Barry Allen

Cavell reads Nietzsche’s reference to Übermorgan, the day after tomorrow (the day after the crisis of nihilism), on the model of Übermensch, as a surpassing dawn, elucidated with examples from Emerson and Thoreau. These philosophers may not be Dionysian pessimists on the other side of Western nihilism, but they are as untimely as a midday dawn. In Cavell’s Emersonian terms, they are perfectionists, assuming “the right to seek a step toward an unattained possibility of the self, to want a world closer to the heart’s desire.” Cavell, too, is an untimely perfectionist in American philosophy. He spent his career comfortably close to the center of the Analytic establishment, feeling answerable, he says, to their judgment, yet he consistently refused to follow their lead in defining his questions. Instead of abandoning the Analytic audience he seems destined to disappoint, he has endured as the aesthetic conscience of their otherwise pretty philistine approach to philosophy. Cavell does not have an aesthetic theory as such. Instead, he has an art of philosophy whose engagement with art—the films of Fred Astaire, the voices of opera, characters in Shakespeare—is a method unlike any other for enacting philosophical engagement.

A singularity of the famous Art of War《孫子兵法》 attributed to Sunzi is the way this work conceives of knowledge as a resource for the military strategist. The idea is new in Chinese tradition, and new in the worldwide context of thinking about strategy, where Sunzi’s ideas about the value of knowledge are far in advance of the thinking of Western theorists like Machiavelli or especially Clausewitz. In this paper I analyze the role of knowledge in the Sunzi theory of strategy, and show the consistency of what this work says about knowledge with a philosophical idea of knowledge that emerges in Warring States texts of diverse genres.

In this monograph-length article, which inaugurates a multipart symposium titled “Fuzzy Studies,” the significance and virtues of blur are investigated through the whole history of Chinese intellectual tradition. In the Western tradition, the blur of becoming seems to disqualify an object for knowledge; nothing can be an object of knowledge until the blur is resolved and clarity attained. Chinese tradition offers suggestive examples of the thought that blur, so far from being incompatible with knowledge, might be its condition of possibility and the explanation of its value. This article traces the development of this thought (the compatibility of knowledge and original becoming) in the work of the classical Confucian and Daoist thinkers, the art-of-war literature, Chan Buddhism, and medieval Neoconfucianism, with an eye to its usefulness for Western philosophy of knowledge

The premise of this volume, which collects the work of thirteen contributors, is that Chinese philosophy has plenty to say to the problems that occupy current philosophers. Turns out that means plenty to say in their terms and by their standards. For many—not all—of the contributors, the only “challenge” Chinese thought poses is assimilation, how same can they make it. Part of the problem is that the philosophy asked to receive this challenge is our insipid, directionless, imaginatively exhausted, institutionally sclerotic, late, late analytic philosophy. Why consider it an accomplishment to show that Zhuangzi can be reconciled with Quine? Surely the interesting question is how reading Zhuangzi might take us somewhere Quine never imagined. Why does Quine set the measure of the philosophically serious when Zhuangzi might as readily make Quine seem benighted? Maybe what Mencius called the sprout of compassion is really the function of the brain’s anterior insula. Maybe Rawls’s principles of justice would work in Confu-China. Maybe epistemology can welcome data from China’s ancient texts. But such readings crave more of the same, not something unimaginably different. The challenge, mostly dodged in these papers, is to let philosophy be challenged, which is more challenging than the contributors consistently ken. Unless the interaction with Chinese material exposes what is limited in our philosophy it is a mere exercise in colonization.

This essay introduces a running symposium on the work of Richard Rorty and its legacy fifteen years after his passing. The arc of Rorty's thought defines a trajectory through American pragmatism, tracing a variation unimagined until he expressed it. His work raised Anglophone philosophers’ interest in American pragmatism as never before and also focused the interest of the whole world on American pragmatism as never before, even though the result was to define a pragmatism saturated with nominalism and suppressing the most original qualities of the sources that he celebrated.

Sage knowledge knows the evolution of circumstances from an early point, when tendencies may be inconspicuously, “effortlessly” diverted. This knowledge is expressed, not “represented,” being an intensive quality of action rather than of belief, proposition, or theory, and its effortlessness is not a matter of effort versus no effort, but of the intensity with which effort tends to vanish. The value of such knowledge and the explanation of its accomplishment in terms of perceiving incipience or “really seeing the little things” crisscross lines among Confucians, Neo-Confucians, Daoists, and Art of War thinkers. What distinguishes these currents arises not from different definitions or justifications of knowledge but instead different ideas about how to acquire such knowledge and especially how to train it for wisdom.

The first book to focus on the intersection of Western philosophy and the Asian martial arts, _Striking Beauty_ comparatively studies the historical and philosophical traditions of martial arts practice and their ethical value in the modern world. Expanding Western philosophy's global outlook, the book forces a theoretical reckoning with the concerns of Chinese philosophy and the aesthetic and technical dimensions of martial arts practice. _Striking Beauty_ explains the relationship between Asian martial arts and the Chinese philosophical traditions of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, in addition to Sunzi's _Art of War_. It connects martial arts practice to the Western concepts of mind-body dualism and materialism, sports aesthetics, and the ethics of violence. The work ameliorates Western philosophy's hostility toward the body, emphasizing the pleasure of watching and engaging in martial arts, along with their beauty and the ethical problem of their violence

The book collects seventeen new research papers on themes in Indian philosophy, contributed by contemporary scholars from around the world. The principal themes are knowledge and logic, consciousness, existence, and the self. The editor explains that the studies discuss Indian sources in their own context, rather than trying to be comparative or make connections to other traditions. This unfortunate directive is fortunately ignored by the strongest papers. Claus Oetke shows that despite their investigations of inference and syntax, Indian analysts had little interest in formal structure per se. They investigated ways to exploit the formal structure in ordinary cases for the establishment of metaphysical tenets. Metaphysical aspirations rather than sheer formal analysis were the overriding concern. Another contributor describes Indian thought as “relentlessly empiricist in orientation.” Scripture is acknowledged for transcendent things like Dharma and Brahman, “but it is the senses that hold sway over the natural world.” Logic is not enough for inference, which must be grounded in perception. The fourth-century Buddhist Vasubandhu defines inference in terms of perception. The basis of inference is the observation of an object not occurring without the inferred object for one who knows the connection. Eli Franco explains how skepticism invaded Indian thought with the Madhyamaka movement in latter Buddhism, beginning with the great founder Nagarjuna. He denies any means to knowledge, using arguments that often resemble those of Western skepticism. Skepticism about means to knowledge became associated with the later materialist Lokayata school, from ninth century. Indian materialism is an anomaly somewhat like the Chinese rationalism of the Mohists. Pradeep Gokhale provides an overview of the school, which he describes as “a rationalist philosophical movement which attempted to solve individual and social issues merely on empirical, rational, and practical grounds without taking recourse to religion.” Like Epicurus, this materialism is a physical theory demystifying traditional morality and religion, which are replaced by hedonism. Consciousness originates in body and does not exist independent of matter. It is not originally in the elements but arises from them, as intoxication, not originally in molasses, arises by fermentation. Religion is a human creation. Other worlds do not exist. Nothing that we do makes a difference to future lives, which do not exist. Fallacious ideas like life after death vitiate sacrifice and morality. The path to liberation is to follow natural pleasure. Joel Feldman discusses the Buddhist doctrine of momentariness. Things do not endure. The experience of enduring things is a delusive result of imagining things to have a universal character when actually they are merely grouped together according to our desires by means of their exclusion from things that do not fulfill our purposes. We impose this vast delusion on what are in truth momentary self-characterized particulars, each with its own self-nature, producing an effect and then annihilating in a moment by that very self-nature. Destruction is never the work of an external cause. If a thing can self-destruct, then it must be destroyed immediately by its own self-nature as soon as it begins to exist. Papers by Alex Watson and Roy Tzohar survey the spectrum of Indian views on the self. Consciousness as light is an ancient image in Indian thought described in a contribution by Matthew MacKenzie. Isabelle Ratié explains the metaphor of the mirror in Indian thought about consciousness. For Brahminical tradition mirror images are sheer illusion. For the later Buddhists the perceived universe is comparable to an optical refection. The characteristic of reflecting entities like a mirror is the capacity to manifest themselves as something else while remaining what they are, and this is exactly like consciousness, which manifests itself in all the images of phenomenal nature. In all of these papers Indian ideas are repeatedly compared with ideas in Sartre, McGinn, Dretske, Searle, Husserl, Merleau-Ponty, Heidegger, Wittgenstein, and Sellars.

Confucius is finally rehabilitated. Party dignitaries kneel at his ancestral shrine. The benevolent Confucian is a new image of China for the outside, and for Chinese dealing with the collapse of ideology and the moral fabric of their society. The word tianxia is usually translated “all under Heaven.” It has a complicated history and a complicated contemporary appropriation in a desperate ideology-cum-PR campaign. The tianxia-idea is that China has for millennia been a government of all under heaven. It was such a government in the past, is one today, and offers the whole world its benevolent alternative to liberalism and democracy. More than one contributor to this strong collection of interesting essays suspects that the Confucian revival is an act of desperation. As soft power, Confucianism may be no match for global capitalism. Soft power is not readily synthesized by official campaign. Its genuine source is in everyday life, and the life of ordinary Chinese is without much resonance beyond its borders. The whole world uses Chinese electronics, though almost none but the Chinese read their books, watch their television, or listen to their music. The world’s love affair with China is fixated on the economic numbers and is no less capricious. It has never been clear whether tianxia means a cultural realm without political boundaries, as is urged by modern ideologists, or is just another word for China, which is how modern Chinese dictionaries explain it. On the official account, membership in “all under Heaven” is a matter of shared culture, sustained by affective ties rather than coercion, but it is a culture that values order over freedom, ethics over law, and authority over democracy and human rights. Outsiders worry that tianxia is the cloak of a rising hegemon. However, the important audience for lofty talk of tianxia may be internal. Whether foreigners really trust it may be less urgent than for the Chinese to believe it about themselves. Postsocialist China has no unifying vision and has yet to honestly scrutinize official socialism. The new discourse of tianxia speaks to their need for a vision of their place in the world. The image of a tianxia government of benevolent authority may be more useful for identity within China than for offering the world a viable alternative to democracy and human rights.

Instead of following the behaviorists and abandoning the concept of experience, Dewey wanted to reconstruct it. Dewey was an ardent Darwinist, so whatever experience is, it has to be an evolved, presumably adaptive power. “Experience” became for him one word for the multiplex relation between the evolved, adapted organism and its environment. Human environments include groups and social relations mediated by language. But “experience” is not centered there, or restricted to the use of language. Experience comprises our total interaction with the environment. It is with this experience that knowledge begins and where its value is proved.

Dewey watched the rise and fall of European fascism, writing about it many times in several contexts and venues. He analyzed its motives and its means, and was not sanguine that such a thing would never happen in the United States. Instead, he seemed to think the conditions were favorable, but also that there was still time for precautionary action. Dewey was enough of a Jeffersonian to think that democracy begins in neighborly communities. A democratic public has to be recreated each generation by individuals through collective acts of mutual recognition. No virtual community is an actual one. As in psychoanalysis, the presence of the other is not optional. Dewey expressed the faith that open communication, voluntary participation, and cooperative intelligence can adapt humanity to change without the wrenching regression to fascism. He thought that education was the point at which to build resistence to American fascism, and had a program for educators to implement. “When shall we realize,” he asked, “that in every school-building in the land a struggle is being waged against all that hems in and distorts human life?” Unfortunately, this is now realized, except by the wrong people, who undermine public education at every opportunity.

From Leibniz and Georg Ernst Stahl to Albrecht von Haller, Germans of the eighteenth century calved off an experimental physiology from medicine and made this research a centerpiece of their new model university, first under Haller at Göttingen, then under von Humboldt at Berlin. Haller made Göttingen the most important center for the advancement of Enlightenment science in Germany, but that is not where Johann Herder went looking for new ideas in psychology, turning instead to France, avidly studying Condillac and Diderot, and meeting the latter in Paris in 1769. Herder wanted to use French psychology in his theory of how the history of art recapitulates the development of the senses. To work out his ideas he found it necessary to ignore Kant's careful distinction between life and matter. Kant made life an inexplicable boundary for mechanical explanation, though with Herder it became the key concept for interpreting nature. That all the forces in the physical world are held to express one organizing, integrating vital principle is what excited Goethe about Herder's work and provoked the Naturphilosophie that Schelling invented at this time in close collaboration with Goethe.

The ideas of the late Donald Davidson are beginning to be appreciated beyond their origin in Analytic philosophy of language. Davidson doesn’t make appropriation easy. He was an Analytic philosopher’s philosopher, intricately technical, indifferent to questions outside a narrow specialization. As prose, Davidson is elegant, spare, subtle, and indirect. A great deal is left unsaid. If Quine were H. L. Mencken, Davidson would be Henry James. To follow the argument carefully, you need a course in logic, maybe more than one. The effort is worth it. It’s been a long time since there was a really new idea about truth. Philosophers have recycled between Plato and Protagoras for two thousand years. Davidson credits logician Alfred Tarski, but without Davidson the ideas would have been lost, for Tarski himself didn’t see the most important thing, and would have learned as much from Davidson as the rest of us have. Before Tarski it seemed inevitable to think of truth in terms of relations extending beyond language. With Tarski truth becomes an artifact of the logic of language. The only way to explain what it is for a sentence to be true is to show how it relates to an infinite set of other sentences. The account never strays from relations of language to language. The result is an idea of truth that’s as unconditional as any purist could ask for, yet supports no metaphysical interpretation. Instead, metaphysical ideas of truth stand exposed as extravagantly superfluous. Davidson’s question in these lectures is the point of is. What’s this particle doing in language? There’s no obvious answer. He decides that we never know exactly what is means because we never know what is true means. We would know both if only we knew what our language is, but we never will.

Simondon is scarcely known to English-language philosophers, though with these translations that may begin to change. They have been a long time coming. Simondon writes a complicated academic prose in French and calls on an unusually wide range of expertise, but reading his books is worth the effort. Individuation in the Light of Notions of Form and Information (1964) is a dense and at times technical contribution to the philosophy of biology, though there is little in metaphysics that is not implicated in his argument. Science and philosophy are enjoined to pursue knowledge of individuation, a genetic process, rather than starting with individuals of any sort. Individuation, the process, is primitive, and individuals a relative reality.On the Mode of Existence of Technical Objects (1958) is the best work ever in the philosophy of technology. Contributions by Heidegger and others pale in comparison. Simondon analyzes a wide variety of technical objects with a mastery of engineering science. Heidegger would not know a diode from a triode. He thought meditation on ancient Greek words would take philosophy closer to “the essence of Teknik” than anything learned from science and engineering. Simondon shows why this view is mistaken. In this one, very technical difference (diode and triode), which is replicated ubiquitously in modern technology, he discerns what makes something technical rather than natural or accidental. He applies his thesis about the priority of individuation. Technical objects are phases of a technical individuation that he calls concretization, by which their operation becomes more internally resonant, as for example in the step from diode to triode (to pentode, to transistor and integrated circuit). There is much, much more of value in this book; for instance, his argument is implicitly anti-Marxist. Workers’ alienation is not attributable to economy. Industrial technology alienates workers because machines do what used to be the most satisfying, skillful (and expensive) part of industrial production, leaving workers with only regulative and custodial functions—which is alienating to people born, as we all are, to the technical life.