisissurelythetruth,thatifpositionintheseriesofnumbersiswhatmakesthenumber9whatitis,thenif(inanotherworld)thenumberofplanetshadbeen8,thenumberofplanetswouldbeadifferentnumberfromtheoneitactuallyis.Youwouldn'tsaythatthatnumberthenistobeidentifiedwithournumber9inthisworld.Inthecaseofothertypesofobjects,saypeople,materialobjects,thingslikethat,hasanyonegivenasetofnecessaryandsufficientconditionsforidentityacrosspossibleworlds?
+
+Really,adequatenecessaryandsufficientconditionsforidentitywhichdonotbegthequestionareveryrareinanycase.MathematicsistheonlycaseIreallyknowofwheretheyaregiveneven*within*apossibleworld,totellthetruth.Idon'tknowofsuchconditionsforidentityofmaterialobjectsovertime,orforpeople.Everyoneknowswhataproblemthisis.But,let'sforgetaboutthat.Whatseemstobemoreobjectionableisthatthisdependsonthewrongwayoflookingatwhatapossibleworldis.Onethinks,inthispicture,ofapossibleworldasifitwerelikeaforeigncountry.Onelooksuponitasanobserver.MaybeNixonhasmovedtotheothercountryandmaybehehasn't,butoneisgivenonlyqualities.Onecanobserveallhisqualities,but,ofcourse,onedoesn'tobservethatsomeoneisNixon.Oneobservesthatsomethinghasredhair(orgreenoryellow)butnotwhethersomethingisNixon.Sowehadbetterhaveawayoftellingintermsofpropertieswhenwerunintothesamethingaswesawbefore;wehadbetterhave.awayoftelling,whenwecomeacrossoneoftheseotherpossibleworlds,whowasNixon.
+
+Somelogiciansintheirformaltreatmentofmodallogicmayencouragethispicture.Aprominentexample,perhaps,ismyselfNevertheless,intuitivelyspeaking,itseemstomenot
+
+12Theexamplegaveassertsacertainproperty--electoralvictory-tobe*accidental*toNixon,independentlyofhowheisdescribed.Ofcourse,ifthenotionofaccidentalpropertyismeaningful,thenotionofessentialpropertymustbemeaningfulalso.Thisisnottosaythatthere*are*anyessentialproperties-though,infact,Ithinkthereare.Theusualargumentquestionsthe*meaningfulness*ofessentialism,andsaysthatwhetherapropertyisaccidentalessentialtoanobjectdependshowitisdescribed.Itisthus*not*theviewthatallpropertiesareaccidental.Ofcourse,itisalsonottheview,heldbysomeidealists,thatallpropertiesareessential,allrelationsinternal.
+
+tobetherightwayofthinkingaboutthepossibleworlds.Apossibleworldisn'tadistantcountrythatwearecomingacross,orviewingthroughatelescope.Generallyspeaking,anotherpossibleworldistoofaraway.Evenifwetravelfasterthanlight,wewon'tgettoit.Apossibleworldis*givenbythedescriptiveconditionsweassociatewithit.*Whatdowemeanwhenwesay'InsomeotherpossibleworldIwouldnothavegiventhislecturetoday?'WejustimaginethesituationwhereIdidn'tdecidetogivethislectureordecidedtogiveitonsomeotherday.Ofcourse,wedon'timagineeverythingthatistrueorfalse,butonlythosethingsrelevanttomygivingthelecture;but,intheory,everythingneedstobedecidedtomakeatotaldescriptionoftheworld.Wecan'treallyimaginethatexceptinpart;that,then,isa'possibleworld'.Whycan'titbepartofthe*description*ofapossibleworldthatitcontains*Nixon*andthatinthatworld*Nixon*didn'twintheelection?Itmightbeaquestion,ofcourse,whethersuchaworld*is*possible.(Hereitwouldseem,*primafacie,*tobeclearlypossible.)But,onceweseethatsuchasituationispossible,thenwearegiventhatthemanwhomighthavelosttheelectionordidlosetheelectioninthispossibleworldisNixon,becausethat'spartofthedescriptionoftheworld.'Possibleworlds'are*stipulated,*not*discovered*bypowerfultelescopes.Thereisnoreasonwhywecannot*stipulate*that,intalkingaboutwhatwouldhavehappenedtoNixoninacertaincounterfactualsituation,wearetalkingaboutwhatwouldhavehappenedto*him.*
+
+Ofcourse,ifsomeonemakesthedemandthateverypossibleworldhastobedescribedinapurelyqualitativeway,wecan'tsay,'SupposeNixonhadlosttheelection',wemustsay,instead,somethinglike,'SupposeamanwithadognamedCheckers,wholookslikeacertainDavidFryeimpersonation,isinacertainpossibleworldandlosestheelection.'Well,doesheresembleNixonenoughtobeidentifIedwithNixon?Averyexplicitandblatantexampleofthiswayoflookingat
+
+thingsisDavidLewis'scounterparttheory,13buttheliteratureonquantifIedmodalityisrepletewithit.14Whyneedwemakethisdemand?Thatisnotthewayweordinarilythinkofcounterfactualsituations.Wejustsay'supposethismanhad
+
+13DavidK.Lewis,'CounterpartTheoryandQuantifiedModalLogic',*JournalofPhilosophy*65(1968),113-126.Lewis'selegantpaperalsosuffersfromapurelyformaldifficulty:onhisinterpretationofquantifiedmodality,thefamiliarlaw(y)((x)A(x)A(y))fails,ifA(x)isallowedtocontainmodaloperators.(Forexample,(3y)((x)0(xoFy))issatistiablebut(3y)0(yoFy)isnot.)SinceLewis'sformalmodelfollowsrathernaturallyfromhisphilosophicalviewsoncounterparts,andsincethefailureofuniversalinstantiationformodalpropertiesisintuitivelybizarre,itseemstomethatthisfailureconstitutesanadditionalargumentagainsttheplausibilityofhisphilosophicalviews.Thereareother,lesser,formaldifficultiesaswell.Icannotelaboratehere.
+
+Strictlyspeaking,Lewis'sviewisnotaviewof'transworldidentification',Rather,hethinksthatsimilaritiesacrosspossibleworldsdetermineacowlterpartrelation'whichneedbeneithersymmetricnortransitive.Thecounterpartofsomethinginanotherpossibleworld*never*identicalwiththethingitself,Thusifwesay'Humphreymighthavewontheelection(ifonlyhehaddonesuch-and-such),wearenottalkingaboutsomethingthatmighthavehappenedto*Humphrey*buttosomeoneelse,a"counterpart",'Probably,however,Humphreycouldnotcarewhethersomeone*else,*nomatterhowmuchresemblinghim,wouldhavebeenvictoriousinanotherpossibleworld.Thus,Lewis'sviewseemstomeevenmorebizarrethantheusualnotionsoftransworldidentificationthatitreplaces.Theimportantissues,however,arecommontothetwoviews:thesuppositionthatotherpossibleworldsarelikeotherdimensionsofamoreinclusiveuniverse,thattheycanbegivenonlybypurelyqualitativedescriptions,andthatthereforeeithertheidentityrelationorthecounterpartrelationmustbeestablishedintermsofqualitativeresemblance.
+
+ManyhavepointedouttomethatthefatherofcounterparttheoryisprobablyLeibnitz.IwillnotgointosuchahistoricalquestIOnhere.ItwouldalsobeinterestingtocompareLewis'sviewswiththeWheeler-Everettinterpretationofquantummechanics.IsuspectthatthisviewofphysicsmaysufferfromphilosophicalproblemsanalogoustoLewis'scounterparttheory;itiscertainlyverysimilarinspirit.
+
+Another*locusclassicus*oftheviewsa111criticizing,with1110rep11ilosophicalexpositionthanLewis'spaper,ispaperbyDavidKJpLlllontransworldidentifICation.Unfortunately,thispaperhasneverbeenpublished.ItdoesnotrepresentKaplan'spresentposition.
+
+lost'.Itis*given*thatthepossibleworldcontains*thisman,*andthatinthatworld,hehadlost.Theremaybeaproblemaboutwhatintuitionsaboutpossibilitycometo.But,ifwehavesuchanintuitionaboutthepossibilityof*that(thisman's*electoralloss),thenitisaboutthepossibilityof*that.*Itneednotbeidentifiedwiththepossibilityofamanlookinglikesuchandsuch,orholdingsuchandsuchpoliticalviews,orotherwisequalitativelydescribed,havinglost.Wecanpointtothe*man,*andaskwhatmighthavehappenedto*him,*hadeventsbeendifferent.
+
+Itmightbesaid'Let'ssupposethatthisistrue.Itcomesdowntothesamething,becausewhetherNixoncouldhavehadcertainproperties,differentfromtheonesheactuallyhas,isequivalenttothequestionwhetherthecriteriaofidentityacrosspossibleworldsincludethatNixondoesnothavetheseproperties'.Butitdoesn'treallycometothesamething,becausetheusualnotionofacriterionoftransworldidentitydemandsthatwegivepurelyqualitativenecessaryandsufficientconditionsforsomeonebeingNixon.Ifwecan'timagineapossibleworldinwhichNixondoesn'thaveacertainproperty,thenit'sanecessaryconditionofsomeonebeingNixon.OranecessarypropertyofNixonthathe[has]thatprop-CIty.Forexample,supposingNixonisinfactahumanbeing,itwouldseemthatwecannotthinkofapossiblecounterfactualsituationinwhichhewas,say,aninanimateobject;perhapsitisnotevenpossibleforhimnottohavebeenahumanbeing.ThenitwillbeanecessaryfactaboutNixonthatinallpossibleworldswhereheexistsatall,heishumanoranywayheisnotaninanimateobject.Thishasnothingtodowithanyrequirementthattherebepurelyqualitative*sufficient*conditionsforNixonhoodwhichwecanspellout.Andshouldtherebe?Maybethereissomeargumentthatthereshouldbe,butwecanconsiderthesequestionsabout*necessary*conditionswithoutgoingintoanyquestionabout*sufficient*conditions.
+
+Further,eveniftherewereapurelyqualitativesetofnecessaryandsufficientconditionsforbeingNixon,theviewIadvocatewouldnotdemandthatwefmdtheseconditions*before*wecanaskwhetherNixonmighthavewontheelection,nordoesitdemandthatwerestatethequestionintermsofsuchconditions.Wecansimplyconsider*Nixon*andaskwhatmighthavehappenedto*him*hadvariouscircumstancesbeendifferent.Sothetwoviews,thetwowaysoflookingatthings,doseemtometomakeadifference.
+
+Noticetillsquestion,whetherNixoncouldnothavebeenahumanbeing,isaclearcasewherethequestionaskedisnotepistemological.SupposeNixonactuallyturnedouttobeanautomaton.Thatmighthappen.WemightneedevidencewhetherNixonisahumanbeingoranautomaton.Butthatisaquestionaboutourknowledge.ThequestionofwhetherNixonmighthavenotbeenahumanbeing,giventhatheisone,isnotaquestionaboutknowledge,*aposteriori*or*apriori.*It'saquestionabout,eventhoughsuchandsuchthingsarethecase,whatmighthavebeenthecaseotherwise.
+
+Thistableiscomposedofmolecules.Mightitnothavebeencomposedofmolecules?Certainlyitwasascientificdiscoveryofgreatmomentthatitwascomposedofmolecules(oratoms).Butcouldanythingbethisveryobjectandnotbecomposedofmolecules?Certainlythereissomefeelingthattheanswertothatmustbe'no'.Atanyrate,it'shardtoimagineunderwhatcircumstancesyouwouldhavethisveryobjectandfmdthatitisnotcomposedofmolecules.Aquitedifferentquestioniswhetheritisinfactcomposedofmoleculesintheactualworldandhowweknowthis.(Iwillgointomoredetailaboutthesequestionsaboutessencelateron.)
+
+IwishatthispointtointroducesomethingwhichIneedinthemethodologyofdiscussingthetheoryofnamesthatI'mtalkingabout.Weneedthenotionof'identityacrosspossibleworlds'asit'susuallyand,asIthink,somewhatmisleadingly
+
+designatorrigidlydesignatesacertainobjectifitdesignatesthatobjectwherevertheobjectexists;if,inaddition,theobjectisanecessaryexistent,thedesignatorcanbecalled*stronglyrigid.*Forexample,'thePresidentoftheU.S.in1970'designatesacertainman,Nixon;butsomeoneelse(e.g.,Humphrey)mighthavebeenthePresidentin1970,andNixonmightnothave;sothisdesignatorisnotrigid.
+
+Intheselectures,Iwillargue,intuitively,thatpropernamesarerigiddesignators,foralthoughtheman(Nixon)mightnothavebeenthePresident,itisnotthecasethathemightnothavebeenNixon(thoughhemightnothavebeen*called*'Nixon').Thosewhohavearguedthattomakesenseofthenotionofrigiddesignator,wemustantecedentlymakesenseof'criteriaoftransworldidentity'havepreciselyreversedthecartandthehorse;itis*because*wecanrefer(rigidly)toNixon,andstipulatethatwearespeakingofwhatmighthavehappenedto*him*(undercertaincircumstances),that'transworldidentifications'areunproblematicinsuchcases.16
+
+Thetendencytodemandpurelyqualitativedescriptionsofcounterfactualsituationshasmanysources.One,perhaps,istheconfusionoftheepistemologicalandthemetaphysical,betweenaprioricityandnecessity.Ifsomeoneidentifiesnecessitywithaprioricity,andthinksthatobjectsarenamedbymeansofuniquelyidentifyingproperties,hemaythinkthatitisthepropertiesusedtoidentifytheobjectwhich,beingknownaboutit*apriori,*mustbeusedtoidentifyitinallpossibleworlds,tofmdoutwhichisNixon.Asagainstthis,Irepeat:(I)Generally,thingsaren't'foundout'aboutacounterfactualsituation,theyarestipulated;(2)possibleworlds
+
+called,IStoexplicateonedistinctionthatIwanttomakenow.What'sthedifferencebetweenaskingwhetherit'snecessarythat9isgreaterthan7orwhetherit'snecessarythatthenumberofplanetsisgreaterthan7?Whydoesoneshowanythingmoreaboutessencethantheother?Theanswertothismightbeintuitively'Well,look,thenumberofplanetsmighthavebeendifferentfromwhatitinfactis.Itdoesn'tmakeanysense,though,tosaythatninemighthavebeendifferentfromwhatitinfactis'.Let'suscsometermsquasi-technically.Let'scallsomethinga*rigiddesignator*ifineverypossibleworlditdesignatesthesameobject,a*nonrigid*or*accidentaldesignator*ifthatisnotthecase.Ofcoursewedon'trequirethattheobjectsexistinallpossibleworlds.CertainlyNixonmightnothaveexistedifhisparentshadnotgottenmarried,inthenormalcourseofthings.Whenwethinkofapropertyasessentialtoanobjectweusuallymeanthatitistrueofthatobjectinanycasewhereitwouldhaveexisted.Arigiddesignatorofanecessaryexistentcanbecalled*stronglyrigid.*
+
+OneoftheintuitivethesesIwillmaintaininthesetalksisthat*names*arerigiddesignators.Certainlytheyseemtosatisfytheintuitivetestmentionedabove:althoughsomeoneotherthantheU.S.Presidentin1970mighthavebeentheU.S.Presidentin1970(e.g.,Humphreymighthave),nooneotherthanNixonmighthavebeenNixon.Inthesameway,a
+
+18Ofcoursedon'timplythatlanguagecontainsanameforeveryobject.Demonstrativescanbeusedasrigiddesignators,andfreevariablescanbeusedasrigiddesignatorsofunspecifiedobjects.Ofcoursewhenwespecifyacounterfactualsituation,wedonotdescribethewholepossibleworld,butonlytheportionwhichinterestsus.
+
+UMisleadingly,becausethephrasesuggeststhatthereisaspecialproblemof'transworldide'ltiflcation',thatwecannottriviallystipulatewhomorwhatwearetalkingaboutwhenweimagineanotherpossibleworld.Theterm'possibleworld'mayalsomislead;perhapsitsuggeststhe'foreigncountry'picture.havesometimesused'counterfactualsituation'inthetext;MichaelSlotehassuggestedthat'possiblestate(orhistory)ofworld'mightbelessmisleadingthan'possibleworld'.Itisbetterstill,toavoidconfusion,nottosay,'Insomepossibleworld,Humphreywouldhavewon'butrather,simply,'Humphreymighthavewon'.Theapparatusofpossiblewordshas(Ihope)beenveryusefulasfarastheset-theoreticmodel-theoryofquantifiedmodallogicisconcerned,buthasencouragedphilosophicalpseudo-problemsandmisleadingpictures.
+
+neednotbegivenpurelyqualitatively,asifwewerelookingatthemthroughatelescope.Andwewillseeshortlythatthepropertiesanobjecthasineverycounterfactualworldhavenothingtodowithpropertiesusedtoidentifyitintheactualworld.I?
+
+Doesthe'problem'of'transworldidentification'makeanysense?Isit*simply*apseudo-problem?Thefollowing,itseemstome,canbesaidforit.AlthoughthestatementthatEnglandfoughtGermanyin1943perhapscannotbe*reduced*toanystatementaboutindividuals,neverthelessinsomesenseitisnotafact'overandabove'thecollectionofallfactsaboutpersons,andtheirbehavioroverhistory.Thesenseinwhichfactsaboutnationsarenotfacts'overandabove'thoseaboutpersonscanbeexpressedintheobservationthatadescriptionoftheworldmentioningallfactsaboutpersonsbutomittingthoseaboutnationscanbea*complete*descriptionoftheworld,fromwhichthefactsaboutnationsfollow.Similarly,perhaps,factsaboutmaterialobjectsarenotfacts'overandabove'factsabouttheirconstituentmolecules.Wemaythenask,givenadescriptionofanon-actualizedpossiblesituationintermsofpeople,whetherEnglandstillexistsinthatsituation,orwhetheracertainnation(described,say,astheonewhereJoneslives)whichwouldexistinthatsituation,isEngland.Similarly,givencertaincounterfactualvicissitudesinthehistoryofthemoleculesofatable,T,onemayaskwhetherTwouldexist,inthatsituation,orwhetheracertainbunchofmolecules,whichinthatsituationwouldconstituteatable,constitutetheverysametableT.Ineachcase,weseekcriteriaofidentityacrosspossibleworldsforcertainparticularsintermsofthoseforother,more'basic',particulars.Ifstatementsaboutnations(ortribes)arenot*reducible*tothoseaboutothermore'basic'constituents,ifthereissome'opentexture'intherelationshipbetweenthem,wecanhardlyexpecttogivehardandfastidentitycriteria;
+
+nevertheless,inconcretecaseswemaybeabletoanswerwhetheracertainbunchofmoleculeswouldstillconstituteTthoughinsomecasestheanswermaybeindeterminate.Ithinksimilarremarksapplytotheproblemofidentityovertime;heretooweareusuallyconcernedwithdeterminacy,theidentityofa'complex'particularintermsofmore'basic'ones.(Forexample,ifvariouspartsofatablearereplaced,isitthesameobject?18)
+
+Suchaconceptionof'transworldidentification',however,differsconsiderablyfromtheusualone.First,althoughwecantrytodescribetheworldintermsofmolecules,thereisnoimproprietyindescribingitintermsofgrosserentities:thestatementthat*thistable*mighthavebeenplacedinanotherroomisperfectlyproper,inandofitselfWe*need*notusethedescriptionintermsofmolecules,orevengrosserpartsofthetable,thoughwe*may.*Unlessweassumethatsomeparticularsare'ultimate','basic'particulars,notypeofdescriptionneedberegardedasprivileged.Wecanaskwhether*Nixon*mighthavelosttheelectionwithoutfurthersubtlety,andusuallynofurthersubtletyisrequired.Second,itisnotassumedthatnecessaryandsufficientconditionsforwhatkindsofcollections
+
+nSeeLectureI,p.53(onNixon),andLectureII,pp.74-7.
+
+11Thereissomevaguenesshere.Ifachip,ormolecule,ofagiventablehadbeenreplacedbyanotherone,wewouldbecontenttosaythatwehavethesametable.Butiftoomanychipsweredifferent,wewouldseemtohaveadifferentone.Thesameproblemcan,ofcourse,ariseforidentityovertime.
+
+Wheretheidentityrelationisvague,itmayseemintransitive;achainofapparentidentitiesmayyieldanapparentnon-identity.Somesortof'counterpart'notion(thoughnotwithLewis'sphilosophicalunderpinningsofresemblance,foreigncountryworlds,etc.),mayhavesomeutilityhere.Onecouldsaythatstrictidentityappliesonlytotheparticulars(themolecules),andthecounterpartrelationtotheparticulars'composed'ofthem,thetables.Thecounterpartrelationcanthenbedeclaredtobevagueandintransitive.Itseems,however,utopiantosupposethatwewilleverreachalevelofultimateidentityrelationsarenevervagueandthedangerofISehmmated.Thedangerusuallydoesnotariseinpractice,soweordmarilycanspeaksimplyofidentitywithoutworry.Logicianshavenotdevelopedalogicofvagueness.
+
+ofmoleculesmakeupthistablearepossible;thisfactIjustmentioned.Third,theattemptednotiondealswithcriteriaofidentityofparticularsintermsofother*particulars,*notqualities.Icanrefertothetablebeforeme,andaskwhatmighthavehappenedtoitundercertaincircumstances;Icanalsorefertoitsmolecules.If,ontheotherhand,itisdemandedthatIdescribeeachcounterfactualsituationpurelyqualitatively,thenIcanonlyaskwhether*atable,*ofsuchandsuchcolor,andsoon,wouldhavecertainproperties;whetherthetableinquestionwouldbe*thistable,*table*T,*isindeedmoot,sinceallreferencetoobjects,asopposedtoqualities,hasdisappeared.Itisoftensaidthat,ifacounterfactualsituationisdescribedasonewhichwouldhavehappenedto*Nixon,*andifitisnotassumedthatsuchadescriptionisreducibletoapurelyqualitativeone,thenmysterious'bareparticulars'areassumed,propertylesssubstrataunderlyingthequalities.Thisisnotso:IthinkthatNixonisaRepublican,notmerelythatheliesinbackofRepublicanism,whateverthatmeans;IalsothinkhemighthavebeenaDemocrat.ThesameholdsforanyotherpropertiesNixonmaypossess,exceptthatsomeofthesepropertiesmaybeessential.WhatIdodenyisthataparticularisnothingbuta'bundleofqualities',whateverthatmaymean.Ifaqualityisanabstractobject,abundleofqualitiesisanobjectofanevenhigherdegreeofabstraction,notaparticular.Philosophershavecometotheoppositeviewthroughafalsedilemma:theyhaveasked,aretheseobjects*behind*thebundleofqualities,oristheobject*nothingbut*thebundle?Neitheristhecase;thistableiswooden,brown,intheroom,etc.Ithasallthesepropertiesandisnotathingwithoutproperties,behindthem;butitshouldnotthereforebeidentifiedwiththeset,or'bundle',ofitsproperties,norwiththesubsetofitsessentialproperties.Don'task:howcanIidentifythistableinanotherpossibleworld,exceptbyitsproperties?Ihavethetableinmyhands,Jcanpointtoit,andwhenIaskwhether*it*mighthavebeenin
+
+anotherroom,amtalking,bydefinition,about*it.*Idon'thavetoidentifyitafterseeingitthroughatelescope.IfIamtalkingaboutit,Iamtalkingabout*it,*inthesamewayaswhenIsaythatourhandsmighthavebeenpaintedgreen,havestipulatedthatIamtalkingaboutgreenness.Somepropertiesofanobjectmaybeessentialtoit,inthatitcouldnothavefailedtohavethem.Butthesepropertiesarenotusedtoidentifytheobjectinanotherpossibleworld,forsuchanidentificationisnotneeded.Norneedtheessentialpropertiesofanobjectbethepropertiesusedtoidentifyitintheactualworld,ifindeeditisidentifiedin'theactualworldbymeansofproperties(Ihaveuptonowleftthequestionopen).
+
+So:thequestionoftransworldidentificationmakes*some*sense,intermsofaskingabouttheidentityofanobject*via*questionsaboutitscomponentparts.Butthesepartsarenotqualities,anditisnotanobjectresemblingthegivenonewhichisinquestion.Theoristshaveoftensaidthatweidentifyobjectsacrosspossibleworldsasobjectsresemblingthegivenoneinthemostimportantrespects.Onthecontrary,Nixon,hadhedecidedtoactotherwise,mighthaveavoidedpoliticsliketheplague,thoughprivatelyharboringradicalopinions.Mostimportant,evenwhenwe*can*replacequestionsaboutanobjectbyquestionsaboutitsparts,we*need*notdoso.Wecanrefertotheobjectandaskwhatmighthavehappenedto*it.*So,wedonotbeginwithworlds(whicharesupposedsomehowtobereal,andwhosequalities,butnotwhoseobjects,areperceptibletous),andthenaskaboutcriteriaoftransworldidentification;onthecontrary,webeginwiththeobjects,whichwe*have,*andcanidentify,intheactualworld.Wecanthenaskwhethercertainthingsmighthavebeentrueoftheobjects.
+
+AboveIsaidth::.ttheFrege-Russellviewthatnamesareintroducedbydescriptioncouldbetakeneitherasatheoryofthemeaningofnames(FregeandRussellseemedtotakeitthis
+
+way)ormerelyasatheoryoftheirreference.Letmegiveanexample,notinvolvingwhatwouldusuallybecalleda'propername,'toillustratethis.Supposesomeonestipulatesthat100degreescentigradeistobethetemperatureatwhichwaterboilsatsealevel.Thisisn'tcompletelyprecisebecausethepressuremayvaryatsealevel.Ofcourse,historically,amoreprecisedefinitionwasgivenlater.Butlet'ssupposethatthiswerethedefinition.Anothersortofexampleintheliteratureisthatonemeteristobethelengthof*S*whereSisacertainstickorbarinParis.(Usuallypeoplewholiketotalkaboutthesedefmitionsthentrytomake'thelengthof'intoan'operational'concept.Butit'snotimportant.)
+
+Wittgensteinsayssomethingverypuzzlingaboutthis.Hesays:'Thereisonethingofwhichonecansayneitherthatitisonemeterlongnorthatitisnotonemeterlong,andthatisthestandardmeterinParis.Butthisis,ofcourse,nottoascribeanyextraordinarypropertytoit,butonlytomarkitspeculiarroleinthelanguagegameofmeasuringwithameterrule.'18Thisseemstobeavery'extraordinaryproperty',actually,foranysticktohave.thinkhemustbewrong.Ifthestickisastick,forexample,39'37incheslong(Iassumewehavesomedifferentstandardforinches),whyisn'titonemeterlong?Anyway,let'ssupposethatheiswrongandthatthestickisonemeterlong.PartoftheproblemwhichisbotheringWittgensteinis,ofcourse,thatthisstickservesasastandardoflengthandsowecan'tattributelengthtoit.Bethisasitmay(well,itmaynotbe),isthestatement'stickSisonemeterlong',anecessarytruth?Ofcourseitslengthmightvaryintime.WecouldmakethedefmitionmoreprecisebystipulatingthatonemeteristobethelengthofSatafixedtime*to.*IsitthenanecessarytruththatstickSisonemeterlongattime*to?*Someonewhothinksthateverythingoneknows*apriori*isnecessarymightthink:'Thisisthe*definition*ofameter.By
+
+defmition,stickSisonemeterlongat*to.*That'sanecessarytruth.'Butthereseemstometobenoreasonsotoconclude,evenforamanwhousesthestateddefmitionof'onemeter'.Forhe'susingthisdefmitionnotto*givethemeaning*ofwhathecalledthe'meter',butto*.fixthereference.*(Forsuchanabstractthingasaunitoflength,thenotionofreferencemaybeunclear.Butlet'ssupposeit'sclearenoughforthepresentpurposes.)Heusesittofixareference.Thereisacertainlengthwhichhewantstomarkout.Hemarksitoutbyanaccidentalproperty,namelythatthereisastickofthatlength.Someoneelsemightmarkoutthesamereferencebyanotheraccidentalproperty.Butinanycase,eventhoughheusesthistofixthereferenceofhisstandardoflength,ameter,hecanstillsay,'ifheathadbeenappliedtothisstickSat*to,*thenat*to*stickSwouldnothavebeenonemeterlong.'
+
+Well,whycanhedothis?Partofthereasonmaylieinsomepeople'smindsinthephilosophyofscience,whichIdon'twanttogointohere.Butasimpleanswertothequestionisthis:Evenifthisisthe*only*standardoflengththatheuses,20thereisanintuitivedifferencebetweenthephrase'onemeter'andthephrase'thelengthofSat*to'.*Thefirstphraseismeanttodesignaterigidlyacertainlengthinallpossibleworlds,whichintheactualworldhappenstobethelengthofthestickSat*to.*Ontheotherhand'thelengthofSat*to'*doesnotdesignateanythingrigidly.Insomecounterfactualsituationsthestickmighthavebeenlongerandinsomeshorter,ifvariousstressesandstrainshadbeenappliedtoit.Sowecansayofthisstick,thesamewayaswewouldofanyotherofthesamesubstanceandlength,thatifheatofagivenquantityhadbeenappliedtoit,itwouldhaveexpandedtosuchandsuchalength.Sucha
+
+11*PhilosophicalInvestigations,*SO.
+
+Philosophersofsciencemayseethekeytotheprobleminaviewthat'onemeter'is'clusterconcept'.amaskingthereaderhypotheticallytosupposethatthe'definition'givenisthe*only*standardusedtodeterminethemetricsystem.thinktheproblemwouldstillarise.
+
+counterfactualstatement,beingtrueofotherstickswithidenticalphysicalproperties,willalsobetrueofthisstick.Thereisnoconflict1:thatcounterfactualstatementandthedefinitionof'onemeter'as'thelengthofSat*to',*becausethe'definition',properlyinterpreted,does*not*saythatthephrase'onemeter'istobe*synonymous*(evenwhentalkingaboutcounterfactualsituations)withthephrase'thelengthofSat*to',*butratherthatwehave*determinedthereference*ofthephrase'onemeter'bystipulatingthat'onemeter'istobea*rigid*designatorofthelengthwhichisinfactthelengthofSat*to·*Sothisdoes*not*makeitanecessarytruththatSisonemeterlongat*to.*Infact,undercertaincircumstances,Swouldnothavebeenonemeterlong.Thereasonisthatonedesignator('onemeter')isrigidandtheotherdesignator('thelengthofSat*to')*isnot.
+
+Whatthen,isthe*epistemological*statusofthestatement'StickSisonemeterlongat*to',*forsomeonewhohasthemetricsystembyreferencetostickS?Itwouldseemthatheknowsit*apriori.*ForifheusedstickStofixthereferenceoftheterm'onemeter',thenasaresultofthiskindof'definition'(whichisnotanabbreviativeorsynonymousdefinition),heknowsautomatically,withoutfurtherinvestigation,thatSisonemeter10ng.21Ontheotherhand,evenifSisusedasthestandardofameter,the*metaphysical*statusof'Sisonemeterlong'willbethatofacontingentstatement,providedthat'onemeter'isregardedasarigiddesignator:underappropriatestressesandstrains,heatingsorcoolings,Swouldhavehadalengthotherthanonemeterevenat*to.*(Suchstatementsas'Waterboilsat100°Catsealevel'canhaveasimilarstatus.)Sointhissense,therearecontingent*apriori*truths.Moreimportantforpresentpurposes,though,thanacceptingthis exampleasaninstanceofthecontingent*apriori,*isitsillustrationofthedistinctionbetween'defmitions'whichfixareferenceandthosewhichgiveasynonym.
+
+Inthecaseofnamesonemightmakethisdistinctiontoo.Supposethereferenceofanameisgivenbyadescriptionoraclusterofdescriptions.Ifthename*meansthesame*asthatdescriptionorclusterofdescriptions,itwillnotbearigiddesignator.Itwillnotnecessarilydesignatethesameobjectinallpossibleworlds,sinceotherobjectsmighthavehadthegivenpropertiesinotherpossibleworlds,unless(ofcourse)wehappenedtouseessentialpropertiesinourdescription.Sosupposewesay,'AristotleisthegreatestmanwhostudiedwithPlato'.Ifweusedthatasa*definition,*thename'Aristotle'istomean'thegreatestmanwhostudiedwithPlato'.ThenofcourseinsomeotherpossibleworldthatmanmightnothavestudiedwithPlatoandsomeothermanwouldhavebeenAristotle.If,ontheotherhand,wemerelyusethedescriptionto*fixthe*thenthatmanwillbethereferentof'Aristotle'inallpossibleworlds.Theonlyuseofthedescriptionwillhavebeentopickouttowhichmanwemeantorefer.Butthen,whenwesaycounterfactually'supposeAristotlehadnevergoneintophilosophyatall',weneednotmean'supposeamanwhostudiedwithPlato,andtaughtAlexandertheGreat,andwrotethisandthat,andsoon,hadnevergoneintophilosophyatall',whichmightseemlikeacontradiction.Weneedonlymean,'supposethat*thatman*hadnevergoneintophilosophyatall'.
+
+Itseemsplausibletosupposethat,insomecases,thereferenceofanameisindeedfixed*via*adescriptioninthesamewaythatthemetricsystemwasfixed.WhenthemythicalagentfirstsawHesperus,hemaywellhavefixedhisreferencebysaying,'Ishalluse"Hesperus"asanameoftheheavenlybodyappearinginyonderpositioninthesky.'Hethenfixedthereferenceof'Hesperus'byitsapparentcelestialposition.Doesitfollow
+
+2'Sincethetruthheknowsiscontingent,choosenottocallit'analytic',stipulativelyrequiringanalytictruthstobebothnecessaryandapriori,Seefootnote63.
thatitispartofthemeaningofthenamethatHesperushassuchandsuchpositionatthetimeinquestion?Surelynot:ifHesperushadbeenhitearlierbyacomet,itmighthavebeenvisibleatadifferentpositionatthattime.InsuchacounterfactualsituationwewouldsaythatHesperuswouldnothaveoccupiedthatposition,butnotthatHesperuswouldnothavebeenHespermThereasonisthat'Hesperus'rigidlydesignatesacertainheavenlybodyand'thebodyinyonderposition'doesnot-adifferentbody,ornobodymighthavebeeninthatposition,butnootherbodymighthavebeenHesperus(thoughanotherbody,notHesperus,mighthavebeencalled'Hesperus').Indeed,ashavesaid,Iwillholdthatnamesarealwaysrigiddesignators.
FregeandRussellcertainlyseemtohavethefullblowntheoryaccordingtowhichapropernameisnotarigiddesignatorandissynonymouswiththedescriptionwhichreplacedit.Butanothertheorymightbethatthisdescriptionisusedtodeterminearigidreference.ThesetwoalternativeswillhavedifferentconsequencesforthequestionsIwasaskingbefore.If'Moses'means'themanwhodidsuchandsuch',then,ifnoonedidsuchandsuch,Mosesdidn'texist;andmaybe'noonedidsuchandsuch'isevenananalysisof'Mosesdidn'texist'.Butifthedescriptionisusedtofixareferencerigidly,thenit'sclearthatthatisnotwhatismeantby'Mosesdidn'texist',becausewecanask,ifwespeakofacounterfactualcasewherenoonedidindeeddosuchandsuch,say,leadtheIsraelitesoutofEgypt,doesitfollowthat,insuchasituation,Moseswouldn'thaveexisted?Itwouldseemnot.ForsurelyMosesmighthavejustdecidedtospendhisdaysmorepleasantlyintheEgyptiancourts.Hemightneverhavegoneintoeitherpoliticsorreligionatall;andinthatcasemaybenoonewouldhavedoneanyofthethingsthattheBiblerelatesofMoses.Thatdoesn'tinitselfmeanthatinsuchapossibleworldMoseswouldn'thaveexisted.Ifso,then
'Mosesexists'meanssomethingdifferentfrom'theexistenceanduniquenessconditionsforacertaindescriptionarefulfilled';andthereforethisdoesnotgiveananalysisofthesingularexistentialstatementafterall.IfyougiveuptheideathatthisisatheoryofmeaningandmakeitintoatheoryofreferenceinthewaythatIhavedescribed,yougiveupsomeoftheadvantagesofthetheory.Singularexistentialstatementsandidentitystatementsbetweennamesneedsomeotheranalysis.
Fregeshouldbecriticizedforusingtheterm'sense'intwosenses.Forhetakesthesenseofadesignatortobeitsmeaning;andhealsotakesittobethewayitsreferenceisdetermined.Identifyingthetwo,hesupposesthatbotharegivenbydefinitedescriptions.Ultimately,Iwillrejectthissecondsuppositiontoo;butevenwereitright,Irejectthefirst.Adescriptionmaybeusedassynonymouswithadesignator,oritmaybeusedtofixitsreference.ThetwoFregeansensesof'sense'correspondtotwosensesof'defmition'inordinaryparlance.Theyshouldcarefullybedistinguished.22
12UsuallytheFregeansenseisnowinterpretedasthemeaning,whichmustbecarefullydistinguishedfroma'referencefixer'.Weshallseebelowthatformostspeakers,unlesstheyaretheoneswhoinitiallygiveanobjectitsname,thereferentofthenameisdeterminedbya'causal'chainofcommunicationratherthanadescription.
Intheformalsemanticsofmodallogic,the'sense'ofatermtisusuallytakentobethe(possiblypartial)functionwhichassignstoeachpossibleworldHthereferentoftinH.Forarigiddesignator,suchafunctionisconstant.Thisnotionof'sense'relatestothatof'givingameaning',notthatoffixingareference.Inthisuseof'sense','onemeter'hasaconstantfunctionasitssense,thoughitsreferenceisfixedby'thelengthofS',whichdoesnothaveaconstantfunctionasitssense.
Somephilosophershavethoughtthatdescriptions,inEnglish,areambiguous,thatsometimestheynon-rigidlydesignate,ineachworld,theobject(ifany)satisfyingthedescription,wIlliesometimestheyrigidlydesignatetheobjectactuallysatisfyingthedescription.(Others,inspiredbyDonnellan,saythedescriptionsometimesrigidlydesignatestheobjectthoughtorpresupposedtosatisfythedescription.)fmdanysuchallegedambiguitiesdubious.know
Ihopetheideaoffixingthereferenceasopposedtoactuallydefmingonetermasmeaningtheotherissomewhatclear.Thereisreallynotenoughtimetogointoeverythingingreatdetail.Ithink,evenincaseswherethenotionofrigidityversusaccidentalityofdesignationcannotbeusedtomakeoutthedifferenceinquestion,somethingscalleddefmitionsreallyintendtofixareferenceratherthantogivethemeaningofaphrase,togiveasynonym.Letmegiveanexample.nissupposedtobetheratioofthecircumferenceofacircletoitsdiameter.Now,it'ssomethingthatIhavenothingbutavagueintuitivefeelingtoarguefor:ItseemstomethatherethisGreekletterisnotbeingusedasshortforthephrase'theratioofthecircumferenceofacircletoitsdiameter'norisitevenusedasshortforaclusterofalternativedefmitionsofn,whateverthatmightmean.Itisusedasanameforarealnumber,whichinthiscaseisnecessarilytheratioofthecircumferenceofacircletoitsdiameter.Notethathereboth'n'and'theratioofthecircumferenceofacircletoitsdiameter'arerigiddesignators,sotheargumentsgiveninthemetriccaseareinapplicable.(Well,ifsomeonedoesn'tseethis,orthinksit'swrong,itdoesn'tmatter.)
LetmereturntothequestionaboutnameswhichIraised.Assaid,thereisapopularmodernsubstituteforthetheoryofFregeandRussell;itisadoptedevenbysuchastrongcriticofmanyviewsofFregeandRussell,especiallythelatter,as
ofnoclearevidenceforthemwhichcannotbehandledeitherbyRussell'snotionofscopeorbytheconsiderationsalludedtoinfootnote3,p.25.
Iftheambiguitydoesexist,theninthesupposedrigidsenseof'thelengthof5','onemeter'and'thelengthof5'designatethesamethinginallpossibleworldsandhavethesame(functional)'sense'.
Intheformalsemanticsofintensionallogic,supposewetakeadefinitedescriptiontodesignate,ineachworld,theobjectsatisfyingthedescription.Itisindeedusefultohaveanoperatorwhichtransformseachdescriptionintoatermwhichrigidlydesignatestheobjectactuallysatisfyingthedescription.DavidKaplanhasproposedsuchanoperatorandcallsit'Dthat'.
Strawson.28Thesubstituteisthat,althoughanameisnotadisguiseddescriptioniteitherabbreviates,oranywayitsreferenceisdeterminedby,someclusterofdescriptions.Thequestioniswhetherthisistrue.AsIalsosaid,therearestrongerandweakerversionsofthis.Thestrongerversionwouldsaythatthenameissimplydefined,synonymously,astheclusterofdescriptions.Itwillthenbenecessary,notthatMoseshadanyparticularpropertyinthiscluster,butthathehadthedisjunctionofthem.Therecouldn'tbeanycounterfactualsituationinwhichhedidn'tdoanyofthosethings.Ithinkit'sclearthatthisisveryimplausible.Peoplehavesaidit-ormaybetheyhaven'tbeenintendingtosaythat,butwereusing'necessary'insomeothersense.Atanyrate,forexample,inSearle'sarticleonpropernames:
Toputthesamepointdifferently,supposeweask,'whydowehavepropernamesatall?'Obviouslytorefertoindividuals.'Yesbutdescriptionscoulddothatforus'.Butonlyatthecostofspecifyingidentityconditionseverytimereferenceismade:Supposeweagreetodrop'Aristotle'anduse,say,'theteacherofAlexander',thenitisanecessarytruththatthemanreferredtoisAlexander'steacher-butitisacontingentfactthatAristotleeverwentintopedagogy(thoughamsuggestingthatitisanecessaryfactthatAristotlehasthelogicalsum,inclusivedisjunction,ofpropertiescommonlyattributedtohim).24
Suchasuggestion,if'necessary'isusedinthewayIhavebeenusingitinthislecture,mustclearlybefalse.(Unlesshe'sgotsomeveryinterestingessentialpropertycommonlyattributedtoAristotle.)MostofthethingscommonlyattributedtoAristotlearethingsthatAristotlemightnothavedoneatall.Inasituationinwhichhedidn'tdothem,wewoulddescribethatasasituationinwhichAristotledidn'tdothem.Thisisnotadistinctionofscope,ashappenssometimesinthecaseof
P.F.Strawson,Individuals,Methuen,London,1959,Ch.6.
Searle,op.cit.inCaton,PhilosophyandOrdinaryLanguage,p.160.
descriptions,wheresomeonemightsaythatthemanwhotaughtAlexandermightnothavetaughtAlexander;thoughitcouldnothavebeentruethat:themanwhotaughtAlexanderdidn'tteachAlexander.ThisisRussell'sdistinctionofscope.(Iwon'tgointoit.)Itseemstomeclearthatthisisnotthecasehere.NotonlyisittrueofthemanAristotlethathemightnothavegoneintopedagogy;itisalsotruethatweusetheterm'Aristotle'insuchawaythat,inthinkingofacounterfactualsituationinwhichAristotledidn'tgointoanyofthefieldsanddoanyoftheachievementswecommonlyattributetohim,stillwewouldsaythatwasasituationinwhichAristotledidnotdothesethings.25Welltherearesomethingslikethedate,theperiodhelivedin,thatmightbemoreimaginedasnecessary.Maybethosearethingswecommonlyattributetohim.Thereareexceptions.Maybeit'shardtoimaginehowhecouldhavelived500yearslaterthanheinfactdid.Thatcertainlyraisesatleastaproblem.Buttakeamanwhodoesn'thaveanyideaofthedate.Manypeoplejusthavesomevagueclusterofhismostfamousachievements.Notonlyeachofthesesingly,butthepossessionoftheentiredisjunctionoftheseproperties,isjustacontingentfactaboutAristotle;andthestatement
thatAristotlehadthisdisjunctionofpropertiesisacontingenttruth.
Amanmightknowitaprioriinsomesense,ifheinfactfixesthereferenceof'Aristotle'asthemanwhodidoneofthesethings.Stillitwon'tbeanecessarytruthforhim.Sothissortofexamplewouldbeanexamplewhereaprioricitywouldnotnecessarilyimplynecessity,iftheclustertheoryofnameswereright.Thecaseoffixingthereferenceof'onemeter'isaveryclearexampleinwhichsomeone,justbecausehefixedthereferenceinthisway,caninsomesenseknowapriorithatthelengthofthisstickisameterwithoutregardingitasanecessarytruth.Maybethethesisaboutaprioricityimplyingnecessitycanbemodified.Itdoesappeartostatesomeinsightwhichmightbeimportant,andtrue,aboutepistemology.Inawayanexamplelikethismayseemlikeatrivialcounterexamplewhichisnotreallythepointofwhatsomepeoplethinkwhentheythinkthatonlynecessarytruthscanbeknownapriori.Well,ifthethesisthatallaprioritruthisnecessaryistobeimmunefromthissortofcounterexample,itneedstobemodifiedinsomeway.Unmodifieditleadstoconfusionaboutthenatureofreference.AndImyselfhavenoideahowitshouldbemodifiedorrestated,orifsuchamodificationorrestatementispossible.28
Sincewillnotattemptsuchareformulation,Ishallconsistentlyusethe
26Thefactsthat'theteacherofAlexander'iscapableofscopedistinctionsinmodalcontextsandthatitisnotarigiddesignatorarebothillustratedwhenoneobservesthattheteacherofAlexandermightnothavetaughtAlexander(and,insuchcircumstances,wouldnothavebeentheteacherofAlexander).Ontheotherhand,itisnottruethatAristotlemightnothavebeenAristotle,althoughAristotlemightnothavebeencalled'Aristotle',justas22mightnothavebeencalled'four'.(Sloppy,colloquialspeech,whichoftenconfusesandmention,may,ofcourse,expressthefactthatsomeonemighthavebeencalled,ornothavebeencalled,'Aristotle'bysayingthathemighthavebeen,ornothavebeen,Aristotle.Occasionally,haveheardsuchlooseusagesadducedcounterexamplestotheapplicabilityofthepresenttheorytoordinarylanguage.Colloquialismsliketheseseemtometocreateaslittleproblemformythesesasthesuccessofthe'ImpossibleMissionsForce'createsforthemodallawthattheimpossibledoesnothappen.)Further,althoughundercertaincircumstancesAristotlewouldnothavetaughtAlexander,thesearenotcircumstancesunderwhichhewouldnothavebeenAristotle.
Z8Ifsomeonefixesameteras'thelengthofstickSatto',theninsomesenseheknowsapriorithatthelengthofstickSattoisonemeter,eventhoughheusesthisstatementtoexpressacontingenttruth.But,merelybyfixingaofmeasurement,hashetherebykarnedsome(contingent)informationabouttheworld,somenewfactthathedidnotknowbefore?Itseemsplausiblethatinsomesensehedidnot,eventhoughitisundeniablyacontingentfactthatSisonemeterlong.Sotheremaybeacaseforreformulatingthethesisthateverythingaprioriisnecessarysoastosaveitfromthistypeofcounterexample.Assaid,don'tknowhowsuchareformulationwouldgo;thereformulationshouldnotbesuchastomakethethesistrivial(e.g.,bydefiningaprioriasknowntobenecessary(insteadoftrue)independentlyofexperience);andtheconversethesiswouldstillbefalse.
Letmestatethenwhattheclusterconcepttheoryofnamesis.(Itreallyisanicetheory.Theonlydefectthinkithasisprobablycommontoallphilosophicaltheories.It'swrong.Youmaysuspectmeofproposinganothertheoryinitsplace;buthopenot,becauseI'msureit'swrongtooifitisatheory.)Thetheoryinquestioncanbebrokendownintoanumberoftheses,withsomesubsidiarythesesifyouwanttoseehowithandlestheproblemofexistencestatements,identitystatements,andsoon.Therearemorethesesifyoutakeitinthestrongerversionasatheoryofmeaning.ThespeakerisA.
(I)Toeverynameordesignatingexpression'X',therecorrespondsaclusterofproperties,namelythefamilyofproperties<psuchthatAbelieves'<pX'.
Thisthesisistrue,becauseitcanjustbeadefinition.Now,ofcourse,somepeoplemightthinkthatnoteverythingthespeakerbelievesaboutXhasanythingtodowithdeterminingthereferenceof'X'.Theymightonlybeinterestedinasubset.Butwecanhandlethislateronbymodifyingsomeoftheothertheses.Sothisthesisiscorrect,bydefinition.Thethesesthatfollow,however,areall,Ithink,false.
(2)Oneoftheproperties,orsomeconjointly,arebelievedbyAtopickoutsomeindividualuniquely.
Thisdoesn'tsaythattheydopickoutsomethinguniquely,justthatAbelievesthattheydo.Anotherthesisisthatheiscorrect.
(3)Ifmost,oraweightedmost,ofthe<p'saresatisfiedbyoneuniqueobjecty,thenyisthereferentof'X'.
Well,thetheorysaysthatthereferentof'X'issupposedtobethethingsatisfying,ifnotalltheproperties,'enough'ofthem.
ObviouslyAcouldbewrongaboutsomethingsaboutX.Youtakesomesortofavote.Nowthequestioniswhetherthisvoteshouldbedemocraticorhavesomeinequalitiesamongtheproperties.Itseemsmoreplausiblethatthereshouldbesomeweighting,thatsomepropertiesaremoreimportantthanothers.Atheoryreallyhastospecifyhowthisweightinggoes.believethatStrawson,tomysurprise,explicitlystatesthatdemocracyshouldrulehere,sothemosttrivialpropertiesareofequalweightwiththemostcrucial.27Surelyitismoreplausibletosupposethatthereissomeweighting.Let'ssaydemocracydoesn'tnecessarilyrule.Ifthereisanypropertythat'scompletelyirrelevanttothereferencewecandisenfranchiseitaltogether,bygivingitweightO.Thepropertiescanberegardedasmembersofacorporation.Somehavemorestockthanothers;somemayevenhaveonlynon-votingstock.
(4)Ifthevoteyieldsnouniqueobject,'X'doesnotrefer.(5)Thestatement,'IfXexists,thenXhasmostofthe<p's'isknownaprioribythespeaker.(6)Thestatement,'IfXexists,thenXhasmostofthe<p's'expressesanecessarytruth(intheidiolectofthespeaker).
(6)neednotbeathesisofthetheoryifsomeonedoesn'tthinkthattheclusterispartofthemeaningofthename.Hecouldthinkthatthoughhedeterminesthereferenceof'Aristotle'asthemanwhohadmostofthe<p's,stilltherearecertainlypossiblesituationsinwhichAristotlewouldn'thavehadmostofthe<p's.
Asindicated,therearesomesubsidiarytheses,thoughIwon'tgointothemindetail.Thesewouldgivetheanalysesofsingularexistentialstatementslike,'''Mosesexists"means
term'apriori'inthetextsoastomakestatementswhosetruthfollowsfromareference-fixing'definition'apriori.
17Strawson,op.cit.,pp.191--92.Strawsonactuallyconsidersthecaseofseveralspeakers,poolstheirproperties,andtakesademocratic(equallyweighted)vote.Herequiresonlyasufficientlyplurality,notamajority.
"enoughofthepropertiesrparesatisfied"'.Eventhemanwhodoem'tusethetheoryasatheoryofmeaninghassomeofthesetheses.Forexample,subsidiarytothesis4,weshouldsaythatitisaprioritrueforthespeakerthat,ifnotenoughoftherp'saresatisfied,thenXdoesnotexist.Onlyifheholdstheviewasatheoryofmeaning,ratherthanofreference,woulditalsobenecessarilytruethat,ifnotenoughoftherp'saresatisfied,Xdoesnotexist.Inanycaseitwillbesomethingheknowsapriori.(Atleasthewillknowitaprioriprovidedheknowsthepropertheoryofnames.)Tbenthereisalsoananalysisofidentitystatementsalongthesamelines.
Thequestionis,areanyofthesetrue?Iftrue,theygiveanicepictureofwhat'sgoingon.Preliminarytodiscussingthesetheses,letmementionthat,often,whenpeoplespecifywhichproperties(jlarerelevant,theyseemtospecifythemwrongly.That'sjustanincidentaldefect,thoughitiscloselyrelatedtotheargumentsagainstthetheorythatIwillgivepresently.ConsidertheexamplefromWittgenstein.Whatdoeshesaytherelevantpropertiesare?'Whenonesays"Mosesdoesnotexist",thismaymeanvariousthings.Itmaymean:theIsraelitesdidnothaveasillgleleaderwhentheywithdrewfromEgypt-or:theirleaderwasnotcalledMoses-or:therecannothavebeenanyonewhoaccomplishedallthattheBiblerelatesofMoses....'Thegistofallthisisthatweknowapriorithat,iftheBiblicalstoryissubstantiallyfalse,Mosesdidnotexist.IhavealreadyarguedthattheBiblicalstorydoesnotgivenecessarypropertiesofMoses,thathemighthavelivedwithoutdoinganyofthesethings.HereIaskwhetherweknowapriorithatifMosesexisted,heinfactdidsomeormostofthem.Isthisreallytheclusterofpropertiesthatweshouldusehere?Surelythereisadistinctionwhichisneglectedinthesekindsofremarks.TheBiblicalstorymighthavebeenacompletelegend,oritmighthavebeenasubstantiallyfalseaccountofarealperson.Inthelattercase,itseemstomethatascholar
•
rI
couldsaythathesupposesthat,thoughMosesdidexist,thethingssaidofhimintheBiblearesubstantiallyfalse.Suchthingsoccurinthisveryfieldofscholarship.Supposethatsomeonesaysthatnopropheteverwasswallowedbyabigfishorawhale.Doesitfollow,onthatbasis,thatJonahdidnotexist?TherestillseemstobethequestionwhethertheBiblicalaccountisalegendaryaccountofnopersonoralegendaryaccountbuiltonarealperson.Inthelattercase,it'sonlynaturaltosaythat,thoughJonahdidexist,noonedidthethingscommonlyrelatedtohim.IchoosethiscasebecausewhileBiblicalscholarsgenerallyholdthatJonahdidexist,theaccountnotonlyofhisbeingswallowedbyabigfishbutevengoingtoNinevehtopreachoranythingelsethatissaidintheBiblicalstoryisassumedtobesubstantiallyfalse.Butneverthelesstherearcreasonsforthinkingthiswasaboutarealprophet.If!hadasuitablebookalongwithmeIcouldstartquotingoutofit:Jonah,thesonofAmittai,wasarealprophet,howeversuchandsuchandsuch'.Thereareindependentreasonsforthinkingthiswasnotapurelegendaboutanimaginarycharacterbutoneaboutarealcharacter.28
nSee,forexample,H.L.Ginsberg,TheFiveMegillothandJonah,TheJewishPublicationSocietyofAmerica,1969,p.114:'The"hero"ofthistale,theprophetJonahthesonofAmittai,isahistoricalpersonage(but)thisbookisnothistorybutfiction.'ThescholarlyconsensusregardsalldetailsaboutJonahinthebookaslegendaryandnotevenbasedonafactualsubstratum,exceptingthebarestatementthathewasaHebrewprophet,whichishardlyuniquelyidentifying.Norneedhehavebeencalled'Jonah'bytheHebrews;the']'sounddoesnotexistinHebrew,andJonah'shistoricalexistenceisindependentofwhetherweknowhisoriginalHebrewnameornot.ThefactthatwecallhimJonahcannotbeusedtosinglehimoutwithoutcircularity.TheevidenceforthehistoricityofJonahcomesfromanindependentreferencetohiminIIKings;butsuchevidencecouldhavebeenavailableintheabsenceofanysuchotherreferences-e.g.,evidencethatallHebrewlegendswereaboutactualpersonages.Further,thestatementthatJonahisalegendaboutarealpersonmighthavebeentrue,eveniftherewerenoevidenceforit.Onemaysay,'TheJonahofthebookneverexisted,'asonemaysay,'TheHitlerofNazipropagandaneverexisted.'Asthequotationaboveshows,thisusage
Theseexamplescouldbemodified.MaybeallwebelieveisthattheBiblerelatesofhimthatsuchandsuch.Thisgivesusanotherproblem,becausehowdoweknowwhomtheBibleisreferringto?ThequestionofourreferenceisthrownbacktothequestionofreferenceintheBible.TIllSleadstoaconditionwhichweoughttoputinexplicitly.
(C)Foranysuccessfultheory,theaccountmustnotbecircular.Thepropertieswhichareusedinthevotemustnotthemselvesinvolvethenotionofreferenceinawaythatitisultimatelyimpossibletoeliminate.
Letmegiveanexamplewherethenoncircularityconditionisclearlyviolated.ThefollowingtheoryofpropernamesisduetoWilliamKnealeinanarticlecalled'Modality,DeDictoandDeRe'.29Itcontains,Ithink,aclearviolationofnoncircularityconditions.
Ordinarypropernamesofpeoplearenot,asJohnStuartMillsupposed,signswithoutsense.WhileitmaybeinformativetotellamanthatthemostfamousGreekphilosopherwascalledSocrates,itisobviouslytriflingtotellhimthatSocrateswascalledSocrates;andthereasonissimplythathecannotunderstandyouruseoftheword'Socrates'atthebeginningofyourstatementunlesshealreadyknowsthat'Socrates'means'Theindividualcalled"Socrates"'.30
Herewehaveatheoryofthereferenceofpropernames.'Socrates'justmeans'themancalled"Socrates".'Actually,ofcourse,maybenotjustonemancanbecalled'Socrates',and
neednotcoincidewiththehistorian'sviewofwhetherJonaheverexisted.Ginsbergiswritingforthelayreader,who,heassumes,willfmdhisstatementintelligible.
1
somemaycallhim'Socrates'whileothersmaynot.Certainlythatisaconditionwhichundersomecircumstancesisuniquelysatisfied.Maybeonlyonemanwascalled'Socrates'bymeonacertainoccasion.
Knealesaysit'striflingtotellsomeonethatSocrateswascalled'Socrates'.Thatisn'ttriflingonanyview.MaybetheGreeksdidn'tcallhim'Socrates'.Let'ssaythatSocratesiscalled'Socrates'byus-bymeanyway.Supposethat'strifling.(IfinditsurprisingthatKnealeusesthepasttensehere;itisdubiousthattheGreeksdidcallhim'Socrates'-atleast,theGreeknameispronounceddifferently.1willchecktheaccuracyofthequotationforthenextlecture.)
Knealegivesanargumentforthistheory.'Socrates'mustbeanalyzedas'theindividualcalled"Socrates"becausehowelsecanweexplainthefactthatitistriflingtobetoldthatSocratesiscalled'Socrates'?Insomecasesthat'srathertrifling.Inthesamesense,1suppose,youcouldgetagoodtheoryofthemeaningofanyexpressioninEnglishandcomtructadictionary.Forexample,thoughitmaybeinformativetotellsomeonethathorsesareusedinraces,itistriflingtotellhimthathorsesarecalled'horses'.Thereforethiscouldonlybethecasebecausetheterm'horse',meansinEnglish'thethingscalled"horses"'.SimilarlywithanyotherexpressionwhichmightbeusedinEnglish.Sinceit'striflingtobetoldthatsagesarecalled'sages','sages'justmeans'thepeoplecalled"sages"'.Nowplainlythisisn'treallyaverygoodargument,norcanitthereforebetheonlyexplanationofwhyit'striflingtobetoldthatSocratesiscalled'Socrates'.Let'snotgointoexactlywhyit'strifling.Ofcourse,anyonewhoknowstheuseof'iscalled'inEnglish,evenwithoutknowingwhatthestatementmeans,knowsthatif'quarks'meanssomethingthen'quarksarecalled"quarks"willexpressatruth.Hemaynotknowwhattruthitexpresses,becausehedoesn'tknowwhataquarkis.Buthisknowledgethatitexpressesatruth
18InErnestNagel,PatrickSuppes,andAlfredTarski,Logic,andthePhilosophyofScience:Proceedingsofthe960InternationalCongress,StanfordUniversityPress,1962,622-33.
auLoc.cit.,pp.629-30.
LECTUREII:]ANUARY22,1970
Lasttimeweendeduptalkingaboutatheoryofnamingwhichisgivenbyanumberoftheseshereontheboard.
doesnothavemuchtodowiththemeaningoftheterm'quarks'.
Wecouldgointothisactuallyatgreatlength.Thereareinterestingproblemscomingoutofthissortofpassage.ButthemainreasonIwantedtointroduceithereisthatasatheoryofreferenceitwouldgiveaclearviolationofthenoncircularitycondition.Someoneusesthename'Socrates'.Howarewesupposedtoknowtowhomherefers?Byusingthedescriptionwhichgivesthesenseofit.AccordingtoKneale,thedescriptionis'themancalled"Socrates"'.Andhere,(presumably,sincethisissupposedtobesotrifling!)ittellsusnothingatall.Takingitinthiswayitseemstobenotheoryofreferenceatall.Weask,'Towhomdoeshereferby"Socrates"?'Andthentheanswerisgiven,'Well,hereferstothemantowhomherefers.'Ifthiswerealltherewastothemeaningofapropername,thenreferencewouldgetoffthegroundatall.
Sothere'saconditiontobesatisfied;inthecaseofthisparticulartheoryit'sobviouslyunsatisfied.Theparadigm,amazinglyenough,isevensometimesusedbyRussellasthedescriptivesense,namely:'themancalled"WalterScott"'.Obviouslyiftheonlydescriptivesensesofnameswecanthinkofareoftheform'themancalledsuchandsuch','themancalled"WalterScott"','themancalled"Socrates"thenwhateverthisrclationofcallingisisreallywhatdeterminesthereferenceandnotanydescriptionlike'themancalled"Socrates"'.
(6)(C)Toeverynameordesignatingexpression'X',therecorrespondsaclusterofproperties,namelythefamilyofthosepropertiesqlsuchthatAbelieves'qlX',Oneoftheproperties,orsomeconjointly,arebelievedbyAtopickoutsomeindividualWliquely.Ifmost,oraweightedmost,oftheql'saresatisfiedbyoneuniqueobjecty,thenyisthereferentof'X'.Ifthevoteyieldsnouniqueobject,'X'doesnotrefer.Thestatement,'IfXexists,thenXhasmostoftheql's'isknownaprioribythespeaker,Thestatement,'IfXexists,thenXhasmostoftheql'S'expressesanecessarytruth(intheidiolectofthespeaker).Foranysuccessfultheory,theaccountmustnotbecircular.Thepropertieswhichareusedinthevotemustnotthemselvesinvolvethenotionofreferenceinsuchawaythatitisultimatelyimpossibletoeliminate.
(C)isnotathesisbutaconditiononthesatisfactionoftheothertheses.Inotherwords,Theses(1)-(6)cannotbesatisfiedinawaywhichleadstoacircle,inawaywhichdoesnotleadtoanyindependentdeterminationofreference.TheexampleI
gavelasttimeofablatantlycircularattempttosatisfytheseconditionswasatheoryofnamesmentionedbyWilliamKneale.IwasalittlesurprisedatthestatementofthetheorywhenIwasreadingwhatIhadcopieddown,soIlookeditupagain.lookeditupinthebooktoseeifI'dcopieditdownaccurately.Knealedidusethepasttense.HesaidthatthoughitisnottriflingtobetoldthatSocrateswasthegreatestphilosopherofancientGreece,itistriflingtobetoldthatSocrateswascalled'Socrates'.Therefore,heconcludes,thename'Socrates'mustsimplymean'theindividualcalled"Socrates"'.Russell,asI'vesaid,insomeplacesgivesasimilaranalysis.Anyway,asstatedusingthepasttense,theconditionwouldn'tbecircular,becauseonecertainlycoulddecidetousetheterm'Socrates'torefertowhoeverwascalled'Socrates'bytheGreeks.But,ofcourse,inthatsenseit'snotatalltriflingtobetoldthatSocrateswascalled'Socrates'.Ifthisisanykindoffact,itmightbefalse.Perhapsweknowthatwecallhim'Socrates';thathardlyshowsthattheGreeksdidso.Infact,ofcourse,theymayhavepronouncedthenamedifferently.Itmaybe,inthecaseofthisparticularname,thattransliterationfromtheGreekissogoodthattheEnglishversionisnotpronouncedverydifferentlyfromtheGreek.Butthatwon'tbesointhegeneralcase.CertainlyitisnottriflingtobetoldthatIsaiahwascalled'Isaiah'.Infact,itisfalsetobetoldthatIsaiahwascalled'Isaiah';theprophetwouldn'thaverecognizedthisnameatall.AndofcoursetheGreeksdidn'tcalltheircountryanythinglike'Greece'.Supposeweamendthethesissothatitreads:it'striflingtobetoldthatSocratesiscalled'Socrates'byus,oratleast,byme,thespeaker.Theninsomesensethisisfairlytrifling.Idon'tthinkitisnecessaryoranalytic.Inthesameway,itistriflingtobetoldthathorsesarecalled'horses',withoutthisleadingtotheconclusionthattheword'horse'simplymeans'theanimalcalleda"horse"'.Asatheoryofthereferenceofthename'Socrates'itwillleadimmediately
toaviciouscircle.Ifonewasdeterminingthereferentofanamelike'Glunk'tohimselfandmadethefollowingdecision,'Ishallusetheterm"Glunk"torefertothemanthatIcall"Glunk""thiswouldgetonenowhere.Onehadbetterhavesomeindependentdeterminationofthereferentof'Glunk'.Thisisagoodexampleofablatantlycirculardetermination.Actuallysentenceslike'Socratesiscalled"Socrates"areveryinterestingandonecanspend,strangeasitmayseem,hourstalkingabouttheiranalysis.Iactuallydid,once,dothat.Iwon'tdothat,however,onthisoccasion.(Seehowhightheseasoflanguagecanrise.Andatthelowestpointstoo.)Anywaythisisausefulexampleofaviolationofthenoncircularitycondition.Thetheorywillsatisfyallofthesestatements,perhaps,butitsatisfiesthemonlybecausethereissomeindependentwayofdeterminingthereferenceindependentlyoftheparticularcondition:beingthemancalled'Socrates'.
Ihavealreadytalkedabout,inthelastlecture,Thesis(6).Theses(5)and(6),bytheway,haveconverses.WhatsaidforThesis(5)isthatthestatementthatifXexists,Xhasmostofthe<p's,isaprioritrueforthespeaker.Itwillalsobetrueunderthegiventheorythatcertainconversesofthisstatementholdtruealsoaprioriforthespeaker,namely:ifanyuniquethinghasmostoftheproperties'Pintheproperlyweightedsense,itisX.Similarlyacertainconversetothiswillbenecessarilytrue,namely:ifanythinghasmostoftheproperties<pintheproperlyweightedsense,itisX.SoreallyonecansaythatitisbothaprioriandnecessarythatsomethingisXifandonlyifituniquelyhasmostoftheproperties'P.ThisreallycomesfromthepreviousTheses(1)-(4),Isuppose.And(5)and(6)reallyjustsaythatasufficientlyreflectivespeakergraspsthistheoryofpropernames.Knowingthis,hethereforeseesthat(5)and(6)aretrue.TheobjectionstoTheses(5)and(6)willnotbethatsomespeakersareunawareofthistheoryandthereforedon'tknowthesethings.
WhatItalkedaboutinthelastlectureisThesis(6).It'sbeenobservedbymanyphilosophersthat,iftheclusterofpropertiesassociatedwithapropernameistakeninaverynarrowsense,sothatonlyonepropertyisgivenanyweightatall,let'ssayonedefinitedescriptiontopickoutthereferent-forexample,AristotlewasthephilosopherwhotaughtAlexandertheGreat-thencertainthingswillseemtoturnouttobenecessarytruthswhicharenotnecessarytruths-inthiscase,forexample,thatAristotletaughtAlexandertheGreat.ButasSearlesaid,itisnotanecessarytruthbutacontingentonethatAristotleeverwentintopedagogy.Therefore,heconcludesthatonemustdroptheoriginalparadigmofasingledescriptionandtumtothatofaclusterofdescriptions.
TosummarizesomethingsthatIarguedlasttime,thisisnotthecorrectanswer(whateveritmaybe)tothisproblemaboutnecessity.ForSearlegoesontosay,
Supposeweagreetodrop'Aristotle'anduse,say,'theteacherofAlexander',thenitisanecessarytruththatthemanreferredtoisAlexander'steacher-butitisacontingentfactthatAristotleeverwentintopedagogy,thoughamsuggestingthatitisanecessaryfactthatAristotlehasthelogicalsum,inclusivedisjunction,ofpropertiescommonlyattributedtohim....31
Thisiswhatisnotso.Itjustisnot,inanyintuitivesenseofnecessity,anecessarytruththatAristotlehadthepropertiescommonlyattributedtohim.Thereisacertaintheory,perhapspopularinsomeviewsofthephilosophyofhistory,whichmightbothbedeterministicandyetatthesametimeassignagreatroletotheindividualinhistory.PerhapsCarlylewouldassociatewiththemeaningofthenameofagreatmanhisachievements.Accordingtosuchaviewitwillbenecessary,onceacertainindividualisborn,thatheisdestinedtoperform
variousgreattasksandsoitwillbepartoftheverynatureofAristotlethatheshouldhaveproducedideaswhichhadagreatinfluenceonthewesternworld.Whateverthemeritsofsuchaviewmaybeasaviewofhistoryorthenatureofgreatmen,itdoesnotseemthatitshouldbetriviallytrueonthebasisofatheoryofpropernames.Itwouldseemthatit'sacontingentfactthatAristotleeverdidanyofthethingscommonlyattributedtohimtoday,anyofthesegreatachievementsthatwesomuchadmire.ImustsaythatthereissomethingtothisfeelingofSearle's.Whenhearthename'Hitler',dogetanillusory'gutfeeling'thatit'ssortofanalyticthatthatmanwasevil.Butreally,probablynot.HitlermighthavespentallhisdaysinquietinLinz.InthatcasewewouldnotsaythatthenthismanwouldnothavebeenHitler,forweusethename'Hitler'justasthenameofthatman,evenindescribingotherpossibleworlds.(ThisisthenotionwhichIcalledarigiddesignatorintheprevioustalk.)Supposewedodecidetopickoutthereferenceof'Hitler',asthemanwhosucceededinhavingmoreJewskilledthananyoneelsemanagedtodoinhistory.Thatisthewaywepickoutthereferenceofthename;butinanothercounterfactualsituationwheresomeoneelsewouldhavegainedthisdiscredit,wewouldn'tsaythatinthatcasethatothermanwouldhavebeenHitler.IfHitlerhadnevercometopower,HitlerwouldnothavehadthepropertywhichIamsupposingweusetofixthereferenceofhisname.Similarly,evenifwedefmewhatameterisbyreferencetothestandardmeterstick,itwillbeacontingenttruthandnotanecessaryonethatthatparticularstickisonemeterlong.Ifithadbeenstretched,itwouldhavebeenlongerthanonemeter.Andthatisbecauseweusetheterm'onemeter'rigidlytodesignateacertainlength.Eventhoughwefixwhatlengthwearedesignatingbyanaccidentalpropertyofthatlength,justasinthecaseofthenameofthemanwemaypickthemanoutbyanaccidentalpropertyoftheman,stillweusethename
31Searle,'ProperNames',inCaton,op.cit.,p.160.
propertiesusedtoidentifytheobjectintheactualworld.
Surelythesenotionsareincorrect.TomeAristotle'smostimportantpropertiesconsistinhisphilosophicalwork,andHitler'sinhismurderouspoliticalrole;both,asIhavesaid,mighthavelackedthesepropertiesaltogether.SurelytherewasnologicalfatehangingovereitherAristotleorHitlerwhichmadeitinanysenseinevitablethattheyshouldhavepossessedthepropertiesweregardasimportanttothem;theycouldhavehadcareerscompletelydifferentfromtheiractualones.Importantpropertiesofanobjectneednotbeessential,unless'importance'isusedasasynonymforessence;andanobjectcouldhavehadpropertiesverydifferentfromitsmoststrikingactualproperties,orfromthepropertiesweusetoidentifyit.
Toclearuponethingwhichsomepeoplehaveaskedme:WhenIsaythatadesignatorisrigid,anddesignatesthesamethinginallpossibleworlds,Imeanthat,asusedinourlanguage,itstandsforthatthing,whenwetalkaboutcounterfactualsituations.don'tmean,ofcourse,thattheremightn'tbecounterfactualsituationsinwhichintheotherpossibleworldspeopleactuallyspokeadifferentlanguage.Onedoesn'tsaythat'twoplustwoequalsfour'iscontingentbecausepeoplemighthavespokenalanguageinwhich'twoplustwoequalsfour'meantthatseveniseven.Similarly,whenwespeakofacounterfactualsituation,wespeakofitinEnglish,evenifitispartofthedescriptionofthatcounterfactualsituationthatwewereallspeakingGermaninthatcounterfactualsituation.Wesay,'supposewehadallbeenspeakingGerman'or'supposewehadbeenusingEnglishinanonstandardway'.Thenwearedescribingapossibleworldorcounterfactualsituationinwhichpeople,includingourselves,didspeakinacertainwaydifferentfromthewaywespeak.Butstill,indescribingthatworld,weuseEnglishwithourmeaningsandourreferences.ItisinthissensethatIspeakofarigiddesignatorashavingthesame
todesignatethatmanorthatlengthinallpossibleworlds.Thepropertyweuseneednotbeonewhichisregardedinanywayasnecessaryoressential.Inthecaseofayard,theoriginalwaythislengthwaspickedoutwas,Ithink,thedistancewhenthearmofKingHenryIofEnglandwasoutstretchedfromthetipofhisfingertohisnose.Ifthiswasthelengthofayard,itneverthelesswillnotbeanecessarytruththatthedistancebetweenthetipofhisfmgerandhisnoseshouldbeayard.Maybeanaccidentmighthavehappenedtoforeshortenhisarm;thatwouldbepossible.Andthereasonthatit'snotanecessarytruthisnotthattheremightbeothercriteriaina'clusterconcept'ofyardhood.EvenamanwhostrictlyusesKingHenry'sarmashisonestandardoflengthcansay,counterfactually,thatifcertainthingshadhappenedtotheKing,theexactdistancebetweentheendofoneofhisfmgersandhisnosewouldnothavebeenexactlyayard.Heneednotbeusingaclusteraslongasheusestheterm'yard'topickoutacertainfixedreferencetobethatlengthinallpossibleworlds.
Theseremarksshow,Ithink,theintuitivebizarrenessofagooddealoftheliteratureon'transworldidentification'and'counterparttheory'.Formanytheoristsofthesesorts,believing,astheydo,thata'possibleworld'isgiventousonlyqualitatively,arguethatAristotleistobe'identifiedinotherpossibleworlds',oralternativelythathiscounterpartsaretobeidentified,withthosethingsinotherpossibleworldswhomostcloselyresembleAristotleinhismostimportantproperties.(Lewis,forexample,says:'Yourcounterparts...resembleyou...inimportantrespectsmorecloselythandotheotherthingsintheirworldsweightedbytheimportanceofthevariousrespectsandbythedegreesofthesimilarities.'32)Somemayequatetheimportantpropertieswiththose
J
32D.Lewis,op.cit.,pp.114-15.
WhatpictureofnamingdotheseTheses((1)-(5))giveyou?Thepictureisthis.Iwanttonameanobject.IthinkofsomewayofdescribingituniquelyandthenIgothrough,sotospeak,asortofmentalceremony:By'Cicero'IshallmeanthemanwhodenouncedCatiline;andthat'swhatthereferenceof'Cicero'willbe.Iwilluse'Cicero'todesignaterigidlythemanwho(infact)denouncedCatiline,soIcanspeakofpossibleworldsinwhichhedidnot.Butstillmyintentionsaregivenbyfirst,givingsomeconditionwhichuniquelydeterminesanobject,thenusingacertainwordasanamefortheobjectdeterminedbythiscondition.Nowtheremaybesomecasesinwhichweactuallydothis.Maybe,ifyouwanttostretchandcallitdescription,whenyousay:Ishallcallthatheavenlybodyoverthere'Hesperus'.33Thatisreallyacasewherethethesesnotonlyaretruebutreallyevengiveacorrectpictureofhowthereferenceisdetermined.Anothercase,ifyouwanttocallthisaname,mightbewhenthepoliceinLondonusethenameJack'orJacktheRipper'torefertotheman,whoeverheis,whocommittedallthesemurders,ormostofthem.Thentheyaregivingthereferenceofthename
referenceinallpossibleworlds.Ialsodon'tmeantoimplythatthethingdesignatedexistsinallpossibleworlds,justthatthenamerefersrigidlytothatthing.Ifyousay'supposeHitlerhadneverbeenborn'then'Hitler'refershere,stillrigidly,tosomethingthatwouldnotexistinthecounterfactualsituationdescribed.
Giventheseremarks,thismeanswemustcrossoffThesis(6)asincorrect.Theothertheseshavenothingtodowithnecessityandcansurvive.InparticularThesis(5)hasnothingtodowithnecessityanditcansurvive.IfIusethename'Hesperus'torefertoacertainplanetarybodywhenseeninacertaincelestialpositionintheevening,itwillnotthereforebeanecessarytruththatHesperusiseverseenintheevening.Thatdependsonvariouscontingentfactsaboutpeoplebeingtheretoseeandthingslikethat.Soevenif!shouldsaytomyselfthatIwilluse'Hesperus'tonametheheavenlybodyIseeintheeveninginyonderpositionofthesky,itwillnotbenecessarythatHesperuswaseverseenintheevening.ButitmaybeaprioriinthatthisishowIhavedeterminedthereferent.IfhavedeterminedthatHesperusisthethingthatsawintheeveningoverthere,thenIwillknow,justfrommakingthatdeterminationofthereferent,thatifthereisanyHesperusatallit'sthethingsawintheevening.Thisatleastsurvivesasfarastheargumentswehavegivenuptonowgo.
HowaboutatheorywhereThesis(6)iseliminated?Theses(2),(3),and(4)turnouttohavealargeclassofcounterinstances.EvenwhenTheses(2)-(4)aretrue,Thesis(5)isusuallyfalse;thetruthofTheses(3)and(4)isanempirical'accident',whichthespeakerhardlyknowsapriori.Thatistosay,otherprinciplesreallydeterminethespeaker'sreference,andthefactthatthereferentcoincideswiththatdeterminedby(2)-(4)isan'accident',whichwewereinnopositiontoknowapriori.Onlyinarareclassofcases,usuallyinitialbaptisms,areallof(2)-(5)true.
33Anevenbettercaseofdeterminingthereferenceofanamebydescription,asopposedtoostension,isthediscoveryoftheplanetNeptune.Neptunewashypothesizedastheplanetwhichcausedsuchandsuchdiscrepanciesintheorbitsofcertainotherplanets.IfLe':errierindeedgavethename'Neptune'totheplanetbeforeitwaseverseen,thenfixedthereferenceof'Neptune'bymeansofthedescriptionjustmentioned.Atthattimehewasunabletoseetheplaneteventhroughatelescope.Atthisstage,anapriorimaterialequivalenceheldbetweenthestatements'Neptuneexists'and'someoneplanetperturbingtheorbitofsuchandsuchotherplanetsexistsinsuchandsuchaposition',andalsosuchstatementsas'ifsuchandsuchperturbationsarecausedbyaplanet,theyarecausedbyNeptune'hadthestatusofaprioritruths.Nevertheless,theywerenotnecessarytruths,since'Neptune'wasintroducedasanamerigidlydesignatingacertainplanet.LeverriercouldwellhavebelievedthatifNeptunehadbeenknockedoffitscourseonemillionyearsearlier,itwouldhavecausednosuchperturbationsandeventhatsomeotherobjectmighthavecausedtheperturbationsinitsplace.
r
byadescription.34Butinmanyormostcases,Ithinkthethesesarefalse.Solet'slookatthem.3s
Thesis(I),asIsay,isadefinition.Thesis(2)saysthatoneofthepropertiesbelievedbyAoftheobject,orsomearebelievedtopickoutsomeindividualuniquely.AsortofexamplepeoplehaveinmindisjustwhatIsaid:Ishallusetheterm'Cicero'todenotethemanwhodenouncedCatiline(orfirstdenouncedhiminpublic,tomakeitunique).Thispicksoutanobjectuniquelyinthisparticularreference.EvensomewriterssuchasZiffinSemanticAnalysis,whodon'tbelievethatnameshavemeaninginanysense,thinkthatthisisagoodpictureofthewayreferencecanbedetermined.
Let'sseeifThesis(2)istrue.Itseems,insomeaprioriway,thatit'sgottobetrue,becauseifyoudon'tthinkthatthepropertiesyouhaveinmindpickoutanyoneuniquely-let'ssaythey'reallsatisfiedbytwopeople-thenhowcanyousaywhichoneofthemyou'retalkingabout?Thereseemtobenogroundsforsayingyou'retalkingabouttheoneratherthanabouttheother.Usuallythepropertiesinquestionaresupposedtobesomefamousdeedsofthepersoninquestion.Forexample,CicerowasthemanwhodenouncedCatiline.Theaverageperson,accordingtothis,whenhereferstoCicero,is
j
sayingsomethinglike'themanwhodenouncedCatiline'andthushaspickedoutacertainmanuniquely.Itisatributetotheeducationofphilosophersthattheyhaveheldthisthesisforsuchalongtime.Infact,mostpeople,whentheythinkofCicero,justthinkofafamousRomanorator,withoutanypretensiontothinkeitherthattherewasonlyonefamousRomanoratororthatonemustknowsomethingelseaboutCicerotohaveareferentforthename.ConsiderRichardFeynman,towhommanyofusareabletorefer.Heisaleadingcontemporarytheoreticalphysicist.Everyonehere(I'msure!)canstatethecontentsofoneofFeynman'stheoriessoastodifferentiatehimfromGell-Mann.However,themaninthestreet,notpossessingtheseabilities,maystillusethename'Feynman',Whenaskedhewillsay:wellhe'saphysicistorsomething.Hemaynotthinkthatthispicksoutanyoneuniquely.stillthinkheusesthename'Feynman'asanameforFeynman,
Butlet'slookatsomeofthecaseswherewedohaveadescriptiontopickoutsomeoneuniquely.Let'ssay,forexample,thatweknowthatCicerowasthemanwhoftrstdenouncedCatiline.Well,that'sgood.Thatreallypickssomeoneoutuniquely.However,thereisaproblem,becausethisdescriptioncontainsanothername,namely'Catiline',Wemustbesurethatwesatisfytheconditionsinsuchawayastoavoidviolatingthenoncircularityconditionhere.Inparticular,wemustnotsaythatCatilinewasthemandenouncedbyCicero.Ifwedothis,wewillreallynotbepickingoutanythinguniquely,wewillsimplybepickingoutapairofobjectsAandB,suchthatAdenouncedB.Wedonotthinkthatthiswastheonlypairwheresuchdenunciationseveroccurred;sowehadbetteraddsomeotherconditionsinordertosatisfytheuniquenesscondition.
IfwesayEinsteinwasthemanwhodiscoveredthetheoryofrelativity,thatcertainlypicksoutsomeoneuniquely.Onecan
S&FollowingDonnellan'sremarksondefinitedescriptions,weshouldaddthatinsomecases,anobjectmaybeidentified,andthereferenceofanamefixed,usingadescriptionwhichmaytumouttobefalseofitsobject.Thecasewherethereferenceof'Phosphorus'isdeterminedasthe'morningstar',whichlaterturnsoutnottobeastar,isanobviousexample.Insuchcases,thedescriptionwhichfixesthereferenceclearlyisinnosenseknownaprioritoholdoftheobject,thoughamorecautioussubstitutemaybe.Ifsuchamorecautioussubstituteisavailable,itisreallythesubstitutewhichfixesthereferenceinthesenseintendedinthetext.
86Someofthethesesaresloppilystatedinrespectoffussymatterslikeuseofquotationmarksandrelateddetails.(Forexample,Theses(5)and(6),asstated,presupposethatthespeaker'slanguageisEnglish.)Sincethepurportofthethesesisclear,andtheyarefalseanyway,havenotbotheredtosetthesethingsstraight.
besure,asIsaid,thateveryoneherecanmakeacompactandindependentstatementofthistheoryandsopickoutEinsteinuniquely;butmanypeopleactuallydon'tknowenoughaboutthisstuff,sowhenaskedwhatthetheoryofrelativityis,theywillsay:'Einstein'stheory',andthusbeledintothemoststraightforwardsortofviciouscircle.
SoThesis(2),inastraightforwardway,failstobesatisfiedwhenwesayFeynmanisafamousphysicistwithoutattributinganythingelsetoFeynman.Inanotherwayitmaynotbesatisfiedintheproperwayevenwhenitissatisfied:IfwesayEinsteinwas'themanwhodiscoveredrelativitytheory',thatdoespicksomeoneoutuniquely;butitmaynotpickhimoutinsuchawayastosatisfythenoncircularitycondition,becausethetheoryofrelativitymayinturnbepickedoutas'Einstein'stheory'.SoThesis(2)seemstobefalse.
Bychangingtheconditions(j)fromthoseusuallyassociatedwithnamesbyphilosophers,onecouldtrytoimprovethetheory.TherehavebeenvariouswaysI'veheard;maybeI'lldiscusstheselateron.Usuallytheythinkoffamousachievementsofthemannamed.Certainlyinthecaseoffamousachievements,thetheorydoesn'twork.Somestudentofmineoncesaid,'Well,Einsteindiscoveredthetheoryofrelativity';andhedeterminedthereferenceof'thetheoryofrelativity'independentlybyreferringtoanencyclopediawhichwouldgivethedetailsofthetheory.(Thisiswhatiscalledatranscendentaldeductionoftheexistenceofencyclopedias.)Butitseemstomethat,evenifsomeonehasheardofencyclopedias,itreallyisnotessentialforhisreferencethatheshouldknowwhetherthistheoryisgivenindetailinanyencyclopedia.Thereferencemightworkeveniftherehadbeennoencyclopediasatall.
Let'sgoontoThesis(3):Ifmostofthe(j)'s,suitablyweighted,aresatisfiedbyauniqueobjecty,thenyisthereferentofthenameforthespeaker.Now,sincewehavealreadyestablished
thatThesis(2)iswrong,whyshouldanyoftherestwork?Thewholetheorydependedonalwaysbeingabletospecifyuniqueconditionswhicharesatisfied.Butstillwecanlookattheothertheses.Thepictureassociatedwiththetheoryisthatonlybygivingsomeuniquepropertiescanyouknowwhosomeoneisandthusknowwhatthereferenceofyournameis.Well,Iwon'tgointothequestionofknowingwhosomeoneis.It'sreallyverypuzzling.IthinkyoudoknowwhoCiceroisifyoujustcananswerthathe'safamousRomanorator.Strangelyenough,ifyouknowthatEinsteindiscoveredthetheoryofrelativityandnothingaboutthattheory,youcanbothknowwhoEinsteinis,namelythediscovererofthetheoryofrelativity,andwhodiscoveredthetheoryofrelativity,namelyEinstein,onthebasisofthisknowledge.Thisseemstobeablatantviolationofsomesortofnoncircularitycondition;butitisthewaywetalk.Itthereforewouldseemthatapicturewhichsuggeststhisconditionmustbethewrongpicture.
Supposemostofthe(j)'sareinfactsatisfiedbyauniqueobject.Isthatobjectnecessarilythereferentof'X'forA?Let'ssupposesomeonesaysthatGodelisthemanwhoprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic,andthismanissuitablywelleducatedandisevenabletogiveaniindependentaccountoftheincompletenesstheorem.Hedoesn'tjustsay,'Well,that'sGodel'stheorem',orwhatever.Heactuallystatesacertaintheorem,whichheattributestoGodclasthediscoverer.Isitthecase,then,thatifmostofthe(j)'saresatisfiedbyauniqueobjecty,thenyisthereferentofthename'X'forA?Let'stakeasimplecase.InthecaseofGodelthat'spracticallytheonlythingmanypeoplehaveheardabouthim-thathediscoveredtheincompletenessofarithmetic.Doesitfollowthatwhoeverdiscoveredtheincompletenessofarithmeticisthereferentof'Godel'?
Imaginethefollowingblatantlyfictionalsituation.(IhopeProfessorGodelisnotpresent.)SupposethatGodelwasnotin
facttheauthorofthistheorem.Amannamed'Schmidt',whosebodywasfoundinViennaundermysteriouscircumstancesmanyyearsago,actuallydidtheworkinquestion.HisfriendGodelsomehowgotholdofthemanuscriptanditwasthereafterattributedtoGodel.Ontheviewinquestion,then,whenourordinarymanusesthename'Godel',hereallymeanstorefertoSchmidt,becauseSchmidtistheuniquepersonsatisfyingthedescription,'themanwhodiscoveredtheincompletenessofarithmetic'.Ofcourseyoumighttrychangingitto'themanwhopublishedthediscoveryoftheincompletenessofarithmetic'.Bychangingthestoryalittlefurtheronecanmakeeventhisformulationfalse.Anyway,mostpeoplemightnotevenknowwhetherthethingwaspublishedorgotaroundbywordofmouth.Let'sstickto'themanwhodiscoveredtheincompletenessofarithmetic'.So,sincethemanwhodiscoveredtheincompletenessofarithmeticisinfactSchmidt,we,whenwetalkabout'Godel',areinfactalwaysreferringtoSchmidt.Butitseemstomethatwearenot.Wesimplyarenot.Onereply,whichwilldiscusslater,mightbe:Youshouldsayinstead,'themantowhomtheincompletenessofarithmeticiscommonlyattributed',orsomethinglikethat.Let'sseewhatwecandowiththatlater.
Butitmayseemtomanyofyouthatthisisaveryoddexample,orthatsuchasituationoccursrarely.Thisalsoisatributetotheeducationofphilosophers.Veryoftenweuseanameonthebasisofconsiderablemisinformation.Thecaseofmathematicsusedinthefictiveexampleisagoodcaseinpoint.WhatdoweknowaboutPeano?Whatmanypeopleinthisroommay'know'aboutPeanoisthathewasthediscovererofcertainaxiomswhichcharacterizethesequenceofnaturalnumbers,theso-called'Peanoaxioms'.Probablysomepeoplecanevenstatethem.havebeentoldthattheseaxiomswerenotfirstdiscoveredbyPeanobutbyDedekind.Peanowasofcoursenotadishonestman.Iamtoldthathisfootnotes
includeacredittoDedekind.Somehowthefootnotehasbeenignored.Soonthetheoryinquestiontheterm'Peano',asweuseit,reallyrefersto-nowthatyou'veheardityouseethatyouwerereallyallthetimetalkingabout-Dedekind.Butyouwerenot.Suchillustrationscouldbemultipliedindefinitely.
Evenworsemisconceptions,ofcourse,occurtothelayman.InapreviousexampleIsupposedpeopletoidentifyEinsteinbyreferencetohisworkonrelativity.Actually,IoftenusedtohearthatEinstein'smostfamousachievementwastheinventionoftheatomicbomb.SowhenwerefertoEinstein,werefertotheinventoroftheatomicbomb.Butthisisnotso.Columbuswasthefirstmantorealizethattheearthwasround.HewasalsothefirstEuropeantolandinthewesternhemisphere.Probablynoneofthesethingsaretrue,andtherefore,whenpeopleusetheterm'Columbus'theyreallyrefertosomeGreekiftheyusetheroundnessoftheearth,ortosomeNorseman,perhaps,iftheyusethe'discoveryofAmerica'.Buttheydon't.Soitdoesnotseemthatifmostoftheep'saresatisfiedbyauniqueobjecty,thenyisthereferentofthename.Thisseemssimplytobefalse.36
Thec1uster-of-descriptionstheoryofnamingwouldmake'Peanodiscoveredtheaxiomsfornumbertheory'expressatrivialtruth,notamisconception,andsimilarlyforothermisconceptionsaboutthehistoryofscience.Somewhohaveconcededsuchcasestomehavearguedthatthereareotherusesofthesamepropernamessatisfyingtheclustertheory.Forexample,itisargued,ifwesay,'G6delprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic,'weare,ofcourse,referringtoG6del,nottoSchmidt.But,ifwesay,'G6delrelieddiagonalargumentinthisstepoftheproof,'don'twehere,perhaps,refertowhoeverprovedthetheorem?Similarly,ifsomeoneasks,'WhatdidAristotle(orShakespeare)haveinmindhere?',isn'thetalkingabouttheauthorofthepassageinquestion,whoeverheis?ByanalogytoDonnellan'susagefordescriptions,thismightbecalledan"attributive'useofpropernames.Ifthisisso,thenassumingG6del-Schmidtstory,thesentence'G6delprovedtheincompletenesstheorem'isfalse,but'G6delusedadiagonalargumentintheproof'is(atleastinsomecontexts)true,andthereferenceofthename'G6del'ambiguous.Sincesomecounterexamplesremain,the
cluster-of-descriptionstheorywouldstill,ingeneral,befalse,whichwasmymainpointinthetext;butitwouldbeapplicableinawiderclassofcasesthanthought.think,however,thatnosuchambiguityneedbepostulated.Itis,perhaps,truethatsometimeswhensomeoneusesthename'Godel',hismaininterestisinwhoeverprovedthetheorem,M,dperhaps,insomesense,he'refers'tohim.donotthinkthatthiscaseisdifferentfromthecaseofSmithandJonesinn.3,p.25.If!mistakeJonesforSmith,mayrefer(inanappropriatesense)toJoneswhensaythatSmithisrakingtheleaves;neverthelessdonotuse'Smith'ambiguously,asanamesometimesofSmithandsometimesofJones,butwlivocallyasanameofSmith.Similarly,iferroneouslythinkthatAristotlewrotesuch-and-suchpassage,mayperhapssometimesuse'Aristotle'torefertotheactualauthorofthepassage,eventhoughthereisnoambiguityinmyuseofthename.Inbothcases,willwithdrawmyoriginalstatement,andmyoriginaluseofthename,ifapprisedofthefacts.Recallthat,intheselectures,'referent'isusedinthetechnicalsenseofthethingnamedbyaname(oruniquelysatisfyingdescription),andthereshouldbenoconfusion.
Thesis(4):Ifthevoteyieldsnouniqueobjectthenamcdoesnotrefer.Real1ythiscasehasbeencoveredbefore-hasbeencoveredinmypreviousexamples.First,thevotemaynotyieldaulliqllCobject,asinthecaseofCiceroorFeynman.Secondly,supposeityields110object,thatnothingsatisfiesmost,orevenany,substantialnumbcr,ofthcep's.Docsthatmeanthenamedoesn'trefer?No:inthewaythatyoumayhavefalsebeliefsaboutapersonwhichmayactual1ybetrueofsomeoneelse,soyoumayhavefalsebeliefswhicharetrueofabsolutelynoone.Andthesemayconstitutethctotalityofyourbeliefs.Suppose,tovarytheexampleaboutGodcl,noonehaddiscoveredtheincompletenessofarithmctic-perhapstheproofsimplymaterializedbyarandomscatteringofatomsonapieceofpaper-themanGodelbeingluckyenoughtohavebeenpresentwhenthisimprobableeventoccurred.Further,supposearithmeticisinfactcomplete.Onewouldn'treallycxpectarandomscatteringofatomstoproduceacorrectproofAsubtleerror,unknownthroughthedecades,hasstillbeenunnoticed-orperhapsnotactuallyunnoticed,butthefriendsofGodel.Soeveniftheconditionsarenotsatisfied
byauniqueobjectthenamemaystillrefer.IgaveyouthecaseofJonahlastweek.Biblicalscholars,asIsaid,thinkthatJonahreallyexisted.Itisn'tbecausetheythinkthatsomeoneeverwasswallowedbyabigfishorevenwenttoNinevehtopreach.TheseconditionsmaybetrueofnoonewhatsoeverandyetthenameJonah'reallyhasareferent.InthecaseaboveofEinstein'sinventionofthebomb,possiblynoonereallydeservestobecalledthe'inventor'ofthedevice.
Thesis5saysthatthestatement'IfXexists,thenXhasmostoftheep's',isaprioritrueforA.Noticethateveninacasewhere(3)and(4)happentobetrue,atypicalspeakerhardlyknowsapriorithattheyare,asrequiredbythetheory.IthinkthatmybeliefaboutGodclisinfactcorrectandthatthe'Schmidt'storyisjustafantasy.Butthebeliefhardlyconstitutesaprioriknowledge.
What'sgoingonhere?Canwerescuethetheory?37First,onemaytryandvarythesedescriptions-notthinkofthefamousachievementsofamanbut,let'ssay,ofsomethingelse,andtryandusethatasourdescription.Maybebyenoughfutzingaroundsomeoneeventuallygetsomethingout
Ithasbeensuggestedtomethatsomeonemightarguethatanameisassociatedwitha'referential'useofadescriptioninDonnellan'ssense.Forexample,althoughweidentifyGodelastheauthoroftheincompletenesstheorem,wearetalkingabouthimevenifheturnsoutnottohaveprovedthetheorem.Theses(2)-(6)couldthenfail;butneverthelesseachnamewouldabbreviateadescription,thoughtheroleofdescriptioninnamingwoulddifferradicallyfromthatimaginedbyFregeandRussell.Ashavesaidabove,aminclinedtorejectDonnellan'sformulationofthenotionofreferentialdefinitedescription.EvenifDonnellan'sanalysisisaccepted,however,itisclearthatthepresentproposalshouldnotbe.Forareferentialdefmitedescription,suchas'themandrinkingchampagne',istypicallywithdrawnwhenthespeakerrealizesthatitdoesnotapplytoitsobject.IfaGodelianfraudwereexposed,Godelwouldnolongerbecalled'theauthoroftheincompletenesstheorem'buthewouldstillbecalled'Godel'.Thename,therefore,doesnotabbreviatethedescription.
ofthis;38however,mostoftheattemptsthatonetriesareopentocounterexamplesorotherobjections.Letmegiveanexampleofthis.InthecaseofGodelonemaysay,'Well,"Godel"doesn'tmean"themanwhoprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic"'.Look,allwereallyknowisthatmostpeoplethinkthatGodelprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic,thatGodelisthemantowhomtheincompletenessofarithmeticiscommonlyattributed.Sowhendeterminethereferentofthename'Godcl',don'tsaytomyself,'by"Godel"Ishallmean"themanwhoprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic,whoeverheis"'.ThatmightturnouttobeSchmidtorPost.Butinsteadshallmean'themanwhomostpeoplethinkprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic'.
Isthisright?First,itseemstomethatit'sopentocounterexamplesofthesametypeasIgavebefore,thoughthecounterexamplesmaybemorerecherche.Suppose,inthecaseofPeanomentionedpreviously,unbeknownsttothespeaker,mostpeople(atleastbynow)thoroughlyrealizethatthenumber-theoreticaxiomsshouldnotbeattributedtohim.Mostpeopledon'tcreditthemtoPeanobutnowcorrectlyascribethemtoDedekind.SotheneventhemantowhomthisthingiscommonlyattributedwillstillbeDedekindandnotPeano.Still,thespeaker,havingpickeduptheoldoutmoded
belief,maystillbereferringtoPeano,andholdafalsebeliefaboutPeano,notatruebeliefaboutDedekind.
Butsecond,andperhapsmoresignificantly,suchacriterionviolatesthenoncircularitycondition.Howisthis?ItistruethatmostofusthinkthatGodclprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic.Whyisthisso?Wecertainlysay,andsincerely,'Godelprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic'.DoesitfollowfromthatthatwebelievethatGodelprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic-thatweattributetheincompletenessofarithmetictothisman?No.Notjustfromthat.WehavetobereferringtoCodelwhenwesay'Godelprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic'.If,infact,wewerealwaysreferringtoSchmidt,thenwewouldbeattributingtheincompletenessofarithmetictoSchmidtandnottoGodelifweusedthesound'Godel'asthenameofthemanwhomIamcalling'Schmidt'.
ButwedoinfactrefertoGodel.Howdowedothis?Well,notbysayingtoourselves,'By"Godel"Ishallmeanthemantowhomtheincompletenessofarithmeticiscommonlyattributed'.Ifwedidthatwewouldrunintoacircle.Hereweareallinthisroom.Actuallyinthisinstitution39somepeoplehavemettheman,butinmanyinstitutionsthisisnotso.Allofusinthecommunityaretryingtodeterminethereferencebysaying'Godelistobethemantowhomtheincompletenessofarithmeticiscommonlyattributed'.Noneofuswillgetstartedwithanyattributionunlessthereissomeindependentcriterionforthereferenceofthenameotherthan'themantowhomtheincompletenessofarithmeticiscommonlyattributed'.Otherwiseallwewillbesayingis,'Weattributethisachievementtothemantowhomweattributeit',withoutsayingwhothatmanis,withoutgivinganyindependentcriterionofthereference,andsothedeterminationwillbecircular.ThisthenisaviolationoftheconditionIhave
AsRobertNozickpointedouttome,thereisasenseinwhichadescriptiontheorymustbetriviallytrueifanytheoryofthereferenceofnames,spelledoutintermsindependentofthenotionofreference,isavailable.Forifsuchatheorygivesconditionsunderwhichanobjectistobethereferentofaname,thenitofcourseuniquelysatisfiestheseconditions.Sinceamnotpretendingtogiveanytheorywhicheliminatesthenotionofreferenceinthissense,ramnotawareofanysuchtrivialfulfillmentofthedescriptiontheoryanddoubtthatoneexists.(Adescriptionusingnotionofthereferenceofanameiseasilyavailablebutcircular,aswesawinourdiscussionofKneale.)Ifanysuchtrivialfulfillmentwereavailable,however,theargumentsrhavegivenshowthztthedescriptionmustbeofcompletelydifferentsortfromthatsupposedbyFrege,Russell,Searle,Strawsonandotheradvocatesofthedescriptiontheory.
ItPrincetonUniversity.
thatanyofthepropertiesweusetoidentifythemanareright.Wedon'tknowthattheypickoutauniqueobject.Sowhatdoesmakemyuseof'Cicero'intoanameofhim?Thepicturewhichleadstothecluster-of-descriptionstheoryissomethinglikethis:Oneisisolatedinaroom;theentirecommunityofotherspeakers,everythingelse,coulddisappear;andonedeterminesthereferenceforhimselfbysaying-'By"Godel"shallmeantheman,whoeverheis,whoprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic'.Nowyoucandothisifyouwantto.There'snothingreallypreventingit.Youcanjuststicktothatdetermination.Ifthat'swhatyoudo,thenifSchmidtdiscoveredtheincompletenessofarithmeticyoudorefertohimwhenyousay'Godeldidsuchandsuch'.
Butthat'snotwhatmostofusdo.Someone,let'ssay,ababy,isborn;hisparentscallhimbyacertainname.Theytalkabouthimtotheirfriends.Otherpeoplemeethim.Throughvarioussortsoftalkthenameisspreadfromlinktolinkasifbyachain.Aspeakerwhoisonthefarendofthischain,whohasheardabout,sayRichardFeynman,inthemarketplaceorelsewhere,maybereferringtoRichardFeynmaneventhoughhecan'trememberfromwhomhefirstheardofFeynmanorfromwhomheeverheardofFeynman.HeknowsthatFeynmanisafamousphysicist.Acertainpassageofcommunicationreachingultimatelytothemanhimselfdoesreachthespeaker.HethenisreferringtoFeynmaneventhoughhecan'tidentifyhimuniquely.Hedoesn'tknowwhataFeynmandiagramis,hedoesn'tknowwhattheFeynmantheoryofpairproductionandannihilationis.Notonlythat:he'dhavetroubledistinguishingbetweenGell-MannandFeynman.Sohedoesn'thavetoknowthesethings,but,instead,achainofcommunicationgoingbacktoFeynmanhimselfhasbeenestablished,byvirtueofhismembershipinacommunitywhichpassedthenamefromlinktolink,notbyaceremonythathemakesinprivateinhisstudy:'By"Feynman"shall
marked'C',andcannotbeusedinanytheoryofreference.
Ofcourseyoumighttrytoavoidcircularitybypassingthebuck.ThisismentionedbyStrawson,whosaysinhisfootnoteonthesemattersthatoneman'sreferencemayderivefromanother's.
Theidentifyingdescription,thoughitmustnotincludeareferencetothespeaker'sownreferencetotheparticularinquestion,mayincludeareferencetoanother'sreferencetothatparticular.Ifaputativelyidentifyingdescriptionisofthislatt:rkind,indeed,thequestion,whetheritisagenuinelyidentifymgdescnptIOn,turnsonthequestion,whetherthereferenceitreferstoisitselfagenuinelyidentifyingreference.Soonereferencemayborrowitscredentials,asagenuinelyidentifyingreference,fromanother;andthatfromanother.Butthisregressisnotinfinite.co
maythensay,'Look,by"Godel"IshallmeanthemanJoethinksprovedtheincompletenessofarithmetic'.JoemaythenpassthethingovertoHarry.Onehastobeverycarefulthisdoesn'tcomeroundinacircle.IsonereallysurethatthISwon'thappen?Ifyoucouldbesureyourselfofknowingsuchachain,andthateveryoneelseinthechainisusingtheproperconditionsandsoisnotgettingoutofit,thenmaybeyoucouldgetbacktothemanbyreferringtosuchachaininthatborrowingthereferencesonebyone.However,althoughIngeneralsuchchainsdoexistforalivingman,youw.on:tknowwhatthechainis.Youwon'tbesurewhatdeSCrIptIonstheothermanisusing,sothethingwon'tgointoacircle,orwhetherbyappealingtoJoeyouwon'tgetbacktothemanatall.Soyoucannotusethisasyouridentifyingdescnptionwithanyconfidence.YoumaynotevenrememberfromwhomyouheardofGodeI.
Whatisthetruepictureofwhat'sgoingon?Maybereferencedoesn'treallytakeplaceatall!Afterall,wedon'treallyknow
Strawson,op.cit.,p.181.n.
gottenhissource,thedescriptionStrawsonusesisunavailabletohim;ifhemisremembersit,Strawson'sparadigmcangivethewrongresults.Onourview,itisnothowthespeakerthinkshegotthereference,buttheactualchainofcommunication,whichisrelevant.
IthinkIsaidtheothertimethatphilosophicaltheoriesareindangerofbeingfalse,andsoIwasn'tgoingtopresentanalternativetheory.HaveIjustdoneso?Well,inaway;butmycharacterizationhasbeenfarlessspecificthanarealsetofnecessaryandsufficientconditionsforreferencewouldbe.Obviouslythenameispassedonfromlinktolink.Butofcoursenoteverysortofcausalchainreachingfrommetoacertainmanwilldoformetomakeareference.Theremaybeacausalchainfromouruseoftheterm'SantaClaus'toacertainhistoricalsaint,butstillthechildren,whentheyusethis,bythistimeprobablydonotrefertothatsaint.Sootherconditionsmustbesatisfiedinordertomakethisintoareallyrigoroustheoryofreference.Idon'tknowthatI'mgoingtodothisbecause,first,I'msortoftoolazyatthemoment;secondly,ratherthangivingasetofnecessaryandsufficientconditionswhichwillworkforatermlikereference,Iwanttopresentjustabetterpicturethan.hcpicturepresentedbythereceivedviews.
Haven'tIbeenveryunfairtothedescriptiontheory?HereIhavestateditveryprecisely-moreprecisely,perhaps,thanithasbeenstatedbyanyofitsadvocates.Sothenit'seasytorefute.MaybeifItriedtostateminewithsufficientprecisionintheformofsixorsevenoreighttheses,itwouldalsoturnoutthatwhenyouexaminethethesesonebyone,theywillallbefalse.Thatmightevenbeso,butthedifferenceisthis.'WhatIthinktheexamplesI'vegivenshowisnotsimplythatthere'ssometechnicalerrorhereorsomemistakethere,butthatthewholepicturegivenbythistheoryofhowreferenceisdeterminedseemstobewrongfromthefundamentals.It
meanthemanwhodidsuchandsuchandsuchandsuch'.
HowdoesthisviewdifferfromStrawson'ssuggestion,mentionedbefore,thatoneidentifyingreferencemayborrowitscredentialsfromanother?CertainlyStrawsonhadagoodinsightinthepassagequoted;ontheotherhand,hecertainlyshowsadifferenceatleastinemphasisfromthepictureIadvocate,sinceheconfmestheremarktoafootnote.Themaintextadvocatesthec1uster-of-descriptionstheory.JustbecauseStrawsonmakeshisremarkinthecontextofadescriptiontheory,hisviewthereforediffersfrommineinoneimportantrespect.Strawsonapparentlyrequiresthatthespeakermustknowfromwhomhegothisreference,sothathecansay:'By"Godcl"ImeanthemanJonescalls"Godel"'.Ifhedoesnotrememberhowhepickedupthereference,hecannotgivesuchadescription.Thepresenttheorysetsnosuchrequirement.AsIsaid,ImaywellnotrememberfromwhomIheardofGodel,andImaythinkIrememberfromwhichpeopleIheardthename,butwrongly.
TheseconsiderationsshowthattheviewadvocatedherecanleadtoconsequenceswhichactuallydivergefromthoseofStrawson'sfootnote.Supposethatthespeakerhasheardthename'Cicero'fromSmithandothers,whousethenametorefertoafamousRomanoratOr.Helaterthinks,however,thathepickedupthenamefromJones,who(unknowntothespeaker)uses'Cicero'asthenameofanotoriousGermanspyandhasneverheardofanyoratorsoftheancientworld.Then,accordingtoStrawson'sparadigm,thespeakermustdeterminehisreferencebytheresolution,'Ishalluse"Cicero"torefertothemanwhomJonescallsbythatname',whileonthepresentview,thereferentwillbetheoratorinspiteofthespeaker'sfalseimpressionaboutwherehepickedupthename.ThepointisthatStrawson,tryingtofathechainofcommunicationviewintothedescriptiontheory,reliesonwhatthespeakerthinkswasthesourceofhisreference.Ifthespeakerhasfor-
r
seemstobewrongtothinkthatwegiveourselvessomepropertieswhichsomehowqualitativelyuniquelypickoutanobjectanddetermineourreferenceinthatmanner.WhatIamtryingtopresentisabetterpicture-apicturewhich,ifmoredetailsweretobefilledin,mightberefmedsoastogivemoreexactconditionsforreferencetotakeplace.
OnemIghtneverreachasetofnecessaryandsufficientconditions.Idon'tknow,I'malwayssympathetictoBishopButler's'Everythingiswhatitisandnotanotherthing'-inthenontrivialsensethatphilosophicalanalysesofsomeconceptlikereference,incompletelydifferenttermswhichmakenomentionofreference,areveryapttofail.Ofcourseinanyparticularcasewhenoneisgivenananalysisonehastolookatitandseewhetheritistrueorfalse.Onecan'tjustcitethismaximtooneselfandthenturnthepage.Butmorecautiously,Iwanttopresentabetterpicturewithoutgivingasetofnecessaryandsufficientconditionsforreference.Suchconditionswouldbeverycomplicated,butwhatistrueisthatit'sinvirtueofourconnectionwithotherspeakersinthecommunity,goingbacktothereferenthimself,thatwerefertoacertainman.
Theremaybesomecaseswherethedescriptionpictureistrue,wheresomemanreallygivesanamebygoingintotheprivacyofhisroomandsayingthatthereferentistobetheuniquethingwithcertainidentifyingproperties.JacktheRipper'wasapossibleexamplewhichIgave.Anotherwas'Hesperus'.Yetanothercasewhichcanbeforcedintothisdescriptionisthatofmeetingsomeoneandbeingtoldhisname.Exceptforabeliefinthedescriptiontheory,initsimportanceinothercases,oneprobablywouldn'tthinkthatthatwasacaseofgivingoneselfadescription,i.e.,'theguyI'mjustmeetingnow'.Butonecanputitinthesetermsifonewishes,andifonehasneverheardthenameinanyotherway.Ofcourse,ifyou'reintroducedtoamanandtold,'That's
Einstein',you'veheardofhi.abefore,itmaybewrong,andsoon.Butmaybeinsomecasessuchaparadigmworksespeciallyforthemanwhofirstgivessomeoneorsomethinganame.Orhepointstoastarandsays,'ThatistobeAlphaCentauri'.Sohecanreallymakehimselfthisceremony:'By"AlphaCentauri"Ishallmeanthestarrightovertherewithsuchandsuchcoordinates'.Butingeneralthispicturefails.Ingeneralourreferencedependsnotjustonwhatwethinkourselves,butonotherpeopleinthecommunity,thehistoryofhowthenamereachedone,andthingslikethat.Itisbyfollowingsuchahistorythatonegetstothereference.
Moreexactconditionsareverycomplicatedtogive.Theyseeminawaysomehowdifferentinthecaseofafamousmanandonewhoisn'tsofamous.Forexample,ateachertellshisclassthatNewtonwasfamousforbeingthefirstmantothinkthere'saforcepullingthingstotheearth;Ithinkthat'swhatlittlekidsthinkNewton'sgreatestachievementwas.Iwon'tsaywhatthemeritsofsuchanachievementwouldbe,but,anyway,wemaysupposethatjustbeingtoldthatthiswas"thesolecontentofNewton'sdiscoverygivesthestudentsafalsebeliefaboutNewton,eventhoughtheyhaveneverheardofhimbefore.If,ontheotherhand,ntheteacherusesthename'GeorgeSmith'-amanbythatnameisactuallyhisnextdoorneighbor-andsaysthatGeorgeSmithfirstsquaredthecircle,doesitfollowfromthisthatthestudentshaveafalsebeliefabouttheteacher'sneighbor?Theteacherdoesn'ttellthemthatSmithishisneighbor,nordoeshebelieveSmithfirstsquaredthecircle.Heisn'tparticularlytryingtogetanybeliefabouttheneighborintothestudents'heads.Hetriestoinculcatethebeliefthattherewasamanwhosquaredthecircle,butnotabeliefaboutanyparticularman-hejustpullsoutthefirstnamethatoccurstohim-asithappens,heuseshisneighbor'sname.Itdoesn'tseemclearinthatcasethatthe
TheessentialpointsofthisexampleweresuggestedbyRichardMiller.
students have a false belief about the neighbor, even though there is a causal chain going back to the neighbor. I am not sure about this. At any rate more refinements need to be added to make this even begin to be a set of necessary and sufficient conditions. In that sense it's not a theory, but is supposed to give a better picture of what is actually going on.
A rough statement of a theory might be the following: An initial 'baptism' takes place. Here the object may be named by ostension, or the reference of the name may be fixed by a description.42 When the name is 'passed from link to link', the receiver of the name must, I think, intend when he learns it to use it with the same reference as the man from whom he heard it. If I hear the name 'Napoleon' and decide it would be a nice name for my pet aardvark, I do not satisfy this condition.43 (Perhaps it is some such failure to keep the reference
fixed which accounts for the divergence of present uses of 'Santa Claus' from the alleged original use.)
Notice that the preceding outline hardly eliminates the notion of reference; on the contrary, it takes the notion of intending to use the same reference as a given. There is also an appeal to an initial baptism which is explained in terms either of fixing a reference by a description, or ostension (if ostension is not to be subsumed under the other category).44 (Perhaps there are other possibilities for initial baptisms.) Further, the George Smith case casts some doubt as to the sufficiency of the conditions. Even if the teacher does refer to his neighbor, is it clear that he has passed on his reference to the pupils? Why shouldn't their belief be about any other man named 'George Smith'? If he says that Newton was hit by an apple, somehow his task of transmitting a reference is easier, since he has communicated a common misconception about Newton.
To repeat, I may not have presented a theory, but I do think that I have presented a better picture than that given by description theorists.
I think the next topic I shall want to talk about is that of statements of identity. Are these necessary or contingent? The matter has been in some dispute in recent philosophy. First,
42 A good example of a baptism whose reference was fixed by means of a description was that of naming Neptune in n. 33, p. 79. The case of a baptism by ostension can perhaps be subsumed under the description concept also. Thus the primary applicability of the description theory is to cases of initial baptism. Descriptions are also used to fix a reference in cases of designation which are similar to naming except that the terms introduced are not usually called 'names'. The terms 'one meter', '100 degrees Centigrade', have already been given as examples, and other examples will be given later in these lectures. Two things should be emphasized concerning the case of introducing a name via a description in an initial baptism. First, the description used is not synonymous with the name it introduces but rather fixes its reference. Here we differ from the usual description theorists. Second, most cases of initial baptism are far from those which originally inspired the description theory. Usually a baptizer is acquainted in some sense with the object he names and is able to name it ostensively. Now the inspiration of the description theory lay in the fact that we can often use names of famous figures of the past who are long dead and with whom no living person is acquainted; and it is precisely these cases which, on our view, cannot be correctly explained by a description theory.
43 I can transmit the name of the aardvark to other people. For each of these people, as for me, there will be a certain sort of causal or historical connection between my use of the name and the Emperor of the French, but not one of the required type.
44 Once we realize that the description used to fix the reference of a name is not synonymous with it, then the description theory can be regarded as presupposing the notion of naming or reference. The requirement I made that the description used not itself involve the notion of reference in a circular way is something else and is crucial if the description theory is to have any value at all. The reason is that the description theorist supposes that each speaker essentially uses the description he gives in an initial act of naming to determine his reference. Clearly, if he introduces the name 'Cicero' by the determination, 'By "Cicero" I shall refer to the man I call "Cicero"', he has by this ceremony determined no reference at all.
Not all description theorists thought that they were eliminating the notion of reference altogether. Perhaps some realized that some notion of ostension, or primitive reference, is required to back it up. Certainly Russell did.
everyoneagreesthatdescriptionscanbeusedtomakecontingentidentitystatements.IfitistruethatthemanwhoinventedbifocalswasthefirstPostmasterGeneraloftheUnitedStates-thatthesewereoneandthesame-it'scontingentlytrue.Thatis,itmighthavebeenthecasethatonemaninventedbifocalsandanotherwasthefIrStPostmasterGeneraloftheUnitedStates.Socertainlywhenyoumakeidentitystatementsusingdescriptions-whenyousay'thexsuchthatandthexsuchthatljixareoneandthesame'-thatcanbeacontingentfact.Butphilosophershavebeeninterestedalsointhequestionofidentitystatementsbetweennames.Whenwesay'HesperusisPhosphorus'or'CiceroisTully',iswhatwearesayingnecessaryorcontingent?Further,they'vebeeninterestedinanothertypeofidentitystatement,whichcomesfromscientifictheory.Weidentify,forexample,lightwithelectromagneticradiationbetweencertainlimitsofwavelengths,orwithastreamofphotons.Weidentifyheatwiththemotionofmolecules;soundwithacertainsortofdisturbanceintheair;andsoon.Concerningsuchstatementsthefollowingthesisiscommonlyheld.First,thattheseareobviouslycontingentidentities:we'vefoundoutthatlightisastreamofphotons,butofcourseitmightnothavebeenastreamofphotons.Heatisinfactthemotionofmolecules;wefoundthatout,butheatmightnothavebeenthemotionofmolecules.Secondly,manyphilosophersfeeldamnedluckythattheseexamplesarearound.Now,why?Thesephilosophers,whoseviewsareexpoundedinavastliterature,holdtoathesiscalled'theidentitythesis'withrespecttosomepsychologicalconcepts.Theythink,say,thatpainisjustacertainmaterialstateofthebrainorofthebody,orwhathaveyou-saythestimulationofC-flbers.(Itdoesn'tmatterwhat.)Somepeoplehavethenobjected,'Well,look,there'sperhapsacorrelationbetweenpainandthesestatesofthebody;butthismustjustbeacontingentcorrelationbetweentwodifferentthings,because
itwasanempiricaldiscoverythatthiscorrelationeverheld.Therefore,by"pain"wemustmeansomethingdifferentfromthisstateofthebodyorbrain;and,therefore,theymustbetwodifferentthings.'
Thenit'ssaid,'Ah,butyousee,thisiswrong!Everyoneknowsthattherecanbecontingentidentities.'First,asinthebifocalsandPostmasterGeneralcase,whichIhavementionedbefore.Second,inthecase,believedclosertothepresentparadigm,oftheoreticalidentifications,suchaslightandastreamofphotons,orwaterandacertaincompoundofhydrogenandoxygen.Theseareallcontingentidentities.Theymighthavebeenfalse.It'snosurprise,therefore,thatitcanbetrueasamatterofcontingentfactandnotofanynecessitythatfeelingpain,orseeingred,isjustacertainstateofthehumanbody.Suchpsychophysicalidentificationscanbecontingentfactsjustastheotheridentitiesarecontingentfacts.Andofcoursetherearewidespreadmotivations-ideological,orjustnotwantingtohavethe'nomologicaldangler'ofmysteriousconnectionsnotaccountedforbythelawsofphysics,onetoonecorrelationsbetweentwodifferentkindsofthing,materialstates,andthingsofanentirelydifferentkind,whichleadpeopletowanttobelievethisthesis.
IguessthemainthingI'lltalkaboutfirstisidentitystatementsbetweennames.ButIholdthefollowingaboutthegeneralcase.First,thatcharacteristictheoreticalidentificationslike'Heatisthemotionofmolecules',arenotcontingenttruthsbutnecessarytruths,andhereofcourseIdon'tmeanjustphysicallynecessary,butnecessaryinthehighestdegreewhateverthatmeans.(Physicalnecessity,mightturnouttobenecessityinthehighestdegree.Butthat'saquestionwhichIdon'twishtoprejudge.Atleastforthissortofexample,itmightbethatwhensomething'sphysicallynecessary,italwaysisnecessarytoutcourt.)Second,thatthewayinwhichthesehaveturnedouttobenecessarytruthsdoesnotseemtometo
beawayinwhichthemind-brainidentitiescouldturnouttobeeithernecessaryorcontingentlytrue.Sothisanalogyhastogo.It'shardtoseewhattoputinitsplace.It'shardtoseethereforehowtoavoidconcludingthatthetwoareactuallydifferent.
Letmegobacktothemoremundanecaseaboutpropernames.Thisisalreadymysteriousenough.There'sadisputeaboutthisbetweenQuineandRuthBarcanMarcus.45Marcussaysthatidentitiesbetweennamesarenecessary.IfsomeonethinksthatCiceroisTully,andreallyuses'Cicero'and'Tully'asnames,heistherebycommittedtoholdingthathisbeliefisanecessarytruth.Sheusestheterm'meretag'.Quinerepliesasfollows,'WemaytagtheplanetVenus,somefineevening,withthepropername"Hesperus".Wemaytagthesameplanetagain,somedaybeforesunrise,withthepropername"Phosphorus".Whenwediscoverthatwehavetaggedthesameplanettwiceourdiscoveryisempirical.Andnotbecausethepropernamesweredescriptions.'46First,asQuinesayswhenwediscoveredthatwetaggedthesameplanettwice,ourdiscoverywasempirical.AnotherexampleIthinkQuinegivesinanotherbookisthatthesamemountainseenfromNepalandfromTibet,orsomethinglikethat,isfromoneanglecalled'Mt.Everest'(you'veheardofthat);fromanotherit'ssupposedtobecalled'Gaurisanker'.ItcanactuallybeanempiricaldiscoverythatGaurisankerisEverest.(Quinesaysthattheexampleisactuallyfalse.HegottheexamplefromErwinSchrodinger.Youwouldn'tthinktheinventorofwavemechanicsgotthingsthatwrong.Idon'tknowwherethemistakeissupposedtocomefrom.Onecouldcertainlyimaginethissituationashavingbeenthecase;andit'sanother
goodillustrationofthesortofthingthatQuinehasinmind.)
Whataboutit?IwantedtofmdagoodquoteontheothersidefromMarcusinthisbookbutIamhavingtroublelocatingone.Beingpresentatthatdiscussion,Iremember47thatsheadvocatedtheviewthatifyoureallyhavenames,agooddictionaryshouldbeabletotellyouwhethertheyhavethesamereference.Sosomeoneshouldbeable,bylookinginthedictionary,tosaythatHesperusandPhosphorusarethesame.Nowthisdoesnotseemtobetrue.Itdoesseem,tomanypeople,tobeaconsequenceoftheviewthatidentitiesbetweennamesarenecessary.Thereforetheviewthatidentitystatementsbetweennamesarenecessaryhasusuallybeenrejected.Russell'sconclusionwassomewhatdifferent.Hedidthinkthereshouldneverbeanyempiricalquestionwhethertwonameshavethesamereference.Thisisn'tsatisfiedforordinarynames,butitissatisfiedwhenyou'renamingyourownsensedatum,orsomethinglikethat.Yousay,'Here,this,andthat(designatingthesamesensedatumbybothdemonstratives).'Soyoucantellwithoutempiricalinvestigationthatyou'renamingthesamethingtwice;theconditionsaresatisfied.Sincethiswon'tapplytoordinarycasesofnaming,ordinary'names'cannotbegenuinenames.
Whatshouldwethinkaboutthis?First,it'struethatsomeonecanusethename'Cicero'torefertoCiceroandthename'Tully'torefertoCiceroalso,andnotknowthatCiceroisTully.Soitseemsthatwedonotnecessarilyknowapriorithatanidentitystatementbetweennamesistrue.Itdoesn'tfollowfromthisthatthestatementsoexpressedisacontingentoneiftrue.ThisiswhatI'veemphasizedinmyfirstlecture.Thereisaverystrongfeelingthatleadsonetothinkthat,ifyoucan'tknowsomethingbyaprioriratiocination,thenit'sgottobecontingent:itmighthaveturnedoutotherwise;butneverthelessIthinkthisfeelingiswrong.
&6RuthBarcanMarcus,'ModalitiesandIntensionalLanguages'(commentsbyW.V.Quine,plusdiscussion)BostonStudiesinthePhilosophyofScience,volumeI,Reidel,Dordrecht,HoJland,1963,pp.77-II6.
&ep.101.
&?p.lIS·
Let'ssupposewerefertothesameheavenlybodytwice,as'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'.Wesay:Hesperusisthatstaroverthereintheevening;Phosphorusisthatstaroverthereinthemorning.Actually,HesperusisPhosphorus.AretherereallycircumstancesunderwhichHesperuswouldn'thavebeenPhosphorus?SupposingthatHesperusisPhosphorus,let'strytodescribeapossiblesituationinwhichitwouldnothavebeen.Well,it'seasy.Someonegoesbyandhecallstwodifferentstars'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'.Itmayevenbeunderthesameconditionsasprevailedwhenweintroducedthenames'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'.ButarethosecircumstancesinwhichHesperusisnotPhosphorusorwouldnothavebeenPhosphorus?Itseemstomethattheyarenot.
Now,ofcourseI'mcommittedtosayingthatthey'renot,bysayingthatsuchtermsas'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus',whenusedasnames,arerigiddesignators.TheyreferineverypossibleworldtotheplanetVenus.Therefore,inthatpossibleworldtoo,theplanetVenusistheplanetVenusanditdoesn'tmatterwhatanyotherpersonhassaidinthisotherpossibleworld.Howshouldwedescribethissituation?Hecan'thavepointedtoVenustwice,andintheonecasecalledit'Hesperus'andintheother'Phosphorus',aswedid.Ifhedidso,then'HesperusisPhosphorus'wouldhavebeentrueinthatsituationtoo.HepointedmaybeneithertimetotheplanetVenus-atleastonetimehedidn'tpointtoth..:planetVenus,let'ssaywhenhepointedtothebodyhecalled'Phosphorus'.Theninthatcasewecancertainlysaythatthename'Phosphorus'mightnothavereferredtoPhosphorus.WecanevensaythatintheverypositionwhenviewedinthemorningthatwefoundPhosphorus,itmighthavebeenthecasethatPhosphoruswasnotthere-thatsomethingelsewasthere,andthateven,undercertaincircumstancesitwouldhavebeencalled'Phosphorus'.ButthatstillisnotacaseinwhichPhosphoruswasnotHesperus.Theremightbeapossibleworldin
which,apossiblecounterfactualsituationinwhich,'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'weren'tnamesofthethingstheyinfactarenameso£Someone,ifhediddeterminetheirreferencebyidentifyingdescriptions,mightevenhaveusedtheveryidentifyingdescriptionsweused.Butstillthat'snotacaseinwhichHesperuswasn'tPhosphorus.Fortherecouldn'thavebeensuchacase,giventhatHesperusisPhosphorus.
Nowthisseemsverystrangebecauseinadvance,weareinclinedtosay,theanswertothequestionwhetherHesperusisPhosphorusmighthaveturnedouteitherway.Soaren'ttherereallytwopossibleworlds-oneinwhichHesperuswasPhosphorus,theotherinwhichHesperuswasn'tPhosphorus-inadvanceofourdiscoveringthatthesewerethesame?First,there'sonesenseinwhichthingsmightturnouteitherway,inwhichit'sclearthanhatdoesn'timplythatthewayitfmallyturnsoutisn'tnecessary.Forexample,thefourcolortheoremmightturnouttobetrueandmightturnouttobefalse.Itmightturnouteitherway.Itstilldoesn'tmeanthatthewayitturnsoutisnotnecessary.Obviously,the'might'hereispurely'epistemic'-itmerelyexpressesourpresentstateofignorance,oruncertainty.
ButitseemsthatintheHesperus-Phosphoruscase,somethingevenstrongeristrue.TheevidenceIhavebeforeIknowthatHesperusisPhosphorusisthatIseeacertainstaroracertainheavenlybodyintheeveningandcallit'Hesperus',andinthemorningandcallit'Phosphorus'.Iknowthesethings.Therecertainlyisapossibleworldinwhichamanshouldhaveseenacertainstaratacertainpositionintheeveningandcalledit'Hesperus'andacertainstarinthemorningandcalledit'Phosphorus';andshouldhaveconcluded-shouldhavefoundoutbyempiricalinvestigation-thathenamestwodifferentstars,ortwodifferentheavenlybodies.AtleastoneofthesestarsorheavenlybodieswasnotPhosphorus,otherwiseitcouldn'thavecomeoutthatway.Butthat'strue.Andsoit's
truethatgiventheevidencethatsomeonehasantecedenttohisempiricalinvestigation,hecanbeplacedinasenseinexactlythesamesituation,thatisaqualitativelyidenticalepistemicsituation,andcalltwoheavenlybodies'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus',withouttheirbeingidentical.Sointhatsensewecansaythatitmighthaveturnedouteitherway.NotthatitmighthaveturnedouteitherwayastoHesperus'sbeingPhosphorus.Thoughforallweknewinadvance,Hesperuswasn'tPhosphorus,thatcouldn'thaveturnedoutanyotherway,inasense.Butbeingputinasituationwherewehaveexactlythesameevidence,qualitativelyspeaking,itcouldhaveturnedoutthatHesperuswasnotPhosphorus;thatis,inacounterfactualworldinwhich'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'werenotusedinthewaythatwethem,asnamesofthisplanet,butasnamesofsomeotherobjects,onecouldhavehadqualitativelyidenticalevidenceandconcludedthat'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'namedtwodifferentobjects.48Butwe,usingthenamesaswedorightnow,cansayinadvance,thatifHesperusandPhosphorusareoneandthesame,theninnootherpossibleworldcantheybedifferent.Weuse'Hesperus'asthenameofacertainbodyand'Phosphorus'asthenameofacertainbody.Weusethemasnamesofthosebodiesinallpossibleworlds.If,infact,theyarethesamebody,theninanyotherpossibleworldwehavetousethemasanameofthatobject.AndsoinanyotherpossibleworlditwillbetruethatHesperusisPhosphorus.Sotwothingsaretrue:first,thatwedonotknowapriorithatHesperusisPhosphorus,andareinnopositiontofindouttheanswerexceptempirically.Second,thisissobecausewecouldhaveevidencequalitativelyindistinguishablefromtheevidencewehaveanddeterminethereferenceofthetwonamesbythepositionsoftwoplanetsinthesky,withouttheplanetsbeingthesame.
Ofcourse,itisonlyacontingenttruth(nottrueineveryotherpossibleworld)thatthestarseenoverthereintheeveningisthestarseenoverthereinthemorning,becausetherearepossibleworldsinwhichPhosphoruswasnotvisibleinthemorning.Butthatcontingenttruthshouldn'tbeidentifiedwiththestatementthatHesperusisPhosphorus.ItcouldonlybesoidentifiedifyouthoughtthatitwasanecessarytruththatHesperusisvisibleoverthereintheeveningorthatPhosphorusisvisibleoverthereinthemorning.Butneitherofthosearenecessarytruthsevenifthat'sthewaywepickouttheplanet.Thesearethecontingentmarksbywhichweidentifyacertainplanetandgiveitaname.
48Thereisamoreelaboratediscussionofthispointinthethirdlecture,whereitsrelationtoacertainsortofcounterparttheoryisalsomentioned.
LECTUREIII:JANUARY29,1970
What'sbeenaccomplished,ifanything,uptonow?First,I'vearguedthatapopularviewabouthownamesgettheirreferenceingeneraldoesn'tapply.Itisingeneralnotthecasethatthereferenceofanameisdeterminedbysomeuniquelyidentifyingmarks,someuniquepropertiessatisfiedbithereferentandknownorbelievedtobetrueofthatreferentbythespeaker.First,thepropertiesbelievedbythespeakerneednotbeuniquelyspecifying.Second,eveninthecasewheretheyare,theymaynotbeuniquelytrueoftheactualreferentofthespeaker'susebutofsomethingelseorofnothing.Thisisthecasewherethespeakerhaserroneousbeliefsaboutsomeperson.Hedoesnothavecorrectbeliefsaboutanotherperson,buterroneousbeliefsaboutacertainperson.Inthesecasesthereferenceactuallyseemstobedeterminedbythefactthatthespeakerisamemberofacommunityofspeakerswhousethename.Thenamehasbeenpassedtohimbytraditionfromlinktolink.
Second,I'veargued,evenifinsomespecialcases,notablysomecasesofinitialbaptism,areferentisdeterminedbyadescription,bysomeuniquelyidentifyingproperty,whatthatpropertyisdoinginmanycasesofdesignationisnotgivingasynonym,givingsomethingforwhichthenameisanabbreviation;itis,rather,fixingareference.Itfixesthereferencebycontingentmarksoftheobject.Thenamedenotingthat
objectisthenusedtorefertothatobject,eveninreferringtocounterfactualsituationswheretheobjectdoesn'thavethepropertiesinquestion.Anexamplewasthecaseofameter.
Finally,attheendofthetalklasttimeweweretalkingaboutstatementsofidentity.Statementsofidentityshouldseemverysimplebuttheyaresomehowverypuzzlingtophilosophers.IcannotbesureinmyowncasewhetherIhaveallthepossibleconfusionsthatcanbegeneratedbythisrelationstraightenedout.Somephilosophershavefoundtherelationsoconfusingthattheychangeit.Itis,forexample,thoughtthatifyouhavetwonameslike'Cicero'and'Tully'andsaythatCiceroisTully,youcan'treallybesayingoftheobjectwhichisbothCiceroandTullythatitisidenticalwithitselfOnthecontrary,'CiceroisTully'canexpressanempiricaldiscovery,aswementionedbefore.Andsosomephilosophers,evenFregeatoneearlystageofhiswriting,havetakenidentitytobearelati<:>nbetweennames.Identity,sotheysay,isnottherelationbetweenanobjectanditself,butistherelationwhichholdsbetweentwonameswhentheydesignatethesameobject.
Thisoccurseveninthemorerecentliterature.Ididn'tbringthebookalong,butJ.B.Rosser,thedistinguishedlogician,writesinhisbook,LogicforMathematicians,49thatwesaythatxyifandonlyif'x'and'r'arenamesforthesameobject.Heremarksthatthecorrespondingstatementabouttheobjectitself,thatitinnowaydi/fersfromitself,isofcoursetrivial;andso,presumably,cannotbewhatwemean.Thisisanespeciallyunusualparadigmofwhattheidentityrelationshipshouldbebecauseitwouldapplyveryrarely.AsfarasIknow,outsidethemilitantblacknationalistmovementonehasbeennamed'x'.Seriouslyspeaking,ofcourse,'x'and'y'hteopensentencexyarenotnamesatall,theyarevariables.Andtheycanoccurwithidentityasboundvariablesinaclosedsentence.Ifyousayforeveryxandy,ifxythen
UNewYork,McGraw-Hill(1953),seeChapterVII,'Equality'.
y=X,orsomethinglikethat-nonamesoccurinthatstatementatall,norisanythingsaidaboutnames.Thisstatementwouldbetrueeventhoughthehumanracehadneverexistedor,thoughitdidexist,neverproducedthephenomenonofnames.
Ifanyoneeverinclinestothisparticularaccountofidentity,let'ssupposewegavehimhisaccowlt.SupposeidentitywerearelationinEnglishbetweenthenames.Ishallintroduceanartificialrelationcalled'schmidentity'(notawordofEnglish)whichInowstipulatetoholdonlybetweenanobjectanditself.50NowthenthequestionwhetherCiceroisschmidenticalwithTullycanarise,andifitdoesarisethesameproblemswillholdforthisstatementaswerethoughtinthecaseoftheoriginalidentitystatementtogivethebeliefthatthiswasarelationbetweenthenames.Ifanyonethinksaboutthisseriously,Ithinkhewillseethatthereforeprobablyhisoriginalaccountofidentitywasnotnecessary,andprobablynotpossible,fortheproblemsitwasoriginallymeanttosolve,andthatthereforeitshouldbedropped,andidentityshouldjustbetakentobetherelationbetweenathinganditself.ThissortofdevicecanbeusedforanUP-lberofphilosophicalproblems.
Wehaveconcludedthatanidentitystatementbetweennames,whentrueatall,isnecessarilytrue,eventhoughonemaynotknowitapriori.SupposeweidentifyHesperusasa
certainstarseenintheeveningandPhosphorusasacertainstar,oracertainheavenlybody,seeninthemorning;thentheremaybepossibleworldsinwhichtwodifferentplanetswouldhavebeenseeninjustthosepositionsintheeveningandmorning.However,atleastoneofthem,andmaybeboth,wouldnothavebeenHesperus,andthenthatwouldnothavebeenasituationinwhichHesperuswasnotPhosphorus.Itmighthavebeenasituationinwhichtheplanetseeninthispositionintheeveningwasnottheplanetseeninthispositioninthemorning;butthatisnotasituationinwhichHesperuswasnotPhosphorus.Itmightalso,ifpeoplegavethenames'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'totheseplanets,beasituationinwhichsomeplanetotherthanHesperuswascalled'Hesperus'.Butevenso,itwouldnotbeasituationinwhichHesperusitselfwasnotPhosphorus.51
Someoftheproblemswhichbotherpeopleinthesesituations,asIhavesaid,comefromanidentification,orasIwouldputit,aconfusion,betweenwhatwecanknowaprioriinadvanceandwhatisnecessary.Certainstatements--andtheidentitystatementisaparadigmofsuchastatementonmyview-iftrueatallmustbenecessarilytrue.Onedoesknowapriori,byphilosophicalanalysis,thatifsuchanidentitystatementistrueitisnecessarilytrue.
Onequalification:whenIsay'HesperusisPhosphorus'isnecessarilytrue,IofcoursedonotdenythatsituationsmighthaveobtainedinwhichtherewasnosuchplanetasVenusatall,andthereforenoHesperusandnoPhosphorus.Inthatcase,thereisaquestionwhethertheidentitystatement'HesperusisPhosphorus'wouldbetrue,false,orneithertrue
60Ofcourse,thedevicewillfailtoconvinceaphilosopherwhowantstoarguethatanartificiallanguageorconceptofthesupposedtypeislogicallyimpossible.Inthepresentcase,SO!Jlephilosophershavethoughtthatarelation,beingessentiallytwo-termed,cannotholdbetweenathinganditse1£Thispositionisplainlyabsurd.Someonecanbehisownworstenemy,hisownseverestcriticandthelike.Somerelationsarereflexivesuchastherelation'noricherthan'.Identityorschmidentityisnothingbutthesmallestreflexiverelation.
hopetoelaborateontheutilityofthisdeviceofimaginingahypotheticallanguageelsewhere.
Recallthatwedescribethesituationinourlanguage,notthelanguagethatthepeopleinthatsituationwouldhaveused.Hencewemustusetheterms'Hesperus'and'Phosphorus'withthesamereferenceasintheactualworld.Thefactthatpeopleinthatsituationmightormightnothaveusedthesenamesfordifferentplanetsisirrelevant.SoisthefactthattheymighthavedonesousingtheverysamedescriptionsaswedidtofIXtheirreferences.
Foratime[theanti-essentialist]iswinning.Yettherecomesatimewhenhisclaimsappearatrifletoofarfetched.TheinternalistsuggeststhatwecannotimaginethatparticularwecalltheQueenhavingthepropertyofatnostageinherexistencebeinghuman.Iftheanti-internalistadmitsthis,admitsthatitislogicallyinconceivablethattheQueenshouldhavehaJthepropertyof,say,alwaysbeingaswan,thenheadmitsthatshehasatleastoneinternalproperty.Ifontheotherhandhesaysthatit'sonlyacontingentfactthattheQueenhaseverbeenhuman,hesayswhatitishardtoaccept.Canwereallyconsideritasconceivablethatsheshouldneverhavebeenhuman?53
'Atstageinherexistence'and'always'arejustiftcationsSpriggepresumablyintroducestoallowsuchpossibilitiesasherrightnowbeingchangedintoaswan-byawickedwitch,Iguess.(Orabenignwitch.)
OneconfusionIftndinthisdiscussionisthatintheftrstcaseSpriggetalksaboutwhethertherewouldbeanycontradictioninsupposingthatwehadanannouncementthattheQueen'Yasbornofparentsdifferentfromtheonessheactuallyhad.Andinthatthereisnocontradiction.Similarly,though,thereisnocontradictioninanannouncementthattheQueen,thisthingwethoughttobeawoman,wasinfactanangelinhumanform,oranautomatoncleverlyconstructedbytheroyalfamily,whodidnotwantthesuccessiontopasstothatbastardso-and-so,orsomething.Neitheroftheseannouncementsrepresentthingsthatwecouldn'tpossiblydiscover,either.Whatisthequestionweareaskingwhenweaskwhetherit'snecessary,concerningthiswoman,thatsheshouldeitherhavebeenofroyalbloodorhavebeenhuman?Royalbloodisalittlecomplicated,becauseinorderforittobenecessaryforhertohavebeenofroyalbloodithastobenecessarythatthisparticularfamilylineatsometimeattainedtoroyalpower;butthelatterfactseemsto
Theinternalist[whichmeansthebelieverthattherearesomeessentialproperties]saysthattheQueenmusthavebeenbornofroyalblood.[Hemeansthatthispersonmusthavebeenofroyalblood.]Theanti-essentialistsaystherewouldbenocontradictioninanewsbulletinassertingthatithadbeenestablishedthattheQueenwasnotinfactthechildofhersupposedparents,buthadbeensecretlyadoptedbythem,andthereforethepropositionthatsheisofroyalbloodissynthetic
norfalse.62Andifwetakethelastoption,is'Hesperus=Phosphorus'necessarybecauseitisneverfalse,orshouldwerequirethatanecessarytruthbetrueinallpossibleworlds?Iamleavingsuchproblemsoutsidemyconsiderationsaltogether.Ifwewishtobesomewhatmorecareful,wecouldreplacethestatement'HesperusisPhosphorus'bytheconditional,'IfHesperusexiststhenHesperusisPhosphorus',cautiouslytakingonlythelattertobenecessary.Unfortwlatelythisconditionalinvolvesusintheproblemofsingularattributionsofexistence,oneIcannotdiscusshere.Inparticular,philosopherssympathetictothedescriptiontheoryofnamingoftenarguethatonecannoteversayofanobjectthatitexists.Asupposedstatementabouttheexistenceofanobjectreallyis,soit'sargued,astatementaboutwhetheracertaindescriptionorpropertyissatisfted.AsIhavealreadysaid,Idisagree.Anyway,Ican'treallygointotheproblemsofexistencehere.
Iwanttomentionatthispointthatotherconsiderationsaboutderemodality,aboutanobjecthavingessentialproperties,canonlyberegardedcorrectly,inmyview,ifwerecognizethedistinctionbetweenaprioricityandnecessity.Onemightverywelldiscoveressenceempirically.
TherearesomeexamplesofallegedessentialpropertiesinanarticlebyTimothySprigge.
62Thesamethreeoptionsexistfor'HesperusisHesperus',andtheanswermustbethesameasinthecaseof'HesperusisPhosphorus'.
II'InternalandExternalProperties',Mind71(April,1962),pp.202-<>3.
becontingent.ThereforeIsupposeitiscontingentthatherbloodshouldeverhavebeenroyal.
Let'stryandrefinethequestionalittlebit.Thequestionreallyshouldbe,let'ssay,couldtheQueen--couldthiswomanherself-havebeenbornofdifferentparentsfromtheparentsfromwhomsheactuallycame?Couldshe,let'ssay,havebeenthedaughterinsteadofMr.andMrs.Truman?Therewouldbenocontradiction,ofcourse,inanannouncementthat(Ihopetheagesdonotmakethisimpossible),fantasticasitmaysound,shewasindeedthedaughterofMr.andMrs.Truman.Isupposetheremightevenbenocontradictioninthediscoverythat-itseemsverysuspiciousanywaythatoneitherhypothesisshehasasistercalledMargaret-thatthesetwoMargaretswereoneandthesamepersonflyingbackandforthinacleverway.Atanyratewecanimaginediscoveringallofthesethings.
Butletussupposethatsuchadiscoveryisnotinfactthecase.Let'ssupposethattheQueenreallydidcomefromtheseparents.Nottogointotoomanycomplicationshereaboutwhataparentis,let'ssupposethattheparentsarethepeoplewhosebodytissuesaresourcesofthebiologicalspermandegg.Soyougetridofsuchrecherchepossibilitiesastransplantsofthespermfromthefather,ortheeggfromthemother,intootherbodies,sothatinonesenseotherpeoplemighthavebeenherparents.Ifthathappened,inanothersenseherparentswerestilltheoriginalkingandqueen.Butotherthanthat,canweimagineasituationinwhichitwouldhavehappenedthatthisverywomancameoutofMr.andMrs.Truman?Theymighthavehadachildresemblingherinmanyproperties.PerhapsinsomepossibleworldMr.andMrs.TrumanevenhadachildwhoactuallybecametheQueenofEnglandandwasevenpassedoffasthechildofotherparents.Thisstillwouldnotbeasituationinwhichthisverywomanwhomwecall'ElizabethII'wasthechildofMr.andMrs.Truman,orsoit
seemstome.ItwouldbeasituationinwhichtherewassomeotherwomanwhohadmanyofthepropertiesthatareinfacttrueofElizabeth.Now,ouequestionis,inthispossibleworld,wasElizabethherselfeverborn?Let'ssupposeshewasn'teverborn.Itwouldthanbeasituationinwhich,thoughTrumanandhiswifehaveachildwithmanyofthepropertiesofElizabeth,Elizabethherselfdidn'texistatall.Onecanonlybecomeconvincedofthisbyreflectiononhowyouwoulddescribethissituation.(That,suppose,meansinmanycasesthatyouwon'tbecomeconvincedofthis,atleastnotatthemoment.ButitissomethingofwhichIpersonallyhavebeenconvinced.)
Howcouldapersonoriginatingfromdifferentparents,fromatotallydifferentspermandegg,bethisverywoman?Onecanimagine,giventhewoman,thatvariousthingsinherlifecouldhavechanged:thatsheshouldhavebecomeapauper;thatherroyalbloodshouldhavebeenlh"lknOwn,andsoon.Oneisgiven,let'ssay,aprevioushistoryoftheworlduptoacertaintime,andfromthattimeitdivergesconsidera'blyfromtheactualcourse.Thisseemstobepossible.Andsoit'spossiblethateventhoughshewerebornoftheseparentssheneverbecamequeen.Eventhoughshewerebornoftheseparents,likeMarkTwain'scharacter54shewasswitchedoffwithanothergirl.Butwhatishardertoimagineisherbeingbornofdifferentparents.Itseemstomethatanythingcomingfromadifferentoriginwouldnotbethisobject.
Inthecaseofthistable,66wemaynotknowwhatblockofwoodthetablecamefrom.Nowcouldthistablehavebeenmadefromacompletelydiffirel1tblockofwood,orevenofwatercleverlyhardenedintoice--watertakenfromtheThamesRiver?Wecouldconceivablydiscoverthat,contrarytowhatwenowthink,thistableisindeedmadeoficefrom
ItInThePrimeandThePauper.
IIOfcoursewaspointingtoawoodentableintheroom.
theriver.Butletussupposethatitisnot.Then,thoughwecanimaginemakingatableoutofanotherblockofwoodorevenfromice,identicalinappearancewiththisone,andthoughwecouldhaveputitinthisverypositionintheroom,itseemstomethatthisisnottoimaginethistableasmadeofwoodorice,butratheritistoimagineanothertable,resemblingthisoneinallexternaldetails,madeofanotherblockofwood,orevenofice.5657
68Aprinciplesuggestedbytheseexamplesis:rralIlaterialobjecthasitsoriginfromacertainhunkofmaller,itcouldnothavehaditsorigininanyothermailer.Somequalificationsmighthavetobestated(forexample,thevaguenessofthenotionofhunkofmatterleadstosomeproblems),butinalargeclassofcasestheprincipleisperhapssusceptibleofsomethinglikeproof,usingtheprincipleofthenecessityofidentityforparticulars.Let'B'beaname(rigiddesignator)ofatable,let'A'namethepieceofwoodfromwhichitactuallycame.Let'C'nameanotherpieceofwood.ThensupposeBweremadefromA,asintheactualworld,butalsoanothertableDweresimultaneouslymadefromC.(WeassumethatthereisnorelationbetweenAandCwhichmakesthepossibilityofmakingatablefromonedependentonthepossibilityofmakingatablefromtheother.)NowinthissituationB\*D;hence,evenifDweremadebyitself,andnotableweremadefromA,DwouldnotbeB.Strictlyspeaking,the'proof'usesthenecessityofdistinctness,notofidentity.However,thesametypesofconsiderationsthatcanbeusedtoestablishthelattercanbeusedtoestablishtheformer.(SupposeX\*Y;ifXandYwerebothidenticaltosomeobjectZinanotherpossibleworld,thenXZ,Y=Z,henceXY.)Alternatively,theprinciplefollowsfromthenecessityofidentityplusthe'Brouwersche'axiom,or,equivalently,symmetryoftheaccessibilityrelationbetweenpossibleworlds.Inanyevent,theargumentappliesonlyifthemakingofDfromCdoesnotaffectthepossibilityofmakingBfromA,andvice-versa.
67Inadditiontotheprinciplethattheoriginofanobjectisessentialtoit,anotherprinciplesuggestedisthattheSlIbstanceofwhichitismadeisessential.Severalcomplicationsexisthere.First,oneshouldnotconfusethetypeofessenceinvolvedinthequestion'Whatpropertiesmustanobjectretainifitisnottoceasetoexist,andwhatpropertiesoftheobjectcanchangewhiletheobjectendures?',whichisatemporalquestion,withthequestion'What(timeless)propertiescouldtheobjectnothavefailedtohave,andwhatpropertiescouldithavelackedwhilestill(timelessly)existing?',whichconcernsnecessityandnottimeandwhichisourtopichere.Thusthequestionofwhetherthetablecouldhavechangedintoiceisirrelevanthere.Thequestion
Theseareonlyexamplesofessentialproperties.Iwon't
whetherthetablecouldoriginallyhavebeenmadeofanythingotherthanwoodisrelevant.Obviouslythisquestionisrelatedtothenecessityoftheoriginofthetablefromagivenblockofwoodandwhetherthatblock,too,isessentiallywood(evenwoodofaparticularkind).Thusitisordinarilyimpossibletoimaginethetablemadefromanysubstanceotherthantheoneofwhichitisactuallymadewithoutgoingbackthroughtheentirehistoryoftheuniverse,amind-bogglingfeat.(Otherpossibilitiesofthetablenothavingbeenwoodenoriginallyhavebeensuggestedtome,includinganingenioussuggestionofSlote's,butIfmdnoneofthemreallyconvincing.Icannotdiscussthemhere.)Afulldiscussionoftheproblemsofessentialpropertiesofparticularsisimpossiblehere,butwillmentionafewotherpoints:(1)Ordinarilywhenweaskintuitivelywhethersomethingmighthavehappenedtoagivenobject,weaskwhethertheuniversecouldhavegoneonasitactuallydiduptoacertaintime,butdivergeinitshistoryfromthatpointforwardsothatthevicissitudesofthatobjectwouldhavebeendifferentfromthattimeforth.Perhapsthisfeatureshouldbeerectedintoageneralprincipleaboutessence.Notethatthetimeinwhichthedivergencefromactualhistoryoccursmaybesometimebeforetheobjectitselfisactuallycreated.Forexample,mighthavebeendeformedifthefertilizedeggfromwhichIoriginatedhadbeendamagedincertainways,eventhoughIpresumablydidnotyetexistatthattime.(2)Iamnotsuggestingthatonlyoriginandsubstantialmakeupareessential.Forexample,iftheveryblockofwoodfromwhichthetablewasmadehadinsteadbeenmadeintoavase,thetableneverwouldhaveexisted.So(roughly)beingatableseemstobeanessentialpropertyofthetable.(3)Justasthequestionwhetheranobjectactuallyhasacertainproperty(e.g.baldness)canbevague,sothequestionwhethertheobjectessentiallyhasacertainpropertycanbevague,evenwhenthequestionwhetheritactuallyhasthepropertyisdecided.(4)Certaincounterexamplestotheoriginprincipleappeartoexistinordinaryparlance.amconvincedthattheyarenotgenuinecowlterexamples,buttheirexactanalysisisdifficult.cannotdiscussthishere.
PeterGeachhasadvocated(inMentalActs,RoutledgeandKeganPaul,London,1957,Section16,andelsewhere)anotionof'nominalessence'differentfromthetypeofessentialpropertyconsideredhere.AccordingtoGeach,sinceanyactofpointingisambiguous,someonewhobaptizesanobjectbypointingtoitmustapplyasortalproperrytodisambiguatehisreferenceandtoensurecorrectcriteriaofidentityovertime-forexample,someonewhoassignsareferenceto'Nixon'bypointingtohimmustsay,use"Nixon"asnameofthatman',thusremovinghishearer'stemptationstotakehimtobepointingtoanoseoratime-slice.Thesortalistheninsomesensepartofthemeaningofthename;namesdohavea(partial)senseafterall,thoughtheirsensesmaynotbecompleteenoughtodeterminetheirreferences,
dwellonthemfurtherbecauseIwanttogoontothemoregeneralcase,whichImentionedinthelastlecture,ofsomeidentitiesbetweentermsforsubstances,andalsothepropertiesofsubstancesandofnaturalkinds.Philosophershave,asI'vesaid,beenveryinterestedinstatementsexpressingtheoreticalidentifications;amongthem,thatlightisastreamofphotons,thatwaterisH20,thatlightningisanelectricaldischarge,thatgoldistheelementwiththeatomicnumber79.
Togetclearaboutthestatusofthesestatementswemustfirstmaybehavesomethoughtsaboutthestatusofsuchsubstancesasgold.What'sgold?Idon'tknowifthisisanexamplewhichhasparticularlyinterestedphilosophers.Itsinterestinfmancialcirclesisdiminishingbecauseofincreasedstabilityofcurrencies.59Evensogoldhasinterestedmanypeople.Here
astheyareindescriptionandc1uster-of-descriptionstheories.IfIunderstandGeachcorrectly,hisnominalessenceshouldbeunderstoodintermsofaprioricity,notnecessity,andthusisquitedifferentfromthekindofessenceadvocatedhere(perhapsthisispartofwhathemeanswhenhesaysheisdealingwith'nominal',not'real',essences).So'Nixonisaman','Dobbinisahorse",andthelikewouldbeaprioritruths.
neednottakeapositiononthisviewhere.Butwouldbrieflymentionthefollowing:(r)Evenifasorralisusedtodisambiguateanostensivereference,surelyitneednotbeheldaprioritobetrueoftheobjectdesignated.Couldn'tDobbintumouttobelongtoaspeciesotherthanhorses(thoughsuperficiallyhelookedlikeahorse),Hesperustobeaplanetratherthanastar,orLot'sguests,evenifhenamesthem,tobeangelsratherthanmen?PerhapsGeachshouldsticktomorecautioussortals.(2)Waivingtheobjectionin(r),surelythereisasubstantialgapbetweenpremiseandconclusion.Fewspeakersdoinfactlearnthereferenceofagivennamebyostension;and,eveniftheypickedupthenamebyachainofcommunicationleadingbacktoanostension,whyshouldthesortalallegedlyusedintheostensionbe,inanysense,partofthe'sense'ofthenameforthem?Noargumentisofferedhere.(Anextremecase:Amathematician'swifeoverhearsherhusbandmutteringthename'Nancy'.ShewonderswhetherNancy,thethingtowhichherhusbandreferred,isawomanoraLiegroup.Whyisn'theruseof'Nancy'acaseofnaming?Ifitisn't,thereasonisnotindefinitenessofherreference.)
61mayhavespokentoosoon.Thatiswhatsomefmancialpagessaidwhentheselecturesweredelivered,January,r970.
iswhatImmanuelKantsaysaboutgold.(Hewasawealthyspeculatorwhokepthispossessionsunderhisbed.)Kantisintroducingthedistinctionbetweenanalyticandsyntheticjudgements,andhesays:'Allanalyticjudgementsdependwhollyonthelawofcontradiction,andareintheirnatureaprioricognitions,whethertheconceptsthatsupplythemwithmatterbeempiricalornot.Forthepredicateofanaffirmativeanalyticjudgementisalreadycontainedintheconceptofthesubject,ofwhichitcannotbedeniedwithoutcontradiction....Forthisveryreasonallanalyticjudgementsareapriorievenwhentheconceptsareempirical,as,forexample,"Goldisayellowmetal";fortoknowthisIrequirenoexperiencebeyondmyconceptofgoldasayellowmetal.Itis,infact,theveryconcept,andIneedonlyanalyzeitwithoutlookingbeyondit.'60IshouldhavelookedattheGerman.'Itisinfacttheveryconcept'soundsasifKantissayingherethat'gold'justmeans'yellowmetal'.Ifhesaysthat,thenit'sespeciallystrange,solet'ssupposethatthatisnotwhathe'ssaying.AtleastKantthinksit'sapartoftheconceptthatgoldistobeayellowmetal.Hethinksweknowthisapriori,andthatwecouldnotpossiblydiscoverthistobeempiricallyfalse.
IsKantrightaboutthis?First,whatIwouldhavewantedtodowouldhavebeentodiscussthepartaboutgoldbeingametal.This,however,iscomplicatedbecausef1l'st,Idon'tknowtoomuchchemistry.Investigatingthisafewdaysagoinjustacoupleofreferences,Ifoundinamorephenomenologicalaccountofmetalsthestatementthatit'sverydifficulttosaywhatametalis.(Ittalksaboutmalleability,ductility,andthelike,butnoneoftheseexactlywork.)Ontheotherhand,somethingabouttheperiodictablegaveadescriptionof
'0ProlegomenatoAnyFutureMetaphysics,PreambleSection2.b.(prussianAcademyedition,p.267).MyimpressionofthepassagewasnotchangedbyasubsequentcursorylookattheGerman,thoughcanhardlylayclaimtoanyrealcompetencehere.
elementsasmetalsintermsoftheirvalencyproperties.Thismaymakesomepeoplethinkrightawaythattherearereallytwoconceptsofmetaloperatinghere,aphenomenologicaloneandascientificonewhichthenreplacesit.ThisIreject,butsincethemovewilltemptmany,andcanberefutedonlyafterIdevelopmyownviews,itwillnotbesuitabletouse'Goldisametal'asanexampletointroducetheseviews.
Butlet'sconsidersomethingeasier-thequestionoftheyellownessofgold.Couldwediscoverthatgoldwasnotinfactyellow?Supposeanopticalillusionwereprevalent,duetopeculiarpropertiesoftheatmosphereinSouthAfricaandRussiaandcertainotherareaswheregoldminesarecommon.Supposetherewereanopticalillusionwhichmadethesubstanceappeartobeyellow;but,infact,oncethepeculiarpropertiesoftheatmospherewereremoved,wewouldseethatitisactuallyblue.Maybeademonevencorruptedthevisionofallthoseenteringthegoldmines(obviouslytheirsoulswerealreadycorrupt),andthusmadethembelievethatthissubstancewasyellow,thoughitisnot.Wouldthereonthisbasisbeanannouncementinthenewspapers:'Ithasturnedoutthatthereisnogold.Golddoesnotexist.Whatwetooktobegoldisnotinfactgold.'?Justimaginetheworldfmancialcrisisundertheseconditions!Herewehaveanundreamtofsourceofshakinessinthemonetarysystem.
Itseemstomethattherewouldbenosuchannouncement.Onthecontrary,whatwouldbeannouncedwouldbethatthoughitappearedthatgoldwasyellow,infactgoldhasturnedoutnottobeyellow,butblue.Thereasonis,Ithink,thatweuse'gold'asatermforacertainkindofthing.Othershavediscoveredthiskindofthingandwehaveheardofit.Wethusaspartofacommunityofspeakershaveacertainconnectionbetweenourselvesandacertainkindofthing.Thekindofthingisthoughttohavecertainidentifyingmarks.Someofthesemarksmaynotreallybetrueofgold.Wemight
discoverthatwearewrongaboutthem.Further,theremightbeasubstancewhichhasalltheidentifyingmarkswecommonlyattributedtogoldandusedtoidentifyitinthefirstplace,butwhichisnotthesamekindofthing,whichisnotsamesubstance.WewouldsayofsuchathingthatthoughIthasalltheappearancesweinitiallyusedtoidentifygold,itisnotgold.Suchathingis,forexample,aswewellknow,ironpyritesorfool'sgold.Thisisnotanotherkindofgold.It'sadifferentthingwhichtotheuninitiatedpersonlooksJusthkethesubstancewhichwediscoveredandcalledgold.Wecansaythisnotbecausewehavechangedthemeaningofthetermgold,andthrowninsomeothercriteriawhichdistinguishedgoldfrompyrites.Itseemstomethatthat'snottrue.Onthecontrary,wediscoveredthatcertainpropertiesweretrueofgoldinadditiontotheinitialidentifyingmarksby,weidentifiedit.Theseproperties,then,beingcharacterISticofgoldandnottrueofironpyrites,showthatthefool'sgoldisnotinfactgold.
Weshouldlookatthisinanotherexample.Itsayssome-,i,nhere:61'Isay"Theword'tiger'hasmeaningin:Iamthenasked"Whatisatiger?"ImightreplytIgerISacarnivorousquadrupedalfcline,tawnyyellowIIIcolorwIthblackishtransversestripesandwhitebelly,"(derivedfromtheentryunder"tiger"intheShorter?xfordEng!ishV,ictionary.)'AndnowsupposesomeonesaysYouJust,saIdwhat,theword"tiger"meansinEnglish.'AndZlffasks,Isthatso?andhesays,correctly,'Ithinknot.'Hisexampleis,'Supposeinajungleclearingonesays"look,athree-leggedtiger!":mustonebeconfused?Thephrase"atiger"isnotacontradictioinadjecto.Butif"tiger"IIIEnghshmeant,amongotherthings,eitherquadrupedorquadrupedal,thephrase"athree-leggedtiger"couldonlybea
PaulZiff,SemanticAnalysis,Ithaca,CornellUniversityPress,1960,pp.184-85.
contradictioinadjecto.'So,hisexampleshowsthatifitispartoftheconceptoftigerthatatigerhasfourlegs,therecouldn'tbeathree-leggedtiger.Thisisthesortofcasewhichmanyphilosopherstendtoexplainasa'clusterconcept'.Isitevenacontradictiontosupposethatweshoulddiscoverthattigersneverhavefourlegs?Supposetheexplorerswhoattributedthesepropertiestotigersweredeceivedbyanopticalillusion,andthattheanimalstheysawwerefromathree-leggedspecies,wouldwethensaythatthereturnedouttobenotigersafterall?Ithinkwewouldsaythatinspiteoftheopticalillusionwhichhaddeceivedtheexplorers,tigersinfacthavethreelegs.
Further,isittruethatanythingsatisfyingthisdescriptioninthedictionaryisnecessarilyatiger?Itseemstomethatitisnot.Supposewediscoverananimalwhich,thoughhavingallexternalappearancesofatigerasdescribedhere,hasaninternalstructurecompletelydifferentfromthatofthetiger.Actuallytheword'feline'wasputinhere,soitisnotentirelyfair.Let'ssupposeitwereleftout,forthisexample.Thatatigerbelongstoanyparticularbiologicalfamily,anyway,wassomethingwediscovered.If'feline'meansjusthavingtheappearanceofacat,let'ssupposethatitdoeshavetheappearanceofabigcat.Wemightfindanimalsinsomepartoftheworldwhich,thoughtheylookjustlikeatiger,onexaminationwerediscoverednoteventobemammals.Let'ssaytheywereinfactverypeculiarlookingreptiles.Dowethenconcludeonthebasisofthisdescriptionthatsometigersarereptiles?Wedon't.Wewouldratherconcludethattheseanimals,thoughtheyhavetheexternalmarksbywhichweoriginallyidentifiedtigers,arenotinfacttigers,becausetheyarenotofthesamespeciesasthespecieswhichwecalled'thespeciesoftigers'.Nowthis,Ithink,isnotbecause,assomepeoplewouldsay,theoldconceptoftigerhasbeenreplacedbyanewscientificdefinition.Ithinkthisistrueoftheconceptoftigerbeforetheinternalstructureoftigershasbeeninvestigated.Eventhoughwedon't
knou'theinternalstructureoftigers,wesuppose-andletussupposethatweareright-thattigersformacertainspeciesornaturalkind.Wethencanimaginethatthereshouldbeacreaturewhich,thoughhavingalltheexternalappearanceoftigers,differsfromtheminternallyenoughthatweshouldsaythatitisnotthesamekindofthing.Wecanimagineitwithoutknowinganythingaboutthisintern'llstructure-whatthisinternalstructureis.Wecansayinadvancethatweusetheterm'tiger'todesignateaspecies,andthatanythingnotofthisspecies,eventhoughitlookslikeatiger,isnotinfactatiger.
Justassomethingmayhaveallthepropertiesbywhichweoriginallyidentifiedtigersandyetnotbeatiger,sowemightalsofmdouttigershadnoneofthepropertiesbywhichweoriginallyidentifiedthem.Perhapsnonearequadrupedal,nonetawnyyellow,nonecarnivorous,andsoon;allthesepropertiesturnouttobebasedonopticalillusionsorothererrors,asinthecaseofgold.Sotheterm'tiger',liketheterm'gold',doesnotmarkouta'clusterconcept'inwhichmost,butperhapsnotall,ofthepropertiesusedtoidentifythekindmust-besatisfied.Onthecontrary,possessionofmostofthesepropertiesneednotbeanecessaryconditionformembershipinthekind,norneeditbeasufficientcondition.
Sincewehavefoundoutthattigersdoindeed,aswesuspected,formasinglekind,thensomethingnotofthiskindisnotatiger.Ofcourse,wemaybemistakeninsupposingthatthereissuchakind.Inadvance,wesupposethattheyprobablydoformakind.Pastexperiencehasshownthatusuallythingslikethis,livingtogether,lookingalike,matingtogether,doformakind.Iftherearetwokindsoftigersthathavesomethingtodowitheachotherbutnotasmuchaswethought,thenmaybetheyformalargerbiologicalfamily.Iftheyhaveabsolutelynothingtodowitheachother,thentherearereallytwokindsoftigers.Thisalldependsonthehistoryandonwhatweactuallyfindout.
shouldemphasizeagainthatitwasanexampleofRogersAlbrittonwhichcaIledmyattentionthiscomplexofproblems,thoughAlbrittonprobablywouldnotacceptthetheorieshavedevelopedonthebasisoftheexample.
13Iampresupposingthatananalytictruthisonewhichdependsonmeaningsinthestrictsenseandthereforeisnecessaryaswellasapriori.Ifstatementswhoseaprioritruthisknownviathefixingofareferencearecountedasanalytic,thensomeanalytictruthsarecontingent;thispossibilityisexcludedinthenotionofanalyticityadoptedhere.Theambiguityinthenotionof
ThephilosopherIfmdmosttorecognizethissortofconsideration(ourthoughtsonthesemattersdevelopedindependently)isPutnam.Inanarticlecalled'ItAin'tNecessarilySO',62hesaysofstatementsaboutspecies,thattheyare'lessnecessary'(ashecautiouslysays)thanstatementslike'bachelorsaren'tmarried'.Theexamplehegivesis'catsareanimals'.Catsmightturnouttobeautomata,orstrangedemons(nothisexample)plantedbyamagician.Supposetheyturnedouttobeaspeciesofdemons.Thenonhisview,andIthinkalsomyview,theinclinationistosay,notthatthereturnedouttobenocats,butthatcatshaveturnedoutnottobeanimalsasweoriginallysupposed.Theoriginalconceptofcatis:thatkindtifthing,wherethekindcanbeidentifiedbyparadigmaticinstances.Itisnotsomethingpickedoutbyanyqualitativedictionarydefinition.However,Putnam'sconclusionisthatstatementslike'catsareanimals'are'lessnecessary'thanstatementslike'bachelorsareunmarried'.CertainlyIagreethattheargumentindicatesthatsuchstatementsarenotknownapriori,andhencearenotanalytic;63whetheragivenkindisa
speciesofanimalsisamatterforempiricalinvestigation.PerhapsthisepistemologicalsenseiswhatPutnammeansby'necessary'.Thequestionremainswhethersuchstatementsarenecessaryinthenon-epistemologicalsenseadvocatedintheselectures.Sothenextthingtoinvestigateis(usingtheconceptofnecessitythatItalkedabout):aresuchstatementsas'catsareanimals',orsuchstatementsas'goldisayellowmetal',necessary?
SofarI'veonlybeentalkingaboutwhatwecouldfindout.I'vebeensayingwecouldfmdoutthatgoldwasnotinfactyellow,contrarytowhatwethought.Ifonewentinmoredetailintotheconceptofmetals,let'ssayintermsofvalencyproperties,onecouldcertainlyfindoutthatthoughonetookgoldtobeametal,goldisnotinfactametal.Isitnecessaryorcontingentthatgoldbeametal?Idon'twanttogointodetailontheconceptofametal-asIsaid,Idon'tknowenoughaboutit.Goldapparentlyhastheatomicnumber79.Isitanecessaryoracontingentpropertyofgoldthatithastheatomicnumber79?Certainlywecouldfmdoutthatweweremistaken.Thewholetheoryofprotons,ofatomicnumbers,thewholetheoryofmolecularstructureandofatomicstructure,onwhichsuchviewsarebased,couldallturnouttobefalse.Certainlywedidn'tknowitfromtimeimmemorial.Sointhatsense,goldcouldturnoutnottohaveatomicnumber79.
Giventhatgolddoeshavetheatomicnumber79,couldsomethingbegoldwithouthavingtheatomicnumber79?
analyticityofcoursearisesfromtheambiguityintheusualusesofsuchtermsas'defmition'and'sense'.havenotattemptedtodealwiththedelicateproblemsregardinganalyticityintheselectures,butIwillsaythatsome(thoughnotall)ofthecasesoftenadducedtodiscredittheanalytic-syntheticdistinction,especiallythoseinvolvingnaturalphenomenaandnaturalkinds,shouldbehandledintermsoftheapparatusofflxingareferenceinvokedhere.NotethatKant'sexample,'goldisayellowmetal',isnotevenapriori,andwhatevernecessityithasisestablishedbyscientificinvestigation;itisthwfarfromanalyticinanysense.
UJournalofPhilosophy,59,No.22(October25,1962),pp.658-71.Insubsequentworkonnaturalkindsandphysicalproperties,whichIhavenothadachancetoseeatthetimeofthiswriting,Putnamhasdonefurtherwork,which(Igather)hasmanypointsofcontactwiththeviewpointexpressedhere.Asmentionedinthetext,therearesomedivergenciesbetweenPutnam'sapproachandmine;PutnamdoesnotbasehisconsiderationsontheapparatusofnecessaryversusaprioritruthswhichIinvoke.Inhisearlierpaper,'TheAnalyticandtheSynthetic',MinnesotaStudiesinthePhilosophyofScience,'vol.III,pp.358-97,heseemsclosertothe'clusterconcept'theoryinsomerespects,suggesting,forexample,thatitappliestopropernames.
element,norcantherebesuchacase(exceptintheepistemicsenseof'possible').Giventhatgoldisthiselement,anyothersubstance,eventhoughitlookslikegoldandisfoundintheveryplaceswhereweinfactfindgold,wouldnotbegold.Itwouldbesomeothersubstancewhichwasacounterfeitforgold.Inanycounterfactualsituationwherethesamegeographicalareaswerefilledwithsuchasubstance,theywouldnothavebeenfilledwithgold.Theywouldhavebeenfilledwithsomethingelse.
Soifthisconsiderationisright,ittendstoshowthatsuchstatementsrepresentingscientificdiscoveriesaboutwhatthisstuffisarenotcontingenttruthsbutnecessarytruthsinthestrictestpossiblesense.It'snotjustthatit'sascientificlaw,butofcoursewecanimagineaworldinwhichitwouldfail.Anyworldinwhichweimagineasubstancewhichdoesnothavethesepropertiesisaworldinwhichweimagineasubstancewhichisnotgold,providedthesepropertiesformthebasisofwhatthesubstanceis.Inparticular,then,presentscientifictheoryissuchthatitispartofthenatureofgoldaswehaveittobeanelementwithatomicnumber79.Itwillthereforebenecessaryandnotcontingentthatgoldanelementwithatomicnumber79.(Wemayalsointhesameway,then,investigatefurtherhowcolorandmetallicpropertiesfollowfromwhatwehavefoundthesubstancegoldtobe:totheextentthatsuchpropertiesfollowfromtheatomicstructureofgold,theyarenecessarypropertiesofit,eventhoughtheyunquestionablyarenotpartofthemeaningof'gold'andwerenotknownwithaprioricertainty.)
Putnam'sexample'catsareanimals'comesunderthesamesortofheading.Wehaveinfactmadeaverysurprisingdiscoveryinthiscase.Wehaveinfactfoundnothingtogoagainstourbelie£Catsareinfactanimals!Thenisthistruthanecessarytruthoracontingentone?Itseemstomethatitisnecessary.Considerthecounterfactualsituationinwhichin
Letussupposethescientistshaveinvestigatedthenatureofgoldandhavefoundthatitispartoftheverynatureofthissubstance,sotospeak,thatithavetheatomicnumber79·Supposewenowfmdsomeotheryellowmetal,orsomeotheryellowthing,withallthepropertiesbywhichweoriginallyidentifiedgold,andmanyoftheadditionalonesthatwehavediscoveredlater.Anexampleofonewithmanyoftheinitialpropertiesisironpyrites,'fool'sgold.'AsIhavesaid,wewouldn'tsaythatthissubstanceisgold.Sofarwearespeakingoftheactualworld.Nowconsiderapossibleworld.Consideracounterfactualsituationinwhich,letussay,fool'sgoldorironpyriteswasactuallyfoundinvariousmountainsintheUnitedStates,orinareasofSouthAfricaandtheSovietUnion.Supposethatalltheareaswhichactuallycontaingoldnow,containedpyritesinstead,orsomeothersubstancewhichcounterfeitedthesuperficialpropertiesofgoldbutlackeditsatomicstructure.64Wouldwesay,ofthiscounterfactualsituation,thatinthatsituationgoldwouldnotevenhavebeenanelement(becausepyritesisnotanelement)?Itseemstomethatwewouldnot.Wewouldinsteaddescribethisasasituationinwhichasubstance,sayironpyrites,whichisnotgold,wouldhavebeenfoundintheverymountainswhichactuallycontaingoldandwouldhavehadtheverypropertiesbywhichwecommonlyidentifygold.Butitwouldnotbegold;itwouldbesomethingelse.Oneshouldnotsaythatitwouldstillbegoldinthispossibleworld,thoughgoldwouldthenlacktheatomicnumber79.Itwouldbesomeotherstuff,someothersubstance.(Onceagain,whetherpeoplecounterfactuallywouldhavecalledit'gold'isirrelevant.Wedonotdescribeitasgold.)Andso,itseemstome,thiswouldnotbeacaseinwhichpossiblygoldmightnothavebeenan
IeEvenbetterpairsofringersexist;forexample,somepairsofelementsofasinglecolunmintheperiodictablewhichresembleeachothercloselybutneverthelessaredifferentelements.
placeofthesecreatures-theseanimals-wehaveinfactlittledemonswhichwhentheyapproachedusbroughtbadluckindeed.Shouldwedescribethisasasituationinwhichcatsweredemons?Itseemstomethatthesedemonswouldnotbecats.Theywouldbedemonsinacat-likeform.Wecouldhavediscoveredthattheactualcatsthatwehavearedemons.Oncewehavediscovered,however,thattheyarenot,itispartoftheirverynaturethat,whenwedescribeacounterfactualworldinwhichthereweresuchdemonsaround,wemustsaythatthedemonswouldnotbecats.Itwouldbeaworldcontainingdemonsmasqueradingascats.Althoughwecouldsaycatsmighttumouttobedemons,ofacertainspecies,giventhatcatsareinfactanimals,anycat-likebeingwhichisnotananimal,intheactualworldorinacounterfactualone,isnotacat.Thesameholdsevenforanimalswiththeappearanceofcatsbutreptilicinternalstructure.Weresuchtoexist,theywouldnotbecats,but'fool'scats'.
Thishassomerelationalsototheessenceofaparticularobject.Themoleculartheoryhasdiscovered,let'ssay,thatthisobjecthereiscomposedofmolecules.Thiswascertainlyanimportantempiricaldiscovery.Itwassomethingwedidn'tknowinadvance;maybethismighthavebeencomposed,forallweknew,ofsomeetherealentelechy.Nowimagineanobjectoccupyingthisverypositionintheroomwhichwasanetherealentelechy.Woulditbethisveryobjecthere?Itmighthavealltheappearanceofthisobject,butitseemstomethatitcouldnoteverbethisthing.Thevicissitudesofthisthingmighthavebeenverydifferentfromitsactualhistory.ItmighthavebeentransportedtotheKremlin.Itmighthavealreadybeenhewnintobitsandnolongerexistatthepresenttime.Variousthingsmighthavehappenedtoit.Butwhateverweimaginecounterfactuallyhavinghappenedtoitotherthanwhatactuallydid,theonethingwecannotimaginehappeningtothisthingisthatit,giventhatitiscomposedofmolecules,shouldstill
haveexistedandnothavebeencomposedofmolecules.Wecanimaginehavingdiscoveredthatitwasn'tcomposedofmolecules.Butonceweknowthatthisisathingcomposedofmolecules-thatthisistheverynatureofthesubstanceofwhichitismade-wecan'tthen,atleastifthewayIseeitiscorrect,imaginethatthisthingmighthavefailedtohavebeencomposedofmolecules.
AccordingtotheviewIadvocate,then,termsfornaturalkindsaremuchclosertopropernamesthanisordinarilysupposed.Theoldterm'commonname'isthusquiteappropriateforpredicatesmarkingoutspeciesornaturalkinds,suchas'cow'or'tiger'.Myconsiderationsapplyalso,however,tocertainmasstermsfornaturalkinds,suchas'gold','water',andthelike.ItisinterestingtocomparemyviewstothoseofMill.Millcountsbothpredicateslike'cow',defmitedescriptions,andpropernamesasnames.Hesaysof'singular'namesthattheyareconnotativeiftheyaredefinitedescriptionsbutnon-<:onnotativeiftheyarepropernames.Ontheotherhand,Millsaysthatall'general'namesareconnotative;suchapredicateas'humanbeing'isdefmedastheconjunctionofcertainpropertieswhichgivenecessaryandsufficientconditionsforhumanity-rationality,animality,certainphysicalfeatures.66Themodernlogicaltradition,asrepresentedbyFregeandRussell,seemstoholdthatMillwaswrongaboutsingularnames,butrightaboutgeneralnames.Morerecentphilosophyhasfollowedsuit,exceptthat,inthecaseofbothpropernamesandnaturalkindterms,itoftenreplacesthenotionofdefiningpropertiesbythatofaclusterofproperties,onlysomeofwhichneedtobesatisfiedineachparticularcase.Myownview,ontheotherhand,regardsMillasmore-or-Iessrightabout'singular'names,butwrongabout'general'names.Perhapssome'general'names('foolish','fat','yellow')express
Mill,op.cit.
properties.66Inasignificantsense,suchgeneralnamesas'cow'and'tiger'donot,unlessbeingacowcountstriviallyasaproperty.Certainly'cow'and'tiger'arenotshortfortheconjunctionofpropertiesadictionarywouldtaketodefinethem,asMillthought.Whethersciencecandiscoverempiricallythatcertainpropertiesarenecessaryofcows,oroftigers,isanotherquestion,whichIansweraffirmatively.
Let'sconsiderhowthisappliestothetypesofidentitystatementsexpressingscientificdiscoveriesthatItalkedaboutbefore-say,thatwaterisH20.ItcertainlyrepresentsadiscoverythatwaterisH20.Weidentifiedwateroriginallybyitscharacteristicfeel,appearanceandperhapstaste,(thoughthetastemayusuallybeduetotheimpurities).Iftherewereasubstance,evenactually,whichhadacompletelydifferentatomicstructurefromthatofwater,butresembledwaterintheserespects,wouldwesaythatsomewaterwasn'tH20?Ithinknot.Wewouldsayinsteadthatjustasthereisafool'sgoldtherecouldbeafool'swater;asubstancewhich,thoughhavingthepropertiesbywhichweoriginallyidentifiedwater,wouldnotinfactbewater.Andthis,Ithink,appliesnotonlytotheactualworldbutevenwhenwetalkaboutcounterfactualsituations.Iftherehadbeenasubstance,whichwasafool'swater,itwouldthenbefool'swaterandnotwater.Ontheotherhandifthissubstancecantakeanotherform-such
asthepolywaterallegedlydiscoveredintheSovietUnion,withverydifferentidentifyingmarksfromthatofwhatwenowcallwater-itisaformofwaterbecauseitisthesamesubstanc,::,eventhoughitdoesn'thavetheappearancesbywhichweoriginallyidentifiedwater.
Let'sconsiderthestatement'Lightisastreamofphotons'or'Heatisthemotionofmolecules'.Byreferringtolight,ofcourse,meansomethingwhichwehavesomeofinthisroom.WhenIrefertoheat,Irefernottoaninternalsensationthatsomeonemayhave,buttoanexternalphenomenonwhichweperceivethroughthesenseoffeeling;itproducesacharacteristicsensationwhichwecallthesensationofheat.Heatisthemotionofmolecules.Wehavealsodiscoveredthatincreasingheatcorrespondstoincreasingmotionofmolecules,or,strictlyspeaking,increasingaveragekineticenergyofmolecules.Sotemperatureisidentifiedwithmeanmolecularkineticenergy.Howeverwon'ttalkabouttemperaturebecausethereisthequestionofhowtheactualscaleistobeset.Itmightjustbesetintermsofthemeanmolecularkineticenergy.67Butwhatrepresentsaninterestingphenomenologicaldiscoveryisthatwhenit'shotterthem9leculesaremovingfaster.Wehavealsodiscoveredaboutlightthatlightisastreamofphotons;alternativelyitisaformofelectromagneticradiation.Originallyweidentifiedlightbythecharacteristicinternalvisualimpressionsitcanproduceinus,thatmakeusabletosee.Heat,ontheotherhand,weoriginallyidentifiedbythecharacteristiceffectononeaspectofournerveendingsoroursenseoftouch.
Imagineasituationinwhichhumanbeingswereblindortheireyesdidn'twork.Theywereunaffectedbylight.Wouldthathavebeenasituationinwhichlightdidnotexist?Itseems
saIamnotgoingtogiveanycriterionforwhatmeanbya'pureproperty',orFregeanintension.Itishardtofmdunquestionableexamplesofwhatismeant.Yellownesscertainlyexpressesamanifestphysicalpropertyofanobjectand,relativetothediscussionofgoldabove,canberegardedasapropertyintherequiredsense.Actually,however,itisnotwithoutacertainreferentialelementofitsown,forthepresentviewyellownessispickedoutandrigidlydesignatedasthatexternalphysicalpropertyoftheobjectwhichwesensebymeansofthevisualimpressionofyellowness.Itdoesinthisrespectresemblethenaturalkindterms.Thephenomenologicalqualityofthesensationitself,theotherhand,canberegardedasaqualeinsomepuresense.Perhapsamrathervagueaboutthesequestions,butfurtherprecisionseemsunnecessaryhere.
nOfcourse,thereisthequestionoftherelationofthestatisticalmechanicalnotionoftemperatureto,forexample,thethermodynamicnotion.Iwishtoleavesuchquestionsasideinthisdiscussion.
tomethatitwouldnot.Itwouldhavebeenasituationinwhichoureyeswerenotsensitivetolight.Somecreaturesmayhaveeyesnotsensitivetolight.Amongsuchcreaturesareunfortunatelysomepeople,ofcourse;theyarecalled'blind'.Evenifallpeoplehadhadawfulvestigialgrowthsandjustcouldn'tseeathing,thelightmighthavebeenaround;butitwouldnothavebeenabletoaffectpeople'seyesintheproperway.Soitseemstomethatsuchasituationwouldbeasituationinwhichtherewaslight,butpeoplecouldnotseeit.So,thoughwemayidentifylightbythecharacteristicvisualimpressionsitproducesinus,thisseemstobeagoodexampleoffixingareference.Wefixwhatlightisbythefactthatitis'whatever,outintheworld,affectsoureyesinacertainway.Butnow,talkingaboutcounterfactualsituationsinwhichlet'ssay,peoplewereblind,wewouldnotthensaythatsince,insuchsitua.tions,nothingcouldaffecttheireyes,lightwouldnotexist;ratherwewouldsaythatthatwouldbeasituationinwhichlight-thethingwehaveidentifiedasthatwhichinfactenablesustosee-existedbutdidnotmanagetohelpusseeduetosomedefectinus.
Perhapswecanimaginethat,bysomemiracle,soundwavessomehowenabledsomecreaturetosee.Imean,theygavehimvisualimpressionsjustaswehave,maybeexactlythesamecolorsense.Wecanalsoimaginethesamecreaturetobecompletelyinsensitivetolight(photons).Whoknowswhatsubtleundreamtofpossibilitiestheremaybe?Wouldwesaythatinsuchapossibleworld,itwassoundwhichwaslight,thatthesewavemotionsintheairwerelight?Itseemstomethat,givenourconceptoflight,weshoulddescribethesituationdifferently.Itwouldbeasituationinwhichcertaincreatures,maybeeventhosewhowerecalled'people'andinhabitedthisplanet,weresensitivenottolightbuttosoundwaves,sensitivetotheminexactlythesamewaythatwearesensitivetolight.Ifthisisso,oncewehavefoundoutwhat
lightis,whenwetalkaboutotherpossibleworldswearetalkingaboutthisphenomenonintheworld,andnotusing'light'asaphrasesynonymouswith'whatevergivesusthevisualimpression-whateverhelpsustosee';fortheremighthavebeenlightanditnothelpedustosee;andevensomethingelsemighthavehelpedustosee.Thewayweidentifiedlightfixedareference.
Andsimilarlyforothersuchphrases,suchas'heat'.Hereheatissomethingwhichwehaveidentified(andfixedthereferenceofitsname)byitsgivingacertainsensation,whichwecall'thesensationofheat'.Wedon'thaveaspecialnameforthissensationotherthanasasensationofheat.It'sinterestingthatthelanguageisthisway.Whereasyoumightsupposeit,fromwhatIamsaying,tohavebeentheotherway.Atanyrate,weidentifyheatandareabletosenseitbythefactthatitproducesinusasensationofheat.Itmightherebesoimportanttotheconceptthatitsreferenceisfixedinthisway,thatifsomeoneelsedetectsheatbysomesortofinstrument,butisunabletofeelit,wemightwanttosay,ifwelike,thattheconceptofheatisnotthesameeventhoughthereferentisthesame.
Nevertheless,theterm'heat'doesn'tmean'whatevergivespeoplethesesensations'.Forfirst,peoplemightnothavebeensensitivetoheat,andyettheheatstillhaveexistedintheexternalworld.Secondly,letussupposethatsomehowlightrays,becauseofsomedifferenceintheirnerveendings,didgivethemthesesensations.Itwouldnotthenbeheatbutlightwhichgavepeoplethesensationwhichwecallthesensationofheat.
Canwethenimagineapossibleworldinwhichheatwasnotmolecularmotion?Wecanimagine,ofcourse,havingdiscoveredthatitwasnot.Itseemstomethatanycasewhichsomeonewillthinkof,whichhethinksatfirstisacaseinwhichheat-contrarytowhatisactuallythecase-wouldhavebeensomethingotherthanmolecularmotion,wouldactuallybeacaseinwhichsomecreatureswithdifferentnerveendingsfrom
oursinhabitthisplanet(maybeevenwe,ifit'sacontingentfactaboutusthatwehavethisparticularneuralstructure),andinwhichthesecreaturesweresensitivetothatsomethingelse,saylight,insuchawaythattheyfeltthesamethingthatwefeelwhenwefeelheat.Butthisisnotasituationinwhich,say,lightwouldhavebeenheat,oreveninwhichastreamofphotonswouldhavebeenheat,butasituationinwhichastreamofphotonswouldhaveproducedthecharacteristicsensationswhichwecall'sensationsofheat'.
Similarlyformanyothersuchidentifications,say,thatlightningiselectricity.Flashesoflightningareflashesofelectricity.Lightningisanelectricaldischarge.Wecanimagine,ofcourse,Isuppose,otherwaysinwhichtheskymightbeilluminatedatnightwiththesamesortofflashwithoutanyelectricaldischargebeingpresent.Heretoo,Iaminclinedtosay,whenweimaginethis,weimaginesomethingwithallthevisualappearancesoflightningbutwhichisnot,infact,lightning.Onecouldbetold:thisappearedtobelightningbutitwasnot.Isupposethismightevenhappennow.Someonemight,byacleversortofapparatus,producesomephenomenonintheskywhichwouldfoolpeopleintothinkingthattherewaslightningeventhoughinfactnolightningwaspresent.Andyouwouldn'tsaythatthatphenomenon,becauseitlookslikelightning,wasinfactlightning.Itwasadifferentphenomenonfromlightning,whichisthephenomenonofanelectricaldischarge;andthisisnotlightningbutjustsomethingthatdeceivesusintothinkingthatthereislightning.
Whatcharacteristicallygoesoninthesecasesof,let'ssay,'heatismolecularmotion'?Thereisacertainreferentwhichwehavefixed,fortherealworldandforallpossibleworlds,byacontingentpropertyofit,namelythepropertythatit'sabletoproducesuchandsuchsensationsinus.Let'ssayit'sacontingentpropertyofheatthatitproducessuchandsuchsensationsinpeople.It'safterallcontingentthatthereshould
everhavebeenpeopleonthisplanetatall.Soonedoesn'tknowaprioriwhatphysicalphenomenon,describedinotherterms-inbasictermsofphysicaltheory-isthephenomenonwhichproducesthesesensations.Wedon'tknowthis,andwe'vediscoveredeventuallythatthisphenomenonisinfactmolecularmotion.Whenwehavediscoveredthis,we'vediscoveredanidentificationwhichgivesusanessentialpropertyofthisphenomenon.Wehavediscoveredaphenomenonwhichinallpossibleworldswillbemolecularmotionwhichcouldnothavefailedtobemolecularmotion,becausethat'swhatthephenomenonis.88Ontheotherhand,thepropertybywhichweidentifyitoriginally,thatofproducingsuchandsuchasensationinus,isnotanecessarypropertybutacontingentone.Thisveryphenomenoncouldhaveexisted,butduetodifferencesinourneuralstructuresandsoon,havefailedtobefeltasheat.Actually,whenIsayourneuralstructures,asthoseofhumanbeings,I'mreallyhedgingapointwhichImadeearlier;becauseofcourse,itmightbepartoftheverynatureofhumanbeingsthattheyhaveaneuralstructurewhichissensitivetoheat.Thereforethistoocouldturnouttobenecessaryifenoughinvestigationshowedit.ThisI'mjustignoring,forthepurposeofsimplifyingthediscussion.Atanyrateit'snotnecessary,Isuppose,thatthis
88Somepeoplehavebeeninclinedtoarguethatalthoughcertainlywecannotsaythatsoundwaves'wouldhavebeenheat'iftheyhadbeenfeltbythesensationwhichwefeelwhenwefeelheat,thesituationiswithrespecttoapossiblephenomenon,notpresentintheactualworld,anddistinctfrommolecularmotion.Perhaps,itissuggested,theremightbeanotherfonnofheatotherthan'ourheat',whichwasnotmolecularmotion;thoughnoactualphenomenonotherthanmolecularmotion,suchassound,wouldqualify.Similarclaimshavebeenmadeforgoldandforlight.AlthoughIamdisinclinedtoaccepttheseviews,theywouldmakerelativelylittledifferencetothesubstanceofthepresentlectures.Someonewhoisinclinedtoholdtheseviewscansimplyreplacetheterms'light','heat',·pain'.etc.,intheeltamplesby'ourlight','ourheat','ourpain'andthelike.thereforewillnottakethespacetodiscusstillsissuehere.
planetshouldhavebeeninhabitedbycreaturessensitivetoheatinthisway.
Iwillconcludewithsomeremarksabouttheapplicationoftheforegoingconsiderationstothedebateoverthemind-bodyidentitythesis.BeforeIdoso,however,IwishtorecapitulatetheviewsIhavedeveloped,andperhapsaddapointortwo.
First,myargumentimplicitlyconcludesthatcertaingeneralterms,thosefornaturalkinds,haveagreaterkinshipwithpropernamesthanisgenerallyrealized.Thisconclusionholdsforcertainforvariousspeciesnames,whethertheyarecountnouns,suchas'cat','tiger','chunkofgold',ormasstermssuchas'gold','water','ironpyrites'.Italsoappliestocertaintermsfornaturalphenomena,suchas'heat','light','sound','lightning',and,presumably,suitablyelaborated,tocorrespondingadjectives-'hot','loud','red'.
Mill,asIhaverecalled,heldthatalthoughsome'singularnames',thedefinitedescriptions,havebothdenotationandconnotation,others,thegenuinepropernames,haddenotationbutnotconnotation.Millfurthermaintainedthat'generalnames',orgeneralterms,hadconnotation.Suchtermsas'cow'or'human'aredefmedbytheconjunctionofcertainpropertieswhichpickouttheirextension-ahumanbeing,forexample,isarationalanimalwithcertainphysicalcharacteristics.Thehoarytraditionofdefmitionbygenusanddifferentiaisofapiecewithsuchaconception.IfKantdid,indeed,supposethat'gold'couldbedefinedas'yellowmetal',itmaywellbethistraditionwhichledhimtothedefinition.('Metal'wouldbethegenus,'yellow'thedifferentia.Thedifferentiacouldhardlyinclude'beinggold'withoutcircularity.)
Themodernlogicaltradition,asrepresentedbyFregeandRussell,disputedMillontheissueofsingularnames,butendorsedhimonthatofgeneralnames.Thusallterms,bothsingularandgeneral,havea'connotation'orFregeansense.MorerecenttheoristshavefollowedFregeandRussell,modi-
1,,11,J
Eyingtheirviewsonlybyreplacingthenotionofasenseasgivenbyaparticularconjunctionofpropertieswiththatofasenseasgivenbya'cluster'ofproperties,onlyenoughofwhichneedapply.Thepresentview,directlyreversingFregeandRussell,(moreorless)endorsesMill'sviewofsingularterms,butdisputeshisviewofgeneralterms.
Second,thepresentviewasserts,inthecaseofspeciestermsasinthatofpropernames,thatoneshouldbearinmindthecontrastbetweentheaprioributperhapscontingentpropertiescarriedwithaterm,givenbythewayitsreferencewasfiXed,andtheanalytic(andhencenecessary)propertiesatermmaycarry,givenbyitsmeaning.Forspecies,asforpropernames,thewaythereferenceofatermisfixedshouldnotberegardedasasynonymfortheterm.Inthecaseofpropernames,thereferencecanbefixedinvariousways.Inaninitialbaptismitistypicallyfixedbyanostensionoradescription.Otherwise,thereferenceisusuallydeterminedbyachain,passingthenamefromlinktolink.Thesameobservationsholdforsuchageneraltermas'gold'.Ifweimagineahypothetical(admittedlysomewhatartificial)baptismofthesubstance,wemustimagineitpickedoutasbysomesuch'definition'as,'Goldisthesubstanceinstantiatedbytheitemsoverthere,oratanyrate,byalmostallofthem'.Severalfeaturesofthisbaptismareworthyofnote.First,theidentityinthe'definition'doesnotexpressa(completely)necessarytruth:thougheachoftheseitemsis,indeed,essentially(necessarily)gold,ngoldmighthaveexistedeveniftheitemsdidnot.Thedefinitiondoes,however,expressanaprioritruth,inthesamesenseas(andwiththesamequalificationsappliedas)'Imeter=lengthof5':itfixesaIbelievethat,ingeneral,
Assuming,ofcourse,thattheyareallgold;asIsaybelow,somemaybefool'sgold.Weknowinadvance,apriori,thatitisnotthecasethattheitemsaretypicallyfool'sgold;andallthoseitemswhichareactuallygoldare,ofcourse,essentiallygold.
termsfornaturalkinds(e.g.,animal,vegetable,andchemicalkinds)gettheirreferencefixedinthisway;thesubstanceisdefmedasthekindinstantiatedby(almostallof)agivensample.The'almostall'qualificationallowsthatsomefools'goldmaybepresentinthesample.Iftheoriginalsamplehasasmallnumberofdeviantitems,theywillberejectedasnotreallygold.If,ontheotherhand,thesuppositionthatthereisoneuniformsubstanceorkindintheinitialsampleprovesmoreradicallyinerror,reactionscanvary:sometimeswemaydeclarethattherearetwokindsofgold,sometimeswemaydroptheterm'gold'.(Thesepossibilitiesarenotsupposedtobeexhaustive.)Andtheallegednewkindmayproveillusoryforotherreasons.Forexample,supposesomeitems(letthesetofthembeI)arediscoveredandarebelievedtobelongtoanewkindK.Supposethatlateritisdiscoveredthattheitemsinareindeedofasinglekind;however,theybelongtoapreviouslyknownkind,L.ObservationalerrorledtothefalseinitialbeliefthattheitemsinpossessedsumecharacteristicCexcludingthemfromL.InthiscasewewouldsurelysaythatthekindKdoesnotexist,inspiteofthefactthatitwasdefmedbyreferencetoauniforminitialsample.(NotethatifLhadnotpreviouslybeenidentified,wemightwellhavesaidthatthekindKdidexist,butthatwewereinerrorinsupposingittobeassociatedwiththecharacteristicC!)Totheextentthatthenotion'samekind'isvague,soistheorigin;!,lnotionofgold.Ordinarily,thevaguenessdoesn'tmatterinpractice.
Inthecaseofanaturalphenomenonperceptibletothesenses,thewaythereferenceispickedoutissimplc:'HeatthatwhichissensedbysensationS'.Onceagain,theidentityfixesareference:itthereforeisapriori,butnotnecessary,sinceheatmighthaveexisted,thoughwedidnot.'Heat',like'gold',isarigiddesignator,whosereferenceisfixedbyits'defmition'.Othernaturalphenomena,suchaselectricity,are
originallyidentifiedasthecausesofcertainconcreteexperimentaleffects.Idonotattempttogiveexhaustivecharacterizationshere,onlyexamples.
Third,inthecaseofnaturalkinds,certainproperties,believedtobeatleastroughlycharacteristicofthekindandbelievedtoapplytotheoriginalsample,areusedtoplacenewitems,outsidetheoriginalsample,inthekind.('Properties'isusedhereinabroadsense,andmayincludelargerkinds:forexampleanimalityandfelinity,fortigers.)Thesepropertiesneednotaprioriofthekind;laterempiricalinvestigationestabhshthatsomeofthepropertiesdidnotbelongtotheongmalsample,orthattheywerepeculiaritiesoftheoriginalsample,nottobegeneralizedtothekindasawhole.(Thustheyellownessofgoldmaybeanopticalillusion;or,moreplausibly,thoughthegoldoriginallyobservedwasindeedyellow,itcouldturnoutthatsomegoldiswhite.)Ontheotherhand,anitemmayposscssallthecharacteristicsoriginallytobelongtothekind.ThusananimalmaylookJusthkeatiger,andfailtobeatiger,asmentionedabove;distinctelementsinthesamecolumnoftheperiodictablemayresembleeachothcrratherclosely.Suchfailuresarethebut,asintheperiodictable,theydoarise.(Sometimesafadureoftheinitialsampletohavethecharacteristicsassociatedwithitmayleadustorepudiatethespecies,asintheI-K-Lcaseabove.Butthisphenomenonisnottypical,letaloneuniversal;seetheremarksontheyellownessofgold,orwhethercatsareanimals.)Apriori,allwecansayisthatitisa\$1matterwhetherthecharacteristicsoriginallyassoCIatedWIththekindapplytoitsmembersuniversally,orevenever,andwhethertheyareinfactjointlysufficientforinthekind.(Thejointsufficiencyisextremelyunhkelytobenecessary,butitmaybetruc.Infact,anyanimaljust.likeatigerisatiger-asfarasIknow-thoughitIS(metaphYSICally)possiblethatthereshouldhavebeenanimals
coveryofnewitems.7o(Inthecaseofgold,menappliedtremendousefforttothetask.ThosewhodoubtthenaturalscientificcuriosityofManshouldconsiderthiscase.Onlysuchanti-scientificfundamentalistsasBryancastaspersionsontheeffort.)Moreimportant,thespecies-namemaybepassedfromlinktolink,exactlyasinthecaseofpropernames,sothatmanywhohaveseenlittleornogoldcanstillusetheterm.Theirreferenceisdeterminedbyacausal(historical)chain,notbyuseofanyitems.Iwillmakeevenlesseffortheretospelloutanexacttheorythaninthecaseofpropernames.T
Usually,whenapropernameispassedfromlinktolink,thewaythereferenceofthenameisfixedisoflittleimportancetous.Itmattersnotatallthatdifferentspeakersmayfixthereferenceofthenameindifferentways,providedthattheygiveitthesamereferent.Thesituationisprobablynotverydifferentforspeciesnames,thoughthetemptationtothinkthatthemetallurgisthasadifferentconceptofgoldfromthemanwhohasneverseenanymaybesomewhatgreater.Theinterestingfactisthatthewaythereferenceisftxedseemsoverwhelminglyimportanttousinthecaseofsensedphenomena:ablindmanwhousestheterm'light',eventhoughheusesitasarigiddesignatorfortheverysamephenomenonaswe,seemstoustohavelostagreatdeal,perhapsenoughforustodeclarethathehasadifferentconcept.('Concept'hereisusednon-technically1)Thefactthatweidentifylightinacertainwayseemstoustobecrucial,eventhoughitisnotnecessary;theintimateconnectionmaycreateanillusionofnecessity.thinkthatthisobservation,togetherwiththeremarksonproperty-identityabove,maywellbeessentialtoanunder-
..
thatresembledtigersbutwerenottigers.Theuniversalapplicability,ontheotherhand,maywellbenecessary,iftrue.'Catsareanimals'hasturnedouttobeanecessarytruth.Indeedofmanysuchstatements,especiallythosesubsumingonespeciesunderanother,weknowapriorithat,iftheyaretrueatall,theyarenecessarilytrue.)
Fourth,scientificinvestigationgenerallydiscoverscharacteristicsofgoldwhicharefarbetterthantheoriginalset.Forexample,itturnsoutthatamaterialobjectis(pure)goldifandonlyiftheonlyelementcontainedthereinisthatwithatomicnumber79.Here,the'ifandonlyif'canbetakentobestrict(necessary).Ingeneral,scienceattempts,byinvestigatingbasicstructuraltraits,tofindthenature,andthustheessence(inthephilosophicalsense)ofthekind.Thecaseofnaturalphenomenaissimilar;suchtheoreticalidentificationsas'heatismolecularmotion'arenecessary,thoughnotapriori.Thetypeofpropertyidentityusedinscienceseemstobeassociatedwithnecessity,notwithaprioricity,oranalyticity:Forallbodiesxandy,xishotterthanyifandonlyifxhashighermeanmolecularkineticenergythany.Herethecoextensivenessofthepredicatesisnecessary,butnotapriori.Thephilosophicalnotionofattribute,ontheotherhand,seemstodemandapriori(andanalytic)coextensivenessaswellasnecessarycoextensiveness.
Notethatonthepresentview,scientificdiscoveriesofspeciesessencedonotcO;lstitutea'changeofmeaning';thepossibilityofsuchdiscoverieswaspartoftheoriginalenterprise.Weneednotevenassumethatthebiologist'sdenialthatwhalesarefishshowshis'conceptoffishhood'tobedifferentfromthatofthelayman;hesimplycorrectsthelayman,discoveringthat'whalesaremammals,notfish'isnecessarytruth.Neither'whalesaremammals'nor'whalesarefish'wassupposedtobepriorioranalyticinanycase.
Fifth,andindependentlyofthescientificinvestigationsjustmentioned,the'originalsample'getsaugmentedbythedis-
I·.i.:!,J
Obviously,therearealsoartificialitiesinthiswholeaccount.Forexample,itmaybehardtosaywhichitemsconstitutetheoriginalsample.Goldmayhavebeendiscoveredindependentlybyvariouspeopleatvarioustimes.donotfeelthatanysuchcomplicationswillradicallyalterthepicture.
standingofthetraditionaldisputesoverprimaryandsecondaryqualities.71
Letusreturntothequestionoftheoreticalidentification.Theoreticalidentities,accordingtotheconceptionIadvocate,aregenerallyidentitiesinvolvingtworigiddesignatorsandthereforeareexamplesofthenecessaryaposteriori.NowinspiteoftheargumentsIgavebeforeforthedistinctionbetweennecessaryandaprioritruth,thenotionofaposteriorinecessarytruthmaystillbesomewhatpuzzling.Someonemaywellbeinclinedtoargueasfollows:'Youhaveadmittedthatheatmighthaveturnedoutnottohavebeenmolecularmotion,andthatgoldmighthaveturnedoutnottohavebeentheelementwiththeatomicnumber79.Forthatmatter,youalso
nTounderstandthisdispute,itisespeciallyimportanttorealizethatyellownessisnotadispositionalproperty,althoughitisrelatedtoadisposition.Manyphilosophersforwantofanyothertheoryofthemeaningoftheterm'yellow',havebeeninclinedtoregarditasexpressingadispositionalproperty.Atthesametime,suspectmanyhavebeenbotheredbythe'gutfeeling'thatyellownessisamanifestproperty,justasmuch'rightoutthere'ashardnessorsphericalshape.Theproperaccount,onthepresentconceptionis,ofcourse,thatthereferenceof'yellowness'isfIXedbythedescription'that(manifest)propertyofobjectswhichcausesthem,undernormalcircumstances,tobeseenasyellow(Le.,tobesensedbycertainvisualimpressions)';'yellow',ofcourse,doesnotmean'tendstoproducesuchandsuchasensation';ifwehadhaddifferentneutralstructures,ifatmosphericconditionshadbeendifferent,ifwehadbeenblind,andsoon,thenyellowobjectswouldhavedonenosuchthing.Ifonetriestorevisethedefmitionof'yellow'tobe,'tendstoproducesuchandsuchvisualimpressionsundercircumstancesC',thenonewillfindthatthespecificationofthecircumstancesCeithercircularlyinvolvesyellownessorplainlymakestheallegeddefinitionintoascientificdiscoveryratherthanasynonymy.Ifwetakethe'fIXesareference'view,thenitisuptothephysicalscientisttoidentifythepropertysomarkedoutinanymorefundamentalphysicaltermsthathewishes.
Somephilosophershavearguedthatsuchtermsas'sensationofyellow','sensationofheat','sensationofpain',andthelike,couldnotbeinthelanguageunlesstheywereidentifiableintermsofexternalobservablephenomena,suchasheat,yellowness,andassociatedhumanbehavior.Ithinkthatthisquestionisindependentofanyviewarguedinthetext.
•
haveacknowledgedthatElizabethIImighthaveturnedoutnottobethedaughterofGeorgeVI,oreventooriginateintheparticularspermandeggwehadthought,andthistablemighthaveturnedouttobemadefromicefromwaterfromtheThames.IgatherthatHesperusmighthaveturnedoutnottobePhosphorus.Whatthencanyoumeanwhenyousaythatsucheventualitiesareimpossible?IfHesperusmighthaveturnedoutnotbePhosphorus,thenHesperusmightnothavebeenPhosphorus.Andsimilarlyfortheothercases:iftheworldcouldhaveturnedoutotherwise,itcouldhavebeenotherwise.Todenythisfactistodenytheself-evidentmodalprinciplethatwhatisentailedbyapossibilitymustitselfbepossible.Norcanyouevadethedifficultybydeclaringthe"mighthave"of"mighthaveturnedoutotherwise"tobemerelyepistemic,inthewaythat"Fermat'sLastTheoremmightturnouttobetrueandmighttumouttobefalse"merelyexpressesourpresentignorance,and"Arithmeticmighthaveturnedouttobecomplete"signalsourformerignorance.Inthesemathematicalcases,wemayhavebeenignorant,butitwasinfactmathematicallyimpossiblefortheanswertoturnoutotherthanitdid.Notsoinyourfavoritecasesofessenceandofidentitybetweentworigiddesignators:itreallyislogicallypossiblethatgoldshouldhaveturnedouttobeacompound,andthistablemightreallyhaveturnedoutnottobemadeofwood,letaloneofagivenparticularblockofwood.Thecontrastwiththemathematicalcasecouldnotbegreaterandwouldnotbealleviatedevenif,asyousuggest,theremaybemathematicaltruthswhichitisimpossibletoknowapriori.'
Perhapsanyonewhohascaughtthespiritofmypreviousremarkscangivemyanswerhimself,butthereisaclarification?fmypreviousdiscussionwhichisrelevanthere.TheobjectorIScorrectwhenhearguesthatifIholdthatthistablecouldnothavebeenmadeofice,thenImustalsoholdthatitcouldnothaveturnedouttobemadeoficc;itcouldhaveturnedoutthatP
entailsthatPcouldhavebeenthecase.What,then,doestheintuitionthatthetablemighthaveturnedouttohavebeenmadeoficeorofanythingelse,thatitmightevenhaveturfiedoutnottobem;deofmolecules,amountto?Ithinkthatitmeanssimplythattheremighthavebeenatablelookingandfeelingjustlikethisoneandplacedinthisverypositionintheroom,whichwasinfactmadeofice.Inotherwords,I(orsomeconsciousbeing)couldhavebeenqualitativelyinthesameepistemicsituationthatinfactobtains,Icouldhavethesamesensoryevidencethatinfacthave,aboutatablewhichwasmadeofice.Thesituationisthusakintotheonewhichinspiredthecounterparttheorists;whenIspeakofthepossibilityofthetableturningouttobemadeofvariousthings,Iamspeakingloosely.Thistableitselfcouldnothavehadanorigindifferentfromtheoneitinfacthad,butinasituationqualitativelyidenticaltothisonewithrespecttoalltheevidenceIhadinadvance,theroomcouldhavecontainedatablemadeoficeinplaceofthisone.Somethinglikecounterparttheoryisthusapplicabletothesituation,butitappliesonlybecausewearenotinterestedinwhatmighthavebeentrueofthisparticulartable,butinwhatmightormightnotbetrueofatablegivencertainevidence.ItispreciselybecauseitisnottruethatthistablemighthavebeenmadeoficefromtheThamesthatwemusthunheretoqualitativedescriptionsandcounterparts.Toapplythesenotionstogenuinederemodalitiesis,fromthepresentstandpoint,perverse.
Thegeneralanswertotheobjectorcanbestated,then,asfollows:Anynecessarytruth,whetherapriorioraposteriori,couldnothaveturnedoutotherwise.Inthecaseofsomenecessaryaposterioritruths,however,wecansaythatunderappropriatequalitativelyidenticalevidentialsituations,anappropriatecorrespondingqualitativestatementmighthavebeenfalse.Thelooseandinaccuratestatementthatgoldmighthaveturnedouttobeacompoundshouldbereplaced(roughly)
bythestatementthatitislogicallypossiblethatthereshouldhavebeenacompuundwithallthepropertiesoriginallyknowntoholdofgold.TheinaccuratestatementthatHesperusmighthaveturnedoutnottobePhosphorusshouldbereplacedbythetruecontingencymentionedearlierintheselectures:twodistinctbodiesmighthaveoccupied.inthemorningandtheevening,respectively,theverypositionsactuallyoccupiedbyHesperus-Phosphorus-Venus.72ThereasontheexampleofFermat'sLastTheoremgivesadifferentimpressionisthatherenoanaloguesuggestsitself,exceptfortheextremelygeneralstatementthat,intheabsenceofproofordisproof,itispossibleforamathematicalconjecturetobeeithertrueorfalse.
Ihavenotgivenanygeneralparadigmfortheappropriatecorrespondingqualitativecontingentstatement.Sinceweareconcernedwithhowthingsmighthaveturnedoutotherwise,ourgeneralparadigmistoredescribeboththepriorevidenceandthestatementqualitativelyandclaimthattheyareonlycontingentlyrelated.Inthecaseofidentities,usingtworigiddesignators,suchastheHesperus-Phosphoruscaseabove,thereisasimplerparadigmwhichisoftenusabletoatleastapproximatelythesameeffect.Let'R/and'Ra'bethetworigiddesignatorswhichflanktheidentitysign.Then'R1=Ra'isnecessaryiftrue.Thereferencesof'R1and'Ra',respectively,maywellbefIxedbynonrigiddesignators'D1and'Da',intheHesperusandPhosphoruscasesthesehavetheform'theheavenlybodyinsuch-and-suchpositionintheskyintheevening(morning)'.Thenalthough'R1=Ra'isnecessary,
Someofthestatementsmyselfmakeabovemaybelooseandinaccurateinthissense.Ifsay,'Goldmightturnoutnottobeanelement,'Ispeakcorrectly;'might'hereisepistemicandexpressesthefactthattheevidencedoesnotjustifyIIpriori(Cartesian)certaintythatgoldisanelement.amalsostrictlycorrectwhensaythatthee1ementhoodofgoldwasdiscoveredIIposteriori.IfIsay,'Goldmighthaveturnedoutnottobeanelement,'Iseemtomeanthismetaphysicallyandmystatementissubjecttothecorrectionnotedinthetext.
'Dl=Ds'maywellbecontingent,andthisisoftenwhatleadstotheerroneousviewthat'Rl=R2mighthaveturnedoutotherwise.
Ifinallyturntoanalltoocursorydiscussionoftheapplicationoftheforegoingconsiderationstotheidentitythesis.Identitytheoristshavebeenconcernedwithseveraldistincttypesofidentifications:ofapersonwithhisbody,ofaparticularsensation(oreventorstateofhavingthesensation)withaparticularbrainstateaones'spainat06:00washisC-fiberstimulationatthattime),andoftypesofmentalstateswiththecorrespondingtypesofphysicistates(painisthestimulationofC-fibers).Eachofthese,andothertypesofidentificationsintheliterature,presentanalyticalproblems,rightlyraisedbyCartesiancritics,whichcannotbeavoidedbyasimpleappealtoanallegedconfusionofsynonymywithidentity.Ishouldmentionthatthereisofcoursenoobviousbar,atleast(Isaycautiously)nonewhichshouldoccurtoanyintelligentthinkeronafirstreflectionjustbeforebedtime,toadvocacyofsomeidentitytheseswhiledoubtingordenyingothers.Forexample,somephilosophershaveacceptedtheidentityofparticularsensationswithparticularbrainstateswhiledenyingthepossibilityofidentitiesbetweenmentalandphysicaltypes.73Iwillconcernmyselfprimarilywiththetype-typeidentities,andthephilosophersillquestionwillthusbeimmunetomuchofthediscussion;butIwillmentiontheotherkindsofidentitiesbriefly.
Descartes,cmdothersfollowinghim,arguedthatapersonormindisdistinctfromhisbody,sincethemindcouldexistwithoutthebody.Hemightequallywellhavearguedthesame
conclusionfromthepremisethatthebodycouldhaveexistedwithoutthemind.HNowtheoneresponsewhichIregardasplainlyinadmissibleistheresponsewhichcheerfullyacceptstheCartesianpremisewhiledenyingtheCartesianconclusion.Let'Descartes'beaname,orrigiddesignator,ofacertainperson,andlet'B'bearigiddesignatorofhisbody.ThenifDescarteswereindeedidenticaltoB,thesupposedidentity,beinganidentitybetweentworigiddesignators,wouldbenecessary,andDescartescouldnotexistwithoutBandBcouldnotexistwithoutDescartes.Thecaseisnotatallcomparabletotheallegedanalogue,theidentityofthefirstPostmasterGeneralwiththeinventorofbifocals.True,thisidentityobtainsdespitethefactthattherecouldhavebeenafirstPostmasterGeneraleventhoughbifocalshadneverbeeninvented.Thereasonisthat'theinventorofbifocals'isnotarigiddesignator;aworldinwhichnooneinventedbifocalsisnotipsofactoaworldinwhichFranklindidnotexist.Theallegedanalogythereforecollapses;aphilosopherwhowishes
•
'IllThomasNagdandDonaldDavidsonarenotableexamples.Theirviewsareveryinteresting,andIwishcoulddiscusstheminfurtherdetail.Itisdoubtfulthatsuchphilosopherswishtocallthemselves'materialists'.Davidson,inparticular,baseshiscaseforhisversionoftheidentitytheoryonthesupposedimpossibilityofcorrelatingpsychologicalpropertieswithphysicalones.
Theargumentagainsttoken-tokenidentificationinthetextdoesapplytotheseviews.
7.Ofcourse,thebodydoesexistwithoutthemindandpresumablywithouttheperson,whenthebodyisacorpse.Thisconsideration.ifaccepted,wouldalreadyshowthatapersonandhisbodyaredistinct.(SeeDavidWiggins,'OnBeingattheSamePlaceattheSameTime',PhilosophicalReview,Vol.77(1968),pp.90-5.)Similarly,itcanbearguedthatastatueisnotthehunkofmatterofwhichitiscomposed.Inthelattercase,however,onemightsayinsteadthattheformeris'nothingoverandabove'thelatter;andthesamedevicemightbetriedfortherelationofthepersonandthebody.Thedifficultiesinthetextwouldnotthenariseinthesameform,butanalogousdifficultieswouldappear.Atheorythatapersonisnothingoverandabovehisbodyinthewaythatastatueisnothingoverandabovethematterofwhichitiscomposed,wouldhavetoholdthat(necessarily)apersonexistsifandonlyifhisbodyexistsandhascertainadditionalphysicalorganization.Suchathesiswouldbesubjecttomodaldifficultiessimilartothosebesettingtheordinaryidentitythesis,andthesamewouldapplytosuggestedanaloguesreplacingtheidentificationofmentalstateswithphysicalstates.Afurtherdiscussionofthismattermustbeleftforanotherplace.Anotherviewwhichwillnotdiscuss,althoughhavelittletendencytoacceptitandamnotevencertainthatithasbeensetoutwithgenuineclarity,istheso-calledfunctionalstateviewofpsychologicalconcepts.
torefutetheCartesianconclusionmustrefutetheCartesianpremise,andthelattertaskisnottrivial.
Let'A'nameaparticularpainsensation,andlet'B'namethecorrespondingbrainstate,orthebrainstatesomeidentitytheoristwishestoidentifywithA.Primajacie,itwouldseemthatitisatleastlogicallypossiblethatBshouldhaveexisted(Jones'sbraincouldhavebeeninexactlythatstateatthetimeinquestion)withoutJonesfeelinganypainatall,andthuswithoutthepresenceofA.Onceagain,theidentitytheoristcannotadmitthepossibilitycheerfullyandproceedfromthere;consistency,andtheprincipleofthenecessityofidentitiesusingrigiddesignators,disallowsanysuchcourse.IfAandBwereidentical,theidentitywouldhavetobenecessary.ThedifficultycanhardlybeevadedbyarguingthatalthoughBcouldnotexistwithoutA,beingapainismerelyacontingentpropertyofA,andthatthereforethepresenceofBwithoutpaindoesnotimplythepresenceQfBwithoutA.Cananycaseofessencebemoreobviousthanthefactthatbeingapainisanecessarypropertyofeachpain?TheidentitytheoristwhowishestoadoptthestrategyinquestionmustevenarguethatbeingasensationisacontingentpropertyofA,forprimajacieitwouldseemlogicallypossiblethatBcouldexistwithoutanysensationwithwhichitmightplausiblybeidentified.Consideraparticularpain,orothersensation,thatyouoncehad.Doyoufinditatallplausiblethatthatverysensationcouldhaveexistedwithoutbeingasensation,thewayacertaininventor(Franklin)couldhaveexistedwithoutbeinganinventor?
Imentionthisstrategybecauseitseemstometobeadoptedbyalargenumberofidentitytheorists.Thesetheorists,believingastheydothatthesupposedidentityofabrainstatewiththecorrespondingmentalstateistobeanalyzedontheparadigmofthecontingentidentityofBenjaminFranklinwiththeinventorofbifocals,realizethatjustashiscontingentactivitymadeBenjaminFranklinintotheinventorofbifocals,
r,.",...
sosomecontingentpropertyofthebrainstatemustmakeitintoapain.Generallytheywishthispropertytobeonestatableinphysicaloratleast'topic-neutral'language,sothatthematerialistcannotbeaccusedofpositingirreduciblenonphysicalproperties.Atypicalviewisthatbeingapain,asapropertyofaphysicalstate,istobeanalyzedintermsofthe'causalrole'ofthestate,75intermsofthecharacteristicstimuli(e.g.,pinpricks)whichcauseitandthecharacteristicbehavioritcauses.Iwillnotgointothedetailsofsuchanalyses,eventhoughIusuallyfindthemfaultyonspecificgroundsinadditiontothegeneralmodalconsiderationsIarguehere.AllIneedtoobservehereisthatthe'causalrole'ofthephysicalstateisregardedbythetheoristsinquestionasacontingentpropertyofthestate,andthusitissupposedtobeacontingentpropertyofthestatethatitisamentalstateatall,letalonethatitissomethingasspecificasapain.Torepeat,thisnotionseemstomeself-evidentlyabsurd.ItamountstotheviewthattheverypainInowhavecouldhaveexistedwithoutbeingamentalstateatall.
Ihavenotdiscussedtheconverseproblem,whichisclosertotheoriginalCartesianconsideration-namely,thatjustasitseemsthatthebrainstatecouldhaveexistedwithoutanypain,soitseemsthatthepaincouldhaveexistedwithoutthecorrespondingbrainstate.NotethatbeingabrainstateisevidentlyanessentialpropertyofB(thebrainstate).Indeed,evenmoreistrue:notonlybeingabrainstate,butevenbeingabrainstateofaspecifictypeisanessentialpropertyofB.TheconfigurationofbraincellswhosepresenceatagiventimeconstitutesthepresenceofBatthattimeisessentialtoB,andinitsabsenceBwouldnothaveexisted.Thussomeonewho
76Forexample,DavidArmstrong,AMaterialistTheoryoftheMind,LondonandNewYork,1968,seethediscussionreviewbyThomasNagel,PhilosophicalReview79(1970),pp.394-403;andDavidLewis,'AnArgumentfortheIdentityTheory',TheJournalofPhilosophy,pp.17-25.
wishestoclaimthatthebrainstateandthepainareidenticalmustarguethatthepainAcouldnothaveexistedwithoutaquitespecifictypeofconfigurationofmolecules.IfAB,thentheidentityofAwithBisnecessary,andanyessentialpropertyofonemustbeanessentialpropertyoftheother.SomeonewhowishestomaintainanidentitythesiscannotsimplyaccepttheCartesianintuitionsthatAcanexistwithoutB,thatBcanexistwithoutA,thatthecorrelativepresenceofanythingwithmentalpropertiesismerelycontingenttoB,andthatthecorrelativepresenceofanyspecificphysicalpropertiesismerelycontingenttoA.Hemustexplaintheseintuitionsaway,showinghowtheyareillusory.Thistaskmaynotbeimpossible;wehaveseenabovehowsomethingswhichappeartobecontingenttumout,oncloserexamination,tobenecessary.Thetask,however,isobviouslynotchild'splay,andweshallseebelowhowdifficultitis.
Thefmalkindofidentity,theonewhichIsaidwouldgettheclosestattention,isthetype-typesortofidentityexemplifiedbytheidentificationofpainwiththestimulationofC-fibers.Theseidentificationsaresupposedtobeanalogouswithsuchscientifictype-typeidentificationsastheidentityofheatwithmolecularmotion,ofwaterwithhydrogenhydroxide,andthelike.Letusconsider,asanexample,theanalogysupposedtoholdbetweenthematerialistidentificationandthatofheatwithmolecularmotion;bothidentificationsidentifytwotypesofphenomena.TheusualviewholdsthattheidentificationofheatwithmolecularmotionandofpainwiththestimulationofC-fibersarebothcontingent.Wehaveseenabovethatsince'heat'and'molecularmotion'arebothrigiddesignators,theidentificationofthephenomenatheynameisnecessary.Whatabout'pain'and'C-fiberstimulation'?Itshouldbeclearfromthepreviousdiscussionthat'pain'isarigiddesignatorofthetype,orphenomenon,itdesignates:ifsomethingisapainitisessentiallyso,anditseemsabsurdtosupposethatpain
couldhavebeensomephenomenonotherthantheoneitis.Thesameholdsfortheterm'C-fiberstimulation',providedthatisarigiddesignator,asIwillsupposehere.(TheSUppOSItionISsomewhatrisky,sinceIknowvirtuallynothingaboutC-fibers,exceptthatthestimulationofthemissaidtobecorrelatedwithpain.76Thepointisunimportant;if'Cfibers'isnotarigiddesignator,simplyreplaceitbyonewhichis,orsupposeitusedasarigiddesignatorinthepresentcontext.)ThustheidentityofpainwiththestimulationofC-fibers,iftrue,mustbenecessary.
SofartheanalogybetweentheidentificationofheatwithmolecularmotionandpainwiththestimulationofC-fibershasfailed;ithasmerelyturnedouttobetheoppositeofwhatISusuallythought-both,iftrue,mustbenecessary.ThismeansthattheidentitytheoristiscommittedtotheviewthattherebeaC-fiberstimulationwhichwasnotapainnorapamwhichwasnotaC-fiberstimulation.Theseconsequencesarecertainlysurprisingandcounterintuitive,butletusnotdismisstheidentitytheoristtooquickly.CanheperhapsshowthattheapparentpossibilityofpainnothavingturnedouttobeC-fiberstimulation,oroftherebeinganinstanceofoneof
Ihavebeensurprisedtofmdthatatleastoneablelistenertookmyuseofsuch.termsaswith','correspondingto',andthelikeasalreadythequestionagainsttheidentitythesis.Theidentitythesis,sohesaid,ISno.tthe.thatpainsandbrainstatesarecorrelated,butratherthattheyareIdentIcal.Thusmyentirediscussionpresupposestheanti-materialistthatIsetouttoprove.Althoughwassurprisedtohearanobjectionwhi.chconcedessolittleintelligencetotheargument,havetriedespeciallytoaVOIdtheterm'correlated'whichseemstogiverisetotheobjection.Nevertheless,toobviatemisunderstanding,shallexplainmyusage.Assuming,atleastarguendo,thatscientificdiscoverieshaveturnedoutsoasnottorefutematerialismfromthebegirming,boththedualistandtheidentitytheoristagreethatthereisacorrelationorcorrespondencebetweenmentalstatesandstates.Thedualistholdsthatthe'correlation'relationinquestionistheidentitytheoristholdsthatitissimplyaspecialcaseoftheIdentItyrelation.Suchtermsas'correlation'and'correspondence'canbeusedneutrallywithoutprejudgingwhichsideiscorrect.
thephenomenawhichisnotaninstanceoftheother,isanillusionofthesamesortastheillusionthatwatermightnothavebeenhydrogenhydroxide,orthatheatmightnothavebeenmolecularmotion?Ifso,hewillhaverebuttedtheCartesian,not,asintheconventionalanalysis,byacceptinghispremisewhileexposingthefallacyofhisargument,butratherbythereverse-whiletheCartesianargument,givenitspremiseofthecontingencyoftheidentification,isgrantedtoyielditsconclusion,thepremiseistobeexposedassuperficiallyplausiblebutfalse.
NowIdonotthinkitlikelythattheidentitytheoristwillsucceedinsuchanendeavor.Iwanttoarguethat,atleast,thecasecannotbeinterpretedasanalogoustothatofscientificidentificationoftheusualsort,asexemplifiedbytheidentityofheatandmolecularmotion.Whatwasthestrategyusedabovetohandletheapparentcontingencyofcertaincasesofthenecessaryaposteriori?Thestrategywastoarguethatalthoughthestatementitselfisnecessary,someonecould,qualitativelyspeaking,beinthesameepistemicsituationastheoriginal,andinsuchasituationaqualitativelyanalogousstatementcouldbefalse.Inthecaseofidentitiesbetweentworigiddesignators,thestrategycanbeapproximatedbyasimplerone:Considerhowthereferencesofthedesignatorsaredetermined;ifthesecoincideonlycontingently,itisthisfactwhichgivestheoriginalstatementitsillusionofcontmgency.Inthecaseofheatandmolecularmotion,thewaythesetwoparadigmsworkoutissimple.Whensomeonesays,inaccurately,thatheatmighthaveturnedoutnottobemolecularmotion,whatistrueinwhathesaysisthatsomeonecouldhavesensedaphenomenoninthesamewaywesenseheat,thatis,feelsitbymeansofitsproductionofthesensationwecall'thesensationofheat'(callit•S'),eventhoughthatphenomenonwasnotmolecularmotion.Hemeans,additionally,thattheplanetmighthavebeeninhabitedbycreatureswhodidnotgetS
whentheywereinthepresenceofmolecularmotion,thoughperhapsgettingitinthepresenceofsomethingelse.Suchcreatureswouldbe,insomequalitativesense,inthesameepistemicsituationasweare,theycouldusearigiddesignatorfor.thephenomenonthatcausessensationSinthem(therigiddeSignatorcouldevenbe'heat'),yetitwouldnotbemolecularmotio.n(andthereforenotheatl),whichwascausingthesensatIOn.
Now.cansomethingbesaidanalogouslytoexplainawaythefeelmgthattheidentityofpainandthestimulationofC-fibers,ifitisascientificdiscovery,couldhaveturnedoutotherwise?Idonotseethatsuchananalogyispossible.Inthecaseoftheapparentpossibilitythatmolecularmotionmightexistedintheabsenceofheat,whatseemedreallypossibleISthatmolecular.shouldhaveexistedwithoutbeingjeltasheat.,thatIS,Itmighthaveexistedwithoutproducingthe.thesensationofheat.IntheappropriatesentientbemgsISItanalogouslypossiblethatastimulationofshouldhaveexistedwithoutbeingfeltaspain?IfthisISpossible,thenthestimulationofC-fiberscanitselfexistforittoexistwithoutbeingfeltaspainisforIttoeXistwithouttherebeinganypain.Suchasituationbeinfl.atoutcontradictionwiththesupposednecessaryIdentityofpamandthecorrespondingphysicalstate,andthean.alogueholdsforanyphysicalstatewhichmightbeidentifiedWithacorrespondingmentalstate.Thetroubleisthattheidentitytheoristdoesnotholdthatthephysicalstatemerelyproducesthementalstate,ratherhewishesthetwotobeidenticalandthusajortiorinecessarilyco-occurrent.Inthecaseofmotionandheatthereissomething,namely,thesensationofheat,whichisanintermediarybetweentheexternalphenomenonandtheobserver.Inthementalphysicalcasenosuchintermediaryispossible,sinceherethephysicalphenomenonissupposedtobeidenticalwiththe
.,.•\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r
internalphenomenonitsel£Someonecanbeinthesameepistemicsituationashewouldbeiftherewereheat,evenintheabsenceofheat,simplybyfeelingthesensationofheat;andeveninthepresenceofheat,hecanhavethesameevidenceashewouldhaveintheabsencesimplybylackingthesensationS.Nosuchpossibilityexistsinthecaseofpainandothermentalphenomena.Tobeinthesameepistemicsituationthatwouldobtainifonehadapainistohaveapain;tobeinthesameepistemicsituationthatwouldobtainintheabsenceofapainisnottohaveapain.Theapparentcontingencyoftheconnectionbetweenthementalstateandthecorrespondingbrainstatethuscannotbeexplainedbysomesortofqualitativeanalogueasinthecaseofheat.
Wehavejustanalyzedthesituationintermsofthenotionofaqualitativelyidenticalepistemicsituation.ThetroubleisthatthenotionofanepistemicsituationqualitativelyidenticaltooneinwhichtheobserverhadasensationSsimplyisoneinwhichtheobserverhadthatsensation.Thesamepointcanbemadeintermsofthenotionofwhatpicksoutthereferenceofarigiddesignator.Inthecaseoftheidentityofheatwithmolecularmotiontheimportantconsiderationwasthatalthough'heat'isarigiddesignator,thereferenceofthatdesignatorwasdeterminedbyanaccidentalpropertyofthereferent,namelythepropertyofproducinginusthesensationS.Itisthuspossiblethataphenomenonshouldhavebeenrigidlydesignatedinthesamewayasaphenomenonofheat,withitsreferencealsopickedoutbymeansofthesensationS,withoutthatphenomenonbeingheatandthereforewithoutitsbeingmolecularmotion.Pain,ontheotherhand,isnotpickedoutbyoneofitsaccidentalproperties;ratheritispickedoutbythepropertyofbeingpainitself,byitsimmediatephenomenologicalquality.Thuspain,wllikeheat,isnotonlyrigidlydesignatedby'pain'butthereferenceofthedesignatorisdeterminedbyanessentialpropertyofthe
referent.Thusitis,notpossibletosaythatalthoughpainisnecessarilyidenticalwithacertainphysicalstate,acertainphenomenoncanbepickedoutinthesamewaywepickoutpainwithoutbeingcorrelatedwiththatphysicalstate.Ifanyphenomenonispickedoutinexactlythesamewaythatwepickoutpain,thenthatphenomenonispain.
Perhapsthesamepointcanbemademorevividwithoutsuchspecificreferencetothetechnicalapparatusintheselectures.SupposeweimagineGodcreatingtheworld;whatdoesHeneedtodotomaketheidentityofheatandmolecularmotionobtain?HereitwouldseemthatallHeneedstodoistocreatetheheat,thatis,themolecularmotionitsel£Iftheairmoleculesonthiseartharesufficientlyagitated,ifthereisaburningfire,thentheearthwillbehoteveniftherearenoobserverstoseeit.Godcreatedlight(andthuscreatedstreamsofphotons,accordingtopresentdoctrine)beforeHecreatedhumanandanimalobservers;andthesamepresumablyholdsforheat.HowthendoesitappeartousthattheidentityofmolecularmotionwithheatisasubstantivescientifiCfact,thatthemerecreationofmolecularmotionstillleavesGodwiththeadditionaltaskofmakingmolecularmotionintoheat?Thisfeelingisindeedillusory,butwhatisasubstantivetaskfortheDeityisthetaskofmakingmolecularmotionfeltasheat.TodothisHemustcreatesomesentientbeingstoinsurethatthemolecularmotionproducesthesensationSinthem.Onlyafterhehasdonethiswilltherebebeingswhocanlearnthatthesentence'Heatisthemotionofmolecules'expressesanaposterioritruthinpreciselythesamewaythatwedo.
WhataboutthecaseofthestimulationofC-fibers?Tocreatethisphenomenon,itwouldseemthatGodneedonlycreatebeingswithC-fiberscapableoftheappropriatetypeofphysicalstimulation;whetherthebeingsareconsciousornotisirrelevanthere.Itwouldseem,though,thattomaketheC-fiberstimulationcorrespondtopain,orbefeltaspain,Godmust
withparticularphysicalevents,withoutdiscussingpossiblecountermovesinthesamedetailasinthetype-typecase.SufficeittosaythatIsuspectthattheconsiderationsgivenindicatethatthetheoristwhowishestoidentifyvariousparticularmentalandphysicaleventswillhavetofaceproblemsfairlvsimilartothoseofthetype-typetheorist;hetoowillbeunabletoappealtothestandardallegedanalogues.
Thattheusualmovesandanalogiesarenotavailabletosolvetheproblemsoftheidentitytheoristis,ofcourse,noproofthatnomovesareavailable.Icertainlycannotdiscussallthepossibilitieshere.Isuspect,however,thatthepresentconsiderationstellheavilyagainsttheusualformsofmaterialism.Materialism,Ithink,mustholdthataphysicaldescriptionoftheworldisacompletedescriptionofit,thatanymentalfactsare'ontologicallydependent'onphysicalfactsinthestraightforwardsenseoffollowingfromthembynecessity.Noidentitytheoristseemstometohavemadeaconvincingargumentagainsttheintuitiveviewthatthisisnotthecase.77
.'
dosomethinginadditiontothemerecreationoftheC-fiberstimulation;HemustletthecreaturesfeeltheC-fiberstimulationaspain,andnotasatickle,oraswarmth,orasnothing,asapparentlywouldalsohavebeenwithinHispowers.IfthesethingsinfactarewithinHispowers,therelationbetweenthepainGodcreatesandthestimulationof.cannot.beidentity.Forifso,thestimulationcouldeXlstwithoutthepam;andsince'pain'and'C-fiberstimulation'arerigid,thisfactimpliesthattherelationbetweenthetwophenomenaisnotthatofidentity.Godhadtodosomework,inadditiontomakingthemanhimself,tomakeacertainmanbetheinventorofbifocals;themancouldwellexistwithoutinventinganysuchthing.Thesamecannotbesaidforpain;ifthephenomenonexistsatall,nofurtherworkshouldberequiredtomakeitintopain.
Insum,thecorrespondencebetweenabrainstateandamentalstateseemstohaveacertainobviouselementofcontingency.Wehaveseenthatidentityisnotarelationwhichcanholdcontingentlybetweenobjects.Therefore,iftheidentitythesiswerecorrect,theelementofcontingencywouldnotlieintherelationbetweenthementalandphysicalstates.Itcannotlie,asinthecaseofheatandmolecularmotion,intherelationbetweenthephenomenon(=heatmolecularmotion)andthewayitisfeltorappears(sensationS),sinceinthecaseofmentalphenomenathereisno'appearance'beyondthementalphenomenonitsel£
HereIhavebeenemphasizingthepossibility,orapparentpossibility,ofaphysicalstatewithoutthecorrespondingmentalstate.Thereversepossibility,thementalstate(pain)withoutthephysicalstate(C-fiberstimulation)alsopresentsproblemsfortheidentitytheoristswhichcannotberesolvedbyappealtotheanalogyofheatandmolecularmotion.
havediscussedsimilarproblemsmorebrieflyforviewsequatingtheselfwiththebody,andparticularmentalevents
Havingexpressedthesedoubtsabouttheidentitytheoryinthetext,Ishouldemphasizetwothings:first,identitytheoristshavepresentedpositiveargumentsfortheirview,whichcertainlyhavenotansweredhere.Someoftheseargumentsseemtometobeweakorbasedonideologicalprejudices,butothersstrikemeashighlycompellingargumentswhichamatpresentunabletoanswerconvincingly.Second,rejectionoftheidentitythesisdoesnotimplyacceptanceofCartesiandualism.Infact,myviewabovethatapersoncouldnothavecomefromadifferentspermandeggfremtheonesfromwhichheactuallyoriginatedimplicitlysuggestsarejectionoftheCartesianpicture.Ifwehadaclearideaofthesoulorthemindasanindependent,susbsistent,spiritualentity,whyshouldithavetohaveanynecessaryconnectionwithparticularmaterialobjectssuchasaparticularspermoraparticularegg?AwnvinceddualistmaythinkthatmyviewsonspermsandeggsbegthequestionagainstDescartes.Iwouldtendtoarguetheotherway;thefactthatitishardtoimaginemecomingfromaspermandeggdifferentfrommyactualoriginsseemstometoindicatethatwehavenosuchclearconceptionofasoulorsel£anyevent,Descartes'notionseemstoh!lvebeenrendereddubiouseversinceHume'scritiqueofthenotionofaCartesiansel£Iregardthemind-bodyproblemaswideopenandextremelyconfming.
ADDENDA
TheseaddendarepresentcertainamplificationsoftheoriginaltextwhichIhaveaddedeitherinresponsetoquestionsorforthesakeofclarificationorsketchyamplification.
(a)Unicorns,pp.23-4.Inthelightoftheremarksonnaturalkindsmadeinthethirdlecture,Ishalltrytogiveabriefexplanationofthestrangeviewofunicornsadvocatedinthetext.Thereweretwotheses:first,ametaphysicalthesisthatnocounterfactualsituationisproperlydescribableasoneinwhichtherewouldhavebeenunicorns;second,anepistemologicalthesisthatanarcheologicaldiscoverythattherewereanimalswithallthefeaturesattributedtounicornsintheappropriatemythwouldnotinandofitselfconstituteproofthartherewereunicorns.
Astothemetaphysicalthesis,theargumentbasicallyisthefollowing.Justastigersareanactualspecies,sotheunicornsareamythicalspecies.Nowtigers,asargueinthethirdlecture,cannotbedefmedsimplyintermsoftheirappearance;itispossiblethatthereshouldhavebeenadifferentspecieswithalltheexternalappearancesoftigersbutwhichhadadifferentinternalstructureandthereforewasnotthespeciesoftigers.Wemaybemisledintothinkingotherwisebythefactthatactuallynosuch'fool'stigers'exist,sothatinpracticeexternalappearanceissufficienttoidentifythespecies.Nowthereisnoactualspeciesofunicorns,andregardingthe
distincthypotheticalspecies,withdifferentinternal(somereptilic,somemammalian,someamphibious),whichwouldhavetheexternalappearancespostulatedtoholdofunicornsinthemythoftheunicorn,onecannotsaywhichofthesedistinctmythicalspecieswouldhavebeentheunicorns.Ifwesuppose,asIdo,thattheunicornsofthemythweresupposedtobeaparticularspecies,butthatthemythprovidesinsufficientinformationabouttheirinternalstmcturetodetermineawliquespecies,thenthereisnoactualorpossiblespeciesofwhichwecansaythatitwouldhavebeenthespeciesofunicorns.
Theepistemologicalthesisismoreeasilyargued.Ifastoryisfounddescribingasubstancewiththephysicalappearanceofgold,onecannotconcludeonthisbasisthatitistalkingaboutgold;itmaybetalkingabout'fools'gold'.Whatsubstanceisbeingdiscussedmustbedeterminedasinthecaseofpropernames:bythehistoricalconnectionofthestorywithacertainsubstance.Whentheconnectionistraced,itmaywellturnoutthatthesubstancedealtwithwasgold,'fools'gold',orsomethingelse.Similarly,themerediscoveryofanimalswiththepropertiesattributedtounicornsinthemythwouldbynomeansshowthattheseweretheanimalsthemythwasabout:perhapsthemythwasspunoutofwholecloth,andthefactthatanimalswiththesameappearanceactuallyexistedwasmerecoincidence.Inthatcase,wecannotsaythattheunicornsofthemythreallyexisted;wemustalsoestablishahistoricalconnectionthatshowsthatthemythisabouttheseanimals.
Iholdsimilarviewsregardingfictionalpropernames.ThemerediscoverythattherewasindeedadetectivewithexploitslikethoseofSherlockHolmeswouldnotshowthatConanDoylewaswritingaboutthisman;itistheoreticallypossible,thoughinpracticefantasticallyunlikely,thatDoylewaswritingpurefictionwithonlyacoincidentalresemblancetotheactualman.(Seethecharacteristicdisclaimer:'Thecharacters
.'
inthisworkarefictional,andanyresemblancetoanyone,livingordead,ispurelycoincidental.')Similarly,Iholdthemetaphysicalviewthat,grantedthatthereisnoSherlockHolmes,onecannotsayofanypossiblepersonthathelIJouldhavebeenSherlockHolmes,hadheexisted.Severaldistinctpossiblepeople,andevenactualonessuchasDarwinorJacktheRipper,mighthaveperformedtheexploitsofHolmes,butthereisnoneofwhomwecansaythathewouldhavebeenHolmeshadheperformedtheseexploits.Forifso,whichone?
Ithuscouldnolongerwrite,asIoncedid,that'Holmesdoesnotexist,butinotherstatesofaffairs,hewouldhaveexisted.'(Seemy'SemanticalConsiderationsonModalLogic',ActaPhilosophicaFennica,Vol.16(1963)pp.83-94;reprintedinL.Linsky(ed.),ReferenceandModality,OxfordUniversityPress,(1971;p.6SintheLinskyreprint.)Thequotedassertiongivestheerroneousimpressionthatafictionalnamesuchas'Holmes'namesaparticularpossible-but-not-actualindividual.ThesubstantivepointIwastryingtomake,however,remainsandisindependentofanylinguistictheoryofthestatusofnamesinfiction.Thepointwasthat,inotherpossibleworlds'someactuallyexistingindividualsmaybeabsentwhilenewindividuals...mayappear'(ibid,p.65),andthatifinanopenformulaA(x)thefreevariableisassignedagivenindividualasvalue,aproblemarisesastowhether(inamodel-theoretictreatmentofmodallogic)atruth-valueistobeassignedtotheformulainworldsinwhichtheindividualinquestiondoesnotexist.
amawarethatthecrypticbrevityoftheseremarksdiminisheswhateverpersuasivenesstheymayotherwisepossess.Iexpecttoelaborateonthemelsewhere,inaforthcomingworkdiscussingtheproblemsofexistentialstatements,emptynames,andfictionalentities.
(b)Cantomust,firstparagraphofp.35.AnunpublishedpaperbyBarryT.Stroudhascalledmyattentiontothefact
thatKanthimself.makesacloselyrelatedmistake.Kantsays,'Experienceteachesusthatathingissoandso,butnotthatitcannotbeotherwise.First,then,ifwehaveapropositionwhichinbeingthoughtisthoughtasnecessary,itisanapriorijudgement....Necessityandstrictuniversalityarethussurecriteriaofaprioriknowledge'.(CritiqueofPureReasonB3-4,pp.43-4intheKempSmithtranslation,Macmillan,1956.)Kantthusappearstoholdthatifapropositionisknowntobenecessary,themodeofknowledgenotonlycanbeaprioributmustbe.Onthecontrary,onecanlearnamathematicaltruthaposterioribyconsultingacomputingmachine,evenbyaskingamathematician.NorcanKantarguethatexperiencecantellusthatamathematicalpropCositionistrue,butnotthatitistleCessary;forthepeculiarcharacterofmathematicalpropositions(likeGoldbach'sconjecture)isthatoneknows(apriori)thattheycannotbetrue;amathematicalstatement,iftrue,isnecessary.
Allthecasesofthenecessaryaposterioriadvocatedinthetexthavethespecialcharacterattributedtomathematicalstatements:Philosophicalanalysistellsusthattheycannotbecontingentlytrue,soanyempiricalknowledgeoftheirtruthisautomaticallyempiricalknowledgethattheyarenecessary.Thischaracterizationapplies,inparticular,tothecasesofidentitystatementsandofessence.Itmaygiveacluetoageneralcharacterizationofaposterioriknowledgeofnecessarytruths.
IshouldmentionthatifthepossibilityofknowingamathematicaltruthbyconsultingacomputerweretheonlyobjecliontoKantoffered,itwouldstillbeopentohimtohold:(I)thateverynecessarytruthisknowableapriori;or,moreweakly,(2)thateverynecessarytruth,ifknownatall,mustbeknowableapriori.Both(I)and(2)involvetheobscurenotionofthepossibilityofaprioriknowledge,buttotheextentthatthe
Theobjectiontosuchnoncirculardeterminationsofreferenceas'Let"Glumph"bethemanJonescalls"Glumph'"and,'LetGodelbethemantowhomtheexpertsattributetheincompletenesstheorem'(saidbyalayman)isotherwise:Ingeneral,aspeakercannotbesurefromwhomhepickeduphisreference;andasfarasheknows'theexperts'maywellrealizethatSchmidt,notGodel,provedtheincompletenesstheoremeventhoughtheinexpertspeakerstillattributesittoGodel.Thussuchdeterminationsofthereferentmaywellgivethewrongresult,andthespeakersurelycannotbesaidtoknowapriori(asinThesis5)thattheydonot.(SeemycriticismsofStrawsoninthetext.)If,ontheotherhand,thespeakerattemptstoavoidthepossibilityofsucherrorbyusinghisownreferenceastheparadigm,asinsuchdeterminationsas'LetGlumphbetheman1call"Glumph"(now)'or'LetGodelbethemanIbelievetohaveprovedtheincompletenesstheorem,'thedeterminationofthereferenceiscircular(unlessthespeakerhasalreadydeterminedhisreferenceinsomeotherway,inwhichcasethatisthedeterminingconditionandnottheonestated).Oftenthedeterminationofthereferencerisksfallingafoulbothofcircularityandofvulnerabilitytoerror,forthespeakermaynot"knowwhetherthoseotherstowhomhe'passesthebuck'maynotinturnpassthebucktohim.Blatantcasesofvulnerabilitytobothtypesofcriticismsistobefoundinsuchdeterminationsas,'Let"Glumph"denotethemanallofusinCommunityCcall"Glumph",'or'Let"Godel"denotethemanpresentlygenerallybelievedinCommunityCtohaveprovedtheincompletenesstheorem,'ifthisdeterminationissupposedtobetheoneusedthroughoutCommunityC.ForanindividualspeakermayerrinsuchadeterminationifthecommunityingeneralhasbeenapprisedoftheGodel-Schmidtfraudbutthespeakerhasnot;andevenifthepossibilityoferroriswaived,thedeterminationwillbecircularifitissupposedthatall,oreventhelargemajority,of
notionisclarifiedbyrestrictingittoaprioriknowledgeofastandardhumansort,argueagainstboth(I)and(2)intheteJl.1:.Infact,ofcourse,holdthat.propositionsthatcontemporarY6philosopherswouldproperlycountas'empirical'canbenecessaryandbeknowntobesuch.
PerhapsshouldmentionalsothathavebeentofmdthecharacterizationofaprioritruthastruthwhichcanbeknownindependentlyofexperienceinKant;asascansee,Kantrefersonlytoaprioriknowledgeofparticularstatements,whichdoesnotinvolvetheextramodality.(Inthetext,incautiouslyascribedthiscommoncharacterizationofaprioritruthtoKant.)And,ofcourse,whenKantuses'necessary'foratypeofpropositionand'apriori'foramodeofknowledgehecannotpossiblybeguiltyofthecommoncontemporarypracticeoftreatingthetwotermsasinterchangeablesxnonyms.ItisclearfromtheopeningpagesoftheCritiquethatheregardsthethesisthatknowledgethatsomethingisnecessarymustbeaprioriknowledgeasanimportant,thoughobvious,substantivethesis.
(c)Someremarksthathaveheardleadmetothenoncircularityconditioncouldusefurtherclanficatlon.First,myremarkonp.68hasbeenmisunderstoodtosaythatadefinitionsuchas'JonahisthemanreferredtobythatnameintheBible'necessarilyviolatesthenoncircularitycondition.Itdoesnot,providedthatthedescriptiontheorycangiveanaccountoftheBiblicalauthors'referenceisindependentofourown.WhenIdiscussStrawson,Iexphcltlyacknowledgethataspeakermayuseadescriptionofthissortwhich'passesthebuck'.andthattheprocedureisnoncircularprovidedthattheotherspeaker'sdescript.io.ndoesnotultimatelyinvolvethereferencesmadebytheongmalspeaker.ThusIcansay,'Let"Glumph"beanameofthethingJonescalls"Glumph"',providedthatJones'Let"Glumph"beanameofthethmgKnpkecallsGlumph,
thespeakersofCommunityCuseittodeterminetheirreference.
Allthesepointsarestatedinthetext,butmisunderstandingshaveledmetobelievethatasummaryrestatementcouldconceivablydosomegood.Quiteadifferentwayofdetenniningthereferencewouldbe,'Let"Glumph"denotethemancalled"Glwnph"bythepeoplefromwhomIgotit(whoevertheyare),providedthatmypresentdeterminationofthereferencesatisfiestheconditionssketchedin"NamingandNecessity"andwhateverotherconditionsneedbesatisfied'.AsIsaidinfootnote38,suchadeterminationwouldconstituteatrivialfulfillmentofthedescriptiontheoryintermsofthepresentviewifonlythepresentviewwerenotsomewhatlooseanddidnotalreadyinvolvethenotionofthespeaker'sownreference(intermsofhisintentiontoagreeinreferencewiththosefromwhomhepickedupthename).Evenifboththeseproblemsweresurmounted,.thedescriptionwouldhardlybeoneofthetypewhichoccurstoaspeakerwhenheisaskedsuchaquestionas,'WhoisNapoleon?',asthedescriptiontheoristsintended.Itwouldoccuronlytothosespeakerswhohavemasteredacomplextheoryofreference,anditwouldbethistheory,ofcourse,andnotthespeaker'sknowledgeofadescription,whichgavethetruepictureofhowthereferencewasdetermined.
(d)Initial'baptism',p.96.Infootnote70onnaturalkindterms,mentionthatthenotionofaninitialsampleappealedtotheregivesanoversimplifiedpictureofthecase.Analogouslyforpropernames,ofcourserecognizethatthereneednotalwaysbeanidentifiableinitial.baptism;sothepictureisoversimplified.Ofcoursealsothink,analogouslytofootnote70,thatsuchcomplicationswillnotradicallyalterthepicture.Itisprobablytrue,however,thatinthecaseofpropernames,exampleswithnoidentifiableinitialbaptismarerarerthaninthespeciescase.
(e)SantaClaus,p.93andpp.96-7.GarethEvanshaspointedoutthatsimilarcasesofreferenceshiftsarisewheretheshiftisnotfromarealentitytoafictionalone,butfromonerealentitytoanotherofthesamekind.AccordingtoEvans,'Madagascar'wasanativenameforapartofAfrica;MarcoPolo,erroneouslythinkingthathewasfollowingnativeusage,appliedthenametoanisland.(Evansusestheexampletosupportthedescriptiontheory;I,ofcourse,donot.)Todaytheusageofthenameasanameforanislandhasbecomesowidespreadthatitsurelyoverridesanyhistoricalconnectionwiththenativename.DavidLewishaspointedoutthatthesamethingcouldhavehappenedevenifthenativeshadused'Madagascar'todesignateamythicallocality.Sorealreferencecanshifttoanotherrealreference,fictionalreferencecanshifttoreal,andrealtofictional.Inallthesecases,apresentintentiontorefertoagivenentity(ortoreferfictionally)overridestheoriginalintentiontopreservereferenceinthehistoricalchainoftransmission.Thematterdeservesextendeddiscussion.ButthephenomenonisperhapsrougWyexplicableintermsofthepredominantlysocialcharacteroftheuseofpropernamesemphasizedinthetext:weusenamestoconununicatewithotherspeakersinaco.mmonlanguage.Thischaracterdictatesordinarilythataspeakerintendtouseanamethesamewayasitwastransmittedtohim;butinthe'Madagascar'casethissocialcharacterdictatesthatthepresentintentiontorefertoanislandoverridesthedistantlinktonativeusage.(ProbablyMiller'scase,'GeorgeSmith'vs.'Newton'issimilarlyexplicable.)Tostateallthiswithanyprecisionundoubtedlyrequiresmoreapparatusthanhavedevelopedhere;inparticular,wemustdistinguishapresentintentiontouseanameforanobjectfromamerepresentbeliefthattheobjectistheonlyonehavingcertainproperty,andclarifythisdistinction.leavetheproblemforfurtherwork.
(f)perhapsshouldmention(amplifyingp.23n.2)that
r
INDEX
thehistoricalacquisitionpictureofnamingadvocatedhereisapparentlyverysimilartoviewsofKeithDonnellan.(CharlesChastainalsomadesimilarsuggestions,buttheyhadagreateradmixtureoftheolddescriptiontheory.)DavidKaplan'sinvestigationof'Dthat',mentionedinfootnote22,hasbeenextendedtoa'logicofdemonstratives'inwhich,hesays,agooddealoftheargumentofthispapercanbegivenaformalrepresentation.Indeedagooddealofthispapersuggestsacertainformalapparatus,thoughthepresentpresentationisinformal.
(g)Thethirdlecturesuggeststhatagooddealofwhatcontemporaryphilosophyregardsasmerephysicalnecessityisactuallynecessarytoutcourt.ThequestionhowfarthiscanbepushedisoneIleaveforfurtherwork.
Albritton,Rogers,23n,122nAlphaCentauri,95Analytictruth,34,39,56n,117,122,135Aposterioritruth,seeAprioritruth,NecessaryaposterioritruthAprioritruth{aprioricity},asepistemologicalnotion,63,122-3,Kant'sviewson,34,II7,158-60;seealsoContingentaprioritruth,NecessaryaposterioritruthAristotle,6-14,2!r30,57,61-3,65,74-5Armstrong,David,1470Atomicnumber,116,123-5,138,140;seealsoGoldAttribute,138'Baptism',initial,78,96-7,106,135-40,162'Bareparticulars',18,52Bifocals,theinventorof,98,145--6,154Brainstate,seeMind-bodyidentitythesisCartesiandualism,155nCatiline,7!r81Cats,122-3,125--6,134Causalchain{inreference},seeChainofcommunicationCausalrole{ofmentalstates},147Certainty,34,39C-fibers,98,144,148-54Chainofcommunication{inreference},8n,59n,91-7,106,116n,135,139,157,163-4;andshiftofreference,93-7,163-4Chastain,Charles,23n,164Cicero,20,7!r81,92,970,98,100-1,107-8Clusterconcept,55n,60,76,120-1,122n'Clusterofdescriptions'theoryofpropernames,seeDescriptiontheoryofpropernamesColumbus,c.,85Connotation{Mill},26,127,134Contingentaprioritruth,14-15,91passim,96n,135-8;seealsoFixingthereferenceofaterm,Rigiddesignators
If
Correlation(ofthephysicalwiththemental),98--9,144n,149nCountnoun,134;seealsoNaturalkindsCounterpartTheory,45.5In,76-7,142Cows,127-8Criterionofidentity,seeIdentityDali,Salvador,32Dartmouth,26Davidson,Donald,144nDedekind,R.,84-5,88--9Defmitedescription(s),alleged'rigid'senseof,6n,59n;referentof,24-6,86n;'referential'useof,7n,25,59n,80n,85n,87n;relationtopropernames,seeDescriptiontheoryofpropernames;andscopedistinctions,10-14,59n,61-2Defmition,qualitative,122;twosensesof,54-60,123n,134-6,140n;seealsoContingentaprioritruth,FixingthereferenceofatermDemons,122,126Demonstratives,Ion,27n,49n,101,164Denotation(Mill),26,134Descartes.R.,144-5,155nDescriptiontheoryofpropernames,'cluster'versiondistinguished,30-2,60-1,74,134-5;non-circularityconditionon,68-73,88n,89--90,160-2;astheoryofmeaning,5-15,27-34,53-77,127,134-135;theoryofmeaningdis-
tinctfromtheoryofreference,5,15,32-4,53-78panim,79n,96n,97n.106-7;astheoryofreferenceonly,57-8,66-8,78-97,106-7Designator,24;non-rigid(accidental),48,seealsoRigiddesignators;rigid,seeRigiddesignators;stronglyrigid,48--9Determinethereference(referent)ofaterm,27-34,53-164passim;seealsoFixingthereferenceofatermDonnellan.Keith,7n,23n,25,59n,80n,85n,87n,164Doyle,A.Conan,157'Dthat',6on,164Dualism,seeMind-bodyidentitythesis;Cartesian,155nDummett,Michael,IInEinstein,A.,81-3,87,95Electricity,II6,132,136Electromagneticradiation,98,129Element,II6,II8,124;seealsoGoldElizabethII,IIo-13,141Epistemiccontexts,20-1Epistemicsituation,qualitativelyidentical,103-5,141-4,150-3Epistemology,epistemologicalnotion,seeAprioritruth,NecessaryaposterioritruthEssence,47,77,I15n,126,138,141,146;seealsoEssentialpropertiesEssentialproperties,ofindividuals,39-53,IIo-15,126-7,
140-2,155n;ofnaturalkindsandphenomena,123-6,128-157passim;ofsensations,146-155Essentialism,meaningfulnessof,39-53;seealsoEssentialpropertiesEvans,Gareth.163Everest,100Existentialstatements,29,31-3,58--9,65-7,110Fermat'sLastTheorem,36,141,143Feynman,Richard,81-2,91-2Fictionalentities,157-8,163seealsoLegendarycharacters,SantaClaus,UnicornsFixingthereference(referent)ofaterm,distinctfromgivingasynonym,15,53-60.61-164passim;andmentalterms,seePain;andnaturalkinds,122,135-6,139,162;andnaturalphenomena,130-4,136-7,139-40,148-55;andpropernames,seeDescriptiontheoryofpropernames,Propernames;seealsoContingentaprioritruth,Meter,l't,Rigiddesignators,Yard,YellowFool'sgold,seeIronpyritesFourcolortheorem,the,103Franklin,Benjamin,145-6;seealsoBifocals,theinventorofFrege,Gottlob,5,27-31,53-4,58-60,88n.107,127,128n,134-5Functionalstatetheory(ofpsychologicalconcepts),145nGaurisanker,looGeach,Peter,23n,II5nGell-Mann,Murray81,91Generalterm,127-8,134-40;seealsoNaturalkinds,NaturalphenomenaGilbert,Margaret,IGinsberg,H.L.,67n'Glumph','Glunk',73,160-2God,26-7,153-4G6del,K.,37,83--92,161Gold,39.116-19,123-5,127.134-40,142-3,157;fool's,seeIronpyritesGoldbach'sconjecture,36-8,159Hadleyburg,themanwhocorrupted,24.28Heat,98--9,129,131-4,136,138,140,148-54HenryI,76Hesperus,20,28--9,57-8,78--9,94,98,100-5.108-10,116nHilbert,D.,37Historicalconnection(oftermwithreferent),seeChainofcommunicationHitler,A.,75,77-8H20,99,II6,128--9.134,148,150;seealsoWaterHolmes,Sherlock,157-8HolyRomanEmpire.The,26Humphrey,H.,45n,48--9Identifyingmarks(properties)ofanaturalkind,original,II8-122,124-6,128--9,137-8,156Identity,'acrosspossibleworlds',see'Transworldidentification';criterionof,17,42-53,II5n;
Identity—cont.
and Leibnitz's law, 3;
necessary and sufficient conditions for, 43, 46-7, 50-2;
necessity of, 3-5, 97-105, 107-110, 114n, 128-38, 140-55; of properties, 138; as a relation, 3-4, 107-8; over time, 43, 50-52, 115n; transitivity of, 51n; type-type, see Mind-body identity thesis; and vagueness, 50-1
+Identity statements, 3-5, 28-9, 33, 66, 97-105, 107-10, 116, 128-36, 138, 140-1, 143-55
+Identity thesis, see Mind-body identity thesis
+Indiscernibility of identicals, 3
+Intention, role of in preserving reference, see Chain of communication
+Internal structure (of members of species), 120-1, 126, 156-7
+Iron pyrites (fool's gold), 119, 124, 134, 135n, 136, 157
+Jack the Ripper, 79, 94
+Jacobson, Anne, 8n
+'Joe Doakes', 28
+Jonah, 67-8, 87, 160
+Kant, Immanuel, 34, 39, 117, 123n, 134, 158-60
+Kaplan, David, 10n, 45n, 60n, 164
+Kinetic energy (of molecules), see Temperature
+Kneale, William, 68-70, 72
+Legendary characters, 66-7; see also Fictional entities
+Leibnitz, G., 45n
+Leibnitz's law, 3
+Leverrier, U. J., 79n
+Lewis, David K., 45, 51n, 76, 147n, 163
+Light, 98-9, 116, 126-31, 134, 139, 153
+Lightning, 116, 132, 134
+Linsky, Leonard, 25n
+Lockwood, Michael, 20n
+Madagascar, 163
+Marcus, Ruth Barcan, 100-1
+Mass term, 127, 134; see also Gold, Water
+Materialism, 23, 144n, 147-8, 155; see also Mind-body identity thesis
+Mental state (property, event), see Mind-body identity thesis
+Metal, concept of, 117-18; see also Gold, Natural kinds
+Metaphysical notion, see Necessity, Necessary a posteriori truth
+Meter, 54-6, 63, 75-6, 96n, 107, 135
+Mill, John Stuart, 20, 26-8, 127-128, 134-5
+Miller, Richard, 95n, 163
+Mind-body identity thesis, 23, 98-100, 144-55; and Cartesian dualism, 155n; concerning particular states, 144, 146-8; concerning person and body, 144-6; concerning types of state, 144, 148-55
+Mind-body problem, 23, 155n; see also Mind-body identity thesis
Modality de re, see Essential properties; scepticism about, 39-53
+Modal logic, see Possible worlds
+Molecular motion, 98-9, 129, 131-3, 138, 148-54
+Moses, 31, 33-4, 58-9, 61, 65-7
+Mythical entities, 24, 156-7, 163; see also Fictional entities, Legendary characters
+Nagel, Thomas, 144n, 147n
+Name, 'common name', 127; 'general name' (Mill), 127, 134; proper, see Proper names; 'singular name' (Mill), 127, 134; see also Natural kinds, Natural phenomena
+'Nancy', 116n
+Napoleon, 28, 96, 162
+Nations, relation to individuals, 50
+Natural kinds, 116-29, 134-44, 156-7, 162; see also Essential properties, Fixing the reference of a term; also Gold, Tigers, etc.
+Natural phenomena, 98, 116, 129-40, 148-55; see also Essential properties, Fixing the reference of a term; also Heat, Light
+Necessary a posteriori truth, 35-8, 158-60; and essential properties of individuals, 47, 49-50, 110-15, 126-7, 140-2; and identity statements between names, 100-5, 107-10, 140-4; and mathematics, 35-8, 103, 141, 143, 159-60; and mind-body identity thesis, 144-55; and natural kinds and natural phenomena, 122-6, 128-34, 137-8, 140-55; and qualitatively identical epistemic situation, 103-5, 141-4, 150-3
+Necessary property, see Essential properties
+Necessity, 3-5, 34-57, 58-78 passim, 97-115, 122-60, 164; of composition, 47, 50-3, 113-115, 126-7, 141-2; de re, see Essential properties, Modality de re; of identity, see Identity; logical, 35, 41; as a metaphysical notion, 34-9, 122-3, 135, 158-60; of origin, 110-115, 140-2, 155n; physical, 35, 99, 125, 164; see also Contingent a priori truth, Necessary a posteriori truth
+Neptune, 79n, 96n
+Newton, Isaac, 95, 97, 163
+Nine, number, 40, 48
+Nixon, Richard, 40-9, 51-3, 115n
+Nozick, Robert, 88n
+Onassis, Aristotle, 8-9
+Optical illusion, and gold, 118; and tigers, 120-1
+Origin, necessity of, 110-15, 115n, 140-2
+Ostension, 28, 96-7, 115n, 135; see also 'Baptism', initial, Demonstratives
+π, 60
+Pain, 98-9, 144, 146-55
+Peano, G., 84-5, 88-9
+Person, and identity with body,
Person—cont.144-6; see also Mind-body identity thesis
+ Phosphorus (planet), 20, 28-9, 80n, 98, 100-5, 108-10
+ Photons, 98-9, 116, 129, 130, 132, 153
+ Physical phenomena, see Natural phenomena
+ Polywater, 129
+ Possible but non-actual individuals, 158
+ Possible worlds, 1-164 passim; and the actual world, 16-20, 113, 115n; correct and incorrect conceptions of, 15-20, 43-53, 76; identity 'across', see 'Transworld identification'; and probability, 16-20; and semantics for modal logic, 3, 15n, 19n, 43, 48n, 59n, 158; stipulated, not discovered, 44, 49
+ Postmaster General of the United States, first, 98-9, 145
+ Proper names, correct picture of reference of, 91-7, 98-164 passim; description theory of, see Description theory of proper names; in epistemic contexts, 20-1; in fiction and legend, 66-7, 93, 96-7, 157-8, 163; 'homonymous', 7-10; and identity statements, see Identity, necessity of; as rigid designators, see Rigid designators; and scope distinctions, 10-14, 61-2; shift of reference of, 93-7, 163-4; and sortals, 115n; and terms for
natural kinds and natural phenomena, 127-8, 134-5, 162; see also under individual proper names
Properties, contingent (accidental) used to fix reference, see Contingent a priori truth, Fixing the reference of a term; dispositional, 140n; essential, see Essentialism, Essential properties; mental and physical, see Mind-body identity thesis; necessary, see Essentialism, Essential properties; 'pure', 128n; used originally to identify a natural kind, 118-22, 124-6, 128-9, 137-8, 156
Psychophysical identification, see Mind-body identity thesis
+ Putnam, Hilary, 23n, 122-3, 125
Quale, 128; see also Mind-body identity thesis
Qualities, primary and secondary, 140
Quantified modal logic, see Possible worlds
Quantum mechanics, 45n
Queen, the, 110-13, 141
Quine, W. V., 29n, 40, 100-1
Referent, of a description, 24-6, 86n; of a proper name, see
Description theory, Proper names; semantic, 25n; see also Fixing the reference of a term
Referential-attributive distinction, 7n, 25n, 59n, 80n 85n, 87n
Rigid designators, 3-15, 48-9, 55-60, 61-164 passim; and alleged 'ambiguity' of definite descriptions, 6n, 59n; and contingent existence, 3, 48-9, 109-10; de jure and de facto, 21n; demonstratives as, 10n, 49n; and identity statements, see Identity, necessity of; and the mind-body identity thesis, 144-55 passim; proper names as, 4-15, 48-53, 57-63, 74-6, 102-10; and scope distinctions, 10-14, 59n, 61-2; and terms for natural kinds and phenomena, 116-55 passim; variables as, 49n; see also Fixing the reference of a term
Rosser, J. B., 107
Russell, Bertrand, 5-14, 20, 27-31, 53-4, 58-60, 62, 70, 72, 87n, 88n, 97n, 101, 127, 134-5
Salmon, Nathan, 1n
Sample, initial (of a substance), 135-6, 138-9, 162
Santa Claus, 93, 97, 163
'Schmidentity', 108
'Schmidt', 84-91, 161
Scope distinction, 10-14, 59n, 61-2
Scott, Walter, 27n, 28, 32, 70
Searle, John R., 31, 61, 74-5
Self, 154, 155n; see also Person
Sensations, see Heat, Mind-body identity thesis, Pain, Yellow
Sense, Fregean, 27, 30, 59, 134
Singular term, see Definite description, General term,
Name, Proper nameSlote, Michael, 23n, 115
'Smith, George', 95-7, 163
Socrates, 29n, 68-70, 72-3
Sortal, 115n
Sound, 98, 130, 133n, 134
Species, see Natural kinds;
mythical, see Unicorns
Sprigge, Timothy, 110-11
Stalnaker, Robert, 20n
Strawson, P. F., 61, 65, 88n, 90, 92-3, 160-1
Stroud, Barry T., 158
Substance, see Natural kinds, Gold, Water
Substitutivity (of proper names), 20-1
Synonymy, see Contingent a priori truth, Fixing the reference of a term
Table (composition of), 47, 50-53, 113-15, 126-7, 141-2
Temperature, 129; see also Heat; boiling temperature of water, 54-6, 96n
Theoretical identification, 98-100, 116, 128-43; and mind-body identity thesis, 148-55
Tigers, 119-21, 127, 134, 137-8, 156-7
'Topic-neutral' language, 147
'Transworld identification', 15-20, 42-53, 76-7
Tully, 20, 98, 100-1, 107-8; see also Cicero
Twain, Mark, 113
Type-type identity (and mind-body identity thesis), 144, 148-55
Unicorns, 24, 157-8
United Nations, The, 26
Venus, 28, 100-5; see also
Hesperus
Water, boiling temperature of,
54-6, 96n; molecular structure
of, 99, 116, 126-9, 134, 148,
150
Whales, 138
Wiggins, David, 3, 145n
Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 31, 33,
54, 66
Yard, 76
Yellow, 118-19, 128n, 134, 140n
Ziff, Paul, 32, 80, 119-20
+