In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Steven Fuller A FRENCH SCIENCE (WITH ENGLISH SUBTITLES) It is of no news to anyone with even a passing interest in the theoretical wranglings of literary critics that deconstruction is on the defensive. This is of special interest to an historian and philosopher of science such as myself because (with the notable exception of Frank Lentricchia's revisionist history of contemporary critical trends) ] most of the recent salvos launched (...) against deconstruction have been supplied by analytic philosophy.2 Indeed, some analytic philosophers have felt bold enough to enter the fray themselves. And as with other Anglo-American incursions into theoretical debates of continental origin, whatever is lost in subtlety and sheer ingenuity is made up for in clarity and commonsense. If there is one theme common to adi analytically inspired attacks on deconstruction, it is that critical method ought to be a systematic articulation of the intuitions of the average reflective reader. To be a literary critic is not to achieve esoteric insight into the uncommunicative nature of texts; rather, it is to become more fully aware of the many ways in which texts do communicate. While such advice may be reassuring, it is certainly not very "philosophical" in the sense of "deeply problematic" that deconstructionists would claim for the nature of texts. And the deconstructionists are right — so I believe. At least, I will try to show that the case for deconstruction, in all its radicalness, can be made with something of the clarity desired by analytic philosophers. A contentious critic might wonder, at this point, why the deconstructionists were not clear in the first place (thereby rendering this article superfluous). The reason, contrary to what certain "friends of deconstruction" in the analytic tradition would have us believe, is that there are few precedents in the recent history of philosophy for claims made by deconstructionists.3 It would indeed be faint praise to find, as Hacking and Rorty have maintained, that the theses of Barthes, Foucault, and Derrida were anticipated in the limpid prose style of a Quine, a Goodman, or a Kuhn.4 Why is the latter set of writers so clear, while the former set is so obscure? Our contentious critic might conclude diat clarity of style reflects a clarity of thought, and likewise for obscurity of style. In any case, both friends 2 Philosophy and Literature and foes of deconstruction tend to agree diat whatever is of value in the French texts may be derived with less effort by reading the American ones. The friends want to place deconstruction among several strains oftwentieth-century thought that would dissolve classical philosophy into a critical history of ideas, while the foes (more ingenuously perhaps) want to resume the business of practical criticism as usual and its attendant function (à la F. R. Leavis) of preserving Western Culture. Since the analytic devil can (and will) cite deconstructionist scripture for his own purposes, it is not clear that explicating Derrida will settle matters, especially since deconstruction gives an ironic twist to the search for what an author "had in mind" when he composed a particular text. It is, however, interesting to note that when one analytic philosopher recently presented a paradigm of literary criticism that allegedly compensated for the excesses of deconstruction, he resorted to Kantian talk about the intentions of the author being a "regulative ideal" toward which all responsible practical criticism aspires.5 This paradigm claims to owe to deconstruction the idea that, once an author is separated from his text, die reader becomes unable to verify any hypotheses about what the author meant by what he wrote. However, the evidence surrounding the text's composition (as well as the text itself) may be reconstructed so as to suggest a model of the audioes intentions. In that case, the explanatory adequacy of such a model would be relative to the evidence and methods available to the critic. And so, while the text certainly had a real audior who possessed a set of determinate intentions at the time ofwriting, mere is no reason to think that the most plausible model of the currendy available evidence picks out those intentions. What we have here is the first of two species of... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:IS THERE A LANGUAGE-GAME THAT EVEN THE DECONSTRUCTIONIST CAN PLAY? by Steven Fuller After reading A. J. Cascardi's fascinating "Skepticism and Deconstruction," I am led to ask the question that "entitles" this response.1 The answer I want to give is "yes," but Cascardi has made the task more difficult than I would have liked. In brief, he has dissociated deconstruction from all philosophical pursuits, including skepticism, which it superficially (...) resembles. I shall proceed, first, by reasserting deconstruction 's skeptical credentials and, then, by showing how these credentials enable the deconstructionist to play an interesting language-game. I Cascardi's thesis is most vividly stated in the following passage: But the deconstructionist, wrongly thought of as a skeptic, has no idea of what an epistemology counter to his uncertainties and indeterminacies would look like. This is because he is out to question the very axis ofwhich skepticism and epistemology are the opposite poles. Because his questioning shows up as a denial of the principle of non-contradiction, one is likely to think that deconstruction is a form of irrationalism. (p. 7) For all its forcefulness, this statement suggests that Cascardi may have fallen prey to a Cartesian ruse involving the meaning of "skepticism." A coherent history of skepticism can be told that extends from Sextus Empiricus's Outlines ofPyrrhonism (c. 200 AD) to Pierre Bayle's Historical and Critical Dictionary (c. 1700) without ever mentioning Descartes. The theme 104 Steven fuller105 of this history would be that no claims to knowledge are certifiable. In a more modern vein, we would say that no proposition has a determinate truth-value. The skeptics in our history would be presented as moral philosophers instructing their readers on how to live in a world in which they can never tell the true from the false — a world in which doubt is the natural attitude. The paraphrase is crucial because virtually all philosophers — most notably Husserl — have regarded doubt as unnatural, a psychic tension that must somehow be resolved. And just as hunger motivates the drive for food, it has usually been assumed that doubt motivates the drive for method. Whereas food sustains the physical needs of the sentient being as it reduces hunger, so too method sustains the cognitive needs of the rational being as it reduces doubt. Our skeptics have perennially noted that to think of all knowledge claims as certifiably true or false would be to think that nature answers us directly upon being addressed. In less metaphorical terms, we would be speaking a language whose predicates pick out natural kinds. The "dogmatists," as Sextus and Bayle liked to call their opponents (we would now call them "foundationalists"), could then easily conceive of how nature appears to us as nature's response to our utterances. To drive home the dogmatists' intentionalist stance toward nature, instead of "how nature appears to us," we might say "how nature represents itselfto us." In the case of truths, nature represents itself transparently, while in the case of falsehoods, representation has gone awry: either we misspoke or nature deceived us. To put the blame on ourselves is to call for a revision in method; to put the blame on nature is to suspect that an evil designer, a Cartesian demon, is behind the faulty appearances. The point, of course, is that one needs to be a dogmatist in order to have Descartes's more demonic thoughts. The classical skeptic, who held the language-world link to be purely conventional, used the uncertifiability of knowledge claims as an argument for denying any design whatsoever to nature — either for good or for ill. Descartes muddled things, however, when he interpreted the skeptical stance as claiming that all knowledge claims may turn out to be false. From the First Meditation, it is never made clear why we should worry about the Cartesian demon (and hence send him into cognitive exile as quickly as possible). Presumably, the concern arises from the possibility of discovering that the appearances are indeed illusory — that is, certifiablyfalse. This concern becomes a full-fledged anxiety once the doubter realizes that he ultimately has no control over how his doubt is resolved. In other words... (shrink)