Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy Volume 2, Number 2 Editor in Chief Mark Textor, King's College London Guest Editor Mirja Hartimo, University of Helsinki Editorial Board Juliet Floyd, Boston University Greg Frost-Arnold, Hobart and William Smith Colleges Ryan Hickerson, University of Western Oregon Henry Jackman, York University Sandra Lapointe, McMaster University Chris Pincock, Ohio State University Richard Zach, University of Calgary Production Editor Ryan Hickerson Editorial Assistant Daniel Harris, CUNY Graduate Center Design Douglas Patterson and Daniel Harris ©2013 The Authors Book Symposium: Hans-Johann Glock, What is Analytic Philosophy? Introduction Hans-Johann Glock..................... 1 Commentaries Leila Haaparanta......................... 2 Christopher Pincock....................6 Panu Raatikainen........................11 Graham Stevens.......................... 28 Replies Hans-Johann Glock..................... 36 What is Analytic Philosophy? Hans-Johann Glock Let me start by thanking the Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy for offering me this opportunity to discuss my book What is Analytical Philosophy? (Cambridge, 2008). I am also very grateful for the valuable feedback from the contributors. And I thank both the journal and the contributors for their patience in waiting for my replies. I was pleased to discover that all of my commentators express a certain sympathy with the central contention of my book, namely that analytic philosophy is an intellectual movement of the twentieth-century (with roots in the nineteenth and offshoots in the twenty-first), held together by family-resemblances on the one hand, ties of historical influence on the other. Needless to say, sympathy is not the same as endorsement, and the commentators go on to raise challenging questions and objections to the account of analytic philosophy that I proposed. They also cover the full spectrum of potential views concerning the proper extension of 'analytic philosophy'. While Raatikainen would confine the term to those twentieth-century philosophers that took a linguistic turn (excluding even Frege, Moore and Russell), Stevens is content to treat it as co-extensive with 'philosophy' simpliciter. My book steered a middle-course between these two extremes. I hope that Raatikainen and Stevens will not be excessively disappointed to find that, their animadversions notwithstanding, I still regard that middle-course as reasonable. I also hope to provide answers to Haaparanta's queries concerning the methodology of the book and to Pincock's challenge to justify the selection of ideas featuring in the family-resemblance part of my account and the units of relations of influence featuring in the historical/genetic part. But I shall not be able to respond to all of the noteworthy criticisms and questions of my commentators. I have divided my responses according to commentator rather than topic, while also indicating some connections between their ideas where appropriate. Hans-Johann Glock University of Zurich glock@philos.uzh.ch Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [1]© Hans-Johann Glock Philosophy and its Recent History: Remarks on What is Analytic Philosophy?, by HansJohann Glock Leila Haaparanta Textbooks teach that twentieth century philosophy was characterized by an opposition between two traditions. On one hand, there was logical empiricism and analytic philosophy; on the other, there was the continental tradition, that is, phenomenology, existentialism and hermeneutics. Pragmatism is often considered a separate tradition, although it formed new movements by interacting with analytic philosophy, hermeneutics and phenomenology. In the lifetime of the socialist camp, Marxist philosophy was usually presented as a separate school or a group of schools, which, however, also interacted with the other traditions. Many philosophers nowadays argue that the two main traditions started to dissolve towards the end of the century. There is certainly much that speaks in favor of that claim; contemporary philosophy includes postmodernism, poststructuralism, postanalytic philosophy, various efforts to make use of phenomenology in the cognitive sciences, efforts to understand other traditions than one's own and efforts to cross the borders. On the other hand, there are voices who wish to keep what they regard as good philosophy and worth preserving in twentieth century thought. The book by HansJohann Glock is one of these voices. Late nineteenth and early twentieth century philosophy started to turn into a part of the history of philosophy in the late seventies and the early eighties when new perspectives were presented on the philosophers that were regarded as the classics of the analytic tradition. Gottlob Frege's philosophy, for example, became a point of interest for several groups, not only for those who considered him a starting-point of analytic philosophy. Hans Sluga (1980) and others thought that it is time to study Frege's German background in order to understand the origins of his thought. G.P. Baker and P.M.S. Hacker (1984) joined the company although from a different point of view, and Michael Dummett (1981) also started to dig into Frege's background. A number of books and articles on that line appeared (see, e.g. the collection edited by Haaparanta and Hintikka, 1986). Starting with the early work of Dagfinn Føllesdal (1958, 1969) and J.N. Mohanty (1964, 1982), several comparisons between Frege and Edmund Husserl were also made. In the early nineties, Edmund Husserl's views drew perhaps even more interest than those of Frege and a number of historical studies appeared focusing on his philosophy (see, for example, articles in Haaparanta, 1994). At the end of the century it was certainly time to study early twentieth century philosophy as a period of the history of philosophy, not merely as the philosophy of our contemporaries. In these studies, two seemingly opposite views on the period were presented: on one hand, it was stressed that some of the philosophers who were seen to belong to different camps were on speaking terms during their lifetime; on the other, the very division between analytic and continental philosophy can be traced back to earlier history, hence, it did not begin a hundred years ago. Many books and articles have come out since the early nineties which face the question on how to make the division in the first place. Hans-Johann Glock gives a useful survey of what has been said about the division during the last thirty years. But that is far from being the only contribution of his work; his book raises the question concerning what analytic philosophy is if we take into account the historical work which speaks in favor of the impossiJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [2]© Leila Haaparanta bility of defining the tradition. It is not difficult to accept Glock's view that analytic philosophy must be understood in terms of influences and family-resemblances rather than in terms of strict defining features. Glock proceeds by testing several hypotheses concerning the definition of analytic philosophy. That is a good strategy and also favored in earlier studies. What is special in Glock's procedure is that he gives a comprehensive and detailed presentation of the results of testing. In the 'Introduction' he gives the main lines of his strategy. After the historical survey, where he presents the main figures of analytic philosophy, he tests the idea that geolinguistic definitions would make the division between analytic and continental philosophy. The very terms are naturally strange, as 'analytic' refers to a method or a style of practising philosophy, 'continental' being a geographical label. After geographical and linguistic considerations Glock discusses the thesis that analytic philosophy, unlike continental, lacks historical awareness. He argues that analytic philosophy in general does not ignore the relevance of the past. He then considers the view that analytic philosophy has different topics, problems and doctrines from those of continental philosophy. He also takes into account the suggestion that the method of analysis in analytic philosophy makes it into a special way of philosophizing, which deviates from the continental or the earlier tradition. In addition, he discusses the possibility that analytic philosophy has a specific style and again finds evidence which falsifies the hypothesis. Finally, he evaluates the claim that analytic philosophy excludes moral and political philosophy and here also finds arguments which show the weaknesses of the proposed hypothesis. In the end of the book Glock both elaborates his highly plausible idea that 'analytic philosophy' cannot be defined in terms of necessary and sufficient conditions; on the contrary, what is needed is an explanation of the concept that relies on the idea of family-resemblance and emphasizes a genetic or historical perspective on what analytic philosophy is, that is, sees it as a historical sequence of individuals and schools. It is easy to see that the tests fail. Still, we can compare the traditions by saying that philosophers who are called analytic have used certain methods, have had certain points of interest and attitudes etc. more often than philosophers who are called continental. For example, analytic philosophy has especially emphasized the ideal of clarity and pursued exactness by means of logical and mathematical tools, although we may also consider Heidegger's vocabulary as an effort to find a precise expression of what cannot be expressed by our ordinary language. Second, analytic philosophers think more often than continental philosophers that practising philosophy is like practising science. They think more often than continental philosophers that philosophy has several objects of research that determine the subfields of philosophy and that philosophers use specific research methods, aim at results and construct theories, which the members of the scientific community evaluate. Such terms as 'scientific result' and 'philosophical theory' tend to occur in the texts of those philosophers who take themselves as analytic. Still, that very claim can be challenged; in the early days of philosophical analysis, that is, at the beginning of the twentieth century, such expressions as 'scientific result in philosophy' and 'philosophical theory' were hardly in use. Instead of even trying to list the inclinations of analytic philosophers, one could also suggest another move: instead of arguing that a certain characterization of analytic philosophy does not work, because it does not apply to Frege, Moore, Russell or some other philosophers, one might conclude that those classics are after all not analytic philosophers in every respect. One could also suggest along these lines that Husserl comes close to analytic philosophy. Glock points out that being an analytic philosopher, Frege argues that logic cannot be based on a metaphysical foundation, since it is presupposed in all cognitive endeavours (Glock 2010, Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [3] 120, 141). But Frege's remarks can also be seen from a different angle. It is one thing to say that logic is presupposed in metaphysics like in all cognitive endeavours-this is what Husserl also tells us in his Ideen I and another thing to argue that the key distinctions made in what is proposed as 'the formula language of pure thought', to use Frege's phrase, are motivated by metaphysical distinctions. What Frege does is precisely to motivate, or even to justify, the distinctions made in the new language, such as those between identity, predication, existence, and class-inclusion, by means of metaphysical distinctions, such as that between object and concept. The Vienna Circle declared in 1929 that the new logic, the ideal language developed by Frege, Russell and Whitehead, frees philosophy from metaphysical considerations concerning the ultimate nature of reality. Still, for Frege, the very ideal language had metaphysical and epistemological content. Understanding the two traditions in a wider historical context helps us see their possible differences in a new light. If we wish to understand what philosophical analysis, for example, is in the analytic tradition, we cannot escape the fact that analysis is also the method of phenomenology and that the methods of analysis and synthesis have a long tradition, starting with ancient geometry. It is no news anymore that the method of analytic philosophy must be seen in this context. That is also what Glock shows. Glock takes up several points which connect the traditions of the twentieth century to the philosophical schools of earlier centuries. However, there is one aspect in his own methodology that needs clarification. Glock argues that his approach may appear more 'continental' in that it pays attention to the historical background and to the wider cultural and political implications of analytic philosophy and its evolving conflict with other styles of philosophizing (p. 3). On the other hand, he claims that his main focus is on 'What is analytic philosophy?' rather than 'Where does analytic philosophy come from?' (p. 4). He does not make it quite clear what the methodology is that he after all prefers in his own study. The questions concerning what approaches are available if one wishes to study the history of philosophy are central in the fourth chapter "History and Historiography". There Glock does not intend to show that any specific attitude towards history gives us a definition of analytic philosophy. Instead, he seeks to show that a specific attitude towards history is the correct one. He concludes that neither historiophobia nor anachronism is a distinguishing feature of analytic philosophy. He also states that in so far as many analytic philosophers resist the excesses of historicism, "they are on the side of angels" (p. 114). In this chapter, Glock defends analytic philosophy against its critics more than tests any hypothesis concerning how to make the distinction between analytic and continental philosophy. What Glock tells us in this chapter is crucially important in view of his whole book. He is likely to consider his own project in these very terms, as an effort to keep a balance between history and analysis. The chapter raises more questions concerning Glock's own methodology. There are various approaches to history in philosophy, many of them used by philosophers who are regarded as analytic. At the other end, there is proper historical research and close to it historiography of philosophy, which construes what happened in philosophy as a part of history. History of ideas builds bridges between philosophical and other ideas and may also consider them in the wider context of society. It does not ignore the whole history; however, what is the closest context for philosophy proposed by the history of ideas is that of religious, political and cultural trends and ideas. What philosophers most often do, however, is to give philosophical reconstructions of texts, say, the basic thought expressed by the author plus other views that are connected with the main view. Philosophical reconstructions may or may not be supported by historical reconstructions, namely, by reconstructions of the historical context, particularly of the sources Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [4] and influences of the text that is being considered. 'Rational reconstruction' is the term that is used when the text is presented particularly as theses and arguments. One also finds studies in the history of philosophy which are discussions with the classics as if they were our contemporaries. Some philosophers want to use ideas presented in history as a source of inspiration for their own philosophical thought; others come up with new ideas and only afterwards look at the history of philosophy and see the seeds of the ideas in the earlier tradition. There are also various forms of the sociology of philosophy comparable with the sociology of science, including approaches that start from Foucault's methodological views. All these attitudes towards history have been present in the texts of philosophers that are regarded as analytic. It would be interesting to learn how Glock sees his own methodology in relation to those various alternatives. Leila Haaparanta University of Tampere leila.haaparanta@uta.fi References G. P. Baker and P. M. S. Hacker. Frege: Logical Excavations. Oxford, Blackwell, 1984. M. Dummett. The Interpretation of Frege's Philosophy. London, Duckworth, 1981. D. Føllesdal. Husserl und Frege, ein Beitrag zur Beleuchtung der Entstehung der phänomenologischen Philosophie. Oslo, Aschehoug, 1958. Translated by C. Hill in Haaparanta, (1994), 3-47. D. Føllesdal. Husserl's Notion of Noema. Journal of Philosophy 66: 680-87, 1969. L. Haaparanta, editor. Mind, Meaning and Mathematics: Essays on the Philosophical Views of Husserl and Frege. Dordrecht, Boston, and London, Kluwer, 1994. L. Haaparanta and J. Hintikka, editors. Frege Synthesized: Essays on the Philosophical and Foundational Work of Gottlob Frege. Dordrecht, Reidel, 1986. J. N. Mohanty. Husserl's Theory of Meaning. The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff, 1964. J. N. Mohanty. Husserl and Frege. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1982. H. D. Sluga. Frege. London, Routledge, 1980. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [5] On Hans-Johann Glock, What is Analytic Philosophy? Christopher Pincock Glock's book is a thorough survey of several unsatisfying answers to the question "What is analytic philosophy?" combined with an answer that Glock argues is adequate.1 The organization and execution of the book shows Glock's deep engagement with the details of the history of analytic philosophy and his participation in the debates about where its future lies. For those who have toiled on the obscure minutiae of this or that figure in the history of analytic philosophy, Glock's book offers some welcome respite. He shows how an appreciation of these details can inform a compelling understanding of the prospects and limitations of contemporary analytic philosophy. The links between the best scholarship on its history and a sensible take on its future make the book a joy to read, and it is a pleasure to have the opportunity to contribute to the discussion of the issues Glock raises. Glock begins his book by motivating his central question. Against those who argue that we should dispense with labels like "analytic philosophy", Glock argues that we "can hardly engage in an assessment of the historical development and the merits of analytic philosophy without some conception of what it amounts to" (9). Here we see two important questions which are implicated in attempts to say what analytic philosophy is. First, why did analytic philosophy develop the way it did, and, second, what merits did this development have? After summarizing the main events typically associated with analytic philosophy in chapter 2, Glock goes on to criticize five different kinds of characterizations of analytic philosophy in chapters 3 through 7. These extant proposals for what analytic philosophy is sometimes fail because of historical inaccuracies or poor arguments. But even when these mistakes are avoided, Glock argues that they place analytic philosophy in the wrong category. Chapter 3 considers various "geo-linguistic conceptions of analytic philosophy" (61). This approach considers geographic location or language as central to the nature of analytic philosophy. No specific proposal along these lines fits with the central cases of analytic philosophy. More fundamentally, they ignore the proliferation of non-analytic approaches in the traditional strongholds of analytic philosophy and the popularity of analytic approaches in areas and languages typically associated with "continental" philosophy (80). Similar obstacles stand in the way of a characterization of analytic philosophy in terms of its attitude towards history (chapter 4) or some list of shared doctrines or topics (chapter 5). Glock goes on to consider proposals in terms of the methods or styles of analytic philosophers (chapter 6) and some purported attitudes towards ethical and political questions (chapter 7). Again, the suggestions made so far along these lines fail to fit with analytic philosophy as it actually is. While all these negative conclusions may try the patience of some readers, Glock's criticisms of these proposals also serve a positive function. They highlight the variety of analytic philosophy and the many different projects that have been pursued under this label. These chapters, then, provide the reader with the data that Glock argues his own proposal can account for. Glock's positive proposal comes in chapter 8. It is a hybrid proposal that claims that analytic philosophy is identified partly by its historical origins and chains of influence and partly by ongoing features that are shared to some degree or other. Glock starts with "paradigmatic cases ... provided by a conception of analytic Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [6]© Christopher Pincock philosophy which treats it as a historical tradition" (205). This provides the kernel for the kind of "family resemblance" (206) that unites analytic philosophers. By this Glock has in mind Wittgenstein's claim about what unites games. There are no necessary and sufficient conditions, but only features such that sufficiently many are possessed by each game. The features are chosen by looking at the original paradigmatic cases, but Glock also emphasizes the chains of influence that are responsible for a given philosopher exhibiting a feature. When enough features are exhibited by philosopher B as a result of influence by already acknowledged analytic philosophers, then B should also be deemed an analytic philosopher. In this way Glock hopes to say what analytic philosophy is and how its members are united together over time. This is a sophisticated and historically plausible proposal.2 However, I think that Glock has stopped short of giving an answer to his original question. His hybrid proposal only says what kind of thing analytic philosophy is. To take the next step and say what analytic philosophy is, Glock must fill in and argue for the details of this historical-resemblance picture. There is only the barest sketch of how this might go in chapter 8. Glock gives a chart that lists seven paradigm cases and eight features that may be present, absent or in question (218). The cases are Frege, Russell, Vienna Circle, Quine, Oxford, TLP [Tractatus], and PI [Philosophical Investigations], while the features are linguistic turn, rejection of metaphysics, philosophy ≠ science, reductive analysis, formal logic, science oriented, argument and clarity. It is not clear if this chart is meant to provide the details of Glock's proposal as it is offered in the course of responding to an objection by Hacker. Neither the choice of features nor the entries in the chart are justified. A few pages later Glock offers a "family tree of analytic philosophy" (227) where some of the cases are linked by arrows that indicate influence. The most recent figures mentioned in the diagram are "Post-Positivism (Quine, Kripke, etc.)". Again, it is not clear how significant this diagram is supposed to be in fixing the details of Glock's view. The specific influences Glock has in mind are not discussed and one is left to speculate on how Glock's diagram could be extended to include other figures. Glock must address at least three issues before his schematic proposal can be filled in and justified. First, he must say what the ultimate constituents of analytic philosophy are. These constituents are the units of which we can ask whether they stand in the appropriate influence relations. It might seem obvious that these units are individual philosophers. However, Glock's distinction between the Tractatus and the Philosophical Investigations suggests that he is aware that a philosopher may be an analytic philosopher for only part of their career. Russell is a clear case of someone who began as a non-analytic philosopher and became an analytic philosopher. In our own time, we might cite Rorty or Putnam as philosophers who began as analytic philosophers and became nonanalytic philosophers. This suggests that we should consider the units to be philosophers-at-a-time. From these building blocks we would then investigate the features and chains of influence at the heart of Glock's account. A second pressing issue is how influence should be conceived if our aim is to make sense of analytic philosophy. Glock offers a fairly clear account of influence: "A has influenced B positively if there are clear affinities and convergences between the ideas of B and those of A, and B was familiar with the latter through reading or conversion" (222). Negative influence gets the same sort of definition, except that "affinities and convergences" is replaced by "disagreements and divergences" (222). Glock claims that "positive influence counts for more than negative influence" (222). This suggests that negative influence still counts for something in our determination of when a philosopher is an analytic philosopher. There are several problems with this approach to influence. An obvious concern is that the units that Glock considers here are inJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [7] dividual philosophers, but we just saw that it is better to consider links between philosophers-at-a-time. If we make this shift, then we must consider the connections between a philosopher-at-atime and that very philosopher at some later time. Presumably, Rorty-in-1998 is influenced by Rorty-in-1979, but unless we want to trivially make Rorty-in-1998 an analytic philosopher, we must place some restrictions on how "affinities and convergences" are counted. A second concern with Glock's account of influence is that it speaks about "ideas". It remains unclear, though, how these ideas relate to the features that are relevant to determining degrees of family resemblance. The features listed in Glock's chart fail to have a simple connection to the ideas of the philosophers-at-atime that we are considering. For example, which ideas are in question when we try to determine if the features "formal logic" or "argument" are present? There seem to be a range of possible answers. One option is to allow any form of influence including simple imitation and coercion. For example, a teacher may force a student to express a given view based on implicit or explicit threat of professional sanction. This sort of influence is presumably not the right kind of connection to unite analytic philosophy (221). At the same time, if we hold out for something more reasoned and philosophical, then we might find too few lines of influence. Russell clearly influenced the early Wittgenstein. But we are hard pressed to find clear arguments for conclusions that Wittgenstein adopted from Russell. A third question for Glock's account is how he proposes to demarcate analytic philosophy from non-analytic philosophy. He spends some time considering where we should locate the beginning of analytic philosophy. Bolzano is excluded because he "exerted an influence on analytic philosophy only very late in the day, after the movement was already firmly entrenched" (225). By contrast, Frege, Russell and Moore influenced each other (at least in one direction), so they deserve to be included. This is a reasonable consequence of Glock's proposal, but it does little to address the ongoing existence of analytic philosophy. One suggestion is that the features relevant to determining significant family resemblances are fixed once and for all by the features of the initial paradigmatic cases. If this suggestion is adopted, then analytic philosophy will end, presumably fairly soon. The influences which transmit the relevant features are becoming weaker and weaker. By 2050, one expects, Russell will influence philosophers only in the way that Descartes does today. While this allows that analytic philosophy will remain significant for future philosophers, it will not then be correct to say that these people are analytic philosophers any more than it would be right to say we are now all Cartesian rationalists. The continued existence of analytic philosophy thus requires a more dynamic way of determining the features that are relevant to the family resemblances among analytic philosophers. It may happen that a philosopher who stands in the right relationship to paradigmatic analytic philosophers instantiates a novel feature which those analytic philosophers lack. An example might be "the rejection of the Myth of the Given". Arguably this feature is first present in Sellars, but has since been taken up by philosophers like Brandom and McDowell. On a dynamic conception of analytic philosophy, this feature could become relevant to determining membership in analytic philosophy even though it was absent from earlier analytic philosophers and even perhaps present in non-analytic philosophers like Hegel. If this dynamic approach to features is adopted, then there is every reason to think that analytic philosophy will continue far into the future. This is because, like Wittgenstein's rope, there will be a chain of influence connecting philosophers back to Frege, Russell and Moore even if those philosophers bear none of the features of early analytic philosophy. One might have expected Glock to address these sorts of future demarcation questions in his final chapter 9 where he considJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [8] ers the "present and future" (231) of analytic philosophy. When Glock comes to his prescriptive recommendations for what analytic philosophy should be, his earlier descriptive analysis seems to be largely abandoned. He criticizes "the palpable scholasticism into which a lot of analytic philosophy has descended" (246) and notes that Analytic philosophy could do worse than taking seriously its vocation as critical thinking writ large: a means of improving debate in other areas, but one which, from case to case, engages with the details of these debates, rather than legislating from above on the basis of preconceived generalities (260). If these judgments are not based on Glock's earlier claims about what analytic philosophy is, then they are unjustified. It is not cogent to criticize something using a standard that is irrelevant to that thing. For example, we do not criticize a sprinter for her inability to compete in a marathon. Being a sprinter requires one to run quickly for short distances, and we recognize that these are not the best attributes for a marathon runner. Analogously, if we accept Glock's historical-resemblance account, then analytic philosophy is made up of philosophers-at-a-time sharing certain features via chains of influence. How can we criticize these philosophers if they happen to develop scholastic tendencies and on what basis can we can exhort them to focus on "critical thinking writ large"? Although Glock does not answer this question, he may believe that the features of analytic philosophy include certain aspirations. His list of features includes "argument" and "clarity", where this may indicate the goal of arguing clearly for one's philosophical views (175). Glock also insists that "It is important to preserve a kernel of truth in the rationalist conception" (223) of analytic philosophy which insists that analytic philosophers strive to present reasons for their views.3 But Glock's stance in chapter 9 suggests that these features are not simply some features on a list which unites analytic philosophers by family resemblances. Instead, they are the features which Glock endorses and which Glock claims we should endorse as we work to shape the analytic philosophy of the future. These aspirations can be traced back to the two questions I associated with Glock's "What is analytic philosophy?": we want to say not only why analytic philosophy developed in the way that it did, but also determine what merits this development has. A detached perspective is possible as we consider the first question, but the second question demands greater engagement and identification with a select few features of analytic philosophy. Those of us who identify with analytic philosophy cannot view it simply as a historical tradition united by a haphazard list of features. We must carve out those features which we think are better than what is offered by competing philosophical traditions and so justify our endorsement of the aims of analytic philosophy. As it stands, Glock's account of analytic philosophy lacks the internal structure necessary to make this division. I believe that Glock's historical-resemblance proposal could eventually offer a means for these endorsements, but at the moment it is too schematic to accomplish this central task in the history of analytic philosophy. Christopher Pincock Ohio State University pincock.1@osu.edu Notes Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [9] 1 All references are to the pages of Glock 2008, unless otherwise indicated. 2 As Glock notes, something like it has been offered by Sluga (212, 219). See Sluga 1998. 3 This is Føllesdal's view (174). See Føllesdal 1997. References D. Føllesdal. Analytic Philosophy: What is It and Why Should One Engage in It?. In H.-J. Glock, editor, The Rise of Analytic Philosophy. Oxford, Blackwell, 1-16, 1997. H.-J. Glock. What is Analytic Philosophy?. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2008. Sluga, H. What has History to Do with Me? Wittgenstein and Analytic Philosophy. Inquiry 41: 99-121, 1998. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 1 [10] What Was Analytic Philosophy? Panu Raatikainen It has become commonplace to talk about the difference between "analytic philosophy" and "continental philosophy", and many philosophers identify themselves as "analytic philosophers", or "continental philosophers". But what, more precisely, is meant by these labels, is much less clear than one usually seems to assume. There are differing views about the nature of analytic philosophy, and about who exactly count as real analytic philosophers. Literally taken, the dichotomy analytic-continental is obviously problematic. As Bernard Williams has remarked, dividing philosophy to analytic and continental involves a strange crossclassification-rather as though one divided cars into front-wheel drive and Japanese. Furthermore, this terminology does not harmonize well with the fact that the roots of analytic philosophy are strongly in continental Europe: its important background figure Frege, its opinion leader Wittgenstein, and the paradigmatic representatives of it, the logical positivists of the Vienna Circle, were all from the continent. Neither is the interest in "continental philosophy" confined to the European continent (Williams 1995). By more substantive criteria, analytic philosophy is sometimes contrasted with the phenomenological tradition and its offspring. Often one means, by "analytic philosophy", loosely the tradition-in its all variety-which in some sense begun from Frege, on the one hand, and from Russell and Moore, on the other hand, and which has been somewhat dominating especially in the AngloAmerican countries. But in addition to the fact that this is quite a vague characterization-perhaps intolerably so-usually this way of understanding analytic philosophy is based on historically problematic interpretations of Frege, Russell and Moore as philosophers of linguistic analysis-as the first representatives of the later dominating pure analytic philosophy (more on this below). But be that as it may, standardly one takes as the paradigmatic analytic philosophy on the one hand the logical positivism of the Vienna Circle and more broadly the logical empiricism that emerged from it, and, on the other hand, the philosophy of linguistic analysis which used to be dominant in Cambridge and Oxford, and its kin. The heyday of both was from 1930s to 1950s. Further, one often counts, as analytic philosophy, philosophy which has in some way or other been influenced by these schools. As examples of analytical philosophers are often mentioned such philosophers as Strawson, Searle, Dummett, Quine, Davidson, Lewis, Kripke and Putnam-though, in the case of some of them, it is more controversial whether they really belong to the circle of analytic philosophy (see below). At this point, the borders of analytic philosophy begin to blur. In fact, a lively discussion on what exactly analytic philosophy is emerged in 1990s. The main activators of the debate were Michael Dummett (1993) and G.H. von Wright (1993), who received numerous differing reactions. It turns out the views of even those who should be in the know diverge considerably here. Hans-Johann Glock's book What is Analytic Philosophy (2008) is an extended contribution to this dispute-apparently the most comprehensive and detailed one up to now. There is no question that it is obligatory reading for anyone interested in this issue, and everyone can learn a lot from it. Glock makes numerous insightful points, and he successfully rebuts many popular attempts to characterize analytic philosophy. Nevertheless, in the end, I am still inclined to disagree about the fundamental question, the nature and demarcation of analytic philosophy.1 I shall focus on motivating my own alternative view, rather than on commenting on the details of Glock's rich account. I'll try to make my discussion sufficiently self-contained. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [11]© Panu Raatikainen The Relation to Science and Formal Logic Analytic philosophy is often understood as a philosophy which specifically relates, in some way, to science, or is "scientific philosophy". Simon Critchley, for example, submits that its antiscientism is the essential aspect which distinguishes "continental philosophy" from analytic philosophy-apparently suggesting that scientism somehow characterizes the latter (Critchley 1998). David Cooper in turn states that "Anglo-American (or 'analytic') philosophy has tended, over the last 90 years, to be much more 'science-friendly' than European philosophy' (Cooper 1996.) Also von Wright talks about "alliance" of analytic philosophy with science and technology, and calls analytic philosophy "an offspring of belief in progress in science" (von Wright 1993, 25). Hacker too says that almost from its inception, "it was allied with the spirit of rationality and science" (Hacker 1998). But though the preceding may be true of logical positivists, for example, this characterization does not fit well e.g. to Wittgenstein (as von Wright too notices), who is often counted as an analytic philosopher; more importantly, it does not adequately describe one paradigmatic example of analytic philosophy, the linguistic philosophy of Cambridge and Oxford in 1930s-1950s, which was at least unimpressed by, if not-like Wittgenstein-even somewhat hostile towards modern natural science (cf. Glock 2008, 6.2). And in any case, it has been central for many philosophers usually counted as analytic, such as Wittgenstein, ordinary language philosophers, but also logical positivists, to emphasize the radical qualitative difference between philosophy and science (see below). Peter Hacker, on the other hand, excludes Quine outside of analytic philosophy exactly because he takes Quine as advocating scientism. He contrasts Quine with Wittgenstein, who he considers a paradigmatic analytic philosopher, according to whom the temptation to think that philosophy should answer questions, construct theories and strive for explanations on the model of the sciences is a great source of philosophical confusion. Hacker cites Wittgenstein saying (Blue Book, 18), "this tendency is the real source of metaphysics, and leads the philosopher to complete darkness" (Hacker 1998, 117). In other words, Hacker here seems to take antiscientism as an essential characteristic of analytic philosophy (Hacker 1996, 1998). Still, some sort of scientism was certainly typical for logical positivism, for example, and Russell too advocated a "scientific method in philosophy". Consequently, it would also be a mistake to take anti-scientism as the essential trait of analytic philosophy (cf. Sluga 1998). Both ideas lead to equally artificial consequences: some paradigmatic analytic philosophers would be excluded outside. Neither enthusiasm nor criticality towards science can thus be taken as the basic criterion of analytic philosophy. Often analytic philosophy is also associated with new formal logic. And there is indeed no question that it has had, for its own part, an important role in the development of analytic philosophy. However, it is not something that is central for analytic philosophy as a whole: exercising formal logic is neither necessary nor sufficient for one to be an analytic philosopher. Perhaps the greatest figure in contemporary logic, Kurt Gödel, advocated very strong Platonism and rationalism, quite foreign for mainstream analytic philosophy, and was increasingly sympathetic towards phenomenological philosophy (see, e.g., Tieszen 1998). In addition, several other important logicians such as Hermann Weyl, Arend Heyting and Per Martin-Löf have founded their logical ideas on phenomenological philosophy. The philosophy of Alan Badiou, a continental philosopher, leans heavily on advanced theories of mathematical logic. Furthermore, emphasizing formal logic as the distinguishing feature of analytic philosophy would again exclude both later Wittgenstein and the ordinary language philosophy of Cambridge and Oxford, for example, which were quite critical towards formal logic. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [12] In sum, neither any certain relation to science nor the use of formal logic can be seen as the essential trait of analytic philosophy. The Method of Analysis, and Argumentative Philosophy One obvious approach is to focus on the word "analytic", or "analysis", and understand analytic philosophy as philosophy which practices philosophical analysis-in some sense of the word.2 Ray Monk (Monk 1996) and-at times-also Hacker suggest that the characteristic trait of analytic philosophy is analysis understood quite literally as dividing a complex to its simple parts. Indeed, Hacker distinguishes three different phases in the development of analytic philosophy on the basis of the kind of analysis that was in question: 1) metaphysical analysis (early Russell and Moore); 2) reductive analysis (early Wittgenstein, Russell's logical atomism, logical positivism, etc.); 3) connective or conceptual analysis (ordinary language philosophy etc.). Hans Sluga has, however, criticized Hacker for taking analytic philosophy as a predominantly British phenomenon; in contrast, Sluga wants to emphasize the Kantian and in general the continental background of Frege and Wittgenstein, for example (Sluga 1998; cf. Glock 2008, Ch. 3). In any case, promoting "analysis" to be the essence of analytic philosophy leads to many problems. To begin with, it is not clear how well it describes later Wittgenstein, the ordinary language philosophy following him, or Quine and his followers. All of these denied, in different ways, that a sentence has some unique analysis. Then again, many philosophers who are presumably not analytic philosophers have also practiced some sort of philosophical analysis: the approach of Brentano, the "grandfather" of phenomenology, was explicitly analytical, and what is even more important, Husserl-the founder of the phenomenological school-followed him here and talked about phenomenological analysis. It is also plausible to claim that Socrates, Aristotle, Descartes, Locke and Kant, for example, all practiced philosophical analysis (cf. Glock 2008, 6.1). Emphasizing the method of analysis as the essence of analytic philosophy leads Monk to the rather peculiar conclusion that Frege, Russell, Meinong and Husserl belong to the same camp because they believe in analysis, but that Wittgenstein belongs to the opposite side; he concludes that the opposite of analytic is not continental or phenomenological but Wittgensteinian (Monk 1996). One should compare this to Hacker (1998), who takes Wittgenstein as a paradigmatic representative of analytic philosophy. Clearly taking analysis as the distinguishing mark does not demarcate the tradition in the intended way. Dagfinn Føllesdal (1997) rebuts analysis as essential for analytic philosophy and gives as a counterexample Quine, who did not believe in analysis, but according to him is nevertheless without doubt an analytic philosopher (Hacker, though, would disagree; see above). He also discards the genetic approach based on the history of influence. For this, Føllesdal presents as a counterexample Bolzano, whom he takes unquestionably to be an analytic philosopher, because he anticipated many ideas of Frege, Carnap, Tarski and Quine (also Dummett talks about him as "the great grandfather of analytic philosophy"), but did not really influence later analytic philosophers, but rather was relevant for the development of the phenomenological tradition. Føllesdal proposes that the systematic connection is sufficient. The positive conclusion of Føllesdal is that what characterizes analytic philosophy is argumentation and justification. This, however, is clearly much too broad a characterization. Most philosophers through the history of philosophy should then be counted as analytic philosophers. It is certainly reasonable to require that the concept of "analytic philosophy" is kept sufficiently specific such that it does not Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [13] include all of mainstream western philosophy. As Hacker puts it: "If the term 'analytic philosophy' is to be useful as a classificatory term for the historian of philosophy, it must do more work than merely to distinguish mainstream western philosophy from the reflections of philosophical sages or prophets, such as Pascal or Nietzsche, and from the obscurities of speculative metaphysicians, such as Hegel, Bradley or Heidegger" (Hacker 1996, 3). Characterizations in terms of analysis and argumentation fail to do exactly this. The Linguistic Turn Dummett (1993, 4) has proposed that what distinguishes analytic philosophy, in its diverse manifestations, from other schools is the belief, first, that a philosophical account of thought can be attained through a philosophical account of language, and, secondly, that a comprehensive account can only be so attained. He points out that the logical positivists, Wittgenstein in all phases, Oxford "ordinary language" philosophy, and post-Carnapian philosophy in the United States all adhered to this conception of philosophy. Slightly different, but similar in spirit, is the characterization used by Sluga in his book on Frege (Sluga 1980, 2), who at the time took as the basic idea of analytic philosophy that the philosophy of language is the foundation of all the rest of philosophy. In fact Dummett had earlier described analytic philosophy in more or less the same way: "we can characterise analytical philosophy as that which follows Frege in accepting that the philosophy of language is the foundation of the rest of the subject" (Dummett 1978, 441). Dummett also states that analytic philosophy was born when the "linguistic turn" was taken. The general idea also harmonizes well with the fact that in German-speaking countries, the label "language-analytic philosophy" is often used for analytical philosophy. Hacker (1998) cannot, however, accept such suggestions, because they exclude Russell and Moore outside analytic philosophy. Dummett (1993) as well as Kenny (1995) locate the linguistic turn in philosophy to Frege and his context principle in 1884. I find this, though, quite an artificial way of locating the turn. Hacker (1998), for example, notices that the context principle in fact occurred already in Bentham in 1813, but there is no reason to attribute the linguistic turn in philosophy to him (cf. Glock 2008, 124). There are also good reasons to think, pace Dummett, that Frege was not yet any sort of "linguistic philosopher" (see e.g. Weiner 1997; cf. Glock 2008, 131). I am inclined to agree with Hacker (and many others, including Glock) that it was only Wittgenstein who really brought about the linguistic turn in philosophy. Hacker himself, however, adds that the linguistic turn took place later than the birth of analytical philosophy; namely, he takes it for granted that Moore and Russell were analytical philosophers because they exercised philosophical analysis (we've already found, though, this reason wanting). Glock agrees with him here (at least about the classification). Also Monk (1996) protests against Dummett's strong linguistic criterion and notes that it would follow that Russell never was an analytical philosopher. For Monk, however, Russell is the very epitome of an analytic philosopher. According to Monk, Dummett's characterization which emphasizes the linguistic turn does not at all take into account analysis as the central feature of analytical philosophy. Still, we have already noted that using analysis as the essential characteristic leads to at least as deep troubles. Now Hacker is prepared to accept the conclusion that Frege wasn't an analytic philosopher but only an influential background figure of the movement. But, one may ask, why not to be consistent and admit the same conclusion with respect to Russell and Moore (Dummett, for one, seems to think so, though not with respect to Frege)-or, at least, allow it is a coherent option? (More of Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [14] this below). Be that as it may, we may note that it is not uncontroversial that Frege, Russell and Moore are analytic philosophers. Tradition and influence history Many (e.g. Hacker and Sluga) end up approaching the characterization problem of analytic philosophy-not on the basis of any substantial doctrine or such, but-genetically, considering it as a continuum of philosophers and schools which have influenced each other or have been in a dialogical connection with each other. Also von Wright concludes that the question of what should count as analytic philosophy is not easy to answer: "In many cases a genetic relationship either to Cambridge or Vienna is the only criterion to go by" (von Wright 1993, 47). But he adds: "The picture of analytic philosophy which I have tried to draw becomes increasingly confused and unsurveyable as we move closer to the present" (von Wright 1993, 49)-confused and unsurveyable indeed, as I shall try to show next. In reality, there has been much more dialog and interaction between "continental" and "analytic" philosophers than the popular picture suggests. As the genetic approach to our characterization problem is particularly popular, I shall consider in a little more detail the various philosophical figures who are supposedly central for the traditions at issue, and their interactions. To begin with, Frege, who is often taken either as the founder of analytic philosophy or at least an essential background figure for it, apparently influenced Husserl, the founder of the phenomenological tradition, via his critique of the early work of the latter (see e.g. Føllesdal 1994); they were later in correspondence, and fought alongside against "psychologism". Russell's famous theory of definite descriptions, which became a kind of "paradigm" for analytic philosophy, is in part an attempt to solve a central problem of the phenomenological tradition, namely Brentano's problem of "intentional inexistence" (that is, how it is possible to think about something which does not exist); it was developed as a direct reaction to the ideas of Meinong, who was a central figure in early phenomenology. Brentano, who was the most important background figure for the phenomenological tradition, also indirectly influenced Moore. Namely, George Stout, who was a teacher of Moore and Russell, popularized Brentano's thought for the English-speaking audience in his book Analytic Psychology from 1896. "Analytic psychology" was Stout's translation for Brentano's "descriptive psychology"-that is, for what Brentano sometimes used "phenomenology" as a synonym; this book had a deep and visible impact on Moore (see Bell 1999). The Brentanian part-whole analysis and the act-object distinction were clearly reflected in Moore's important analysis of judgments and his famous refutation of idealism. We can perhaps even speculate that analytic philosophy may well have inherited "analytic" from this source-that is, from phenomenology! Both Russell and later Ryle considered Logical Investigations by Husserl in particular as an excellent book (Russell even had a copy with him in prison in 1918)-as did indirectly also Moore (Künne 1990). Carnap's Aufbau contains many references to it too; and Carnap attended Husserl's seminar in Freiburg in 1924-25. Moore acted as chair when Husserl lectured in London in 1922. Furthermore, it has been discovered that Wittgenstein's Tractatus, a key work in the analytical tradition, was strongly influenced by the philosophy of Schopenhauer (and at least indirectly, by Kant) (see e.g. Stenius 1960), and it is known that Wittgenstein frequently read Kierkegaard-both of whom are usually counted as "continental" philosophers. Neo-Kantianism had in turn a considerable impact on some members of the Vienna Circle, e.g. Schlick and Carnap (see Sauer 1989); the latter also thought well of Nietzsche-another influential figure in the continental tradition. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [15] The Polish school of logician-philosophers (i.e., the so-called Lvov-Warsaw school including Leśniewski, Łukasiewicz and Tarski) is usually regarded as part of the analytical tradition. It was founded, though, by Twardowski, who was a student of Brentano and a central figure of early phenomenology (see e.g. Skolimowski 1967, Woleński 1989). Further, Husserl's theory of meaning categories had a visible influence to Leśniewski and Tarski. Gilbert Ryle, who has been even called "the king of analytical philosophy", is a particularly interesting case. Namely, as a young man he studied Brentano, Husserl and Heidegger in depth, and gave lectures called "Bolzano, Brentano, Meinong and Husserl: four realists" in Cambridge in the late 1920s. Ryle also wrote a rather extensive and mainly positive review of Heidegger's Sein und Zeit for Mind in 1929. In 1931, he "converted" to orthodox analytic philosophy, but still followed phenomenological literature, and gave a talk dealing with phenomenology in the Aristotelian Society in 1932. As late as in 1946 Ryle published quite a positive review of The Foundations of Phenomenology by Martin Farber. In the discussion that followed the talk of Ryle in the famous Royaumont-seminar organized in France in 1958 (e.g. Ayer and Quine were also among the attendees), the phenomenologist Merleau-Ponty did not see any major difference between his own thinking and that of Ryle, but saw their projects as parallel and compatible: "I have also had the impression, while listening to Mr. Ryle, that what he was saying was not so strange to us, and that the distance, if there is a distance, is one that he puts between us rather than one I find there." The discussion also shows that Merleau-Ponty knew quite well Wittgenstein's later philosophy (see Merleau-Ponty 1992). Still at this time, one would seem to have had all the contentual prerequisites to continue enlightening dialogue. In addition, Michael Murray has proposed that Ryle's Concept of Mind, one of the principal works in analytic philosophy, contains numerous parallels with Heidegger's Sein und Zeit. Murray has even suggested that these might be direct influences from the time when Ryle studied the work intensively. Ryle seems to grant that this may be possible (see Murray 1978). It is commonplace to interpret at least Carnap's severe critique of Heidegger in Erkenntnis in 1932 as a sign of an unbridgeable gap between the two philosophical traditions; Carnap then accused Heidegger of producing meaningless metaphysics (Carnap 1932). The truth of the relationship between Carnap and Heidegger is, however, more complicated (see Friedman 1996); Carnap attended Heidegger's lectures on Kant and metaphysics in 1929, and the two had many conversations. Carnap was clearly impressed by Heidegger, and read Sein und Zeit seriously, and even actively participated in a reading group in which the book was studied. When Carnap then, in his famous 1932 article on the elimination of metaphysics, took Heidegger's sentence on Nothing as an example of a meaningless statement, it is useful to note that he did not accuse it of not being verifiable, but of violating the grammar of logic and the logical form of the concept of nothing. Contrary to the popular view, the two philosophers understood well where the basis of their disagreement was: the metaphysical thinking Heidegger tried to achieve was possible only if the authority of formal logic was given up; the difference between them was only in that Heidegger was willing to do this, and Carnap was not. More specifically, for Heidegger the examination of the meaning of Being preceded logic, while for Carnap (at that time) the Russellian logic preceded everything else. Carnap's view in those days is not necessarily representative of analytic philosophy in general; Wittgenstein, for example, said in a discussion with the Vienna Circle that he understood what Heidegger aimed at. It is also important to note that Carnap in the same article recommended, instead of metaphysics (for which he Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [16] interpreted-rightly or wrongly-Heidegger's philosophy), the Nietzschean poetic style, which does not even pretend to be science-like and to make statements about the reality, for expressing the attitude towards life. Then again, Carnap himself accepted, only a year later, what he called "the principle of tolerance", according to which there is no such thing as the "true" or "correct" logic or language, but one is free to adopt whatever form of language is useful for one's purposes. This new view undermines the foundations of his earlier critique of Heidegger. Heidegger in turn became increasingly pessimistic concerning his project of "fundamental ontology" and moved towards a more poetic style-that is, towards the very Nietzschean approach that Carnap had recommended. It should also be noted that the accusations of meaningless metaphysical talk were ordinary in the mutual debates between the logical positivists; Neurath in particular blamed the "Wittgensteinians" of the Vienna Circle, Schlick and Waismann, for meaningless metaphysics (for example, when they advocated the correspondence theory of truth). It is quite clear that when the relationship between Heidegger and Carnap (and others) then became more polemic in the 1930s, it was a question of something else than of a purely philosophical disagreement. The polemic was part of a much broader social, political and cultural controversy: the radically leftist logical positivists, inspired by the modernist ideals of progress, and the conservative Heidegger who was delighted by romanticism, were in these respects at the opposite extremes (see Friedman 1996). (Wittgenstein and many of his followers were, by the way, certainly much closer to Heidegger than the positivists here.) Neurath wrote quite revealingly: "The idealistic school philosophers of our day from Spann to Heidegger want to rule, as the theologians once ruled; but the scholastics could support themselves of the substructure of the feudal order of production, whereas our school philosophers do not notice that their substructure is being pulled out from beneath their feet" (Neurath 1932). Although Heidegger and the logical positivists had later on a distant relationship, to say the least, this does not yet prove that there is a general contentual gap between the two philosophical traditions. The mutual relationships between some key analytic philosophers were not that friendly either. Wittgenstein was not able to tolerate Carnap, and Dummett recalls that in the 1940s, Oxford philosophers considered their worst enemy to be-not Heidegger, for example, but-Carnap (Dummett 1978, 437). Russell did not see any value in the later philosophy of Wittgenstein, and thought that the ordinary language philosophy which it inspired was simply a disaster for philosophy. Nevertheless, all these philosophers are usually counted as representatives of the one and same analytic tradition. On the continental side, Foucault never forgave Derrida for having called him an idiot. And presumably the relationship between Husserl and Heidegger also became more distant when Heidegger, as the Rector of the university, among other things denied the "Jewish" Husserl access to the university library in the 1930s. If then, in the years that followed the break between Heidegger and the Vienna Circle, there was not much communication between the philosophy exercised in Nazi Germany and France, which was occupied by the Germans, and the philosophy practiced in the opposing England and the United States, it may perhaps be reasonable to look for reasons other than the contentual philosophical issues. It is worth noting, on the other hand, that the analytic tradition and the German hermeneutical and critical tradition have been, after the Second World War, able to have quite smooth dialogue. Gadamer, Apel and Habermas-all followers of Heidegger-have become, since the 1960s, part of the general international philoJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [17] sophical discussion-there does not appear to have been any deep gap that would have made the dialogue impossible. In the 1970s Apel, a key representative of the hermeneutical tradition, was even prepared to admit that the analytic tradition can provide conceptual tools which are in some respects superior in understanding the core question of the hermeneutic tradition, the relationship between explanation and understanding: "Now, the special interest of this third stage [of the explanation-understanding controversy], from the view–point of a continental observer, lies in the fact that in this context at least some concerns, motives and even arguments of the older 'hermeneutic' tradition ... are taken up and defended with the aid of a highly sophisticated argumentation technique which seems to be much better suited for the problematic of modern philosophy of science than the old ways of arguing used by Dilthey and his continental followers" (Apel 1976). The case of contemporary French philosophy is undoubtedly quite different. When the dialogical connection with the phenomenological tradition was once lost, because of the war, it has been difficult to re-create. The problem has been not only the various prejudices and diverged philosophical vocabulary, but perhaps also the numerous quick changes in the philosophical climate, from existentialism to structuralism and post-structuralism. It is understandable that it has been very difficult, from the outside, to get a grip on this moving and changing, and admittedly an arcane subject. Yet, it should be noted what even such a paradigmatic "continental" thinker as Derrida says of himself as an alleged representative of continental philosophy: "Among the many reasons that make me unqualified to represent a 'prominent philosophical tradition', there is this one: I consider myself to be in many respects quite close to Austin, both interested in and indebted to his problematic" (Derrida 1988, 38). It may also be worth noting that Lyotard, a well-known figure in the continental side and a key architect of post-modernist philosophy, founded the latter on the Wittgensteinian idea of the diverging language-games rather than to some typically "continental" concepts and ideas (Lyotard 1984). On the other hand, it can be noted that Ian Hacking, a leading Anglo-American philosopher of science, openly acknowledges his debt to Foucault. Further, Richard Rorty, educated as an analytic philosopher, and one of the best known names in the current Anglo-American philosophy, has later on been so much influenced by Heidegger, Gadamer and Derrida, that it is deeply unclear which tradition he should be classified as representative of. Be that as it may, the purpose of the above somewhat rambling review is to show that the simple considerations of who knew whom, who had a dialogical connection with whom, and who were not in speaking terms, simply fail to distinguish the tradition of analytic philosophy in the intended way. It has been also suggested, now and then, that "analytic philosophy" is a family-resemblance concept (in the sense of the later Wittgenstein), i.e., that there is no definition of the concept, but, roughly, it is based on a number of different, overlapping strands. This approach, though, also faces intolerable obstacles, for it is in fact again much too inclusive (see Glock 228, 218-9). Glock, however, suggests that we combine a historical (or genetic) and a family resemblance approach (p. 223), and that this would circumvent the limits of both approaches when taken separately. I am afraid I am much less optimistic. It may well be that if one begins with the sloppy way the term "analytic philosophy" is typically used today, and with the rather inclusive list of thinkers who are supposedly analytic philosophers, this is the best that can be said. The resulting criterion is, however, overly complex, and does not really help us at all to determine whether a given thinker is an analytic philosopher or not (even if we agree that there will always be borderline cases). And as Glock himself says, "ClassifiJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [18] cation should be easy" (Glock 2008, 211). It also remains unclear how many generations one should keep on using the label "analytic philosophy" simply because there always are some overlapping strands and extended chains of influence. The "Original Meaning" of "Analytic Philosophy" The fact that scholars who, if anyone, should know, are so divided and unclear about the issue shows how poorly understood term "analytic philosophy" really is. The discussion seems to have ended in dead lock. If we combine the various criteria suggested by the leading experts in the field, we may conclude either that no one has ever been an analytic philosopher, or that nearly all philosophers were (cf. Glock, 204: "We certainly face an impasse.") However, instead of declaring "analytic philosophy" a meaningless pseudo-concept, I'll try to make a fresh new start, and take a closer look at when and how one first started to use the term "analytic philosophy". Perhaps that could shed some new light on the issue. It may come as a surprise to many how late the expression "analytic philosophy" became more widely used. Apparently the term "analytic philosophy" was used publicly for the first time as late as in 1936, by an American philosopher, Ernst Nagel, as a young student travelling in Europe, in his review article, "Impressions and appraisals of analytic philosophy in Europe (I-II)" (Nagel, 1936). He wrote: In the first place, the men with whom I have talked are impatient with philosophic systems built in the traditionally grand manner. Their preoccupation is with philosophy as analysis; they take for granted a body of authentic knowledge acquired by the special sciences, and are concerned not with adding to it in the way research in these sciences adds to it, but with clarifying its meaning and implications. ... In the second place, as a consequence of this conception of the task of philosophy, concern with formulating the method of philosophic analysis dominates all these places. (Nagel 1936, 6) A couple of years later, Max Black gave at the fourth International Congress for the Unity of Science, in Cambridge, a lecture "Relations Between Logical positivism and the Cambridge School of Analysis" (Black 1938). Black sometimes used the term "analytic philosophy", but often with an additional qualification "analytic philosophy in England", and it remains unclear whether he counted logical positivism as a part of analytic philosophy or not. In 1945, Gustav Bergmann said, in a somewhat critical article, that analytic philosophers "are interested in the individual clarifications that are peculiar to this kind of philosophising." (Bergmann, 1945) Both Nagel and Bergman (cf. also Pap's list below) include within analytic philosophy: (1) the Cambridge philosophy of analysis: both refer to Moore and Wittgenstein, and their successors (Nagel mentions Russell only in passing; for Black, this is what the analytic philosophy is); and (2) the logical positivism of the Vienna Circle, and its allies (Nagel mentions incidentally also the Polish school of logic, but does not really discuss it). We now begin to get a clearer picture of what analytic philosophy, at least its purest form, has been: it was the union of these two schools to which the term "analytic philosophy" originally, in its early uses in the 1930-40s, mainly referred-they were the paradigmatic examples of analytic philosophy. (Accordingly, Searle says that "it is possible to locate a central period of analytic philosophy-the period comprising, roughly speaking, the logical positivist phase immediately prior to the 1939-45 war and the post-war phase of linguistic analysis" (Searle 1995).) Even after this, the expression "analytic philosophy" occurred very infrequently in the literature. Von Wright (1993) conjectures, and Hacker (1998, 274) apparently agrees (see also Glock 2008, 44), Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [19] that the name became common only as an effect of the books by Arthur Pap: Elements of Analytic Philosophy (1949), and Analytische Erkenntnistheorie (1955). I see no reason to disagree. Pap says-and this harmonizes quite well with the above early characterizations-that in what he broadly calls "analytic philosophy", four major factions should be distinguished: (1) the Carnapians who practice the construction of ideal, formalized languages in which the basic concepts common to all the sciences (like 'logical consequence', 'degree of confirmation', 'truth') admit of exact definitions, (2) the followers of G.E. Moore who bestow their attention almost exclusively on the language of common sense and insist on conformity to 'common usage' as the prime condition to be satisfied by a logical analysis of concept, (3) the Wittgensteinians or 'therapeutic positivists', for whom philosophy is not a discipline aiming at some sort of knowledge or intellectual discovery, but a method of revealing the linguistic confusions that give rise to philosophical 'problems', and of solving those perennial problems by showing that there were no genuine problems to begin with, (4) philosophers who are engaged in the clarification of the foundations of the sciences and, perhaps, of knowledge in general by means of detailed, patient analyses, but who are 'independent' to the extent that they refuse incorporation in any of these mentioned factions. (Pap 1949, ix–x; my emphasis) It is noteworthy that in all these early characterizations a central role is given, in one way or another, to philosophy's focusing its attention on the language, to clarifying meanings, and in general to a very strong and radical understanding of the task of philosophy. This is how Pap too views the issue, even though he says he is using the expression "analytic philosophy" "broadly". In their preface to the highly influential anthology Readings in Philosophical Analysis, Feigl and Sellars-even if they do not explicitly use the expression "analytic philosophy", they are obviously speaking about the same phenomenon as the above commentators-provide an apt description: "The conception of philosophical analysis underlying our selections springs from two major traditions in recent thought, the Cambridge movement deriving from Moore and Russell, and the Logical Positivism of the Vienna Circle (Wittgenstein, Schlick, Carnap) together with the Scientific Empiricism of the Berlin Group (led by Reichenbach). These...have increasingly merged to create and approach to philosophical problems which we frankly consider a decisive turn in the history of philosophy" (Feigl and Sellars 1949, vi, my emphasis). Many of the above-mentioned contemporary descriptions emphasize the revolutionary character of analytic philosophy. But what then was so new in analytic philosophy? Sluga has emphasized that, inter alia, analytic philosophy has been a truly international movement; it was not attached to any particular nationality or philosophical tradition. Further, analytic philosophy has had, according to Sluga, a peculiar ahistorical character. He writes: "Its ahistoricism provided analytic history with a strong sense that it constituted a radical new beginning" (Sluga 1998; my emphasis). These words of Sluga are, in my mind, apposite, and cohere well with the above-discussed original use of "analytic philosophy". Central for analytic philosophy was the strong feeling that one was witnessing a definite turning point in the history of philosophy, a wholly new revolutionary way of understanding the task of philosophy and the nature of philosophical problems. This is reflected clearly, for example, in the famous article by Schlick, the leader of the Vienna Circle, "The Turning Point in Philosophy" (1931), and in the later manifesto of the British analytic philosophy edited by Ryle, The Revolution in Philosophy (Ryle 1956). Schlick, for example, wrote: "I am convinced that we now find ourselves at an altogether decisive turning point in philosophy, and that we are objectively justified in considering that an end has come to the fruitless conflict of systems" (Schlick 1931). And what else would be in question here but the abovediscussed linguistic turn in philosophy-the radically new idea Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [20] that the sole task of all legitimate philosophy is the analysis of language, the clarification of meaning, or such. As Searle puts it, in the central period of analytic philosophy, "the philosophy of language was not only 'first philosophy'; all of philosophy became a form of philosophy of language" (Searle 1995). Ryle (1956, 8) writes, in his introduction to the above-mentioned collection, that "the story of twentieth-century philosophy is very largely the story of the notion of sense or meaning". Strawson, in the discussion that followed his talk in the Royaumont seminar, in turn, submitted that "I should defend the passage [from his talk] ... by saying that the philosopher's principal task is understanding of how our thought about things work, and that we cannot find out about these workings except by looking at how we use words." (Note, by the way, how close this comes to Dummett's later characterization of analytic philosophy.) According to Searle, analytic philosophy "is primarily concerned with the analysis of meaning" (Searle 1995). Also von Wright says, in the end, that he sees the core of analytic philosophy in what he calls "philosophical logic"; what he means by that is, however, clarification of the use of language and analysis of concepts, with or without the help of formal logic. According to him, this unites the traditions of the Cambridge school of analysis, the logical positivism of the Vienna Circle, and the post-war ordinary language philosophy (von Wright 1993, 42–3). Analytic Philosophy and its Predecessors It begins to look as if Dummett has been, after all, more or less on the right track in maintaining that it is the focus on language that characterized contentually analytic philosophy-at least if we focus on the original use of the term "analytic philosophy". But how then should one respond to the objections raised against such a definition by Monk, Hacker, Glock, and many others? In my view, the problem is solved, when one distinguishes, on the one hand, the philosophical movement or school of thought proper, and, on the other hand, its essential predecessors and background figures. One just has to be prepared to admit that neither Frege, Russell, nor Moore was yet genuine analytic philosopher-indeed, if we stick to the original meaning of "analytic philosophy", it is clear that they were not. Instead, we can say that-to borrow the expression from Feigl and Sellars-analytic philosophy derives from these great thinkers. This is simply the price to pay, if we want to use the term "analytic philosophy" as a clear and distinct, serviceable, contentually classifying expression of the history of philosophy-the price which at least I myself am willing to pay. In the same spirit, Thomas Baldwin, a leading Moore-scholar, speaks aptly about the substantial change, which occurred in "the transition from 'philosophical analysis', conceived as an important method of philosophical inquiry which involves logical analysis, to 'analytical philosophy', which restricts genuine philosophy to logical analysis" (Baldwin 2001, 6; cf. Baldwin 1998). Anthony Quinton has dramatized the same idea by stating that analytic philosophy began with the arrival of Wittgenstein in Cambridge (Quinton 1995). Not only Frege, but also Russell and in particular Moore have later been often (especially in the heyday of linguistic philosophy) misinterpreted as linguistic philosophers-as much more orthodox analytic philosophers than they ever were. This may have in part resulted in the still popular view that Frege, Russell and Moore are central analytic philosophers. Though many have now more adequate understanding of their views, their classification as analytic philosophers has rarely been revisited. Although their influence on the emergence of analytic philosophy is absolutely essential, they are, after all, better regarded as precisely the crucial background figures than as pure representatives of analytic philosophy. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [21] The idea of a wholly new, historically revolutionary way of understanding the task and nature of philosophy simply does not fit Moore and Russell, whose philosophical approach may perhaps mark a turning point in British philosophy at the time, but hardly the kind of revolution in the history of philosophy intended in the later descriptions. In his criticism of the Hegelian-idealistic holism, Moore called for the return to the method of analysis. The fundamental philosophical goals of both were quite traditional: Russell attempted to justify the possibility of the secure foundations of (scientific) knowledge, Moore the common sense conception of the reality. Analysis (not so much of a language than the analysis of the reality) was for them an important method of philosophy, nothing more. According to Moore (Lectures in 1910-11), the most important task of philosophy is to "give a general description of the whole of the Universe, mentioning all the most important kinds of things which we know to be in it, considering how far it is likely that there are in it important kinds of things which we do not absolutely know to be in it, and also considering the most important ways in which these various kinds of things are related to each other." (Moore 1953, 1; cf. Hacker 1996, 8) So for Moore, philosophy differs from physics primarily in its generality. Another important task of philosophy for Moore is epistemological: to classify the ways in which we can know things. The third important area of philosophy for Moore is ethics. Even in 1942, Moore divided the philosophical discussion into three parts: ethics, theory of perception, and method. Behind the Moorean analysis is his early view of propositions as both objects of thought and possible states of affairs; thus understood, propositions are combinations of entities and properties, and their analysis as objects of thought is in tandem with a metaphysical account of the structure of reality. Later this basis disappeared, but analysis retained its central role in Moore's philosophy. Moore, however, always emphasized that he did not believe that all philosophical problems can be solved by analysis. The new generation of orthodox analytic philosophers, Malcolm in particular, however, interpreted Moore in such a way that the essence of his "technique of refuting philosophical statements consists in pointing out that these statements go against ordinary language" (Malcolm 1942). This is a crude misinterpretation, but it became the received view among analytic philosophers (cf. Hacker 1996, 75). In any case, the popularity of such an interpretation explains why specifically Moore was later taken as a paradigmatic representative of analytic philosophy (cf. above). Similarly, when Neurath, Carnap and Hahn, in the famous manifesto of the Vienna Circle, wrote that "The task of philosophical work lies in this clarification of problems and assertions, and not in the propounding of special 'philosophical' pronouncements. The method of this clarification is that of logical analysis" (Carnap et al. 1929), and then refer to Russell, they are simply misrepresenting Russell's view. For Russell, philosophy is the most general science but not qualitatively different from the sciences. The task of philosophy is to achieve "a theoretical understanding of the world". This is the very view that Wittgenstein then vigorously attacked and for which he presented as an alternative his own radical view of the nature of philosophy-the view that became the essence of analytic philosophy. Russell's ingenious solution to the problem of non-existing entities, his celebrated theory of definite descriptions, surely became a paradigm (as Ramsey called it; see Ramsey 1931, 263) of analytic philosophy. But for Russell, philosophy was always something much more than just linguistic analysis. It is not appropriate to count Russell under the label "analytic philosophy" (understood in this way)-just like Monk and Hacker have correctly pointed out, though they draw the opposite conclusion.3 Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [22] It is even more obvious that (pace Dummett, Sluga and Kenny) Frege is not an analytic philosopher in this sense. He did not have any explicit view about the proper goal of philosophy, and his own project was, first and foremost, epistemological: he wanted to demonstrate, against radical empiricism and naturalism that were very popular in those days, that there really is a priori knowledge. His view of philosophy was by and large that of Kant. (cf. Weiner 1997; Glock 2008, 131). Then again, the later philosophers, who are only in a loose historical influence-connection to the orthodox analytic philosophy, but reject its central theses, and in particular its strong view of philosophy-in other words, for example, the vast majority of contemporary American philosophers such as Quine and Putnam, or, for example, Popper and many of the later philosophers of science-are not genuinely analytic philosophers, as I prefer to use the term. They could perhaps be called, if one wants to emphasize their background, "post-analytical philosophers". From this perspective, the heyday of analytic philosophy was roughly the period from the 1920s to the 1950s. No doubt there still exist analytic philosophers proper, but they are no longer the majority-it is fair to say that analytic philosophy, in the original sense of the word, no longer dominates philosophy in the Anglo-American world, or anywhere. As we saw above, one started using the term "analytic philosophy" much later than is commonly believed. Contentually, the birth of analytic philosophy might be attributed, for example, to Wittgenstein's Tractatus, which appeared in 1921. As a real philosophical movement, however, analytic philosophy seems to arise almost simultaneously in continental Europe and England in the years 1929-1931. The movement did not see itself as opposing phenomenology, or continental philosophy, but all philosophy so far-all traditional philosophy-just as Glock repeatedly points out. But it is important to note that this does not really fit Moore or Russell, and even less Frege. In the early 1930s, Wittgenstein's revolutionary view of philosophy had quickly won over a group of young talented philosophers in the British Isles, who then became key defenders of the orthodox analytic philosophy. In Cambridge, for example Susan Stebbing and John Wisdom declared that the sole task of philosophy is the analysis of language. Other central figures included Max Black, Norman Malcolm and Richard Braithwaite. The young activists soon founded a new journal Analysis to spread the good news. In Oxford, the new philosophy grouped around Ryle. In 1931, Ryle announced his "recalcitrant" conversion to the view that the task of philosophy is to examine the sources of systematically misleading linguistic forms; this is what philosophical analysis is. This has been widely viewed as the first public manifesto of the new philosophical movement in Britain. Roughly at the same time, the Vienna Circle began to live its brief glory days. The circle started to publish its own journal Erkenntnis in 1931, in which soon appeared e.g. the above-mentioned article by Schlick on the turning point of philosophy (1931), and Carnap's paper on the elimination of metaphysics (1932). The circle had already formally organized, and published its own manifesto, a couple of years earlier in 1929 (Carnap et al. 1929). Thus was born the new philosophical movement which one then started to call "analytic philosophy". In both its geographically separate branches, Wittgenstein with his radical view on the task of philosophy was clearly an essential influence. Conclusions In sum, Glock is convinced that the term "analytic philosophy" has "an established use"-that there is "a common practise"-and invokes the fact that so many philosophers today call themselves Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [23] "analytic philosophers". He also takes for granted the popular inclusive understanding of who to count as analytic philosophers, and takes a long list of philosophers as "paradigmatic" analytic philosophers. In my mind, on the other hand, the popular sloppy use of the term today is not a fruitful starting point. Glock's book itself (see also above) manages to document brilliantly and in detail just how promiscuous, non-uniform and mutually inconsistent the variety of the uses of the term "analytic philosophy" are now. And when philosophers nowadays call themselves "analytic philosophers", it is terribly unclear what, more exactly, they really mean by that. Further, I have attempted to argue that deciding who they are that really count as paradigmatic analytic philosophers is in fact much less uncontroversial than Glock, for example, suggests; and I have submitted that only the logical positivists and the linguistic philosophers of Oxford and Cambridge are, beyond dispute, such paradigmatic exemplars. Moreover, I have paid a closer attention to the origins of the term, and pointed out that in its original uses, the term "analytic philosophy" had a clear and quite definitive meaning; but at that time, it meant more specifically the kind of philosophy which restricted the proper role of philosophy to the analysis of language, clarification of meaning and such. Obviously, it should be granted that the whole question of the essence of analytic philosophy is to some extent a verbal issue. The use of words is arbitrary and stipulative, and one may simply decide, at some point, to use a word in some other way. But if one wants to use the term "analytic philosophy" in accordance with its original meaning, as a contentual and clear classificatory and descriptive expression, it is wise to use it in a reasonably limited and sufficiently well-defined sense. And even if one disagrees, and wants to continue the more recent loose usage, one must then at least grant that the meaning of "analytic philosophy" has changed radically from the original use of the term. Panu Raatikainen University of Helsinki panu.raatikainen@helsinki.fi Notes Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [24] 1 I have defended my own approach for quite a long time, though before this, in print, only in Finnish. I first presented it in my talk for the Finnish Philosophical Society in 2000, published as (Raatikainen 2001); see also (Raatikainen 2007). This paper draws from these earlier writings. 2 A good brief survey of different ways of understanding philosophical analysis, from Frege to Quine, which does not nevertheless commit itself to defining analytic philosophy in terms of philosophical analysis, is (Hylton 1998). See also the various articles in (Beaney 2007). 3 Hacker classifies Quine outside of analytic philosophy, because of his view about the relationship of science and philosophy, but on the other hand, he wants to insist that Russell is an analytic philosopher-even though their position here is more or less the same! References K.-O. Apel. Causal explanation, motivational explanation, and hermeneutical understanding (remarks on the recent stage of the explanation-understanding controversy). In G. Ryle, editor, Contemporary aspects of Philosophy. Stocksfield, Oriel Press, 161–76, 1976. T. Baldwin. Analytical Philosophy. In E. Craig, editor, Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, London and New York, Routledge, 1998. T. Baldwin. Contemporary Philosophy. Philosophy in English since 1945. A History of Western Philosophy 8. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001. M. Beaney, editor. The Analytic Turn. New York & London, Routledge, 2007. D. Bell. 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Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [27] Analytic Philosophy as Philosophy Graham Stevens Over the last twenty years or so, an increasing amount has been written on the nature and origins of analytic philosophy. Everyone with even a passing interest in contemporary philosophy has a general idea of what analytic philosophy is and of how it began, but very few who have delved into the historical details have managed to arrive at something approaching agreement regarding these issues. This may come as some surprise when one considers that analytic philosophy is unquestionably the dominant tradition in current philosophy. In the UK, the US, Canada, Australasia, and many other parts of the world, its dominance translates into virtual monopoly of the profession. Is it then the case that analytic philosophers, despite being very successful at what they do, do not know exactly what it is that they are doing, or exactly how they came to be doing it? Hans-Johann Glock has been at the forefront of investigation into the origins of analytic philosophy in recent years. In What is Analytic Philosophy? Glock concludes that the failure of historians of analytic philosophy to arrive at a consensus view on the nature and origins of their subject matter is evidence that there is, in fact, no single defining feature of the analytic tradition (and, therefore, no simple story to be told about how it originated). Unlike some who have drawn similar conclusions, however, Glock does not see this as a reason to doubt that analytical philosophy can be defined. For although there is no single defining feature of analytic philosophy, this is because analytic philosophy is to be understood as 'a historical tradition held together by ties of influence on the one hand, family resemblances on the other' (231). I do not wish to dispute Glock's conclusion that analytic philosophy is, in part, a family resemblance concept, though I shall not endorse it either. I wish, for the purposes of this paper, to remain neutral on that issue. I will argue that, whether analytic philosophy is a family resemblance concept or not, it does not differ fundamentally from the long line of traditional philosophy that originated with the ancient Greeks. Peter Hacker objects to the family resemblance definition of analytic philosophy on the grounds that such definitions lead to 'unavoidable inclusion of some of the ancient Greeks' (Hacker 2007, 125). This complaint is endorsed by Glock (218), and it is for this reason that he takes a simple definition in terms of family resemblance to be inadequate, requiring the additional clause concerning 'ties of influence'. Hacker's objection is simply a striking case of Glock's more general concern that the simple definition yields a classification that is flawed because 'a classification which implies that all or most philosophers qualify as analytic does less work than one which draws a line between significant phenomena' (210). This concern of Glock's and Hacker's is what I will be striving to disarm in what follows. The fact that a family resemblance definition of analytic philosophy threatens to erase the boundary demarcating analytic philosophers from their predecessors is no bad thing, I will argue, for analytic philosophy is really just the continuation and evolution of philosophy simpliciter. Thus the results that trouble Glock and Hacker are just what we should expect of an inquiry into the origins of analytic philosophy. At what point did analytic philosophy come to be seen as a distinct movement from what had come before it? Though he didn't use the term 'analytic philosophy' to describe what he was doing, Bertrand Russell was the person most active in propagating the idea that the twentieth-century, under his guidance, ushered in a new kind of philosophy. Russell himself adopted the term 'Logical Atomism' for this new philosophy. Both words in the name Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [28]© Graham Stevens were carefully chosen, as Russell made clear in 1924: 'I hold that logic is what is fundamental in philosophy, and that schools should be characterized rather by their logic than by their metaphysic. My own logic is atomic, and it is this aspect upon which I should wish to lay stress' (Russell 1924, 323). Not only did Russell take logic to be fundamental to philosophy, he also played a leading role in instigating a revolution in the study of logic, both philosophically and mathematically (though he himself would have been suspicious of the distinction between the two). Many of the innovations in mathematical logic that Russell brought to the attention of philosophers and mathematicians were pre-empted by Gottlob Frege, as is well documented (originally by Russell himself in his own attempts to draw attention to Frege's groundbreaking work), as well as others such as Giuseppe Peano. What marked Russell out from these however, was the revolutionary zeal with which he sought to establish the new logic as the centrepiece of a new philosophy. It should not be overlooked, however, that the term 'logic' acts as a modifier of the term 'atomism' in 'logical atomism'. As Russell says, it is the fact that his logic is atomic that he intends to emphasise by the name. This is clearly a self-conscious attempt to illuminate his revolutionary credentials by placing his new philosophy into direct opposition with its predecessor, the holistic neoHegelian idealism. Neo-Hegelian idealism, which Russell had been a practitioner of prior to his conversion to atomism, denies that there is any analysis to be done in either metaphysics or logic. Reality is a unified whole that will not tolerate division into parts without 'falsification'. That is to say, any attempt to represent reality other than as an absolute whole will fail. Unified wholes cannot be analysed without remainder into their elements. Russell thought that the new logic that he played a central role in developing provided the philosopher with the tools to refute holism and replace it with his new logical atomism. As a matter of historical record, Russell was successful in the venture. In a remarkably short period of time, neo-Hegelianism fell from grace. It is now very rare to find Hegel, or the neo-Hegelians who dominated the UK philosophical scene at the beginning of the twentieth century, studied in western philosophy departments. The next step in the self-conscious presentation of themselves as revolutionaries embarked on establishing a new kind of philosophy by western philosophers came from the Vienna Circle of Logical Positivists. Like Russell (and with frequent acknowledgement to his influence in the matter), the positivists sought to place mathematical logic at the centre of philosophy and thereby to make philosophy more scientific. They also inherited Russell's revolutionary fervour, producing manifestos announcing their repudiation of past philosophy. Their influence was not solely from Russell, however. For one thing, arguably the most important of the logical positivists, Rudolf Carnap, was a student of Frege's, the influence of whom can clearly be seen in Carnap's formal work. More importantly, however, the positivists were deeply influenced by Ludwig Wittgenstein's Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. This work is often considered to be a contribution to the Russellian project of logical atomism. There is undoubtedly much truth in this, but there are also important departures from Russell's philosophy in the Tractatus. The most important of these was Wittgenstein's emphasis on language. 'All philosophy', Wittgenstein wrote, 'is a critique of language' (Wittgenstein 1922, 4.003). The logical positivists were profoundly influenced by the resulting picture of philosophy as an essentially linguistic enterprise that distinguishes sense from nonsense. This idea may have been floating around before. Michael Dummett (1991) famously attributes the first examples of this approach to solving philosophical problems to Frege, who transposes the metaphysical question of what numbers are, to the linguistic question of how to interpret statements of numerical identity in § 62 of his Grundlagen der Arithmetik of 1884. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [29] There can be no question, however, that it was the logical positivists who popularized the view. Thus the so-called 'linguistic turn' in philosophy was taken under their guidance. Although diverted towards a markedly distinct conception of philosophy, especially with regard to its relation to science, the linguistic turn was also embraced by the later Wittgenstein and the ordinary language philosophers who followed him. Wittgenstein himself repudiated the Tractatus so fully in his later work that he underwent the rare process of philosophical fission according to most of his interpreters, splitting into the Earlier and Later Wittgensteins, each leaving a profoundly influential philosophical legacy though never to be fused with each other again. Whether or not the earlier and later Wittgenstein really are as removed from each other as many of their commentators insist, they do both share the view that it is language that the philosopher should be investigating. A key difference, however, is that the later Wittgenstein has abandoned the earlier Wittgenstein's faith in formal logic as a tool in this enterprise. 'Mathematical logic', Wittgenstein came to think, 'has completely deformed the thinking of mathematicians and philosophers' (Wittgenstein 1956, 300). This might make the job of sorting sense from nonsense harder, but it is clear that this is still a job the philosopher ought to undertake: 'what we do is to bring words back from their metaphysical to their everyday use' (Wittgenstein 1953, §116). A swathe of British philosophers adopted a similar attitude. Gilbert Ryle sought to expose the linguistic sources of the 'category mistakes' that led to apparent metaphysical problems in the philosophy of mind in The Concept of Mind, for example. Like the Positivists and Russell, Ryle was keen to identify a distinct kind of philosophy that he was involved in. Though in his philosophical work the philosophy he wanted to reject was Cartesian dualism, Ryle also played a key role in popularizing another distinction: not only was analytic philosophy different from what came before it, according to Ryle, it was also very different to what was being practised in the rest of Europe. In the last 50 years, analytic philosophy has increasingly been contrasted with 'continental' philosophy. The opposition between analytic and continental philosophy often seems to be the means by which analytic philosophers define themselves now. Many philosophers who class themselves as analytic do not draw extensively on the techniques on formal logic that were so prized by Frege, Russell, and the Positivists. Nor is the Positivist's dislike of metaphysics, or insistence on the priority of linguistic concerns, shared by the majority of current analytic philosophers. But the one thing that nearly everyone will agree on is that they are doing something fundamentally different to what continental philosophers do. There is good reason for this. If one wants to get across to a non-philosopher just what the difference is between what people mean by 'analytic philosophy' and what they mean by 'continental philosophy', presenting them with a page from Being and Time and a page from 'On Denoting' is a very quick and effective way of making the point. All the same, it is worth noting that the way in which analytic philosophers have defined themselves since the point at which the analytic tradition is deemed to have emerged has been far from stable. It was, as we have just seen, a recurring feature of western philosophy during the twentieth-century that many philosophers sought to advertise their difference from other schools of philosophy. But what it was they were different to was something that everyone had their different views about.% In light of the wildly differing attitudes of the leading proponents of analytic philosophy concerning what defined their subject, it is unsurprising that historians of the tradition have failed to locate a property, or even a set of properties, that define the tradition. As Glock nicely summarizes (218), every seriously suggested property does not manage to capture all of the key figures in the tradition. Consider some of the main suggested definitions of anaJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [30] lytic philosophy that have been offered by historians of the tradition: philosophy that takes the linguistic turn; that rejects metaphysics; that endorses the scientific approach; that rejects the scientific approach; that seeks reductive analyses; that employs formal logic as its central tool; that engages in argument; that strives for clarity. None of these seems adequate. Russell never took the linguistic turn; Frege, Russell and Quine never rejected metaphysics or the characterization of philosophy as a science; the later Wittgenstein and the ordinary language philosophers never approved of reductive analyses, or the employment of formal logic as a key philosophical tool; they also agreed with the early Wittgenstein that philosophy was distinct from science; Wittgenstein in his early period eschewed argument in favour of the issuing of aphorisms, a practice that he arguably maintained in his later works; finally, even the almost trivial characterisation of analytic philosophy as philosophy that strives for clarity does not seem to include Wittgenstein in either incarnation (though, again, this is disputable). The failure to find a neat defining property of analytic philosophy makes the definition in terms of a family resemblance concept whereby each of the properties listed above may play an important though not unique role in individuating the members of the set of analytic philosophers appealing. The drawback, as mentioned above, is that this definition will apparently include too many members, for many of these properties are instantiated by non-analytic philosophers. As we saw Hacker observe: the ancient Greeks fit pretty well into the set defined by these properties when taken to form a family resemblance concept. Glock's attempt to circumvent this result is to include a further clause in the definition whereby membership in the analytic ranks requires that one is tied together with other members by relations of influence also. While this seems right, it is worth noting that it also results in a pretty uninformative definition. Glock himself objects to the 'honorific' definition of the term 'analytic philosophy' (e.g. as simply a philosopher who tries to argue in support of their claims) on the grounds that: 'a classification which implies that all or most philosophers qualify as analytic does less work than one which draws a line between significant phenomena' (p. 210). Adding the 'historical ties' clause to the family resemblance definition will ensure that the line Glock is after gets drawn. But is it doing so in any illuminating way? Surely the only way that we can make use of the additional clause is if we already have a clear idea of which ties of influence matter. The influence of Hume on Ayer, is not going to make Hume an analytic philosopher. The influence of MerleauPonty on many contemporary analytic philosophers of mind is not going to make Merleau-Ponty an analytic philosopher. How do we know this? Not because of anything that the definition informs us about, but because we already have a fairly clear idea (borderline cases notwithstanding) about the temporal and geographical limitations on membership to the set we want to define. But in that case, it is doubtful that the definition is really doing any more work than the honorific one would if we modified it in similar fashion. An alternative response to the threatened collapse of analytical into traditional philosophy would be to simply accept, even embrace, this consequence. Both Hacker and Glock see the threatened collapse as exposing a fundamental flaw in the definition of analytic philosophy. This, I suggest, is a failure on their part to accept the evidence of their own careful historical enquiries. What those enquiries show is that the self-conscious revolutionary proclamations made by key figures in the analytic tradition were overstated. Analytic philosophy did not make the dramatic departure from what went before it that many of its practitioners claimed. Certainly the analytic philosophers discussed above were not the first philosophers to make grandiose claims about their having instigated a new kind of philosophy. What differentiates them Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [31] from other examples, however, such as the British Empiricists or the Rationalists is that, as we have seen, they are not united by shared philosophical doctrines. Things could have gone otherwise. Had Russell's emphasis on the centrality of mathematical logic to philosophy been maintained by all who came after him with the same enthusiasm that it was by the logical positivists, analytic philosophy, may very well have formed a distinct school defined by common metaphilosophical doctrine. As it turned out, primarily through the influence of Wittgenstein, a significant number of influential twentieth-century philosophers rejected this Russellian idea. But many of them were influenced by other aspects of Russell's philosophy. The same is true of Russell's rejection of holism. Perhaps the most celebrated advocate of holism in the twentiethcentury, Quine, was also one of the most celebrated advocates of Russell's use of logico-mathematical methods in philosophy. Influential though he was, Russell failed to establish a single school of philosophy united by all of the doctrines he cherished. Nor can a better case be made for any other figure credited with a leading role in laying the foundations for analytic philosophy. The benefit of hindsight affords us a perspective on the revolutionary claims routinely issued by analytic philosophers unavailable to their authors. The fact is that analytic philosophy did not mark a fundamental break from philosophy as it had been conducted for preceding millennia, and the revolutionary claims turned out to be over-enthusiastic. In the twentieth-century philosophy may, in the hands of Russell and Moore, have made a break from neo-Hegelianism. But neo-Hegelianism was itself really just a minor episode in the development of philosophy. And, for the reasons mentioned above, if holism is taken as the key ingredient of neo-Hegelianism, then its alleged demise was both illusory and short-lived. There is nothing special about analytic philosophy, as opposed to philosophy. What analytic philosophers have strived to achieve is what all philosophers (good ones at any rate) have strived to achieve: to address philosophical problems better than previous attempts. It is not my intention in saying this to reduce analytic philosophy to the honorific definition Glock criticizes for its triviality; my intention is to reduce the content of the term to something more trivial still. Analytic philosophy is just philosophy. One thing I have not addressed so far is where this leaves the relation between analytic and continental philosophy. It is sometimes said that the two differ by virtue of the role played by argument in each. Continental philosophers, it is sometimes said, are not playing the same game that analytic philosophers play; they do not employ arguments as the key element in their method. Glock never explicitly endorses this description of the continental tradition, but it is certainly compatible with a number of comments he makes about continental philosophy (at least in its current state, understood as a philosophical tradition that transcends the geographical boundaries implied by its name8). For example, though he is approving of the motivation behind Dummett's suggestion that the profession would benefit from a journal in which analytic and continental philosophers responded to each others' work, Glock doubts that such a project would succeed because the result would likely be as follows: Responding to a continental article, the analytic commentator would engage in a flurry of 'What do you mean by this?', 'What is the justification for that?', and 'How are we to understand the next thing?' The continental respondent to an analytic piece, by contrast, would ignore the general gist, pick out some tiny detail, and engage in comments about etymological or historical aspects surrounding that detail. (257) Glock cites Derrida's (1988) response to Searle's (1977) critique in support of this prediction: 'there is no arguing with the fact that Derrida's reaction ... amounts to a complete refusal to engage Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [32] with the issues at a rational level. Instead it consists of obscure evasions, wails and linguistic puns' (Ibid.). Glock's evaluation of this piece by Derrida and his prediction concerning the likely outcome of Dummett's proposal strike me as fair and accurate. It does not seem unfair, therefore, to characterise at least some major figures in the continental tradition as deliberately eschewing argument. Of course the same cannot be said for all of the philosophers that are credited with leading roles in the foundation of the continental tradition (and certainly Glock does not claim that it is). There may be some debate over whether Nietzsche engaged in argument (a debate which I do not feel qualified to contribute to), but it would clearly be absurd to describe Kant or Husserl as spurning argument in their work, while others such as Heidegger seemed quite content to engage in argument at some points, while apparently abandoning them at others. Whatever the details about this may be, however, the point I wish to finish on is a simple, conditional, one. If continental philosophy, as currently practiced, has rejected argument as the central method of philosophy, then it is continental philosophy that has made the break with philosophical tradition, not analytic philosophy. This is not intended to be an evaluative remark, merely a descriptive one.9 Analytic philosophers and their historians have repeatedly proclaimed their revolutionary credentials as founders of a new kind of philosophy. Careful scrutiny of the historical facts, however, suggests that they have really just been carrying on doing philosophy as it has always been done. Philosophical problems are addressed by argument, using the best logical resources for constructing those arguments available at the time. Analytic philosophy is just traditional philosophy from the twentieth-century onwards. Philosophy has undergone many changes during this time. Glock is not the first to voice disapproval of some of the vices of the profession in its current form. He considers four common grievances aired against analytic philosophy: 'scholasticism, disengagement from other disciplines and the public, factionalism and the exclusionary demeanour towards non-Anglophone and non-analytic philosophy' (p. 246). Like Glock, I do not deny that some of these grievances may be warranted, but unlike him I do not think they are grievances against a particular tradition in philosophy. They are just grievances against the current state of the profession. Changing the way we do philosophy so as to address these concerns would not make philosophy less analytic. It would just make it less scholastic, disengaged, factionalised and exclusive. Notes 8 See Glock ch. 3 and 9 for extended discussion. 9 One may challenge this on the grounds that the later Wittgenstein and his followers are also deemed to reject argument as the fundamental ingredient in philosophical method (see., e.g., Winch 1992), yet these are standardly thought of as analytic philosophers. For one thing, I have to say that I am not convinced that the later Wittgenstein really did abandon argument as a matter of philosophical principle. There may be times when he provides aphorisms, etc. without support but this is not surprising when one considers that none of this later philosophy was prepared for publication, but even taking this into account, I have to say that when I read the Philosophical Investigations, I find arguments to be the main content of the book. Secondly, however, if it really is the case that there are figures in the analytic tradition who reject argument then I think it is only fair to describe them as having made a radical departure from traditional philosophy. It is interesting to note that one Wittgensteinian, Ray Monk, appears to endorse such a description when he declares that: 'on my map, Frege, Russell, Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [33] Husserl and Meinong are all on the same side of the border, while Wittgenstein lies outside. And thus the opposite of 'analytical' is neither 'continental' nor 'phenomenological' but rather 'Wittgensteinian' (Monk 1996, 23). Graham Stevens University of Manchester graham.p.stevens@manchester.ac.uk References M. Dummett. Frege: Philosophy of Mathematics. London: Duckworth, 1991. J. Derrida, J. Limited Inc. Evanston, Ill, Northwestern University Press, 1988. G. Frege. The Foundations of Arithmetic. Translated by J. Austin. Oxford, Blackwell, 1958. Originally published 1884. H.-J. Glock. What is Analytic Philosophy?. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. P. Hacker. Analytic Philosophy: Beyond the Linguistic Turn and Back Again. In M. Beaney, editor, The Analytic Turn: Analysis in Early Analytic Philosophy and Phenomenology. London, Routledge, 125–141, 2007. R. Monk. What is Analytic Philosophy?. In R. Monk & A. Palmer, editors, Bertrand Russell and the Origins of Analytical Philosophy. Bristol, Thoemmes Press, 1–21, 1996. B. Russell. Logical Atomism. In B. Russell, Logic and Knowledge, edited by R. Marsh. London, Routledge, 323-343, 1956. Originally published 1924. J. Searle. Reiterating the Differences: a Reply to Derrida. Glyph 1. 198–208, 1977. P. Winch. Persuasion. Midwest Studies in Philosophy XVII, 123–137, 1992. L. Wittgenstein. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. London, Routledge, 1922. L. Wittgenstein. Philosophical Investigations. Oxford, Blackwell, 1953. L. Wittgenstein. Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics, 3rd edition. Edited by G.H. von Wright, R. Rhees and G.E.M. Anscombe. Translated by G.E.M. Anscombe. Oxford, Blackwell, 1978. First edition published 1956. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [34] Replies to my Commentators1 Hans-Johann Glock Leila Haaparanta Leila Haaparanta provides an accurate and sympathetic summary of my book, and she appears to agree not just with its critique of alternative definitions of analytic philosophy but also with its positive proposal. She starts her contribution with a useful albeit brief sketch of how the history and nature of analytic philosophy came to be a notable academic topic in its own right. In particular, she reminds us of the interesting discussions concerning the relation between Frege and the early Husserl. Haaparanta rightly notes that pragmatism and Marxism might and often are seen as movements that are independent of the problematic-yet by now well-established-duo of analytic vs. 'continental' philosophy. I had made this point with respect to pragmatism (p. 85), though not with respect to Marxism. The latter is a singular and colourful case. Its main philosophical inspiration, Hegelian dialectic, is part of continental philosophy widely conceived (see p. 87). Yet it is also an economic, sociological and political paradigm and movement, inextricably bound up with political aspirations and developments that transcend the scope of a book like mine. My limited ambition is bound up with the question sapiently posed by Haaparanta. How should one view my project methodologically, e.g. vis-à-vis general history, history of ideas, and sociology of philosophy? [see p. 4]. At the most general level, the answer is straightforward. My project was a metaphilosophical one. In the first instance, the book is intended as a contribution to descriptive metaphilosophy. It aims to establish what a particular philosophical movement actually amounts to. At this juncture I should address a subsidiary query of Haaparanta's, concerning the relative weight that the past and the present of analytic philosophy, respectively, have in the book. While my main focus was on what analytic philosophy currently amounts to, this interest inevitably draws with it historical issues concerning the development of analytic philosophy. I stated as much in the book (4), but without specifying the reasons. So here are two. First, in order to provide an initial preconception of analytic philosophy against which definitions of analytic philosophy can be assessed, it does not suffice merely to list a few paradigms. We also require the background of how and why they came to be regarded as emblematic of that movement. And that in turn requires telling the tale of how a certain intellectual current emerged and came to be known under the label 'analytic philosophy' (see 16 and ch. 2). Secondly, analytic philosophy is, at least among other things, a historical phenomenon that invites a genetic account (see ch. 8.4). It is no coincidence, therefore, that the recent debate about analytic philosophy that Haaparanta mentions and which occasioned my book invariably combines the question of what analytic philosophy is with the question of who founded it and who belonged to it. One would have wished, however, that the contributors to that debate had distinguished the two questions more sharply not just from each other, but also from the question of whether analytic philosophy is the kind of philosophy worth pursuing. This last question leads on to those parts of the book devoted to prescriptive or evaluative metaphilosophy. In the course of scrutinizing what analytic philosophy in fact amounts to at present or amounted to in the past, I found it unavoidable also to consider questions concerning the nature (problems, methods and scope) of philosophy in general. As I indicate right at the start, the book engages in prescriptive metaphilosophy in so far as it intermittently takes a stance on the intellectual merit of particular philosophical Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [35]© Hans-Johann Glock problems, theories, or methods, both inside and outside analytic philosophy. Haaparanta reminded me of the fact that such prescriptive ambitions come to the fore not just in the final chapter (ch. 9) about the alleged or actual faults of analytic philosophy, but also in my defence of a particular attitude that philosophy should adopt towards (the study of) its past. Let me return to the descriptive side of my venture. In the first instance the method I pursued was a kind of conceptual analysis or clarification. Proposed definitions of 'analytic philosophy' are measured against the established use of the term 'analytic philosophy', its commonly acknowledged extension. In order to delineate and comprehend that extension, however, one needs to know something both about the history of the term and the history of what it denotes. In that respect, I restricted myself to the history of philosophy as promoted in Chapter 2 and to the history of ideas. As Haaparanta rightly points out, there is a wider 'religious, political and cultural' context to any intellectual tradition. But by contrast to a movement like Marxism, the historical context that bears immediately on the proper understanding of analytic philosophy is by-and-large confined to the history of ideas. With one notable exception. If I am right, the academic and institutional division between analytic and 'continental' philosophy is not just the result of philosophical or even cultural factors, but partly the result of extrinsic political developments like the rise of Nazism and World War II (228-30). Chris Pincock Pincock deftly summarizes the main contentions of my book. And he commends it for taking a look at the overall phenomenon of analytic philosophy, the often-confusing complexities concerning details notwithstanding. At the same time he complains that I have not really answered my title question. Gratifyingly, for me, Pincock grants that my 'hybrid proposal' is 'sophisticated and historically plausible' in so far as it combines historical and familyresemblance elements [7]. At the same time, he avers, it falls short of providing an answer to the title question. For I have provided only a bare sketch of what family resemblances are in play, and I have failed to justify my choice of features and entries on the chart of family resemblances on page 218 of the book [7]. I must plead guilty at least to this second charge. But a justification can be garnered from the book without too much ado. The figures or movements included are those that played a particularly weighty role in the rise and subsequent career of analytic philosophy, as I tell it in ch. 2 (and Pincock does not contest this account as a broad canvas picture). And all the features (linguistic turn, rejection of metaphysics, the demarcation of philosophy from science, the project of reductive analysis, the use of and veneration for formal logic, the orientation towards science, and the premium placed on argument and clarity) are discussed at length in the preceding chapters. To be sure, so were features that are not and should not be included on the chart, e.g. being Anglo-American or apolitical. The ones that make an appearance in my chart of family-resemblances are those that may fail as features uniting all and only analytic philosophy, but which nevertheless have the merit of characterizing significant parts of the analytic movements or important aspects of analytic philosophy. As a consequence, while there may be a case for adding additional features to the chart, such elaborations are subject to a specifiable-albeit of necessity imprecise-criterion, namely that they should have played a significant positive role among important strands of the analytic tradition. Pincock raises an interesting problem for my account, concerning the apposite unit of classification and of influence. What are the constituents of analytic philosophy that stand in relations of influence [7–9]? I indicated in passing that not just philosophers can be classified as analytic, but also 'works, positions or arguJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [36] ments' (e.g. 5), and one might add movements, associations and journals for good measure. But I had implicitly taken for granted that the paradigmatic units of classification and influence are individual thinkers. Pincock objects that philosophers like Russell, Wittgenstein, Rorty and Putnam underwent significant and often repeated changes of mind. Fair enough, although this is the exception rather than the rule. It goes without saying that philosophers frequently shift their opinions. Yet it is much rarer for them to do so in a manner and to a degree that would cast in doubt their membership of a tradition as wide and diverse as the analytic. Furthermore, it is even rarer for distinct phases of a single thinker to exert a notable and distinct influence on subsequent developments, one that straddles the divide between analytic and nonanalytic philosophy. In fact, Husserl (before and after 1913) and Wittgenstein (early and late) may be the only plausible cases that spring to mind. The influence of pre-1979 Rorty on analytic philosophy, for instance, pales by comparison with the influence of post-1979 Rorty on so-called 'post-analytic' philosophy (which tends to be more 'post-' than analytic). In any event, however, interesting though the question Pincock raises is, it does not constitute a fundamental difficulty for what he calls my 'historicalresemblance picture'. For one thing, there is a feasible alternative, namely to focus on works rather than authors. For another, even if one adopts Pincock's solution of considering 'philosophers-at-atime', this is fully compatible with accepting my account of analytic philosophy and its reliance on the notion of influence. The later Wittgenstein was influenced by the early Wittgenstein, and Rorty 1998 by Rorty 1979, let us grant. Furthermore, Pincock is right to point out that in the case of thinkers that underwent fundamental changes of heart these relations of influence may take one from an analytic to a non-analytic 'philosopher-at-a-time'. But that difficulty already arises for influences between different individual philosophers. And that was precisely one of the reasons I adduced for insisting that a historical or genetic account does not just complement a family resemblance account, but in turn needs to be complemented by the latter (222-3). The Rorty of 1998 can be classified as post-analytic rather than analytic on account of features that figure in my family-resemblance chart, e.g. his disregard for argument, aloofness from natural science and his style (notably the name-dropping syndrome). At the end of his stimulating contribution, Pincock considers my complaints about the scholasticism pervading the current analytic mainstream and my advice that analytic philosophy should take 'seriously its vocation as critical thinking writ large'. He complains that in these and similar passages in my final chapter (ch. 9) I seem to have 'largely abandoned' my earlier descriptive analysis. 'If these judgements are not based on Glock's earlier claims about what analytic philosophy is, then they are unjustified' [9]. This is a non-sequitur. Even if the earlier claims about what analytic philosophy is do not justify the claims about what it should be, the latter may be supported independently. In fact, I painstakingly distinguish between descriptive and prescriptive metaphilosophy, and I explicitly confess that the final chapter partly indulges in the latter (3, 259). The crucial point, however, is this. There is no reason to insist that claims about what analytic philosophy should aspire to be must be based on claims about what all and only analytic philosophers have in common. This would hold even if there were a single feature of this kind. What is correct is that such prescriptions should not invoke standards that are alien to the whole of analytic philosophy. My prescriptions and evaluations do not violate that minimal requirement. They do not invoke defining features of analytic philosophy, to be sure. Yet they are based on certain aspirations that characterize large parts of it, aspirations that I find congenial (as Pincock duly notes). The reasons for finding them congenial are straightforward enough: scholasticism (in the popular sense in which I use it in that chapter), for instance, is a recogJournal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [37] nizable and recognized intellectual aberration; mutatis mutandis for critical thinking, which is a recognizable and recognized intellectual virtue. If that were not enough, the discussions of the strengths and weaknesses of current analytic philosophy in the final chapter ought to motivate my preferences at least indirectly. Panu Raatikainen Raatikainen brings to our topic a profound acquaintance not just with analytic philosophy but also with pertinent non-analytic and more specifically continental thinkers and movements. Raatikainen distinguishes between a 'popular inclusive understanding' of analytic philosophy, which he disparages as 'sloppy', and a 'clear' one with a 'definitive meaning' that confines analytic philosophy to those who 'restricted philosophy to the analysis of language, clarification of meaning and such' [24]. He further maintains that this is the original meaning of the term. Here he invokes Nagel, Bergmann, Black and Pap [19–20]. Raatikainen agrees with me (and an increasing number of other interpreters) that Moore and Russell did not take a linguistic turn. He also writes that this is even more obvious in the case of Frege. Now, I explicitly denied in my book that Frege had taken a linguistic turn (130-2). Unlike Raatikainen, however, I do not think that he is less linguistically oriented than Moore and Russell. He just had less to say on the nature of philosophy in general, though he did pronounce on the relation between logic, metaphysics and psychology.2 Whereas I treat the failure of Moore and Russell to take a linguistic turn as proof that analytic philosophy does not equal the linguistic turn, Raatikainen treats it as license for denying that Moore and Russell were analytic philosophers. Raatikainen maintains that if one is prepared to bite this bullet in the case of Frege-as Hacker does-one should also be prepared to bite it in the case of Moore and Russell. But one should note that Hacker's divergent treatment of Frege on the one hand, Moore and Russell on the other is not based on crediting the latter with more of a linguistic turn. Hacker does not portray Frege as setting (even) less store by language than Moore and Russell, and he does not treat the linguistic turn as a sine qua non of analytic philosophy. Although Hacker does not state so explicitly, his relegation of Frege to 'one of the many precursors of twentieth century analytic philosophy' (1996, 281n) instead appears to be based on the conviction that, unlike Moore and Russell, Frege did not play a significant role in starting the distinctive historical movement of analytic philosophy. In any event, Raatikainen's willingness to bite two bullets more than Hacker does not furnish an argument against my position. For I am no more willing to bite the bullet of excluding Frege than I am to bite the bullets of excluding Moore and Russell. In my view, all three were essential to the rise of analytic philosophy; Frege through his enormous influence not just on Russell, but also on Wittgenstein and Carnap (225-6). In regarding Frege, Moore and Russell as the founders of analytic philosophy, I am in line with most other commentators. Indeed, the original employment of 'analytic philosophy', which Raatikainen nicely sets out and which he sets store by, specifically included both Moore and Russell, as he himself mentions. Consequently, that original employment does not coincide with the narrow 'linguistic' one that he favours. Now, one might respond that the inclusion of Moore and Russell rests on a 'linguistic' misinterpretation of the two by those who brought the label into circulation. Yet the writings of Nagel, Bergmann, Black and Pap provide little evidence to this effect. In any event, 'analytic philosophy' came into circulation as a variation of labels like 'logical', 'philosophical' and 'conceptual analysis', labels that Russell and Moore themselves had introduced long before. And these descriptions lay the focus clearly on the method of (logical and/or conceptual) analysis, rather than on language. Contrast terms like 'linguistic Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [38] philosophy' and 'the analysis of language' that were introduced at roughly the same time as 'analytic philosophy' (see 44). Now for the more catholic use, which includes figures that fail or even explicitly refuse to take a linguistic turn. Raatikainen regards this use as so contested as to be useless. But the extension of the term in this employment is not nearly as controversial as the meaning on which it is supposedly based. Moreover, as I argue in the book, the catholic use is clear and controlled enough to satisfy a need not just for historical taxonomy but also for academic classifications for institutional purposes like curricula and job advertisements (ch. 1.2). Raatikainen contends that the historical conception of analytic philosophy-one of the pillars of my combination of familyresemblance and genetic accounts-founders. Analytic philosophy is not a tradition that can be separated from other traditions, continental philosophy included, he avers. For, first, there are greater divisions within the camps and, secondly, there were more important interactions between the two camps than the historical conception can allow for [15–19]. But the internal disputes that Raatikainen invokes to demonstrate the divisions within the historical movement of analytic philosophy in no way exceed what one would expect from philosophers that take each other seriously. Raatikainen appeals to Dummett's report that Oxford philosophers after the war regarded Carnap rather than Heidegger as the main enemy. But the reason was precisely that Carnap was taken seriously, whereas Heidegger was regarded as being beyond the pale. In Dummett's own words, he 'was perceived only as a figure of fun, too absurd to be taken seriously as a threat to the kind of philosophy practiced in Oxford' (1978, 437; see also Warnock 1998). Further in support of his denial of two distinct traditions, Raatikainen points out that Karl-Otto Apel admits that something may be gained from analytic philosophy. Yet this is only an indication of a minimal open-mindedness; it does not suffice to demonstrate a major influence. Incidentally, Raatikainen describes as 'followers' of Heidegger not just Gadamer and Apel, but also Habermas. This is an exaggeration: the latter was influenced by Heidegger, but never a follower. And Apel was at one remove at least from Gadamer in also being interested in and heavily influenced by American pragmatism, in particular by Peirce (see Apel [1967]). Raatikainen also overestimates the importance of personal and political animosities. Political dividing lines ran across the emerging split between analytic philosophy and continental philosophy. Both Frege and Heidegger were on the extreme right, both Neurath and Marcuse on the far left, for instance. Graham Stevens In his thought-provoking comment, Stevens purports to remain neutral on the question of whether analytic philosophy is held together, at least among other things, by overlapping similarities in the style of a family-resemblance concept. What is more, he agrees with me that combining this idea with a reference to historical ties of influence will furnish a definition that comes at least close to capturing the commonly acknowledged extension of 'analytic philosophy'. But he objects that invoking ties of influence presupposes 'a clear idea of which ties of influence matter', and hence 'a fairly clear idea (borderline cases notwithstanding) about the temporal and geographical limitations on membership to the set we want to define' [31]. I accept that we do need a preliminary idea- to be reflected and clarified in due course-about what emblematic figures count as analytic philosophers. In other words, we need agreement-albeit potentially provisional and defeasible-on at least some paradigmatic cases. This is one of the things that reference to a historical movement was designed to achieve. In any event, I don't see why Stevens thinks that this need exposes Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [39] my account to the core problem facing an 'honorific' rationalist conception of analytic philosophy. According to such an account, analytic philosophy is the kind of philosophy which attempts to address philosophical problems in a clear and rational way, through argument. The difficulty is that this ambition unites all or most philosophers. But 'a classification which implies that all or most philosophers qualify as analytic does less work than one which draws a line between significant phenomena' (210). Contrary to what Stevens seems to suggest in this passage, my account is not prone to that particular failure. For it makes membership of a particular historical movement or tradition a necessary condition of being an analytic philosopher. But how serious is the problem facing the rationalist account in the first place? This is the topic of Stevens' most intriguing suggestion. The compunctions of Hacker and myself notwithstanding, he declares, there is nothing wrong with making analytic philosophy coincide with philosophy simpliciter. As he puts it 'analytic philosophy is just philosophy' [32]. But it is not just all of philosophy. In defence of my position it will not do to confront Stevens with the numerous statements by early analytic philosophers to the effect that theirs is a completely novel movement marking a break within the history of our subject (for references see 85–7, 177–8). For Stevens is explicitly (and, up to a point rightly) suspicious of the declarations of a revolutionary departure from the past issued by many of the trailblazers of analytic philosophy (he mentions Russell, the logical positivists and Ryle, but Wittgenstein is also a case in point). Yet as far as I can see he provides no positive evidence for his claim that analytic philosophy did not constitute a significant break with the past. What he does point out is that several prima facie characteristics of analytic philosophy taken in isolation do not constitute a complete rupture with everything that went on before. Thus Quine's holism has significant points of contact with the holism of Hegel and British Idealism. But the historical movement resulting from a cluster of such ideas and features may nonetheless constitute a radically fresh phenomenon. My contention is that analytic philosophy is a case in point. None of the ideas and historical developments by which it is often characterized amount to a revolutionary break when taken in isolation. But the combination of these ideas and historical steps nonetheless does. At the philosophical level we have the combination of the new logic with the procedure of conceptual analysis and the critical questioning of grand metaphysical doctrines. At the stylistic level we have a novel emphasis on clarity of exposition and rigour of argument, combined with other features like the use of puzzle-cases. And at the sociological level we have a move towards professionalization and constant critical exchange, epitomized by the proliferation of conferences and the institution of peer-reviewed journals (see Campbell 2006). At this point I would like to recycle a discussion from the book. Expanding on a proposal by Peter Bieri, I suggested juxtaposing contributions to the Journal of Philosophy with the works of either one of the following three sets of authors: Seneca, Montaigne, Nietzsche, Cesare Pavese and Fernando Pessoa or Plotinus, Vico, Hamann, Schelling and Hegel or Heidegger, Derrida, Irigaray, Deleuze and Kristeva. I maintained that three things emerge: first, there is at least some overlap concerning the problems addressed; secondly, at least some of these problems are philosophical by commonly accepted standards; thirdly, what goes on in the pages of the Journal of Philosophy is a very distinctive intellectual activity, one that differs from the activities (themselves diverse) that the other figures engage in. The exercise suggests not just that analytic philosophy is a genuinely novel phenomenon. It also indicates that it is not simply equivalent to philosophy in general. It differs markedly not just from twentieth century continental philosophy, but also with significant philosophical currents of the more distant past. Stevens is Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [40] right, in my view, to suggest that analytic philosophy may constitute less of a break with what I called traditional philosophy-the great philosophical tradition from the Pre-Socratics to Kant--than continental philosophy, at least if the latter is understood in a narrow sense referring to an essentially Nietzschean and explicitly irrationalist movement. But continental philosophy may actually be closer than analytic philosophy to what I called traditionalist philosophy, the philological and historical study of the great philosophical tradition (for the distinction see 85–8). And not all of what passes as philosophy is compatible with, let alone congenial to, the analytic spirit. Even the ambition to be clear in the exposition of problems and to justify solutions by way of argument is absent from some thinkers that have been, and continue to be, categorized as philosophers, not just by lay-people but also by professional philosophers. % In short, analytic philosophy is a novel kind of philosophy. To put my point in Hegelian and Marxist terms, irony notwithstanding: a syndrome of quantitative changes may be so substantial as to amount to a qualitative change. Will analytic philosophy retain its qualitative distinctiveness? Might it, or one of its successors, become co-extensive with philosophy, e.g. because continental philosophy withers away or because analytic philosophy and continental philosophy will merge? And how are those potential developments to be assessed from a metaphilosophical point of view? Stevens' contribution points towards these questions. But, alas, they are too grand to be addressed here.3 Hans-Johann Glock University of Zurich glock@philos.uzh.ch Notes Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [41] 1 Unless otherwise specified, all numbers in parentheses refer to pages of this book. Numbers in brackets refer to pages of the contributions by my commentators. 2 As Stevens remarks [3], one of the features that set Russell apart from Frege was his pursuit and promotion of a novel conception of philosophy in general. 3 For a first stab at answering these questions see Glock (2008, ch. 9), Glock (2012), Glock (2013). I am grateful to David Dolby for comments on a first draft of this text. References M. Dummett. Frege: Philosophy of Mathematics. London: Duckworth, 1991. J. Derrida, J. Limited Inc. Evanston, Ill, Northwestern University Press, 1988. G. Frege. The Foundations of Arithmetic. Translated by J. Austin. Oxford, Blackwell, 1958. Originally published 1884. H.-J. Glock. What is Analytic Philosophy?. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. H.-J. Glock. The analytic/continental disagreement. In M.C. Amoretti and M. Vignolo, editors, Disaccordo. Annuario della Società Italiana di Filosofia Analitica (SIFA) 2012. Mimesis, Milano, 149–172, 2012. H.-J. Glock. The Owl of Minerva: is Analytic Philosophy Moribund? In E. Reck, editor, The Historical Turn in Analytic Philosophy. Palgrave, London, 326–347, 2013. P. Hacker. Analytic Philosophy: Beyond the Linguistic Turn and Back Again. In M. Beaney, editor, The Analytic Turn: Analysis in Early Analytic Philosophy and Phenomenology. London, Routledge, 125–141, 2007. R. Monk. What is Analytic Philosophy?. In R. Monk & A. Palmer, editors, Bertrand Russell and the Origins of Analytical Philosophy. Bristol, Thoemmes Press, 1–21, 1996. B. Russell. Logical Atomism. In B. Russell, Logic and Knowledge, edited by R. Marsh. London, Routledge, 323-343, 1956. Originally published 1924. J. Searle. Reiterating the Differences: a Reply to Derrida. Glyph 1. 198–208, 1977. P. Winch. Persuasion. Midwest Studies in Philosophy XVII: 123–137, 1992. L. Wittgenstein. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. London, Routledge, 1922. L. Wittgenstein. Philosophical Investigations. Oxford, Blackwell, 1953. L. Wittgenstein. Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics, 3rd edition. Edited by G.H. von Wright, R. Rhees and G.E.M. Anscombe. Translated by G.E.M. Anscombe. Oxford, Blackwell, 1978. First edition published 1956. Journal for the History of Analytical Philosophy, vol. 2 no. 2 [42]