Vol. III, May 1992

EPISTEME

A Journal of Undergraduate

Philosophy路

Editorial Board: Chief: Nicholas K. Gracilla

David Abookire Kimberly W. Alexander Veronica Barnes Craig Bowers Bram B. Briggance Laura Marie Bruce Christopher P. Collier Nissa Copeman Hina J amelle Paul P. Rinkes

Charles Blevins Chris R. Boal Marylin Denison Fred Bonham Greear Kristina Jeanne Kruse Alex Lippincott Max Shure Brian C. Stone Andrew Zobay

Faculty Advisor: Steven Vogel Episleme is published annually by a staff of undergraduate philosophy majors al Denison University. Please direcl all inquiries lO "The EdilorsiEpisteme" Depl. of Philosophy, Denison UniversilY, Granville Ohio 43023.

Vol. ill

May 1992

CONTENTS

On Megill and The Birth of Tragedy, Aaron Bunch .............................. 1

Photography as Art in Heldegger's Philosophy, Chris Greenwald .... 13

The Necessity of Moral Marxism, Mark Van Hook ............................ 23

Aristotle's Accounts of Motion in Physics IJ and VJIJ,

David Laraway ................................................................................. 33

Are All our Readings Misreadings?: Derrida, The Flickering A

(A Look At Derrida On Interpretation), Joseph Partain ............. .43

Wittgenstcin's Employment of the Private Language Argument in

the PhilosophicalJnvestigations, William Voelker ........................ 51

The editors would Hke to express thanks to the Denison University Research Foundation, to the Denison Office of Admissions, to the Philosophy Department, and to Steven Vogel for their assistance inmaking the publication of this journal possible.

On Megill and The Birth of Tragedy Aaron Bunch

Willamette University

Introduction

Nietzsche is often viewed-and correctly I think-as a social critic, exposing the ressentiment and "life-negating" rejection of this world that lies at the heart of our Socratic and Christian heritage. The noble, healthy instinct to life shifts in favor of a plebeian; decadent denial ofthe instincts足 a' morality that despises the body as the seat of all misery and error.

Dialectics, the Socratic equation of reason-vIrtue-happiness, is a last resort in the battle against the instincts, against the noble: a case of plebeian ressentiment. This mistrust of the passions, a spurning of this life, of this world, begat a turn toward the ideal: a tum toward nothingness, a turn toward Being. Philosophers desired knowledge of the unchanging in that which changes, the necessary in what appears contingent, the eternal. The defini足 tion of Being is thus the definition of nothingness; in order for something to Be, to have Being, it must literally be no-thing. It is no great surprise then, that the philosophers never found Being, that Being never manifested itself. "'There must be mere appearance, there must be some deception which prevents us from perceiving that which has being: where is the deceiver? We have found him,' they cry ecstatically; 'it is the senses! These senses, which are so immoral in other ways too, deceive us concerning the true world'" (TI, p. 480). Essentially, that which had no-being, was no-thing, was elevated to that of the highest Being (ultimately, God), and provided the grounds for repudiating the senses, the most real thing about us, the basis of any healthy morality. 1 On Megill and The Birth of Tragedy Just as Nietzsche inscribes the metaphysical tradition within his own "life-affirming" perspective, dismantling the Platonic tradition's quest for Truth and its promise of a privileged perspective, contemporary thinkers have attempted to disempower Nietzsche's critique by subsuming it within their own metaphysical framework. Allan Megill's treatment of Nietzsche 1

See '''Reason' in Philosophy," TI, 479-484.

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inhis book Prophets 0/Extremity, is such an instance. Megill sees Nietzsche as an "aestheticist," and under that rubric appropriates Nietzsche within a metaphysical perspective that pours the foundation for his interpretation of, and objection to, Nietzsche's project. This move fails, however, not because Nietzsche's cannot be out-flanked, or redescribed, but because Megill's attempt to turn the tables on Nietzsche lacks persuasive textual support.

Megill often gets Nietzsche importantly right-there is a sense in which "aestheticist" is an appropriate label for thinkers like Nietzsche-but once Megill defines the aestheticist's position, he situates it within a world of appearance and reality, a world that gives Nietzsche's thought implications that lead Megill to reject that position. The dispute, then, hinges on how Megill situates the aestheticist space: Megill starts offon the wrong foot by wedging the aestheticist "realm" between the "really real" and "mere appearance"; caught between these two realms, Nietzsche cannot ignore, but cannot access, "reality." This notion of Nietzsche's commitment to an inaccessible reality, however, is the result of Megill's interpretation of Nietzsche's Apollo-Dionysus duality in The Birth o/Tragedy. I will argue that Megill's interpretation of Apollo and Dionysus is an unfounded over足 simplification that fails to account for what is most significant about The Birth o/Tragedy, namely, its explanation of the development of lragedy through the union of Apollo and Dionysus.

Prior to Megill's interpretation of The Birth 0/ Tragedy, his concep足 tion ofthe aestheticist already bears the seeds of his metaphysical determi足 nation of Nietzsche's text: As it is usually employed, the word aestheticism denotes an enclosure within a self-contained realm of aesthetic objects and sensations, and hence also denotes a separation from the "real world" of nonaesthetic objects. Here, however, I am using the word in a sense that is almost diametrically opposed to its usual sense. I am using it to refer not to the condition of being enclosed within the limited territory of the aesthetic, but rather to an atlempt to expand the aesthetic to embrace the whole of reality.

To put it another way. I am using it to refer to a tendency to see "art" or "language" or "discourse" or "text" as constituting the primary realm of human experience (Megill, p. 2).

In spite of the fact that Megill is using "aestheticism" to denote the broadening ofthe aesthetic to the exclusion of the nonaesthetic, rejecting the traditional sense of the term which entailed an enclosure separated from

ON MEGIT.L AND THE BIRTH OF TRAGEDY

3

reality. he nonetheless employs the aesthetic-nonaesthetic distinction to make his point; Megill places his definition of aestheticism within a perspective where the aesthetic-nonaesthetic distinction is very important.

Implicit in his conception of the aestheticist poSition is a distinction between "the primary realm ofhuman experience" and "the real world." In expanding the realm of aesthetic objects to encompass all experience, Megill neverthe­ less retains the notion ofnonaesthetic objects beyond our experience. These inaccessible nonaesthetic objects remain the measuring stick of truth, and lead Megill to see us as "cutofffrom 'things' andconfined to a confrontation with 'words' alone" (Megill, p. 2).

Megill situates himself outside ofthe aestheticist position, a move which places "truth" beyond the reach of the aestheticist. Megill, and "truth," are outside, casting a critical eyeinward on the foolhardy aestheticist who seems unconcerned with the way things really are. TIlls perspective is key to the distinction between his project in Prophets ofExtremity and the interpretations others have advanced: Foucault, Derrida, and their followers have already done much to suggest the importance of this [aestheticist] aspect ofNielzsche •s project. But they do so from inside the aestheticist perspective, and hence from a standpoint that is certainly not concerned WiUl "correctness" in interpretation. I propose here to cast a scholarly eye on the Nietzscbean beginnings of aestheticism (Mcgill, p.34).

Foucault, Derrida, and others have occupied the aestheticist perspective precisely because they deny any place to stand outside of that perspective.

Megill's position, from which he criticizes the aestheticist, is constructed from a belief in a "true" world, a world beyond all redescription, a belief aestheticists whole-heartedly deny. Megill's preoccupation with the "true" world is supposedly what distinguishes his "scholarly" view from the view of alleged "acstheticists" like Foucault and Derrida.

Megill's interpretation of the Apollo-Dionysus dualit:y in The Birth of Tragedy ultimately relegates Nietzsche to Megill's line-up of "aestheticists." According to Megill, Dionysus is the symbol of immediate vision, genuine knowledge, the "really Real." Apollo, however, is the primary realm of human experience, the veil which protects us from the harsh reality of the Dionysian. The Apollonian constructions that mediate

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our understanding never allow us a direct and unrnediated glimpse ofreality, but are nonetheless necessary for our survival. As Megill explains, Nietzsche sees immediacy as unattainable, but still desired it; he views concepts as undesirable, but also as necessary. Tbis puts him in an odd position, opposing the reduction of concepts to immediate vision and intuition, but at the same time refusing to forget vision and intuition wben dealing with the world of concepts (Megill, p. 37).

So long as we share Megill's conception ofthe Dionysian as an inaccessible reality, Nietzsche remains in a difficult position indeed: with truth out of reach, with no hope of obtaining genuine knowledge, he is confined to a frivolous, inconsequential realm of play, frolicking in Apollonian illusion.

Essential to Megill's construction ofthis dilemma is his association ofApollo and Dionysus-which he takes as tokens for a "mediate-immedi足 ate" distinction-with a parallel distinction between skepticism and cer足 tainty. To say that one is in a particular relation to the "immediate," according to Megill, is to make an epistemological claim: statements are more or less true to the extent that they tap directly into un-mediated "reality." The aestheticist's predicament, then, is cashed out in terms of a simultaneous commitment to, and refusal of, Dionysian immediacy-as足 certainty. This epistemological twist on the mediate-immediate distinction, however, is not supported by The Birth of Tragedy. Although there are several instances where Nietzsche describes Apollo and Dionysus in terms of "mediation" and "immediacy," his use of those terms does not signify a concurrent distinction between the uncertainty of mediation and the cer足 tainty of the immediate. For example: Among the peculiar art effects of musical tragedy we had to emphasize an Apollonian illusion by means of which we were supposed to be saved from the immediate unity with Dionysian music, while our musical excitement could discharge itself in an Apollonian field and in relation to a visible intennediary world that had been interposed (BT, p. 139).

While it is evident that some kind of mediate-immediate distinction is at work in this passage, Megill's conclusion that this situation has somehow cut us off from "reality" is unfounded. In fact, Megill's version of the mediate-immediate distinction is not born out by Nietzsche's use ofApollo and Dionysus in the remainder of this passage. As Nietzsche continues fTom above:

ON MEGll..L AND THE BIRTH OF TRAGEDY

5

At the time we thougbt that we had observed bow precisely through this discharge the intennediary world of the action on the stage, and the drama in general bad been made visible and intelligible from the inside to a degree that in all the other Apollonian art remains unattained. Wbere the Apollonian re足 ceives wings from the spirit ofmusic and soars, weUmsfound the highest intensification ofits powers, and in this fraternal union of Apollo and Dionysus we had to recognize the apex of the Apollonian as well as the Dionysian aims of art (BT, p. 139).

Megill's interpretation of Nietzsche' s mediate-immediate distinction as an appearance-reality distinction makes itdifficultto understand how Nietzsche could use that distinction-some kind of interaction between appearance and reality-to explain the mutual intensification of ApollOnian and Dionysian powers peculiar to Attic tragedy. The inability to account for Nietzsche's use ofthe duo to explain the development of tragedy is a serious failing ofMegiU' s interpretation, for it is the development of art, and tragedy in particular, through the union of Apollo and Dionysus that is the principal theme ofThe Birth ofTragedy.2Here, we would do well to abandon Megill's interpretation, and try to understand how, together, Apollo and Dionysus represent not only the dynamics of the dramatic dithyramb, but the tragic world-view that gave it birth.

According to Nietzsche, the ancient Greeks' acute sensitivity to what they "knew and felt [to be] the terror and horror of existence" (BT, p.42) was the origin of Attic tragedy, and could be explained most profoundly by using the symbolism of Apollo and Dionysus. The relation足 ship, however, between the horrors of existence and the Apollo-Dionysus duality is not, as Megill would have us believe, as Simple as to say that Dionysus represents this horrible reality while Apollo succeeds in covering it up. For the ancient Greeks, existence was horrible because it was, at bottom, an unbearable contradiction-a contradiction fully represented only by Apollo and Dionysus in union. In part, as intoxication, Dionysus represents the unity of all existence prior to inclividuation-tbe breakdown ofinhibltions, the loss of all existence prior to individuation (ST, p. 36). At the same time, however, this Dionysian unity is necessarily clivlded into individuals. Apollo represents the delimitation of Dionysus: "this apolheo足 2 "We now approach the real gonl of our investigation, which is dirccted toward knowledge of the Dionysian-Apollonian genius and its art product., or allensl toward some feeling for and understanding of this mystery of union" (BT, p. 48),

6

AARON BUNCH

sis of individuation knows but one law-the individual. i.e.• the delimiting of the boundaries of the individual, measure in the Hellenic sense" (BT. p. 46). Apollo and Dionysus. then, are inextricably bound together as they symbolize the primordial contradiction of existence: the fundamental knowledge of the oneness of everything exis­ tent, the conception of individuation as the primal cause of evil,

and of art as the joyous hope that the spell of individuation may be broken in augury of a restored oneness (BT, p. 74).

Dionysus is whole yet necessarily manifest through Apollonian individua­ tion; and Apollo's "illusion," the way he demarcates the individual. is al ways merely another form of the same Dionysian unity. Arising from this contradiction, tragedy provided the illusion that inspired the hope that the pain of individuation would somehow be resolved.

The tragic art inspired by the horror of existence in fact has its origin in that contradiction, and retains Apollo and Dionysus as the representatives ofits fundamental elements: the tragiC myth and the satyr chorus. 3 Tragedy' s peculiar art-effect is the result ofbeholding the Apollonian myth that grows out of the primordial unity represented by the satyr chorus. The chorus shuts out the everyday world of individuation, and lulls the tragic spectator into an identification with primordial unity-the wholeness prior to individua­ tion. But this is dangerous, since a return to everyday existence after a glimpse into the unity of everything would result in a listless, will-negating apathy towards life: nausea at individuation.4 But it is at this point that the tragic myth intervenes to halt our slide into oblivion. The Apollonian drama. the tragiC myth, is intermediary only in the sense thatitintervenes to prevent the audience of Attic tragedy from completely identifying with the primal unity that the music of the satyr chorus symbolized. When the Apollonian myth is viewed by the tragic spectator, in his susceptibility to the music of 3 "Let us recall our surprise at the chorus and the tragic hero of that tragedy, neither of which we could reconcile wilhout customs any more than with tradition-till we rediscov­ ered this duality itself as the origin and essence of Greek tragedy, as the expression of two interwoven artistic impUlses, the Apollonian and the Dionysian ... " (BT, p. 81).

4 "For the rapture ofthe Dionysian stare with its annihilation of the ordinary bounds and limits of existence contains, while it lasts, a lethargic element in which all personal experiences of the past become immersed. This chasm of oblivion separates the worlds of everyday reality and of Dionysian reality. But as soon as this everyday reality re-enrers consciousness, it is experienced as such, with nausea: an ascetic, will-negating mood is the fruit of these states ... " (BT, pp. 59-60).

ON MEGllL AND THE BIRTH OF TRAGEDY

7

the chorus and the unity it symbolIzed, it is seen in a clarity and intensity that is absent in all other strictly Apollonian art-forms. In the tragic myth, the destruction of the tragic hero both places our sympathy in the individUal, making individuation something with which we can live,S and reminds the tragic spectator of the unity that lies beneath individuation which the tragic hero prepares to join through his destruction. 6 This latter effect, the tragic myth's suggestions of a unity that lies beneath it, gives the tragic spectator the urge to tear the myth aside and behold the primordial unity. This tragic effect is what Nietzsche calls the experience of "having to see at the same time that... [one] also longed to transcend all seeing ... " (BT, p. 140). This peculiar tension has its roots in the character of existence as contradiction: intensified by the satyr chorus, the tragic myth suggests a unity beneath individuation such that the spectator wishes to get beyond the pain of individuation and behold the blissful primordial unity; the unity, however, is only manifest through individuals, and to do without the myth would be to simultaneously do without the unity-one must endure indi viduation to experience its fundamental unity.

To be sure, passages that discuss aspects of this phenomenon of "having to see but longing to get beyond all seeing," passages that ally Dionysus with a "primordial unity" hidden behind Apollo's veil, seem to support Megill's interpretation of the Apollo-Dionysus opposition as an opposition between appearance and reality: Now, ["under the charm of the Dionysian,"7] with the gospel of universal harmony, each one feels himself not only united, reconciled, and fused with his neighbor, but as one with bim, as if the veil of maya had been torn aside and were now merely fluttering in tatters before the mysterious primordial unity (BT, p.37).

Megill wants this passage to identify the Dionysian with an independent unity underlying manifold Apollonian veils, a substratum revealed after those veils have been torn aside. Central to my dispute Witll Megill is fue 5 "Thus the Apollonian tears us out of the Dionysian universality and lets us find delight in individuals; it attaches our pity to them, and by means of them it satisfies our sense of beauty which longs for great and sublime forms ... " (BT. p. 128). '''On the other hand, by means of the same tragic myth, in the person of the tragic hero, it knows how to redeem us from the greedy thirst for this existence, and with an admonishing gesture it reminds us of another existence and a higher pleasure for which the struggling hero prepares himself by means of his destruction ... " (BT, p. 125).

1 (BT, p. 37). Nietzsche's words, top of the same paragraph.

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disagreement over how to interpret Nietzsche's notion of the "primordial unity." Megill takes it to be Nietzsche's way oftalldng about the really real, the thing-in-itself. But first of all, as it has already been stressed, an interpretation that delimits and relegates Apollo and Dionysus to two separate spheres cannot account for the interaction that explains the tragic world-view andits art-form. Byinterpreting the "primordial unity" indepen­ dently of Apollonian individuation, Megill is guilty of an unwarranted abstraction; Apollo and Dionysus are meaningless without each other. And secondly, we can refer to persuasive textual support that indicates that the "primordial unity" was, for Nietzsche, only one more illusion: It is an eternal phenomenon: the insatiable will always fmds a way to detain its creatures in life and compel them to live on by means of an illusion spread over things. One is chained by the Socratic love of knowledge and the delusion of being able thereby to heal the eternal wound of existence; another is en­ snared by art's seductive veil ofbeauty fluttering before his eyes; still another by the metaphysical comfort that beneath the whirl of phenomena eternal life flows on indestructibly-(BT, pp.

109-110; myempbasis).

So, not only does Megill's interpretation of Apollo and Dionysus as appearance and reality fail to account for Nietzsche's union of that opposi­ tion to explain Attic tragedy, but it also seems that Nietzsche explicitly speaks against an interpretation ofthe primordial unity as a "thing-in-itself."

The underpinning to Megill's assignment of Apollo as mediator is the notion that somewhere beneath this world of appearance lurks the "thing-in-itself." Megill's commitment to the appearance-reality distinc­ tion, a distinction that posits the "thing-in-itself' as the standard of truth lying beneath mere appearance, casts Apollo as a mediator that obscures.

Megill's perspective sees Apollo as necessary, since we cannot bear Dionysian reality, but unfortunate because we would really like to get at the "thing-in-itself." Nietzsche. however, in rejecting the notion of the "thing­ in-itself," has no grounds to consider Apollo "necessary but unfortunate."

He makes this clear in On Truth and Lie in an Extramoral Sense, written in the same period as "The Birth of Tragedy. It is Nietzsche's treatment of concepts in OTL that Megill takes as evIdence ofNietzsche's dissatisfaction with Apollonian illusIon and his subsequent entrapment in the aestheticist' s dilemma. According to Megill, Nietzsche denies both our capacity to behold

ON MEGIlL AND THE BIRTH OF TRAGEDY

9

Dionysian immediacy and the adequacy of concepts for representing the "thing-in-itself'-in neither realm, Apollonian or Dionysian. can we hope to obtain genuine knowledge. What Nietzsche objects to in On Truth and Lie, however, is not the inadequacy of concepts to represent the "thing in itself," but the metaphysician who forgets that concepts are based on arbitrary differentiations and that the "thing-in-itself' is only the abstraction of these conventional designations from their consequences. 8 Nietzsche's point is not that we are cut off from the "thing-in-itself," but that the "thing­ in-itself" is a nonsensical and useless notion.

Megill finds Nietzsche's rejection ofthe "thing-in-itself," Nietzsche's failure to distinguish between appearance and reality, a reckless and untenable position. As Megill so clearly states: one can call everything "illusion" ifone wishes, just as one can call everything "disclosure" or "text." But this does not abolish the distinction between, say, an interpretation of the experience of being run over by a truck and the experience itself-a distinc­ tion which every language, if it is to function on something more than a purely fantastic level, mustsomehow accommexlate (Megill, p.42).

In calling for a distinction between the "interpretation" ofan experience and the expcrlcnce "itself," Megill once again draws the lines that oppose his position to fue aestheticist's. Of course. aestheticists will deny that such a distinction needs to be made. Nietzsche's point is simply that no experience occurs independently of a perspective, and hence independently of an •"That is to say, a uniformly valid and binding designation is invented for things, and this legislation of language likewise establisbes the fll'St laws of truth" (OlL, p. 81). Truth, according to Nietzsche, only exists as aconvention oflanguage. with purely practicaloriginsj it is to one's advantage to use the "true" designations in appropriate ways because they facilitate co-existence with others. "What arbitrary differentiations! What one-sided prefer­ ences, first for this, then for that property of a thing! The various languages placed side by side show that with words it is never a question of truth, never a question of adequate expression; otherwise there would not be so many languages. The 'thing in itself' (which is precisely what the pure truth, apart from any of its consequences. would be) is likewise ~omething quite incomprehensible to the creator of language and something not in the least worth striving for" (OlL, p. 82). The "thing in itself," the pure truth apart from its consequences (which is a convention of language apart from its consequences) is not worth striving for because we only use "true" designations in order to take advantage of tbeir consequences. In Megill's intelpretation, it seems he is taking Nietzsche's use of ''pure truth" in this passage to refer to a true world really "out there," not worth striving for only because we cannot attain it. In light of Nietzsche's genealogy of truth on preceding pages, however, Megill's intelpretation is less than convincing.

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AARON BUNCH

interpretation.9 One can talk about an experience "in itself' ifone wants to, butit will at best only be an abstraction from some particular experience. The aestheticist does not see a need to distinguish between trucks and interpre足 tations oftrucks; there is, fundamentally ,just one kind oftruck: the kind you don't want to get hit by. In each case of "being run over by a truck," there is someone being run over. And that person is probably just as dead as the personwho gets hitby the truck "itself." Megill, however, can 'thelp but take the notion of "interpretation" lightly, as if an interpretation were merely a mirage that fades as it approaches. From Megill's perspective, Nietzsche is cut off from reality, dancing foolishly in a realm of play at his own peril, ignoring the real world in a fanciful idealism. Some day, Megill seems to hope, that truck will come around the corner-notsome wispy interpretation of a truck, but the "Truck-itself' in all its weighty reality-and flatten a deserving Nietzsche who was playing in the middle of the street.

9 Here I am employing the distinction between "perspective" and "interpretation" pointed out in Alan Schrift's book, Nietzsche and the Question ofInterpretation. Nietzsche's "~rspecti:alism" is his re~ognition that all experiences are inextricable from a particular ~lllt of vle.w, ,?r perspective. No one has an "objective" view, a privileged perspective.

'Inte,?retahon refers t~ What each of us does with our particul ar perspective, how we assign mearung to those expenences.

ON MEGIlJ... AND THE BIRTH OF TRAGEDY

11

Works Cited Megill, Allan. Prophets ofExtremity: Niet2;£che, Heidegger, Foucault, Derrida. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985.

[BT] Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Birth o/Tragedy. Tr. by Walter Kaufmann, in liThe Birth ofTragedy" and 'The Case of Wagner". Walter Kaufmann, ed. New York: Random House, 1967.

[011..] Nietzsche, Friedrich. On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense. Tr.

by Daniel Breazeale, in Philosophy and Truth: Selections from Nietzsche's Notebooks ofthe Early 1870's. Daniel Breazeale, ed.

New Jersey: Humanities Press International, Inc., 1979.

[TI] Nietzsche. Friedrich. Twilight ofthe Idols. Tr. by Walter Kaufmann, in The Portable Niet2;£che. Walter Kaufmann, ed. New York:

Viking Press, 1954.

Schrift, Alan D. Nietzsche and the Question ofInterpretation: Between Hermeneutics and Deconstruction. New York: Routledge, 1990.

Photography As Art in Heidegger's Philosophy Chris Greenwald

Carleton College

Heidegger claims that truth is a revealing that is concomitant with concealing, and thus, the nature oftruth is "untruth." In art, and specifically in painting. truth in its fun essence is "won" through the simultaneous presentation to the observer of a revealing and a concealing. For Heidegger, this simultaneous revealing and concealing occurs when the "world" of a painting is revealed through a self-concealing medium. Photography is another form of revealing through a self-concealing medium, and thus it meets Heidegger's standards as a work of art.1 In addition. photography seems to meet more effectively than painting Heidegger's characterization of a work of art, and one can argue on this basis that photography has rendered painting archaic and outdated as means for attaining truth in the Heideggerlan sense. Contrary to this argument, Michael Zimmerman claims that Heidegger condemns photography as a false and anthropocentric means of representation. Heldegger's condemnation, however, fails to conceive the. nature of photography in light of Heidegger's own philosophy of technology, and when photography is examined in such a light, this condemnation of photography appears misleading.

Truth and Art Truth in Heidegger's philosophy is unconcealedness. and Heideg足 ger likens truth to a kind oflighting by which beings are revealed. With each being that is revealed, however, another being is concealed. As Heidegger states, "Concealment. .. occurs within what it lighted. One being places itself in front of another being, the one helps to hide another. the former obscures the latter" (OW A, p. 175), Because truth is revealing, and because all revealing involves a conceaJing, Hcidegger claims that "[trufu] in its essence, is un-truth" (OWA, p, 176), Heldegger further illustrates the essence of truth as a "primal strife" in which beings reveal and conceal I It sbould be noted that here and throughout the paper, I will be using the term "photograpby" to mean "representational photography." !realize that with advancements in the technology of film development, one can create very abstract photos that bear very little semblance to reality. "

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CHRIS GREENWALD

themselves. It is through the representation ofthis "primal strife" that truth can "happen" or be "won,.' and inhis essay entitled "The Origin ofthe Work of Art," Heidegger demonstrates how such a representation is possible in art.

In setting out his argument in the essay, Heidegger first considers art's "thingly" nature. He asserts that because there is no one human interpretation of the nature of things that is applicable to art, the "thingl y" character of an artwork should be viewed as indeterminate. In order to understand the "thingly" nature of a work of art, Heidegger believes that aU traditional interpretations ofthe nature ofthings should be held in abeyance in favor of an investigation that examines the "Being of beings." Such an investigation should examine art merely as it presents itself and focus on what Heidegger calls "[art] work's worldy nature" (OWA, p. 166). Only through such an investigation can one discover the essence of art, and when this essence is understood, one may then return to the question of the undetermined, "thingly" nature of art. 1be investigation ofthe essence of art must therefore presuppose that the nature of things is indeterminate.

After making this presupposition, Heidegger begins expl aining the way that art "works" by introducing the concepts of world and earth. World corresponds to revealing, and a world is the social and historical realm of reality that is revealed by a work of art. The world of an art work creates in the mind of the observer a broad range of possible decisions and scenarios in what Heidegger calls uthe destiny of a historical people" (OWA, p. 172).

Though world is non-objective, it defines the very being in which we conceive the objects of a work of art to exist.

Earth, on the other hand, corresponds to concealing and is what Heidegger calls "that which rises up as self-closing" (OW A, p. 177). Though Heideggerdoesnotexplicltlylinktheindeterminateconceptof"thingUncss" with the idea of a self-concealing earth, Sandra Lee Bartky argues that Heldegger's confusing language hides a subtle yet crucialllnk betwccn the two concepts. Bartky claims that just as the nature ofa thing is indeterminate, the earth is self-concealing and ambiguous. The nature of earth,like that of all things, can not be fully defined either as a Scientifically allalyzablc substance or as a useful piece ofequipment (Bartky. p. 260). As Heidegger states, earth is neither "a mass of matter deposited somewhere [nor] the merely astronomical idea of planet" (OWA, p. 167). Bartky believes that Heldegger is indirectly yet primarily concerned with the thingly aspect of a

PHOTOGRAPHY AS ART IN HEIDEGGER'S PHILOSOPHY

15

work of art when he refers to earth in "The Origin of the Work of Art." In addition. as Bartky notes, the concept of earth both encompasses and supersedes the concept ofthingliness. Thingliness. whose nature is indeter足 minate or concealed, is merely a part of "earth," which is ultimately the larger concept of a "sheltering agent" or the self-concealing of Being in general (OWA. p. 169). It does seem that Bartky is correct in thinking that Heidegger conceives of a subtle yet crucial link between the concepts of thingliness and earth simply because when one keeps this link in mind, Heidegger's argument about the nature of art is much easier to understand.

For Heidegger, art is the simultaneous representation of the two diametrically opposed forces of world and earth. World is presented in any true work of art, and he states that "[to] be a work of art is to set up a world" (OWA. p. 178). The world, however, can only be set up for the observer through some klnd of medium or thing such as the pigments and colors of a painting or the stone of a statue. When a thing is "examined" or analyzed on its own, it is, like all other "things," undetermined and self-concealing.

Heidegger believes that a thing reveals its true nature only when all preconceptions ofthingUness are dropped and one experiences the thing by "letting it Be." Such a "letting Be" is accomplished in art simp1y because the medium or "thingliness" of the art work is not analyzed by the observer. To use Heidegger's example of the Greek temple, the rock which serves as the material or "thingUness" of the temple, when analyzed on its own is seen as equipment which can be used. Viewedinthis manner, therock, as Heidegger states, "disappears into usefulness" (OWA, p. 171). But it is precisely in a work of art, such as the Greek temple, that the rock is not viewed as a piece of equipment. Rather, in the Greek temple, the rock is left to Be, and its true nature, "the massi veness and heaviness ofstone," is revealed to the observer .

Similarly, in a painting the true nature of color "comes to shine forth." The colors of a painting are not analyzed but rather simply present themselves frcc from human interpretation by creating the image of the painting in the mind ofthe observer. Heidegger's argument is somewhat weaker in the case of painting in that the medium of color, unlike the stone of a statue, is not a piece of equipment and arguably not even a "thing" at all. The important point, however, is that though an image is created by the various colors in a painting, the colors themselves do not occupy the observer's conscious足 ness. They are simply experienced and laidbare to the observer in their true, unadulterated nature.

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CHRIS GREENWALD

Keeping Bartky' s linking of earth and medium in mind, one can see the larger process of self-concealment, or "earth," as being "set forth" and revealed to the observer in a work of art. As Heidegger claims, "In setting up a world, the work [of art] sets forth the earth" (OWA,p. 171). World and earth, though diametrically opposed in their essences, are thus inextricably linkedina work ofart, and as Heidegger states, "World and earth. " are never separated. The world grounds itself in the earth, and earth juts through world" (OW A, p. 172). Heidegger refers to the opposition of the natures of world and earth as strife and believes that by simultaneously "setting up a world and setting forth the earth," a work of art instigates this strife (OWA, p.173).

For Heidegger, truth is "won" by a work of art through the instigation ofthis strife in that truth in its full sense, as both a revealing and a concealing, is simultaneously presented to the observer. In a work of art, not only is a world revealed to the observer, but the self-concealing earth is revealed as well. Thus, as Heidegger states, in a work ofart, because "beings as a whole are brought into unconcealedness and held therein, ... the unconcealedness ofbeings as a whole, or truth, is won" (OWA, p. 177). As Bartky very eloquently explains, "The struggle of world and earth, of expression and materials, in the artwork is one way in which the revealing but simul taneously concealing World-event may occur" (Bartky, p. 267). To use an example, an image is revealed to the observer of a painting. This revealing occurs, however, onI y through the observation ofthe colors ofthe painting. But in experiencing the painting and realizing its image, the observer is unaware ofthe colors themselves. The colors, though presented to and experienced by the observer, are concealed to the observer's con足 sciousness. Thus, in seeing the image of a painting, the observer simulta足 neouslyexperiences a revealing and a concealing. Through this experienc足 ing of a revealing and a concealing, truth is not necessarily intellectually comprehended, but rather, as Heidegger states, truth simply "happens."

Art And Photography

In photography, a simultaneous revealing of a world and setting forth ofa self-concealing earth also occurs. A photograph reveals a historical and social world and in so doing presents the observer with the realm of possible beings and decisions of a particular historical epoch. In Dorothea

PHOTOGRAPHY AS ART IN HEIDEGGER'S PHILOSOPHY

17

Lange's famous photograph entitled "California," a world is revealed to the observer (pollack, p. 352). The photograph reveals the world ofthe migrant fanners in California during the Great Depression in all of its despair and hopelessness. The power ofthe photograph lies in its ability to transport the observer into the world of the migrant workers and reveal the realm of that particular historical epoch in all of its possible beings and decisions. This revealing of a world, like painting, is also grounded in the medium ofcolor.2 Like the experiencing of the image in a painting, the observer of a photo足 graph is unconscious of the colors that comprise the image. The colors of a photograph, though experienced, are self-concealing. Thus, photography, like painting, reveals a world by setting forth the self-concealing earth, and truth "happens" in the Heideggerian sense of the term.

Not only does truth "happen" in photography, but it happens in a much more effective way than it does in painting. Upon close examination, the medium rather than the image of a painting can dominate one's concentration. When one stands very close to a painting, one notices the cracks due to age or the brush strokes that the painter used, and suddenly the colors that comprise the image can occupy one's mind. In examining a painting in such a way, the image created by tlle painting slips into oblivion, and tlle world created by the painting is transformed in the mind of the observer into merely an array of various pigments meshed together on a cloth canvas. The painting simply becomes a self-concealing thing, no different in nature from the self-concealing frame which surrounds it or the self-concealing wall upon which it hangs. The world of the painting disappears and thus the fragile strife between world and earth is broken.

When viewing a photograph, however, while the possibility of breaking the strife between world and earth cannot be denied, the strife is much more difficult to break. Upon close examination, the photograph remains an image and the world revealed by the photograph is not lost. The fact that the image is merely an array ofdots on photographic paper is almost impossible to observe from simply looking at the photograph, and the photograph stubbornly refuses to be seen as anything but the image itself.

This stubbornness ofthe photograph is what one refers to when claiming that a photograph is "realistic." The strife between world and earth is so acutely 21 am not using the word "color" here to mean the opposite of black and white but rather simply to mean a visual sensation of some shade of any color including black and white.

18

CHRIS GREENWALD

captured by the photograph that the untangling ofthis strife through careful observation becomes almost impossible. It is true that one could break the strife by closely observing a photograph through a magnifying glass and thus uncovering the medium underlying the image. However, much more effort is needed to break the strife ofa photograph than that ofa painting. An almost conscious determination to unravel the strife of the photograph is required. Because of this fact, photography is much more effective than painting in its ability to maintain the strife that for Heidegger is so necessary in order for truth to "happen." In this sense, photography is a higher or more advanced form of art than painting.

One might object to this claim by arguing that a photograph, unlike a painting, lacks the ability to reveal an object's "equipmental" nature and thus remains inferior to painting. This objection might stem from Heidegger' s claim that the act of imagining or seeing an actual object can in no way capture what he calls the "equipmental being of the equipment." Heidegger believes, however, that by observing a painting such as Van Gogh's depiction of a pair of peasant's shoes, one can come to experience the full equipmental being of an object in its myriad of uses. Heidegger describes Van Gogh's peasant's shoes as follows: From the dark opening ofthe worn insides ofthe shoes the toilsome tread of the worker stares forth. In the stiffly rugged heaviness of the shoes there is the accumulated tenacity of her slow trudge through the far-spreading and ever-uniform furrows of the field swept by raw wind. On the leather lie the dampness and richness of the soil. Under the soles slides the loneliness of the field-path as evening falls (OWA, p. 163).

Thus, in his depiction of the shoes, Van Gogh's creative freedom allows him to emphasize or add certain qualities of the shoes and thus reveal their full equipmental being in a way that would be impossible by simply presenting the observer with an actual pair of peasant's shoes. By claiming that photographs are mirror images or copies of actual objects, one could thus conclude that photographs, like the objects themselves, cannot reveal an object's true equipmental nature.

This objection, however, is based upon the false assumption that equates the photographic image with the object itself, an assumption that simply disregards the creative freedom of the photographer. By placing

PHOTOGRAPHY AS ART IN HEIDEGGER'S PHILOSOPHY

19

photographed objects in certain contexts and under certain lighting condi足 tions, the photographer also exercises the artistic freedom which allows him or her to capture the full equipmental nature ofequipment. A good example ofthis freedom is exhibited in Andr6 Kert6sz' s depiction ofa pipe (Kert6sz, Plate # 71). In the photograph, Kert6sz captures the simplicity and grace of the pipe's equipmental nature by placing it in a context which evokes in the mind ofthe observer the pipe's various uses. 'The glasses just below the pipe reveal the smoking of the pipe in a time of study or contemplation while the overtumedglassestotheleftrevealthecomfortaffordedbythepipeinatime of worry or distress. The careful positioning ofthe pipe in the bowl suggests the pipe as a status symbol, a sign of education and wealth and the source of pride in the mind of its owner. Thus, the photograph does not simply reveal an actuall y present pipe to the observer. Rather, the photograph, like Van Gogh's painting. captures the observer's imagination ofthe pipe in a myriad of uses and significations and consequently reveals the equipmental being of the pipe.

Photography And Technology

While Heidegger does not himself directly address the issue of photography. Michael Zimmerman argues that Heidegger believes photog足 raphy to be an expression of the false notion ofthe modern era that humans are the ultimate ground ofreality. Zimmerman claims that Heidegger chose the title "The Age of the World-Picture" with both film and photography in mind. In the modern age, Heidegger believes that humans, or what he calls "Dasein," view objects as being dependent upon themselves in order to exist. As Heidegger states, "What is, in its entirety, is now 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 Dasein, who represents and sets forth" (HeideggerinZimmerman, p. 87).

Accordingto Heidegger, instead of letting objects Be and experiencing them in their true sense, the modern outlook places humans within any world足 picture and consequently fails to recognize lhe fundamental ground of beings in Being.

Zimmerman argues that Heidegger thinks that photography is an aspect of what Zimmerman calls "the technological drive to make every足 thing wholly present, unconcealed, available for use" (Zimmerman, p. 86).

According to Zimmerman, the camera has a "point of view" which is, as

20

CHRlS GREENWALD

Zimmerman states, "the position taken on things for the purpose of making them reveal themselves in ways satisfactory to the one doing the re足 presenting" (Zimmerman, p. 87). Thus, Zimmerman claims that Heidegger believes photography to be the epitome of the modem mind-set The photographerpicks and chooses his orher reality as heor she sees fit. Reality is viewed as a ready-made object, and in deciding what to photograph, the photographer chooses which reality he or she should recreate. The reality presented in the photograph is thus dependent upon the photographer's discretion, and this subject-dependent view ofreality reflects the very mind足 set of modernity that wrongly assumes that human consciousness is the fundamental ground for the existence of other beings. Thus, according to Zimmerman, Heidegger argues that the subject-dependent perspective of photography ignores the truth that all beings, including Dasein, are ulti足 mately grounded in Being (Zimmerman, p. 87).

Heidegger's argument, however, irOnically stems from the failure to view photography in light of Heidegger's own vision of technology} Heidegger believes that in the modern, technological age, Dasein has become estranged from its essence as the thatness ofBeing. Dasein views reality as a commodity at its disposal, and Heidegger refers to reality regarded as a commodity by the term "standing reserve." When reality is treated by Dasein as "standing reserve," Dasein sees the existence of reality as being dependent upon its own existence. Thus, as Heidegger states, in the current technological age, humans have lost touch with the truth that their essence is grounded in Being because "it seems as though [humans] everywhere and always encounter only [themselves]" (QCT, p. 308).

The solution, for Heidegger, is not to forsake technology but rather to adopt a new mind-set towards technology. Dasein must realize that it is Being and not Dasein's own creative resourcefulness that is the ultimate driving force behind the emergence of technology. Rather than regarding "technology as an instrument" by which Dasein has ingeniously gained control over its environment, Heidegger believes that Dasein must view technology as "the destining of a revealing" (QCT, p. 314). Technology is destined by Being as a way in which Being reveals itself to Dasein. Only by conceiving technology in this way can Dasein transcend the anthropocentric 3 By calling the argument against photography "Heidegger's argument," I am assuming that Zimmerman's presentation of Heidegger's views on photography is accurate.

PHOTOGRAPHY AS ART IN HEIDEGGER'S PHILOSOPHY

21

view that it is the ultimate source of technology and that world is merely a ready-made "standing reserve" awaiting human conunand. With a different outlook toward technology, Dasein will retain its essence as grounded in Being without having to completely forsake the revealing of Being as well as the many practical benefits that technology provides.

Paradoxically, if one applies this conception of technology to photography, Heidegger's argument that photography epitomizes the an足 thropocentric mind-set of the modem age appears misleading. By adopting Heidegger's notion that technology is the destined revealing of Being. the camera is no longer viewed as an aspect of human genius by which human beings have mastered the ability to re-create reality. Rather, the camera's ground in Being is recognized. The camera is viewed as being destined by Being to reveal Being. Seen in such a manner, the photograph is not the recreation of reality by human beings. On the contrary, the photograph, in its essence, is produced by Being in that it is destined by Being. It can not be denied that humans play a role in producing the camera as well as the photograph, and Heidegger does not ignore the fact that humans, or Dasein as the "thatness of Being," are essential for the revealing of being to occur.

However, Heidegger believes that Dasein and consequently the products of Dasein are ultimately grounded in Being. While it is true that a photographer selects the aspect of reality of which he or she takes a photograph, this selecting should not be equated with the creation of a reality. On the contrary, the selecting of an object to photograph should be viewed as being similar to what occurs when a painter decides upon the subject ofhis or her painting. The photographer selects but does not create, and the distinction between the two concepts is critical in avoiding Heidegger's misconception about photography.

Conclusion Many would agree that photography has had a profound impact on the history of painting, but probably few would recognize the fact that photography has in fact rendered painting obsolete as aform of art. Now that reality can be so effectively represented by the photograph. modern painting has begun exploring different and more abstract ways of representing' reality. Viewing art in the Heideggerian sense, one could argue that these new directions which painting has taken represent the confusion of painters

22

CHRIS GREENWALD

trying to salvage what remains of their archaic mode of representation now that its viability has been so completely shattered by the development of photography. Indeed, as Zimmerman indicates, Heidegger argues that modem painting in all of its concern with subjective interpretation is the unfortunate expression of the anthropocentric mind-set of the modern, technological era (Zimmerman, p. 237). What Heidegger does not seem to realize is that painting has not merely gone astray, but rather that it has been superseded by an art form which is far superior in its ability to capture the essence oftruth. Not only would a new conception of technology make this fact more obvious, but conversel y, through an understanding of the essence of photography as art, one may be making the first steps toward the new conception of technology that Heidegger believes to be so essential in Dasein's overcoming its estrangement from Being.

Works Cited Bartky, Sandra Lee. "Heidegger's Philosophy of Art," in Heidegger: The Man and the Thinker. Thomas Sheehan, ed. Chicago: Precedent Publishing, 1981. 257-274.

[OWA] Heidegger, Martin. "The Origin of the Work of Art," in Martin Heidegger: Basic Writings. David Farrell Krell, ed. New York: Harper Collins, 1977. 149-187.

[QCT] Heidegger, Martin. "The Question Concerning Technology," in Martin Heidegger: Basic Writings. David Farrell Krell, ed. New York: Harper Collins, 1977.283-318.

Kertesz, Andr~. Andre Kertesz: Diary ofLight 1912-1985. New York: Aperture, 1987.

Pollack, Peter. The Picture History ofPhotography: From the Earliest Beginnings to the Present Day. London: Thames and Hudson, 1963.

Zimmerman, Michael E. Heidegger's Confrontation With Modernity.

Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990.

The Necessity of Moral Marxism

Mark Van Hook

Calvin College

Note to Readers: This paper is an abridgment a/the secondhalf0/alarger paper titled "The Possibility andNecessity ofMoralMarxism. " In theftrst halfofthat paper I attempt to show that the central concepts ofMarxism do not rule out reference to moral principles.

The problem of morality and evaluations is a difficult but central one in Marxist thought. On one hand, Marx did and Marxists do make scathing criticisms of capitalism and other socia-economic arrangements, and propose that we replace them with the better arrangement of commu足 nism. This assessment of social reality and the preference for one arrange足 ment over another seems to require an appeal to some moral standard. On the other hand, important elements of Marxist theorizing seem to exclude such an appeal to moral principles. The concepts of ideology and historical materialism appear to imply that a Marxist must regard all talk of universal. objective moral standards as ideological illusion. Marxism seems to both require and prohibit the use of morality in making evaluations.

Some Marxists have sought to resolve this tension by developing an anti-moral Marxism. Allen Wood and others who take this approach seek to show that evaluations inherent in Marxist thought are not morally based, but rather are based on a collection of non-moral goods. Therefore, anti-moral Marxists tell us, no reference to moral standards is necessary.

In this paper I hope to show that the anti-moral model of Marxism is inadequate in accounting for the evaluations that Marxism makes, and then briefly outline some morally based models that I think are more effective. I will begin by stating the common ground between both moral and anti-moral Marxists, specifically that Marxism requires an evaluative perspective with certain characteristics. Then I will deal with some anti足 moralist attempts to prove that this perspective need not refer to moral principles, and show why those attempts fall. I will conclude by sketching out some moralist evaluative perspectives that I think are original and promising.

MARK VAN HOOK

24

Marxism's Evaluative Perspective It is impossible to deny thatMarx made sweeping value judgements

and that those valuejudgements are central to the Marxist system ofthought.

Marx clearly regarded some social arrangements to be superior to others and advocated activity which would make the world "better." What is not clear is on what basis, or compared to what standard, Marx and Marxists can make such evaluations.

A consistent Marxist evaluative perspective must contain several elements. First, it must provide some standard or criteria for comparing types of social relations and making judgements about which of these systems is best, or at least better than another. These evaluations are an integral part of Marxist thought. For instance, Marxism clearly states that relations ofproduction in which the laborer is not alienated from the object ofhis labor are preferable to those relations in which there is alienated labor.

Any Marxist evaluative perspective must account for this preference.

A Marxist evaluative perspective must also include some kind of normative ethical principles. It is not enough to claim that one set of social relations is better than another; the Marxist must also be committed to taking an active and effective role in changing society to the preferred relations of production. To paraphrase Marx, the important thing is not merely under足 standing the world but changing it (Marx, p. 158). Thus any conSistently Marxist evaluative perspective will show us not only why we oughtto prefer OJle set of social relations over another but also why we should bother ourselves to bring the better society about.

The Inadequacy of Anti-Moralist Evaluative Perspectives

Anti-moral Marxists have sought to meet these requirements for an evaluative perspective in ways that do not require reference to, or use of, transcendent moral principles. In the light of their arguments that it is impossible to consistently hold both Marxist antl moral points of view, their reasons for wanting not to refer to morality are obvious. l Allen Wood gives one such argument for a non-moral Marxist evaluative perspective. Wood claims that Marx's and the Marxist perspec足 tive can be classified as "moral" inthe very broad sense ofbeing far reaching 1

These are dealt with in the first halfof the larger paper and cannot be summarized here.

TIm NECESSITY OF MORAL MARXISM

25

views about human well-being, butnotin the more proper sense ofthe word, which designates what we ought to do or value, as opposed to what we do or value simply because it is inherently satisfying. 2 He thinks that this is the same sort of distinction that Kant and Mill make between moral and non足 moral goods. 3 Wood next claims that Marx and Marxists base their evaluative perspective on non-moral goods, such as self-actualization, health, security, comfort, community, and fteedom. 4 1he implication of Wood's argument here is that these things are good. and social relations that prevent or restrain them bad, simply because these things satisfy us. Therefore no reference to transcendent moral goodness is needed. All social arrangements can be assessed as relatively good or bad to the degree that they allow for and facilitate these non-moral goods.

There are several problems wIth the Simplistic definition of moral and non-moral that Wood gives here. Many human actions seem to satisfy his criteria for both moral and non-moral motivations. For example, I may choose to eat more nutritious food both because it will make me feel better and because I think it is a moral imperative for me to take care of my body.

Wood's distinction gives us no rellable way of determining whether eating nutritiously is a moral or non-moral good.

In many cases, Wood's criteria for determining moralness are dependent on each other. A moralist will find many actions and evaluations to be inherently satisfying because they are moral, and a hedonist might very well think that inherently satisfying activities and evaluations are morally correct by virtue of the satisfaction they provide. If Wood is to be successful in claiming that the evaluative perspective of Marxism can rest on reference to principles of non-moral good, he must first provide an effective criterion for distinguishing moral and non-moral goods.

Wood might answer by saying that we can use the distinctions made by other philosophers such as Kant, Mm, and Hegel to determine what sorts of "goods" are moral or non-moral. In several places he does rely on those distinctions to show how the Marxist perspective differs from a moral one.S Wood, Allen. Karl Marx. New York, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1989.

Karl Marx, p. 129. ~ Wood, Karl Marx, p. 127.

5 Wood, Allen. "Marx on Right and Justice: a Reply to Husami," Philosophy andPubli~ Affairs. VoI. 8, 1978-79. p. 284-87.

2

3 Wood,

MARK VAN HOOK 26 1bis seems like a promising avenue, because both Kant's and Mill's ideas of the non-moral are much more refined and definitive than the one Wood gives. But that very refinement presents another problem.

Both Kant and Mill thought that non-moral goods were limited to immediate self-interest or satisfaction. 6 But a Marxist evaluative perspec足 tive must give us some reason for taking actions that deny, or at least postpone, individual satisfaction. Wood's own Class Interest ThesIs states that a consistent Marxist must adopt the interests of the proletarian class, not pursue one's own individual interests.7 It may be that the two interests ultimately converge, but the non-moral goods that Kant and Mill specify give us no reason to postpone our satisfaction until the class interests of the proletariat are victorious. Ifnon-moral goods are to serve as the basis of the Marxist evaluative perspective, then Wood must show that some principle of self-denial or communal interest is a non-moral good.

It seems to me that the only way of showing the diverting of one's own interests to be "good" is by saying that one ought to do so. That would,

by Wood's definition, makeit a moral good. Thus, any consistently Marxist evaluative perspective must contain reference to atleastone moral principle.

Similar problems come up in trying to explain concepts such as self足 actualization, freedom, and community as non-moral goods. The category of non-moral goods that Kant and Mill had in mind is too narrow to accommodate these ideas, and no alternative definition of moralness had been presented that is precise enough to be useful.

There is still another problem with Wood's attempt to base the Marxist evaluative on non-moral goods. If to be non-moralistic means not to make use of the word "ought," then there can be no ethically normative principles for an anti-moralist. Yet the Marxist evaluative perspective requires some such normative principles to tell us why we ought to change society. Therefore, it seems that Wood's or any other anti-moral evaluative perspective will fall short of what is required by the MarxIst evaluative perspective.

Wood may be able to say that the mostinherently satisfying activity for a human being is to take historically effective action directed at changing the economic basis of society, but that is quite a different thing Ihan saying 'Wood, Karl Marx, p. 129.

7 Wood, Allen. "Justice and Class Interests," Philosophica, Summer, 1989. p. 19.

TIIE NECESSrrY OF MORAL MARXISM

27

that all people ought to take that action. This becomes clear when we imagine that someone disagrees with Wood's assessment of what is most satisfying. Such a person might claim that the most inherently satisfying activity for a human being is to sit on a couch and watch television. Marxists must, ifthey are to remain faithful to their revolutionary project, say that this person was not acting rightly, because on the Marxist account humans ought to be taking effective action to change society. But Wood has no basis for making that judgement. If he claims that the television watcher is incorrect and ought to be pursuing the non-moral goods of community, comfort, and self-actualization, the pursuit of non-moral goods has become a moral imperative. just as it does in Mill's philosophy.8 If Wood claims that the pursuit of non-moral goods is part ofhuman nature, then he must either show that all people agree on what are the most inherently satisfying activities, or that those who do not agree with his own definition are wrong or irrational.

The first option flies in the face of the central Marxist concepts of class conflict and historical change. The second option reduces Marxism to little more than an extremely rationalistic conception of human nature, and contradicts the Marxist thinking about ideology and materialism.9 Wood's attempt to construct an evaluative perspective based on non-moral goods does not yield a result which meets all ofthe demands set out earlier for what a consistently Marxist perspective must do. This implies that a morally based evaluative perspective is needed,l 0 and that anti-moral Marxism is inconsistent with the demands of Marxism itself. However, which moral prinCiples Marxists should incorporate into their evaluative perspectives is not readily apparent. There are a number of moralist evaluative perspectives which meet the requirements for a Marxist evalua­ tive perspective.

• Wood, Karl Marx, p. 130.

9 Buchanan. Allen E. Marx and Justice: The Radical Critique ofLiberalism. Totowa, N.J., Rowman &. Littlefield, 1982, p. 34¡5.

10 Or that Marxism is a self contradictory system of thought that prohibits the use of moral principles and therefore can never hope to have the consistent evaluative perspective that it claims to have. I have addressed this possibility in the part of the paper not included bere, where I argue that while the Marxist concept of ideology will make us suspicious of moral arguments and claims, nothing in the central concepts of Marxism prohibits the possibility of appealing to transcendent moral principles.

MARK VAN HOOK

28

Some Moral Marxist Evaluative Perspectives

One such morally based Marxist evaluative perspective is sug足 gested by G. A. Cohen. Cohen claims that Marxists ought to evaluate social arrangements in relation to how well they protect and encourage certain natural rights ofhuman beings. In his view. Marxists have done themselves a disservice by completely discounting the idea that humans have certain natural rights that cannot morally be denied them. In reacting against Robert Nozickand other writers who use the "natural right" to hold private property as a defense of capitalist SOciety. Marxists have traditionally denied that there are any such things as natural rights, and claimed that all talk of such rights is merely an ideological justification of the dominant class interests in any given society. Cohen suggests that to be consistently Marxist we oughtnot deny the existence of natural rights, but rather show that the natural rights ofhumans are something quite different from what Nozick and other apologists for capitalism have claimed. Instead of stating that all indi viduals have the right to hold private property, Marxists should assert that all of humanity has the inalienable right to hold property in common, to be free from exploitation, and to live in a society free from class conflict. I I Cohen says that we come to know what the natural rights of human beings consist of through a process of intuitional rationalizing. Through moral reflection we can all come to see what rights we are entiilcd to, because the raw material for the moral principle of natural rights can be found in every rational human being. 12 Cohen has been criticized for putting too much faith in the intuitive rationality ofhumans. Nielsen claims that ifwe take the Marxist conception of ideology seriously, we will see that each individual who intuitively rationalizes about whatthe natural rights ofhuman beings are will inevitably come up with a system that favours his or her own class interests. 13 I agree with Nielsen on this point, but I also think that this process that Cohen calls "intuitive rationalizing" caneffectivelybereplaced by amateriall y undistorted II

Cohen, G.A. "Freedom, Justice, and Capitalism," New

Left Reyjgw April 1981

p. 91.-8; Nielsen, Kai. "Marxist Inunoralism and Marxist Moralism," Philosophy and Publk

Affiim. Summer 1989, p. 224-1.

12 Cohen, "Freedom, Justice, and Capitalism," p. 98-103; Nielsen, "MarxistImmoralism and Marxist Moralism," p. 228.

13 N'IeIs en, ''M arxtst . ImmoraI'Ism and Marxlst . Moralism," p. 228-30.

TIlE NECESSITY OF MORAL MARXISM

29

deliberation, in the Rawlsian tradition, that wouldeliminate the bias towards favouring one's own class interests when thinking about what natural rights come to be.

Kai Nielsen, Derek Allen, and many others have done a good deal of writing to construct a Utilitarian evaluative perspective for Marxists.1 4 They claim that the best way for a Marxist to evaluate social relationships is the degree to which they promote the greatest common good. The "goods" themselves need not be moral ones, just as Mill and Wood claimed they were not. But the pursuit of the greatest amount and degree of these non-moral goods for the largest number of people is a moral imperative, according to Utilitarian Marxism. On this basis, Utilitarian Marxists tell us that we ought to bring about a society in which the greatest common good is realized, namely communist society.

I agree with Miller that certain elements of Utilitarian morality seem difficult to mesh with central Marxist ideas about human nature. Given the Marxist understanding of the economic basis of society and of class conflict, it seems that it would be very difflcultto identify a set of "goods" that would be applicable across all class distinctions, or that a reliable and non-biased standard of measurement for what does, or does not, promote the common good of all people could be developed. IS However, it is possible that the Utilitarian principle could be modified to eliminate these inconsistencies (a."l Nielsen attempts to do in "Marxism and the Moral Point of View"), and also the problems I alluded to about defining self-actualization and community as non-moral goods.

Harry Vander Linden and Allen Buchanan have both advocated a Marxist evaluative perspective based on Kant's ethical theory.1 6 Such a perspective would take the familiar categorical imperative. to act in such a way that you might reasonably wish that all others would act in the same way, as its highest moral principle. Social arrangements could be assessed as good or bad to the degree that the economic structure allowed and encouraged people to act in conformity with this principle. In this case the 14 Miller, Richard. Analyzing Marx: Morality, Power, and History, Princeton, N.J., Princeton University Press, 1988, p.35-41; Nielsen, KaL "Marx and the Moral Point of View," American Philosophical Quarterly, October 1987, p. 294-307.

IS Miller, Analyzing Marx, p. 38-40.

16 Buchanan, Marx and Justice, p.33-35; Vander Linden, Hmy. "Marx and Morality: An Impossible Synthesis?" Theory and Society, January 1984, p.133-5.

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MARK VAN HOOK

Marxist would need to show that all people, if they were properly informed and reasoned correctly, would wish that others would act to bring about a communist society. If this could be shown successfully, then it would become morally imperative for all people to work for the transformation of society into communism.

This brief list is not intended to be exhaustive of all workable, morally based evaluative perspectives for Marxists. My purpose in this paper is not to advocate one particular form of moral Marxism, but rather to show that a proper understanding of Marxism will show that it requires the grounding of moral principles, and that several plausible systems of moral Marxismdo exist I do not think that every Marxistmust hold the same moral principle in order to be consistent with the basic insights of Marxism, only that every Marxist needs to have some moral basis from which to make judgements.

Nor do I think that the Marxist system implies one particular set of moral prinCiples. This is not to say that any moral principle will function in the Marxist system without contradiction; some types of moral principles, such as Nozick's natural rights theory, are clearly excluded. What I am claiming is that there are a variety of plausible moralistic evaluative perspectives for Marxists, including the three options I have summarized above, and the question of which one of them is "best" cannot be answered simply by an examination of the central concepts of Marxism.

While all Marxists would agree with me that there is a very defini tc evaluative perspective inherent to Marxism, many, such as Allen Wood, want to claim that this perspective need not, and should not, be a moral one.

Their attempts to construct such a non-moral evaluative perspective for Marxists fall short of what a consistently Marxist perspective must do.

Marxists are thus confronted with the necessity of moral Marxism, and with the challenge of constructing this morally based perspective in such a way that it does not conflict with the critique of moral beliefs that is central to Marxist social theory.

TIm NECESSITY OF MORAL MARXISM

31

Works Cited Buchanan, Allen E. Marx and Justice: The Radical Critique ofUberal颅 ism. Totowa, N.J.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1982.

Cohen, G.A. "Freedom, Justice, and Capitalism," New Left Review, April 1981. p. 89-108.

Marx, Karl. Selected Writings. David McLellan, ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.

Miller, Richard W. Analyzing Marx: Morality, Power and History.

Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984.

Nielsen, Kai. "Marxism and the Moral Point of View," American Philo路 sophicaJ Quarterly, October 1987. p. 294-307.

Nielsen, Kai. "Arguing about Justice; Marxist Immoralism and Marxist Moralism," Philosophy and Public Affairs, Summer 1989. p.212-235.

Vander Linden. Harry. "Marx and Morality: An Impossible Synthesis?"

Theory and Society, January 1984. p. 119-135.

Wood, Allen. Karl Marx. New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1989.

Wood, Allen. "Justice and Class Interests," Pltilosopltica, Summer 1984. p.9-32.

Wood, Allen. IIMarx on Right and Justice: A Reply to Husami," Philoso路 pity and Public Affairs, Vol. 8, 1978-1979. p. 267-295.

Aristotle's Accounts of Motion in Physics II and VIII

David Laraway

Brigham Young University

In the second book of the Physics, Aristotle distinguishes between natural objects and others. Speaking of natural things, he says: Each of them bas within itself a prinCiple of motion and of stationariness.... On the otherhand, abed and acoatand anything else ofthat sort, qua receiving these designations-i.e. insofar as they are products of art-have no innate impulse to change.

(Phys. n.1.192b14-19) ThediscussiontakesquiteadifferenttuminBookEight.Speakingofanimal motion, Aristotle tells us: ... they are unmoved at one time and then again they are in motion, as it seems. We must grasp the fact, therefore, that animals move themselves onlywith one kind ofmotion (locomo足 tion), and that this is notstncUy originated by them. The cause of it is not derivedfrom the animal itself.... (Phys. VITI.6.259b6-8; emphasis added) What are we to make of these accounts? In the first, Aristotle seems simply to equate nature with "self-change" and he explicitl y lists" animals, and their parts ... and plants and the simple bodies" (earth, fire, air, water) as examples (see Phys. II.1.192b8-1O). But the second passage apparently confuses the picture. In Charlton's words, "It is a central thesis of Phys. VIII tllat nothing changes itself, that whatever is subject to change is changed by something else" (Charlton, p. 91).

Does the apparent inconsistency of these two passages make a strong case for taking them to reveal two incommensurable hypotheses? Or can they, on the other hand, be read together as merely different (possibly progressive) accounts of motion that are fundamentally consistent? In this paper, I wish to suggest that Aristotle's different theories of natural motion are grounded in attempts to answer separate questions and that they can only be made fully inteUigible by reco gnizing their place in distinct developmen足 tal systems.

The De Caelo, regarded by most scholars as one of Aristotle's earliest physical treatises, furtller draws out the definition of natural motion as "self-change" that we sawin Physics II. The second chapter of the De Caelo contains this discussion of the principle of movement of natural bodies:

34

DAVID LARAWAY Let us take this as our starting point. All natural bodies and magnitudes we hold to be, as such, capable of locomotion; for nature, we say, is their principle of movement.... Bodies are either simple or compounded of such; and by simple bodies I mean those which possess a principle of movement in their own nature. (De Caelo 1.2.268b15-28)

Natural bodies, on this view, are those which are able to move themselves under their own power. Motion is not further analyzed down into more basic terms. Such a view squares nicely with much of the doctrine that character足 izes the Organon and (what are generally assumed to be) Aristotle's earlier works in general. Compare this account with the following discussion of substance in the Categories: "Substance, in the truest and most definite sense of the word, is that which is neither predicable ofa subject nor present in a subject; for instance, the individual man or horse" (Cat. 5.2all-13). 1his view of substance as an "organic unity" (e.g. a particular manor horse) lends itselfnicely to such a straightforward account of motion. No reference to the exterior movers or the hylomorphism that characterize his more mature physical works is required.

Further passages in the De Caelo bear out this view. Later in that same chapter, Aristotle shows that ... there must naturally be some simple body which revolves naturally and in virtue of its own nature with a circular move足 ment. By constraint, of course, it may be brought to move with the motion of something else different from itself, but it cannot so move naturally, since there is one sort ofmovement natural to each of the simple bodies. (De Caelo 1.2.269a6-9; emphasis added)

Although Aristotle is concerned with showing in the first book of the De Caelo that the "fifth element" has a principle ofmotion within itself, he also implicitly shows motion to be the natural power of a thing to change itself.

No hint of his form/matter distinction nor any sort of reference to any unmoved mover as he envisions it in Book Eight ofthe Physics is needed to round out his account. W.K.C. Guthrie sums up von Arnim's appraisal ofthe situation in this way: The idea is that, as described in De Caelo, the revolving sphere of aether has the principle of its motion entirely within itself, that it is impossible that A. could have described it as he docs there if be bad already worked out in his mind the doctrine of an unmoved mover as the ultimate source of motion. (Guthrie, p. 164)

ARISTOTI..E'S ACCOUNTS OF MOTION

35

Now, Guthrie disagrees with von Arnim about the commensurability of the unmoved mover hypothesis with a model of motion Uke the one Aristotle describes in the first book of the De Caelo. On Guthrie's view, Aristotle's accounts of motion can, in fact, be read on a developmental continuum and he denies that they are self-contradictory in any meaningful way. This is an important question but one which I shall have to return to. At any rate, it is importantto note that for both, theunmoved moverof Book Eighthad no sort of essential role to play in the physics of motion of De Caelo.

The De Caelo passages I have mentioned serve to illustrate a point upon which there is widespread convergence among commentators. Harold Cherniss reports that Moreau and w.n. Ross (as well as Guthrie and von Arnim) fail to see the necessity of a transcendent mover in Aristotle's De Caelo account.

W.D. Ross also holds that at the time of writing the De Caelo account Aristotle still believed in self-motion but a self-motion of immanent star-souls, not of the fIfth essence itself... Moreau, who takes the De Caelo to be "animistic" in conception, asserts that the unmoved mover does not appear in this work and apparently ascribes self-motion to the principle which be says is here immanent in the universe (Cbemiss, p. 584).

What is more, certain passages in the De Caelo seem to exclude the possibility of an unmoved mover altogether. The following discussion of "divinity," for example, depends upon the idea that natural motion is

essentially simple and self-imposed: ... whatever is divine, whatever is primary and supreme, is necessarily unchangeable.... For there is nothing stronger than it to move it-since that would mean more divine--and it has no defect and lacks none of the proper excellences. Its unceasing

11Wvement. then, is also reasonable, since everything ceases to 11Wve when it comes to itsproperplace.... (De Caelo 1.9.279832足 b2; emphasis added)

The following passage, from De Coolo III, seems to indicate that there was still something left of "natural motion" even after the introduction of a prime mover: "For the prime mover must cause motion in virtue of its own natural movement, and the other bodies, moving without constraint, as they came to rest in their proper places. would fall into the order in which they now stand" (De Caelo III.2.300b21-22).

36

DAVID LARAWAY

Aristotle's developing theology in the. De Caelo seems to consis足 tently come back to the idea that motion is fundamentally self-determined.

'This is not to say that there are not passages in the De Caelo that explicitly mention an unmoved mover of the same stock as the one developed in Physics VTII and Metaphysics XII. Fairly explicit references are made to such a mover at (for example) 288a27-b7; 311a9-12; and 277b9-1O. But such references seem to be anomalies when compared with the general direction that the arguments in the De Caelo are headed. Certainly they bear more of a resemblance to the more full y-developed views ofAristotle's later physical works. Cherniss points out that von Arnim. Ross, Moreau, and Guthrie an take these references to be later additions (Cherniss p. 584). At any rate, it cannot be denied that the systematic backdrop that these passages depend on is not fully present in De Caelo. That alone gives us a prima facie reason to regard the passages as suspiciously late.

I have relied heavily upon De Caelo up to thispointto give a picture of Aristotle's earliest explanations of motion. The reason is simply that references in other early works to the problem are practically non-existent.

There is, however, a brief passage in the Analytica Posteriora that is worth considering. In the context of showing that nature often acts for both material and final causes, Aristotle says: Necessity too is of two kinds. It may work in accordance with a thing's natural tendency, or by constrain l and in opposition to it; as, for instance, by necessity a slone is borne both upwards and downwards, but not by the same necessity. (AnPo. II. 11.95al-3)

What makes this passage particularly relevant is not the fact that Aristotle refers to the "natural tendency" of a thing without mentioning any sort of external source; we have already seen many such examples in De Caelo.

What is striking is simply its occurrence in the Organon. The fact that he is not concerned with motion per se in the passage gives us a glimpse of the direction in which Aristotle's earlier thought was naturally inclined: such an intuitive view would surely have informed the more full-blooded theory he offers in De Caelo.

Charlton notes that the Greek word Aristotle uses here, horme, means something like "active striving." After citing other passages in which the same word appears, Charlton observes:

ARISTOTI..E'S ACCOUNTS OF MOTION

37

In every case... the nature involved seems to be the material elementofa thing .... This strongly suggests that be thinks that the material of a thing can be a source of change because it has an active tendency to change independent of any external cause (Charlton, p. 92).

The simplicity of the account given the De Caelo and the Analytica posteriora must have been appealing to Aristotle from a common-sense perspective. We do tend to contrast natural things with others by talking about their origins. It makes perfect sense to say that natural things are characterized by an innate capacity for change, whereas artificial products (qua artificial) are only changed by external forces (see Physics II.l.192b 12足 26). To paraphrase Aristotle's example, a tree is a natural object because it has the power of growth within itself whereas a bed or chair does not.

But how does this explanation square with the development of Aristotle's later views in the Physics? Recall, for example, the analysis of animal motion that I quoted at the outset. In Book VIII, Aristotle claims that animal motion is not strictly self-motion and that "the cause of it is not derived from the animal itself' (Phys. VllI.4.256a2-3). Indeed, itis a general thesis of Physics VllI that "all things in motion must be moved by something" (Phys. VIIIA.256a2-3). Richard Sorabji sees that dilemma like this: In Physics 2.1, his task is to distinguish natural objects from artificial ones, and he does so by saying that natural objects have an internal source of change, their nature.... Aristotle concludes that nature is an internal (en) source and cause (arkhe and aitia) of motion (kineisthai) or rest (eremein) .... But in Physics 8.4, Aristotle is constrained by an opposite consideration. In order to make room for God as that by which the heavens are moved, he has to support Plato's principle that whatever is in motion is moved by something (Sorabji, p. 219).

Sorabji points out (rightly, I think) that Aristotle seems to have different purposes in giving his distinct accounts. Sarah Waterlow expands on this idea: ... the concept of living things as self-changers figures in Physics VIII not as an item of interest in itself. but purely as a step in an argument concerned with other issues. [The discussion of] 'self足 change' [in the Physics] tells us nothing about organic sub足 stance.... It is intended to uphold a certain conclusion concerning

38

DAVID LARAWAY the ultimate source of change in the universe as a whole, and Aristotle has accordingly invested 'self-change' with no more meaning than is necessary for the discharge of this ulterior function (Waterlow, p. 216).

The point that Sorabji and Waterlow are making is Significant. Aristotle's discussion of self-change in the Physics is always informed by a greater enterprise: he wants to give an account of an eternal, unmoved source of motion. "It looks as if in the Physics he already knew the conclusion he thought right. that God, and not any celestial soul, is the prime mover, but that the tools for securing this conclusion were not available to him until he had written the de Anima and Metaphysics Book 12" (Sorabji p. 225).

With this in mind, we can piece together Aristotle's strategy by looking at the interpretation that he tried to place on his own earlier works.

In Physics VIII.4, Aristotle makes the claim that whatever is changed must be changed "by something"; he draws this point out by making a distinction between the agent and patient of motion: The fact that a thing that is in motion derives its motion from something is most evident in things that are in motion unnatu足 rally, because in such cases it is clear that the motion is derived from something other than the thing itself. Next to things that are in motion unnaturally those whose motion while natural is derived from themselves-e.g. animals-make this fact clear: for here the uncertainty is not as to whether the motion is derived from something hut as to how weought to distinguish in the thing between the movent and the thing moved. It would seem that in animals, just as in ships and things not naturally organize~ that which causes motion is separate from that which suffers motion, and that it is only in this sense that the animal as a whole causes its own motion. (Physics VIIIA.254b24-33) W.D. Ross claims that Aristotle's VIII.4 account of motion is simply a fiIling-outoftheearlier, De Cae 10 view . On Ross's interpretation, Aristotle's initial, simple equation ofmotion with an inherent capacity to change is not sufficient to demonstrate how the capacity for motion becomes fully realized. He says, "The answer which Aristotle finally reached is that capacity is realized always by the action on the potential of that which is already actual. And this he came to see to be incompatibJe with self足 movement" (Ross, pp. 98-9).

ARISTOTIE'S ACCOUNfS OF MOTION

39

Aristotle's strategy becomes more meaningful if we recall that he has by this time introduced his form/matter distinction. By replacing the simple unity of substance of the Organon with the complex version of his mature physical works, he has allowed himself to creatively redescribe motion and self-change on a new paradigm. Rather than interpret self足 change as a simple function of organic unities (e.g. "man," "horse," "tree") he Is able to further analyze the motion of even these unities into more fundamental parts. Thus, he is able to analyze the motion of. say, an animal, into a "movent" and a "thing moved." Clearly, he is playing on the ambiguity of the phrase "changed by something other" to try to find a "something other" within what he formerly took to be a simple substance. 'This is related to the point Waterlow makes when she says, "Aristotle's deliberately indiscriminate use of 'changed by something other' puts him at a strategic advantage vis-a-vis the question of what exactly we are to suppose should be meant by something's being changed 'by itself" (Waterlow, p. 207).

What, then, are we to make of this ambiguity? Should we take Aristotle to be-as Waterlow puts it-at a "strategic advantage," one that allows himto further develop an old doctrine in response to new challenges?

Or ought we to read him as making a radical break from his earlier views and attempting to combine elements of two incommensurable systems?

Waterlow argues that Aristotle is successful in his attempt. But she recognizes that she faces an immediate difficulty in trying to bring the two views together into one coherent theory. She asks: ... how can the self-change "whole" be itself a substance, if it consists in a substance plus something else? But perhaps this ought to be dismissed as a spurious paradox generated by gratuitously introducing terms like 'in addition to' and 'plus.'

Aristotle does not state, nor does he necessarily imply, that the difference must be such that the two are addible. Presumably he means that in self-change the changer and changed are not numerically different individuals. Resorting to handy words, let us say that he has in mind different aspects of the same individual

(Waterlow, p. 212).

I think that Waterlow's reading of Aristotle is charitable-perhaps too much so. The very difficulty of reconciling the doctrines of the Organon and earlier physical works with the later physical works lies in Aristotle's waffling about what even the most basic terms (such as "substance") are to

40

DAVID LARAWAY

mean. This indecision becomes particularly acute in the second book ofthe Physics where Aristotle tries to: on the one hand, (continue to) retain the common-sense idea that natural objects are those that move themselves; and, on the other hand, set up an argument designed to show (in the Metaphysics and in the I ater books of the Physics) that there must be a source of eternal motion and change which is independent of particular natural things.

Aristotle's reliance on his mature actuali ty/potentiality doctrine lllustrates this very discrepancy. As I have already indicated, Ross notes that the capacity for change "is realized always by the action of the potential of that which is already actual." And, in order to realize movement, "the mover must already be in the state which is the tenninus ofthe movement; in order to be moved, the moved must not yet be in that state" (Ross pp. 98-9; see Physics VIII.5.257a33-257b14). But, significantly, this view of actualityl potentiality differs markedly from earlier discussions in the Organon.

Daniel Graham points out that energia (or "actuality") in the Organon is not explicitly connected with hylomorphism; in fact, Aristotle makes it a point to show that energia is an activity rather that a capacity (Graham, p. 99; see Top. IV.5.125b15-9).

The "spurious paradox" Waterlow refcrs to runs more deeply than she realizes. It goes to the very heart of Aristotle's philosophy. The problem, as Graham has pointed out, is that Aristotle himself sometimes treats form and matter as separate entities; it is precisely his avowal ofhylomorphism in the later works that informs his conccption of energia as "capacity" and facilitates a complex account ofnatural motion in Book Eight ofthePhysics.

This is the very point Graham takes up in the following discussion of Aristotle's mature philosophical system-what Graham refers to as 82: According to hylomorphism the concrete substance is divisible into form and matter. This is a fundamental fact of analysis of S2: the sensible substance is a composite, not a simple individual.

The analysis seems to invite a question about the composite itsclf: which componenlmakes the substantial compound substantial?

It is form or matter? Since the sensible substance is analyzed into two components, one of them must be responsible for the sub足 stantiality of the whole .... Because Aristotle analyses the sen足 sible substance into form and matter, he assumes that it must be reduced to form and matter (Graham, p. 278),

ARIST01LE'S ACCOUNTS OF MOTION

41

Aristotle's argument for complex natural motion, hinging as it does on his latter conception of energia, or actuality, is thus bound up intimately with the logical status of form and matter in his ontology. In these terms, then, Graham goes on to recommend the same linethatWaterlow insists on: "How then should we view form and matter? It seems to me that we should take them not as components in the normal sense .... We should rather conceive of them as aspects of the sensible substance" (Graham, p. 279). However, Graham recognizes (as Waterlow does not) that such a recommendation can only stand as an after-the-fact suggestion to Aristotle. The fact remains that Aristotle does equivocate terms between the earlier works on the one hand and his more mature thought on the other. To deny this would be to affirm that the whole of the Aristotelian corpus is thoroughly consistent-surely an impossible hypothesis to defend.

So where does that leave us with respect to our original question?

I want to recommend that we go back to an observation that I made earlier.

Both the earlier and later accounts of self-change that Aristotle offers are targeted at answering different questions (or at least questions that arise in distinct contexts). The De Caelo (and otller early works as well) tried to define natural moti 0 n in relati vely simple terms; the paradigm that Aristotle worked from was the one exemplified in the Organon and referred to by Graham as S1-what Graham takes to be Aristotle's earlier philosophical system (see Graham 1987). The Physics account (after Book Two) tried to define motion against an entirely different backdrop and with an entirely different purpose in mind. Aristotle's discussions ofself-change and natural change were subsequently brought out to demonstrate the logical necessity of an unmoved mover and to "uphold a certain conclusion concerning the ultimate, eternal source of change in the universe as a whole" (Waterlow, p. 216). The Physics II account, then, appears to mark an awkward shift: between Aristotle's early conception of natural change and the adoption of hylomorphic principles (introduced in Phys. I) that would later provide the framework for his emerging complex agenda.

It seems, then, that attempts to reconcile Aristotle's theories of motion (either in terms ofone coherent system or along loose developmental lines) are wrong-headed. We are better off sorting out his accounts ofmotion according to the paradigms he is working against and in terms ofthe specific questions he is trying to answer.

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DAVID LARAWAY

Works Cited Aristotle. The Basic ofAristotle. Richard McKeon, ed. New York: Random House, 1941.

Charlton, W. Aristotle's Physics: Books I and II. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970.

Cherniss, Harold. Aristotle's Criticisms ofPlato and the Academy. New York: Russell & Russell, 1962.

Graham, Daniel W. Aristotle's Two Systems. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987.

Guthrie. W.K..C. "The Development of Aristotle's Theology I," Classical Quarterly, 27 (1933), 162-171.

Ross, W.D. Aristotle's Physics. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979.

Sorabji, Richard. Matter, Space, and Motion. Ithica: Cornell University Press, 1988.

Waterlow, Sarah. Nature, Change, and Agency in Aristotle's Physics.

Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982.

Are All Our Readings Misreadings?: Derrida, The Flickering A

(A Look At Derrida On Interpretation)

Joseph Partain

Belmont College

All our readings are misreadings (spoken at Vanderbilt Univer足 sity, 1989), I try to write the question: (what is) meaning to say? Therefore it is necessary in such a space, and guided by such a question, that writing literally mean nothing. Not that it is absurd in the way that absurdity has always been in solidarity with metaphysical mean足 ing. It simply tempts itself, tenders itself, attempts to keep itself at the point of the exhaustion of meaning. To risk meaning nothing is to start to play, and fltst enter into the play of differance which prevents any word, any concept, any major enunciation from coming to summarize and to govern from the theological presence of a center the movement and textual spacing of differences .. , this 'meaning-to-say-nothing' is not, you will agree, the most assured of exercises.

'Thought' ... means nothing: it is the substantified void of a highly deri vative ideality, the effect of a differance of forces, the illusory autonomy of a discourse or consciousness whose hypostasis is to be deconstrocted, whose 'causality' is Lo be analyzed, etc .... Whatever will continue to be called thought, and Which, for example, will designate the deconstruction of logocentrism, means nothing, for in the last analysis it no longer derives from 'meaning.' Wherever it operates, 'thought' means nothing (P, pp. 14,49).

In broaching your question. you also noted that I meant some足 thing and that, even if you did not understand it completely, you were convinced of my wanting-to-say-something. I am less sure of this than you (Wood, p. 89).

We should note that Derrida's saying is not "some of our readings are misreadings," nor "our readings tend to be misreadings," but the universal, all-inclusive assertion, "all our readings are misreadings." What we have here is not a difficulty in communication but absence of commu足 nication, and not a difficulty to be dealt with and minimized but an absence never to be encroached upon, a gap never to be narrowed.

44

JOSEPH PARTAIN

To use the metaphor of a gun, itisn't "all OUI firings are misses" but "all our firings are misfirings," i.e. the gun does not go off. When we read, the hammer hits the head of the bullet but there is only a "click." Derrida is dealing with more than the inevitability of misinterpretations or an anarchy ofperspectivism in the handling oftexts (though he is saying those things).

In this paper, I would like to attempt: (1) An identification of who Derrida is and what he is doing. In this section, I will seek to show that Derrida and his work constitute a sign of the meaninglessness or nothingness that lies just beneath the surface of existence, that his role is philosophical.

(2) An illustration ofDerrida' sdeliberate "misreadings" of texts, how Derrida responds when he is misread, and briefly how deconstrnction is playing a role in the literary community (a look at Stanley Fish) in dealing with texts.

(3) A call for an appreciation and qualified inclusion ofDerrida in textual interpretation.

I. Who Is Jacques Derrida?

By this, I do not mean things like his being an Algerian Jew who came to France when he was nineteen, but who is he in terms of his philosophical/ literary impact on the world? For that, I know ofno better starting place than the address Derrida gave in 1968 in Paris called simply, "Difjerance." I purposely come to the text for his own voice, the record of his own words, so as much as possible to let his speech identify him. He begins by saying, I will speak:, therefore,ofaletter. Ofthef"rrstIetter, ifthe alphabet, and most of the speculations which have ventured into it, are to bebelieved. I will speak, therefore, ofthe letter a, this initial letter which it apparently has been necessary to insinuate, here and there into the writing of the word difference ...

Now it happens, I would say in effect, that this graphic difference (a instead of e), this marked difference between two apparently vocal notations between two vowels, remains purely graphic: it is read, or it is written, but it cannot be heard (MP, pp. 3-4).

Derrida continues by saying that the presence ofthe letter a inits capital form (A) is compared in shape to an Egyptian pyramid in Hegel's Encyclopedia so that it remains "silent, secret, and discreet as a tomb" and "not far from announcing the death of the tyrant" (MP. p. 4). The fact that a and e cannot

ARE ALL OUR READINGS MISREADINGS ?

45

be differentiated in the last syllable of differ(ela)nce when spoken but only when written or read show us there is a "silence" in "so-called phonetic writing," a failure to convey difference, and consequently, (according to Derrida) "there is no phonetic writing."

In logic, Derrida's argument is a blatant fallacy-the error of generalizing from an exception (a and e being indistinguishable in sound in a particular word is used to conclude that all letters fail to denote distinct sounds). Most of the time letters do a very good job of distinguishing and differentiating sounds and that is why phonics are used in spe1ling in spite ofall the exceptions. BuUfwereacted this way and rejected Derrlda' swords as nonsense, we would be extremely unimagInative and philosophically dull.

What if one were to begin with Nietzschean meaninglessness and decide to use that which is most pretentious in the conveyance of mean足 ings-Le., words-as an effigy of the non-existent Word (considered philosophically or theologically), an effigy not to be burned but dismantled (deconstructed) in order to signify the end ofmeaning? What lfthe death of God and Truth in Heavenis followed by the death of Man and truth on Earth?

What if philosophy's debunking of Plato's Big Meanings undercuts the integrity of all little and ordinary meanings? If one were to take a word, then, like difference, and observe what happens when the e becomes an a, listen to the failure of a textto carry Ufe, significant sound distinguishing one letter from another, one feels the instability of words and wonders about other losses inherent with language. Derrida is understandable in these terms as a philosopher making an effigy oflanguage-disrupting and deconstructing it-to protest the Silence in the universe, a Silence ready to quake under every word like a city built on a fauIt line.

Who is Jacques Derrida? He is that indeterminate sound, that flickering between the e and the a, that silent and open space between the r and the n of differ_nce which disrupts the e, x' s it out, makes it a space, then an a, then a space, then ane, and from then on the e and all texluality is never the same. When Derrida speaks in conventional, linguistic terms (though always tentatively), the e is at work. When Derrida exists in movement as space to introduce the a, he is disruption, ever-changing, Heraclitean energy, intervention, and play. When Derrida operates as the a, he uses words to undercut words ("writing" means "nothing") and metaphysics to

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JOSEPH PARTAIN

undercut metaphysics ('''thought' means nothing"). Consequently, with the energy and change characteristic ofDerrida. it is difficult when questioning him or reading his texts to know ifhe Is the e (saying the tentative sayable), the space (disrupting the sayable), or the a (using the sayable to point to the Unsayable).

Derrida exists, then, as a philosophical sign. He is the flickering a behind the e reminding us of the tentativeness, the thinness of all human meanings andofthe deep silence just below. HeistheA as Egyptian pyramid announcing the death of the tyrant which is all the language ever spoken足 language which promised us The Truth, The Word, The Meaning of the Universe commandeered directly or indirectly by God or Man at the center.

There is no ground and no center, and Derrida exists to undermine and unsettle, to "clean house" with respect to Western metaphysics.

He resists identifying himself because he is against the very pre足 sumption of classification and naming. He resists the tombstone existence of concepts buried within words. So, we can save ourselves time by not asking him who heis. If we want to know who he is we must (ironically) try not to misread him. If he intends or means anything in all this movement, it is, "Play, for Nothingness is with us and at the door."

Derrida as the Flickering A is playful and so playful that even sympathizers are sometimes embarrassed with his antics. John Llewelyn in his Derrida on the Threshold ofSense says that what Rorty and others find so shocking about Derrida is his "multilingual puns, joke etymologies. allusions from anywhere, and phOnic and typographical gimmicks" (p. 114).

(Frankly, I am surprised at Llewelyn because in that same book he refers to something Derrida considers a fallacy in Freud's thinking but uses the spelling, p-h-a-l-l-u-s-y, without any quotation marks to clarify ifLlewelyn or Derrida is "fooling around" here.)

Why does Derrida refuse the label of "negative theology" and all other labels? Because he refuses the Western metaphysical constructs in which a11language is enmeshed, because he refuses the pegging ofmeaning, the confidence of thought or meaning existing Of having a happy transmis足 sion in words. Derrida says, To be very schematic I would say that the difficulty of defining and therefore also oftmnslating the word 'deconstruction' stems from the fact that all the predicates, all the defining concepts, all

ARE ALL OUR READINGS MISREADINGS?

47

the lexical significations, and even the syntactic articulations,

whicb seem at one moment to lend themselves to this definition or to that translation, are also deconstructed or deconstructible, directly or otherwise, etc. And that goes for the word, the very unity of the word deconstruction, as for every word.

Consequently, Derrida also says, All sentences of the type 'deconstruction is X' or 'deconstruction is not X' a priori miss the point, which is to say that they are at least false (Wood, p. 4).

Again, I think there is a blatant problem with what Derrida is saying on a literalleve1. Obviously, both deconstruction and Derrida come to us through words, concepts, assertions, etc. Here is someone who works to keep himself (as he says) on the outer edge of "the exhaustion of meaning," but nonetheless, without thought and its conveyance through words there would be no deconstruction and no Derrida, so it begs the question to act as ifDerrida can never be conceptualized. If he spoke only gibberish, he would have been escorted to an asylum and we would be reading someone else.

The play does have a feel of negative theology, though, much like the Israelites who in the absence of a Moses on the mount receiving the Word of God make a golden calf (a fiction), engorge themselves with food, then rise up "to play." There is a real sense ofrecess from absolutes and eternal values feltin Derrida' s textual play. There is an anti-metaphysical largeness and expansiveness to his "fooling" with texts, an equivocation and playful disguise, that would have echoed well in Zarathustra's cave.

It is interesting to note as well that when Demda writes to aJapanese friend who is looking for a suitable translation for "deconstruction," he speaks of dictionary definitions such as "disarranging the construction of' and "to disassemble the parts of a whole." He also traces the history of deconstruction as a reaction to structuralism, "an antistructurallst gesture," even a "demolition" of any confidence in language as it stands tied to Western metaphysiCS. So Derrida does not entirel y dispense with words to define deconstruction. (He knows how to don the disguise ofthe tentative e.)

II. Derrida And Misreadings

Among the proponents of deconstruction there is an effort to minimize any adverse impact Derrida might have with "hands on" textual interpretation because there are those who feel that Derrida could wreak

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havoc with his "all our readings are misreadings" and his textual nihilism.

First of all, it seems to me that people like Stanley Fish with his "Is there a Text in this Class?" really do raise the spectre ofliterary communities acting out a Derridean, anti-metaphysical, nihilistic approach to texts. When we read Fish and he says "that the notions of 'same' or 'different' texts are fictions" (p. 169), that "perspectival perception is all there is" (p. 365), and that "no reading, however outlandish it might appear, is inherently an impossible one" (p. 347), we see the Flickering A and hear Derrida's laughter (p. 169). Fish does not believe there are accurate or proper readings oftexts, but that the reader (and ultimately the literary institution) arbitrarily gives or assigns the text its meaning. (The only check on "arbitrary" is the voice of the literary community.) Here the text is not the final reference to evaluate readings. Interpretations will change and evolve as the community changes with the passage of time. Meaning is not transcendental or fixed: "Heaven and Earth" will pass away, and so will today's interpretation.

Derrida himselfhas no hesitation in misreading a text and assigning it the meaning he wants it to have. For example, I laughed when I first read Derrida's statement that "for Nietzsche 'the great principal activity is unconscious(ness)'" and that "all of Nietzsche's thought" is "a critique of philosophy as an active indifference to difference" (MP, p. 17). The great principal activity for Nietzsche is the Will to Power, and the only one for whom the critique of philosophy must be for its indifference to difference is Derrida-not Nietzsche. But then again, did not Heidegger in his book on Nietzsche give us more of Heidegger than Nietzsche and before that did not Nietzsche usurp David Hume's work by saying in Twilight o/the Idols.

"I was the first to formulate... that there are no moral facts?" Derrida seems to be operating faithfully within a tradition. After all if perspectivism is aU there is (and Nietzsche did say that) why not impose our perspecti ve (textual violence) very forthrightly and unapologetically upon everything we read and represent? Where all is seeming and nothing is real, why should we care about maintaining the integrity ofwhat someone else has written-espeeiall y if we do not think that what someone else has written is objectively decipherable to begin with?

But we do mind when we are misread by others, even Derrida minds. Michael Fischer in Does Deconstruction Make Any Difference? mentions the irony ofDerrida' s feeling misread by John Searle in a literary

ARE AIL OUR READINGS MISREADINGS?

49

critiqueofDerrida. Derrida says things like "by ignoring this orthat moment of the text" and refers to Searle's "autistic representation" and obliterating contexts (p. 40). In the real world where texts do have an objectivity that minds can subjectively apprehend, people feel hurt when "justice" is not done to their text. (In Irene Harvey's book on Derrida, she apologizes to Derrida-though she is herself a deconstructionist-for any failure to do justice to his texts.) This is worlds away from both Derrida's and Fish's tentativeness about language and textuality-theinevitability ofmisreadings.

If misreadings are the rule and not the exception, why should Derrida be upset and Harvey apologize? Is not their behavior here a tacit adherence to both the possibility and desirability of accurate textual readings? Meaning足 lessness at the center of the universe is fine to talk about when we are dealing with someone else' s texts but whenit comes to our own, suddenly it becomes important to believe that there is a ground and center for discussion: we become logocentric when it is our logos at the center.

III. A Can For Inclusion

Finally, I would like to suggest, in what might seem to be a contractiction of all that I have said heretofore, how I think Derrida should be included in our approach to the interpretation of texts. Needless to say.

Derrida is wilh us to stay. His presence as what I have called the Flickering A is as symbolic and important for philosophylIiterature as Socrates the gadfly who, ill a sense, went about "deconstructing" everyone's claims to wisdom, and Heraclitus for whom all reality is disruption and change.

That Derrida exists as a sign means that he is not to be taken as a standard or literary method for interpretation. As Joseph Margolis says, deconstruction is "not a canon of procedures or criteria for testing the adequacy of procedures for interpreting texts or for assessing the cognitive fit between interpretation and text..." (Margolis, p. 148). When Isaiah walked around naked for 3 years as a sign of Israel's coming captivity, his action was not intended as a dress code for his time. Derrida is asign for the implications of there being no God in the universe, no Word behind all human words, no Text written in Nature or Scripture which in some way supports all human textuality.

Positively speaking, in literary interpretation where Derrida oper足 ates as a sign we are less likely to feel we have nailed down any and all

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possibiUties arising from a text's meaning. We will watch for the Flickering A, the unsaid and unsayable behind a text, the meanings that fall through the cracks or get lost through the structure. The Flickering A makes us respect the element of surprise and helps us resist the tendency to capitulate to the "letter that kills." Life has movement, surprise, and disguise to it, and nothing is more deadly than the tendency in classrooms to simply "crank out" textbook interpretations that leave both teacher and student cold.

With these qualifications of Derrida's role, I think his inclusion to the literary community is significant and worthwhile.

Works Cited [P] Den-ida, Jacques. Positions. Tr. by Alan Bass. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982.

[MP] Derrida, Jacques. Margins ofPhilsophy. Tr. by Alan Bass. Chi足 cago: University of Chicago Press, 1984.

Fish, Stanley. Is There A Text in Tlzis Class? The Authority ofInterpre足 tive Communities. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard UniversIty Press, 1980.

Fischer, Michael. Does Deconstruction Make Any Difference?

Poststructuralism and the Defense ofPoetry in Modern Criti足 cism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985.

Llewelyn, John. Derrida on the Threshold of Sense. New York: St. Martin, 1986.

Margolis, Joseph. "Deconstruction; Or The Mystery Of The Mystery Of The Text" in Hermeneutics And Deconstruction, Silverman and Hugh 1., eds. New York: SUNY Albany, 1985.

Wood, David and Robert Bernasconi, ed. Derrida and Differance.

Chicago: Northwestern University Press, 1988.

Wittgenstein's Employment of the Private Language Argument in the Philosophical Investigations William Voelker

Gustavus Adolphus College

I saw this guy on the train I And he seemed to gave gotten stucki In one of those abstract trances.! And he was going: "Ugh... Ugh... Ugh... " And Fred said: I "/ think he's in some kind ofpain. I I think it's a pain cry." I And I said: "Pain cry? I Then language is a virus." Language! It's a virus! I Language! It's a virus!

- Laurie Anderson, Language is a Virus this paper is written with the anticipation Ofthe reader having a basic knowledge ofwittgenstein's philosophy. thisjrees mejrom haVing to define terms and waste space (and thereby limiting the reader with my definitions. their understanding ofthe topics will be read into the paper regardless ofthe safeguards i place on it with definitions and handholding, but i find this to be a good thing, as the number of interpretations of my point may grow then, and the differences will be over the argument itselfand not the terms which surround it. don't discuss the depth grammar within the game.) much of what i am going to say will seem obvious, but sometimes the obvious is what is overlooked. by tlte way: i'm not using private language here (though i am writing it to myself- in English).

I. Private Language

1. Isolating the Private Language Argument is like removing a stone from a wall, then pointing to the stone and saying "This is a walL" Exposing the Private Language Argument is like pointing at a stone in a wall and saying "This is part of a wall." The difference is that one remains grounded in its place, and the place defines it-it is recognized in its relation to the place.

The other is seen without a context. Without the place, it is senseless. 1 I I urn in agreement with Kripke when he says" ... we will only increase our difficult argument if we call ยง243 onward 'the private language argument' and study ilin isolation from the preceding material" (Kripke, p. 81). However, this is not to say it should not be done to understand its place in the work as a whole. If it is done to separate it from the rest of the work: that is where the problem lies. However, Kripke makes this mistake himself: he discusses the private Janguage argument in Willgenstein on Rules and Private Languages while ignoring the preceding statements and paragraphs in the Philosophicallnvestigati011S. He does not take his own advice and warnings.

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WILLIAM VOELKER

The Private Language Argument is Wittgensteln's attack on tradi足 tional philosophical methods and philosophicallanguage-games,2 and his attempt to show their lack ofmeaning and sense. He was striking at the roots of the philosophical project as it had grown over the past 2,500 years or so, attempting to prune it back so it could grow strong this time, and not twisted and weak, as he saw it to be. He exposed the propensity of philosophers to argue over points which are not applicable to much of anything,3 and how they do not seem to be In contact with the real world, and would prefer to believe their theories rather than what they had seen.4Wittgenstein was able to use it as both an argument to support his stand on the other topics he discusses in the Philosophical Investigations and as an example of the problems he was attacking.

2. Private Language: what is it, and how does it relate to the rest of

Wittgenstein? This is the question that must first be investigated when we discuss private language as discussed in the Philosophical Investigations.

Without an understanding of how it relates to the rest of the text, the argumentis left suspended from nothing. The supports from a structure must not be removed: they then become useless (they aren't supporting anything) and the structure will collapse. Using the supports in another structure can be done only if a) the structure is designed to incorporate the support, or, b) the support is modified to work within the structure. The Private Language Argument, I hold, only fits within Wittgenstein' s overall structure when left unmodified. Even lfthe supports are removed to study it, unless one knows how it works with the rest of the structure it will be unclear as to what it does exactly. It is only effective as it is within the environment that was created for it. Therefore, the Private Language Argument cannot be removed from the Philosophical Investigations and stand on its own, just as the surface grammar of a language game cannot be seen out of cOntext and still be intelligible. Ex.: You are Sitting in a room and you hear snippets of 2Including his Theory of Language in the Tractatus. and the rest of the Tractatus also.

He is not simply going after other philosophers: he is going after himself in the past, and that past self was a traditional philosopher to the COte-an obvious target for him to go aflcr.

JWilness the "Angels on the Head of a Pin" debate which was once so popular in philosophical circles, but has now been superseded by relativism and SuperSkepticism: how many ways can we look at something without seeing it?

4 See: Skepticism

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conversation coming out of the next room. To speculate on the meaning of these snippets is nearly impossIble, as you are hearing them out of context, and are not actively in the game.sThe following illustration pictures how Language Games can be compared to the use of the Private Language Argument in the Philosophical Investigations.

Wittgenstein's use of the PrivateLanguage Argumentis subtle. His use is careful and planned, and 1) it holds a central place in the construction of his book, taking up a great deal ofspace (both physically and idea-wise), and 2) it is one of his central arguments in his assault on the Tractatus. It Is both interesting and important to note that he did not mark itoffas aseparate chapter or section. He left it in as part of the rest of the text, flowing right along with it (no breaks allowed), further backing up my claim (textually) that the argument cannot stand on its own as it is senseless on its own. Both the form ofthe text and its content lead me to believe this. Ex.: considerhow the Tractatus would read if one of the sections were removed.

3. The Language itself... what language games could exist in a private

language? How would the grammar hold together? It seems to me from reading On Certainty that as our experiences are what we can base our thinking upon, our experiences show us that language is a group activity.

Therc is no need whatsoever for a private language, as one would not have to tell oneself something: onc路 is aware: Olher people cannot be said to learn of my sensations only from my behaviour,-for I cannot be said to learn of them. I have them.

(PI, 搂246)

The question is complete nonsense ifone thinks ofthe idea oflanguagebeing learned and then later the question pops up: it is never there to begin with, but comes back later; it is a philosophical question. It is not a thinking question. It leads to statements (said in all sincerity and honesty) such as "I know that is a tree." These statements are said as if they prove something or verify something, as if they proved what was said or that they mean more than they say. They are not treated as they actually function in reality: as statements attempting to reference the depth grammar. There is no need to 5To be actively in a language game does not require one to be actively involved but to simply know what the game is. That is why it is so hard to break into the middle of a conversation and still be able to make intelligible comments or to enter the flow of the dialogue.

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reference the depth grammar (itis there, itis a given in the game), but as that is being done, the statement can only function as a statement and not as a proposition. Are either necessary when one deals with oneself, when one talks to oneself? Would the language one uses in discussing matters with oneself be the same as the language used when discussing matters with others who speak the same language? One does not need to tell oneself the statements (just as they are unnecessary in a language game) and one does not need to deliberate with oneself in a language, and if one does, it is my experience that intuition plays a key role in the process, and if the delibera­ tion is done with language, we take two sides, we deliberate with ourselves with us taking both the selfand other places in the argument.1i 4. §256-"But suppose I didn't have any natural expression for the sensa­ tion, but only had the sensation?" (PI). If there in no natural expression, i.e., language in common with other people, does that mean that a private language in not a natural expression forWittgenstein? I think so. A private language is terribly unnatural.7 5. Why is it that Wittgenstein seems to feel a need for some sort oflogical argument vs. private language when he seems to have a common sense argument in his other arguments?8 Perhaps he is anticipating those who want the philosophical answer. §275 seems to me to be a cutting comment: 275. Look at the blueof the sky and say to yourself "How blue the sky is1"-When you do it spontaneously-without philosophical intentions-the idea never crosses yourmind that this impression of colour belongs only to you. And you have no hesitation in exclaiming that to someone else. And if you point at anything as you say the words you point at the sky. I am saying: you have not the feeling of pointing-into-yourself, which often accompanies 'naming the sensation' when one is thinking about 'private language.' Nor do you think that really you ought not to point to the color with your hand, but with your attention. (Consider what it means "to point to something with the attention.") (PI) 6Can it be otherwise, and if so, 'does it remain deliberation?

7To not have a "natural expression for a sensation" is to be Ayer's Crusoe-but not on Ayer's tenns. This is Ayer's Crusoe on Wittgenstein's lenns. Aquestion is leftlo be answered: is a man without language truly a human for Wittgenstein?

•Albeit his is an extremely logical common sense argwnent, but is it then still common sense?

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II. The Private Language Argument

6. "5.6 The Umitso/my language mean the limits of my world" (1L~p).9In the early Wittgenstein, a private language limits the world to what is sensed. 10 This removes the outer language, as the private language would constrain the outer language, and one could not express anything in theouter language that could not be expressed in the private language. The private language would have to be extraordinarily complex for a person to commu~ nicate with others if this would be the case. 11 The communication between the public and private: would there not be something lost between the two?

(Isn't there anyway?)

"5.62 ... The world is my world: this is manifest in the fact that the limits of language (of that language which alone I understand) mean the limits of my world" (1L-P). These are the beginnings of the problem.l 2 7.§243- You can talk to yourself, but in what language is that discussion?

My experience shows me I talk to myself in English, my native tongue. If I used a private language, would I not have to translate everything between the two if I wanted to communicate with somcone else? Also: why would one want to have a language to use with oneseifabout something one already knows (though, as Wlttgcnstein states, you do not know you are in pain, you simply are), that is, the sensations?

8.§246-"The truth is: it makes sense to say about other people that they doubt whether I am in pain; but not to say it about myselr' (PI). Language is communication, not only of thoughts and arguments but ofinformation: there is no need to communicate information with oneself-discuss, delib~ erate, debate, those can (and should) be done, but to communicate informa­ tion one has with oneself is nonsensical. One cannot doubt the information one has (the veracity of it, perhaps) but not what it is, as in the case of sensations. You do not know, you have. I3 9 Does this imply that I cannot expand my world without expanding my language? Can we not sense or respond to something if we do not have it in our language? lOIs reading sensing?

II A person would have to have a rich private language lind an amazing amount of sensations allowed by their private language if they were to communicate those experiences with others or they would be in danger of continually being passed over in silence/passing over in silence.

11Ifit wasn't for 5.62 in the TL.P, Wittgenstcin might not have had this to deal with, I'd imagine.

13 §249-Lying? Ue to yourself in your own private language? "(Lying is a language· game that needs to be learned like any other one)" (Pl). If this is true, where did one learn to lie to oneself?

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WILLIAM VOELKER

9. I believe thatI have covered enough ofthe argumentto illustrate my point.

Wittgenstein is illustrating his argument with illustrated arguments. He has shown how traditional philosophy asks needless questions that cause far more problems than they start. The debate over "can there be a Private Language?" is silly (Wittgenstein knows this) as the questions are philosphical, and are not asked except by immature minds (Oe, §§310-317).

Questions about things one cannot doubt (Am I feeling this feeling I feel right now?) are meaningless.

10. To RecapitulateIRestateJ Add: Ifthe Private Language argument is taken out of context, taken out of the Philosphical Investigations, the "Depth Grammar" of the argument (the rest of the book) is ignored, and therefore the argument itself is without any relevance whatsoever. The argument must be taken in context, and if it is not, the argument is either Unintelligible, because of the missing depth grammar (a fish out of water) or it means something completely different than it originally did due to new depth grammar surrounding it.

III. Private Relations /flanguage were liquid/ It would be rushing in/ Instead here we are / In silence more eloquent / Than any word could ever be Words are too solid/ They don't move jast enough/To catch the blur in the

brain / 111at flies by and is gone / Gone / Gone / Gone

I'd like to meet you / In a timeless / Placeless place / S01newhere out ojcontext /

And beyond all consequences

I won't USe words again/They don't mean what I meant/They don't say what I

said/ They're just the crust ojthe meaning / With realms underneath

/ Never touched/ Never stirred/ Never even moved through

--SuzanneVega,Language

11. Suppose I tell someone who has never read any Wittgenstein about thc Private Language Argument. Their first reaction will be "Thatis silly. There is no reason for an argument against private language, as thcre cannot be one. I do not have one, and have never met anyone claiming to have one."

Wittgenstein makes a good argument against private language (as shown earlier) but his prime argument is not against private language, but against philosophy. He also says (essentially) "This (the Private Language idea) is

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silly, "but "'This" is both Private Language and Philosophy for Wittgenstein.

Wittgenstein wants thinking. not incoherent questions/discussions,14 12. "Meaningless" A Private Language would be meaningless even ifthere was one-consider how, as Wittgenstein points out, I do not say, "I know I have a pain" in order to let myself know-I Simply have the pain. See ยง246 as this is so-why would we have a personal language to discuss our sensations with ourselves? "Oh I think that hurts-let me check-oh yes, I feel S." It does not work that way. We feel it-and do we discuss the pain with ourselves? No. We discuss eliminating it-in fact, I would not call it "discussing"- we run over a list ofpossible responses to the pain we have built up over time to deal with pain, gained from our experiences. Discussion comes when we deal with someone else. We only deliberate in conscious language over something when we are planning to express it to someone else. We have no need to explain itto ourselves. The raw data our minds deal with is not kept from our minds by a private language-our minds deal directly with it. This is what makes expressing our feelings sohard-wefeel. and as we do not have aninner language, we musttake the raw data and move it into the language wc wish to express ourselves in. Ifwe did not, we could translatc between our inner language and the outer one we speak. But there is no need to. What we lose in meaning we gain in speed. To act quickly means that our processing time must be kept to a minimum. A language between us and our sense would mean we could not react quickly.I5

13. AJ. Ayer, for example, Ii fis the Pri vate Language Argument directly out of the Philosophical Investigations in his essay "Can There Be a Private Language?" and seems to understand it in terms of a language used for communication between entities. for he says" ... it is obvious that there can be private languages. There can be, because there are" (Pitcher, p. 250). He immediately assumes the existence of such a language, which makes him at once unable to see Wittgenstein's point clearly, He says:

I~ Here we have found the reason for the Private Language argument (and his later works): this work is against philosophy. Remember the philosopher pointing at the tree and saying "I know that's a tree. ff ISHowever: could the basisoflanguage be hard-wired into us, and thelanguagewespeak: simply be the program we run on top of it?

S8

WILLIAM VOELKER It is, however, possible that a very secretive diarist may not be satisfied with putting familiar words into an unfamiliar notation, but may prefer to invent new words: the two processes are in any case not sharply distinct. Ifbe carries his invention far enough be can properly be said to be employing a pri vate language (Pitcher, p.250).

Ayer is standing in the camp of the Ostensive Definitioners when he makes this statement. He sees naming and words as the starting point oflanguage.

What he fails to see, however, is that the "private" language the diarist develops is developed from and takes the place of the original language he speaks: this is not a private language, but a new language that has another language for a background. It could easily (as much as learning a language is easy) be learned by someone else. A couple of questions arise: Wittgenstein's "S" diary: Why? This is a simple question. Why would one use a private language rather than the language used already by the person to mark when a feeling is felt, or some other private action occurs? This serves no PU1JXlse, other than to make a list (as if one would do this for a doctor or a class, reports, etc.), and is in essence a meaningless activity. To see the end of it all for Ayer: he comes down to descriptions and descriptive language-in effect, you need descriptions of things, even for yourself, and the language is the key to the description. Each name is related to a description. The names must be removed, says Wittgenstein: Ostensive Definitions cause far more problems than they are worth. Ayer does not see that in order to attach a description to a name one cannot just name first: one must be able to articulate the description; i.e., one must have a language that name and description fit into. The structures must be there in the first place, or there is nowhere for a word or definition to reside. Naming is a part of the bigger language: language does not come from naming.

To Conclude:

Ayer missed the point by a long shot. Hel6 has removed (Isolated) the argument and is treating it as if it can be separated from the rest of the Philosophical Investigations. He does not see the rest of the forest and is liable to brain himself if he is not careful. Wittgenstein was illustrating and using the argument to strengthen the rest ofhis thesis-he never intended for 16 Ayer is not the philosopher looking at the tree and saying "I know that is a tree."

Instead, he says, "That is a tree" "that is grass" "That is sky."

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it to gain a life of its own.171bis again shows how philosophers have a habit of philosophical thinking. not of real thinking.18 Ayer is exactly what

Wittgenstein is fighting: the philosopher who putters about in meaningless philosphicallanguage games. 19 Alice thought to herself, "Then there's no use in speaking." The voices didn't join in this time, as she hadn't spoken, but, to her great surprise, they all thought in chorus (I hope you understand what thinking in chorus means-for 1must confess that I don't), "Better say nothing at all. Language is worth a thousand pounds a word!"

-Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

I1Wittgenstein touched Philosophy's collective nerve when he brought up this subject.

Why is Private Language something that is fought over? What does it matter? I believe that Wittgenstein knew how other philosophers would react to bis ideas. To him the argument was support for his thesis and not much else. For other philosophers, it became their route to employment... Whar does it matter? is an enquiry that must eventually be made so we can better know the psychology of philosophers (note: psychology makes the same mistakes as philosophy).

II Remember the language game: context (depth grammar) controls the mellning. By removing the argument, the depth grammar is ignored, and the argument hilS no sense in its original sense. I do not know if Wittgenstein would say it has any sense at all.

19 What of "Words we cannot say?" When we know something, and understand it-we sometimes cannot express it in the language we speak. This implies II problem with our spoken language.

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WILLIAM VOELKER WorksCJted

Kripke, Saul A. Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language. Cam足 bridge, Mass: Harvard Unlversity Press, 1982.

Pitcher, George. ed. Wittgenstein: The Philosophical Investigations.

Garden City, New York: Anchor Books, 1966.

[OC] Wittgenstein, Ludwig. On Certainty. G.E.M. Anscombe and Wright, G.H., eds. New York: Harper & Row,1972.

[PI] Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Philosophical Investigations. Tr. by O.E.M. Anscombe. New York: Macmillan,1968.

[1L-P] Wittgenstein, LudwIg. Tractatus wgico-Philosophicus. Tr. by D.F. Pears and McGuinness, B.F. Cornwall, Great Britian: Routledge Humanities Press International Inc., 1988.