La distinction entre les faits et les valeurs a toujours été fondamentale pour la pensée anglo-saxonne, et ce depuis au moins Hume. Deux siècles plus tard, Wittgenstein n’est sans doute pas très loin de cette idée en prétendant, dans son Tractatus, que la valeur ne réside pas dans le monde (6.4 - 6.421), affirmation qui le pousse à conclure que « L’éthique et l’esthétique sont une seule et même chose ». La distinction fut pérennisée dans le domaine de l’esthétique par (...) des penseurs comme C.L. Stevenson ou I.A. Richards. Toutefois, à la même époque que Richards, des théoriciens marxistes tenaient des propos diamétralement opposés à la doxa traditionnelle. On peut synthétiser à partir de leurs écrits un « principe de la non-neutralité ». Selon ce principe, aucune œuvre d’art ne peut être politiquement et socialement neutre ; toute œuvre jouera forcément un rôle dans le débat politique en cours. Ce principe, que l’on reliera à la notion de narrativité grâce à quelques œuvres contemporaines (Morellet, Braxton...) nie toute division draconienne entre fait et valeurs dans le domaine esthétique, sans pour autant justifier l’abandon total de la distinction proposée par Putnam. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Ronald Shusterman IN DEFENSE OF ELITISM I One recent trend in criticism, starting notably widi die work of Steven Knapp and Walter Benn Michaels,1 has suggested diat literary theory is either useless, harmful, or bodi. This pragmatist line ofargument can be seen to go hand in hand widi contemporary attacks on the distinction between "high" and "low" art, claiming that a rap text deserves die same attention or esteem (...) as a poem by Eliot. My purposes here are predetermined by die polemical nature of this debate. I shall endeavor to show diat tiieory is useful and diat diere is a valid distinction between low and high. I intend to do so, somewhat negatively, notby giving examples—diough diis would be easy enough— but rather by underlining die contradictions inherent in some of these arguments. I shall also deal widi anodier debate, which may at first appear unrelated, concerning die limits of interpretation. I diink it can be noted that the criteria of judgment involved in distinguishing between high and low are connected to die criteria of interpretation which, though diey do not close die open work, do permit the identification of misreadings. If judgment involves refined analysis, then theory is necessary as an instrument of refinement. If misreadings exist, dien absolute interpretive relativism cannot be justified. One might expect me to begin by defining "literary tiieory," but one of my main points is that such a definition is futile. The dieoretical endeavor is myriad. The term theory can be fruitfully used to designate a wide continuum of discourses about literature diat range from pure explication to pure philosophy. I see no need to find a common denominator diat would bring togedier under a single description narratology, stylistics, deconstructionist criticism, and so on. Philosophy and Literature, © 1994, 18: 242-252 Ronald Shusterman243 Indeed, in dieir original attack on literary theory, Knapp and Michaels were careful to set aside the more "empirical" approaches such as narratology as not relevant to their criticisms (p. 11). Their basic complaint has to do widi theories of interpretation, and they conclude:... theory is nothing else but the attempt to escape practice... theory is notjust another name for practice. It is the name for all the ways people have tried to stand outside practice in order to govern practice from without. Our thesis has been that no one can reach a position outside practice, that theorists should stop trying, and that the theoretical enterprise should therefore come to an end. (p. 30) The point seems to be that criticism, as a practice, can and must be undertaken widiout die interference of a supposed realm of independent principles or axioms. That was ten years ago. Joel Weinsheimer has recently defended similar conclusions in an article entitled "Suppose Theory Is Dead."2 He invokes Gadamer to argue diat "understanding can and does succeed even widiout die imprimatur of theoretical self-consciousness" (p. 252). Weinsheimer refuses what he sees as the "first principle of the first theorist of literature: that only theory counts as knowledge" (p. 263). This, of course, echoes pragmatist philosophy's new emphasis on praxis as a valid form of knowledge: The kind of knowledge involved in acting or story-telling or teaching or practical criticism is practical knowledge, and if it cannot satisfactorily explain orjustify from principles what it practices, that is not its fault but its nature—even its particular significance.... Literature is to be practiced, is the practice of it, its own practice, and in this light at least theory is merely the self-defeating attempt to abstract literature from its presentations, from the concrete practice diat is itself. (Weinsheimer, p. 263) To those who would argue that any practice presupposes theoretical principles, Weinsheimer retorts that such presuppositions need not be considered as tiieory: "Interpretation supposes a form of life, perhaps, but a form of life is not a theory" (p. 255). I admit to being somewhat confused when he writes that practical criticism "involves tacit knowledge, certainly, but such knowledge is not necessarily dieoretical" (p. 255). I do not think diat what we do when 244Philosophy and Literature reading critically can be assimilated to what we do when, say, riding a bicycle... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Logics of Failed Revolt: French Theory After May ‘68Ronald ShustermanLogics of Failed Revolt: French Theory After May ‘68, by Peter Starr; xi & 232 pp. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995, $45.00 cloth, $14.95 paper.Failed revolt? For many people, current French theory is more a revolt of failed logic. Anyone yearning for a definitive refutation of these threatening foreign trends will get no satisfaction from Peter Starr’s volume. His (...) concept of the “logics of failed revolts” involves the obsession of revolutionaries with what they see as the inevitable return of the past. Starr proposes to examine the explanations given for the failure of revolutionary action “in representative texts by Jacques Lacan, Roland Barthes, Julia Kristeva, Hélène Cixous, Jacques Derrida, and others” (p. 2). The “revolution” in question is the May 1968 uprising.George Orwell, as a defender of proper usage and an explorer of politics and the English language, always insisted that the title of his Nineteen Eighty-Four be written out in full; the informality of the abbreviation “May ‘68” is emblematic of the spirit of the events of that year: May ‘68 was supposed to be a liberation from useless tradition and constraint. That the movement was seen as a failure is the first premise of Starr’s argument; what he proposes to analyze is the theorization of the failure. Starr sees three “scenarios”: “the logic of specular doubling” is where “revolutionary action is doomed to repetition because revolutionaries inevitably construct themselves as mirror images of their rivals” (p. 2). There is also a “logic of structural repetition” and a “logic of recuperation” in which revolutionary actions actually reinforce established structures of power (pp. 2–3). Starr goes on to argue that “these logics served as argumentative pretexts, allowing Barthes, Kristeva, Cixous, and others to construct the existing political field as an impasse in order to justify significant displacements of political energies (including a politicization of the literary text)” (p. 7). This seems like a fancy way of saying that these thinkers used theory to find a decent way out of direct political commitment. Indeed, once one has understood and granted the point, there really is not much else in Starr’s book but fancy ways of repeating it.Starr tries to delineate a specific “theoretical moment” (p. 4) beginning in 1965 and ending in 1977, but it is difficult to be so definitive about the limits of a period when one is writing only twenty years later. This lack of temporal distance leads to certain debatable assertions. For example, Starr claims that tier-mondisme—France’s obsession with models taken from the Third World—“never recovered” from certain fatal “blows” (p. 4). Yet there is no actual evidence given for this claim. The problem with this kind of history is that it either makes concrete statements which are easy to contest, or it ends up vacuous: Starr sees in his period “a play of continuity and discontinuity” (p. 7). Who could deny such an assertion? All periods involve both continuity and discontinuity (except perhaps the period of the sinking of Atlantis...). Starr [End Page 191] mentions works on specific French thinkers by other theorists (such as Culler) and points out that his “aim has been to bridge the gap between such studies on the one hand and the work of historians and sociologists on the other” (pp. 10–11). The question is whether such an interdisciplinary project is feasible or even desirable. The theorists do not really care about the genealogy of the theory; the historians do not need to know if the theory is right. To take one example, Starr gives us statistics of the evolution of university enrollment in France (p. 113) a few pages after discussing Lacan’s “phallic comedy” (p. 104). How many readers are going to be equipped for, or interested in, a study which combines sociological statistics, political theory, general history, psychoanalytic principles, and feminist criticism?I was convinced by Starr’s basic argument that French thinkers were obsessed by this vision of the inevitable failure of revolt. Nevertheless, the point is both belabored and often tenuous. There are times when Starr’s... (shrink)

Résumé L’une des théories les plus répandues concernant le rapport de l’art à l’éthique s’appelle parfois la Vicarious Experience Theory. Cette approche basée sur la notion d’une expérience par procuration va toutefois avoir du mal à expliquer la valeur (morale ou autre) de tout art « abstrait », non figuratif et/ou non narratif. Il faudrait alors démontrer que l’art (abstrait ou pas) provoque également une expérience directe – et non pas uniquement une expérience par procuration – et que cette expérience (...) directe est toujours déjà « métaéthique ». Cet effet méta-éthique serait inscrit au sein d’une définition (pragmatiste, pluraliste et institutionnelle) de l’art dans son ensemble, alors que la théorie de l’expérience par procuration s’appliquerait uniquement à quelques arts. Je compte défendre cette thèse par un examen des écrits et des pratiques d’Olafur Eliasson. (shrink)

Le concept d’authenticité sert de base à la valorisation de la thématique de « l’identité » qui domine aujourd’hui. Anish Kapoor présente toutes les garanties de cette « hybridité » actuellement très à la mode. Toutefois, il résiste explicitement à toute tentative de « mise en boîte » qui le cantonnerait à l’expression d’une quelconque « indianité ». Kapoor est connu pour l’aspect sensoriel et aléatoire de son travail. Shooting into the Corner est un excellent exemple d’une œuvre qui évacue (...) l’identification culturelle ; elle trouble par ailleurs les catégories goodmaniennes habituelles d’autographique et d’allographique. Son slogan – « Je n’ai rien à dire » – semble confirmer ce rejet de l’authenticité. Je compte démontrer que même l’aléatoire et l’auto-engendré sont reliés au critère d’authenticité, si cette notion repose sur l’intentionnalité et « l’intensionnalité » de l’œuvre d’art. Redéfini ainsi, le concept d’authenticité deviendrait une « règle constitutive » de notre institution. (shrink)

Does art have to be moral? The first point that might be made is that this question is not necessarily a question ›in‹ aesthetics. Indeed, the philosophy of art should be considered as research into the concepts, implications, scope, and workings of artistic practise and reception. In that sense, the moral evaluation of art would be no different from the moral evaluation of any other human activity. All of the questions raised by the focus of this issue would thus remain (...) essential, but would be beyond the scope of aesthetic theory. There is, however, a more fundamental point to be made. Contemporary philosophers give us very probing taxonomies of the various positions possible with respect to any ethical approach to art. But whether one opts for ›Autonomism‹, ›Moralism‹, or ›Immoralism‹, one could be drawn to acknowledge the operation of what I call the metaethical effect of art. This metaethical effect is not to be seen as the formulation of a specific message, moral, or value, but as the kindling and refinement of an awareness of the notion of value itself, and of the nature of evaluation, interpretation, and shared judgment. The argument would thus be that all works, be they moral, immoral, amoral, be they concrete and narrational or purely non-figurative and non-referential, provoke a reaction that teaches us the form of shared judgment. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Logics of Failed Revolt: French Theory After May ‘68Ronald ShustermanLogics of Failed Revolt: French Theory After May ‘68, by Peter Starr; xi & 232 pp. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995, $45.00 cloth, $14.95 paper.Failed revolt? For many people, current French theory is more a revolt of failed logic. Anyone yearning for a definitive refutation of these threatening foreign trends will get no satisfaction from Peter Starr’s volume. His (...) concept of the “logics of failed revolts” involves the obsession of revolutionaries with what they see as the inevitable return of the past. Starr proposes to examine the explanations given for the failure of revolutionary action “in representative texts by Jacques Lacan, Roland Barthes, Julia Kristeva, Hélène Cixous, Jacques Derrida, and others” (p. 2). The “revolution” in question is the May 1968 uprising.George Orwell, as a defender of proper usage and an explorer of politics and the English language, always insisted that the title of his Nineteen Eighty-Four be written out in full; the informality of the abbreviation “May ‘68” is emblematic of the spirit of the events of that year: May ‘68 was supposed to be a liberation from useless tradition and constraint. That the movement was seen as a failure is the first premise of Starr’s argument; what he proposes to analyze is the theorization of the failure. Starr sees three “scenarios”: “the logic of specular doubling” is where “revolutionary action is doomed to repetition because revolutionaries inevitably construct themselves as mirror images of their rivals” (p. 2). There is also a “logic of structural repetition” and a “logic of recuperation” in which revolutionary actions actually reinforce established structures of power (pp. 2–3). Starr goes on to argue that “these logics served as argumentative pretexts, allowing Barthes, Kristeva, Cixous, and others to construct the existing political field as an impasse in order to justify significant displacements of political energies (including a politicization of the literary text)” (p. 7). This seems like a fancy way of saying that these thinkers used theory to find a decent way out of direct political commitment. Indeed, once one has understood and granted the point, there really is not much else in Starr’s book but fancy ways of repeating it.Starr tries to delineate a specific “theoretical moment” (p. 4) beginning in 1965 and ending in 1977, but it is difficult to be so definitive about the limits of a period when one is writing only twenty years later. This lack of temporal distance leads to certain debatable assertions. For example, Starr claims that tier-mondisme—France’s obsession with models taken from the Third World—“never recovered” from certain fatal “blows” (p. 4). Yet there is no actual evidence given for this claim. The problem with this kind of history is that it either makes concrete statements which are easy to contest, or it ends up vacuous: Starr sees in his period “a play of continuity and discontinuity” (p. 7). Who could deny such an assertion? All periods involve both continuity and discontinuity (except perhaps the period of the sinking of Atlantis...). Starr [End Page 191] mentions works on specific French thinkers by other theorists (such as Culler) and points out that his “aim has been to bridge the gap between such studies on the one hand and the work of historians and sociologists on the other” (pp. 10–11). The question is whether such an interdisciplinary project is feasible or even desirable. The theorists do not really care about the genealogy of the theory; the historians do not need to know if the theory is right. To take one example, Starr gives us statistics of the evolution of university enrollment in France (p. 113) a few pages after discussing Lacan’s “phallic comedy” (p. 104). How many readers are going to be equipped for, or interested in, a study which combines sociological statistics, political theory, general history, psychoanalytic principles, and feminist criticism?I was convinced by Starr’s basic argument that French thinkers were obsessed by this vision of the inevitable failure of revolt. Nevertheless, the point is both belabored and often tenuous. There are times when Starr’s... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Twentieth-Century French PhilosophyRonald ShustermanTwentieth-Century French Philosophy, by Eric Matthews; 232 pp. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996, $13.95 paper.Pace the habitual proverb, one of the best things about this volume is indeed its cover: a picture of Sartre lighting his pipe, in some Parisian cafe, in the midst of an animated discussion with Simone de Beauvoir and Mr. and Mrs. [End Page 188] Boris Vian. There is an (...) “arty” dimension to French philosophy which has mostly disappeared from English thought since the time of Russell. One could hardly imagine illustrating a history of recent English philosophy with (say) a picture of P. F. Strawson sitting in a bar with some rebellious trumpet-player-cum-novelist. Matthews manages to give the reader an exceptionally clear idea of the thought of those whom he considers to be the most significant French philosophers of our time. Perhaps the selection is too restrictive; some of the major figures who are completely—or almost completely—absent from this volume include Jacques Maritain, Michel Serres, Paul Ricoeur, Vladimir Jankélévitch, and Gilles Deleuze. Matthews’s work, however, is intended as an introduction, so his survey is necessarily light. The justification for the selection is that the essence of twentieth-century French thought involves an emphasis on subjectivity. This emphasis is examined in the work of Bergson who was the first of many to underline the role of the self and the body in our dealings with the world. Direct quotations of the major texts are infrequent; this, however, is probably for the best—or so one feels when one encounters examples such as “Value is the self in so far as the self haunts the heart of the for-itself as that which the for-itself is” (p. 76). Matthews excels at “translating” the ideas of Sartre, Merleau-Ponty, Lacan, Foucault, Derrida and others into an English acceptable to even the most pedestrian ordinary language philosopher.Many readers may, however, be dissatisfied with some of Matthews’s classifications. Structuralism, for example, is represented here by Lacan and Foucault. Matthews correctly underlines Foucault’s “suspicion of a priori theorizing” (p. 149) but one has to remember that many of the great literary structuralists such as Barthes or Genette did base their work on abstract reasoning. In their hands, structuralism was hardly anti-scientific, so for someone coming to philosophy from literary theory, Matthews’s definition and examples are confusing. But perhaps these classifications are not essential to Matthews’s argument about the growth of subjectivity. It is indeed this subjectivity which emerges not only as Matthews’s thesis but as his target as well. He notes in Lacan’s philosophy the “lack of any serious argumentative support” and a “failure to offer empirical evidence for what looks like an empirical account” (p. 147). After a brief discussion of Foucault’s overall project, Matthews concludes that “one may feel a lingering suspicion that it is fatally flawed” (p. 156). This is frustrating and unfair; there is no point mentioning this flaw if one does not go on to work it out. Other philosophers get the same treatment. For example, Matthews argues against Lyotard’s picture of science as discredited: “Society might... find it hard to believe in science any more, without it being true that science was unbelievable” (p. 186). One may agree with Matthews on this point, but all of these rapid end-of-chapter dismissals remain rather superficial.Unfortunately, Matthews rarely builds the necessary bridges to make his study more illuminating. There is a passage on Bergson’s distinction between [End Page 189] “analysis” and “intuition” which is quite close to Russell’s distinction between “knowledge by description” and “knowledge by acquaintance.” Other such bridges could be built between Merleau-Ponty and pragmatism, or Saussure, Lévi-Strauss, and the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. There is a reason for the absence of these connections: Matthews’s basic premise is that there is something specific about French philosophy; too many obvious bridges to other thinkers would undermine his entire argument. One of Matthews’s goals is to demonstrate that it is “important to the understanding of works of philosophy... (shrink)