Inspired by Bakhtin: Dialogic Methods in the Humanities 9781618117397

Citation preview

Inspired

by Bakhtin

Dialogic Methods in the Humanities

Studies in Comparative Literature and Intellectual History Series Editor GALIN TIHANOV (Queen Mary, University of London)

Inspired

by Bakhtin

Dialogic Methods in the Humanities •

Edited by

MATTHIAS FREISE

Boston 2018

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The bibliographic data for this title is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN (hardback) 978-1-61811-738-0 ISBN (electronic) 978-1-61811-739-7 © 2018 Academic Studies Press All rights reserved Book design by Kryon Publishing Services (P) Ltd. www.kryonpublishing.com Cover design by Ivan Grave Published by Academic Studies Press in 2018 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

Table of Contents

Introductionvi Matthias Freise Internal Dialogism of Russian Postmodern Literature: Polyphony or Schizophrenia? Maria Andrianova

1

Between Socrates and the Stranger: How Dialogic Are Plato’s Dialogues?  Kryštof Boháček

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The Dialogic Method in Literary History Matthias Freise

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Towards a Dialogical Sociology Michal Kaczmarczyk

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Discourses in the Design of Cultural Artifacts Klaus Krippendorff

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Attachment Patterns in the Bi-Personal Field  Reinhard Plassmann

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Voices in Image: A Methodological and Theoretical Approach to the Dialogic Image of the Other with the European Image of China as an Example Xiaojing Wang

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List of Contributors

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Index

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Introduction Matthias Freise PRELIMINARY REMARKS

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any scholars around the world are inspired by Mikhail Bakhtin’s ideas. For them, his using of the term “dialogue” is one of the key concepts in the humanities. Despite the abundance of interpretations of Bakhtin’s teachings, two fundamental questions regarding his “dialogism” still seem to be unanswered: first—do the objects of other humanities have dialogical qualities similar to those literature has; second—how can we define a dialogic method of research in the humanities in general, what would be the specific qualities of such a method? In this volume, seven scholars—from different countries, rooted in different cultures, working in different fields of the humanities—­propose answers to the following questions: What in my field of study can be considered a dialogic approach and why is a dialogic approach essential in my field in order to disclose the specific qualities of the material to be analyzed? From these two fundamental questions, the specific questions in the respective fields of study arise: How dialogic is the intercultural encounter in contemporary cinema? What is dialogic design? What are the presuppositions of a successful therapeutic dialogue? On what terms can literary history be called dialogic? How dialogic is postmodern authorship? How dialogic are Plato’s philosophical dialogues? What distinguishes a dialogical sociology?

THE HUMANITIES AS A RELATIONAL SCIENCE From a disciplinary point of view, the above questions seem to be rather disparate. It is therefore necessary to explain how they are bound together to a common, truly Bakhtinian approach in the humanities. As different as

Introduction

the problems are that we encounter in our fields of study, there is one central aspect we all have in mind. Mainstream research and practice in the humanities tend to treat their phenomena as “objects” with “properties.” This, we are convinced, is not the proper and necessary approach to what we encounter in our disciplines because what the humanities are mainly and commonly concerned with are phenomena of relationship. Such phenomena require specific—namely, dialogic—approaches. All contributions in this volume are inspired by the idea that a dialogic approach in their field is necessary, even inevitable. Therefore, they appeal for substantial change in the methods of their field. They argue that recent methods of research in the humanities are widely unsuitable for the phenomena they examine. How can this be, despite all erudition? Against the background of a highly “speculative” thinking in the humanities up to the nineteenth century, in the twentieth century the humanities very much endeavored to become more “scientific.” This was, of course, most respectable, but in consequence has guided research further and further away from what could be called a specifically humanitarian approach, designed for the specific dialogical nature of the phenomena to be examined. The humanities, despite having produced more “exact” results than ever, became more and more unspecific in their fields. We are convinced that the scientification of the humanities at the cost of the specificity of their research may result, paradoxically, in the loss of their scientific basis. Therefore, a dialogical method in the humanities is not yet an “alternative” approach. It is, rather, a guideline for finding the most appropriate access to what the phenomena of the humanities in fact are: relationships. Sociology should investigate social relationships, not countable mental properties of individuals. Philosophy (again) should investigate the relationship of the human mind with the world, not the properties of language. Literary history should investigate the relationship to the past, and neither what “objectively” happened nor what we construct to be our history. Theory of design should investigate how design is guided by our encounter with the material world and not by the practical function of a tool. Theology should be concerned with our relationship to God, not with rules fixed in a codex. Psychology should not only understand psyche as a living network of relationships, but should also understand the relationship of the therapist to his or her patient as a bi-personal field. Literature, last but not least, consists of relationships that are neither “objective” nor “subjective,” but rather establish cultural “neurons” that form not only a cobweb in which we entangle ourselves (Max Weber, Clifford Geertz) but one that opens a wide, even endless semantic space for us to move. This space doesn’t bind us, it sets

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us free. There are special techniques necessary to move within this field and to sketch the streamlines of it. It is, however, noteworthy that our attempts to propagate and legitimate dialogic approaches in our fields expose certain significant differences. This can be seen especially in Boháček’s philosophical account of Plato’s dialogues, and in Kaczmarczyk’s using them to expose an existential concept of dialogue. Boháček examines Plato’s philosophical dialogues for their inherent dialogic quality, while Kaczmarczyk emphasizes that, in some of them, the existential attitude of the participants is necessary to form a “dialogical” dialogue. These approaches are not just “different,” they also expose the two opposite sides of the same problem: for Boháček, the “internal” necessity of the communication to have a dialogic structure, and for Kaczmarczyk, the “external” necessity of the participants to have an existential attitude, which alone opens them to real dialogue. Thus, they are both true, just as both sides of a relationship are equally true. Here, we have a living example of how the dialogue between two disciplines can and should be dialogic. There is, however, one problem shared by all disciplines in the humanities, in case they, as they ought to, investigate relationships. Relationships, in contrast to objects, are invisible. Rigid scholars conclude that, precisely for this reason, they simply do not exist. There is no such thing as a love relationship— just hormonal processes in the brain; there is no social relationship—just needs to be satisfied; there is no relationship to the past—only traces and objects left over for examination; there is no relationship within art—just material form and content to take notice of; there is no relationship to the world to be understood by philosophy—only understandings materialized in language; no relationship to the Divine—only religious needs. Of course, we can ignore non-object phenomena, but there is at least one field of relationship that hardly can be ignored, and that is language. Ferdinand de Saussure proved that language consists not of objects but of relationships, which are labelled by the term “sign.” “Sign” is the expression of a relationship. Most illustrative here is the case of phonology. Before de Saussure, linguists believed that language consisted of sounds. After de Saussure it became clear that it consists of differences between sounds; that is, it consists of relationships. A phoneme is not an object, but a relationship. You cannot investigate the functioning of language without these differences, which cannot be heard directly but have to be reconstructed by juxtaposition. The analysis of language as a relationship is called semiotics. It is a long way, however, from semiotics to an understanding of all phenomena of the humanities being dialogic. After the “semiotic turn” in the 1960s and 1970s all fields in

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the humanities were subordinated to language. Everything was language. This is typical with the humanities and their “turns.” Given the “relational” character of one humanitarian discipline, scholars conclude that all cognate disciplines are derivations of the one in which this character was encountered. In fact, there is no leading discipline in the humanities. Philosophy is not dialogic “because it consists of language,” but it is dialogic in the same regard that language is. It has its own specific dialogic character which has to be explained within philosophy. As a result, we do not harken “back to semiotics.” Even scholars within semiotics themselves have not fully understood the relational character of the sign. They never performed the mental leap from description to interpretation, because interpretation seemed arbitrary to them. Here, the hard labor of convincing them is necessary. And this labor can be provided by literary scholarship because literary scholarship successfully developed strategies of plausibility within a field of concurring interpretations. Of course, even philology has recently tended toward “scientification.” Digital humanities, cultural transfer research, neuronal reception research, and the revival of the sociology of literature dominate the scene. However, literary analysis has developed the tools to illuminate semantic spaces provided by the “neurons” of literary texts. Therefore, it could serve as a pioneer for an alliance between scholars equally frustrated by mainstream “exact” research in the humanities. It is this mainstream that also tends to repel students at universities. Students expect, for example, genuine philosophical understanding, but teachers convince them that “truth is what is the case.” At German universities an average of ninety percent of philosophy students drop out before the bachelor of arts exam. Mainstream philosophers would argue that students expect from philosophy mere “metaphysical speculation” and are not ready to accept that philosophy requires logics, logics, and logics. Relationships, however, are no less logical than objects, but the logics of relation are different from the logics of property. The primary aim of the contributions in this volume is to restore for the humanities the goal of dialogic understanding, which requires interpretation. All contributors formulate the dialogic character of the phenomena they investigate or of the method they develop. They are convinced that such an approach is able to give a fresh outlook on their field of study. At the same time, by sharing a dialogic method, we get the chance to unite the humanities in a common scientific effort. This provides the humanities with new epistemological power—one that is highly needed, and not only for the humanities as a field of study. The humanities are not, in fact, a luxury with which we indulge

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ourselves once we have fulfilled our basic needs. The disciplines contributing to this volume—and the humanitarian disciplines not represented here—are able to solve real problems, that is, problems of relationship. Such problems are at least as important as problems we have with objects. And more than a few of the problems we believe to have with objects we might turn out to have with relationships. In what follows, I will trace earlier efforts to find the uniting principle of the various disciplines within the humanities. Further, I will try to explain what kind of radical switch in our brain is necessary to investigate relationships instead of objects. Again and again we are tempted to go back into the object mode, and then our insight into the phenomena of the humanities is instantly blinded. It is especially hard to adopt the idea that relationships are prior to objects, but some thinkers before us understood this well: above all, Immanuel Kant, the true pioneer of “relational” understanding.

DILTHEY’S SEARCH FOR A COMMON GROUND IN ALL FIELDS IN THE HUMANITIES Together with Wilhelm Windelband, Wilhelm Dilthey was the first thinker who made an effort to define the common research principle in the humanities after they had split into a plethora of disciplines. He saw the problem of legitimation which the humanities were facing after the end of idealistic thought. The humanities were accused of having no object, and not undeservedly. For idealistic thought, it had been no problem to reflect on the world without having a real object because this thought was sure to be meta-physic, that is, pre-empiric, investigating processes that were prior to all possible objects. But since then, the winds of science have changed dramatically, and science without an object is no longer taken seriously. “Scientific” science had to have objects. Therefore, the solution Dilthey aimed at was to demonstrate that the humanities also have objects. But, like many of his contemporary philosophers at the end of the nineteenth century, he was convinced that the key to having an object would be in psychology, since what all fields in the humanities seemed to have in common was a sort of psychological substrate, obviously reliant on acts of thinking. This substrate could be investigated, and there would be the necessary object, and the desired recognition by non-humanitarian sciences. This is why Dilthey gave the 1894 treatise in which he performed his ultimate effort to find the

Introduction

common ground for all fields in the humanities the title Ideas On a Describing and Parsing Psychology.1 Windelband, in exactly that same year, defined the humanities2 as “ideographic,” that is, as dealing with concrete single phenomena, while the natural sciences were “nomothetic” as they generate general laws by reductive abstraction. Windelband’s prototype for ideographic thought was historiography. Was this already the answer to Dilthey’s problem? It was not, because ideography indeed has an object, but all it can do with it is to register it. Like historicism, the mainstream school of historiography at the end of the nineteenth century, it has no tool to interconnect data in order to transform historical knowledge into an understanding that could rival the interconnectedness between natural phenomena reconstructed by natural science. Therefore, for Dilthey historistic historiography could only be a prolegomena to the humanities; it has an approach, but not a method. This is why Dilthey, in addition to Windelband, reached out for psychology. Dilthey knew it was a difficult task to ground the humanities in psychology without losing their specific strengths, which are logics and rationality. This is why he begins his argument, surprisingly, with the obviously outdated “rational psychology,” developed 200 years earlier by Christian Wolff. Hastily, he adds “well, Kant has proved its impossibility,” but then why mention it right in the beginning? Because what Dilthey needs is a combination of Wolff ’s strict rationality and the post-idealistic “real” substrate to be analyzed. This is obviously forcing square pegs into round holes. But Dilthey was persistent. He writes that, at least after Kant, it was still possible to derive general laws. And according to Kant, besides outer experiences, we have also “inner experiences.” Aren’t these experiences psychic after all? Shouldn’t we be able to parse them? And arrive through them at the structural interrelation between all fields in the humanities? But these rhetorical questions are, unfortunately, mere declarations of intent with no indication on how this should be done in a scientific practice. And this is not by chance. Psychology cannot be, as Edmund Husserl argued, the basis of the humanities. In his Logical Investigations (1900) Husserl demonstrates that if mathematical numbers were based on the mental praxis of 1 Wilhelm Dilthey, „Ideen über eine beschreibende und zergliedernde Psychologie“ [Ideas On a Describing and Parsing Psychology], in Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 5 (Berlin: Teubner 1924), 193. 2 In a speech delivered in 1894 in Strassburg and published in that same year (Wilhelm Windelband, Geschichte und Naturwissenschaft [History and science] [Straßburg: Heitz, 1894]).

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counting, that is, on psychology, mathematics as a whole would be ridiculously dependent on states of mind, on feelings and likes. It would become “impure” and would cease to be mathematics at all. It must have been God who created at least the integers.3 But in a way Husserl was an unfortunate seeker like Dilthey. Leszek Kołakowski in his book Husserl and the Search for Certitude4 portrays Husserl’s desperate attempts to overcome the “crisis of European thought” (this being the title of Husserl’s last monograph) by giving knowledge a new solid ground to stand on. With his “stern science,” he would not fall into the trap of psychology like Dilthey. Phenomenology at its best has been giving descriptions of what is going on in relationships.5 But the reason why Kołakowski states Husserl’s attempt was a failure is that it remains unclear on what epistemological grounds phenomenological argument would be based on. Husserl himself would have argued that phenomenology is only a method, not a theory, and therefore carries its epistemological grounds within itself. But nevertheless, a theory is needed, because the humanities, like the natural sciences, have to answer the question of what kind of general “properties” qualify a phenomenon to be a subject to their method.6 Another trap—that only at first glance is more convincing than grounding everything in psychology—is grounding everything in language. The argument here is similar. Because all knowledge in the humanities is formulated in language, just examine the language and you gain the common ground of all humanitarian argument. But language is, like the psyche, impure, bearing the traits of all our prejudices and opinions. And this impurity cannot be distilled out of it, not even by inventing a “concept language” (Frege). In philosophy of language, there can be noticed a strategy similar to Dilthey’s psychologism (not as obvious, however, but still): the attempt to have some “empirical” material—words, in this case—that would allow us to “observe” instead of merely imagining or implying “principles” that we never can prove, while still “­ rescuing,”   3 Attributed to the mathematician Leopold Kronecker, comp. Yvon Gauthier, Internal Logic. Foundations of Mathematics from Kronecker to Hilbert (London: Springer, 2002), 122.   4 Leszek Kołakowski, Husserl and the Search for Certitude (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1975).   5 Cf. Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s avant-propos “Qu’est-que la phénoménologie?” in his monograph Phénoménologie de la perception [Phenomenolgy of perception] (Paris: Gallimard, 1945).   6 We have to mention here that psychology as Dilthey understood it aimed to be an empirical discipline. Only by “describing” and “parsing” psychic phenomena, the humanities seemed to gain its dignity. What Dilthey could not have in mind was psychoanalysis, as this young discipline seemed to be as speculative as the most esoteric of the humanities.

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at the same time, all the purity and objectivity of Christian Wolff ’s rationalism. No matter how successful it was, the philosophy of language as founded by Gottlob Frege could not be and did not become the common solid ground of the humanities. But of course language—to be precise, the sign in Saussurean understanding—is a phenomenon of relationship; in other words, it is a dialogic phenomenon. Language, like the psyche, is not the material ground and empirical basis for the humanities. They are both, rather, part of the problem: how can I properly understand psyche and language? By which specific and yet universal properties are psychology and linguistics part of the humanities? As it should now be clear, it is a seductive shortcut to declare one group of phenomena in the humanities to be the basis for the rest of them. Therefore, the common basis of the humanities can neither be psychology, nor logics, nor even mathematics.7 These phenomena are not above the rest of science; they would not solve the problem, because they are part of it. They are part of the problem, because they themselves are relationships. It is impossible to explain one relationship with the example of another one, because the problem would just shift to the next discipline, remaining the same unanswered question. The humanities are full of those shifts, such as “the psyche is social,” “cognition is language,” or even “literature is what readers make of it,” “history is what historians make of it.” If you want to investigate the psyche, history, cognition, literature proper, you have to deal with the relationship every of them entails. And if you deal with the material substrate of a humanitarian discipline, like measuring readers’ brain zone activities, you gain exact but trivial and unspecific knowledge such as “pornography stimulates sexual brain zones.” But let’s return now to Dilthey. Again and again he produced statements such as “the goal of the study of psychological phenomena is their interrelation”8 or “inner life is unity.”9 However, he did not reach out farther than stating that “connection is primarily given”10 and “structural connection is experienced.”11 It is frustrating to read this—you want to shake him, asking: yes, of course, you’re right, but please explain how it is experienced and what   7 See Derrida on Husserl’s “Philosophie der Arithmetik”: Jacques Derrida, La voix et la phénoméne. Introduction au problème du signe dans la phénoménologie de Husserl [Speech and Phenomena: And Other Essays on Husserl’s Theory of Signs] (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1967).   8 Dilthey, “Ideen über eine beschreibende und zergliedernde Psychologie,” 193.  9 Ibid. 10 Ibid, 237. 11 Ibid.

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­ ethodology is used to study it? But Dilthey at least saw the problem and made m a real effort not only to formulate it but also to solve it. In his numerous unfinished manuscripts he went on fighting for a solution till his death—in vain. So he left this duty to posterity—either give to the humanities a solid ground of knowledge equal to the knowledge gained by the natural sciences, or to shut down the whole business. His last word in this case was that the natural sciences “explain” while the humanities “understand.” However nebulous this may be, it paved the way for a method of understanding that had been previously applied to the study of the Holy Bible by Schleiermacher. This method is called hermeneutics. Is hermeneutics, then, an answer to Dilthey’s question? We will see.

HERMENEUTICS In one respect hermeneutics is the answer, as it indeed has an object. One could even say that it has the object, that is to say, that it gets ever closer to the one and only object it is heading for. The classical hermeneutic circle is not, of course, a perfect circle but a tool of approximation. And not by chance the theologian Schleiermacher, who invented hermeneutics, had only one object— for the investigation of the Bible there was by definition only one object, and that was God. But is God really an object for the interpreter of the Bible? For Schleiermacher and his protestant theologian colleagues, God was the absolute truth and the Holy Bible was the exclusive access to this truth. But if someone else whom I encounter or try to encounter is the absolute truth, then in fact not He is my object, but rather I am His object. An object is an object, because I assign my truth to it, and not the other way round. This is the definition of an object. Natural science has objects, because natural science is orientated towards assigning truth to phenomena.12 We will come back to this when we address the question of what constitutes a relationship as compared to an object, and what kind of relationship natural science entails. So far we can only ask if hermeneutics could be the one common method of all fields in the humanities. It cannot be it for several reasons. First of all, Dilthey’s problem was to demonstrate the interrelation or the common ground of humanities of various 12 Compare Martin Heidegger’s interpretation of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason in Die Frage nach dem Ding [The question concerning the thing] (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1962). Heidegger’s statement in this book, that Kant constitutes “the thingness of the thing” and, through this, objects, is, however, one-sided. Kant with his book may have intended to found the scientific cognition of “objects,” but his “Copernican revolution” was, in fact, that he turned away from “objects,” beginning to investigate relationships.

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fields. Hermeneutics, as a method, does not connect different humanities. Of course, hermeneutics has been developed not only in theology, but in literary scholarship, in philosophy, and even in history. But it does not create any connection between these fields, because the method does not imply any analogy between what is reachable by the method. Literature is neither comparable to God nor to the historic event. They are completely different types of subjects. But, nevertheless, all kinds of hermeneutics in fact have something very specific in common, but not being “the” method of all fields in the humanities. Rather, they form one specific type within the typology of scientific methods within the humanities. What all hermeneutics has in common has been formulated in the most extensive description and justification of hermeneutics, ventured by HansGeorg Gadamer. Gadamer’s hermeneutics is indebted to the classical understanding of a text as an aspiring ideal (model). A “truth” is concealed in the text that has to be achieved. According to Truth and Method, interpreting a philosophical or literary text, the reader has no freedom whatsoever to stand in a historical distance to it.13 The “sense” of the text comes to its “perfection” only through the “application,” which for Gadamer means that the reader annihilates all distance to the text and places him- or herself at the position of its addressee. However, a historical research, as Gadamer himself concedes, would never agree with such a method, because for history the “critical distance” to the researched object is constitutive. Therefore, for Gadamer, an understanding or agreement between hermeneuticians and historians is impossible. This is why Jean Grondin, in his highly sympathetic “Einführung in die philosophische Hermeneutik” (1991),14 frankly acknowledges that Gadamer never answered the question as to what role historical critique plays within the framework of hermeneutics. In consequence, if hermeneutics is irreconcilable with historical research, it cannot be the universal method of the humanities we are searching for. But again, as hermeneutics is, of course, a form of relationship, it will find its place within the variety of research attitudes in the humanities. It will turn out that hermeneutics is a mode of understanding, which is particularly different from (historical) criticism. Criticism is another “type” of research stance within 13 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode (Tübingen: Mohr, 1965). Translated by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall as Truth and Method (London: Sheed and Ward, 1989), 338. 14 Jean Grondin, Einführung in die philosophische Hermeneutik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1991). Translated by Joel Weinsheimer as Introduction to Philosophical Hermeneutics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994).

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the humanities, rather than hermeneutics, and only within the framework of a principle that includes both of them will the reason for their respective incompatibility become comprehensible. Therefore, hermeneutics is not sufficiently universal to be the common method of all fields in the humanities. Moreover, it doesn’t give us any clues regarding the connectedness between all possible objects of the method, as it is just a style of proceeding in the effort to understand one object and not a theory. Again we arrive at the point of asking why, after all, we need theory in the humanities. The question is the same one that could be to Husserl, since hermeneutics also has to answer the question: what kind of general “properties” qualify a phenomenon to be a subject of its method?

ERNST CASSIRER Although he saw the necessity of a new foundation for the humanities after the fall of idealism, the German philosopher Ernst Cassirer rejected Dilthey’s juxtaposition of explaining and understanding sciences. He rejected his psychologism as well. For Cassirer, the common ground for all fields in the humanities, and even not only for the humanities, but for all science, is not psychology but mathematics. He understands mathematics as the science of pure relation, which abstracts from all properties of substances. So what science does is not investigating substances, but relations, which universally can be expressed by the formula y = f(x). From this point of view, in his book Substance and Function, and Einstein’s Theory of Relativity,15 he criticizes Aristotle for grounding his system of categories on substances with their properties. Although in Aristotle’s table of categories the category “relation” does appear, Cassirer states that it does not play any constructive role in his philosophy. Therefore, he calls Aristotle a “substantialist.” According to Cassirer, with modernity, the natural sciences freed themselves from Aristotle’s substantialism and were mathematized, while within the humanities no one noticed that they were still in the “substantialist” mode. What Cassirer mentions here is important for my argument, since I stated that the humanities should be the dialogic study of relationships, while the natural sciences rather deal with objects. Is this proposition obsolete with Cassirer’s statement? What kind of use does Cassirer make of the concept 15 Ernst Cassirer, Substance and Function and Einstein’s Theory of Relativity (London: The Open Court Publishing Company, 1923).

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of “relation” both within and outside of the humanities? Is “relationship” the same in the natural sciences and in the humanities? Are we in the paradoxical situation that those who deal with objects (in natural science) switched to the relational understanding of the world, while those who should deal with relationships (the humanities) are still obliged to objects? First of all, I, of course, agree with Cassirer that a mathematical function is the expression of a relationship. But is it as universal as Cassirer states? Maybe it is not the only one, not even in mathematics. I am not a mathematician, but what I can say is that a function is a specific relation; that is, not all relations are functions. Set theory, for example, goes on well without any notion of function, but it nevertheless comprises a specific form of relationship. Therefore, I would not rule out the possibility that in mathematics it should be possible to discern different forms of relation. But this will be a task for mathematicians, not for me. Nevertheless, a function is a relation, and as such for our purposes Cassirer is an ally. The thingness of things for him is not a “given,” but some kind of crossing in the network of relations. Science analyzes or synthesizes the general rules of connection within this network. But the result of our binding loose ends is nevertheless an object, or, with other words, the thingness of a thing. If we confront this result with Heidegger’s interpretation of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, Cassirer seems to continue not Aristotle’s substantialism, perhaps, but the object-orientation of classical metaphysics that was inaugurated by Aristotle. This is exactly what Heidegger criticizes in Being and Time. So, Cassirer and Heidegger might have had a lot more to quarrel about than just freedom, which was the topic of their famous 1929 dispute in Davos. Cassirer is a classical representative of a philosophy of (natural) science. In this respect he is truly an orthodox Neo-Kantian. And, therefore, his understanding of relationship is limited. His catalogue of forms of access to the world—myth, religion, science, language—is connected by the idea that all these accesses are “symbolic forms.” What does this mean? According to Cassirer, we “arrange” our sensual data to make them concise, but we have to “stabilize” them through representation. Representation is what creates “symbolic forms” like myth or language. Therefore, language or myths are “expressions” of relationships. So far so good. But precisely this description of how we establish relationships with the world makes obvious that Cassirer is still in the mode of objects and not in the dialogic mode of relationships. In fact, the “arrangement” of sensual data as well as the stabilization of this arrangement is an example par excellence for establishing an object, not a relationship. The object is “represented” in the symbolic form.

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Our mind uses this “trick” to let certain sensual data stand out from a “context.” The result is an object. This is, of course, a departure from substantialism, but it is the “nominalist” departure which suppresses the thing in itself, that is, the partner out there of the dialogue between, for example, man and nature. Furthermore, Cassirer’s symbolic forms are not interrelated. Every category exists independently, which gives no way to a division which constitutes principal variants of relationship, like function, identity, and membership in a set in mathematics. Even if we concede that myth is not a set of stories but a structure, it would be still impossible to understand the relationship between different symbolic forms. According to Cassirer you can say “myth is a ­language,” because both are symbolic forms. But why then discern them? What is specifically different in myth from what is in language? Why do we have myth when we already have language? What in our sensual data determines us to express them as language or to express them as myth? Another example: what is the dividing line between religion and myth? Which logical operation transforms myth into language, or religion into science? All this is simply impossible. And for a set of dialogic relationships, it should be possible. What really links together all fields in the humanities is that they all examine phenomena of relationship. Phenomena of relationship are subject to different questions and analytical methods than objects. In order to examine relationships, we have to switch into a different mode of cognition. Relationships are not empirically given but rely on our readiness to relate. The acknowledgement of relationship is impossible without interpretation. Interpretation is the readiness to relate. If I abstain from interpretation, I refuse relationship. The approach to relationships can be labelled by different terms. Bakhtin calls it dialogic, but this term is rather emphatic than analytic. To call it the specifically aesthetic approach to reality is correct insofar as art in fact is a phenomenon of relationship. However, this attribute will be widely misunderstood as disinterested pleasure, coined by Kant’s aesthetics. Husserl’s terms “phenomenological reduction” or “epoché” are based on the most adequate description of what really happens in mind when you switch to the “relationship” or “semantic” mode, but the terms are limited to the sphere of epistemology and will be understood only by specialists. The term “meta-­ attitude” or “meta-approach” is popular among Bakhtinists,16 but it suggests that the relationship view stands above the object view. In practice, however, both views are on equal rights. Every relationship can be reframed as an object 16 See also Gary Saul Morson, “The Heresiarch of META,” PTL III (1978), 379-385.

Introduction

and vice versa. With such a reframing, we change into an alternative paradigm. The paradigm for objects is the struggle for survival of the human species, the paradigm of environment control and the life and death struggle described by Darwin. With Darwin, what is not object for me makes me its object. Creating objects is our tool to survive by control and therefore there is no reason to discredit it. Man, however, is also able to adopt an alternative attitude, and this attitude is no less essential for us. This attitude, which Bakhtin calls “dialogic,” makes it possible to understand ourselves as an integrative part of our surrounding. The relationship aspect of our attitude toward the world is particularly necessary for our mental health. Most of our mental reality consists of relationships. A science of relationships deals with phenomena which are subject to principles fundamentally different from the principles which guide objects. Therefore, it also requires different methods.17 Psychology, for example, should be a classical science of relationship dealing with the relationships between human beings. But even psychology is practiced in two variants. Experimental psychology is an object orientated science that cannot and will not talk about relationships because relationships cannot be verified according to the plausibility criteria accepted by object sciences. On the other hand, psychoanalysis is psychology 17 A shift to relationships might be identified with Rorty’s turn from analytical philosophy to pragmatism. There is, however, a fundamental difference. It is absolutely reasonable to discharge, like Rorty, mind and language as solid bases for truth. Rorty’s alternative, however, leaves no room for truth at all. His truth can be reduced to the broadest possible circle of people committed to an opinion (see also Richard Rorty, Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979], 176). The truth we propose in this volume is not social in Rorty’s pragmatic understanding but takes relation as the primary, irreducible source of truth. Relation is not social, it creates the social. Therefore empiric social reality, primary to Rorty, is secondary to us. Another coincidence with our shift from objects to relationships could be seen in Habermas’ theory of communicative action ( Jürgen Habermas, Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns [Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1981]. Translated by Thomas McCarthy as Theory of Communicative Action [Boston: Beacon Press, 1984-1987]). In contrast to the “in-between” designed by Habermas, our “relationship” is not a pragmatic, but a semantic parameter. It is not communication, but pure relation. You can watch people communicating, but you will not see the relation between them. The advantage of our over Habermas’ point of view is in the impossibility of what Habermas fears most: pretense, feint, utilizing. The relationship itself cannot be but true, despite all pragmatic art of disguise. On the other hand, it requires interpretation. This does not make void its truth because truth, being a relational phenomenon, can only be achieved by interpretation. “Having” rational truth is a misinterpretation of the access to this kind of truth. For Habermas, truth is a result not of interpretation, but of negotiation. That is the difference between his and our attempt to overcome the absolutism of truth.

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in the mode of relationship. Therefore, its plausibility criteria are substantially different from those used by experimental psychology (and therefore are disputed by the latter). I would like to generalize this situation: the humanities exist in two variants—as object-related and as relationship-orientated scholarship. Not in every discipline, however, has scientific practice formed such a clear-cut alternative as in psychology. Psychology, therefore, can be called a model case of double vision within the humanities. In the dialogic mode, the humanities are the sciences that deal with relationships. Relationships are, as I have stated above, invisible. Therefore, dialogic humanities need interpretation. But before we learn about how different disciplines in the humanities make use of this tool, we must admit that relationships need a specific access to be realized at all. If you do not use this access, you will inevitably end up with objects. This is the main problem if you want to convince someone about the existence of a relationship. He or she could answer: “all I see are objects. And anything besides objects is just a figment.” However, we can turn this argument upside down. So, with the same right we can argue that the only thing which really exists are relationships, and objects are mere figments put up by stubborn substantialists. But this will not help us to convince our interlocutors. Perhaps a striking example will help. Everyone knows what a marriage is. A marriage is a relationship by definition. So how can you understand a marriage in a marital conflict, for example? For instance, let’s imagine that I visit my sister and she has a marital conflict with her husband. I feel obliged to help because she is my sister. She then tells me what the whole conflict is about, and that her husband is a villain, and that she feels so demeaned by him. What she tells me is convincing, and furthermore she is my sister. Therefore I go to my brother-in-law and tell him that he should stop demeaning my sister and start to behave like a loving husband. He might then tell me, “man to man,” what the whole conflict is about, that his wife—that is, my sister—is behaving completely irrationally, and he has been stringing together arguments in an attempt to reason with her but she does not even want to hear them. By the way of presenting his arguments to me, he convinces me that he is right, and then asks me to go to my sister and tell her his truth about the conflict. But if I did, the whole game would start again from square one. What I received from each of them in this little scene were their respective truths about the relationship, but certainly not the truth of the relationship proper. Through his truth and through hers, there is apparently no access to the truth of the relationship. I will have to free myself from both

Introduction

truths, from both positions, in order to get a chance to get hold of the truth of the relationship. This is a well-known procedure in psychology and sociology. In psychology and sociology, to get hold of the truth of the relationship is known as reaching the meta-position, or the position of the supervisor. Supervision is a regular procedure where relationships are the essence of the business—as in schools, kindergartens, or think tanks. But there is one big theoretical problem with the position of the supervisor or the meta-position. To get there, you have to be out of the situation, you must not be part of the situation you supervise. Otherwise you would lack objectivity, and you would not gain the truth of the relationship. This third position, position C, would be the “neutral” position, established by some logicians in addition to the classical logical positions of “true” and “false.” But in the second half of the twentieth century, philosophy and cultural theory have demonstrated that such a position is impossible. All we have are positions and viewpoints, and you cannot escape from them. This is what contemporary theory seems to have learned from Heidegger’s criticism of Husserl’s attempts to find the zero-starting point of sincerity. According to Heidegger, we are always and unescapable already in, that is, in the world. For modern theory this means, that no “objective” criticism is possible and every criticism is “engaged.” For example, there is no meta-position in gender questions, because everyone who wants to understand the relationship between men and women is either a man or a woman. Therefore he or she will not be able to argue from a “neutral” position. He is a part of the male discourse and she is a part of the female discourse. All they can do is advocate for their rights. This is why contemporary feminist gender discourse is, must be, and wants to be biased. Another example is the post-colonial discourse. You are either a colonialist or you are a colonized. And whatever you say about the relationships between formerly colonizing and formerly colonized cultures, you are a party in the relationship. There is no way to escape the situation, because right from your birth you belong to one side or the other. Try to venture innocently that you endeavor is “objective” because you are, for example, a professor of cultural studies, and you will do so in vain. You are a European professor of cultural studies or you are an Asian or African one. The furthest contemporary theory can go in the direction of a meta-position is to engage in an infinite process of escape, known by Derrida as “differance” and by Camus as “The Myth of Sisyphus.” However, if we look at Heidegger’s argument in a “relational” mode, the lesson he gives us is a bit different. Sure, “being already in” is irreducible. But being already in for us clearly means that relationships are prior to any attempt to get hold of them. You cannot construct, as Descartes and Husserl attempted,

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a “worldless” subject that begins to establish a relationship to the world, since it is the relationship that makes the subject as well as the world. The priority of relationship is the simple truth of being already in—and this is the gist of Heidegger’s objection to Husserl. In psychology, it is similar. If you go to a psychoanalyst seeking help for problems you have in relationship to your social surrounding, as soon as you start your conversation with him or her, naturally you establish a relationship with him or her as well. The analyst becomes part of your social surrounding. And with this he or she is in the situation from which you want to find a way out. Psychoanalysis, however, has developed a method to escape the trap of patients’ transference on their analysts. What the analyst is supposed to do is to analyze his or her own countertransference, that is, his or her own projection onto the patient. The prerequisite to make an analysis of countertransference is that the analyst himself in anticipation went through psychoanalysis. This does not make you judge objectively in the strict sense. But, with the help of going through psychoanalysis yourself, you learn about your own insights and blindness, your own truths and untruths. You become ambivalent, and this is natural. Everyone has blindness and sight, everybody’s position is true and untrue. And because I recognize my own ambivalence, I am able to acknowledge the ambivalence of others, too. As you see, we don’t deal anymore with the position A, the wife, the position B, the husband, and above them the position C, the supervisor. Now, we have not three, but four “positions”—the truth and the untruth of A, and the truth and the untruth of B. You are part of the relationship, inevitably, but, nevertheless, you are able to “understand” it once you have access to all four positions. This basic structure of developing a meta within and not above a dialogue resembles Lacan’s quadrilateral psychological structure mentioned in the ­chapter “Voices in Image.” Not by chance Xiaojing Wang uses Lacan exactly for the same purpose. She demonstrates the possibility of understanding within a so-called “Oriental” dialogue and not above it, of an understanding which avoids the impossible effort to escape the basic colonial relation. Lacan’s quadrilateral structure consists of the big Other, which generates the subject, which generates the little other, which generates the ideal image of the ego. The truth of the other can be called the big Other, it is the primary source of imagining and the ultimate goal of analysis. It generates the truth of the I, which is the secondary source of imagining and the secondary goal of analysis. The little other marks the untruth of the other being the specular image of the ­subject, while the ego marks the untruth of the I because it comes out of the little other.

Introduction

Psychoanalysts need a trick to reach this quadrilateral level of ambivalence, because it is very hard to get rid of your own truth and the other’s untruth. The trick is to concentrate on the form of the patient’s pronouncements and not on the content. Freud describes this trick in Ratschläge für die psychotherapeutische Behandlung.18 The attention to form instead of to content is well known also in literary analysis. The goal is the same—to get rid of the object level in order to reach the relationship level, which in literature means to get rid of the pragmatic level of a text in order to reach the semantic level of it. On the pragmatic level you deal with objects, on the semantic level you deal with relationships, because the semantic level provides you with ambivalences. In a way, the chapter of this book titled “Attachment Patterns in the Bi-personal Field” can be considered as a supplement to Freud’s “advice for therapeutic treatment.” Reinhold Plassmann extends the analysis of countertransference, which lays the ground to the double truth and untruth square, with the description of the proper process of interaction in the therapeutic dialogue. In other words, Freud sets the individual presuppositions on both sides for a successful therapeutic dialogue, while Plassmann concentrates on the qualities of the process itself which unfolds between the patient and the therapist under these prerequisites. This is why the efforts collected in this volume cannot be called Freudian: Freud still aims at the individual with its mental disorder, while we consequently start from the relation. Since chapter 7, which deals with psychoanalytic therapy, explicitly refers to Bakhtin, we should briefly comment on Valentin Voloshinov’s book Frejdizm,19 which allegedly has been written by Bakhtin and contains some harsh criticism of the psychoanalytic method. Concerning the authorship, there can be observed a throughout fundamental difference of point of view between Bakhtin and Voloshinov.20 Even if Bakhtin wrote the Voloshinov books, he provided them with a completely different epistemological position. Bakhtin’s own argument is consistently phenomenological, while Voloshinov’s argument is based on sociology. Voloshinov argues against “idealism,” while

18 Sigmund Freud, “Advice to Doctors on Psychoanalytic Treatment,” in Wild Analysis, trans. Alan Bance (London: Penguin, 2002), 31-42. 19 Valentin Voloshinov, Freidizm (New York: Chalidze, 1983). 20 This and the following arguments are based on my book Michail Bachtins philosophische Ästhetik der Literatur [Mikhail Bakhtin’s philosophical aesthetics of literature] (New York: Peter Lang, 1993).

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Bakhtin’s analytical point of view with good reason can be called idealistic.21 Concerning Voloshinov’s criticism itself, firstly, we observe the long-outdated argument that Freud subdues man’s mental identity to physical drive. Secondly, Voloshinov argues that the unconscious is empirically inaccessible. His alternative is to investigate social reality. This argument, however age-old it may be, gives us the opportunity to once more underscore the specifics of our approach in this volume. For us, neither psyche nor social “reality” is real. What is real is the encounter, the dialogue, the conflict. This is what first of all produces psyche and the social world. In order to understand a relationship, you should get rid of the positions which form the relationship. In most cases, these positions are called the subject and the object. Therefore, whoever in relation to relationships would use the word “subject” or “object” or “subjective” or “objective,” is already out of the game. From these notions, there is no way towards the relational truth of a relationship, regardless of whether you are in philosophy, sociology, history or any other field in the humanities. In my literature classes, these words are strictly forbidden. This “relational” understanding is precisely how we think Freud should be understood: psyche is the product of conflictual relations. This makes Voloshinov’s criticism of Freud obsolete. Of course, it is hard to relinquish attempting to understand a relationship from its participants. It is also hard to imagine, as illustrated by a quote from John Stuart Mill. In his “Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy,” he states: “Can a relation be thought without thinking the related objects between which it exists? Assuredly, no: [. . .] when we think a relation, we must think it as existing between some particular objects which we think along with it.”22 Maybe it is worth having a deeper look into Sir William’s writings. However, his adherence to a “relational” understanding cannot be by chance, for he was the most prominent popularizer of Kant’s philosophy in Britain, and Kant was the most eager advocate of a “relational” view of reality in the history of philosophy. So, Sir William Hamilton must have understood something very fundamental in Kant’s work, but John Stuart Mill apparently could not appreciate this. 21 The whole Bakhtin-Voloshinov identification is based on one article by Vjacheslav Ivanov published in 1973 (in English: Vjacheslav Ivanov, “The Significance of M. M. Bakhtin’s Ideas on Sign, Utterance, and Dialogue for Modern Semiotics,” Soviet Studies in Literature 11, issue 2-3 (1975): 186-243), when early key texts written by Bakhtin were not yet published. Moreover, Ivanov’s argument that Bakhtin wrote the Voloshinov books consists of mere assertions. 22 John Stuart Mill, Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy, vol. 9 of Collected Works, ed. John M. Robson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1979), 308.

Introduction

We should not criticize him for that, for within the framework of thinking there is room either for objects, or for relationships. Mill opted for objects. A similar case is Ludwig Wittgenstein’s early treatise Tractatus LogicoPhilosophicus (1921). According to Wittgenstein, an atomic fact (Sachverhalt) is a combination of objects.23 Here, as in Mill’s philosophy, objects are prior to relations, which, in Wittgenstein’s terminology, are called atomic facts. Not by chance, however, in the following paragraphs of his book Wittgenstein has nothing to tell about objects, he exclusively talks about atomic facts. Wittgenstein does not venture to put relations prior to objects, but implicitly he can be understood in this way. All we have are combinations, expressed as atomic facts. An object is the sum of combinations in which it exists. In order to understand relationships, you have to adjust yourself to the point of view that a relationship is prior to its participants. To be exact, a relationship, which can also be called a “situation,” produces its participants. For example, a murder produces two participants: an offender and a victim. Before the crime, they did not exist. The “offender” was not yet an offender, the “victim” was no victim. Both were installed only by the situation of the murder. This is how you should try to understand how logics could start up from a situation and not from its participants. Mother and child are produced by the situation (relationship) of motherhood. This is shown by a deep examination of the semantics of words. Sigmund Freud through his psychoanalysis gave an important impulse to the change of angle from objects to relationships. This is why he also saw the development of language from a new point of view. In his essay “The Thread Spool Game,” he asserts that a little child would never come to the idea24 to identify an “object” in its surroundings in order to label it with its first word, “mama.” This would be an intellectual operation on a level of abstraction, which obviously is out of reach with the age of one. Instead, what the child experiences, is a situation—the situation of care and love, and this situation is being named by the child: “mama.” Therefore, words right from the beginning of our life do not design objects, but express situations. And it is highly questionable, if this would change with the further acquisition of language. Thus, we use the term “semantics” in a specific way. Like phonemes, semantics designate what comes into being only through relationship. We take this “relational” view of cultural phenomena radically seriously. 23 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, trans. Charles K. Ogden (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1922), 25. 24 Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle, ed. and trans. James Strachey (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1961), 8-11.

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Meaning is not a “quality” of a word but the full dimension of relationship which underlies it. Language is, no doubt, a relationship. So far, it is sufficient to mention that Ferdinand de Saussure laid the foundation to modern linguistics with the rejection of Young grammarian theory. The Young grammarians believed in an “objective” linguistics, while de Saussure stated that a sign is the expression of a relationship and therefore neither subjective nor objective. “Parasème” (the mental aspect of the sign) and “aposème” (the phonic aspect of the sign) are not two “entities” (A and B) to be synthesized by speech. These aspects are outcomes of the linguistic activity itself and do not exist without it. This statement began the “semiotic turn,” which was, among others, a turn from the futile attempt to designate linguistics as a natural science to assigning it to be a role model within the humanities. In consequence, phonology discovered that even the sound aspect of language is not of a “material” but of purely a relational character. The region of relationships reaches out farther than you might have expected. But this volume has not the task to resume the findings of the “semiotic turn”, which are well documented. Instead, it shall, among others, demonstrate that even semiotics—though also claimed to be the universal meta-science of all fields in the humanities—is not in a position to rule over the other sciences of relationships. First, because none of the sciences of relationships is in an absolute meta-position in relation to the others. They are all interrelated with each other, and their relations do not form hierarchies, but analogies or equivalences. The world of different forms of relationships is guided by the principle of resemblance. Unfortunately, this status entraps us to construct virtual hierarchies between them—for example, as we have seen, in psychologism or in the philosophy of language. On the basis of their universal resemblance, any interrelation between different fields of relationship can be reframed as a hierarchy between them, if only you change into the hierarchical (subject-object) mode of argument. This happens quite often and in every case it looks rather convincing, because many people cannot imagine relationships other than hierarchies. Not only psychology, philosophy of language and semiotics claimed to be the “leading” disciplines in the humanities, but also history, sociology, cultural studies, not to mention philosophy (much, much earlier, however). The second reason why semiotics is not the answer to the question for a general principle of the humanities is, that it hasn’t developed neither an understanding of time, and therefore cannot be accepted by the h­ istorical disciplines, nor an understanding of the other, which is the reason for their

Introduction

rejection by sociology and psychology.25 Moreover, semiotics were not able to develop a full understanding of relationships, because usually it is based on a triadic model (“icon, index, symbol” or “term, proposition, argument” or “signifier, signified, denoted”). However, a fully “relational” view of language implies at least two dimensions of relation and therefore at least four statuses. As in Boolean algebra, and as in the example mentioned above, in relationships minimally given are four statuses: the truth of both, the untruth of both, untruth on one side combined with truth on the other side, and vice versa. A way towards a fully developed four-dimension understanding of the sign was put forth by Roman Jakobson. In order to understand his effort, we should realize more consequently the dimensions of the sign as generators of connections on different levels. Under these auspices, the signifier connects sounds, the signified connects concepts, the denoted connects notions of reality, and the aesthetic dimension of the sign, which Jakobson added without making clear its position with respect to the other three, connects the sign with other signs, producing the semantic field. As we see, semiotics is dealing with relationships, and by this it qualifies for being part of the humanities, but not for being the leading discipline of them all. Dialogicity, thus, is the one common quality of phenomena expressing relationships. Therefore, a dialogical approach should be the universal tool of understanding them. To examine phenomena of relationship is the long-sought common quality of the various disciplines within humanities. However, this quality, and with it the very nature of such phenomena, dissolves when we, conditioned by natural sciences, redefine relationships as objects. For this reason, all disciplines in the humanities are called to develop dialogical approaches, which are the most adequate to the phenomena they examine—be it psychic, social, cultural, epistemological or historical. With the presented volume, we try to give an impetus to such approaches. Some of the contributors of this volume formed the panel “Dialogical Humanities” at the fifteenth International Bakhtin conference held in Stockholm in July 2014.

25 Cf. Matthias Freise, „Vier Weisen nach dem Text zu fragen“ [Four ways to inquire after the text], in Finis coronat opus, Festschrift für Walter Kroll zum 65. Geburtstag (Göttingen: Universitätsverlag, 2006), 74-75.

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References Cassirer, Ernst. Substance and function and Einstein’s theory of relativity. London: The Open Court Publishing Company, 1923. Derrida, Jacques. La voix et la phénoméne. Introduction au problème du signe dans la phénoménologie de Husserl [Speech and Phenomena: And Other Essays on Husserl’s Theory of Signs]. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1967. Dilthey, Wilhelm. „Ideen über eine beschreibende und zergliedernde Psychologie“ [Ideas On a Describing and Parsing Psychology]. In: Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 5, 139-240. Berlin: Teubner, 1924. Freise, Matthias. Michail Bachtins philosophische Ästhetik der Literatur [Mikhail Bakhtin’s philosophical aesthetics of literature]. New York: Peter Lang, 1993. Freise, Matthias. „Vier Weisen nach dem Text zu fragen“ [Four ways to inquire after the text]. In Finis coronat opus, Festschrift für Walter Kroll zum 65. Geburtstag, 71-84. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag, 2006. Freud, Sigmund. “Advice to Doctors on Psychoanalytic Treatment.” In Wild Analysis, translated by Alan Bance, 31-42. London: Penguin, 2002. Freud, Sigmund. Beyond the Pleasure Principle. Edited and translated by James Strachey. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1961. Gadamer, Hans Georg. Wahrheit und Methode. Tübingen: Mohr, 1965. Translated by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall as Truth and Method (London: Sheed and Ward, 1989). Gauthier, Yvon. Internal Logic. Foundations of Mathematics from Kronecker to Hilbert. Dordrecht, Boston, London: Springer, 2002. Grondin, Jean. Einführung in die philosophische Hermeneutik. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1991. Translated by Joel Weinsheimer as Introduction to Philosophical Hermeneutics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994). Habermas, Jürgen. Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1981. Translated by Thomas McCarthy as Theory of Communicative Action (Boston: Beacon Press, 1984-1987). Heidegger, Martin. Die Frage nach dem Ding [The question concerning the thing]. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1962.

Introduction Ivanov, Vjacheslav I. “The Significance of M. M. Bakhtin’s Ideas on Sign, Utterance, and Dialogue for Modern Semiotics.” Soviet Studies in Literature 11, issue 2-3 (1975): 186-243. Kołakowski, Leszek. Husserl and the Search for Certitude. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1975. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phénoménologie de la perception [Phenomenology of perception]. Paris: Gallimard, 1945. Mill, John Stuart. Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy. Vol. 9 of Collected Works. Edited by John M. Robson. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1979. Morson, Gary Saul. “The Heresiarch of META,” PTL III (1978): 379-385. Rorty, Richard. Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979. Voloshinov, Valentin. Freidizm. New York: Chalidze, 1983. Windelband, Wilhelm. Geschichte und Naturwissenschaft [History and science]. Straßburg: Heitz, 1894. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. Translated by Charles K. Ogden. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1922.

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Internal Dialogism of Russian Postmodern Literature: Polyphony or Schizophrenia? Maria Andrianova

INTRODUCTION

O

ne of the greatest discoveries of the postmodern era is the idea of a fundamental plurality of truth. Information technologies indefinitely expanded the possibilities of knowledge so that, on the one hand, people can be aware of the ideas of completely distinct cultures and ways of life, and, on the other hand, people can realize that human consciousness is limited and does not contain all human knowledge, that a world view developed in the mind of one particular person suffers from incompleteness and by no means can claim to be the one and only truth. Of course, already in earlier centuries people endowed with intelligence and the freedom of thought were aware of this, but these people had to deal with the following problem: either they could have an infinite dialogue or even a polylogue, in which each of the internal voices would sustain its position, or they could choose just one truth that was close to the heart, however subjective it might be. Religion often came to their aid, as for example in a letter from Dostoevsky to Fonvizina: “If someone proved to me that Christ is beyond truth, and truth would in fact be incongruous with Christ, then I would rather remain with Christ than with truth.”1  1 Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Collection of Works in 15 volumes, vol. 15 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1988−1996), 96.

2

Inspired by Bakhtin:  Dialogic Methods in the Humanities

THE CLASSICS Not by chance did Bakhtin for the first time apply the term “polyphony” in relation to Dostoevsky’s novels, since in Dostoevsky’ novels, more than in the texts of any other writer of the nineteenth century, dialogism—which can be defined as the ambition to look at a problem from multiple points of view and strive to value these various positions equally—manifests itself. But, at the same time, Dostoevsky was conscious of the dangerous threshold at which total freedom of thought becomes disastrous and leads to madness. It is enough to remember characters from his novels such as Svidrigaylov, Stavrogin, and Ivan Karamazov. In the novel The Brothers Karamazov, Ivan’s dialogue with the devil— which is in fact the internal dialogue of his doubled consciousness—appears to be a seduction and a sign of madness. The devil undermines Ivan’s consciousness, forcing him to infinitely hover between belief and disbelief, and this infinite hovering is a torment for his ordinary consciousness, which is unable to contain two truths that exist in opposition to one another. With Chekhov, the authorial position already reveals two truths, two absolutely different world views, but his characters aren’t yet capable of them. Thus, a dialogue between two characters embodying two different points of view that are equal in the author’s consciousness makes possible the expansion of the reader’s consciousness and a deeper comprehension of reality. The reader is simultaneously seeing two truths, and only the combination of them fosters what could be called a veritable truth. This is the case in stories such as “The Duel” and “Ward No. 6.”

POSTMODERN RUSSIAN AUTHORS In postmodernism, the monological consciousness—which only feels comfortable in the presence of the one and only truth—is superseded by the dialogical or schizoid consciousness, characterized by both the author-storyteller and his or her characters. Truths that were once in opposition to one another are integrated into disputes between various characters, but in postmodernism can perfectly inhabit one consciousness and be expressed by just one character. Yet, in this case, they are often communicated in form of paradoxes full of irony, the latter serving as a kind of shock absorber between the two contrasting truths. Thereby, of course, the necessity of dialogue between characters disappears. For example, in Bitov’s novel Pushkin House only few characters have the right to deliver a statement (Uncle Dickens, Modest Odoyevtsev), and their

Internal Dialogism of Russian Postmodern Literature

remarks look like monologues. In the scene of Leva’s first meeting with her grandfather, Modest Odoyevtsev acts as a teacher, a preacher, and a prophet, and in his monologues he poses the widest range of questions. His statements are presented in an entirely different way than that of the other characters, which, as a rule, are given only as a storyteller’s report. In the case of Leva, the character is not at all able to understand the grandfather, and therefore between them there cannot be any dialogue, since the grandfather’s statements address rather the reader than Leva. In Bitov’s novel, full dialogues occur only between Leva and Mitishatyev, but in these scenes Mitishatyev acts as a tempter and has traits of a demon, which is why he is also Leva’s antagonist and her double. As such, their dialogue is very much reminiscent of Ivan Karamazov’s dialogue with the devil. Another dialogue very much present in the novel is that between the author and his hero, but this dialogue does not comprise the ideological load typical in classical literature. Instead, it serves as a device marking the dissolution of the threshold between textual and extra-textual reality. In Bitov’s novel, true dialogue occurs not between characters but between various layers of the Russian culture. This dialogue takes place with the help of epigraphs and other intertextual references in the text, updating issues that were raised by Lermontov, Turgenev, Dostoevsky, and others. Furthermore, the novel provides a dialogue on the level of the variability of the plot—a dialogue between versions and options. However, a different literary strategy is also prominent in postmodern literature, a strategy in which dialogues between heroes play an important role. In Pelevin’s novels, for example, dialogues are the most important elements of the plots. In his early texts (such as Hermit and Sixfinger, The Yellow Arrow, Chapayev and Void, Life of Insects), Pelevin is always pairing the pupil with the teacher and his hero learns about truth through his dialogue with the teacher. Sometimes the teacher appears to be the double, the alter ego of the hero, as is the case with the moths Dima and Mitya in Life of Insects. They transform into one being which is more perfect than each of them: into the glowworm Dmitry. In Pelevin’s later novels, for example in Numbers or in The Sacred Book of the Werewolf, the dialogue between two characters, male and female, appears to be at a deep semantic level a dialogue between Russia and the West, and in both novels Russia is embodied by the male character, and the West by the female character. In both novels dialogue is impossible and ends in a disaster. In the first novel the hero, a Russian banker, falls in love with an English woman named Myus, but she subsequently takes all of his money and finally abandons him. What Stepa finds attractive in her—her hetero-culturality—is exactly

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what irritates and enrages her with him: in his eyes, she is lovely and attractive because she is different, but in her eyes he is disgusting, because he isn’t able to become just as she is and is unable to share her values. In The Sacred Book of the Werewolf the situation is reversed; although the heroine is the Chinese fox werewolf, she is the carrier of liberal western values, and the hero, a wolf werewolf, represents a patriotic and patriarchal Russian identity—which is not without xenophobic elements—and a conservative, explicitly male hierarchical position. And in no way the Fox is able to explain to her beloved the true essence of the world and to destroy all stereotypic notions in his consciousness; and again it results in total disaster. In addition to the dialogue of the fox and the wolf, there is another ­dialogue, even a polylogue, present in the novel: namely, the dialogue between the internal voices of the fox, which for the slightest provocation express a wide range of points of view and therefore reflect either her schizoid consciousness or, on the contrary, her openness and susceptibility to the largest extent. In Pelevin’s novel S.N.U.F.F. the hero also perpetuates the dialogue with his beloved, a speaking doll who explains to him the essence of life. This dialogue is also doomed to failure because the hero, up to the end of the novel, is unable and doesn’t even aspire to understand her. He is listening to her lectures only because he is sexually excited by them. Therefore, the function of what she talks about is only to irritate and excite him. The author’s irony is that the truth about the world is conveyed by the lips of an inflatable doll, but in general the impossibility to express oneself directly, without the interference of irony, is a characteristic feature of postmodernism. “A thought, once uttered, is untrue,” as Tyutchev has put it.2 It is untrue because it is impossible to embody the perfect in an imperfect world. The monological consciousness is totalitarian because it is forced to recognize the power of a creator (be it God or the author), whereas the internal dialogism of the postmodern consciousness is the result of our attempt to escape from the power of any authority. Bitov creates a more tragic picture because all of the dialogues in his novels contain the illusion of understanding. It seems to the listener that he understands, but what he understands is not what the other wanted to tell, but something completely new for himself. For example, his famous travelogues—Lessons of Armenia, The Georgian Album, and so on—are dialogues with other cultures, and in fact allow the narrator to understand more deeply his own culture.   2 Fyodor Tyutchev, Complete Collection of Poems (Leningrad: Izdatel’stvo Sovetskiy Pisatel’, 1987), 105−106.

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To some extent this is consistent with the idea of the death of the author. This idea is grounded in the proposition that no one can understand authors as they would like to be understood—that is, to be understood completely, and therefore we have the right to come up with any interpretation. Are we aware that with such an approach, in forgetting about the author, we commit spiritual exhibitionism? Are we aware that we expose our own shortcomings and complexes to the public, while wrongly attributing them to the authors (after all, they died—so why would they care)? This is exactly how Leva treats Tyutchev in his fictitious article “Three Prophets,” where he attributes his own complexes of jealousy and envy to the poet. Pelevin in this sense is more classical, although superficially he uses all postmodern devices. But he nevertheless hopes that it is possible to explain something to someone, to teach and to rescue—if not everyone, then the elite, at least. This is the utopian picture Pelevin sketches at the end of his novel S.N.U.F.F., where the heroine reads sermons to a handful of people who escaped from the dreadful world that is perishing. In one aspect, however, Bitov and Pelevin coincide: in their critical attitude toward reason, toward a rational way of perceiving the world. Reason is nothing, Bitov says. According to Pelevin, reason exerts control over us, denying us access to genuine truth. To notice this truth, you have to go insane, to descend from the train, to leave the poultry farm, to be released from a madhouse, to balloon to a far-away country where the tentacles of civilization don’t reach— in short: to be beyond habitual representation, to find internal freedom. In postmodernism, true freedom is reached only by heroes who are capable of dialogue, who are able to get rid of the phrases and stereotypes of their time, their environment, and their nationality—by those who are capable of hearing and who try to understand the other. But postmodernism might turn out to be, as explained in the chapter on literary history, a transitional epoch, because it tries to maintain the ideals of the avant-garde—absolute sensuality—­and at the same time understands that this sensuality is exclusively guided by concepts in our heads. If this is a utopia, as in the other cases of transitional epochs, it is an anti-utopia, the anti-utopia of the illusion of sensual freedom, produced by concepts which are imposed on us. This anti-utopia is manifest not only in S.N.U.F.F., but also in the latest novels by Vladimir Sorokin. Which “proper” epoch follows is not yet clear, because we of course lack the dialogic partners from the future who might shape our own time. In Russian literature, the latest developments, represented by authors such as Mikhail Shishkin and Svetlana Alexievich, point towards a convergence with journalism.

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References Bakhtin, Mikhail Mikhailovich. Problemy poėtiki Dostoevskogo [Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics]. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Sovetskiy Pisatel’, 1963. Bakhtin, Mikhail Mikhailovich. Voprosy literatury i ėstetiki [Questions of Literature and Aesthetics]. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Khudozhestvennaya Literatura, 1975. Bitov, Andrej Georgievich: Pushkinskij dom [Pushkin House]. Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1978. Translated by Susan Brownberger as Pushkin House. London: Dalkey Archive Press, 1998. Bitov, Andrej Georgievich. Puteshestvie is Rossii [Travel out of Russia]. Moscow: Astrel’, 2013. Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich. Complete works. In 30 volumes. Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Nauka, 1974−1983. Dostoyevsky, Fyodor Mikhajlovich: Collection of Works in 15 volumes. Leningrad: Izdatel’stvo Nauka, 1988−1996. Pelevin, Viktor Olegovich. Chapayev i Pustota [Buddha’s little Finger]. Moscow: Vagrius, 1996. Pelevin, Viktor Olegovich. DPP(NN). Moscow: Eksmo, 2004. Pelevin, Viktor Olegovich. S.N.U.F.F. Moscow: Eksmo, 2011. Pelevin, Viktor Olegovich. Zhizn’ nasekomykh [The Life of Insects]. Moscow: Vagrius, 1998. Pelevin, Viktor Olegovich. Svjashennaja kniga oborotnja [The Sacred Book of the Werewolf]. Moscow: Eksmo, 2004. Pelevin, Viktor Olegovich. Zheltaja strela [The Yellow Arrow]. Moscow: Vagrius, 1998. Tyutchev, Fyodor Ivanovich. Complete Collection of Poems. Leningrad: Izdatel’stvo Sovetskiy Pisatel’, 1987.

Between Socrates and the Stranger: How Dialogic are Plato’s Dialogues?

Kryštof Boháček

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ialogue plays a crucial role in the humanities—not only as the central issue of their methodology, but, in the first instance, already in the structure of the phenomena to be investigated by them. Based on the background of classical studies, I am convinced that the question of dialogue brings us back to the very core of the way we Europeans act, speak, think, and write. In philosophy, these issues are traditionally associated with Plato. In this paper, first, I will submit a survey of Platonic studies; then, in the field of Platonic interpretation, I’ll deal with the issue of dialogue in the strict sense, dialogue in a formal sense and, last but not least, dialogue in a broader sense.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS Plato is a paradigmatic figure because he was the first philosopher to conceive of dialogue as a separate literary form. All subsequent European works of literature written deliberately as dialogues are in some way indebted to Plato. Of course, there are many conversations among heroes, as in Homer, but these are only brief exchanges in an extensive epic narrative. There are many more “dialogues” in Attic drama, but even those aren’t dialogues in the platonic—that is, philosophical sense. Basically, the most important thing for dialogues is that all participants share a common logos, as if their speech had been divided among multiple individuals, becoming a sort of a publicly shared item. Furthermore,

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in the philosophical form of a dialogue it is a necessity for all the participants to be deeply involved and not just engage in easy small talk. There are a number of authors in philosophy who decided to publish their works according to the platonic pattern in the form of a dialogue. However, almost all of them simply divided their thoughts among several characters. As such, for the reader it is very easy to reconstruct the doctrine in the systematic form by going into the reverse direction. However, this is not the case with Plato. Plato’s dialogues evoke the idea that we witness a vibrant, real process; that sharing the common logos is not merely a matter of literary characters but of living people, of flesh and blood. They convince us that it is not only a literary form or construction, but reality itself. Philosophy is presented by Plato as fundamentally dialogic and human thinking is understood as an internal silent dialogue of the soul. This is why Platonic studies are never focused on strictly particular issues, but tend to overlap with the most fundamental questions of European culture. Or, in other words, they are taking place in a constant dialogue with the core of European humanity. For that reason, Plato became paradigmatic in the sense that the whole philosophical topic of dialogue is measured by him. As I have mentioned above, in this regard most of the later authors of dialogues rather fell into the category of unsuccessful one-sided imitations. So, it may seem that in philosophy, the concept of dialogue became too narrow. But on the contrary, the more serious philosophical issue is the fact that we find too many different forms of dialogue in Plato!

1. PLATONIC SCHOLARSHIP IN THE MODERN AGE The beginnings of the modern era in platonic studies can be considered from the moment when researchers during the nineteenth century began to realize that Platonism as it was presented by the millennial educational tradition differs quite significantly from texts preserved under Plato’s name.1 When classical philologists used the methodology of their young scientific discipline on Plato’s dialogues, they came to the conclusion that for most of the so-called

  1 Cf. Francisco J. Gonzalez, “Introduction,” in The Third Way, ed. F. J. Gonzalez (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995), 4-7; see also Michael Erler, Überweg. Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie. Die Philosophie der Antike. Bd. 2. Platon [Outline of the history of philosophy. The ancient philosophy. Vol. 2. Platon] (Basel: Schwabe Verlag, 2007), 1-2; or Charles H. Kahn, Plato and the Socratic Dialogue (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 38-39.

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platonic dogmas, textual evidence is missing. In the spirit of the principle ad fontes, they decided to base the interpretation of Plato on the texts themselves. However, at that point they encountered considerable difficulties. Namely, Plato’s texts are actually dialogues. This is not the case of systematic treatise, formalized into questions of a stupid apprentice and answers from his wise teacher, whose answers gradually build a philosophical doctrine. Plato’s dialogues are polyvalent heteroglossic texts, featuring elaborate structure, complex ­chronotopia and a polyphony unprecedented in philosophy. A great variety of vivid figures representing their own philosophical beliefs act in these dialogues. Often, the same figure in different dialogues holds different opinions. How to deal with such a situation in a philosophical interpretation? If we aim to interpret Plato’s philosophy based only on the texts of the dialogues, we have to resolve the apparent contradictions between them. For example, we have to somehow explain the difference between the Socrates of the Apology, who consistently insists that he knows nothing, while in the Symposium he provides an extensive contiguous message about his erotic knowledge. In Ion, Socrates insists that he asks only obvious questions, and expects brief answers.2 The classical way of solving this problem is called stylometry and was founded by the Polish philologist Lutoslawski and the German scholar Ritter.3 The method of stylometry isolates some specific linguistic markers, the occurrence of which in the dialogues is monitored. By statistical methods, stylometry creates a specific image of the development of Plato’s literary style apparent in the dialogues. Stylometry, therefore, leads to the creation of the basic chronological concept of Platonic dialogues, and to the division into three basic groups of the early, middle, and late dialogues. This solved both the so-called Sokratische Frage and, in particular, the problem of conflicts between the so-called early ­dialogues and the rest of the platonic corpus. Many of the texts were also   2 I suppose that Ion is one from the earliest dialogues and that it is presupposed in Symposium. See below for the argumentation.   3 For stylometry see Leonard Brandwood, “Stylometry and Chronology,” in The Cambridge Companion to Plato, ed. Richard Kraut (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 90-120; further Holger Thesleff, Studies in the Styles of Plato, repr. in Platonic Patterns (Athens: Parmenides Publishing, 2009), 7-26, or Charles H. Kahn, Plato and the Socratic Dialogue (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 42-46; see also Erler, Platon, 23-26. Cf. also Kryštof Boháček, “Proč barbary hlava nebolí. Ke struktuře raných dialogů a smyslu aporií v  dialogu Charmidés” [Why barbarians don’t have headaches. The structure of early dialogues and the sense of the apories in the Charmides], in Platónův dialog Charmidés, sborník příspěvků z platónského symposia, ed. A. Havlíček, (Prague: Oikúmené, 2007), Appendix 25-30.

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excluded from the corpus as false at this time.4 Other researchers, in particular the Neo-Kantians headed by Paul Natorp and his disciple Friedländer, pointed to the need of seeking the doctrinal unity of Plato’s thought. They underestimated the specifics of literary form, taking it as a mere attractive outer packaging for the important philosophical core. However, from the time of Schleiermacher the claim is bequeathed that the form of Plato’s philosophy is inseparable from its content. This aspect of Plato’s texts emphasizes the so-called “dramatic reading,”5 focusing on the deep analogy between the dialogues and Attic drama, particularly the tragedies. This methodology, evolved by Leo Strauss, stresses the importance of other aspects of the text, besides the systemized content of the statements made by each of the characters. These aspects have been previously neglected. Dramatic reading finds in them the key to understanding the overall tone of the dialogue, whose author is none of the characters but rather Plato himself. Therefore, it is necessary to focus on the interaction between the characters, the setting of the scene, and so forth, for together these elements represent a specific Vorverständnis (anticipatory knowledge) necessary for a correct interpretation of the texts’ content. Nevertheless, Plato is not present in his texts. The reconstruction of his fictional intentions on the basis of vague allusions is hypothetical and drifts away from the textual evidence. How to solve this problem? Charles Kahn proposed a “proleptic reading.”6 This methodological principle is based on the assumption that the early dialogues of the type such as Hippias or Lysis should be interpreted according to the Republic, as if they were developing toward the supposed acme. This brings research back to the Platonic tradition to be certain about where the final point is before the actual interpretation of a particular text begins. However, recently researchers are more inclined to a unitarian view7 than to the developmentalistic one,8 and a return to traditional Platonism from before   4 For the so-called Quellenfrage see Erler, Platon, 9-29.   5 For classical examples see Stanley Rosen, Plato’s Republic (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), or Martha Craven Nussbaum, The Fragility of Goodness, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986).   6 For brief introduction see Charles H. Kahn, ”Did Plato Write Socratic Dialogues?,” The Classical Quarterly, New Series 31, no. 2 (1981): 305-320.   7 For an overview of the unitarian position see Erler, Platon, 5-8.   8 Introduction to the developmentalist position by R. Kraut, ”Introduction to the Study of Plato,” in The Cambridge Companion to Plato, ed. Richard Kraut. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 1-50.

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the nineteenth century is not possible. The groups or schools mentioned above clearly formulated their methodological bases, focusing on different aspects of the text, and they proceed successfully towards increasingly more complex interpretations of Plato from their own perspective. But they aren’t able to refute the rival schools, because after stylometry was discredited, no common methodological base exists anymore. What one declares to be a key principle in interpretation, others take for marginal. In the situation of several parallel interpretative tendencies, which to a certain extent ignore each other, the old dispute about the interpretation of Plato dating back to ancient times was restored. The dogmatic or doctrinal interpretation9 is based on the belief that Plato was a philosophical author like any other, in the sense that he formed his texts as direct messages to his readers. These messages consist of the teaching that can be extracted from the texts. Therefore, the texts functions as a record or medium, which contains Plato’s direct orally formulated philosophical teaching. From this point of view, the literary form of a dialogue is not essential and the task of the scholar is only to reconstruct this positive doctrine. On the contrary, skeptical interpretation10 is based on the opinion that the dialogues do not express Plato’s own philosophy, or that they do not represent it exclusively. According to the skeptical interpreters, the purpose of these ambiguous texts is to demonstrate to readers different opinions regarding a particular issue and then to force them to think and problem-solve that which is discussed among the characters themselves. So, on the textual level, the opinions remain unresolved. According to this interpretation, dialogues are not intended to pass specific positive doctrines to readers, as philosophical texts normally would do, but rather to criticize various established philosophical positions and to develop the philosophical autonomy of the reader. At this point, we may see how Platonic research gets back to incompatible contradictions: on one hand the pursuit of indoctrination, on the other, the education of independent thinking. The dogmatics are represented by Michael Erler or Giovani Reale, for example, and the skeptics by Angelo Corlett and Francisco González.   9 To the brief survey of the topic see Francisco J. Gonzalez, “Introduction,” in The Third Way, ed. Francisco J. Gonzalez (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995), 1-4, and further idem, “Self-knowledge, Practical Knowledge and Insight: Plato’s Dialectic and the Dialogue Form,” ibid., 155-57. 10 See overview by Gerald A. Press, “Plato’s Dialogues as Enactments,” in Gonzalez, The Third Way, 134-39 and further 145-150; see also Walter Watson, “Dogma, Skepticism, and Dialogue,” ibid., 189-210.

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In spite of the diversity of the above mentioned interpretations, these schools have one thing in common: they are all dealing with the specific textual passages very intensively and agree that in the framework of the dialogue the text cannot be interpreted without a proper context. In other words, after two hundred years of modern research, it is unthinkable today that interpretation does not stem from the literary form and does not in some way reflect the problem of the dialogue. Different schools vary in the way they understand dialogue, what exactly they consider to be a dialogue, and how they conceptualize the issue of dialogue. Regarding the abovementioned schools of interpretation, we can say that the basic difference between the approaches to Plato’s work is whether the authors consider the model dialogue for them to be from Plato’s late or rather from his early work. There are not only doctrinal, but also formal or literary differences among them. In his hermeneutic analysis, H. G. Gadamer deals with the issue of platonic philosophy as a dialogue. But we can see that Gadamer’s main interest is merely in the later texts, often intertwined with Aristotle’s ethical perspective. Another brilliant form of interpretation of Plato, on the basis of the literary form of the late dialogues and fragments from young Aristotle, is represented by T. A. Szlezák. In contrast, Charles Kahn or Gregory Vlastos based their interpretations on the analysis of the early dialogues. These early dialogues have also inspired Mikhail Bakhtin, whose concepts of heteroglossia, chronotope or dialogical discourse have retrospectively affected Platonic research.11 Let’s have a look now at what kind of dialogues we find in Plato’s work and at the implications of their variety on the philosophical discourse.

2. DIALOGUE IN A STRICT SENSE 2.1. Early Socratic dialogue. The elementary form of dialogue in the sense in which it is usually understood is found in the so-called early Socratic dialogues. In Ion, Socrates continually speaks with the rhapsodist Ion about poetry in relation to the entire cultural context; in Hippias Minor, Socrates alone with Hippias addresses the question of true and false speech in relation to education; in the Euthyphro, the seer Euthyphro and the accused wicked philosopher Socrates address the issue of piety in relation to justice. Hippias Maior is sometimes considered to 11 Andrea Wilson Nightingale, Genres in dialogue, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 5-8.

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be one of these dialogues. Here, Socrates talks along with Hippias about beauty in relation to the good. Other researchers also classify the dialogue Laches as part of the group; here Socrates, together with the Athenian generals Laches and Nicias, deals with the question of bravery in relation to wisdom. These dialogues are mostly regarded as the basic model of the Socratic elenchos, thus leading the conversation in such a way that the partner is forced to reconsider his own opinions. However, could these texts also be regarded as a paradigmatic form of dialogue? For all of them, the interview takes place exclusively between two participants. In Ion,12 Hippias Maior,13 and Euthyphro,14 there is no other person mentioned, and nothing makes us believe that there are any other, silent witnesses. In Hippias Minor, a very brief chronotopic sketch of the meeting is provided, which primarily links the dialogue intertextually to the larger dialogue of the same name,15 and doesn’t affect the shorter one; also, some of the listeners are mentioned, but only one listener named Eudicus says a few words.16 All four of these texts belong to the direct or mimetic dialogues, that is, the texts imitate the course of a real interview. On the contrary, in Laches we know the names of five participants in the conversation and the other two are identified through their famous fathers.17 Moreover, the dialogue is introduced with a story-like monologue and thus has a so-called narrative framework. For these reasons and for our purposes, we won’t therefore consider Laches to be an early Socratic dialogue. In the remaining four dialogues, Socrates and his partner share one common theme, which is of vital interest to both of them. The meeting ends in aporia, that is, without an outcome, and it is not entirely clear what Plato ­actually wanted to say by the whole text. What could possibly stop us from marking these texts as a paradigm of a dialogue as such? In the Apology, Socrates defends himself against the accusation of sophistic teaching. He says that he knows nothing and does not teach anybody a­nything 12 Introductory passage 530a-e: no indication of where the dialogue takes place and who is present. 13 Passages 281a-283b, 285c-287b, 304a-e: no indication of where the dialogue takes place and who is present. 14 Passage 2a-3e; this passage serves as a very precise chronological determination of the dialogue: it takes place in front of the court building where Socrates first comes to hear the prosecution that leads to his trial and consequently his execution. Nothing indicates though who else is present. 15 Mutually interconnected passages Hipp. Mai. 286a-c and Hipp. Min. 363a-364d. 16 Hipp. Min. 363a-c, 373a-c. 17 Lach. 178a-180e.

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specific. He describes his activity as purely negative, that is to say, as a critical review of the opinions of others without a customary resolution of a problem. According to many scholars, this is exactly the activity of Socrates that demonstrates the early Socratic dialogue.18 Socrates doesn’t represent any opinion of his own. He seems to be a man without any opinion, who only confronts others with consequences of their own views and by this makes them see the limitations of their intellectual horizons. Nevertheless, according to Bakhtin, dialogue is characterized by polyphony in that it requires at least diglossia.19 In these dialogues, however, we see only a single point of view, and Socrates himself never reveals what he really thinks. The reader can only assume it. If Socrates actually had an opinion, he wouldn’t present it in the dialogue anyway. Thus, he violates the basic condition of a philosophical dialogue that both participants must be deeply involved. It is no coincidence that some researchers regard the Socrates of these early dialogues as a sophist. Although the early Socratic dialogues exhibit the elementary dialogical literary form, we can’t mark them in the end as a basic form of dialogue or at least as a philosophical dialogue. According to Vlastos,20 it is necessary to reconstruct the philosophy of historical Socrates on the basis of these texts and other external sources. And according to Kahn,21 it is necessary to discover the assumptions of developed doctrines from the Republic and Phaedo. However, according to Bakhtin, a dialogue is primarily an open meeting with another person with an openness to his views and perspectives, as well as an offering of one’s own views for the other’s assessment.22 In the Bakhtinian sense, the early Socratic dialogue seems to be rather a deficient form of dialogue because the readers are allowed to see only one side. Socrates is not a substantial figure in these texts, but a sort of ghost of the interviewer without opinions, emotions, and other complex features of a classical literary figure, all of which we see very clearly in his partner. Early Socrates lacks chronotopia. To some extent, we might say that his part could be played by any philosopher trained in Socratic elenctical dialectics. 18 Cf. Terry Penner, “Socrates and the Early Dialogues,” in The Cambridge Companion to Plato, ed. Richard Kraut (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 121-69. 19 Cf. James P. Zappen, Bakhtin, Socrates, and the Rhetorical Tradition (New York: State University of New York Press, 2004), 39-45. 20 Gregory Vlastos, Socrates, Ironist and Moral Philosopher (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 45-80. 21 Charles H. Kahn, Plato and the Socratic Dialogue (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 59-70. 22 Zappen, Bakhtin, 6-8 and further 10-12.

Between Socrates and the Stranger

2.2. Transitive dialogue The group of these dialogues, called threshold dialogues by Kahn,23 is usually associated with the dialogues Lysis, Charmides, Euthydemus and Protagoras. For our purposes, we shall also add to this group the previously mentioned dialogue Laches. Some researchers also tend to categorize the dialogues Gorgias, Menexenus, and Meno within this group.24 However, we will introduce these three dialogues in a separate group. All of these dialogues are known by Thesleff as “reported dialogues.”25 That means that they contain an introduction in the form of Socrates’ own narrative. The entire dialogue is delivered through Socrates’ prism and the reader doesn’t have any impression that he or she is witnessing actual events. The mimetic structure is replaced by a much more complicated narrative structure. This narrative structure provides first and foremost a comprehensive chronotopic characteristic of the event and of the individual characters.26 Each character is much more sophisticated than in the early Socratic dialogues. Furthermore, a large number of supporting characters, including anonymous viewers who participate in the group approval or disapproval, take part in the dialogue. Socrates also does not have a single partner in these texts but several. Partners take turns and one always begins where the previous had stopped. Although everyone expresses his opinion on a single central issue, each of them argues from his individual position. The dialogue, therefore, actually offers polyphony, in which each character legitimately argues from his perspective, and all submitted positions are seriously considered. It is not prima facie obvious which figure expresses Plato’s opinion. In addition to the role of the narrator, Socrates also takes the role of one of the characters. Compared with the early Socratic dialogues, Socrates here exhibits very distinct chronotopic characteristics: we see him as a typical Athenian citizen with a multitude of political, neighborly, and friendly relations, as a member of the army and as a participant in the life of his community. From this position, he puts forth his elenchus, which, in this case, is clearly motivated.

23 Kahn, Plato and Socratic Dialogue, 148-50. 24 Most Bakhtinian reflexions on early dialogues are actually focused on these dialogues, that is, Protagoras, Laches and so on. Cf. Zappen, Bakhtin, 45-58. 25 Holger Thesleff, Studies in Platonic Chronology, repr. in Platonic Patterns (Athens: Parmenides Publishing, 2009), 265-308. 26 For closer analysis of these characteristics see Thesleff, Styles of Plato, 36-40.

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In the transitive dialogues27 Socrates is always accompanied by a young man who is his first partner in an interview.  He always provides some key moral dilemma that he had previously faced as a young man at the starting point of his adult life. It is the theme of higher education in Protagoras, of wisdom and reasonableness in Charmides, friendship in Lysis, and bravery in Laches. Socrates quickly leads the young man to admit that regarding this crucial issue he doesn’t know how to act in life. Now the main partner of the dialogue, usually some renowned sophist, enters the scene and promotes a specific pedagogical and philosophical trend, that on one hand should answer the questions of Socrates, and on the other hand should strengthen the young man in the belief that he should become a disciple of the sophist. The dramatic core of the dialogue is then a match for a young man—a potential student—being fought by Socrates and the main partner. Therefore, it is certainly no coincidence that these dialogues are structurally and dramatically in deep analogy with Attic tragedy. Even in these dialogues, Socrates, unlike the sophists, doesn’t offer any positive doctrine. However, he represents a trusted Athenian citizen and dignified teacher, one whose morally just way of living can be followed. Some observant citizens express affection and respect for Socrates, demonstrating that Socrates represents a viable and socially successful social role model. Thus, Socrates’s leadership in the transitive dialogues is not theoretical, but purely practical. On the other hand, it is obvious that the sophist has qualities that Socrates simply cannot offer but which are important for the life in the polis. The transitive dialogues represent the basic paradigm of philosophical dialogue sensu stricto. In these dialogues we can find a massive polyphony and a search for consensus between the different approaches and concepts of living.28 Though the reader is led to the gradual consent to a Socratic moral practice, he is well aware that the narrator of the entire dialogue is Socrates, and the importance of the sophistic perspective is not disparaged. The dialogues again end in aporia and it is up to the reader—much like to the young friend of Socrates—to make her own decision.

27 The term actually comes from Vlastos, Socrates, 46-47. 28 J. P. Zappen, Bakhtin, 13-15.

Between Socrates and the Stranger

2.3. Polemic Dialogue These dialogues according to the “doctrinal interpretation” are usually connected with the transitive dialogues. These texts, however, have many specific formal qualities.29 Therefore, I consider the dialogues Gorgias, Menexenus, Meno and partly also Symposium to form a separate group of polemic dialogues. With the exception of the Symposium, these dialogues have a mimetic structure, that is, they imitate real encounters of Socrates with different people. However, they are characterized by a sophisticated chronotopia of characters similar to the transitive dialogues. This time Socrates isn’t accompanied by a young friend of his but on the contrary is outnumbered and must face three consecutive opponents. These opponents can be described as proponents of the same philosophical school or position. First comes the founder, headmaster, and chief theorist of a school, then a young budding intellectual, and finally a practical politician. It is noteworthy that in all of these dialogues the first person is the same: Gorgias of Leontinoi, the founder of rhetoric, a very influential theorist and an extremely successful teacher. In the beginning of the dialogue Gorgias, Socrates speaks with him directly, at the beginning of Meno, the doctrines of Gorgias are explicitly analyzed,30 and in the opening scene of Menexenus, Gorgias plays the role of the patron of the discipline of rhetoric metaphorically through Aspasia.31 In all of these dialogues, the first interview is primarily used to show Gorgias’s philosophical position and to expose its weaknesses. Then, a young follower of Gorgias enters in the second part: in Meno it is the Thessalian general Meno, in Menexenus Thucydides is parodied in this passage,32 in Gorgias Polus is in the position of a beginning teacher of rhetoric. These characters seem to remind us of the young man from the transitive dialogues but are older by ten years. They already have a very good education; we can even consider them to be promising intellectuals. For some time they have been trying to build their career and to apply the principles of their teacher. Socrates tries to get these young intellectuals to admit the moral inadequacy of their attitudes and to deduce these consequences from the philosophical position of their master.

29 On the basis of these signs Thesleff calls this group “dramatic dialogues,” see Thesleff, Styles of Plato, 309-30. 30 Meno 71c-81a. 31 There are many hints showing that the real target is Gorgias, Menex. 234c-236c. 32 Menex. 236d-246a.

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The third part is dedicated to the professional politician, who may have obtained his philosophical and rhetorical education in Gorgias’ school,33 but uses his competence only to gain power and prestige. The aim of this third interview is firstly to show the third partner to be utterly unscrupulous, secondly to derive gruesome practical implications of the amoral position implied by Gorgias’ rhetorical philosophy,34 and thirdly, to emphasize the moral quality of Socrates’s philosophy. These dialogues are very similar to the transitive dialogues. Could they also represent a model of what we should understand by dialogue? Primarily, it is necessary to realize the essentially polemical nature of these dialogues: their aim is not to meet with the other position and to exchange views on a certain issue. Socrates’s aim here is to destroy his enemy. From the very beginning he is convinced that he is waiting for an interview with enemies, who are, in addition, mutually related. His adversary is no specific figure but rather the entire philosophical school, or certain tendencies in education, public activity, and philosophical approach to the world. During the conversations, Socrates makes clear that he is very well acquainted with the philosophical dimension of this position, and that he absolutely refuses its practical consequences. He doesn’t express the slightest effort to meet the other’s position nor does he acknowledge the dignity of it, nor its right for further existence in intellectual and cultural debates. So, as Socrates’ antagonists are trained in the use of rhetoric, Socrates uses the dialogue as a weapon against them. This is exactly the reason why even though these dialogues formally end with the aporia, the reader cannot get rid of the impression that the resounding moral winner is Socrates. In this group of dialogues, Socrates—other than in the above mentioned dialogues—deploys his own philosophical position as a counterbalance to rhetoric. Because his counterpart is very strong in argumentation, his strategy is the moral humiliation of his adversary. For this purpose, he needs a contrasting positive doctrine. Therefore, these dialogues can be understood in a certain analogy to the court process:35 Socrates accuses rhetoric and tries to disprove 33 Kallikles in Gorg. 484c-286d, Perikles through the parody of his speech in Thucydides, Menex. 236e-239a. 34 Even in case of Anytus, who declares no theoretical education at all, is the aim to show connection between him and the education that rejects an obligatory concept of arete, Meno 89e-95a. 35 There are good reasons for it: Gorgias’s rhetoric has evolved from a Sicilian forensic rhetoric of Korax and Teisias. Second, of course there is the link to Socrates’s process. According to Apology, a substantial merit in Socrates’s conviction had a politician Anytus, just as Anytus represents in the third part of Meno an unscrupulous character of practical politics.

Between Socrates and the Stranger

it without any deeper interest in it. I believe that we can’t generalize this one-sided, polemical and utilitarian concept of the dialogue. It has nothing to do with dialogue in Bakhtin’s sense.36

2.4. The Dogmatic Dialogues This group includes the great doctrinal dialogues Phaedo, Republic, Theaetetus, Parmenides, and partly Symposium. These works by Plato are so widely known that we will just make few brief notes. These dialogues are typical for their complex, multi-stage narrative framework. Socrates acts here as a teacher or philosophical authority and answers the questions of the intellectuals present, who are most advanced in philosophy and in long lectures. These dialogues contain the most extensive verbalizations of classical platonic dogmas, such as the theory of ideas, the doctrines of the immortal tripartite soul, the theory of the ideal state, and the doctrines of philosophy as midwifery. The core of the formal difference between these and the previously mentioned dialogues is their completely different chronotopia. Firstly, the text has the nature of a narrative, retold many times through oral tradition, describing the ancient philosophical act. This tradition is not accessible to everyone and storytellers often come from mathematical, particularly from Pythagorean circles.37 Secondly, this time the meeting is not taking place on the street or any other public place, or even in the salon of some Athenian rich man, where the elite of Athens meet to hear lectures by foreign experts, the sophists. The primary dialogues take place in private houses, where Socrates explicitly had been invited, and where only a narrow circle of friends has access.38 Further, the meeting takes place in the shadow of some major religious event.39 Finally, Socrates is now in a circle of friends who are aware of their non-comparability with his philosophical qualities.40 The dialogue is 36 Cf. chapters on Protagoras (Truth as Dialogue) and Gorgias (Dialogue as Carnival) in Zappen, Bakhtin, 95-116 and 117-40. 37 Mathematician in the Theaetus, Pythagorean headmaster in Phaedo. Specific position of Republic is expressed by the role of the narrator, that plays Socrates himself. 38 The situation is reversed in the Phaedo, obviously due to the circumstances: on his deathbed, Socrates explicitly admits there only the nearest circle. 39 The cult of Apollo in Phaedo, a festival of Goddess Bendis in Republic, the Dionysia in Symposium. 40 Cf. T. A. Szlézak, “Gespräche unter Ungleichen. Zur Struktur und Zielsetzung der platonischen Dialoge” [Conversations among unequals. On structure and purpose of the Platonic Dialogues], in Literarische Formen der Philosophie, ed. Gottlieb Gabriel-Christiane Schildknecht (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1990), 40-61.

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actually invoked by collectively raised questions on which Socrates, as the present philosophical authority, gives answers in the form of extensive doctrine. This situation mirrors the early Socratic dialogues: there is only one truly serious position in the dialogue, here the position of Socrates himself. The role of the partners is limited to the mere asking of additional questions, or requests for clarification of the too-brief teaching, not in the resistance of autonomous thinkers. Socrates clearly dominates his company with regard to philosophy.41 I believe that for these dialogues the sight of dogmatic interpreters is valid. Namely, Plato uses here the form of a dialogue as an engaging and digestible external form of communication of the dogmatic philosophical content, in principle independent of literary form. Surely, it is no coincidence that traditional Platonism—philosophy textbooks included—is based on the systematization of the content of these dialogues. I believe that the dogmatic interpretation of a single philosophical position, even if it was led in a relaxed form of a friendly conversation, has nothing to do with the Bakhtinian concept of dialogic discourse.

3. DIALOGUE IN THE FORMAL SENSE The widely unquestioned method of stylometry identifies the relatively compact group of the late dialogues.42 These include the Sophist, the Politicus, the Timaeus, and the Critias, the Laws, as well as the Filebus. We can also include the second part of the Parmenides for our purposes. These texts have a mimetic structure. With the exception of Filebus, these dialogues will surprise the reader at first glance with Socrates playing a minor role or not even taking part in them. The participants, including all those present, are experts in mathematics, theorists or elite philosophers. The atmosphere of the talks is very far from the atmosphere of the polis of Athens and corresponds to a narrow circle of insiders, who all definitively have already chosen the bios theoretikos years ago. Leadership of the dialogue is taken by the Stranger, whose training in the dialectics of the Eleatic type is evident. This is an older method of formalization 41 Unlike the previous groups of dialogues, Socrates presents a positive doctrine here. The contents of this doctrine are the famous “Platonic dogmas.” The question, of course, remains whether Plato’s dogmas are presented here. This question cannot be answered here and it is not decisive for our purposes: it is crucial from the formal point of view that Socrates takes the role of the teacher here and lectures positive dogmas. 42 Cf. Charles M. Young, “Plato and Computer Dating,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 12 (1994): 227-250.

Between Socrates and the Stranger

of the argumentation procedure, which consists in a strictly formalized dialogue. The questioner asks questions, matching always one intellectual step, and the respondent selects one of the two options, and therefore it is a dilemma. The leading role belongs to the questioner, who assumes responsibility for the overall direction of the interview. However, it is evident that in this form of conversation, both partners share a single opinion which gradually clarifies during the procedure of the argument. The questioner develops a position by systematic treatise and the answerer confirms it step by step. There is no trace of heteroglossia in this formal conversation. All participants are theorists, using the specific technical vocabulary. All are trained in dialectics and mathematics, and these disciplines closely match the nature of the late dialogues: we can see an expert discourse of scientific type here rather than a dialogical polyphony of autonomous views. The dialogues are basically de-individualized; nobody holds his own opinion. Sharing does not take the form of a mutual openness to the difference of the other but of a preliminary resignation on the possibility of such difference. The topics of the dialogue are the details of a specific implementation of the systematic teaching, but the overall conceptual scheme was already accepted beforehand by all participants. Any fundamental difference in life attitudes takes place here. The adoption and the absolute identification with the philosophical dogmas, introduced in the top dialogues, are the fundamental conditions of the argument. Although these dialogues correspond most closely to the ancient concept of dialectics, we can somewhat surprisingly state that, of all of Plato’s works, they are the most dialectical but the least dialogical. Dialogue, as understood by Bakhtin and as generally understood today, doesn’t actually take place in these texts.

4. DIALOGUE IN A BROADER SENSE Moreover, we have texts in the Platonic corpus that do not have the form of a dialogue. It is the whole Apology,43 consisting of three legal speeches, as well as a substantial part of the Menexenus,44 and the numerous passages, where one of the participants in the dialogue delivers a long speech

43 Except the short elenchus, where Socrates examines the witness, Apol. 24d-27e. 44 Except the introductory dialogue, Menex. 234a-236c, and the brief conclusion, Menex. 249d-e.

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(Protagoras,45 Symposium,46 Phaedrus,47 Gorgias48). This brings us to the question of an implicit or maybe improper dialogue—in short, a dialogue in a broader sense. Locus classicus of this case is the Apology. The text consists of three subsequently delivered judicial speeches of Socrates: the defense, the proposal for an alternative sentence, and the final speech. The speeches are addressed to the Athenian citizens, that is, to the judges as their representatives. But they aren’t present in the text. If it is to be a dialogue, there must be some form of interaction between two parties; Socrates seems at least to be the first one. Who is the other participant? The textually absent judges, of course! But it is the reader who actually finds himself in this role. Indeed, Socrates speaks to the reader, whenever someone starts to read the Apology. As soon as someone opens the text of Apology, the trial of Socrates—the legal dispute between European society and philosophy—is launched anew. The whole text of Apology is actually Plato’s effort to revoke the unfortunate judicial process which had ended with the unjust judgment, from Plato’s view, to send Socrates to death. In each line Plato appeals to us to challenge ourselves again and again, considering Socrates’s guilt and justifying his attitude. At the same time he forces us to consider—because the Apology implicitly suggests that our decision, concerning Socrates, is also a decision about ourselves—where do we belong? What do ​​we stand for? What kind of attitudes do we take? What kind of values do we possess….? Finally, the dialogic interaction in the Apology takes place between the textually absent reader and absent Plato. From the view of philosophical interpretation, however, this absence becomes a very complicated phenomenon that runs the risk of a transition to omnipresence: after all, Plato is a sovereign author of the whole text and the reader is his sovereign interpreter! Philosophically defensible and methodologically correct interpretation of such an extensive understanding of the dialogic nature of the text is not possible without intertextual links to other dialogues and external literary, biographical, and historiographical texts. However, that is a matter considerably beyond the philosophical investigations of dialogue in its elemental Platonic form.

45 The so-called makros logos in Prot. 320d-328c. 46 The so-called Diotima’s speech, Symp. 201d-212c, but most parts of the Symposium consist of monological speeches on Eros. 47 The so-called palinodia, Phaedr. 243a-257a. 48 The final myth in Gorg. 523a-527e.

Between Socrates and the Stranger

CONCLUSION I have tried to show that the interpretation of Plato’s philosophy is based on the interpretation of specific passages of text, which is possible only in the context of the overall structure, chronotopia, and a dramatic nature of the dialogue. These elements are, however, present within the Platonic corpus in many forms, which, in a characteristic philosophical way, raise broader questions, pervading the entire spectrum of humanities. In particular: what is a dialogue? What is the relationship between dialogue and conversation? What is the relationship between dialectics and dialogics? And does the philosophical tradition of dialogue generally correspond to what we today, perhaps, along with Bakhtin, usually consider as a dialogue? Such philosophical inquiries combine general and particular questions without losing the philosophical sense.

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References Boháček, Kryštof. ”Proč barbary hlava nebolí. Ke struktuře raných dialogů a smyslu aporií v dialogu Charmidés” [Why barbarians don’t have headaches. The structure of early dialogues and the sense of the apories in the Charmides]. In Platónův dialog Charmidés, sborník příspěvků z platónského symposia, edited by Aleš Havlíček, 7-34. Prague: Oikúmené, 2007. Brandwood, Leonard. “Stylometry and Chronology,” In The Cambridge Companion to Plato, edited by Richard Kraut, 90-120. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Erler, Michael. Platon. Vol. 2 of Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie. Die Philosophie der Antike [Outline of the history of philosophy. The ancient philosophy]. Basel: Schwabe Verlag, 2007. Gonzalez, Francisco J., ed. The Third Way. London: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995. Kahn, Charles H. “Did Plato Write Socratic Dialogues?,” The Classical Quarterly, New Series, 31 no. 2 (1981): 305-320. Kahn, Charles H. Plato and the Socratic Dialogue. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Kraut, Richard. ”Introduction to the Study of Plato.” In The Cambridge Companion to Plato, edited by Richard Kraut, 1-50. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Nightingale, Andrea Wilson. Genres in Dialogue. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Nussbaum, Martha Craven. The Fragility of Goodness. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Penner, Terry. “Socrates and the Early Dialogues.” In The Cambridge Companion to Plato, edited by Richard Kraut, 121-169. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Press, Gerald A. “Plato´s Dialogues as Enactments,” in The Third Way, ed. Francisco Gonzalez, 133-52. London: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995. Rosen, Stanley. Plato’s Republic. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005. Szlézak, Thomas Alexander, Gespräche unter Ungleichen. Zur Struktur und Zielsetzung der platonischen Dialoge [Conversations among unequals. On structure and purpose of the Platonic Dialogues]. In Literarische Formen der Philosophie, edited by Gottfried Gabriel and Christiane Schildknecht, 40-61. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1990. Thesleff, Holger. Platonic Patterns. Athens: Parmenides Publishing, 2009. Vlastos, Gregory. Socrates, Ironist and Moral Philosopher. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Watson, Walter. “Dogma, Skepticism, and Dialogue.” In The Third Way, edited by Francisco Gonzalez, 189-210. London: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995. Young, Charles M. “Plato and Computer Dating.” In Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 12 (1994): 227-250. Zappen, James P. Bakhtin, Socrates, and the Rhetorical Tradition. New York: State University of New York Press, 2004.

The Dialogic Method in Literary History Matthias Freise

INTRODUCTION

S

cholarship in general—and therefore also literary scholarship—aims at the generalizing and classifying of phenomena. Literary history, like historiography in general, seems to be an exception to this aim. In the field of literary history, any attempt to get beyond description seems to be unscholarly. Contemporary theory of history, ever since Hayden White published his groundbreaking works on the narrativity of historiography, seems to advise scholarship to refrain from any attempt to understand the flow of history. Otherwise, we seem to inevitably end up exploiting history for our own ideological purposes. However, the subjective narrativity of historiography is only one side of a complex correlation between the cultural present and the cultural past, which I would like to call, with reference to Mikhail Bakhtin’s teachings, a dialogue. Therefore, in the following essay, I will try to demonstrate that a dialogic approach to literary history will provide us with the means of understanding and categories of classification that—despite the evident subjectivity on both sides of the dialogue—can understand the dialogue itself, and therefore be fully scientific and of value for literary scholarship.

TIME AND STYLE Is there a regulating principle in literary history? Or is literary history chaotic, unpredictable, and fragmented? Is all order imputed to literary history by literary historians? Do literary epochs “have” distinct characteristics, or have these characteristics been distilled by subsequent views that simply neglect all incongruous elements, that is, they “forget” literary texts that do not fit into the

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scheme of what a literary epoch allegedly is concerned with?1 Contemporary literary historical research in Europe tends to avoid literature-specific terms of epochs—instead, we find terms deduced from important historic events such as the “inter-war period” (Poland), and terms deduced from important authors such as “Goethezeit” (Germany), or terms simply referring to decades, such as “the Sixties.” Of course, no one will ever prove the objective limits of an epoch. This is due to the mere fact that time alone is not enough to determine to which epoch a given text belongs. Even hard-core empiricists would agree that there are precursors of a style and epigones of a style, who write at a time when other style formations are dominant. Therefore, at a given moment, epigones of style “a” coexist with executers of the dominant style “b” and precursors of style “c.”2 Consequently, in order to determine an epoch, in addition to the factor time we have to consider the factor style.3 But what is style? Originally this term had a double meaning.4 On the one hand, it designated the intentional style as an expression of individuality, on the other hand, it is related to the normative “aptum” of a genre or language level to be chosen. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Heinrich Wölfflin used “style” to designate epochs. Not as substances, however, but shaped by contrast to an alternate style. Later in the twentieth century, “style” was considered as a category of observation,5 and, eventually, Svetlana Alpers declared: “Style is what you make it.”6 This is, however, not so much a problem of a subjectivity of judgement, because “style” is a term that decidedly designates form. Form is not subjective, and to see form does not require a judgement. The problem is that an epoch does not get shape without the function of form. Forms are   1 Comp. Helga Möbius and Harald Olbrich, „Zur Problematik der Begriffe ‚früh‘ und ‚spät‘ im kunsthistorischen Prozeß“ [On the problem of the terms ‘early’ and ‘late’ in the art history process], in Stil und Epoche. Periodisierungsfragen, eds. Friedrich Möbius and Helga Sciurie (Dresden: Verlag der Kunst, 1989), 253-254: „Jede Stileinheit […] muß zurückdrängen, was in das Evolutionskonstrukt einer fernsichtigen, geschlossenen Totalität nicht hineinpaßt.”   2 Comp. Roman Jakobson, “On Realism in Art,” in Readings in Russian Poetics, eds. Ladislav Matejka and Krystyna Pomorska (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1978), 38-46.   3 Comp. Aleksandar Flaker, Stilske formacje [Formation of stylistics] (Zagreb: Sveučil. Nakl. Liber, 1976).   4 On the following comp. Stephan Hoppe, „Stil als dünne oder dichte Beschreibung“ [Style as thin or thick description], in Stil als Bedeutung in der nordalpinen Renaissance, eds. Stephan and Sebastian Fitzner (Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner, 2008), 63.   5 Ibid., 59.   6 Svetlana Alpers, “Style Is What You Make It: The Visual Arts Once Again,” in The Concept of Style, ed. Leonard B. Meyer (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1979), 95-107.

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eternal, what changes through the ages are their functions.7 Because function is accessible only through interpretation, the view of the observer inevitably is implied. Of course, the function of literary form is different from the function of the form of a knife, because literary form through its function is intended to create semantics. Only by reconstruction of this function can I gain access to these semantics. Interpretation is the reconstruction of semantic function. This is valid not only concerning a single literary text but also concerning a whole epoch. If an epoch is defined by style, I am able and obliged to interpret it in order to get access to its semantics. Interpretation is a form of relationship and includes the interpreter. It is, therefore, futile to take notice of the past without establishing an interpretative relationship to it. Statements on form without function, therefore, are unhistorical, or they prove my un-relatedness to and my deprivation from the past I wish to investigate. If “style” is meant to be different from “form,” it implies interpretation, but it is precisely this implication genuine formalists would not concede to.8 This is why epochs also form in the process of relation to or in dialogue with them, from a time other than their own. Of course, it was the ideal of classical historicism to annihilate the investigator’s involvement into the past in order to gain a scientific basis for historiography. In culture, however, wherever you gain something in one respect, you lose something in another. In our case, with “objective” un-relatedness you lose the relation to a different time, without relation it becomes “meaningless,” arbitrary. But what constitutes an epoch is its semantics; literary history, therefore, in searching for “objectivity, had to abandon the term “epoch.” What you lose by this, however, is the ability to understand the right, even the inner necessity of a distant time to think about and look at the world as people did at the time. We won’t be able to take their cultural efforts seriously. The cultural other of distant times inevitably becomes “exotic,” like the cultural other of a   7 Comp. Jurij Tynjanov, Poetika, istorija literatury, kino [Poetics, history of literature, cinema] (Moskva: Izdatel’stvo Nauka, 1977), 517-23 on functional transformation of form as the impulse of literary change.  8 Henri Focillon’s essay (Henri Focillon, The Life of Forms in Art, 2nd ed. [New York: Wittenborn, 1948]) is meant to justify a strictly immanent observation of form as a basis for the registration of a “physiognomy of a century” (ibid., 96). The “physiognomy of a century,” however, cannot be “registered,” it needs interpretation. To keep the image, a century in fact has a physiognomy, that is, an individual face which I can understand through which intentions this physiognomy tends to express. A physiognomy is a phenomenon of relationship and is accessible only through interpretation. Focillon’s own wording proves the inconsistence of his argument.

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distant space. Is it an alternative to say “everyone may have culturally believed in what he or she wished and one is not obliged to reason with this”? But don’t we expect that human beings had—and have—good reasons for what they do? What if such reasons can, in fact, be provided, but not exclusively by rationality? What if there exists a “reason of relationship,” a dialogical reason? Wouldn’t it be worthwhile to reconstruct it, since there are patterns in cultural history that, like patterns in nature, cogently call for an explanation? And, moreover, such a reconstruction would have the power to restitute the human dignity of those in the past? That is to say, that tolerance for what people do and believe is not sufficient for providing such a dignity to the other. What he or she did should be reasonable for me.

FACTORS SHAPING AN EPOCH “Epoch” is a dialogic term because it is grounded on semantics. In other words: If we want to understand an epoch intrinsically, we have to connect to their culture. This should not require (hermeneutic) identification because, with identification, what is the semantics of a distant time becomes the one and only truth, making it impossible to understand the truth as well as the untruth, that is, the physiognomy of a distant time. Through dialogue, with the truth and untruth of the other, I also encounter the truth and untruth of myself. Only on this basis can we gain access to a distant inner world without identifying with it. This is the way semantics form, if understood as semantic space spanning a relationship. There can be no semantics without semantic space. Therefore, a dialogic historiography gains access to the semantics of distant times through generating the semantic space between us. The analysis of the semantic space that spans out between the four cornerstones of “your truth and untruth” and “my truth and untruth” results in the emergence of an epoch, which can be called the “personality” or “physiognomy” of a past time, a face expressing itself as it turns towards us. The reality of an epoch, like the reality of all phenomena of relationship, does not emerge empirically but dialogically. How, then, does the semantics of an epoch take shape, as everyone has access to a wide range of interpretations having already been given to the world in earlier times? Interpretation establishes a relationship—and a relationship, like love or marriage, does not exist by a final declaration; it has to develop in order to be alive. Social systems are not able to develop constantly, they need some form of stability that institutions provide; however, these institutions inhibit the constant change necessary for the social

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

system to stay alive. All interpretation with time becomes institutional and this inevitably leads to a backlog that produces the next cultural crisis. This explains why there are epochs, which for some time provide us with relatively constant models of interpretation. Because of the inevitable backlog in cultural development, with time interpretation loses its interpretative power. It devaluates. A new valid interpretation then becomes necessary. This is, however, not the only factor giving shape to an epoch. For contemporaries, an epoch is not at all an epoch but simply the valid interpretation of the world.9 To become an epoch, this interpretation needs some distance and a boundary. A boundary for the epoch itself is usually provided by the previous epoch, but this is not sufficient, because with the help of this boundary we constitute only the difference between the valid—new—and the invalid— old—interpretation. In other words, it creates the illusion that historical progress has terminated in our own cultural model. Hardly anyone asks why our immediate predecessors were so stupid to believe in an invalid interpretation of the world. If we get further into history, the problem becomes even more evident. Why did ancient Egyptians believe in human beings with bird or cat heads? Why were Victorians in England so prudish, and why the beatniks of the Sixties believed that drugs did not destroy but expand their consciousness? Aren’t we much wiser now, much more enlightened? An epoch becomes an epoch only when not just its “vision” but also its narrowness becomes visible, when it ceases to be the one and only “adequate” interpretation of the world. But this argument must be applied not only to the past—seen only as the overcome, false interpretation of the world—but also to the present, which isn’t an epoch and not even a “time” as long as one believes that we have reached the end of all stupidities and limitations. Not only is it the case that a wrong or invalid interpretation isn’t an interpretation at all, it is also the case that the “true at last” interpretation isn’t, either. The quarrel between the “ancient” and the “modern” alone does not create epochs. An epoch emerges when we begin to understand that every time period simultaneously had and has its blind spots as well as its insight, where the constancy provided by institutions reaches its tipping point. Both are not only immanent processes, they need an internal as well as an external point of view.   9 Doesn’t there coexist a multitude of valid interpretations of the world at any given time? To one’s contemporaries, this seems to be the case, but with a certain distance of time it, as a rule, turns out that they all were variants of a general style of thinking, which again is characteristic for the time. Even “anything goes” has been the integrative, amplificatory style of anything goes, with specific consequences for human communication and imagination.

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EPOCHS AS RELATIONSHIPS Epochs are not invented only by one side, represented by the literary historians. They are also the result of the relationship between two sides that are, as a matter of fact, equally active: the retrospective interpreters, a group not limited to professional historians, and the historical players, who semantically are no less active than the retro-spectators, because they act not only with reference to their situation but also from the perspective of the eternal. It was Napoleon who created the Napoleon myth, it was Goebbels who tried to create a Nazi myth through his Sportpalast speech—a speech that was absolutely senseless in all practical respects. Therefore, it should be reasonable to make a new attempt to understand epochs on a dialogical basis. After all, this could be the basis for accounting for posterity, with good reason for an understanding, which is more than a collection of bizarre curiosities. Of course, we could “stop making sense,” that is, we could generally refrain from any attempt to provide reason, putting all habits and beliefs on the equal right of arbitrary convention. This radically “ethnographic” point of view, however, completely disregards the ability of humans to reflect on the motivations for what they do. It is not my intention to reintroduce the term “superstition.” On the contrary, I am convinced that with a dialogic approach to history, there can exist better reasons for particular “styles of thought and imagination” than the Enlightenment could have expected. If “epochs” are treated as relationships, by understanding distant epochs we should also be able to understand ourselves better. Every cultural relationship is bidirectional. Therefore, a dialogical understanding of epochs does not take them as good or bad examples, as political history sometimes does with earlier times. It takes it as a solution to cultural constellations to which the distant epoch had to take a stand. If I establish a dialogic relationship to this distant epoch, I will be able to deduce the constellations from the solutions that are manifest in the field of literature, among others. These constellations with time have ceased to be virulent, but as posterity is confronted with ever newer constellations, it is useful to ask if our actual constellations could be variants of constellations arising in a distant time or at a distant cultural space. Distant times weren’t dumber or smarter than we are. But, they also weren’t merely “different.” “Difference” is not capable of establishing a relationship. People of distant times had burning questions about the world, just as we do. We can compare the questions, which arose

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

in the earlier context, to our contemporary questions, which arise in my own context. Consequently, I will be able to compare the answers then given to my own attempts to find answers to our cultural questions. However, this seemingly simple model works only under two conditions. First, successful reactions to cultural constellations have never been definitions but models that preserve the ambivalence inherent in cultural constellations. In other words, they were not ideology. Ideology did not solve cultural questions, because it is monological, meaning that it ignores the presence of relationship in any form. Epochs not only are accessible by dialogue, they themselves are also dialogues. Therefore epochs are not ideology, and vice versa—ideology is unable to create an epoch.10 For this reason, socialist realism, as established by political doctrine, never reached the status of an epoch because it was not created by relationship but by ideology. The second condition is in close connection with this characteristic of an epoch. If epochs are successful just because they preserve the inherent ambivalence of a cultural question, access to their solutions, that is to their texts, is not provided through a literal reading. As a rule, a literal reading disambiguates a text, and this inevitably leads to its desemanticization, thus rendering it a collection of “bizarre convictions.” Literal interpretations of the Bible are a good example. Established to preserve the holiness of the text, such readings, on the contrary, destruct it. As was aptly noted during the Inquisition, given the rotation of the earth on its axis, one could no longer believe in the immobility of the sun,11 since in that case a giant tsunami would literally roll around the globe. A dialogic approach that takes the cultural past and its representatives seriously has to take cultural solutions as they were built: models to understand specific cultural constellations. Such models are symbolic forms that require interpretation.12 Through dialogic interpretation, they reveal at least a fraction of their truth, which is relevant to the era in which the inquiry is made.

10 Compare in this volume Xiaojing Wang’s critique on Roland Barthes’ model of ideology. For Barthes, the final cultural output of the formal side of images is ideology. What Wang states about images (and cinema), I state about epochs. If we want to understand earlier cultural forms on their own terms, we should refer not to their ideological but to their dialogical shape. The final output of the formal side of art is epoch. 11 Joshua 10:12-14. 12 Ernst Cassirer, Das mythische Denken [Mythical thinking], vol. 2 of Philosophie der symbolischen Formen [Philosophy of symbolic forms] (Berlin: Cassirer, 1925).

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THE VERDICT ON USING TERMS OF EPOCHS Discourses on epochs have been heavily disputed and eventually dismissed with the following arguments:13 1. It is impossible to prove causality within the succession of literary works of art. 2. Literary history is a narrative, produced by literary historians. 3. Historical knowledge is inseparably bound to the point of view of the actual discourse. 4. The definition of epochs implies the pre-modern thinking of a teleology in history. 5. Epochs imply a theory of history “as a whole,” which is impossible. 6. The discovery of the global interdependence in history implies a synchrony of the heterochronous. This makes impossible what epochs should provide: to unify parallel developments. Despite some objections by representatives from Slavic studies, the verdict on the concept of epochs, formulated by the doyens of German literary scholarship in 1985,14 is still obtaining. With the help of a dialogical approach to literary history, however, we can refute the above-mentioned arguments. 1. A text is classified into an epoch not by qualities that are subject to causality but by the homologous semantic structure in which it is participating. 2. Literary history is formed not by one narrative but by the encounter of two narratives, the past one and the present one. 3. For the same reason, it is the product of the interference between at least two points of view, two discourses. With even more points of view, the semantics of an epoch does not dissolve but on the contrary takes greater shape. This is the case with all semantic phenomena, in contrast to objects. 4.  Teleology implies that the present (or the future) is irrelative, while a dialogic approach to literary history includes the relativity of the present and the future as well. For this reason, a dialogic approach to epochs is not 13 Arguments provided by Burkhart Steinwachs, „Was leisten (literarische) Epochenbegriffe?“ [What do literary terms of epochs achieve?], in Epochenschwellen und Epochenstrukturen im Diskurs der Literatur- und Sprachhistorie, eds. Hans-Ulrich Gumbrecht and Ursula Link-Heer (Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp, 1985), 316-317. 14 Hans-Ulrich Gumbrecht, Peter Michael Spangenberg and Ursula Link-Heer, „Gespräch über Epochen“ [Conversation about epochs], in Gumbrecht and Link-Heer, Epochenschwellen, 503-504.

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

teleological. 5. A descriptive theory of history is, of course, impossible, while a structural theory of history, which asks questions like: “what is the presence of the past?” is not only possible but real.15 6. The synchrony of the heterochronous, thus, is provided by the same homology between texts which serves as an argument against causality. Epochs widely overlap, because homologies form and dissolve slowly. One factor that inevitably emerges in a dialogic relationship with the cultural past is very simple: the first diachronic relationship I am in is the relationship to my parents, that is, to my literary parents—my literary role models and ideals. I must emancipate from them, that is, from the previous generation of writers and readers. But how can I do this? It is not sufficient just to negate all they used to approve. There must also be a positive counter-message to be delivered by myself. Elements of such a positive anti-parental message can be found in cultural history, simply because my parents questioned theirs, and therefore my grandparents are my natural confederates in this case. Such a mechanism of alternation between two dominants in art history has been postulated around the turn from the nineteenth to the twentieth century by Heinrich Wölfflin (1888)16 and Wilhelm Worringer (1908)17. The same mechanism in literary history has been postulated in the twentieth century by Jurij Tynjanov and Roman Jakobson (1929),18 followed by Ernst Robert Curtius (1948),19 and Dmitrij Tschiževskij (1968).20 The parental and the grandparental factors within the structure of diachronic relationship are, however, still not sufficient to describe the flow of literary history, for several reasons. First—simply empirically—the epochs of the grandparents and those of the children are not identical. Within the scheme of alteration in European literary history, baroque, romanticism and modernism, which were alternated by renaissance, classicism, and realism, respectively, 15 Comp. Eelco Runia, “Presence,” History and theory 45 (2006): 1-29. 16 Heinrich Wölfflin, Renaissance and Baroque (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1966). 17 Wilhelm Worringer, Abstraktion und Einfühlung [Abstraction and empathy] (Neuwied: Heuser, 1907). 18 Jurij Tynjanov, “On literary evolution,” in Matejka and Pomorska, Readings, 66-78; Jurij Tynjanov and Roman Jakobson, “Problems in the study of literature and language,” in Matejka and Pomorska, Readings, 79-81. 19 Ernst Robert Curtius, Europäische Literatur und lateinisches Mittelalter [European literature and Latin Middle Ages] (Bern: Francke, 1948). 20 Dmitrij Tschiževskij, Vergleichende Geschichte der slavischen Literaturen [Comparative history of Slavic literatures] (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1968).

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should be identical epochs but they are not. Secondly, it has been shown more than once21 that between neighboring epochs there is never only discontinuity or break, there is also much continuity. With the model of an ever-alternating literary interpretation of the world, we are unable to incorporate the element of continuity in the understanding of literary history. In other words: the model that should be able to describe the structure of change in literary history should be more complex than mere alteration. But why is there a need at all for models of literary history? Why should we not just describe the process of producing and publishing new and new novels, poems, comedies and tragedies? Because there are turning points in literary history, and science has the right, even the duty, to ask why this is the case and where the turning points come from. Any significance is subject to investigation, as are the significant turning points in literary history. In Europe, there has been much research on these turning points in literary and cultural history.22 The problem is that this research concentrates on the very points of change themselves in order to understand them. However, a rupture in history is the end of something and the beginning of something else. You will not understand it unless you understand the former necessity of the previous as well as its actual undesirability, and unless you understand the necessity of the new as well as its former superfluity. This is one of the axiomatic questions, which according to the German historian Reinhard Koselleck “any theory of history should be ready to answer.” Koselleck formulated the basic riddles of historiography, which are still to be solved. In his much cited article “Wozu noch Historie?” (“What good is historiography?” 1971),23 Reinhard Koselleck demands a theory of historical times, which should be able to explain the following phenomena: 1. The asynchrony of the simultaneous and the synchrony of the heterochronous, that is, with reference to literature, an effective and 21 Already Curtius, Europäische Literatur (1948). 22 Hans Blumenberg, Aspekte der Epochenschwelle [Aspects of epochal threshold] (Frankfurt/ Main: Suhrkamp, 1976); Hans Robert Jauss, Die Epochenschwelle von 1912 [The epochal threshold of 1912] (Heidelberg: Winter, 1986); Reinhart Herzog, ed., Epochenschwelle und Epochenbewusstsein [Epochal threshold and consciousness of epochs], vol. XII of Poetik und Hermeneutik (Munich: Fink, 1987). 23 Reinhart Koselleck, „Wozu noch Historie?” [What good is historiography?], Historische Zeitschrift 2012 (1971): 1-18.

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

c­ omprehensible differentiation between the year a text has been written and the cultural paradigm it belongs to. 2. The irreversibility and, at the same time, repeatability of an event (identically, or as a repetition of a constellation, or in a typological or figural coordination) 3. Progress, decadence, acceleration, retardation. If we understand history as a multiple form of relationship, some of these demands should get closer to their fulfillment. The first step towards this goal is to accept that epochs have “aims.” Why an epoch should have an “aim”? Isn’t this a metaphor, or even an improper unification of a mixture of everything which simply co-exists? But mankind definitely wants to establish a relationship to its past. A relationship to cultural facts is impossible, since facts are meaningless. I cannot have a relationship to what has no meaning to me. But you may ask: why should the past have a meaning? Are facts not sufficient? They are not for two reasons. First, because we can measure events and deeds only with respect to the aims related to them. Looking into the past, however, we have to measure, because it is impossible to select “all” possible events of it. The relevance of events is intrinsically tied to meaning, and meaning is accessible only through interpretation. Secondly, without meaning the past is not “our” past, it is not related to us, it does not affect us, it has no “future” for itself, that is, no presence for us. Therefore, we can formulate three axioms and three consequences for literary history: 1. 2. 3.

Without a relationship to the past we have no history. Without meaning, there is no relationship. Without an intrinsic aim, a particular past time has no meaning. In consequence, dialogical literary history has to: a)  establish a relationship to the literature of the past. b)  look for meaning. For this, interpretation is required. c) confront the meaning which provides a future for the past time with the meaning that provides us with a past. In this reflection, aims become visible.

The fulfillment of these three tasks, which in fact are three aspects of one task, I call dialogic literary history.

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EPOCHS AS SYSTEMS; THE INSIGHT AND BLINDNESS OF AN EPOCH Mikhail Bakhtin has been criticized for his use of the term dialogue. His “dialogue between the author and the hero” seems to be a misleading metaphor24. How could a literary hero be in a dialogue with his or her author? Can’t the author do with him or her what he wants, since the hero has no means to refuse? In a certain sense, Bakhtin is nevertheless right, because in a well-balanced novel the author not only questions the hero, the hero also questions the author. With literary history, we apparently have the same problem. How can a former epoch be in a dialogue with the later one? We can say something about former times but can these times say anything about us? In fact, they can, if we only listen to them. As I mentioned above, we have a problem that we cannot solve without them— to find our own identity, our own way, which is distinctively different from our literary parents’ way. This is of course not a dialogue in a literal sense but it has all structural prerequisites of dialogue—it is give and take, determine and being determined, speaking and listening. Such a dialogue has been called hermeneutic. But hermeneutics have been established mainly as a unidirectional tool of interpretation. Their result is a picture or an understanding of a textual object. Its goal is the maximal understanding of it. In my application of dialogue, the case is a bit different. In the discussion of the episteme of epochs, dialogue is understood as a structural term meaning that something is necessarily formed by the encounter of two endeavors. Epochs are formed in a dialogue, and only this dialogue makes them real, just as the dialogue between my vision and the resistance an object offers to this vision constitutes the reality of an object as well as the reality of myself. But we will come back to Gadamer’s hermeneutics later. Terms of literary epochs need an integrative principle, because they are synthetic—they comprise many literary texts, which arise independently. As in psychology or sociology, this principle seems to be found in their structure, in their internal reference and interconnectedness. This is why followers of Luhmann among literary historians call literature, or literary history, a system. But a system does not imply its encounter through distance, in other words, it does not imply dialogue. Instead it implies autonomy. This autonomy of a system Luhmann calls autopoesis. However, literary epochs are not autonomous in this 24 Wolf Schmid, „Bachtins Dialogizität—eine Metapher“ [Bakhtin’s dialogicity—a ­metaphor], in Roman und Gesellschaft. Internationales Michail-Bachtin-Kolloquium ( Jena: Friedrich-Schiller-Universität, 1984), 70-77.

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

sense, they cannot define themselves, if only because they lack one border of delimitation—the borderline to the future, which is invisible to contemporaneity. They need an access from the outside, they need the external feedback of a dialogue. But does this mean that their integrative principle comes from the outside only? No. Epochs, like maturing individuals, need external feedback in order to develop their identity—some “confirmation” from the outside that their world view was a specific one which neither just stated how the world “absolutely is,” nor can be rejected as having been simply “wrong.” Epochal terms, therefore, are not simple entities. Some criticism of a term created to delimit an epoch is always advisable. An epoch is so complex a phenomenon because it forms on two levels. On one level people contribute to the cultural production of their time. This production does not consist of the properties of this production but of the contributing people’s attitudes. These people are, as a rule, not aware of the specifics of their attitude. They have internal hierarchies of importance. They have visual and verbal preferences. They have problems which seem to need solution. They adopt, reject or transform previous models of understanding and try to give coherence to the world as it appears to them. They don’t feel like being “in” an epoch, and they don’t think they “make” an epoch. They just express what, as they are convinced, is necessary to be expressed. On the other level, there is the view of posterity. For posterity, texts from past times are just “characteristic” of their time. They often seem to be strange, if not alien. They deal with problems, which are, seen from posterity, marginal, and they are blind to problems, which for posterity are fundamental. I call these two levels the internal level of cultural production and the external level of cultural reception. Both levels are limited and none of them is able to create an epoch. Only together—posterity being closer to the super-addressee of a past work of art and contributors from the past being super-messengers who do not limit their aim to contemporaneity—do they form the limited-unlimited structure, which is characteristic for real epochs. According to Niklas Luhmann, societies and their forms of expression are systems. A system according to Luhmann is a self-regulating entity. It is possible to describe texts and even epochs as such systems. But what Luhmann does not take into account is that a living system cannot define itself. It needs the other. For a living system, every boundary is the result of a dialogue. There is no inside without an outside—not the outside of nowhere land or of the alien but the outside of the other who looks at me. This outside view shapes me. I am the product of a relation. In literary diachrony, this outside is provided by posterity.

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Here the necessity of a new, non-luhmannian definition of structure arises: structure, when applied to epochs, as well as when applied to the mind, is a dialogue. Therefore it can be accessed, again like the mind, only though interpretation. Interpretation again requires dialogue. Historical distance, therefore, is not part of the problem how to understand literary epochs but part of the solution. Distance installs the dialogue which is essentially necessary for an epoch to exist. But what about us, who want to understand an epoch from distance? Doesn’t our distance devaluate the intention or attitude of a given epoch by putting it into perspective? And can a distant epoch’s worldview be “true” for ourselves? If an epoch is defined by its “limitation,” by its blindness, its function inevitably changes into its property; and if we searched for the truth of a distant epoch, this truth dissolves before our eyes. Therefore, what in former days was seeing, later seems to become blindness. There must be a third state beyond seeing and blindness, beyond “limited” and “unlimited,” beyond “arbitral” and “functional,” beyond “particular” and “universal,” beyond “autonomous” and “contingent.” Human beings are particular and universal at the same time, so why not epochs? The solution to this riddle lies in combining two conditions. The first condition is that an epoch, like an individual, needs recognition—in the case of an epoch the recognition from posterity, for there is no other alter ego for an epoch besides posterity. It needs the recognition that its attitude is valid. The second condition departs from the question on which ground posterity can validate the attitude of an epoch. Here, we have the following aporia: in this instance we can state that there is no higher validity than the validity that is relative to the time and space in which it is stated, and this leads us to relativism, which annihilates all validity, or there is absolute validity beyond space and time, which annihilates history. To get beyond this aporia, we have to establish a third form of validity, which is dialogical validity. This validity arises exactly and only when a relation is established successfully. In the genome, for example, an element in the sequence is valid only when it finds a connectable partner. In a similar way, the “hook feasibility” of an epoch generates its validity. As such, we can understand the attitude of an epoch as a contribution to some kind of ongoing, ever-transforming truth, which partially empties and replenishes itself with the appearance of each new epoch. This is why an epoch needs complementation and dialogue with posterity— it is its only chance to become valid. The dialogue with posterity frees it from its conceit to represent an “absolute” truth, the conceit of stating simply how the world “is.” At the same time, the dialogue frees an epoch from the misery of having just properties that are rendered invalid as soon as the subjects

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

having these properties no longer exist. In other words, with the fall of the belief in the absoluteness of its view, the whole epoch seems to be devaluated. This devaluation as a rule is executed by the following epoch. For this reason, the immediate take-over-epoch cannot be the dialogic partner who approves the diachronic truth of the previous epoch—it first and foremost has the task of turning down the pretended absolute truth of its predecessor

ALTERNATION, NOVELTY, AND THE FOUR FORMS OF DIALOGICITY This mechanism of dethronements by subsequent epochs is the reason why structural theory imagined literary history as a series of revolutions, as the alternation of two tendencies, which are irreconcilably opposed to one another. Structural theory never did free itself from a vision of cultural history as a development; and from a developmental point of view, history is a series of steps, every step being the crossing of a border, a negation of the previous step. Here we find Tynjanov’s (1929), Vodička’s (1969), and Smirnov’s (1982) models of alternation in literary history; here we find Wölfflin’s (1880) and Worringer’s (1907) models of alternation in art.25 Alternation in cultural history does take place but it does not yet give access to the truth of an epoch, it does not help to understand it. It makes only plausible why an epoch ought to be substituted. From the point of view of the borderline between epochs, the belief or world view of an epoch at one fell swoop turns into blindness and error. But our ancestors must have had truth; like any other person, what we encounter in a dialogue could possibly reveal his or her truth. Furthermore, the model of alternation in literary history nourishes the assumption that historiography consists of high-handed constructions, because it is based on imputed eventfulness and novelty, which both are outcomes of narratives made by literary historians. Yes, if literary history consisted only of revolutions and the establishment of the “new,” the narrativist suspicion would be more than reasonable, since, in this model, the ultimate revolution is our own epoch; newness as a rule gives the highest position to actuality, which reeks of self-adulation. But how can the diachronic truth of an epoch be revealed by posterity? An epoch must have a portion of blindness as well as a portion of insight. The insight has made necessary the establishing of the epoch, the blindness has made necessary its abolishment. These preconditions require a model of 25 Igor’ Smirnov and Johanna Renate Döring-Smirnov, Očerki po istoričeskoj tipologii kul’tury [Outline of a historic typology of culture] (Salzburg: Institut für Slawistik, 1982).

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literary history in which insight and blindness are distributed complementarily between epochs. These complementarities are made visible through the following dialogic process: the doers of an epoch (poets, writers, critics, and so on) provide the “insight” aspect, while the generation immediately following provides the “blindness” aspect of the same epoch; every subsequent generation, however, which with its own insight and blindness reaches out for the given epoch in order to understand it, gives profile to what was there to see or not see, to understand and misunderstand within the limits of the original epoch. With every new generation looking at a past time, insight becomes more blind, and blindness gains more insight, and in this double process the epoch takes greater shape. This is why posterity, referring to a distant past, does not distort the distant epoch but on the contrary forms it ever more distinctively. The reconstruction of this process is different from classical hermeneutics. First, because hermeneutics, in Gadamer’s words, must not take up a historically distant stance with respect to a poem or a philosophical text, because “meaning is accomplished only if I take the position of the addressee.”26 But what if the meaning of an epoch can only be seen from a distance? The distant addressee of a poem is, in contrast to the direct addressee, much more aware of the ambivalence of the former epoch’s truth because he sees the universal in the particular, and this, in the first place, is an aesthetic view defined not only by being universal and at the same time not just by being particular. With reference to literature, Mandel’shtam has called (1912) this aesthetic quality the message-in-a-­bottleness of literature. Literature is not just a message but a message in a bottle— not so much in the sense that it has to be unpacked but mainly in the sense that it has to be shaped, like a pebble, by the troubled sea through which it travels to posterity. This image needs some explanation. While the immediate addressees of literary texts are recruited from the contemporaneity of the author, posterity provides what can be called the super-addressee. The addressee understands a literary text in the light of a common worldview and a common social practice. Therefore, the text expresses the truth of the time. Posterity, that is, the super-addressee, sees more. To see the text in the light of a past epoch means to see its inner conflicts, its struggle to get out of a pitfall and its simultaneous falling into a new one. In other words, we see the inner tragedy of the text. This is—and I cannot express it more properly—the truer truth of a literary text, 26 Hans Georg Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode [Truth and method] (Tübingen: Mohr 1965), 338, translation mine.

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

and at the same time the truer truth of the past in general. Compared to this, the truth of a given time, as a seeming solution for the contemporaries, is only a limited truth. Mikhail Bakhtin would have called the inner truth of an epoch a monologic truth, and the truth that emerges of the dialogue between epochs, the truth provided by the super-addressee, a dialogic truth. This is precisely what Mandel’shtam had in mind when he claimed that in fact he was Dante’s, Pushkin’s, and Baratynskij’s super-addressee. He understood them better than they had a chance to understand themselves but he understood them not from a god-like “absolute” position but from the position, as he called it aptly, of the interlocutor (sobesednik)27. Later generations of readers do not simply try to catch on to what strange poets long ago wanted to express. Literary historians do not become late believers of Amun-Ra or Polish messianism but, involved in a diachronic dialogue, they are able to formulate the truth that only they can give to that particular epoch. They do so through their realizing of the aesthetic function, that is, through seeing the universal in the particular. In return, the literatures of distant epochs give us the chance to see ourselves better, to reflect on not the absolute but rather the relative truth of our own view, to realize not only the possibility but above all the validity of a completely different understanding of our world, of a different truth. Without literary history, without the truth provided by the historical relationship we, the representatives of posterity, are blind to our blindness, to our particularity; the “untruth” of our own time is inaccessible to us. Our distant forefathers provide the outside to the invisible relations we are entangled in and vice versa. But paradoxically this “untruth” provided by the future makes works of art from the past “truer,” because it delivers the past from the implausible pretense of “absolute truth.” Truth has its “states of aggregation,” depending on cultural “climate.” This climate is invisible to the contemporaries because for them it is just “the air that they breathe.” Consequently, an epoch is dialogic in a quadruple way. First, it is dialogic because it is an interpretation. This is its hermeneutic dialogicity. Secondly, it quarrels with the old interpretation of the world, which has become or is in danger of becoming invalid. This is its polemic dialogicity. Thirdly, as a particular solution to a universal cultural problem it is particular and universal at the 27 Comp. Osip Mandelshtam, “O sobesednike,” in Collected Works, vol. 1 (Moskva: ­Art-Biznes-Tsentr, 1994), 183-184. Translated by Philip Nikolayev as “On the interlocutor,” The Battersea Review 3 (2013), http://thebatterseareview.com/issue-archive/131-issue-3.

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same time. This is its structural dialogicity. Finally, shaped by the distant future, which confers to it its “true truth,” that is, its relationship character of aim and gain, its plausibility, an epoch attains its diachronic dialogicity. For a given time, to become an epoch, all four steps are necessary.

THE EXAMPLE: THE BAROQUE Now, I will try to explain the fourfold dialogic character of an epoch by an example. This example is European literary baroque. For a long time, hardly anyone believed that the Baroque was an interpretation of the world at all. Literary history did not even take it as a style but only as a loss of style, as a degeneration or absence of style. Heinrich Wölfflin was the first who conceded the Baroque to be a specific style in art history but still he did not develop an idea of what kind of interpretation of the world the Baroque provided, which was the question it faced and the problem it solved, nor why it became necessary. The hermeneutic dialogicity of an epoch is grounded in interpretation. What kind of interpretation of the world was specifically baroque? First of all, the Baroque was integrative. The Renaissance was a demarcational and elitist model of the world, relying on (financial, political, and physical) dominance. The Baroque, after the discovery of the New World and the domination of the Turkish military, heavily perceived the multiplicity of strata, races and social systems in the world and therefore had to be integrative in order to maintain a valid interpretation of the world. This is why the baroque interpretation of the world was integrative. A valid semantics of the world had to integrate and open semantic borderlines. Differences were to be reduced by the addition of cultural models—that is, by syncretism. Art had to be maximally impressive in order to attract people with extremely different cultural backgrounds. With the help of big numbers and big events, baroque culture endeavors to find a place for everyone. You may note that this aspect of the baroque epoch shows striking similarities to our times but this already is a question of how an epoch is shaped through its dialogue with the distant future. In the Baroque, the main method of interpretation of semantics was allegory. Allegory is needed when meaning is not ready to succumb to reality but has to be constructed. For baroque culture, meaning or semantics is not an inherent quality of reality but an achievement of man. In the face of the complexity and formlessness of reality, we have to (re)construct its “proper” meaning, which as a rule is hidden. A good example is Leibniz’s effort to intellectually

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

reconstruct the world, in all its wickedness, as the best of all possible worlds. Voltaire, from the subsequent epoch of Enlightenment (classicism), ridiculed Leibniz’s characteristically baroque thinking. The criteria of what is meaningful, of what semantics can perform, had dramatically changed. But baroque semantics nevertheless were valid. Interpretation was needed to give an answer to the chaos of reality, which baroque man did not feel capable of taming. During the Renaissance, might and power might have tamed it, and later, during the Enlightenment, it was commonly believed that human reason could do so but reason for baroque culture was not an option, since reason separates instead of integrating and therefore could not provide the interpretation of the world which was needed at the time. The polemic dialogicity of an epoch arises from its negation of the previous epoch. In most cases of epochal change, discontinuity is emphasized and therefore more visible, simply because the new generation has to first of all legitimate its departure from the previous style, while its continuity does not need legitimation and in modern times often even tends to be hidden, in order to expose the absolute “newness” of the new. Only later does the aspect of continuity become visible. The particular polemic dialogicity of the Baroque has an external and an internal factor. Externally, the Baroque became necessary, because the rising inconsistence of human existence, the facing of the impossibility to establish stable political and social order and the loss of “absolute” meaning questioned the hegemony of the renaissance, that is, its model of the human being as the measure of all, of the shape of the human body directly providing meaning, of human power and might providing social order. Transcendence, expelled by the Renaissance, had to return in order to promise the harmony which the “human measure” of the Renaissance had failed to provide. The baroque devaluated the ideal shape of the body and devaluated (in the wake of the plague) the joy of health and sexual practice as well as the “natural” social order, because in baroque times it became obvious that foreign, irregular, elements of disease and death were too rampant in the world to believe in them. Internally, in the field of semantics, the following happened. Individuality could no longer be provided by the power to label words. Cultural and language semantics “struck back,” and the individual turned out to no longer be the signifier but became the signified. This is where the “sublime” becomes necessary: in the framework of the Baroque, it provides the new signifier for cultural semantics. Therefore, we can observe polemic dialogicity not only between representatives from neighboring epochs from subsequent generations but also between cultural instances like the powerful subject (Renaissance) and the

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sublime (Baroque). From the point of view of baroque culture, this has been seen as god’s punishment for man’s hubris. The structural dialogicity of the baroque mainly arises from the provocation of paradoxes. Paradoxes undermine the ideals of renaissance poetry, which were balance and harmony. For which reason, however, were balance and harmony questioned? Was the Baroque “destructive”? On the contrary, it was as constructive as the need to understand, that is, to semanticize the manifest contradictions of life, which renaissance culture tended to ignore—above all the ever-presence of death, the paradoxical character of time, and the paradoxes of transcendence in the context of religious belief. While renaissance culture, typically represented by Lorenzo de’ Medici, suppressed painful thoughts (“lasciare i pensier’ tristi e’ van’ dolori,” “forget sad thoughts and unnecessary sorrow”), especially thoughts of death (“Quant’è bella giovinezza…di doman non c’è certezza,” “how beautiful is youth…what will be tomorrow is uncertain”)28, baroque culture faces up to the paradoxes of life and exploits them for constructing a deeper meaning of life. A paradox, baroque culture instructs us, is not absurd but points to a different level of understanding on which paradoxes express truth. For example, the paradoxical truth that “in the midst of life we are in death,” since our life is shaped by the awareness of our death, was very popular in baroque culture. The virtual effect of paradoxes is illusion. A paradox creates the virtual coherence of the incoherent. For this reason, the reverse side of baroque structural dialogicity is its illusionism. An illusion is not “wrong.” Baroque culture removed the boundary between being and appearance and declared reality to be mere appearance, an illusion to the senses, while also declaring illusion to provide a higher sense of reality. This weakened the belief in causality and strengthened the belief in transcendence as the actual essence of reality. This implies, admittedly, that baroque culture abandoned the Renaissance’s suppression of death, time, and transcendence at the cost of the suppression of causality and of the practical sense of reality. In baroque culture, you get a portion of the glamour for free—that is, by inviting and integrating everyone and everything. In order to extrapolate the common vanishing point of them all, you have to be illusionistic. The vanishing point needed can only be virtual. Or, seen from the other side: social and even material reality is produced by discourse.

28 Lorenzo de’ Medici, Canti carnascialeschi [Carnival songs] (Roma: Salerno, 1991), 80-84.

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

The Baroque evokes structural dialogicity with the help of the paradoxes and illusions that emerge when discourse is the highest possible reality. The diachronic dialogicity of the baroque also has two aspects. First of all, we have to reconstruct the embedding of the epoch that exceeds polemics. As a rule, the polemic aspect of discontinuity, of opposition between epochs, is accompanied by an aspect of continuity between them. Therefore, between two neighboring epochs we can reconstruct a field of opposition and a field of analogy. In other words, there is always an aspect of disruption and an aspect of continuity. Concerning renaissance and baroque culture, the disruption can be described by the oppositional terms coined by Wölfflin: drawing lines—transgressing; linear—laminar; this world—transcendence; materiality—spirituality; reality— illusion; literal meaning—allegorical meaning. The continuity extends to: diversity (both renaissance and baroque culture allow diversity); antiquity (both the Renaissance and the Baroque refer to Greco-Roman antiquity); sensuality (both the Renaissance and the Baroque rely heavily on sensual perception); rhetoricality (both the Renaissance and the Baroque exhort the power of rhetoric); the simultaneity of indulgence and temperance (in the Renaissance, by enjoying the fruits of power and wealth in moderation, in the Baroque, with the coexistence of exorbitance and puritanism). Between baroque and classical culture, the disruption can be described by he following terms: diversity—unification; sensual—notional; rhetorical— logical; integration—separation; belly—brain; the sublime—the regular. As we can see, a good portion of the disruption between the Baroque and classicism precisely concerns aspects that contribute to the continuity between the Renaissance and the Baroque. These aspects ensure that a new epoch is not just the belated affirmation of what the previous epoch had negated. In other words, the aspect providing continuity between neighboring epochs is the first candidate to produce antagonism with the subsequent epoch. The continuity between baroque and classical culture can be found in the tendency toward the collective and the representative, away from individuality, and in the tendency toward the mental, away from the factual. Both epochs are “secondary” with regard to material reality. They rather believe in concepts than in objects.29 Therefore, I would object to I. P. Smirnov’s30 statement that the “primary” (reality-orientated) and “secondary” (sign-orientated) motivate the 29 You may note that these are exactly the aspects that separated baroque culture from the Renaissance. 30 Smirnov and Döring-Smirnov, Očerki.

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basic alternation between s­ ubsequent epochs. Both the Baroque and classicism are “secondary” in Smirnov’s terms. The characteristics that separate neighboring epochs change rotationally. But still, through the negation of the negation, there is an aspect of a “handshake” between an epoch and its subsequent iteration. But even this aspect changes rotationally, because, for example, after realism and before realism are far from the same thing. To remember the Romantics in order to fight realism is fundamentally different from inventing the Romantics in order to fight classicism. The Romantics subvert rationality, modernism subverts social representativeness. The enemies of my enemies are my friends but not my twins. In our case, the Renaissance and classicism, both bordering on Baroque, are concordant in preferring social and material order and boundaries. However, the way to establish order and boundaries is quite the opposite: through force and political power, in the Renaissance, and by rational demarcation, in classicism. Classicism t­ herefore inherited from the Baroque the tendency to place the mental prior to the real, while the Renaissance, as later with realism but not with ­classicism, places the real prior to the mental.

TRANSITIONAL EPOCHS In addition, it is possible to observe “transitional” epochs—we may call them sub-epochs—that engender cultural change. It has been argued that exactly the existence of such intermediate phases of cultural development, such as sentimentalism between classicism and romanticism, and naturalism between realism and modernism, refute all attempts to construct an inner logic out of the sequence of epochs. But it can be demonstrated that, on the contrary, they support the validity of the inner logic of the sequence. The sub-epochs framing the Baroque are mannerism, representing the transition from the Renaissance to baroque culture, and rococo, representing the transition from baroque to classical culture. The possibility and even, to a certain degree, necessity of such transitional epochs can be explained as follows: The transgressive mode or sub-epoch emerges from the wish to maintain the achievements of the previous epoch and at the same time establish the demands of the future. Sub-epochs therefore have a tendency toward idealization and idyll. They perform the realization of the impossible “having the cake (of the old) and eating it up (establishing the new).” Sentimentalism, which is the sub-epoch between classicism and romanticism, feels the necessity to incorporate the emotional side of human identity, which has been neglected by the Enlightenment. At the same time, it

The Dialogic Method in Literary History

is determined to maintain rationality and prudence, inherited from classicism. The result is the utopic coinciding of feeling and ratio. Pamela31 follows her feelings but at the same time acts extremely clever. This is why Henry Fielding produced his Shamela32—he does not believe in the marvelous coincidence of Pamela’s naïve love and cleverness. Jane Austen’s novels are similar cases. Isn’t it strange, that in them love and wealth always fit together? Sooner or later we have to let loose the previous ideals in order to fully establish the new ones. In “Sense and Sensibility,” for example, Marianne, who is willing to ruin herself for the benefit of love, is rescued by the deus ex machina Colonel Brandon. Both sisters at the end of the novel become able to be reasonable and unreasonable at the same time. This is utopia. Being a utopia, a transitional epoch as a rule is unstable. At a certain point we realize that we have to let go of the previous cultural model in order to establish the new one. This is the end of trying the impossible, and the new main epoch begins. Mannerism, like sentimentalism, was a transitional epoch. The transition from the Renaissance to the Baroque, therefore, was performed in two steps. European culture tried to maintain power and control over the social field and at the same time to fulfill the demand to integrate the foreign. This was performed by stretching and curving the still-existing boundaries of the Renaissance, and this created the “stretched form” (as seen in the work of El Greco) and utopia of mannerism, which, for example, is manifest in Raphael’s late painting and the paintings by his young assistants in his workshop, Giulio Romano and Gianfrancesco Penni. In “The Transfiguration of Christ” (1520), Raphael’s last painting, which is similar to the pure mannerist paintings by artists such as El Greco, the encounter and a resemblance between the here and now and the transcendent are especially displayed. It is the utopia of the simultaneity of and continuity between down-to-earth social events with spiritual events in heaven. This is expressed not only on the thematic level of the painting but also through its form, since the triangular composition of the heavenly event is mirrored in a similar triangular composition “on earth.” In Michelangelo’s later work, which Vasari already labeled a “manner,” one can see the utopia of the coinciding of absolute individual power with identification and deep feelings, which is expressed in numerous tender depictions of the Madonna.33 Usually, however, the development of mannerism is explained by political and social events such 31 Samuel Richardson, Pamela (London: Rivington & Osborn, 1741). 32 Henry Fielding, An Apology for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews (London: A. Dodd, 1741). 33 Linda Murray, comp. The late Renaissance and Mannerism (New York: F. A. Praeger, 1967).

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as the Sack of Rome in 1527. Such events, however, do not “make” epochs but express them. Notably, mannerist painting emerged from 1520, seven years prior to the Sack of Rome. From a cultural point of view, historical events are symptoms (of an alteration in social practices and forms of communication, of new ideals and problems that call for new strategies, and the like), not causes. The Sack of Rome followed the striving for integration—yet by force, as the Renaissance had recommended—in view of the schism of Christianity. In the Sack of Rome (literally) as well as in art (figuratively), the north and the south of European Christianity converged (mannerist late Michelangelo modeled his work on Dürer’s paintings). Later, the Baroque had to abandon absolute power in order to give way to empathy; and power and individual will had to step back to let subjectivity effectively melt into the other, thus ending the mannerist utopia. These examples might illustrate why transitional or interim epochs, which often serve as arguments against a “canonical” sequence of epochs in European culture, on the contrary confirm the practicability of such a sequence. The sequence of epochs is formed by the accumulation of relations established to them by every new generation, with its specific problems and views. Paradoxically, the more “views” we have, the more distinctly the shape of an epoch emerges. As in the case of works of art, in the case of epochs the openness to a plurality of receptions makes possible an ever more distinct “qualification” of what it was, because it is the relations that qualify it. This demonstrates that epochs are phenomena of relationship. They gain form when we relate to them and they dissolve when we refuse to establish a relationship to them. It’s the same with human personality, after all. Let’s re-establish the scientific humanities as a scholarship of relation, in order to rediscover what is essential for mankind but nearly lost—a meaningful history. This, of course, is anathema to orthodox historians, who suspect ideology in every meaning that is not just an observed custom but also partially shared by the observer. For cultural studies, however, the distant Other of history should be imbued with a personality and valid philosophy, instead of having mere properties. He or she changed the world, made history, created epochs, and their models of the world were reasonable. I see them only when they, with their own reason, see me.

References Alpers, Svetlana. “Style Is What You Make It: The Visual Arts Once Again.” In The Concept of Style, edited by Leonard B. Meyer, 95-107. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1979. Blumenberg, Hans. Aspekte der Epochenschwelle [Aspects of epochal threshold]. Frankfurt/ Main: Suhrkamp, 1976. Cassirer, Ernst. Das mythische Denken [Mythical thinking]. Vol. 2 of Philosophie der symbolischen Formen [Philosophy of symbolic forms]. Berlin: Cassirer, 1925. Curtius, Ernst Robert. Europäische Literatur und lateinisches Mittelalter [European literature and Latin Middle Ages]. Bern: Francke, 1948. Fielding, Henry. An Apology for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews. London: A. Dodd, 1741. Flaker, Aleksandar. Stilske formacje [Formation of stylistics]. Zagreb: Sveučil. Nakl. Liber, 1976. Focillon, Henri. The Life of Forms in Art, 2nd ed. New York: Wittenborn, 1948. Gadamer, Hans Georg. Wahrheit und Methode [Truth and Method]. Tübingen: Mohr, 1965. Gumbrecht, Hans-Ulrich, and Ursula Link-Heer, eds. Epochenschwellen und Epochenstrukturen im Diskurs der Literatur- und Sprachhistorie [Epochal thresholds and structures of epochs in the discourse on history of literature and language]. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1985. Herzog, Reinhart, ed. Epochenschwelle und Epochenbewusstsein [Epochal threshold and consciousness of epochs]. Vol. XII of Poetik und Hermeneutik. München: Fink, 1987. Hoppe, Stephan. „Stil als dünne oder dichte Beschreibung“ [Style as thin or thick description]. In Stil als Bedeutung in der nordalpinen Renaissance, edited by Stephan Hoppe and Sebastian Fitzner, 48-103. Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner, 2008. Jauss, Hans Robert. Die Epochenschwelle von 1912 [The epochal threshold of 1912]. Heidelberg: Winter, 1986. Koselleck, Reinhart. „Wozu noch Historie?“ [What good is historiography?]. Historische Zeitschrift 2012 (1971): 1-18. Mandelshtam, Osip. “O sobesednike.” In Collected works, vol. 1. Moskva: Art-Biznes-Tsentr, 1994, 183-184. Translated by Philip Nikolayev as “On the interlocutor.” The Battersea Review 3 (2013), http://thebatterseareview.com/issue-archive/131-issue-3. Matajka, Ladislav and Krystyna Pomorska, eds. Readings in Russian Poetics. Cambridge: MIT, 1971. De’ Medici, Lorenzo. Canti carnascialeschi [Carnival songs]. Roma: Salerno, 1991. Möbius, Helga and Harald Olbrich. „Zur Problematik der Begriffe ‚früh‘ und ‚spät‘ im kunsthistorischen Prozeß“ [On the problem of the terms ‚early‘ and ‚late‘ in the art history process].

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Inspired by Bakhtin: Dialogic Methods in the Humanities In Stil und Epoche. Periodisierungsfragen, edited by Friedrich Möbius and Helga Sciurie, 251-266. Dresden: Verlag der Kunst, 1989. Murray, Linda. The late Renaissance and Mannerism. New York: F. A. Praeger, 1967. Richardson, Samuel. Pamela. London: Rivington & Osborn, 1741. Runia, Eelco. „Presence“. History and theory 45 (2006): 1-29. Schmid, Wolf. „Bachtins Dialogizität—eine Metapher“ [Bakhtin’s dialogicity—a metaphor]. In Roman und Gesellschaft. Internationales Michail-Bachtin-Kolloquium, 70-77. Jena: Friedrich-Schiller-Universität, 1984. Smirnov, Igor’, and Johanna Renate Döring-Smirnov. Očerki po istoričeskoj tipologii kul’tury [Outline of a historic typology of culture]. Salzburg: Institut für Slawistik, 1982. Tynjanov, Jurij. Archaisty i novatory [Archaics and innovators]. Leningrad: Priboj, 1929. Tynjanov, Jurij. Poetika, istorija literatury, kino [Poetics, history of literature, cinema]. Moskva: Izdatel’stvo Nauka, 1977. Tschiževskij, Dmitrij: Vergleichende Geschichte der slavischen Literaturen [Comparative history of Slavic literatures]. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1968. Vodička, Felix. Struktura Vývoje [Structure of evolution]. Praha, 1969. Wölfflin, Heinrich. Renaissance and Baroque. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1966. Worringer, Wilhelm. Abstraktion und Einfühlung [Abstraction and empathy]. Neuwied: Heuser, 1907.

Towards a Dialogical Sociology Michal Kaczmarczyk 1. INTRODUCTION

T

he famous quantum physicist David Bohm wrote that one of the main obstacles to dialogue lies in the human inability to differentiate between one’s tentative opinion and one’s personal background, which consists of past experiences, emotions, and a sense of identity. According to Bohm, we tend to defend our thoughts as parts of our person, but on the other hand it is precisely the fragmentation of the world by thinking that is responsible for the errors and illusions of our cognition. As Bohm puts it, “thought is very active, but the process of thought thinks that it is doing nothing – that it is just telling you the way things are.”1 In other words, each thought has a blind spot which is the process of thought itself. This incessant process produces conjectures and images that order the world and secure a sense of continuity to the thinking subject. Therefore the gradual process of identity-building by thinking has a dark side: the immunization of individuals against a critical self-awareness and, as a consequence, a loss of truth. For this reason, dialogue poses a theoretical problem: being focused on one’s own thoughts enhances narratives that harmonize with the paths of action taken in the past and makes them unquestionable, while they may be precisely the problem. In this paper, I will depict sociology as an art of dealing with a specific aspect of that fundamental problem. In the first section, I will illustrate the problem by comparing selected classical concepts of sociology and society. In the second section, I will differentiate between dialogue, communication, and interaction.

  First published in Polish Sociological Review 193, no. 1 (Winter 2016).   1 David Bohm, On Dialogue (New York: Routledge, 1996), 11-12.

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The third section will introduce the existential idea of dialogue. Finally, the concluding, fourth section will demonstrate the dialogical practices in sociology.

2. THOUGHT AND SOCIETY What is really interesting and controversial in sociology is neither the human being nor the society in their respective solitude but the relationship between individual and society or, to quote the famous handbook by Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann2 the internalization of the society in the individual and the externalization of the individual in the society. These simultaneous processes may be interpreted as metaphors of the problem of dialogue highlighted by Bohm. Let’s turn first to the Weberian idea of sociology. Weber defines “society” on different occasions, once with reference to Tönnies’ concept of Gesellschaft,3 once as a “general structural form” of communities.”4 But at the heart of his idea of sociology lies a continuous interest in the conduct of individual actors who orient themselves either at the expectations of others or at social orders.5 According to this concept, societies are no more than complex bundles of conjectures produced by actors who advocate their more or less stable interests. As a result, the essence of social reality is a lengthy conflict between parties who continue to produce sophisticated justifications of their positions. The immanent problems of the following rationalization processes lead to a general pessimistic outlook of the Weberian sociology. The most significant counterpart of this position had been proposed by Emile Durkheim. The problem of dialogue may be found in his texts in the context of utterly different concepts. Instead of juxtaposing thinking actors with their emancipated thoughts, Durkheim contrasts two theoretically opposed realms of thought: the individual and the collective representations.6 The relationships between these two kinds of experiences, judgments, and interpretations of reality take different forms among various cultures. Remarkably, when modern societies become more interdependent, as a consequence of mushrooming contracts   2 Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality. A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge (Garden City, NJ: Anchor Books, 1966).   3 Max Weber. Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie [Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology] (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1976), 22.  4 Weber, Wirtschaft, 212.   5 Ibid., 11-12.   6 Emile Durkheim, Sociology and Philosophy, trans. D. F. Pocock (New York: The Free Press), 10-23.

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between free actors, the new collective ideals of rights-oriented ‘sacrality of the person’ are, at first, too weak to alleviate the sharp tensions generated by the egoistic individualism of alienated and uprooted individuals. The problem of integration becomes, then, more conspicuous and urgent, but cannot be adequately addressed, as long as the “sacrality of a person” has to confront well-established particularistic solidarities.7 To put it plainly, the collective representations are no less blind to their own consequences than individual thoughts are. Both Weber and Durkheim seem to be aware only of one side of the problem discussed here. Weber locates it only in the growing rationalization of social organizations and views individual freedom as endangered, while Durkheim fears social disintegration and hopes for a better moral education, which would secure a seamless adaptation of individuals into the society. As opposed to Weber, whose work was focused on the constitution of society by individual actions and the dynamics of ideals in interpretation processes, Durkheim distinguishes a collective type of representation and interprets it as an independent variable determining individual actions. Despite this basic difference between the ways Weber and Durkheim conceptualize society, both ultimately identify it with truths and ideas that become independent of their originators and crystallize as causal forces: ontologically subjective or objective. Unfortunately, the European fathers of sociology focused mostly on the consequences of thought, on its products, and not on the ongoing process of thought itself. A further step towards a better understanding of thought has been taken by the American pragmatists who recognized the interdependence of thought and social processes, and coined a concept of a “social self.” The results of their investigations were manifold. William James grappled with the peculiarities of private experiences and emphasized their existential irreducibility in explaining social phenomena. George Herbert Mead took the social processes of mutual stimulation as his departure point, and explained the development of the self by reconstructing the way in which individuals reflect inhibitions of action and simultaneously develop an internalized social attitude towards themselves.8 The tension between the individual and society collapsed in his theory because he incorporated the concept of mind into the behavioristic model of action.   7 Hans Joas, Die Sakralität der Person. Eine neue Genealogie der Menschenrechte [The sacredness of the person. The new genealogy of human rights] (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2012), 203-7.   8 George Herbert Mead, The Philosophy of the Act (Chicago: The University of Chicago, 1938), 367-69.

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Thus, Mead explains the growing capability to control the environment and moral responsibility as closely interrelated evolutionary achievements that emerged in a social, interpersonal or internalized, process of communication. Communication itself was for him a form of participation in the process: “When a man calls out ‘Fire,’ he is not only exciting other people but himself in the same fashion. He knows what he is about. That, you see, constitutes biologically what we refer to as a ‘universe of discourse’. It is a common meaning which is communicated to everyone and at the same time is communicated to the self. The individual is directing other people how to act, and he is taking the attitude of the other people whom he is directing”.9 Mead’s concept of society may be interpreted as a sociological metaphor of Charles Sanders Peirce’s idea of the continuity of thought.10 Walking in Peirce’s footsteps, Mead recognizes the hypothetical structure of reflexive processes and its ability to transcend the present and its mechanistic determinations. And, as Peirce ends up embracing idealism, when he claims all reality to be a series of continuous thoughts,11 Mead understands communication as the essence of an intersubjective world. With regard to the problem of dialogue, which has been formulated by Bohm, one can raise doubts as to whether Mead addressed all the cumbersome externalizations brought to the forefront by Weber and Durkheim. He probably believed that they would be disposed of as hurdles to overcome at subsequent stages of the creative process of society.12 To put it differently, he understood thought as a function of problem-solving processes and not as a process that inevitably generates new problems. His theory became a paradigm for concepts which identify communication with a universal tool of progress. Actually, this idea culminated in the work of his master John Dewey, who appreciated democracy as the sacred core of human coexistence. The process of communication became, in his quasi-religious vision, the source of most enlightening and reflexive social experiences. However, these experiences resemble recollection rather than discovery and, thus, make clear what preconditions the communication process requires. What really makes communication possible—and is subsequently transformed in each interaction—is intersubjectivity: a bundle of complex dispositions and skills enabling people to understand each other and   9 George Herbert Mead, Movements of Thought in the Nineteenth Century (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1936), 380. 10 Charles S. Peirce, The Essential Peirce. Selected Philosophical Writings, vol. 1 (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1992), 312-33. 11 Peirce, The Essential, 332. 12 Mead, Movements, 363-65.

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act in concert. This is already a step towards the understanding relationship, as stated in the introduction of this volume, to be prior to its participants. One can argue that the tensions described by Weber and Durkheim remain salient in the pragmatist approach because of the place intersubjectivity has taken in the theory. Unlike the French and German masters of sociology, pragmatists shifted the locus of society to the unconscious and uncontested background knowledge. In consequence, they reversed the presupposition that individuals produce society and argued that it is rather society that produces communication agents. This does not mean that the society is an entity sui generis but that it makes the idea of the Self intelligible at all. If this concept is to be followed, communication hinges on the intersubjectively created meanings people share in the adaptation processes. From the pragmatist perspective, social life is a creative exchange of these meanings that allows people to produce specific and generalized expectations, and to be sensitive to the ways in which others interpret the world. However, in contrast to the European approaches, pragmatism takes into account different phases of the process of self-building. The difficulty of this process consists not only in the challenge of finding a coherent combination of thoughts and experiences but also in finding a right way to live up to numerous and diverse expectations. This stage of social development involves, further, a need for relatively adequate interpretations of different narratives. William James emphasized, in particular, the role of novels, dramas, and political reforms in shaping a sense of empathy that would make the institutional system more inclusive and sensitive to new demands. On the other hand, he argued that it was only religious faith which could give social philosophers and reform-minded politicians enough energy and determination to act altruistically.13 The tension he drew between a “strenuous” and “easy-going” type of philosopher signals that faith is a necessary basis for any meaningful social participation and communication. On the other hand, communication seems to be necessary to make evident to actors the practical challenges of a faith-guided action that actually exist. The introduction of thought into the context of interaction not only falls short of solving the problem of dialogue but adds a new dimension to it. As Erving Goffman suggested,14 the personal quality which we mostly search for in our partners is authenticity, but at the same time we fail to be authentic if we 13 William James, Essays in Pragmatism (New York: Hafner Press, 1948), 83-86. 14 Erving Goffman, Frame Analysis. An Essay on the Organization of Experience (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1986), 17.

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focus on living up to the expectations of others. Goffman’s extensive analysis of the social significance of negotiated definitions of situations and of the ways they are instrumentalized and transformed, demonstrates that only a flexible dealing with frames allows us to develop satisfying interaction. In more general terms, the building of society through effective framing seems to impede the building of an authentic self. This predicament is more serious than the previously mentioned failure to reflect on one’s own process of thought (and the nature of its products) because, following Goffman, the lack of authenticity is not a matter of a weakened personal effort but an indispensable consequence of the practice of framing. The Goffmanian social actor is ultimately just a performer in a never-ending theater, a socially framed construct, whose personal drama may be recognized by the audience but does not prove that there is any universal human reality behind the spectacle. As in the works of the pragmatists, it is only thought, taking the form of frames, that produces and organizes society in Goffman’s analysis, but the illusionary character of the thought is now much more tangible and the personal drama, in spite of its superficiality, becomes a principle of good personal performances.

3. COMMUNICATION AND INTERACTION In the just outlined situation in which sociology finds itself today, there is a need for a concept of dialogue that would address the tension between the creative process of thought and its inhibiting social consequences. In this paper I claim that the concept should not be limited to the area of communication nor to the organization of interaction, and, as a consequence, I want to argue for an existential concept of dialogue. In the conclusion I will critically assess certain developments in contemporary sociology and indicate the possibilities of a dialogical approach. To begin with the concept of communication, the twentieth century was a time when this term became virtually ubiquitous in the social sciences and of primary theoretical importance. It provides a basis for both interactional and functionalist approaches. The last one can, for instance, be found in Niklas Luhmann’s theory of social systems, in which communication figures as its basic and irreducible element. Obviously, there is no reason to deny the omnipresence of communication and its importance for the dynamics of contemporary societies. On the other hand, the practical significance of communication exhibits the precariousness of the sociological theories that state communication to be the basic element of society. At the heart of their

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endeavor lies the belief that communication entails inherent mechanisms that resolve social conflicts and secure the stability of social order. This position, however, needs further explanation because a contrary opinion seems to be equally credible. Communication involves some common background knowledge and common norms but may be also used as a tool of manipulation or may escalate the conflict. The linguistic turn that took place in the twentieth century was accompanied by John Langshaw Austin’s observation that our utterances are meaningful if they are anchored in specific situations of action, that is, if they are “speech acts.” But communication may be also extended to non-verbal behaviors and linguistic games, that is, to phenomena which are even more indicative of the functionality of the concept of “communication.” The function of communication does neither necessarily need to be a mutual understanding nor a transfer of knowledge. These functions may be essential for modern societies characterized by a plurality of belief systems and fragmentation of lifestyles. And as we turn to the Roman Empire with its problem of developing a law which would be adequate to diverse local rules, communication was instrumental in elaborating a system of legal concepts that would be abstract enough to secure a certainty of contracts across the Empire. It provided litigants with an extremely formal and ritualistic frame of reference.15 The age of the Renaissance, drawing on Hellenistic models, saw a growing interest in communication as a tool of self-expression in art and science and with little regard for agreements. The age of Romanticism discovered the identity-building qualities of communication, perfectly exhibited in the German word Kulturgut. As Novalis put it, “The more personal, local, peculiar [eigentümlicher] of its own time a poem is, the nearer it stands to the center of poetry.”16 Finally, our age seems to be concerned with communication itself, communication as a basis for further communication and thus creating a stronger bond of association between people. As Richard McKeon suggests, “communication depends on common principles – assumptions and meanings, purposes and values – but common meanings can be established only by communication and agreement.”17 A condition of this circle of communication is an ambiguity of what is being communicated. “Democracy,” 15 Aldo Schiavone, The Invention of Law in the West (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012), 92-104. 16 Arthur O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being. A Study of the History of an Idea (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1964), 307. 17 Richard McKeon, Freedom and History and Other Essays (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 93-94.

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“freedom,” or “truth” are widespread terms with various interpretations some of which are diametrically opposed to others. In spite of the specifically modern pressure on being univocal and precise, communication may continue only if there is enough space for interpretation and the sheer tautology remains concealed. Actors are required to be specific and to discriminate, but there is still a tacit ambiguity in the background of interaction. In his work on the social functions of ambivalence, Donald Levine pointed to the pivotal role of ambiguity in both modern and traditional cultures. Apart from indicating mysticism, diffuseness of symbols expressing solidarity and metaphoric self-expression as examples of ambiguity, he thoroughly described the flight from ambiguity in the modern world and pointed to dialogue as the best remedy against fragmentation. His later concept of dialogue may be interpreted as an elaboration on the lost ambiguity, since he defines dialogue as “opening ourselves to a wider range of options, […] opening ourselves to the positions of others.”18 If this reasoning is to be followed, each communication contains a potential of dialogue, which might be realized only on some level of ambiguity. Levine ultimately comes to think of sociological theories as incommensurable but describing the same world in different ways. In the light of my previous remark on the tension between interaction dynamics and the demand for authenticity as the deepest indication of humanity, ambiguity of communication seems to be merely a protective strategy. We want to be authentic, but if we do not know what authenticity really is, we content ourselves with being working elements of the social machine and with using frames offered to us by the culture we share with interaction partners. Unfortunately, as Goffman argued, there are a number of competing frames and no paramount criteria for their selection, apart from sheer interests. This kind of fragmentation has been also emphasized by Hans Blumenberg, who claimed that the vagueness of language was a precondition of dialogue, but, as he added, the specialization and fragmentation of knowledge allowed no further ambiguity inside of “regionalized” areas of science and technology. Thus, according to Blumenberg, in the vacuum between the separated regions of knowledge the role of dialogue must be overtaken by philosophy which orients itself at a “controlled unequivocality.”19 18 Donald Levine, Visions of the Sociological Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 324. 19 Hans Blumenberg, Wirklichkeiten in denen wir leben [The realities we live in] (Stuttgart: Reclam, 2012), 143.

Towards a Dialogical Sociology

Another outstanding diagnosis of society, drawing mostly on the conditions of communication, has been proposed by Mikhail Bakhtin. In his historical analysis of chronotopos he made an observation on social differentiation and its consequences for the systems of meaning. He claims that, as a consequence of social differentiation, private lives of people became separated from their historical frameworks and lost their original meaning. On the other hand, complex symbolic references of language have been deprived of their context and were gradually assigned with new superficial meanings. To quote Bakhtin, “The course of individual lives, of groups, and of the sociopolitical whole do not fuse together, they are dispersed, there are gaps; they are measured by different scales of value; each of these series has its own logic of development, its own narratives, each makes use of and reinterprets the ancient motifs in its own way.”20 Dialogue is, thus, a lengthy and challenging process of bringing meaning back into the human life. It is most likely to succeed if themes occupying the central place in human affairs may be linked anew to different areas of life. To quote Bakhtin again, “the central and basic motif in the narrative of individual life-sequences became love, that is, the sublimated form of the sexual act and of fertility. This motif provides a vast number of possible directions for sublimation to take, possibilities for metaphorical expansion in diverse directions (for which language serves as the most readily available medium), for enrichment at the expense of any remaining survivals of the past.”21 In our context it is important to note that Bakhtin, in contrast to Goffman or Blumenberg, appreciates the holistic claim of dialogue and considers it a means of bringing communication back into its natural context. To summarize the brief comment on communication, it is neither to be identified with dialogue nor to be conceptualized as the basic element of social life. It is rather to be taken as an indicator of deeper social processes encompassing identity development and interaction dynamics. Therefore, dialogue is not just a matter of improved communication or a more precise way of addressing each other. It has more to do with the orientation of our conduct in general and with the basis of communication than with communication itself. The second fallacy in defining dialogue manifests itself in an approach which accepts the secondary role of communication but, instead, identifies dialogue with the fact of seamless interaction. According to this view, dialogue would be identical with a specific kind of mutual orientation. As a consequence, 20 Mikhail M. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1981), 214-15. 21 Ibid., 215.

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dialogue would never be possible as an individual action or an individual way of thinking. Moreover it would always require a mutual disposition. One can hold lifelong hopes for a dialogue and never have an opportunity to make it real. According to this view, dialogue means a successful interaction, that is, a developing relationship advantageous for both sides. This approach ignores the fact that each interaction has specific goals, which are not necessarily identical for both parties, and, as a result, tend to reduce interaction to formal models of mutual adaptation and satisfaction. The most prominent examples are sociological exchange theories, which usually abstract from specific claims and arguments by quantifying social phenomena and presupposing individual concepts of utility. In my opinion, dialogue should not be confused with interaction even though it has a lot to do with the way people engage in interactions. If we do not want to reduce human motivation to a mere avoidance of pain and striving for pleasure, we have to ask what ideas of good and evil people share in different epochs and cultural settings. From this broader perspective, hedonism and utilitarianism appear simply to be particular concepts of what is good and why. However, the question of what is a life worth living is not just a theoretical one. It is a question that everyone who begins to reflect on the meaning of her life is confronted with. It is only on this level of reflection that interaction becomes a serious problem because it proves to be much more than a series of mutual reactions. The other person becomes for me a companion on my way to a valuable life and a partner in my inquiry of the good. The idea of dialogue that I propose here refers basically to individual action. It involves interaction only as far as another person is necessary for an examined life. In other words, interaction and communication may be helpful in a dialogical action, but do not make it up nor are implied in it.

4. THE EXISTENTIAL CONCEPT OF DIALOGUE It would be convenient for theoretical purposes to differentiate between dialogue and other forms of behavior in the course of interaction. Moreover, I think that dialogue may be practiced even without any consent or cooperation of the interacting partners. A good example is the way Socrates deals with his discussants in Laches.22 He tries to bring them into a philosophical dispute instead of imposing on them his own opinion as to the value of edu22 The following remarks are in full consent with Boháček’s classification in this volume of Laches belonging to the maximal polyphonic group, which he calls Plato’s transitional dialogues. Here, however, I examine in greater depth the structural basis of this polyphony.

Towards a Dialogical Sociology

cating young people the art of fighting in armor. When the dispute leads to the question of what is courage, Nikias and Laches argue for different concepts of it and quote arguments that differ in content, formal character, and style. Laches proceeds inductively and represents a casuistic, practical perspective whereas Nikias is searching for a general concept and deduces its concrete consequences. His theoretical view is repeatedly rejected by empirical examples quoted by Laches who, in turn, can hardly find appropriate words to describe his idea of courage. Even though the discussants seem to complement one another, they continue to discredit the opponent rather than to question their own positions. Nikias and Laches represent two opposing views, which can be roughly described as the theoretical and the practical perspective. Although the dispute, guided by the questions of Socrates, brings them from a behavioral and casuistic understanding of courage through the level of action orientation to the level of knowledge about what is good, they seem to be blind to the progress they have made in the course of the dialogue and complain about the fruitlessness of the conversation. Their disappointment may be likely shared by an inattentive reader, since the initial question of the text finds no definitive answer. It is only Socrates who learns from both his interlocutors and, by the end, asserts his hope for further education: “[…] we should all cooperate in looking for the best teacher we can find, primarily for ourselves.”23 In the course of the dialogue Socrates demonstrates several qualities which may be called specifically Socratic and found in other dialogues as well. But in Laches it is the dialogical quality of his action which comes to the fore. Socrates is aware of his ignorance and, for this reason, is open to the advice of Nikias and Laches. While leading the conversation he advocates concepts that would be independent of specific situations but coherent with individual instances. While Nikias and Laches are reluctant to make any concessions in defending their positions, Socrates concedes that he “doesn’t know” and tries to examine the presuppositions of his interlocutors by representing simultaneously their respective positions. At the same time, he refutes the arguments of the discussants by using their own methods of thinking. Sometimes he finds relationships and affinities between the ideas suggested in the dispute. The juxtaposition of the Socratic attitude with self-confidence and a reluctance to continue the dialogue makes Laches especially illuminating in, 23 Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues, trans. Trevor J. Saunders, Iain Lane, Donald Watt, and Robin Waterfield (London: Penguin Books), 115. See also: Bettina Fröhlich, Die sokratische Frage. Platons Laches (Berlin: Lit Verlag, 2007).

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apart from being in fact a literary “dialogue,” illustrating what dialogue in the existential sense of the word might be. It exhibits all the Socratic qualities that constitute what I call a dialogical action. Firstly, it is a critical self-assessment, putting oneself in a secondary position. Secondly, the Socratic dialogue involves a careful examination of one person’s judgments from the perspective of his or her partner but with methods of the one whose judgments are under consideration. Thirdly, it involves an openness to the perspective of the other and a search for coherence between individual judgments and a general concept. In Laches ­readers are encouraged to see that Socrates exemplifies more than just a method of thinking. Dialectics is an aspect of action open to other persons and to knowledge. The existential concept of dialogue entails two constitutive features. Firstly, the dialogical action involves the taking of the perspective of the other and, secondly, putting the presuppositions of both interlocutors into question.24 The first feature especially may be misleading. By taking the perspective of the other I do not mean the attitude or the social role of the other, that is, the disposition to act as the other would act. This interpretation stands closer to George Herbert Mead’s understanding of “taking of the role of the other” but what I mean here is rather an imaginary effort to understand a judgment of the other out of the context of her or his life.25 But let’s move on to the consequences of the aforementioned definition of dialogue. First of all, it is not a purely cognitive notion and is not confined to certain ways of reasoning or to rhetorical instruments of convincing others of the soundness of certain judgments. Dialogue is not a matter of specialized knowledge because it concerns human life as a whole, in all its aspects and relationships. As such, it requires an existential turn, implying that, as far as philosophy wants to be dialogical, it also has to transcend the scope of pure theory and start to realize one of the ancient concepts of philosophy implying a specific way of life.26 The Socratic idea of the Good would have no meaning if Socrates had not refused to allow his friends to organize his escape. For why should one not act in accordance with the guidance of wisdom after having accepted its philosophical foundation? 24 If we add the natural taking one’s own perspective, the result is the quadrilateral structure of my own truth and untruth and the other’s truth and untruth, mentioned in the introduction. 25 The role of the other cannot be his or her truth, because it is adopted. Truth requires a justifiability of judgements. 26 John M. Cooper, Pursuits of Wisdom. Six Ways of Life in Ancient Philosophy from Socrates to Plotinus (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012).

Towards a Dialogical Sociology

Going beyond a purely cognitive dimension, however, does not mean that dialogue ignores cognition. On the contrary, the core of a dialogical life is a cognitive orientation and a willingness to learn from others. This orientation makes personal identity more vulnerable but only so long as one prefers a coherent but false life to a painful struggle against false presuppositions. What are precisely the non-cognitive elements to be contributed to action through dialogue? The first is what Turgenev called putting oneself in the second place�an attitude clearly present in the Socratic dialogue. The second is the imaginative effort, which cannot be implemented as easily as other methods of thought but requires a long training in empathy and interpretation. However, apart from the non-cognitive contributions to the action structure, dialogue implies further consequences. The second to mention is that dialogue makes it possible to look at the non-dialogical types of action from an existential, dialogical perspective. The first to mention is the inverse of dialogue: a monologist action. Building opinions on one’s own presuppositions, while at the same time remaining in the limits of one’s own perspective, is the essence of monologue. It may seem disagreeable, as it involves an egocentric attitude and lack of criticism, but in fact it is indifferent from a moral point of view. Peirce wrote on this “simple and direct” method of fixing beliefs: “The man feels that, if he only holds to his belief without wavering, it will be entirely satisfactory. Nor can it be denied that a steady and immovable faith yields great peace of mind. It may, indeed, give rise to inconveniences, as if a man should resolutely continue to believe that fire would not burn him, or that he would be eternally damned if he received his ingesta otherwise than through a stomach-pump. But then the man who adopts this method will not allow that its inconveniences are greater than its advantages. He will say, ‘I hold steadfastly to the truth, and the truth is always wholesome.’ And in many cases it may very well be that the pleasure he derives from his calm faith overbalances any inconveniences resulting from its deceptive character.”27 People appreciate monologist action for its simplicity but also for the sense of self-confidence and self-confirmation. Besides, monologist conduct may validate a personal faith and, taking the form of a charismatic leadership, may mobilize others to action. Nonetheless, neither dialogue nor monologue is the most common types of action. It is submission and transference that play a much more significant role in everyday life and shape social relations. Both involve sticking to presuppositions combined with taking the perspective of the other. In the case 27 Peirce, The Essential, 116.

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of submission, the actor takes over the presuppositions of the other, and in the case of transference, she projects her own presuppositions onto the other. According to this concept, submission, as well as dialogue, is possible due to the actor’s ability to “take the attitude of the other,” a concept extensively used, even if not satisfactorily explained, by Mead.28 In both submission and transference the presuppositions of action remain intact. These kinds of action are most common because it is relatively easy to attribute one’s own opinions to others as well as to rely on what one finds in others. However, both strategies may lead to failures and disappointments. Hence, in each society there is room for a further existential form of action, which has been traditionally called “withdrawal.” From the dialogical perspective, withdrawal is practiced by those who undermine their own presuppositions without taking the perspective of the other. Consequently, withdrawal may result in inaction or inertia but also may be the beginning of a new quest for meaning. The dialogical action could be better understood in the history of social thought if it were located in a broader context of existential options encompassing monologue, subordination, transference, and withdrawal. Looking at individual human lives and at the life of societies as a patchwork of actions, we can discern meaningful sequences of the just mentioned forms of action. Dialogue, in the sense proposed here, should not be mistaken for an ethical principle or ideal. It is not meant normatively at all. What I want to suggest is that, as far as an ethical evaluation of action takes place, it is never to be done on the grounds of its dialogical or non-dialogical character. There is no reason to doubt that monologue, withdrawal, submission, and transference may play a very positive role in both individual life and social development.29 The value-­neutrality of the proposed typology does no harm to the idea that dialogue is a sort of action individual actors would probably prefer after experiencing the existential turn. However, it may also have unwelcome consequences. A sociological commentator and, at the same time, a vehement critic of Plato, Alvin Gouldner, aptly remarked that dialogue may cause at least as many problems as it proposes to solve.30 For example, it may make people less faithful and more prone to doubts. 28 Gary A. Cook, George Herbert Mead. The Making of a Social Pragmatist (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1993), 84-92. 29 Compare the typology of hermeneutic, polemic, structural, and diachronic dialogicity in the chapter on literary history, which might complement our typology here on the “dialogical” side. 30 Alvin Gouldner, Enter Plato. Classical Greece and the Origins of Social Theory (New York: Basic Books, 1965), 379-387.

Towards a Dialogical Sociology

Dialogue can also end up in eristic struggles and undermine social order. Furthermore, it requires a lot of time and training so that it probably cannot be suggested as a common practice. It may also turn out to be unsuccessful or bring about new forms of withdrawal, submission, or monologue. Along with other forms of action, dialogue is closely connected to specific social roles and situations. A good example is the role of explorer in Florian Znaniecki’s sociology. In The Social Role of the Man of Knowledge,31 Znaniecki juxtaposes the early “technologists” and “sages.” The latter provided early authorities and communities with practical knowledge but had to deal with skepticism from her social circle as soon as she waged theoretical inquiries. The former represents an authority in its conflicts with antagonist groups and reinforces her legitimacy with intellectual tools. The structural contexts of both roles indicate potential problems within a dialogue between their executors. As the technologist cannot effortlessly abandon his strictly practical point of view, a sage is not ready to put his presuppositions into question. The role of a “scholar,” the third one named by Znaniecki, also exhibits monological traits as it originates from closed sacral schools where sophisticated deductive systems of knowledge had been secured from becoming transparent and accessible. It is only the “explorer” who looks for new facts that would revolutionize the existing knowledge. As opposed to the three other roles, the explorer uses neither standardized methods nor strict procedures. She is more interested in discovery than in the justification and defense of an old theory. Znaniecki asserts that “there is no logic of creative thought” and that the career of an explorer begins with the satisfaction of finding new facts and the adventure of making “unpredictable things.” Criticizing John Dewey’s implicit reduction of all scientific activity to the “technological’ thought,” Znaniecki emphasizes that it is only the explorer who overcomes the immanent problem of the technologist’s role, that is, the inability to abstract from a practical frame of reference. Moreover, by creating new knowledge, the explorer is also at odds with the sages and scholars, and overcomes the fundamental weakness of their roles: sticking to the once established presuppositions. The explorer is oriented at falsification of commonly shared theories but is driven by curiosity rather than doubt. The latter is only a consequence of her primary need of truth. In order to pursue her vocation, the explorer, as Znaniecki explicitly asserts, has to go beyond the expectations of her circles and runs the risk of being labeled as a threat to the fixed beliefs. But what are the “circles” of her “role”? No institutionalized circles of the explorer’s role 31 Florian Znaniecki, The Social Role of the Man of Knowledge [Społeczne role ­uczonych], trans. Jerzy Szacki (Warsaw: PWN, 1984).

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are ever possible, since the essence of exploration is to disappoint established expectations. However, it is probable that outstanding scholars and technologists, by disappointing the demands of their circles, enter the path of exploration. Thus, the explorer undermines the adequacy of the very concept of role Znaniecki tailors for all “men of knowledge.” What lies behind the discrepancy between the explorer and other experts mentioned in the book is not the institutionalized role she takes but the kind of action she performs within the role and the process she undergoes to transcend it. Insofar as the activity of the explorer abandons the entrenched perspectives of the social circle and questions the presuppositions she represented herself before letting the curiosity to be her only guide, the action may be called dialogical. If being dialogical overcomes the very essence of what social roles are, the existential perspective seems to explain social life on a deeper level than the structural approach does. On the basis of the existential approach to action, Znaniecki’s concept of the explorer may be also better supported in the face of arguments formulated by Werner Stark from the angle of the sociology of knowledge. Stark’s assertion that “Znaniecki considers knowledge in itself as a realm altogether divorced from social reality, as the possession of and participation in a truth”32 is not relevant to the way Znaniecki explains the roles of technologists, sages, and scholars who either solve practical problems or cultivate inherited knowledge. As far as Znaniecki does not take into account the origin of the technological problems and knowledge developed by scholars, he cannot be accused of sharing any idealistic theory of forms. It is only his concept of the explorer that signals a divorce from a Durkheimian sociology of knowledge. Although the concept may be, in fact, interpreted as Platonic, it is not Platonism in the sense of a theory of forms that can be inferred from his concept but rather a theory of dialogical action referring to Socratic qualities in role-transcending actions.

5. DIALOGICAL SOCIOLOGY The existential theory of action, roughly sketched in the preceding section, is intended to reveal the existential level of human life and its influence on the way social structures shape our decisions and become problematic. As opposed to rationalistic and normativistic models of action, the existential theory does not presuppose any guiding principle of action that could not 32 Werner Stark, The Sociology of Knowledge. An Essay in Aid of a Deeper Understanding of the History of Ideas (Glencoe: The Free Press, 1958), 28.

Towards a Dialogical Sociology

be questioned and examined. Thus, it responds to the theses of contingency and uncertainty in a radical and affirmative manner. It claims that both the sociologist and the social actors are basically ignorant and, while on the quest for truth, fix their beliefs in a rather adaptive way. Secondly, the existential theory supposes that established knowledge is subject to an incessant process of examination that takes somewhat unpredictable directions. In this respect the theory shares the basic ideas of pragmatism. Thirdly, the existential theory treads in the footsteps of Socrates and Charles Sanders Peirce by explaining thinking as a social activity that cannot be separated from social situations and existential decisions of the involved parties. The quest for truth cannot be separated from interaction, and interaction cannot be conceptualized outside of the question on what is good, a question that is contained in each individual action. Thus, all interactional structure builds up around this personal quest. As Richard Robinson puts it: “The Socratic elenchus is, in spite of Socrates’ ironical declaration that it is an impersonal search for truth, a very personal affair. If the ulterior end of the elenchus is to be attained, it is essential that the answerer himself should be convinced, and quite indifferent whether anyone else is. […] The art of elenchus is to find premises believed by the answerer and yet entailing the contrary of his thesis.”33 The Socratic method implies, furthermore, that knowledge is ultimately rooted in individual intuitions on what is good and how to learn about the good. This deep personal knowledge, apart from being difficult to recollect and to interpret, is distorted by an incessant and inevitable process of objectification. This interpretation of Platonism has been formulated by Cornelius Castoriadis with reference to Kierkegaard’s concept of subjectivity: “The creator who produces a work alienates to it a bit of his own being, loses in it some of his substance, more than what he gains therein in the way of immortality. And this is so not only because I lose (je perds) my life in becoming lost (en m’abimant) in my work, but also because my work is less true than what I am in the faculties of my thought, of my living thinking activity – that idea is already there both in passages from Statesman and in the critique of the written in Phaedrus, and it is found throughout Plato. […] The truth is in the discourse and not in the written; the truth is in the knowledge and the will (le saviore et le vouloir) of the royal man and not in the laws.”34 33 Richard Robinson, Plato’s Earlier Dialectic (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1953), 15. 34 Cornelius Castoriadis, On Plato’s Statesman (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002), 122-123.

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Fourthly, the existential theory of action proposed here interprets dialogue as one of five distinct types of action that may all be interpreted in terms of one’s attitude towards himself in the context of interaction, and towards one’s own and the other’s presuppositions that constitute the meaning of action. Since all these kinds of action may be found in the lives of each actor, the theory makes it possible to examine the different combinations and sequences in which these actions take place, and the objectifications they tend to produce. In addition to a research program, the existential theory of action suggests that dialogue may become a viable alternative to some of the existing research methods and monologist theories. I am going to argue that sociology is essentially a dialogical science, but its original purpose has been understood in too diverse ways to constitute a uniform discipline. Instead of elaborating on a dialogical approach, sociologists were focused on the construction of concepts modeled on natural sciences. A concept very close to what I call dialogical sociology has been explicitly proposed by the seminal American sociologist Albion Small, who founded the Department of Sociology at the University of Chicago. In his programmatic text he states: “My argument, then, is that there is one great overtowering task for the human mind. That task is to find out the meaning of human experience. This is the inclusive, architectonic task of analysis, and then of synthesis, as we transpose knowledge into purpose. Now, I would divide thinkers primarily into those who have become conscious of this task, and have tackled it, from some point or other, and those who have not. The have-nots outnumber the haves some millions to one. By whatever name they call themselves, the majority are not sociologists. Whether they adopt the name ‘sociologist’ or not, the minority are all in the same boat. They must inevitably, sooner or later, recognize their common lot, because they are prying into the same reality, and that reality must at last schoolmaster them all into one state of knowledge. The sociologists, as I use the term, are the people who have interpreted the omens to this extent and are deliberately trying to make out the forms and laws of relationship in human association in recognition of which we must at last organize all real knowledge of human affairs.”35 Small assigns to the sociologist the difficult task of investigating things from a perspective of human life as a whole. In his view, sociology differs from economics or the political sciences in that it pursues a much broader purpose and 35 Albion Small, “The Relation Between Sociology and Other Sciences,” American Journal of Sociology 12 (1906): 11-31, 14.

Towards a Dialogical Sociology

does not reduce its perspective to any specific presupposition that would narrow the scope of connections to be considered. For example, economics is interested in multiple and diverse phenomena but only with regard to their significance for the production of wealth. Similarly, the political sciences measure their objects in respect to the amount of effective power they may generate or inhibit. Thus, by combining the demand of comparing respective presuppositions of different social sciences with the principle of taking a holistic-personal point of view, Small implicitly advocates a dialogical theory of action. To quote him again: “Sociology is primarily a synthetic, coordinating conception. So long as we think of reality as cut up into detachable parts, which may be treated as entities in and of themselves, it is possible and natural to think of sciences of those parts of knowledge, clearly distinct from each other, and accurately definable in terms of the subject-matter which they monopolize. The moment we propose the question ‘What is the meaning of life?,’ we imply an impeachment of the conception that the truth can be told about life if we divide it into isolated unities. Our presumption is that these divisions of partial convenience are at last not traits of separation, but imaginary lines drawn by our reflection through a reality every phase of which must be known through its relations with the whole. Human life is an affair of individuals with mutual passions, with essentially identical dependence upon the physical environment, with the idea that they are designed substantially of one type, but who in the course of many generations pass into individual and group variations which lose track of their meaning in the whole life-process. Some individuals and groups come to be at an advantage, others at a disadvantage, physiologically or psychologically or institutionally, in adjusting themselves to the conditions of life. Each of these phases of human experience, whether past or present, has its quota of value in making out the meaning of life as a whole. To my mind, the distinctive function of sociology, as a division of labor in social science, is the mapping of the whole scope of human experience as a functional process, in which the elements of human experience get their meaning.”36 For the most part, sociology did not follow Small’s line of thought. It took seriously the claim to be a synthetic science but failed to assume a holistic perspective. According to the dominant opinion, sociology has to dedicate itself to a specific subject, regardless of the fact that there were other social sciences as economics, anthropology, history, and so on, all of which were concerned with the same reality. The development of empirical research was paralleled by an intense theoretical debate that gave birth to numerous approaches, which varied with 36 Small, “The Relation Between Sociology and Other Sciences,” 28.

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regard to the question of what should be the basic task of sociological research. The differentiation was partly rooted in the discrepancy between Durkheim’s and Weber’s visions, clearly discernible in their disjunctive definitions of sociology and the very fact that they never quoted each other. The pivotal attempt at a synthesis, created by Talcott Parsons37, resulted in a new fragmentation of the sociological theory. New approaches, which flourished particularly in the 1960s, elaborated on certain themes of Parsons’ edifice38 and developed a critique of him, or drew on key figures who have not been taken seriously by Parsons, the American pragmatists in particular. The diversity of the American sociological scene and the still-present tension between the Weberian and Durkheimian perspectives, prompted Raymond Boudon to diagnose a “lost identity” of European sociology39 and bred a rise of new synthetical theories. The complexity of the discipline, although only partially reflecting the complexity of the social life itself, inspired several authors to propose abstract theories modeled on the Parsonian idea of synthesis. The new principles proposed alternatives to the “voluntary action,” for example “structuration” (Anthony Giddens), “general vision of change” (Alain Touraine), “social systems” (Niklas Luhmann) or “communicative action” (Jürgen Habermas), and implicitly claimed the other theories to be inferior. This common misconception regarding theoretical diversity has been criticized recently from more open and self-critical perspectives. As Charles Camic and Hans Joas put it: “Rather than decry the multiplicity of theories, methods, and research findings and then seek their integration in a unifying framework, the characteristic of this response is that it welcomes the presence of a plurality of orientations and approaches as an opportunity for productive intellectual dialogue. We call the recent emergence and development of this response within sociology the dialogical turn.”40 Among the most prominent advocates of the dialogical approach, Camic and Joas mention Zygmunt Bauman, Randall Collins, Richard Münch, Craig Calhoun, James Rule, and Nicholas Mouzelis—and, first and foremost, Donald 37 Talcott Parsons, The Structure of Social Action. A Study in Social Theory with Special Reference to a Group of Recent European Writers (New York: Free Press, 1937). 38 Jeffrey C. Alexander, Twenty Lectures. Sociological Theory Since World War II (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987), 111-126. 39 Raymond Boudon, “European Sociology: The Identity Lost?,” in Sociology in Europe. In Search of Identity, ed. Birgitta Nedelmann, Piotr Sztompka (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1993), 37. 40 Charles Camic and Hans Joas, “The Dialogical Turn,” in The Dialogical Turn. New Roles for Sociology in the Postdisciplinary Age, ed. Charles Camic and Hans Joas (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2004), 1-19, 5.

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Levine, who developed the dialogical approach over many years, devoting an entire book to the elaboration of differences between his approach and alternative ways of dealing with the theoretical diversity.41 Levine claims that there are four major narratives on the history of sociology, all of which attempt to account for the diversity of sociological theories. The positivist narrative assigns sociology a narrow task of following the prototype of the natural sciences. Positivists view the social sciences as a cumulative and progressive activity that includes the careful collection of empirical data, their systematic analysis, and, finally, formulation of explanatory middle-range theories. All theories that are not empirically grounded are condemned as nonscientific or lacking justification. The second, pluralist narrative is a reaction to the mushrooming variety of theories and paradigms that do not fit into the positivist story but still claim to be a legitimate part of sociology. Pitirim Sorokin, Don Martindale, and Shmuel Eisenstadt—to mention the most prominent pluralists—recognize the variety of perspectives and try to legitimate each of them in their specific disciplinary division of labor. Pluralists, representing the second narrative, acknowledge the coexistence of numerous approaches and concepts and regard such a situation as normal and desirable. Drawing on Richard McKeon’s ideas and on the paradigmatic work of sociologist Georg Simmel, pluralists argue that reality is much more complex than any language, subsequently condemning any universality claiming explanation to be inadequate and one-dimensional. Furthermore, they develop a strategy of “reciprocal priority” that allows us to explain the totality of human phenomena with reference to different incommensurable approaches. For example, one can develop a cultural theory of collaborative circles in the history of science, but it is also possible to explain scientific and social achievements with interactional mechanisms without making substantial references to culture.42 Levine explicitly distances himself from the positivist approach by criticizing its “mindless empiricism.”43 With regard to pluralism he supports the sensitivity and awareness of different interpretive frameworks and incommensurable presuppositions in its approach but is a somewhat critical of the diversity of typologies and interpretations of the classics. Neverttheless, he appreciates Shmuel Eisenstadt’s attempt to order the incommensurable theories along the 41 Levine, Visions. 42 Randall Collins, The Sociology of Philosophies. A Global Theory of Intellectual Change (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998); Michael P. Farrell, Collaborative Circles. Friendship Dynamics & Creative Work (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2001). 43 Levine, Visions, 34.

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lines of their contributions to the discipline and their immanent “openings.”44 Since Levine seems to align himself with the pluralist narrative in several respects, it is difficult to see any substantial difference between pluralism and his own “dialogical” approach. Maybe the difference lies in Levine’s demand to seek exogenous factors that explain the genesis and recognition of each of the considered sociological theories. However, it is precisely that demand—and the expectation to be aware of the context of each sociological statement—that constitutes the fourth narrative on Levine’s list, the contextualist. Although he rejects this narrative by suggesting that it pays too little attention to the substantive content of sociological productions, Levine gives a contextualist scent to the bulk of his own work. His own concept of dialogue combines the pluralist recognition of the multitude of perspectives with the contextualist agenda. Due to this rather eclectic concept of dialogue, the meaning of what Levine calls “dialogical” becomes clear only as opposed to the third, synthetic narrative which is the main target of his critique. While analyzing different national traditions of social sciences, Levine, surprisingly, seems to deny the real pluralism declared in the first part of his book. In his own narrative, Aristotle’s idea of the social sciences is thoroughly ethical and follows from the philosopher’s philosophy of nature. Aristotle considers human passions and souls as naturally given, but virtues are for him no more than products of habits, a fruit of consistent and wise socialization. The success or failure of the latter may be objectively measured because goals of human activity are also considered as naturally given. Hence, according to Levine, Aristotle provides a basis to divide sciences into theoretical, practical, and productive ones. The social sciences are assigned a distinctive role of creating virtuous members of a just community (polis). Following Levine, this compelling idea of social science has been challenged only by Thomas Hobbes, who consequently extended his atomistic vision of nature onto the realm of human beings and defined society as a field of interacting forces. Hobbes denied both the existence of natural goals and social dispositions in human beings, as well as any chance to develop virtues through positive motivation. According to Levine, Hobbes’s mechanistic vision was directed against Aristotle and constituted the sole turning point in the whole history of social sciences. What followed after Hobbes is described by Levine as a gradual correction and elaboration on the Hobbesian position or rather as a development of Aristotle’s isolated concepts. Hence, if Levine’s narrative is to be followed, modern social 44 Ibid., 31.

Towards a Dialogical Sociology

theorists took on select ideas found in Aristotle or unconsciously developed these concepts by responding to the social contexts of their own work. For instance, the French tradition was mostly interested in the concept of community and social integration while the German, beginning with Kant, has elaborated on the idea of free will and the individual creation of values. Levine’s own narrative demonstrates, in my opinion, that he takes neither pluralism nor dialogue seriously. What he actually does is insist on an incurable contradiction between the Aristotelian and the Hobbesian vision. In addition, Levine explicitly advocates the Aristotelian tradition and promotes its reconstruction through a productive combination of functionalism, voluntarism, and the Marxist appreciation of nature as potentiality.45 By characterizing numerous modern theories as masked partial developments of Aristotelianism, Levine establishes, in fact, a new synthetical vision. Perhaps he would have ended up with a different, existential concept of dialogue if he had begun his historical overview with Plato and not Aristotle, who was Plato’s most vehement opponent. The recurring attempts to synthesize contradictory traditions of the sociological theory are often inadequate to the peculiarities and original purposes of the authors examined here. But at least in some of the synthetic works there is more than the ambition to reduce all that has been previously written to a new principle. The most prominent example is “The Structure of Social Action” discussed by Levine. The intention of Parsons was to demonstrate a convergence of the works of Alfred Marshall, Vilfredo Pareto, Emil Durkheim, and Max Weber. According to Parsons, the first, negative idea shared by all of these thinkers was a rejection of utilitarianism, and the second, positive one was the acknowledgment of common norms and values as an indispensable element of action. Parsons’s hidden motif, however, was a comprehensive discussion of different forms of determinism and indeterminism that threatened to eliminate free human agents from the social sciences. Apart of this central purpose, Parsons redefined the concept of action as an analytic scheme and created a new basis for a division of social sciences.46 From that point on, they were to be studied as sciences of action interested in different aspects of their common subject. The elevation of the social sciences to a more abstract level created a basis for a dialogue among them. According to Parsons, this dialogue should be the result of a comparison between the respective results of the social sciences in different frames of reference. 45 Ibid., 119-20. 46 Talcott Parsons, The Social System (New York: Free Press, 1951), 545-55.

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The dialogical theme in sociological thought was present even before Parsons in the works of Durkheim and Weber. Durkheim attempted to explain anthropological data with more abstract sociological models. In this way he provided a basis for dialogue among anthropologists who investigated remote, exotic cultures, and economists, who dealt with the pathologies of social differentiation in modern societies. Weber built up his concept of action in order to bring together the findings of the historical, economic, and legal sciences. For the classics, sociology was primarily a platform of dialogue among different sciences. After Parsons, it is rather the multitude of different theories that makes necessary discussion and better mutual understanding. There is, however, little chance that a plea for an existential dialogue will ever come from any of these theories, as they nevertheless tend to be monological. As Albion Small suggested, the source of dialogue is individual human life and the individual search for meaning. A sociologist who is not on the same quest may be totally wrong about the reality he is intending to grasp. The centrality of asking questions for learning and understanding actors’ thinking indicates the importance of the relationship between sociology and human lives. The vulnerability of the relationship between the researcher, interviewer, and the respondent reflects the myriad of problems sociological theory must tackle.

References Alexander, Jeffrey C. Twenty Lectures. Sociological Theory Since World War II. New York: Columbia University Press, 1987. Bakhtin, Mikhail M. The Dialogic Imagination. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1981. Berger, Peter, Luckmann, Thomas. The Social Construction of Reality. A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge. Garden City, NJ: Anchor Books, 1966. Blumenberg, Hans. Wirklichkeiten in denen wir leben [The realities we live in]. Stuttgart: Reclam, 2012. Bohm, David. On Dialogue. New York: Routledge, 1996. Boudon, Raymond. “European Sociology: The Identity Lost?” In Sociology in Europe. In Search of Identity, edited by Birgitta Nedelmann, and Piotr Sztompka. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1993. Camic, Charles and Joas, Hans. “The Dialogical Turn”. In The Dialogical Turn. New Roles for Sociology in the Postdisciplinary Age, edited by Charles Camic and Hans Joas, 1-19. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2004. Castoriadis Cornelius. On Plato’s Statesman. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002. Collins, Randall. The Sociology of Philosophies. A Global Theory of Intellectual Change. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998. Cook, Gary A. George Herbert Mead. The Making of a Social Pragmatist. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1993. Cooper, John M. Pursuits of Wisdom. Six Ways of Life in Ancient Philosophy from Socrates to Plotinus. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002. Durkheim, Emile. Sociology and Philosophy. Translated by D. F. Pocock. New York: The Free Press, 1974. Farrell, Michael P. Collaborative Circles. Friendship Dynamics & Creative Work. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2001. Fröhlich, Bettina, Die sokratische Frage. Platons Laches [The Socratic question: Plato’s laughs]. Berlin: Lit Verlag, 2007. Goffman, Erving. Frame Analysis. An Essay on the Organization of Experience. Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1986.

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Inspired by Bakhtin: Dialogic Methods in the Humanities Gouldner, Alvin W. Enter Plato. Classical Greece and the Origins of Social Theory. New York: Basic Books, 1965. James, William. Essays in Pragmatism. New York: Hafner Press, 1948. Joas, Hans. Die Sakralität der Person. Eine neue Genealogie der Menschenrechte [The sacredness of the person. The new genealogy of human rights]. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2012. Levine, Donald. The Flight from Ambiguity. Essays in Social and Cultural Theory. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985. . Visions of the Sociological Tradition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. Lovejoy, Arthur O. The Great Chain of Being. A Study of the History of an Idea. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1964. McKeon, Richard. Freedom and History and Other Essays. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990. Mead, George Herbert. Movements of Thought in the Nineteenth Century. Chicago: University of Chicago, 1936. . The Philosophy of the Act. Chicago: The University of Chicago, 1938. . The Philosophy of the Present. La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1932. Parsons, Talcott. The Social System. New York: Free Press, 1951. . The Structure of Social Action. New York: Free Press, 1937. Peirce, Charles S. The Essential Peirce. Selected Philosophical Writings. Volume 1 (1867-1893). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1992. Plato, Early Socratic Dialogues. Translated by Trevor J. Saunders, Iain Lane, Donald Watt, and Robin Waterfield. London: Penguin Books, 1987. Robinson, Richard. Plato’s Earlier Dialectic. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1953. Schiavone, Aldo. The Invention of Law in the West. Translated by Jeremy Carden and Anthony Shugaar. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012. Small, Albion. “The Relation Between Sociology and Other Sciences,” American Journal of Sociology 12 (1906): 11-31. Stark, Werner. The Sociology of Knowledge. An Essay in Aid of a Deeper Understanding of the History of Ideas. Glencoe: The Free Press, 1958. Weber, Max. Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriss der verstehenden Soziologie [Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology]. Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1976. Znaniecki, Florian. The Social Role of the Man of Knowledge [Społeczne role uczonych]. Translated by Jerzy Szacki. Warsaw: PWN, 1984.

Discourses in the Design of Cultural Artifacts Klaus Krippendorff INTRODUCTION

I

am not a scholar of literature but wholeheartedly embrace Mikhail Bakhtin’s dialogism in my work.1 However, unlike Bakhtin, my ­starting point is not written discourse but rather the human use of language in face-to-face communication and what it does (for example, Krippendorff)2 from which Bakhtin drew much of his inspiration as well. I recognize that we all begin as oral beings. But as soon as we have learned to speak and respond to the articulations of others, we are confronted with strings of characters, instructed to read and write them, and start to think in terms of words, sentences, propositions, letters, and contracts. I am always amazed when reflecting on how much individual and institutional effort it takes for us to become literate members of society and to equate language with writing at the expense of its oral origin. To me, conversation is our primary cultural artifact. The abstract system of language, presumably governed by phonetic and syntactic rules that Saussurean linguists have constructed, is an institutionalized imposition on oral communication. While the benefits of writing are not in doubt, in this paper I am exploring how

 1 Mikhail Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1992).  2 Klaus Krippendorff, “On the Ethics of Constructing Communication,” in Rethinking Communication: Paradigm Issues, Vol .I, ed. B. Dervin, L. Grossberg, B. J. O’Keefe and E. Wartella (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1989), 66-96. Klaus Krippendorff, “Ecological Narratives: Reclaiming the Voice of Theorized Others,” in The Art of the Feud; Reconceptualizing International Relations, ed. J. V. Ciprut (Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers. 2000), 1-26.

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various social constraints on our primary cultural artifact—not only of texts— morph into other interactive artifacts, whether unintended or by design. Bakhtin proposed a way of reading texts not as a sequence of well-formed sentences conceptualized by structural linguists, or as a network of propositions about the world on which logical positivists insist, but as the voices behind written texts. For Bakhtin, these voices belong not only to their authors, which is the primary focus of many contemporary literary interpretations, but also to those written of, explicitly quoted, and implicitly invoked, including the imagined readers. What attracted me to his conceptions is that he always grounded his reading of texts in human speech. Words, he insisted, do not exist until they are spoken, and, when printed, bear the signature of their speakers and listeners without whom we rarely speak. He also recognized that most of what authors write reproduces what they have learned from others. In a recent book by Sloman & Fernbach, two cognitive scientists, they come to a conclusion, unexpected in the cognitive sciences, that we can never think alone.3 Thus, there are always many voices speaking through a text to readers in particular situations. It follows that texts bring together histories of writing, individual authors, addressees, and the actions that follow from them. It is the latter that has fueled my interest in social constructions and design.4 Let me mention a few more of Bakhtin’s concepts that were attractive to me. One is his notion that we cannot see ourselves without the articulations of others. Any self is always interacting with other selves.5 There is no fixed human nature that philosophers could uncover. As Ludwig Wittgenstein taught us, even philosophy consists of language games that philosophers play.6 Moreover, in opposition to the certainty of dictionary definitions of word meaning and the search for correct interpretations by legal or administrative authorities, Bakhtin insisted that all texts are polyphonic, metaphorically bringing multiple voices into i­nteraction. His   3 Steven Sloman, and Philip Fernbach, The Knowledge Illusion; Why We Never Think Alone (New York: Riverhead Books, 2017).   4 Krippendorff, “On the Ethics of Constructing Communication,” and Klaus Krippendorff, “The Social Construction of Public Opinion,” in Kommunikation über Kommunikation. Theorie, Methoden und Praxis. E. Wienand, J. Westerbarkey, and A. Scholl eds. (Wiesbaden, Germany: VS-Verlag, 2005), 129-149.  5 Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Michael Holquist, Dialogism; Bakhtin and his World. (London and New York: Routledge, 1990). Edward E. Sampson, Celebrating the Other; A Dialogic Account of Human Nature (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1993); John Shotter, Conversational Realities (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1993).   6 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, trans. G. E. M. Anscombe (New York: Macmillan, 1958).

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polyphonic concept of truth suggests that when two people disagree, it cannot be assumed that one of them must be right. Finally, Bakhtin suggested that all utterances represent distinct points of view. There are no neutral perspectives or positions from which we speak or write. To me, the multiplicity of distinct discourses gives us many positions from which we can proceed. So, when we say we talk or write about something, we are directing our attention to the world outside language which blinds us to what we are doing in language. As Jürgen Habermas noted, “it makes a difference whether we speak with one another or merely about one another.”7 Aboutness privileges a representational view of language, a perspective that situates reality outside of us which the later Wittgenstein sought to overcome and I do not want to privilege. To sidestep aboutness, I invite you to read the following not to decide whether I am right or wrong, whether what I am saying is Bakhtinian or not, or whether my assertions are factually correct. My hope is that the distinctions I will be introducing resonate with your experiences, and that they encourage new possibilities of listening, reading, and being in language. In the spirit of dialogue, your response would mean a lot to me. Unfortunately, the medium of writing delays that possibility. Let me add that I am a designer by background and an occasional participant in larger design projects. But I spent most of my academic career as a scholar of human communication. For me, designing means developing and planting seeds of innovations that are valued by members of particular communities. By innovations I mean products, practices, or policies that are not caused by nature. They require human ingenuity. To be clear, I do not think the ability to create innovations is the exclusive province of professional designers. Design is fundamental to being human. Planning one’s career, taking family pictures, or arranging chairs for a meeting, are acts of design, as are creating websites, crafting bill boards, building bridges, designing scientific experiments, or developing national policies. However, in various publications,8 I have limited my attention to the professional design of human-centered or culturally sensitive artifacts, that is, of artifacts that people speak of, consider meaningful, and can actually interface with and connect through them with each other. Professional design is distinct from everyday design by being primarily focused on the benefits provided to others. I want to continue that focus here, but wish to distinguish this kind   7 Jürgen Habermas, et al. An Awareness of What is Missing, trans. C. Cronin (Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2010).   8 Especially in Klaus Krippendorff, The Semantic Turn; A New Foundation for Design (Boca Raton, FL, London, New York: Taylor & Francis CRC Press, 2006).

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of design, on the one hand, from technology-centered design—engineering or chemistry for example, which pursue technical specifications—and on the other hand, from everyday design, mainly for personal use. Designing in collaboration with experts requires specialized vocabularies to develop ideas into realistic proposals. This vocabulary must also enable designers to communicate, explain, and argue for the value of their developments to those who can realize and ultimately benefit from them. This is the task of a compelling design discourse.9 This paper develops the features of a design discourse that enables designers to collaborate on projects, bringing human-centered and culture sensitive artifacts into being. The uniqueness of such a discourse is best demonstrated by comparing it with conversation and a few familiar discourse genres from which it must distinguish itself. Let me sketch the steps by which this paper will proceed: • • • • • •

Genuine conversation or dialogue Some forms of communication into which genuine conversation can erode What distinguishes discourses from conversations and from each other Discursive practices that tend to become computations Meanings of cultural artifacts in the public domain Design discourse—ideal and in practice

GENUINE CONVERSATION OR DIALOGUE To me: •

•

Genuine conversations are common, mundane, and voluntary occurrences involving two or more interacting participants. They may happen in the privacy of a home or in public places, between people who find themselves next to each other, among friends or acquaintances but without expectations of a particular outcome. Conversations build on their participants’ experiences in prior conversations, not necessarily with the same individuals. Developmentally, conversations begin with a mother and her baby, making each other laugh. They become more complex in time and involve other participants, but remain just as invigorating.

  9 See Krippendorff, The Semantic Turn and Klaus Krippendorff, “Discourse as Systematically Constrained Conversation,” in On Communicating: Otherness, Meaning, and Information, ed. F. Bermejo (New York: Routledge, 2009a), 217-234.

Discourses in the Design of Cultural Artifacts

•

Analytically, for outside observers of conversations, the voices of their participants may be traced to previous encounters. However, for the most part, speakers do not know where their words came from, are unaware of echoing anyone in particular, and identify themselves with the vocabulary they call their own. Under these conditions, I consider conversational participants genuine, articulating the voices they consider their own. • Conversations are self-organizing. Outsiders do not matter in what happens in genuine interactions. The meanings of the braided histories that emerge in that process, including any rules adopted, are unique to a particular conversation. Triads form, consisting of speakers and their listeners in alternating roles, what was said previously, and how that history is extended by responding to each other with respect.   Being self-organizing implies that outside observers of conversations have no access to the experiences, meanings, and the sense of being able to shape what is happening as a part of one. Observations, recordings, or transcripts of conversations belong to a different experiential domain. • In genuine conversations, everything said or done is said or done in the expectation of being held accountable for it.10 This mutuality defines the condition of dialogical equality. Equality is not measurable in terms of the amount or quality of participants’ contribution but rather by whether participants’ understanding becomes coordinated. In dialogical terms, understanding is the condition of having no further questions to ask and dialogical equality manifests itself when all voices are being heard.   To be clear, understanding is a personal matter. Nobody has direct access to anyone else’s understanding, or claim one’s understanding to be shared or in agreement with someone else’s. In conversations it is natural to construct a partner’s understanding from what he or she has said. The assurance “I understand” indicates a state of satisfaction with what was heard and a suggestion to go on. Coordination of this kind manifests multiple reflexive loops: We make assumptions ­regarding how our addressees interpret what we are saying or doing. We create expectations of what would prompt our addressees to hold us accountable for what we were saying or doing. Whether 10 John Shotter, Social Accountability and Selfhood (New York: Blackwell, 1984).

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•

•

•

actually asked to offer an account for what we said or did, in the very act of speaking and doing, we can hardly avoid anticipating how the account we might give for what we do when requested will be received, hoping that the addressees will accept them as plausible, and so on. Similar reflexive loops could be articulated for the addressees. Genuine ­conversations flow naturally within such reflexive loops. Conversations are irreversible. Everything said adds to the joint history as understood in each participant’s own terms. What is said cannot be undone, it can only be qualified. For example, a participant may clarify her utterance or apologize for saying something untoward. Accounts of this kind may well alter the meaning of what was said or done, but they too remain part of the braided history that a conversation is weaving. In genuine conversations, participants provide spaces for each other to respond and preserve the possibility of conversations to continue indefinitely—perhaps after some time, perhaps with different participants, perhaps concerning something else. Interruptions of genuine conversations may happen for reasons of having to do something else, moving to a distant place, or the death of a participant. But such occurrences may not prevent their continuation. However, when purposes enter a conversation or a problem is to be solved, conclusions tend to define an end point. Such conversations are no longer genuine. Moreover, when conversations turn into physical violence, conversation has ended for good. Conversations are the fastest evolutionary process I know. Conversations rarely ever repeat themselves. They introduce variations in the form of new compositions of known parts, such as of utterances, words, tropes, or narratives. Responses reveal the merits of what was said, being either selectively developed to the point of common satisfaction, or left dormant in favor of something else to emerge. In conversations, compositions draw on many more units than biological evolution—mutations and selections—can. And the survival of ideas in conversations is almost instantaneously evident and involves all participants—unlike in biological processes, where mating involves two organisms and the viability of their offspring may require years to be evident. According to Joshua Wolf Shenk,11 virtually all innovations, whether in science, technology, literature, or the arts, are due

11 Joshua Wolf Shenk, Powers of Two: Finding the Essence of Innovation in Creative Pairs (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014).

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•

to engaging in conversations with someone else, even with virtual others. Conversations may create artifacts. The braided histories of interactions, experienced and referred to, disappear with the death of their participants. But conversations may also compel their participants to act outside conversations, leaving physical traces behind that may well last beyond the lifespan of the actors and cannot be explained without their engagement in particular conversations.

SOME FORMS OF COMMUNICATION INTO WHICH GENUINE CONVERSATION CAN ERODE Martin Buber observed that ideal dialogue is empirically rare. We experience dialogical moments at which we find ourselves in unconstrained commonality with others,12 and converse freely; what emerges enriches all of its participants. Why would one bother to conceptualize something that is only rarely experienced? I contend that it is never easy to understand what it is to be human until experiencing something missing. For example, conditions such as the feeling of being unable to say what is on one’s minds for fear of getting into trouble, being asked to follow rules that do not make sense, or being dismissed as incompetent or insignificant, deviate from the unencumbered flow of genuine conversations and call for explanations of what is going on there. In such situations, authentic conversation serves as the unwritten standard against which current communication situations are distinguished, evaluated, and given a name, whether accepted as such or questioned and renegotiated. Ideal dialogue or genuine conversations can be conceived as one endpoint of a continuum from which practical communication situations systematically deviate. It is the experience of constraints that transform genuine conversations into other forms of social interaction,13 not just dialogue into monologue. The most obvious intrusion into genuine conversations may well be due to relying on media of communication. Telephone conversations lack visual cues, smells, and touch expected in face-to face encounters but they are still interactive and called conversations. When more than two people are involved, 12 See Kenneth N. Cissna, and Rob Anderson, Moments of Meeting: Buber, Rogers, and the Potential for Public Dialogue (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2002). 13 Krippendorff, “Discourse as Systematically Constrained Conversation.”

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say in conference calls, the absence of eye contact and gestures makes turntaking exceedingly difficult and imposes additional constraints on conversations. Letter writers can employ typographical conventions—punctuating, quoting, underlining, bolding, or using emojis—but they do not substitute for eye contact, gestures, sound, and emotional expressions. Writing letters furthermore delays responses from their addresses. Published literature is almost completely removed from participating in genuine conversation by the uncertainty of who will read it, when, how, and why, whether a response ever reaches its author and whether the author changes what was written. The voices that Bakhtin conceptualized are metaphorical constructions resulting from his imaginative interpretations of texts. They are not actually heard and cannot be literally interacted with. Beyond medial constraints, we also are familiar with debates that are expected to distinguish winners from losers, job interviews, lectures or instructions, verdicts read in court, or declarations of war. They exemplify dialogical inequalities that are irreconcilable with genuine conversations. But such speech acts or genres are mere parts of other characteristics that permit genuine conversations to erode into something else. Let me mention just four ways. First, individuals may choose not to speak for themselves but as members of a larger community, occupants of an office, as experts on a subject matter, claiming the voice of absent others, or speaking as designated leaders. Introducing absent, fictional, or abstract others into conversations transforms them into games of unequal representatives, invoking seemingly unquestionable authorities. Such games are no longer self-organizing as absent outsiders speak through one or more participants who cannot be held accountable for what is said on their behalf. François Coren speaks of ventriloquism in which the speaker hides behind the voices of absent others.14 Addressees do not really know who or what mobilizes the ventriloquized voices, how real they are, or how to negotiate with them. Second, interactions between customers and sales personnel, between therapists and their clients, or between professors and their students, are not between individuals but between the institutional roles they play, reducing accountability to the categories they perform.

14 François Coren, Action and Agency in Dialogue: Passion, Incarnation, and Ventriloquism (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2014).

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Third, many social communications are purposive. When people come together to achieve a goal, only relevant contributions count. In job interviews, candidates are expected to prove their qualifications. Interviewers speak for the employer and test the candidates’ stories against criteria rarely revealed to them. Board meetings are structured to bring about decisions in the interests of various departments. Their social structures surface in who is allowed to speak, deemed worth listening to, and has the right to participate in the final decision, binding for all members. There is no point for purposive deliberations to continue beyond achieving their goal. It is not impossible, of course, for dialogical moments to occur even in highly structured situations, among co-workers, in mentor-student consultations, or during psychotherapy, but these are not only rare occurrences but also irrelevant to achieving the goal that brought these people to talk to one another. Fourth, some discourse analysts, prominently Michael Foucault,15 invoke physical metaphors of power to explain what fuels discursive actions in society. I side with Gregory Bateson who insisted that the use of physical metaphors in explanations of social interactions is misguided.16 Disagreeing with Foucault, I am suggesting that dialogical inequalities rarely arise from unequal command of physical powers, but from submission, the unwillingness to question those who claim to speak from the position of authority. Admittedly, holding authorities accountable for what they say or do may not be easy, especially when they refuse to be responsive to those affected, which complements submission. Clearly, authorities and social hierarchies of superiorities and subordinations are constructed, enacted, and maintained in language, not explainable by the laws of physics. Similarly troublesome is Bruno Latour’s unwillingness to distinguish between linguistically evident human agency and physical causes.17 To be clear, I do take material considerations seriously,18 whether in the form of the above-mentioned constraints of media of communication, legal imprisonment, or violence. The mechanical properties of all artifacts undoubtedly constrain some human abilities while extending others but they are neither actors 15 Michael Foucault, The Archeology of Knowledge, trans. A.M.S. Sheridan (New York: Pantheon Books, 1972). 16 Gregory Bateson, Steps to an Ecology of Mind (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1972). 17 Bruno Latour, Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). 18 See Klaus Krippendorff, “Discourse and the Materiality of its Artifacts,” in Matters of Communication: Political, Cultural, and Technological Challenges to Communication Theorizing, edited by T. R. Kuhn (New York: Hampton Press, 2011), 23-46.

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nor drivers. Physical phenomena are indifferent to language. For ­example, everything that happens before the trigger of a loaded weapon is pulled is social. It involves the consideration of alternatives, is embedded in communications, and is open to conversations—at least ideally. Once a bullet has left the weapon, causality governs its trajectory and no argument can change its course.19 Physical explanations may well enter human interactions after language has run its course. The above examples suggest that the experience of constraints on genuine conversations generate numerous forms of human communication whose decreasing dialogical freedom suggests a continuum, on which one can also locate discourses. That freedom may become constrained beyond discourse, up to the point at which routine and repetitious interactions become replaceable by mechanisms and computational algorithms, including violence. The reality of computations is always designed, that is, of human origin, but its characteristics are unlike human interaction. On this continuum, computational mechanisms can be considered the extreme opposite of genuine conversation, as depicted in Figure 1. Genuine Conversation   Communication  Discourse  Computation

What Distinguishes Discourses from Conversations and from Each Other? Let me move along the continuum in Figure 1, defining discourse and illustrating its definition with the help of three of its genres. To be clear, I deviate from the most common dictionary definitions of discourse that limit it to a body of writing. This is also Foucault’s starting definition from on top of which he constructed power as an all-embracing regime. I am pursuing a more grounded conception, briefly defined as the social use of language in talk, text, communication, and actions, and what it produces or leaves behind. To start, all of the well-known discourses—legal, medical, religious, mathematical—are housed in specialized communities, can be practiced across different natural languages, but are incommensurate relative to each other. For example, mathematicians speak a language that lawyers have no reason to understand. Indian computer programmers can communicate more easily with American or Russian computer programmers than with, say, psychoanalysts. The legal discourse has nothing to do with the discourse of geologists, astronomers, 19 Klaus Krippendorff, “Undoing Power,” Critical Studies in Mass Communication 12, no. 2 (1995): 101-132.

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physicists, ­politicians, and ­medical professionals. Incommensurability is what distinguishes unlike discourse genres. Moreover, discourses exist only when practiced. Individual members of discourse communities are never permanently engaged with each other. For example, they go home after work and engage in family matters. People can also move through different discourses provided they have the competence and required certifications to cross their boundaries. So, when statisticians see a medical doctor, they enter the medical discourse as patients. When students demonstrate for political change, they play a role in the public discourse. With this rough sketch, let me spell out the dimensions that I believe all discourses have in common,20 some more decisively than others.

DISCOURSES •

•

•

•

Manifest themselves materially in a body of discourse-specific artifacts they characteristically produce and attend to. Artifacts may consist of texts, objects, theories, social practices, technologies, and physical structures—everything that remains after their participants have left. Are kept alive by a discourse community whose members use specialized vocabularies that give them a sense of understanding each other, are able to work together, attend to their body of artifacts, and manage their communities as participants. Institutionalize recurrent practices, for instance, by ensuring the correct use of their vocabularies, whether in the form of official dictionaries or publication style manuals, requiring references to canonical texts, standardizing methods for inquiry into, constructing and evaluating their artifacts. Discourses may support journals that regularly inform members of their discourse community of relevant developments. There are educational tracks, certifications, presentations, titles and offices that preserve the stability and coherence of a discourse, generally beyond the lifespan of their contributors. Maintain their own boundaries within which they organize themselves. The boundary of a discourse distinguishes between what,

20 Krippendorff, “Discourse as Systematically Constrained Conversation.”

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•

•

who, or when something or someone belongs and what, who, or when someone or something does not. Strong discourses draw their own boundaries from within and protect them from being invaded by alien discourses. Justify themselves (the artifacts produced, the methods used to create them, and how members are recruited to their discourse communities) to their stakeholders. Successful justifications assure access to the needed financial, material, and human resources that preserve the reputation of a discourse and its continuation within their boundary. Are constituted intermittently as their contributors (members of discourse communities) are able to cross discursive boundaries within institutionalized constraints imposed by the discourses entered. Their institutions are regularly assembled and disassembled.

This conception of discourse extends Bakhtinian speech genres by adding considerations of the discourse communities that practice them, the institutions that uphold them, and the realities they bring forth within self-maintained boundaries (not imposed by outside observers).21 Discourses are enacted in the form of social structures that can also be characterized as the articulated knowledge within particular communities, not merely what is published. Let me illustrate the above dimensions by means of three familiar but very unlike genres: the discourse of literary scholarship, the discourse of the natural sciences, and public discourse before addressing the peculiarities of design discourse.

The discourse of literary scholarship The definition of literature has been debated for ages and remains unsettled for good reasons. Etymologically, it concerns texts of enduring significance. This characterization invokes qualities that distinguish literature from ordinary writing, for example, from journalistic accounts, business communications, or everyday prose. In their extremes, these qualities are obvious: poetry stands out for its aesthetic and rhythmic qualities, mythologies for narrating basic human tragedies, and novels for enabling contemporary readers to understand today’s experiences. Objective identification of the formal features of literary qualities in written texts is difficult, ultimately impossible—not only because ordinary 21 Mikhail Bakhtin, Speech Genres and Other Late Essays, eds. C. Emerson and M. Holquist, trans. V. W. McGee (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1986).

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use of language, from which it needs to deviate, is constantly shifting, but also because texts have no meanings without their readers who cannot escape living in the present of an ever-changing culture, and neither in its past nor in its future. One needs to be reminded that the linguistic forms of avant-garde poetry often become common language in future iterations. Texts have physicality. They last as long as the medium that bears its marks endures. But literature is not a physical phenomenon. It is what scholars of literature decide to celebrate and study. Among all the texts that a society generates, the community of literary scholars selects those worthy of their interpretations as literature, texts they understand as having qualities they consensually value. There are of course different schools of literary scholarship, the community of Bakhtin scholars being one. Bakhtin’s way of reading literature was and still is revolutionary, an innovation that spread through this scholarly community and created a rich vocabulary centered on voices, new distinctions among speech genres, interpretations, analyses, and critiques, but not for all literary scholars. Literature does not equal textual materiality, it needs to be read and spoken of. By all measures, the body of literature of interest to literary scholarship is created. It consists of discourse–specific artifacts, acknowledging different schools. Literary scholars not only know each other as members of their discourse community by their use of a shared vocabulary of literary terms. They also maintain their institutions: archives of canonical texts; regular conferences where methods of analysis and text interpretations are debated, legitimized or dismissed; regularly published journals that feature scholarly contributions and exemplify the ethical standards of literary scholarship; and places of instruction, for examples at universities. In universities and at meetings of literary scholars, discursive boundaries are drawn and defended against possible incursions by opposing schools and disciplines that “do not belong.” Within these boundaries the discourse of literary scholarship is self-organizing. Readership surveys, sales figures, copyright considerations, content analyses, or governmental decrees do not matter to literary scholarship and are in fact viewed as belonging to other discourses. Literary scholarship has to justify itself, if only to encourage popular celebration of its works and attract new members to its discourse community, a requirement for all discourses to remain viable and insure the flow of funds that maintain its institutions, as well as to create influential connoisseurs among readers on whom its reputation depends. Without compelling justifications for the discourse of literary scholarship, it is unlikely to survive.

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Scientific discourse Scientific discourse is far more structured, institutionalized, and established in society than any discourse of the humanities. For physics, the body of its artifacts consists of causal theories of a consistent universe. These artifacts are intrinsically linked to the instruments that scientists have developed and institutionalized to generate and test data in support of their theories. They also include the material structures in which science is practiced. It is important to note that, committed to construct a causally determined universe exclusive of other explanations; physicists are unwilling if not unable to acknowledge their own role in creating the artifacts they leave behind for future physicists to build on. Apparently, physicists see no problem in claiming to collect their data—as if the data predated their interest in them—find theories that underlie them—as if these theories would govern an unobserved reality—and consequently call what they discover “laws of nature.” Obviously, without the creative effort of the increasingly capable community of physicists, the theories and models of physics would not exist. They are artifacts by all definitions, as are the instruments constructed to generate data in support of their theories. Physics is institutionalized, for example, by requiring of its researchers and theoreticians to go through established curricula, earn academic degrees as a condition for membership in their discourse community, uphold the ontological commitments of their discourse, rely on mathematical accounts (which are intrinsically biased in favor of causal and deterministic formulations), use standardized experimental methods, participate in recurrent scientific meeting, read peer-reviewed publications, and work at universities where physics is taught and in labs where it is practiced. The boundary of physics excludes practical, applied, social, and especially spiritual discourses (from which physics extricated itself during the Enlightenment). Its boundary is well defined. No outsider would be allowed to define what physics is, dares to challenge the qualifications of physicists, or question the validity of their theoretical contributions to its discourse. While essentially self-organizing and closed as far as the practices of physicists are concerned, even physics needs to justify itself to those it relies on various resources. Its stakeholders include such applied disciplines as engineering, architecture, computer science, and space travel, as well as funding agencies, all of which need to find value in the artifacts that physics produces. The human resources needed to replenish the discourse

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community of physicists tends to be created by several layers of popularizations of its accomplishments, ranging from popular science magazines, introductory texts for primary education, science fairs in high schools, science fiction, up to and including serious textbooks.

Public discourse Public discourse embraces everything that could be of concern for any number of people and is practiced in public, that is, under the watchful eye of bystanders. It takes place in the public sphere.22 Unlike the two scholarly discourses discussed above, the public sphere is open, ideally to everyone who can speak a common language and has in mind the common good. Public discourse is practiced in small face-to-face encounters: sidewalk cafés, public celebrations, big sports events, political demonstrations, and revolutions. It is fueled by popular literature and news. It goes beyond the slogan on the banner of the New York Times promising “All the News That’s Fit to Print” by including everything worth talking of in public: art, music, poetry, gossip, scandals, carnival, and celebrities, but also public transportation, popular movies, the use of new media, city planning, and common problems to be solved, whether evident to everyone, opined by some, merely rumored, or opposed. The artifacts of public discourse could be characterized as the public infrastructure of society, not to be confused with its technological base. Cars, for example, are designed by engineers, but their shapes respond to how people speak of them, who drives them, and the use to which they are put. The internet is a computational network but what it contains and how it is used is very much determined by how people interact with it, whether as consumers, critics, or curious bystanders. Open spaces have material dimensions but become public spaces when people feel invited to gather there. The materiality of some public artifacts persists beyond the lifespan of their originators. Their meaning change with new generations of users who attend to them or move away. Anthropologists rely on their durability when trying to reconstruct an extinct culture, albeit in anthropological terms. Museums select from them what they interpret as relevant to contemporary publics. 22 Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, trans. Thomas Burger and Lawrence Frederick (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992).

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Its discourse community—or the public for short—organizes itself not just around the public handling of cultural artifacts, but also by dividing itself into neighborhoods, interest groups, ethnicities, generations, and political parties, and by places of where people can meet, create or follow particular celebrities. This is to say that the public is far from homogeneous, which is why the term public is often referred to in plural. Public discourse nourishes numerous institutions, starting with regularly published newspapers, the regular release of new movies, the availability of communication networks, public parks for people to gather, police that maintain public order, commercial businesses, public services, and administrative offices open to everyone, scheduled sports events, public ceremonies, voting places, and much more. They all follow rules—some regulated by law, others commonly understood. Public discourse draws its boundaries by distinguishing itself—on the one hand, from private matter, and on the other hand from professional discourses whose vocabularies are not widely shared or mastered. However this boundary is often breached; for example, when oversimplifications of expert discourses fuel public opinion, turning established ecological, economic, and sociological facts into contentious issues, or when the private affairs of celebrities are dug up by journalists and published. Public discourse is vulnerable to strategic misinformation, libel, copyright violations, constraints on participation (for example, voting restrictions), economic interest in public opinion and commercial information (for example, paid political advertisements, sponsored sites on Google, and revenues of newspapers tied to advertisement), cultural barriers to equal access of public artifacts (for example, the digital divide between rich and poor and different ethnicities), as well as governmental censorship. Public discourse justifies itself as foundational to inclusive democratic governments with journalism and the media providing their connections. While public conversations can rarely be curbed, public media may be limited in authoritarian societies for fear of their potential to mobilize the public and undermine authoritarian regimes at opportune moments. Regarding the last of the six-point definition of discourse, it is important to note again that discourses are neither continuously active nor can they imprison their contributors. They are alive only when and where they are practiced. Some discourses remain dormant for periods of time and are revived when situations call for them. Today, people acquire many more discursive competencies than in past centuries where discursive mobility was far more restricted.

Discourses in the Design of Cultural Artifacts

RECURRENT DISCURSIVE PRACTICES TEND TO END IN COMPUTATIONS The institutionalization of its recurrent practices is probably the one dimension of discourse that deviates most profoundly from conversations. Institutions manifest themselves in persistent social structures and established interactions that are habitually performed. In effect, institutions are at the core of the more established discourses. Adherence to their institutions maintains their stability and ensures their coherence beyond the lifespan of their human contributors. Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann observed that institutions are intergenerationally transmitted without reference to their origins and the problems they were invented to solve.23 With their histories no longer accessible, institutions become objectified, inter-subjectively verifiably real, taken for granted, formalized, and standardized. They become norms. For example, just as physics is practiced in unambiguous terms and relies on depersonalized methodological standards, so are business practices in the public sphere regulated with deviations pursued in court. Institutions exist whenever members of a discourse community expect all other members to practice them. Acknowledging this reflexivity, Nelson Phillips and Cynthia Hardy take institutions to be “selfpolicing,” that is, when some members of a discourse community step out of line, other members make sure this incurs costs.24 Sociologists’ equation of institutions with social mechanisms or formal structures turns out to be not merely metaphorical. Recurrent and mindlessly executed discursive practices are the obvious candidates for substitution by computational mechanisms. For example, we use traffic signs at street intersections in place of policemen to regulate cross-traffic flows. For quite some time now, workers on assembly lines have been replaced by robots. The routine part of bookkeeping has been transformed from notes on paper and manual calculations to ATMs and electronic accounts. Much of today’s e-commerce no longer requires human oversight beyond troubleshooting. Search engines scan huge textual databases at an incredibly fast rate, but mainly via character recognition, which is the most routine and mindless ability human readers have acquired. Ultrafast computer processes include trading on the stock market, automatic 23 Peter l. Berger, and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise on the Sociology of Knowledge (Garden City NY: Doubleday, 1966). 24 Nelson Phillips and Cynthia Hardy, Discourse Analysis; Investigating Processes of Social Construction. Qualitative Research Methods, Vol. 50 (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2002).

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surveillance, driverless cars, and unmanned warfare. Smartphone applications also replace routine and recursive human practices. Computational substitutes for institutional practices are facilitated by describing them in causal terms, whether for the purpose of instructing employees, stating laws to be followed, or influencing consumer behavior. Once a practice is causally described and sufficiently complete, it can easily be written in computer code. This gives rise to algorithms that are increasingly incomprehensible to those who interface with them, largely because hardware and software designers rely on discourses that escape most ordinary users’ comprehension. To bridge this gap, interface designers make heavy use of metaphors derived from the practices these devices replace. For example, opening a document, filing it in a folder, and dragging it into a trashcan are useful metaphors from the paper world that have nothing to do, however, with what a computer actually does. Delegating institutional practices to computational mechanisms calls on their users to invest a considerable amount of trust in the metaphors by which they interface with them. Not only are computational mechanisms difficult to understand—even with the help of the discourse whose institutionalized practices they replace— but trust in them may have unanticipated consequences. On the positive side, they speed up or amplify the production of its discursive artifacts. On the negative side, unintended consequences can create externalities that its discourse community is ill-equipped to handle, such as the instabilities that high-speed computer trading introduced in the stock market. The inability of a discourse to keep up with what the computational substitutions of its institutional practices set in motion is a defining problem of contemporary society. Whether it is called information society or the cybernetic age, replacing institutions by computational devices creates opportunities never before envisioned by they can also create unanticipated and seriously problematic instabilities and limitations.

MEANINGS OF CULTURAL ARTIFACTS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN Cultural artifacts are populating the public sphere as soon as people speak of them, perform with them in the presence of others, and judge their use and their users. One prerequisite of exhibiting these qualities is that they mean something to those who articulate their stake in them. Regarding texts, this is obvious. Meanings are not literally contained in them. They are institutionalized attributes that emerge in the process of reading. Without having acquisition of literacy, arrangements of characters mean

Discourses in the Design of Cultural Artifacts

little to nothing. Moreover, without the ability to articulate these meanings and to observe each other’s responses to such articulations, there would be no way to assure that texts could communicate anything, coordinate interpersonal understanding, and enable collective actions. Talking in the presence of texts forms communities of readers and is a prerequisite for any literary society to function. This is why cultural artifacts reside not only in the privacy of subjective meaningfulness but also in the public sphere. But the meanings of tools, furniture, mechanical devices, advertisements, exhibits, and services add an additional dimension. What they suggest to afford their users are verifiable, at least in principle, by performing with them. Something called a car not only needs to look like one for those who know what cars are, it also is expected to be drivable. A church not only needs to be recognizable as such but also provide a space for people to worship. What is referred to as a chair needs to enable someone to sit on it or it fails the common understanding of a chair. And an advertisement that promises that a merchandise will have certain qualities needs live up to these promises. The possibility of deception notwithstanding, how something is perceived and what it means needs to be consistent with the experiences it creates when enacting its meanings. All cultural artifacts can afford a multiplicity of meanings. Besides sitting, a chair may be used to step up on it, keep something handy, change the diaper of a baby, display the wealth of its owner, or fetch a price in a furniture store. Alternative uses tend to be context dependent. On a construction site, a brick becomes part of a wall. In a garden, it could define the border of a flower beet. In a living room it may serve as a book end. During a violent encounter it may become a deadly weapon. Virtually all cultural artifacts promise multiple uses. This multiplicity is loosely related to Bakhtin’s conception of polyphony. However, it would be hard to imagine that usable artifacts have voices, as Bakhtin’s metaphor encourages us to read texts. Human interfaces with artifacts offer their users context-dependent choices of what to do with them and their world. Typically, interfaces are prolonged by intrinsically or extrinsically motivated interactions, that is, actions followed by responses, followed by responses to these responses, and so on. Intrinsic motivation manifests itself in emotional involvement for its own sake; extrinsic motivation refers to the achievement of goals. Designers speak of artifacts as possessing affordances,25 defined as the range of the human interfaces they are able to support. Whether their meanings 25 James Gibson, The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception (Boston MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1979), 127-35.

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appear visually obvious, are recognizable only in certain contexts, are contained in written user instructions, or emerge in conversations with others, whatever their source, the interfaces they inform always are either afforded by the artifact or cause breakdowns in Martin Heidegger’s sense.26 What breaks down, however, is not the artifact—although this could happen as well—but the enactment of the meanings that users attribute to them. Speaking publicly of artifacts can profoundly affect their meanings. There are many examples where perfectly functional artifacts failed to be useful because of the publication of stories that made them appear inefficient, unhealthy, or dangerous. Novel artifacts need to be designed together with stories that invite users to try them out without leading to breakdowns. Enacting the meanings of cultural artifacts into interfaces bears some resemblance with conversation and dialogue. Computers, for example, offer their users numerous options to act and then display their consequences on a screen. Because computers are context-free and deterministic devices, they cannot comprehend as humans do. For their users, the meanings of the computer icons reveal themselves in what happens after clicking on them, much as the meanings of utterances in conversations depend on the responses they elicit.27 Another commonality concerns the principal inaccessibility of the internal makeup what one interacts with. As already mentioned, computer users tend to have no clue of what is going on inside the machine they are working with. The design of its architecture is technology-centered and involves sophisticated discourses that ordinary users tend not to understand and do not care to become familiar with, as long as they can interface with it. This is analogous to our principal inability to observe what is going on inside someone else’s mind. Although we can ask partners in conversations how they understood what was said, this, however, does not reveal anything about the neuronal processes in their brains. The fact that talking of one’s understanding is the only access to anyone’s thinking stays entirely within public discourse reveals the irrelevance of purely cognitive explanations. The models we speak of when interacting with computers lead us to expectations of what they will do. The models we entertain when interacting with fellow human beings include not just expectations of how they react to what we say but also how they respond 26 Hubert L. Dreyfus, Being in the World; A commentary on Heidegger’s ‘Being and Time,’ Division 1 (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992), 70-83. 27 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations.

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in view of how they conceive of us, what they expect we do in response to their response, and so on. The meanings we construct in interaction with artifacts do not have to be that reflexive—just as natural scientists have no reason to presume that their objects of attention have a clue as to how they are observed. However, in communication with fellow human beings, multiple reflexive loops are inevitably involved. Social scientists who wish to understand social practices and designers who wish to intervene in how humans understand the cultural artifact at their disposal can no longer rely on a representational or monological conception of meanings. Instead, they are encouraged to employ a dialogical ­conception of how they participate in users’ ability to understand and their own ability to intervene in that public understanding by what they hope to design.

DESIGN DISCOURSE—AS AN IDEAL AND IN PRACTICE In the introduction, I characterized designing as developing and planting the seeds of innovations in receptive communities. Biological evolution notwithstanding, design develops neither accidentally nor causally. Innovation by design is antithetical to causality. It requires deliberate, ingenious, and coordinate human actions. Cities, cars, furniture, and art objects do not spring forth as trees do from seeds, they emerge in prolonged translations of discourses into institutionally coordinated actions by communities. The reference to communities highlights the cultural ground and the reference to institutionallycoordinated actions highlights the social organizations through which designed artifacts may come to fruition. Inasmuch as design is to benefit others, I suggested that design process must be guided by a design discourse, a vocabulary and language that enables designers to develop their designs, proposals, or plans, and to compellingly argue for the value of realizing or using their designs by those who can be enrolled in their projected and benefit from its realization. I should mention that attention to what discourses do is not encouraged by the common conception of language and knowledge, taught in schools and provided by the sciences. The lack of awareness that language can be performed and produce something besides its descriptive usefulness has a long history. Since the Enlightenment, scientific discourses have been committed to an understanding of the world as it exists. Scientific theories describe and explain the world in third-person terms, linguistically and normatively excluding the observing theorists for fear of introducing so-called observer biases. If designers aim to introduce innovations, propose artifacts without precedent

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which could not have been observed previously and could not have provided the benefits they hold in their womb, designers cannot rely on a discourse concerned with theorizing observational data. Their discourse cannot be held hostage to the logic, truth claims, and generalizations from the past, least of all on the conception of a nature that excludes scientific observers’ interest in them, or ontology for short. While natural scientists may well be correct in claiming that their theories are predictive beyond available data, such predictions assume, however, that the patterns their theories generalize from past observations continue to hold in the future, independent of human agency. It follows that natural scientific theories have no place for human innovations. A commitment to causal conceptions of reality would make the design profession irrelevant. Starting in 1964, Horst Rittel argued for the distinction between scientists who construct their universe by excluding their discourses and designers who cannot afford such restrictions when innovation is their aim.28 In his The Sciences of the Artificial, Herbert Simon suggested that the logic of design is declarative or deontic, not descriptive.29 For him, design is concerned with what should be rather than what is. His formulation is a start but does not go far enough, mainly because Simon modeled his conception of design on the development of technology or systems that ignored how humans interfaced with them. Interestingly, Rittel and Simon’s distinguishing between scientific knowledge and the world of designers has a rarely cited history: In opposition to René Descartes’s insistence that true knowledge can only be obtained through observation, the eighteenth-century Italian political philosopher Giambattista Vico argued convincingly that humans know best what they have made and not what is. His verum factum principle states “truth resides in being made.” It informed his seminal work, Scienza nuova [New Science], a treatise of how civilizations emerge.30 While none of these three writers acknowledged the meanings that the products of design could have for the communities affected by them, Rittel came close to that acknowledgement by identifying design with the development of defensible plans for interventions or compelling

28 Jean-Pierre Protzen and David J. Harris, The Universe of Design: Horst Rittel’s Theories of Design and Planning (New York: Routledge, 2010), 48-52. 29 Herbert A. Simon, Herbert A., The Sciences of the Artificial. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1969), 58-62. 30 Giambattista Vico, The New Science of Giambattista Vico, 3rd ed., trans. T. G. Bergin and M. H. Fisch (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1744/1968).

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arguments for future artifacts.31 He was one of the few who recognized that design is not separable from what the use of language can accomplish when enacted. Because innovations, by definition, cannot be predicted from the past, the above supports the view that a design discourse must be grounded in an epistemology that provides spaces for human actions to create worlds rather than blindly submitting to a causally determined ontology. To open up such spaces, designers need to explore whether claimed causalities are mere fictions, based on data that no longer matter, or whether they conceal openings to be escaped from. Designers need to boldly question the cultural blindness regarding what language does, the habitual enactment of ontological commitments, the social structures that resist innovations, and the data cited in support of truth claims. Whatever the reasons for resisting changes in the mix of cultural artifacts, designers’ willingness to systematically question existing ontological prejudices is what generates the possibilities for practicing design. A design discourse needs to embolden designers to be fearlessly critical of knowledge claims of what cannot be done of what is taken for granted, of taboos, institutional interests in material culture, and scientific determinism. Let me discuss some of the properties of a design discourse that create and preserve spaces of possibilities for developing innovations and planting them in receptive communities. •

Its artifacts. Designs that leave a design firm may take the form of drawings, presentations, prototypes, computer simulations, or suggestions for practices, but their materiality is unlike what designers seek to accomplish with them. The artifacts of a design discourse proposes something not yet in existence—an innovation, something that would not come about naturally. Thus, whether a design bears fruit is not knowable at the time of its proposal. It may prove itself in a distant future or not at all. Proof of the realizability and actual value of a design lies outside its proponents’ control.   Physicists, by contrast, prove their theories by creating evidence that validate them by criteria enshrined in the discourse of physics. Similarly, interpretations by literary scholars are always made in the presence of available texts. However, the future success of any design is contingent on those who have a stake in them; that is, by their stakeholders.

31 Protzen and Harris, The Universe of Design, 188-95.

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  By definition, stakeholders have diverse interests, possess the intellectual and material resources to support or oppose a design, can articulate their convictions publicly, and are able to mobilize others to their cause. Whether designed artifacts end up populating the public domain depends on their designers’ ability to anticipate their stakeholders’ voices and convince them of the benefits of playing a part in realizing them.   The need to listen to those on whom the success of a design depends is not a new suggestion. Market research has informed design practices since the industrial era. By contrast, recent calls for user-­centered design have become fashionable. Market research assumed that the buyers of industrial products are the only ones that count. User-centered design assumed the so-called end-users are the ones who matter. Such narrow focuses have the effect of hiding the diverse stakeholders in a design who ultimately determine whether it succeeds or is forgotten. The stakeholders of a design certainly include its projected users or consumers; but they also include the designers’ clients who listen to their ideas and pass them on to decision makers. They involve the board members of a corporation who deliberate on whether a design fits its public image. They may embrace engineers who work out the technical details for the artifact to be produced and to work reliably. The voices of bankers who consider investing in its production surely play a role. There typically are government regulators, marketing experts, advertisers, distributors, sellers, and, following the actual realization of the artifact, there are critics, suppliers of needed resources, and advocacy groups worried about the political, economic, or ecological consequences of the design. The stakeholders of any design do not consist of uniform masses of individuals, as in conceptions of a market of buyers. Stakeholders differ vastly in what a design means to them, the intellectual and economic resources they are willing to make available, and their ability to cooperate in networks that can bring a design to fruition. Some such stakeholder networks may be readily available, such as networks of supplier to a manufacturer, but most stakeholders pursue their own stakes in a design and relate to each other not by previous collaborations. They have to be energized by the designers’ project and willing to do more than merely follow instructions. To succeed, the artifacts of a design discourse would have to have ­attributes that not only encourage the needed networks of stakeholders to form but also find a path through them.

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  In view of the foregoing, a design discourse that conceptualizes its artifacts as symbolic representations of what designers want to see realized—for example, artistic renderings of designers’ visions— may not go very far. And designs conceived as product specifications or instructions that stakeholders are to follow are effective only in established social structures that are commanded by authorities. The artifacts that have a good chance to succeed need to be designed to inspire diverse stakeholders, enroll them into the designers’ project, suggest meanings that stakeholders can enact with the resources available to them, and become the catalysts for the emergence of networks that facilitate their eventual realization. When introducing the iPad, Steve Jobs was convinced that it would “create its own landing strip.” His metaphor suggests that the best designs enlist their stakeholders into cooperatives that assure their futures. Taking dialogue seriously amounts to a considerable gestalt switch in conceptualizing culturally relevant artifacts that a design discourse needs to create. • Its discourse community. Designers have no problem recognizing the community to which they belong. They know each other as professionals able to talk of their work. They share knowledge of iconic designs, influential designers, the schools they subscribe to or oppose, and where they had meet professionally. They can talk of their specializations, and what inspires them. However, the path to enter the community of designer is not as formalized as in other discourses. For example, PhD degrees in design have become more frequent lately but are far from being a ticket to membership in the community of designers. Some designers even consider academic qualifications obstacles to being competent designers, and they may have a point, as advanced degrees are often earned in disciplines that are epistemologically incompatible with the design discourse, for example, art history, advertisement, or engineering. Moreover, designers often work in teams with experts from other disciplines or in design offices that employ designer who cannot avoid engaging each other in creative conversations. • Institutionalization of recurrent practices. It should not be surprising that this somewhat loosely-defined community of designers has been less successful in institutionalizing essential design practices. Of course, many universities have departments that teach one kind of design or another. They tend to develop around particular philosophies, depending on whether they are housed with the arts,

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the humanities, in business schools, or engineering. There are only a few decisive text books but quite a number of regularly appearing magazines. Several countries house professional associations for their designers. Computer-aided design is widely used and has standardized some practices. There are internet discussion groups and international meetings on specialized topics; none, however, unite the design community as a whole. In the struggle to gain respect of the design profession when collaborating in larger design projects or in the public, there is a temptation to model design discourse on the sciences with a call for design research.32  Taking design research literally, I am suggesting instead that it inquire into the practices of designers with the aim of improving their discourse and institutionalizing successful design practices in the form of teachable methods, principles, and practices. This objective renders design research the key for a design discourse to remain current, to continuously redesign itself in response to the changing realities that designers are facing.   There are several obvious targets of design research that contrast with traditional scientific research objectives. For one, designers’ interest in existing realities is at best concerned with opportunities to intervene in current practices or replacing problematic conditions. So, one important focus of design research is to reveal present variables, that is, what can be varied, intervened with, and changed for the better. The invariances that traditional scientific research seek to generalize, that is, what is believed to be unalterable, has to be approached with considerable skepticism and be systematically questioned. Simon suggested that design is concerned with finding alternatives for improving something, not with finding and following existing trends of fashions.33 I am suggesting that design needs to create alternatives where they are not imaginable, to develop conceptions that challenge existing habits, especially in areas where decisions are foreclosed. In the public domain of cultural artifacts, this means examining by what people are bothered, inconvenienced, endangered, limited, or oppressed, where they have spent too much of their scarce 32 Ken Friedman, “Theory Construction in Design Research: Criteria, Approaches, and Methods,” Design Studies, 24, no. 6 (2003): 507-522. 33 Simon, The Sciences of the Artificial.

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resources, experience failures, or cannot get to where they want to be. Ethnographies of what is possible, conceivable, desirable, or replaceable show considerable methodological promise.34   I should mention that Simon related design to making improvements, including solving problems.35 According to his conception, the success of a design is measured relative to what currently exists. It ties designers to whoever defines present reality. I claim that all of the more important innovations have started from the other end, from imagining possible futures. Think of the invention of printing, air conditioning, airplanes, or personal computing. None of them solved problems recognized at the time of their inauguration. Designers succeeded by envisioning realistic courses of actions to reach desirable possibilities they invented. The point is to measure designs not from how far they moved from the present rather how close they come to desirable futures. There are methods to generate possibilities. For example, combinatorial analysis systematically explores all combinations of a list of technologies, functions, or practices. Among the human-centered methods for generating viable possibilities is the use of conversations or brainstorming sessions, analyses of popular novels, mythologies, fairytales, and science fiction. They all narrate possibilities that their readers can learn to imagine, talk of, enthusiastically embrace, extrapolate, or abhor. Human flight, going to the moon, cell phones, and artificial intelligence, all started in fictions. This is an endorsement for studying futuristic literature.   Innovations can become real only if they motivate stakeholders to work towards desirable futures, enthuse them to play their parts. The process of selecting realizable paths that stakeholders could pursue is often clouded by claims of designers’ ingenuity. In reality, geniuses work in teams, including with design researchers who have a sense of or can invent and pretest the strategies designers could employ to create such paths and explain them in ways that inspire their stakeholders as well. Simon discussed some older methods, for example optimizing, satisficing, and resource allocation.36 Steve Jobs, for example, emphasized simplifying, minimalizing, and merging ­functions into 34 Ozge Celikoglu Merzali, Timur Ogut Sebnem, and Klaus Krippendorff, “How Do User Stories Inspire Design? A Study of Cultural Probes.” Design Issues 33, no. 2 (2017): 84-98. 35 Simon, The Sciences of the Artificial. 36 Ibid.

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intuitive user interfaces. Others talk of synthesizing, integrating, reframing the familiar, using novel materials, technologies, reconciling incompatible requirements, and increasing diversity of uses. These are not just design principles; they also provide convincing explanations for what encourages the imagination of innovative paths to desirable futures.   Incidentally, some such methods can be found in literature as well and are taught under the headline of composition with the aim of creating narratives that compel their readers to read on and encourage conversations among them.   Some of these strategies seem vague largely because they involve the kind of tacit knowledge that underlies most articulations: metaphors, synecdoches, and images. Recognizing the difficulty of communicating tacit knowledge has encouraged designers to invite stakeholders into ongoing design processes, so-called participatory design. It introduces into design processes meanings that one could not find through interviews, allowing designers and stakeholders to learn together, which can also generate surprises. But the more important benefit of participatory design processes is that the results have a better chance to sail through the network of stakeholders. Design research can develop these strategies into teachable methods.   There are many more design practices that design research can address, investigate for their effectiveness, and articulate for distribution with the design discourse community. • Its boundary. Recall that the discourse of physics validates its theories within its own boundary. Practical uses of their theories by other disciplines have no impact on their validity, nor does public opinion matter to physicists. The discourse of literary scholarship may not be immune to popularity but is similarly closed to extra-literary interests. Their boundaries and those of most academic disciplines contrast sharply with the constitutional necessity of a design discourse to be open to the discourses of its stakeholders. Design discourse cannot but embrace their multitudes, coordinate dialogue among them, and respect their criteria for participating in the networks that bring its designs to fruition.   This necessary openness does not need to impinge on professional designers’ ability to define their own discourse community, institutionalize successful design methods, and create the artifacts they are proud of conveying for use by others. However, unlike most academic

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discourses, the criteria for accepting the artifacts that designers develop are only partly theirs.   This acknowledgement prompted me to call a design discourse undisciplined.37 Designers cannot impose their design logic on the discourses of their stakeholders. They can plant the seeds of innovation but rarely control what grows from it. To assure the efficacy of their artifacts, a design discourse needs to institutionalize designers’ ability to listen to divergent voices, awaken voices that are not volunteered, and transform what they hear into arguments for designs that compel their stakeholders into action.   It also means that designs need to remain sufficiently open for stakeholders to have their say. Inasmuch as design activity is fundamental to being human and a major motivator to create artificial worlds to dwell in, I suggested that human-centered design needs to delegate design.38 This suggests not limiting design to written specifications or definitive courses of actions for stakeholders to follow, rather to provide sufficiently large spaces for stakeholders to add their expertise in the process guiding a design through a stakeholder network. The principal openness of computers to the many worlds that their users can install can serve as a machine analogue of designs that can inspire stakeholders to play their parts. The success of any design lies in its ability to travel through the networks of its stakeholders and open spaces along its path for everyone interested and enthused to contribute to whatever a design evolved into.   Finally, designers cannot avoid being stakeholders in their own designs. In larger development teams in which diverse experts work together, participants tend to be assigned responsibilities that fall into the domain of their discourse. Teamwork entails respecting the discourse of their members. The essential openness of design discourse does not imply superiority. It merely enables designers to cooperate with different discourses without claiming to be in charge of a stakeholder network. •

Its justifications. Because the benefits of a design that leaves a design office can be experienced only in some foreseeable future, its acceptability by stakeholders hinges on the plausibility of the

37 Klaus Krippendorff, “Design, an Undisciplinable Profession,” in Design as Research. Positions, Arguments, Perspectives. Edited by G. Joost, K. Bredies, M. Christensen, F. Conradi and A. Unteidig (Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag/De Gruyter, 2016), 124, 197-206. 38 Krippendorff, The Semantic Turn, 74.

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a­ rguments that designers can advance for its virtues. Substantiating such arguments calls on citing design research that was undertaken in the development of a design and demonstrating what can be expected from its realization. Such justifications are unlike the hard and often quantitative evidence that other disciplines can bring to the table. I already mentioned the need for designers to be critical of factual claims derived from past data, and especially excluding the voices of other stakeholders. This may well be a tall order, but whatever designers choose to cite, show, or simulate to justify their work needs to be phrased in terms their stakeholders’ future.   Justifications apply to individual designs but design discourse also has a larger mission. It needs to preserve or enhance the reputation of a productive design profession. Design drives innovation. Human-centered design keeps a culture viable and enables society to cope with its challenges. It stimulates competition from within and responds to environmental changes from without. The profession of design rises to its cultural mission only with a design discourse that is able to justify itself in the very public to which it contributes its artifacts. It needs to maintain its boundary while taking its place in the ecology of other discourses. It should be apparent that the notion of a design discourse, as presented above, resembles several features of conversation or dialogue, but on the level of communities whose discourses it must respect as a condition for its own standing. I discussed most of its features as the logical consequences of the realities that professional designers are articulating today. I could not avoid this account of design discourse becoming normative or deontic or what it should be. In a way, I applied design discourse to itself, designing it in the course of the above. My hope is that design discourses inform design education and expand designers’ attention from designing individual products to designing human interfaces with all kinds of technologies, through them with other members of the public, including strengthening the design discourse. This ideal is increasingly recognized but faces some cultural barriers. I want to conclude by mentioning four to be overcome. •

One barrier is the cultural commitment, already mentioned in the introduction, to a representational conception of language; including what Bakhtin calls monologue. This unfortunate commitment accounts for the widespread failure to see how language use

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•

actually matters. This blindness has a long history and many disciplines are trapped in it. In the design profession it is encouraged by the traditional association of design with the visual arts and aesthetics. Designing artifacts to be aesthetically pleasing and showing this possibility in visualizations of proposed products nudges designers into representational conceptions, privileges visual forms over larger systems perspectives at home in linguistic abstractions, and keeps cultural innovations to a minimum. Moreover, the common form/ content distinction perpetuates the epistemologically impossible claim that texts and artifacts are the containers of meaning. A shift to dialogical conceptions of reading texts, focusing on interfaces with artifacts rather than what they are, and conceptualizing design as a discourse that generates innovation should not be too difficult. After all, designers talk—when working in teams, and with stakeholders— during which meanings can multiply and artifacts that afford these meanings come to fruition. I have said elsewhere that any design needs to survive in the discourses of its stakeholders.39 A related barrier results from the interpenetrations of discourses with incompatible epistemologies. One source of such interpenetrations stems from designers’ professional tendency to compete among each other to be at the cutting edge of cultural developments. This manifest itself by talking of their designs in terms of currently fashionable discourses, without realizing that all discourses come with discourse-specific epistemologies that could and often do undermine the cultural objectives of the design profession. I discussed the incommensurability of natural science and design discourses. This applies also to the uncritical use of the currently fashionable discourse of the cognitive sciences. Conceptualizing cognition in terms of computer metaphors cannot explain human agency and the deliberate introduction of innovations into communities. Cognition is, without a doubt, involved in all human interfaces, but it cannot cope with the social construction of the world we live in. Similarly unfortunate is the celebration of artificial intelligence. Undoubtedly, the ideas of AI have changed the nature of contemporary technology, but focusing on the design of so-called intelligent artifacts does not shed light on the cultural consequences of their promotion.

39 Krippendorff, The Semantic Turn.

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  Such blind adoptions of other discourses open the possibility of design discourse to be colonized by alien objectives. Marketing, for example, seeks to usurp design by claiming its sole purpose to be the appearance of value, as measured by the sales of products. Arguing for “universal designs,” for the design of products that everyone should have, use, and be with, supports the mission of marketing, spreads uniformity, ultimately ruins the viability of material culture, and robs design of its larger cultural objective. • Many ongoing design projects are financed by and serve corporate interests in increasing their profits without concerns for unintended consequences and the effects on communities outside targeted populations. This economic rationality renders larger systems perspectives and ethical considerations secondary to the well-being of corporations. It provides no space for ecological concerns, unless activists forcefully oppose environmentally unsustainable designs. It ignores the harm done to communities whose voices are denied because they may not be able to make use of a design. Furthermore, it privileges short-term objectives, tends to perpetuate social inequalitiy, digital divides along racial lines, intrusive artifacts like spyware, and sowing distrust in the public sphere by profiting from buying elections, dissemination of misinformation, and undermining social justice. Adopting corporate interests surely undermines a design discourse’s obligation to attend to its cultural consequences, which are grounded in the respect for the multitudes of other discourses. • Finally, while professional designers by and large embrace research that facilitates their particular design projects, there is hardly any tradition and perhaps insufficient incentive for the design community to document their own methods, their successes and failures, and expand design research to trace how design proposals evolved as they travelled through stakeholder networks and entered the ecology of artifacts. This does not bode well for the kind of design research that should improve and update the design discourse in which the community of designers lives. Universities are primed to undertake design research of this kind. But as long as universities limit themselves to train design practitioners and practicing designers are reluctant to examine and communicate their own successes and failures to members of their community, the design discourse will not evolve as it could.

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As promised in the title, this paper focused on the discourses involved in designing meaningful human interfaces with artifacts that end up populating the public sphere. It articulated the dimensions of a design discourse by contrasting them with those of conversations on the one hand and several typical discourses on the other hand, relying on a dialogical lens throughout. Convinced that many of these dimensions are also at home in the discourses of other social-change-oriented professions, this paper invites its readers to explore how the forgoing might apply to their own experiences and in that process find a path to refine their own discourse.

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References Bakhtin, Mikhail. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1992. Bakhtin, Mikhail. Speech Genres and Other Late Essays. Edited by C. Emerson and M. Holquist. Translated by V. W. McGee. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1986. Bateson, Gregory. Steps to an Ecology of Mind. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1972. Berger, Peter L. and Thomas Luckmann. The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise on the Sociology of Knowledge. Garden City NY: Doubleday, 1966. Cissna, Kenneth N. and Anderson, Rob. Moments of Meeting: Buber, Rogers, and the Potential for Public Dialogue. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2002. Coren, François. Action and Agency in Dialogue: Passion, Incarnation, and Ventriloquism. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2014. Dreyfus, Hubert L. Being in the World; A Commentary on Heidegger’s ‘Being and Time,’ Division 1. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press 1992. Foucault, Michael. The Archeology of Knowledge. Translated by A. M. S. Sheridan. New York: Pantheon Books, 1972. Friedman, Ken. “Theory Construction in Design Research: Criteria, Approaches, and ­Methods.” Design Studies 24, no. 6 (2003): 507-522. Gibson, James J. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Boston MA: Houghton Mifflin 1979. Habermas, Jürgen, et al. An Awareness of What is Missing. Translated by Ciaran Cronin. Malden. MA: Polity Press 2010. Habermas, Jürgen. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Translated by Thomas Burger and Lawrence Frederick. Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 1992. Holquist, Michael. Dialogism; Bakhtin and his World. New York: Routledge, 1990. Krippendorff, Klaus. “Discourse and the Materiality of its Artifacts.” In Matters of Communication: Political, Cultural, and Technological Challenges to Communication Theorizing. Edited by T. R. Kuhn. New York: Hampton Press, 2011: 23-46. Accessed October 13, 2017. http:// repository.upenn.edu/asc_papers/259 Krippendorff, Klaus. “Conversation: Possibilities of its Repair and Descent into Discourse and Computation.” Constructivist Foundations 4, no. 3 (2009): 135-147. Accessed October 13, 2017. http://repository.upenn.edu/asc_papers/134 Krippendorff, Klaus. “Discourse as Systematically Constrained Conversation.” In his On Communicating: Otherness, Meaning, and Information. Edited by F. Bermejo. New York: Routledge, 2009: 217-234

References Krippendorff, Klaus. The Semantic Turn; A New Foundation for Design. Boca Raton, FL, London, New York: Taylor & Francis CRC Press, 2006. Krippendorff, Klaus. “The Social Construction of Public Opinion.” In Kommunikation über Kommunikation. Theorie, Methoden und Praxis. Edited by E. Wienand, J. Westerbarkey, and A. Scholl. Wiesbaden, Germany: VS-Verlag, 2005: 129-149. Accessed October 13, 2007. http://repository.upenn.edu/asc_papers/75/ Krippendorff, Klaus. “Ecological Narratives: Reclaiming the Voice of Theorized Others.” In The Art of the Feud; Reconceptualizing International Relations. Edited by J. V. Ciprut. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 2000: 1-26. Accessed October 13, 2017. http://repository.upenn. edu/asc_papers/97/ Krippendorff, Klaus. “Undoing Power.” Critical Studies in Mass Communication 12, no. 2 (1995): 101-132. Accessed October 13, 2017. http://repository.upenn.edu/asc_papers/82 Krippendorff, Klaus. “On the Ethics of Constructing Communication.” In Rethinking Communication: Paradigm Issues, Vol. I Edited by B. Dervin, L. Grossberg, B. J. O’Keefe and E. Wartella. Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1989: 66-96. Accessed October 13, 2017 http://repository.upenn.edu/asc_papers/275 Latour, Bruno. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Merzali, Ozge Celikoglu, Timur Ogut Sebnem, and Klaus Krippendorff. “How Do User stories Inspire Design? A Study of Cultural Probes.” Design Issues 33, no. 2 (2017): 84-98. Phillips, Nelson and Hardy, Cynthia. Discourse Analysis; Investigating Processes of Social Construction. Qualitative Research Methods, Vol. 50. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2002. Protzen, Jean-Pierre and Harris, David J. The Universe of Design: Horst Rittel’s Theories of Design and Planning. New York: Routledge. 2010. Sampson, Edward E. Celebrating the Other; A Dialogic Account of Human Nature. Boulder, CO: Westview, 1993. Shenk, Joshua Wolf. Powers of Two: Finding the Essence of Innovation in Creative Pairs. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014. Shotter, John. Conversational Realities. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1993. Shotter, John. Social Accountability and Selfhood. New York: Blackwell, 1984. Simon, Herbert A. The Sciences of the Artificial. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1969. Sloman, Steven and Fernbach, Philip. The Knowledge Illusion; Why We Never Think Alone. New York: Riverhead Books, 2017. Vico, Giambattista. The New Science of Giambattista Vico, 3rd ed. Translated by T. G. Bergin and M. H. Fisch. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1744/1968. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Philosophical Investigations. Translated by G. E. M. Anscombe. New York: Macmillan, 1958.

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Attachment Patterns in the Bi-Personal Field Reinhard Plassmann 1. PHENOMENA AND MODELS

P

rocesses of mental growth and processes of transforming psychological material both require attachment to another person. This applies to children, who are only able to develop affect regulation, language, an ego, and a self in an attachment to primary caregivers—that is, in the dimension of a two-person psychology. We call a relationship in which these developmental steps become possible a secure attachment.1 The same evidently also applies to the therapeutic situation. When the process of psychological transformation is blocked, a relationship to a therapist is nevertheless needed. The therapist puts his or her own transformational skills at the disposal of the patient. Psychological growth then takes place as an interaction between two transformation systems – that of the patient and that of the therapist. This is also secure attachment.2 The intersubjective processes in which the transformation process takes place are being intensively investigated in various studies. Most of them belong to what is known as the implicit dimension.3 They begin with emotional resonance and take place in the present, that is, they arise in the now of the session and create performative scenes, patterns, and manifestations of the material   1 John Bowlby, Attachment, vol. I of Attachment and Loss, 2nd ed. (New York: Basic Books Inc, 1982).   2 Beatrice Beebe and Frank M. Lachmann, Infant Research and Adult Treatment: Сo-constructing interactions (Hillsdale, NY: Analytic Press, 2002);  Bernhard Strauß, Bindung [Attachment] (Giessen: Psychosozial-Verlag, 2014).   3 Boston Change Process Study Group (BCPSG), ‘‘Enactment and the Emergence of a New Relational Organization,’’ Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 61, no. 4 (August 2013): 727-49.

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that we cannot predict in advance. In this way our therapeutic sessions assume the character of spontaneous works of art created by both participants. These processes make us curious and challenge us to describe them in terms of theoretical models and treatment technique.4 I would first like to outline what research has revealed about interactional patterns in the here and now of the therapeutic session. I will then present some examples from case studies as a basis for a discussion of which models and concepts, as well as which techniques of interpretation, could be suitable for these phenomena. Two basic approaches that address the influence of intersubjective processes on transformational processes are Ferro’s 5 model of the bi-personal field and clinical attachment research.6

1.1 The model of the bi-personal field In 1969 Madeleine and Willy Baranger introduced the concept of the “bi-personal field,” which they based on Kurt Lewin’s field theory,7 and writings by Merleau-Ponty. According to the Barangers, disintegrated mental material unfolds in this bi-personal field and leads to an interpersonal process between analyst and patient. Like Ferro,8 the Barangers also describe this interpersonal process as reciprocal. Both analyst and patient are active with their mental systems and enter into an interaction, the aim of which is to transform the disintegrated material. What is innovative about Ferro’s approach is his observation that the patients’ dreams and drawings and the analyst’s associations and impulses can be understood not only on the level of content but also on the level of the process. For example, children’s drawings do not show merely intra-psychic or genetic processes, but also the quality of their transformative relationships to their analysts.   4 Reinhard Plassmann, ‘‘Transformationsprozesse in der Traumatherapie’’[Transformational Processes in Trauma Therapy], Forum der Psychoanalyse 32, no. 1 (March 2016): 83-97.   5 Antonino Ferro, The Bi-Personal Field. Experiences in Child Analysis (London: Routledge, 2003).  6 Jeremy Holmes, Exploring in Security. Towards an Attachment-Informed Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy (New York: Routledge/Taylor and Francis Group, 2010); Strauß et al., eds., Klinische Bindungsforschung. Theorien-Methoden-Ergebnisse (Stuttgart: Schattauer-Verlag, 2002).   7 Kurt Lewin, A Dynamic Theory of Personality (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1935); Kurt Lewin, Field Theory in Social Science, ed. Dorwin Cartwright (London: Tavistock, 1952).  8 Ferro, The Bi-Personal Field.

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Analysts frequently only become aware of disturbances in the collaborative transformative work through the children’s drawings or through adults’ dreams. In the bi-personal field of the analytic session we can observe how attachment patterns spontaneously arise in the micrometric interactions in the session and have a strong influence on the transformative process. Genetically, these patterns are rooted in the patients’ defense processes but only evolve synergetically with the analyst’s resonance. It would seem important that these patterns are not pure abstractions or pure thought but processes that are highly emotionally laden and deeply felt. They develop in the attempt to regulate affects that are dangerously strong and still defended against, which are to be integrated in the analytical process.

1.2 Contributions from clinical attachment research I believe that these processes can be described well by the attachment model. Attachment research is based on the work of John Bowlby, Mary Ainsworth and Mary Main.9 Attachment theory initially described attachment behavior, later specific attachment patterns in one-year-old children in the “Strange Situation,” which is a test created  to explore childhood attachments patterns, and finally the mental representations of attachment.10 Building on this and expanding upon Bowlby’s theories, clinical attachment research investigates the links between attachment, the working alliance and the course of therapy in psychotherapy with adults.11   9 John Bowlby, Attachment, vol. 1 of Attachment and Loss (London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1969); idem, Separation, Anxiety and Anger, vol. II of Attachment and Loss (London: The  Hogarth Press  and the  Institute  of  Psycho-Analysis, 1973); idem, Loss, Sadness and Depression, vol. III of Attachment and Loss (London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1980); Mary D. Salter Ainsworth and Barbara Witting, “Attachment and the exploratory behavior of one-year-olds in a strange situation,” in Determinants of Infant Behavior, ed. B. M. Foss (London: Methuen, 1969), 36-113; Ainsworth, Patterns of Attachment: A Psychological Study of the Strange Situation (Hillsdale, NY: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc., 1978); Mary Main, “Recent studies in attachment. Overviews, with selected implications for clinical work,” in Attachment Theory, ed. Susan Goldberg, Roy Muir, and John Kerr (Hillsdale, NY: The Analytic Press, 1995): 407-444. Main, “The Organized Categories of Infant, Child, and Adult Attachment; Flexible vs. Inflexible Attention under Attachment-Related Stress,” Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 48, no. 4 (August 1, 2000): 1055-1096. 10 Main, “Recent studies in attachment”; Strauß, Bindung. 11 Jeremy Holmes, Exploring in Security. Towards an Attachment-Informed Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy (New York: Routledge/Taylor and Francis Group, 2010); Strauß, Bindung;

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The starting point of clinical attachment theory is the observation that processes of emotional regulation12 and the formation of representations are of central importance for both the success of therapy with adults and for child development.13 It is frequently assumed that the attachment patterns shown by children in the Strange Situation are specific to the child’s personality.14 However, this is not true, they are specific for the relationship to the respective attachment figure in the Strange Situation. Thus a child develops as many attachment patterns as it has primary attachment figures, that is, to the mother, father, siblings, and so on. It is also considered verifiable that the life experiences of an adult influence, modify, and in a way overwrite infantile attachment patterns.15 It therefore makes sense to investigate not only childhood attachment patterns but also adult ones, particularly those that develop spontaneously in psychotherapy and then influence the therapeutic processes. Attachment patterns do not become organized in fleeting relationships but only in long-term ones characterized by attachment-seeking. The long-term stability of attachment patterns is higher the more emotionally significant and intense the attachment was.16 An attachment pattern that is observable in therapy is thus specific to the work of a particular patient with Kenneth Levy et al., ‘’Attachment style,’’ Journal of Clinical Psychology 67, no. 2 (February 2011): 193-213; Marc J. Diener and Joel M. Monroe ‘‘The relationship between adult attachment style and therapeutic alliance in individual psychotherapy: A metaanalytic review,’’ Psychotherapy 48, no. 3 (September 2011): 237-38; Annegret Martin et al., “Effects of different attachment organizations on potential countertransference reactions,’’ Psychotherapy Research 17, no. 1 (February 2007): 46-58; Brent A. Mallinckrodt, Diana L. Gantt, and Helen M. Coble, “Attachment patterns in the psychotherapy relationship,” Journal of Counseling Psychology 42, no. 3 ( July 1995): 307-17; Bernhard Strauß, Anna Buchheim and Horst Kächele, eds., Klinische Bindungsforschung. Theorien-Methoden-Ergebnisse (Stuttgart: Schattauer-Verlag, 2002). 12 Daniel J. Siegel, The Developing Mind (New York: Guilford, 1999); Alan N. Schore, “The neurobiology of attachment and early personality organization,’’ Journal of Prenatal & Perinatal Psychology & Health 16, no. 3 (Spring 2002): 249-63. 13 Peter Fonagy, Attachment Theory and Psychoanalysis (New York: Other Press, 2001). 14 Ainsworth, Patterns of Attachment. 15 Michael Lewis, Candice Feiring and Saul Rosenthal, ‘’Attachment over time,’’ Child Development 71, no. 3 (May/June 2000): 707-20. L. Alan Sroufe et al., The Development of the person: The Minnesota Study of Risk and Adaptation from Birth to Adulthood (New York: Guilford, 2005). 16 John Bowlby, A Secure Base: Parent-Child Attachment and Healthy Human Development (New York: Basic Books, 2008).

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a particular therapist.17 However, at every moment of the encounter, with dangerously strong but still defended against affects, there is a risk that a state of an insecure attachment will develop in which the affect cannot be regulated, although moments of secure attachment may evolve in which affect regulation is successful.18 For these reasons I consider, as mentioned above, the more precise term attachment patterns to be suitable for describing those interactive patterns that form in the bi-personal field of the analytic session. They can be either of the secure attachment type and facilitate transformative processes, or of the insecure attachment type and hamper transformative processes—that is, they can be of a more mutative or a more stagnating nature. I would now like to attempt to describe some of the attachment patterns observable in therapy and then discuss some aspects of treatment technique. It still remains unclear whether there are a limited number of attachment patterns in therapy or whether each treatment produces its own patterns. I have therefore undertaken to draw up a complete list of the attachment patterns found in various forms of psychotherapy. I shall describe some of the patterns that, in my experience, are particularly frequent, beginning with attachment loss due to loss of emotional resonance.

2. CASE STUDIES 2.1 Attachment loss Ferro gives numerous examples from case studies of attachment disturbances in the bi-personal field in which he, as he himself describes, falls out of the bi-personal field as it were, pressuring his patients with interpretations about the symbolism of their drawings or dreams.19 This constellation contains a change in attachment that stems from the analyst’s stance insofar as the analyst makes himself into a seemingly uninvolved participant. As Ferro explains, this is usually preceded by the analyst, who does not wish to take up the emotional material, shielding him- or herself emotionally and then closing the container on himself.

17 Strauß, Bindung, 78, 81; Susan S. Woodhouse, Lewis Z. Schlosser, and Rachel E. Crook, “Client attachment to therapist: Relations to transference and client recollections of parental care giving,’’ Journal of Counseling Psychology 50, no. 4 (2003): 395-408. 18 Strauß, Bindung; Bowlby, A Secure Base. 19 Ferro, The Bi-Personal Field, 41-42.

Attachment Patterns in the Bi-Personal Field

Symbolic interpretations given in this situation usually have the effect of overtaxing the ability of the child (Ferro’s case studies describes analyses with children), who has been emotionally abandoned, to process the affect. A painful, stagnating situation develops that cannot be dissolved by more symbolic interpretations. This constellation, which is preceded on both sides the too-heavy burden of emotional material that is too intense, could be described as attachment loss. Ferro describes a session with his patient 9-year-old Renato “The first time I see Renato he reminds me of a bison-calf, and this is what he turns out to be, as he contains himself in almost muscular fashion (Bick 1968) with the hyperactivity he uses to protect himself from catastrophic total dissolution. There is nothing I am able to say that has any effect on his running, no matter at what level I try to communicate. On the contrary, my speaking seems to goad him, as though my words were bullets. In response he picks up some wooden blocks and throws them at me, almost hitting and hurting me. I try to tell him I feel like a cowboy surrounded by attacking Indians, but nothing will stop him. The perimeter of his running track extends to the waiting room and he continues to run around with his head lowered. I’m beginning to think that it would take a fence to keep him in and I am actually tempted to make one, at least within the confines of the room. Instead, I am still there in my chair, drawing a fence on one of the sheets of paper I had prepared for him. He stops, more curious than interested. He picks up a colored pencil and, making big marks outside the boundary of the fence, says: ‘And I’m going to break it, I’m going to break it.’ Then he draws a red funnel. I say it looks like a whirlwind, or tornado, or maybe Red Cloud, who can break through any fence. Still standing, he says, ‘Draw more fences!’ …. The session continues. But now we have these ‘characters’ we have created together in our animated cartoon, characters that will help us give a name to and turn into story what happens in the room and between our two minds.”20 The loss of attachment consisted, for understandable reasons, in the analyst’s initially directing his attention to the patient and then commenting on his behavior and emotions. Renato seems to want to break this loss of attachment by running over it, so that a vicious circle, a stagnating, maladaptive attachment pattern, arises out of the behaviors of analyst and patient. The analyst’s drawing interrupts this pattern and produces something different, 20 Ibid.

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since the analyst reveals himself as he draws, thus giving the boy the opportunity to also direct his attention towards the processes taking place in the analyst and to comment on them. From a singular perspective in this instance the two-person perspective, the bi-personal field, which was initially disturbed, has become re-­established, and thus, we can say, also a state of secure attachment.

2.2 Invasive attachment disturbances In addition, processes in which patient and analyst each reciprocally violate the personality boundaries of the other, initially without noticing, seem to be particularly frequent. This happens in situations in which strong affects requiring regulation are activated but where this regulation is not successful. A case from my practice: Mr. T, 33 years old, had made several attempts to find a therapist and had always already felt flooded and overwhelmed during the initial sessions, so that he had lost his feeling for himself. My first sessions with him were also of this nature. My interest in him, my questions and my own ideas seemed to penetrate him without encountering any barrier, while after the therapy sessions he would bombard me with e-mails. For a time, because I answered these e-mails rapidly, I had got caught up in a whirlpool of constantly increasing stress in both him and myself. The emotional closeness associated with the speed of the e-mail communications evidently destroyed personality boundaries and was unbearable for both him and myself. Just as I was about to give up trying to find some form of functioning communication I hit upon the idea of conducting a dialogue with him by post, at previously agreed upon longer intervals between letters. I believe that it was this communication by post (which I had never tried with a patient before and which was interrupted by several relapses into floods of e-mails that made it possible with time to develop a different kind of dialogue, without my violating his personal boundaries or his violating mine). After two years he scheduled a therapy session with me again, saying that he wanted to see if it was now possible. To start with he explained to me seriously and directly that he was very nervous and had great difficulty with being looked at by a therapist. The same applied to having questions asked of him. He said that when he was expected to answer them straight away it made him feel like a performing dog trained to respond automatically, although there was no response in him yet, no feeling for himself.

Attachment Patterns in the Bi-Personal Field

He needed time. He told me these things seriously and somewhat tensely. I did not feel attacked, but touched. Because questions are often part of how I use language in my interpretations, I reflected on how I could avoid becoming a boundary violator with my questions. I suggested that he consider the questions I ask as indications of what I am thinking about, not as demands that he should give me an answer. And we agreed on that. As the session progressed it was possible to understand all of the associations and stories he told as metaphors for the current state of the therapeutic attachment. He spoke of his brother and how he (the brother) was flooded with work e-mails and that all he wanted to do at the weekends was sleep. He went on to talk about how his father had an authoritarian, ambush-style way of approaching him, about the time and peace that he always needed before he could feel what was his own. And with a laugh: if he had a therapist who would leave him completely in peace during the session and dust his books while he, the patient, fell asleep, that would be a good session for him. I complemented the comments he made on the current state of our relationship that were embedded in such stories and associations with thoughts of my own to the effect that I thought it would be a good thing to closely observe the processes in our ongoing communication and to see which processes were good for growth and which were potentially harmful. I generally left it to him to take the initiative to talk, i.e. to decide what to talk about and how long to talk about an issue. From time to time I told him I would be interested in how his nervousness was doing and reminded him at various points that my questions were intended to convey what I was thinking about, not as something he immediately had to respond to. The rhythm of the dialogue then began to change; pauses occurred and a tangible easing, which he then also noted, more as a passing remark. When our time was up I summarized my impression of this session as follows: I believed that what he had said about what kind of dialogue was useful to him and what kind was harmful was helpful and also correct. His response was initially more physical than verbal. I heard him exhale deeply, saw that he had closed his eyes and almost seemed to be asleep for a long moment. Then he said that now and then in the session he had felt quite okay. The untransformed affect was probably anxiety and anger, triggered by the perception of loss of self. The invasive attachment pattern intensified this affect, but did not transform it. In the brief therapy setting patterns of secure attachment were apparently able to expand, so that they also became attainable face-to-face, during the session.

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2.3 Judgemental depressive attachment disorder In depressive patients judgemental depressive attachment patterns very easily develop. In reaction to the aggressive affect that they direct against themselves, patients are constantly engaged in judging and devaluing themselves, thus protecting the analyst from the aggressive affect. The analyst, particularly if he or she behaves in a benevolent way, recognizes and praises, becoming a judging observer of the patient, perhaps also in order to compensate for the frustration arising from the analyst’s own countertransference when confronted with a patient who does nothing but complain. Another case from my practice: Ms S. is in her late forties, attractively dressed, somewhat corpulent. She works for an insurance company. In our initial consultation she conveyed to me from the start that she was actually unsure about whether she had a right to seek psychotherapy. She told me that she had already done some therapy and so she should actually be feeling better, but she had probably done something wrong. After such utterances, in which she doubted her own right to life, her face assumed a somewhat different expression which I noticed, and each time she paused, almost imperceptibly. Her expression and the pauses seemed to invite me to join her in her self-deprecation. The invitation had something compelling about it and therefore had the impulse to somehow free myself from this coercion. I felt a slight annoyance welling up in me. Then the moment passed and she spoke about numerous relationships in which she had somehow felt like an unimportant prop; a girlfriend who didn’t listen to her and was only interested in herself, a male friend with whom she had a casual, long-distance relationship and who did not want closer contact. She told me all this with a complaining undertone which she underlined even more when she said she had become resigned about her depression. It was probably the best thing to go on working until she retired and then to die soon. In myself I observed how on the one hand I could feel the effects of these stressful relationship experiences and the patient’s suffering, while on the other hand I also began to feel a resentful weariness. Could this complaining, which was directed at me, not soon cease? However, I also noticed how my attention was increasingly drawn to what had not yet entered into the session: something colorful, lively, moving. The next session was mainly filled with depressive material and I saw myself inescapably in the role of someone who condemned her for it and got annoyed with her, and she anticipated that by condemning herself for her exhaustion, her poor sleep and for her depressiveness in general. Then, as if somewhere a little light had gone on,

Attachment Patterns in the Bi-Personal Field

an almost incidental remark that she was angry about her depression. I immediately became much more awake, probably because unlike those that preceded it, this sentence had something lively and energetic about it: anger. Could I convey that to her without falling into the pattern of judging, even if it were a positive judgement? I decided to try to avoid the pattern of judging and devaluing by saying something that was a statement not about her, the patient, but about myself. I said that in my opinion she had every reason to be angry about her depression and that depression had the extremely unpleasant, almost treacherous characteristic that it robs the person of their energy, that it is an energy guzzler. I was met by a very surprised, very direct gaze, then a lengthy silence. Then the patient said, “What a thought! Depression as an energy guzzler. It’s the depression that’s to blame, not me!” In this moment I again had the feeling that I was encountering a lively, healthy energy. I was pleased. Such small moments in which the judgemental, condemning attachment style is interrupted for brief, but intense moments, have a strong effect on me. It is as if a door opens, leading out of the illness and out of the pathological attachment pattern. What did the process of pattern formation and modification in these initial sessions at the beginning of an analytical psychotherapy look like retrospectively? To use a musical metaphor, we could say that what I heard from her was mainly a chorale of depression, although she herself was quite aware that this mode would not lead to her own development, and had the gloomy expectation that I would join in the song and judge and devalue her, taking the depression for the person. That was in fact my impulse – to criticize her complaining in some therapeutic way because it rendered me powerless. However, now and then this music was interspersed with a note that did not fit, something young, vital, sometimes angry, sometimes courageous, sometimes happy. The change in the pattern began with my attending to this other voice and with my search for sentences and words that contained interest and not condemnation. The patient probably somehow invited me to do so, non-verbally. The secure attachment pattern was so to speak latently present behind the judgmental attachment pattern. This assumption also shared by Brisch (2015).21 It is my belief that in this example the untransformed affect was impotent disappointment, which was reinforced, but not transformed in both the patient and myself by the depressive attachment pattern.

21 Karl Heinz Brisch, Bindungsstörungen (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2015).

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3. TECHNIQUE OF INTERPRETATION The attachment disturbances described in the above examples develop in the micrometry of the session, on the process level. They can be understood as failed bi-personal attempts to integrate dangerously strong affects that were active in the session. As regards the technique of both voiced—and thought, but unvoiced interpretations—the analyst’s first glance is directed towards the content of what happens in a session, that is, to the material that emerges in the form of associations and to the emotions and bodily sensations associated with them, to narratives, preoccupations, and dreams as well as to his or her own responses. At second glance the analyst perceives what is happening on the process level, the microtransformations .22 Ferro expressly emphasizes that this process level cannot be interpreted using a technique with a singular perspective, which would describe what happens in the session as processes taking place in the patient. I share this view because I believe that we need a process-oriented technique of interpretation to describe what happens at the process level. Such interpretations focus on aspects of the transformational process produced by two people.23 For systematic work with process interpretations, it proves helpful if the analyst expresses those observations that are explicitly verbalized in open and unadorned language rather than in closed, adorned language, in the form of suggestions for reflection as well as questions to the patient. The patient is invited to join the analyst in contemplation, thinking further about what has just happened in the session on the process level, how perhaps a stagnant state arose spontaneously and how this state, this pattern, also changes when things go well.24 Interpretations given on the process level refer to the core processes of secure attachment, that is, to the regulation of the intensity of emotion, the regulation of the quality of emotion, communicative regulation, and the ­attachment patterns described here. The question regarding the progression in which an attachment disorder transforms into a mutative, secure attachment pattern is also of considerable importance. Does it depend on picking up on the historical roots of the 22 Ferro, The Bi-Personal Field, 16-17, 37. 23 Plassmann, Transformationsprozesse in der Traumatherapie, 83-97; Plassmann, “Die Technik der Prozessdeutung,” Forum der Psychoanalyse 32, no. 4 (December 2016): 443-60. 24 Plassmann, Die Technik der Prozessdeutung.

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pattern—in other words, making a genetic interpretation that elicits the necessary change in the present—or does it happen the other way round, as a stagnating attachment pattern is perceived in the patient-therapist relationship and then put into words, triggering a process of searching for change? Does the transformation follow the reconstruction or does the reconstruction follow the transformation? Most like both routes can be taken, so long as there is an awareness of the limitations of each. Beginning with reconstruction could lead one to miss the opportunity to achieve the necessary change in the attachment pattern in the hereand-now of therapy. On the other hand, starting with the micro-transformation in the here-and-now of the therapy could risk neglecting the reconstruction.” I personally like to begin, as clearly demonstrated in the last case example, with the processes taking place in the present in the therapy session, a view shared by Bowlby. He believed that genetic understanding is made possible because an attachment pattern is established in the here-and-now of therapy, enabling the patient to take a look at the aspects related to the past.25

4. CONCLUSIONS FOR PRACTICE In psychotherapy and psychoanalysis dynamic attachment patterns are formed. They are produced by both patient and therapist via transference and countertransference, and differ from classical infantile attachment patterns. They have a strong influence on the transformative processes in the therapeutic session and may belong to either of the basic types of secure or insecure attachment. They are phenomena on the process level. What fascinates me again and again is how much energy is contained in the seemingly small moments of an analytic session in which something new evolves spontaneously and unexpectedly, that is, when an insecure attachment pattern shifts into a secure one. It seems to me that such moments are direct encounters with psychological growth.

25 Bowlby, A Secure Base, 137.

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References Ainsworth, Mary D. Salter, and Barbara Witting. “Attachment and the exploratory behavior of one-year-olds in a strange situation.” In Determinants of Infant Behavior, edited by B. M. Foss, 36-113. London: Methuen, 1969. Ainsworth, Mary D. Salter. Patterns of attachment: A Psychological Study of the Strange Situation. Hillsdale, New York: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc., 1978. Baranger, Madelaine, and Willy Baranger. El insight en la situación analítica [Insight in the analytic state]. In Problemas del campo psicoanalítico. Buenos Aires: Kargieman, 1969. . La situación analítica como campo dinámico [The analytic state as a dynamic field]. In Problemas del campo psicoanalítico [Problems in the analytic field]. Buenos Aires: Kargieman, 1969. . Problemas des campo psicoanalítico. Buenos Aires: Kargieman, 1969. Beebe, Beatrice, and Frank M. Lachmann. Infant Research and Adult Treatment. Co-constructing interactions. Hillsdale, NY: The Analytic Press, 2002. . “The relational turn in psychoanalysis: A dyadic systems view from infant research.’’ Contemporary Psychoanalysis 39, no. 3 (2003): 279-409. Bick, Esther. “The experience of the skin in early object-relations.’’ International Journal of Psychoanalysis 49, no. 2 (1968): 484-86. Boston Change Process Study Group (BCPSG). “Enactment and the Emergence of a New Relational Organization.’’ Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 61, no. 4 (August 2013): 727-49. Bowlby, John. Attachment. Attachment and Loss, Vol. I. London: Tavistock Institute, The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, 1969. . Attachment. Vol. I of Attachment and Loss. 2nd ed. New York: Basic Books Inc., 1982. . Loss, Sadness and Depression. Vol. III of Attachment and Loss. London: Tavistock Institute, The  Hogarth Press  and the  Institute  of  Psycho-Analysis, 1980. . A Secure Base: Parent-Child Attachment and Healthy Human Development. New York: Basic Books Inc., 2008. . Separation, Anxiety and Anger. Vol. II of Attachment and Loss. London: Tavistock Institute, The  Hogarth Press  and the  Institute  of  Psycho-Analysis, 1973. Brisch, Karl Heinz. Bindungsstörungen. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2015. Diener, Mark J., and Joel M. Monroe. “The relationship between adult attachment style and therapeutic alliance in individual psychotherapy: A metaanalytic review.’’ Psychotherapy 48, no. 3 (September 2011): 237-38. Ferro, Antonino. The Bi-Personal Field. Experiences in Child Analysis. London: Routledge, 2003. Fonagy, Peter. Attachment Theory and Psychoanalysis. New York: Other Press, 2001.

References Holmes, Jeremy. Exploring in Security. Towards an Attachment-Informed Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy. New York: Routledge/Taylor and Francis Group, 2010. Levy, Kenneth, William D. Ellison, Lori N. Scott, and Samantha L. Berneker. “Attachment style.’’ Journal of Clinical Psychology 67, no. 2 (February 2011): 193-213. Lewin, Kurt. A Dynamic Theory of Personality. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1935. . Field Theory in Social Science, edited by Dorwin Cartwright. London: Tavistock, 1952. Lewis, Michael, Candice Feiring, and Saul Rosenthal. “Attachment over time.’’ Child Development 71, no. 3 (May/June 2000): 707-20. Main, Mary. “Recent studies in attachment. Overviews, with selected implications for clinical work.” In Attachment Theory, edited by Susan Goldberg, Roy Muir and John Kerr, 407-44. Hillsdale, NY: The Analytic Press, 1995. Main, Mary. “The Organized Categories of Infant, Child, and Adult Attachment; Flexible vs. Inflexible Attention under Attachment-Related Stress.’’ Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 48, no. 4 (August 1, 2000): 1055-96. Mallinckrodt, Brent A., Diana L. Gantt, and Helen M. Coble. “Attachment patterns in the psychotherapy relationship.’’ Journal of Counseling Psychology 42, no. 3 ( July, 1995): 307-17. Martin, Annegret, Uwe Berger, Anna Buchheim, and Bernhard Strauß. “Effects of different attachment organisations on potential countertransference reactions.’’ Psychotherapy Research 17, no. 1 (February, 2007): 46-58. Plassmann, Reinhard. ‘‘Inhaltsdeutung und Prozessdeutung.” Forum der Psychoanalyse 26, no. 2 ( June 2010): 105-20. Plassmann, Reinhard. ‘‘Transformationsprozesse in der Traumatherapie.‘‘ Forum der Psychoanalyse 32, no. 1 (March 2016): 83-97. Plassmann, Reinhard. ‘‘Die Technik der Prozessdeutung.” Forum der Psychoanalyse 32, no. 4 (December 2016): 443-60 Schore, Alan M. “The neurobiology of attachment and early personality organization.’’ Journal of Prenatal & Perinatal Psychology & Health 16, no. 3 (March 2002): 249-63. Siegel, Daniel J. The Developing Mind. New York: Guilford, 1999. Sroufe, Alan L., Byron Egeland, Elizabeth Carlson, and Andrew W. Collins. The Development of the Person: The Minnesota Study of Risk and Adaptation from Birth to Adulthood. New York: Guilford, 2005. Strauß, Bernhard. Bindung. Giessen: Psychosozial-Verlag, 2014. Strauß, Bernhard, Anna Buchheim, and Horst Kächele, eds. Klinische Bindungsforschung. Theorien-Methoden-Ergebnisse. Stuttgart: Schattauer-Verlag, 2002. Woodhouse, Susan S., Lewis Z. Schlosser, Rachel E. Crook, Daniela P. Ligiero, and Charles J. Gelso. “Client attachment to therapist: Relations to transference and client recollections of parental care giving.’’ Journal of Counseling Psychology 50, no. 4 (October 2003): 395-408.

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Voices in Image: A Methodological and Theoretical Approach to the Dialogic Image of the Other with the European Image of China as an Example Xiaojing Wang 1. INTRODUCTION

T

he European image of China has been, in both China and Europe, widely researched, so that it has seemingly become a common theme, generating a proverbially recognized framework of the method and conclusion. The basic method of these studies is textual analysis with a historical perspective. Their main purpose is to determine the characteristics of the European image of China, their diverse patterns, and reasons for these variations. These studies also examine the function and significance of the image of China in the progress of the European history. The conclusions of these studies are shaped by a set of widely accepted discourses. To put it briefly, since the thirteenth century, the European image of China has produced a wide array of characterizations. An essential unity exists steadily under this apparent diversity, however: the representation of the European image of China is polarized; its substance is the European collective imagination that is a necessary component for building the discourse system of the Western modernization, in which China is fixed at the lower level of the hierarchical duality—namely, it is a passive object without sovereignty or right of speech; ideologically, China is mainly the mirror of Eurocentrism; in terms of cultural

The Dialogic Image of the Other

psychology, it reflects the psychological needs of the European social reality; and, functionally, as a powerful and steady discourse system, it helps to define, contrast, motivate or satisfy Europe, and assists in legalizing the external hegemony of the European culture.1 In short, it is generally acknowledged that in the European image of China, the voice of Europe soliloquizes and commands. Consequently, this European image of China can be categorized as a monologic type. In 2014, I suggested a new view in my published dissertation Jenseits des Orientalismus: Neues Fremdbild und neue Kulturpsyche in Filmeneuropäischer Regis­seure 1980–2010. My study has confirmed that, since the 1980s, new European images of China have appeared in European films. To be exact, a new power relation has emerged in the European discourse of China: China is becoming a free subject of thought or action, and even an equal interlocutor with Europe. In contrast to the images of China before the 1980s, these new European images are developing toward a type of “dialogic image.” Since the emphasis of my dissertation Jenseits des Orientalismus is on the latent power relation in the image and the cultural psychology of Europe, the dialogic quality of the image is not discussed intensively in that book. Hence, in this paper I discuss the ontological and methodological dimensions of the dialogic image of the other in more detail. The “image” itself is the key point of this thesis, since it is only when interior questions (such as the ontological substance, the aesthetic structure and ­functions) of the image are precisely clarified that the epitaxial topics   1 For relevant studies on the theories of the image of the other, see Hugo Dyserinck, Komparatistik. Eine Einführung [Comparative literature. An introduction] (Bonn: Bouvier, 1977); Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1978); Daniel Pageaux, “De l’imagerie culturelle à l’imaginaire” [From cultural imagery to the imaginary], in Précis de littérature comparée, ed. Brunel Pierre and Chevrel Yves, 133-61 (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1989); Jean-Marc Moura, “L’imagologie littéraire, essai de mise au point historique et., critique,” Revue de Littérature Comparée 263/66, no. 3 (July-September 1992): 271–87. For studies on the concrete images of the nations, see Raymond Dawson, The Chinese Chameleon: An Analysis of European Conceptions of Chinese Civilization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967); Longxi Zhang, “The myth of the other: China in the eyes of the West,” Critical Inquiry 15, no. 1 (Autumn 1988): 108-31; Thomas H. C. Lee, ed., China and Europe: Images and Influences in Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 1991); Wolfgang Kubin, ed., Mein Bild in deinem Auge: Exotismus und Moderne: Deutschland—China im 20. Jahrhundert [My image in your eye: Exotism and modernity: Germany—China in the 20th Century] (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1995); Jonathan Spence, The Chan’s Great Continent: China in Western Minds (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1998); Colin Mackerras, Western Images of China (Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1999); Ning Zhou, Tianchao Yauyuan [Western Images of China] (Beijing: Peking University Press, 2006); Yuan Tan, Der Chinese in der deutschen Literatur [The Chinese in German literature] (Göttingen: Cuvillier, 2007); and Manfred Beller and Joseph Theodoor Leerssen, Imagology: The Cultural Construction and Literary Representation of National Characters: A Critical Survey (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007).

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of the image of the other (such as the historical, cultural, sociological and political issues) can be accurately researched. Thus, this paper focuses on the following two questions: 1. What is the dialogic image of the other? (for example, What is the dialogic quality of the image of the other? What is the significance of such an image?), and, 2. Which method shall we apply to approach the image of the other, in order to find out the dialogic quality in it? After this introduction (Section 1), this paper is divided into three parts. The first part (Section 2) is concerned primarily with the ontological substance of the image of the other in three ways: the psychological mechanism, the cultural content and the literary semiotic structure. This ontological thinking serves as a methodological foundation for the following discussion and stresses the cultural and literary significances of the dialogic image of the other. On this basis, and by incorporating the dialogical theory of Bakhtin, Section 3 will explore the dialogicity of the image of the other. In the next part (Section 4), an example will be given to illuminate what, precisely, a dialogic image of the other looks like, and how the theory and method of Section 3 can be employed. In my conclusion in Section 5, I will put forward the following three conclusions. First, the image of the other functions as the “little other” in the psychological quadrilateral model of Lacan. Consequently, a dialogic image of the other, which occurs in the latent layer of a literary work, renders the deconstructive variation in the cultural unconscious, and indicates the equal power relation between the self and the other. Second, five relevant factors of the dialogic quality in the image of the other will be derived from Bakhtin’s dialogism theory: autonomous subjects, equal rights, polyphony, interaction/mutual influence, and unfinalizability. Third, in some European films from the twenty-first century, the image of China fulfills these conditions, heralding a new era of the cultural history of Europe. I hope that this study can be a helpful complement for the current theory and practice of the imagology, and can thus stimulate further studies in this field.

2. THE ONTOLOGICAL SUBSTANCE OF THE IMAGE OF THE OTHER 2.1. Psychological mechanism Many studies have illustrated the mutual points of reference between individual psychology and cultural psychology.2 Thus, it has been widely recognized   2 See Charles Cooley, Human Nature and the Social Order (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1902); George Devereux, Ethnopsychoanalysis: Psychoanalysis and Anthropology as Complementary Frames of Reference (Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 1978);

The Dialogic Image of the Other

that “culture is inextricable part of mental life. Culture must be seen as an inseparable part of people’s psychological functioning.”3 Therefore, researching culture with the method of psychology is an ontological return to the human being, to the core of the cultural problems, and could provide us with a clear vision to understand the complex phenomena of culture and the relationship between cultures. The psychoanalytic theory of Jacques Lacan can be used in the present study to interpret the psychological mechanism of the collective image of the other.4 Hence, the image-maker (a nation or a culture) can be assumed to be an individual with human psychology, which can be illuminated with a quadrilateral psychological structure (see Figure 1).5 According to Lacan, an individual possesses a “subject,” or rather, a false subject separated from the true one, as the nominal spokesperson of the individual.6 In addition, there is “another subject” in this structure.7 It is the subject of the unconscious. We can, for instance, assume that the author of a literary work is the subject of this work, because it seems that only the author can dominate the meaning of his work. As a matter of fact, there is “another meaning” that is latent, and that depends upon the language, namely the use, the structure and the context Mario Erdheim, Die Psychoanalyse und das Unbewusste in der Kultur [Psychoanalysis and the unconscious in culture] (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1988); Erich Fromm, Psychoanalysis and Religion (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1950); and Alfred Lorenzer and Hans-Dieter König, ed., Kultur-Analysen [Culture analysis] (Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 1986).  3 Eva Magnusson and Jeanne Marecek. Gender and Culture in Psychology: Theories and Practices (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 19.   4 Jacques Lacan, Écrits: A Selection, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York: W. W. Norton, 1977); Jacques Lacan, The Ego in Freud’s Theory and in the Technique of Psychoanalysis, 1954–1955, Book II of The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, trans. Sylvana Tomaselli, ed. Jacques-Alain Miller (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Jacques Lacan, The Psychoses, 19551956, Book III of The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, trans. Russell Grigg, ed. Jacques-Alain Miller (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997).  5 Lacan, Écrits, 193-94.  6 Lacan, Book II, 244.   7 “The big Other designates radical alterity, an other-ness which transcends the illusory otherness of the imaginary because it cannot be assimilated through identification. Lacan equates this radical alterity with language and the law, and hence the big Other is inscribed in the order of the symbolic. Indeed, the big Other is the symbolic insofar as it is particularised for each subject. The Other is thus both another subject, in his radical alterity and unassimilable uniqueness, and also the symbolic order which mediates the relationship with that other subject.” Dylan Evans, An Introductory Dictionary of Lacanian Psychoanalysis (New York: Routledge, 2006), 136.

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of the language.8 This other meaning is namely “another subject,” which by Lacan is called as the big “Other” (Autre).9 The big Other is a symbolic order, the symbolic identity of the subject.10 In the case of a human, the big Other must first of all be considered as a locus, the locus in which speech is constituted.11 In arguing that speech originates neither in the ego, nor even in the subject, but in the big Other, Lacan is stressing that speech and language are beyond one’s conscious control; they come from another place, outside consciousness, and hence “the unconscious is the discourse of the Other.”12 Similarly, what determines the “meaning” of a human individual is not his/ her consciousness, but his/her unconscious, which is constituted in the big Other. Under the mandate of the unconscious, the subject internalizes the question “what does the Other want of me?”.13 This is what Lacan means by his claim that man’s desire is the desire of the Other.14 The big Other is constituted by internalizing the authority of the extrinsic parents’ orders and the laws.15 Thus it is an operation that mediates the relationship between the inner self and the outside world of an individual, between the self and others.16 In Lacan’s theory framework, there is another “other,” namely the little “other” (autre)17. The little other is the counterpart and the specular image of the ego (moi) that develops from the mirror stage of infancy.18 To be ­specific, in the mirror stage the infant projects its ideal to the image in the mirror. This mirror image projected with the ideal is just the little other. The infant identifies with the little other, and the identification forms the ego, an   8 Roman Ingarden, The Cognition of the Literary Work of Art (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1979), 70.  9 Lacan, Écrits, 312. 10 “[T]he subject acquires a ‘symbolic’ identity that is different in kind from the ‘imaginary’ identity acquired at the level of the ego. Symbolic identification consists in being recognized by the big Other, thereby obviating the need for struggle at the imaginary level.” Andrew Cutrofello, Continental Philosophy: A Contemporary Introduction (New York: Routledge, 2005), 168. 11 Lacan, Book III, 274. 12 Lacan, Écrits, 172. 13 Ibid., 316. 14 Ibid., 264, 312. 15 David S. Caudill, Lacan and the Subject of Law: Toward a Psychoanalytic Critical Legal Theory (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1997), 159. 16 Judge Dredd, “Dreaming of instant justice,” in Law, Culture and Visual Studies, ed. Anne Wagner and Richard K. Sherwin (Dordrecht: Springer Science & Business Media, 2013), 939. 17 Alan Sheridan, “Translator’s note,” in Lacan, Écrits: A Selection, xiv. Lacanian term “autre” is given uniformly as “the little other” in this study. 18 Lacan, Écrits, 2, 90, 1-7.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

ideal ego. And the infant sees himself only in this ideal ego; he may believe that this ideal ego is him. Thus, we can say that it is the image of the little other that constitutes the imaginary identity of the subject.19 The structuration of the imaginary identity is a closed introversive process and aims at building a closed imaginary world. As Lacan points out: “everybody is at that stage, and there is no way of getting out of it”.20 Hence, this imaginary identity can be defined as a closed monologic identity. As shown in Figure 1, the Schema L of Lacan is a brief illustration of the relation within the subject, the little other, the ego and the big Other. We can see that the little other plays an important role in the whole psychological structure. At first, through it the ego is visible, because it echoes the ideal ego. Furthermore, through it the subject also becomes visible, because the subject identifies himself with it. In addition, through it the unconscious/the big Other is reachable as well, because the little other functions as the disguise of the big Other. According to Lacan, if speech is founded on the existence of the big Other, “language is so made as to return us to the little other.”21 In the lacanian quadrilateral, the line that separates the subject and the big Other is “the wall of language.”22 That is to say, language will as a barrier “drastically prevent us from understanding him,” namely from understanding the big Other by means of leading us to the little other.23 The little other is thus the variant of the big Other. Therefore, an intensive analysis of the variant of the big Other could be an effective approach to the truth of the big Other. A literary image of the other can function as a typical little other, when it fulfills the following two characteristics. The first is the spatial otherness from the image-maker self. The infant and its image in the mirror exist in two 19 “The mirror phase theory had shown how the human infant attains a mastery of its motor ­functions through capture in an image. An image is assumed which is first of all outside, be it in a mirror itself or in the image of another child. This identification, Lacan argues, will set the framework of the ego . . . . The constitution of the ego always takes place in reference to the other, the specular little other whose image the subject has appropriated. The arrow goes from [other] to [ego] to indicate that the ego is first of all the other, that it is the image of the other that will constitute our own identity.” Darian Leader, “The schema L,” in Drawing the Soul: Schemas and Models in Psychoanalysis, ed. Bernard Burgoyne (London: H. Karnac, 2003), 179. 20 Lacan, Book II, 243. 21 Ibid., 244. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid.

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S: subject

a: ego (ideal image)

a’: little other (specular image)

A: big Other (unconscious)

Figure 1  Schema L of Lacan.

spaces, they can never touch each other. The spatial difference between them is insurmountable. With this great spatial otherness, the imagination of the image-maker can unfold fully. The initial identification of the subject just occurs in the imaginary.24 The second characteristic is the formal similarity with the subject. The shapes of the infant and its image in the mirror are equal. Such an equality makes the infant certain that the image in the mirror is capable of being invested with its conception of itself. In the cultural psychological structure of Europe, the image of China, for instance, in most literary texts meet the conditions mentioned above, because, firstly, Europe and China are far apart not only geographically, but also psychologically. They are never totally conquered by each other, neither militarily nor culturally. Therefore, they are never to be dependent of one another. Furthermore, in comparison with the relation between Europe and the Middle East, there is no direct religious contact between them. Hence, psychologically speaking, they can face one another from across a great distance with relative calm. Consequently, their imagination can be unfolded and embodied fully in each other. Secondly, Europe and China are both great cultural entities. They are counterparts of one another in terms of the area of the cultural territory and the strength of the cultural content. China is thus able to arouse the desire of Europe and carry its ideal. Hence, the European image of China can be treated as a typical little other in the psychological structure of Europe. As shown in Figure 2, through the image of China we can most clearly see the psychological structure of Europe. 24 Evans, Lacanian Psychoanalysis, 82-83.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

subject: conscious/synthesized identity of Europe25  little other: China-image

ego: ideal Europe/ imaginary identity 

big Other: unconscious of Europe/symbolic identity

Figure 2  The psychological structure of Europe.

Now we have seen that the image of the other is an indispensable c­ omponent of the psychological structure of the image-maker. It is the specular image of the ego, the variant of the language of the big Other. Since the ego as an imaginary ideal-identity is substantially narcissistic and autocentric, the little other as the specular echo of the ideal ego also appears to be monologic. This is the reason why Eurocentrism in European literature and the Hancentrism in the Chinese literature seem insurmountable. After the extrinsic relations, laws and orders are internalized and the big Other is constituted, serving as the intrinsic authority. When the internalized relations, laws, and orders are still narcissistic—for example, oriental to China, the little other/ the image of the other is accordingly monologic (see Figure 3); as such, we can now better understand why almost all images of the other are monologic. Consequently, the dialogic image of the other will only be realized when significant changes take place in the big Other. That “significant changes take place in the big Other” does not mean “changing your mind,” “taking another look at it” or “doing something for the cultural exchange.” That “significant changes 25 The subject has a synthetical identity from two identifications, the imaginary (from the ego) and the symbolic (from the big Other). “In Lacan there are two narcissisms, one associated with the subject’s primary, mirror-phase investment in the ideal ego of imaginary identification, the other its secondary investment in the ego-ideal of Symbolic identification. The first is a narcissism that establishes a bodily unity in the subject during Lacan’s mirror stage. The second is crucial to resolving the oedipal complex. . . . In effect, to put the issue too simply, the function of secondary narcissism is to move the subject toward a mature relation to the world and others in it.” James M. Mellard, Beyond Lacan (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2006), 93-94.

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subject: hegemonic

ego: self-centered

little other: monologic

big Other: Orientalistic

Figure 3  The psychological structure of Europe reflected by the monologic image of China.

take place in the big Other” means the deep and steady deconstructive variation in the collective unconscious of a culture; it manifests that a time-honored stable monologic self-centered discourse system just varies; it indicates that the foundation of the psychological structure of a culture is being deconstructed. Therefore, the appearance of the dialogic image of the other is not easy and accidental. It comes up from the depth of a culture and develops slowly, so that it is difficult to be perceived. Thanks to the little other/the image of the other, we can explore and research its characteristics.

2.2. Cultural content From the theoretical discussion in 2.1 comes a general conclusion: The image of the other comprises primarily the ego of the image-maker, and secondarily the internalized order about the relation between the image-­maker’s self and the other in the unconscious. In other words, the image of the other implies the knowledge and attitudes of the image-maker to the other and to his selfhood, as well as the comparison between them. The result of the comparison is treated here as the power relation in the discourse of the image of the other. According to the discourse theory of Michel Foucault, discourse is essentially a carrier of power.26 The power differentiates the discourse objects and places them in several ordered categories in the discourse, that is, rational > 26 Michel Foucault, Die Ordnung des Diskurses [The order of discourse], trans. Walter Seitter (Frankfurt am Main: Ullstein, 1977), 11.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

irrational, West > East, one’s own > the other.27 Thus, an intrinsic power relation occurs in every discourse. At the same time, this intrinsic power relation in the discourse exerts an extrinsic disciplinary power upon the addressees. For example, the reader/listener/viewer is unconsciously trained to identify with the rational and the West, and to banish the unreasonable and the East. Furthermore, with this identification the reader/listener/viewer will copy and produce the same power relation in another discourse unconsciously. In this way, the power relation of the discourse dominates the social and cultural substance of the image of the other. In the case of the image of the other, the power relation has to be understood as an intrinsic hierarchic structure of one’s own and the other. Therefore, for a meaningful analysis of the power relation, it is necessary to distinguish which parts of the image of the other embody the historical and cultural features of the other and which parts are affected rather by the selfhood of the image-maker. Therefore, in studying the European image of China in literature and film, the power relation should not be regarded as a superficial relation between European and Chinese protagonists, but as an intricate connection between all elements regarding Europe and China. For instance, in the European literature of the Enlightenment, China’s image appears in a very positive light. In Lettres chinoises (1739) of Marquis d’Argens, which was published in 1739, the Chinese protagonist Yn-Che Chan is allowed to expound Confucian teaching and to argue for its benefits; “He believes in a Supreme Being and marvels at the barbaric superstitions of the Europeans”.28 It seems as if in this case China gains a superior position in the power relation. Nevertheless, the Chinese protagonist possesses a European mind: He thinks and behaves in the European way, so that René Etiemble pointed out that this Chinese protagonist is simply a disguise of the author Marquis d’Argens himself (“[. . .] ce singulier Chinois qui déguise mal d’Argens [. . .]”).29 Likewise, the praised Chinese philosophy is merely an idealized and even invented product by the Europeans. Thereby, in such literature, European thinking lurks behind the Chinese husk, with the result that it does not make a difference in the traditional power relation in the European image of China: Europe > China. 27 Michel Foucault, Sexualität und Wahrheit: Der Wille zum Wissen [The history of sexuality], trans. Raulff Ulrich and Seitter Walter (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1977), 114. 28 Julia Gasper, The Marquis d’Argens: A Philosophical Life (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2014), 111. 29 René Étiemble, L’Europe chinoise II: De la sinophilie à la sinophobie [Chinese Europe II: From sinophilia to sinophobia] (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1989), 166.

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1. Signifier

2. Signified

3. Sign I SIGNIFIER

II SIGNIFIED

III SIGN Figure 4  Barthes’s signification-model with two meaning systems.

The power relations, like rational > irrational, one’s own > the other, West > East, Europe > China, function as a solid cultural foundation. Furthermore, it embodies the power order, the power Authority of the big Other. Hence, any change of the power relation is very difficult. Even if it arises, as already stated, it can be perceived only with great difficulty, because it is the language of the big Other, namely, of the unconscious. As previously mentioned, the little other is a disguise of the big Other. Therefore, an intensive analysis of the little other is an approach to the understanding of the big Other.

2.3. Literary semiotic structure In this section, an original semiological model will be introduced in order to understand and analyze the image of the other more deeply. This model is named the “123-model.” “1” means that the model is an integral signification-system; “2” suggests that there are two layers in each of the meaning systems; “3” indicates that the model contains three meaning systems. The 123-model is based on a semiological model developed by Roland Barthes (see Figure 4). Barthes’s model contains two meaning systems. Each of its meaning systems is single-layered. His model shows us how a myth works, in other words, how to analyze and decode a myth.30 Nevertheless, there are two reasons for why a new model should be built. First, Barthes’s model is not suitable for the understanding of a complex work of art. Consequently, it is unsuitable for analyzing a complex image of the other in the literary text. To be specific: although a literary text is also a type of myth,31 and the basic method of demythologization and the method of textual 30 Roland Barthes, Mythologies, trans. Annette Lavers (London: Vintage Books, 1972), 113-16. 31 “It can be seen that to purport to discriminate among mythical objects according to their substance would be entirely illusory: since myth is a type of speech, everything can be a myth provided it is conveyed by a discourse. Myth is not defined by the object of its message but by the way in which it utters its message: there are formal limits to myth, there no ‘substantial’ ones.” Barthes, Mythologies, 109.

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analysis are analogous – they both deal with forms of discourse – demythologization and textual analysis have totally different aims. By contrast, Barthes aims to track down the “ideological abuse,”32 in other words, to demonstrate how the dominant ideology influences the expression of the people. Hence, through textual analysis, he mainly examines how a literary text is abused by the dominant ideology. Issues such as aesthetic energies and functions are not really his concern. However, the mission of literary research is more than tracking down the hegemonic ideology, because a literary work is by no means one-­dimensional, but a multilayered semantic system, which implies the mainstream ideology as well as the spirit of rebellion, the act of subversive submission, and the negotiation between the author and the society.33 The literary image of the other has, thus, a multilayered construction as well. Each of its meaning systems in its signification-model is formed by a bi-layer structure. This means that there are two layers in every meaning system: the manifest layer and the latent layer. The meaning of the manifest layer is transmitted directly by the messages of words; the meaning of the latent layer is hidden in the relations of all thematic and structural elements in the text.34 Thereby, this paper proposes that the researched object of the image of the other by the imagological study should not be understood as a concrete representation of a character or a nation, but as a complex scene that comprises not only the representation of the foreign people or nation, but also the whole of the complex relationships between the figure of the foreign people/nation and all of the relevant thematic and structural elements of the text. Second, Barthes’s model skips a thinking stage. According to Roland Barthes, myth “is a second-order semiological system.”35 The signifier of the myth contains a complete system of meaning: the first meaning system of signifier and signified. The signifier of the myth and the signified of the myth then form the second-order meaning system. According to Barthes, the signified of the myth in the second-order meaning system is the ideology.36 The preferred example of   “We shall therefore take language, discourse, speech, and so on, to mean any significant unit or synthesis, whether verbal or visual: a photograph will be a kind of speech for us in the same way as a newspaper article; even objects will become speech, if they mean something.” Barthes, Mythologies, 111. 32 Ibid., 11. 33 Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning. From More to Shakespeare (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1980). 34 Matthias Freise, Slavistische Literaturwissenschaft [Slavic literature] (Tübingen: Narr, 2012), 12-13. 35 Barthes, Mythologies, 114. 36 Roland Barthes, Elemente der Semiologie [Elements of semiology], trans. Eva Moldenhauer (Frankfurt am Main: Syndikat, 1979), 77.

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Roland Barthes is a young black soldier on the cover of the magazine Paris Match. Barthes described the picture: “I am at the barber’s, and a copy of Paris Match is offered to me. On the cover, a young Negro in a French uniform is saluting, with his eyes uplifted, probably fixed on a fold of the tricolor.”37 This is the signifier of the first system of the picture. The signified of this first system is immediately visible: a black soldier is giving the French salute. Based on the first system, which now functions as the signifier of another meaning system, another signified of Frenchness can be figured out: All this is the meaning of the picture. But whether naively or not, I see very well what it signifies to me: that France is a great Empire, that all her sons, without any color discrimination, faithfully serve under the flag, and that there is no better answer to the detractors of an alleged colonialism than the zeal shown by this Negro in serving his so-called oppressors.”38

This means that the first system becomes the signifier of the second system. The signified of the second system is therefore Frenchness. According to the logic of Barthes, Frenchness refers to ideology. However, this is problematic. For comparison, the European could easily recognize the Chineseness through, for example, the rickshaw, the braid and the opium pipe: the Chinese was backward, conservative and morbid. But strictly speaking, Chineseness is not an ideology. Only that which makes people believe that the rickshaw, the opium and the braid are the analogy of Chineseness is ideology. Thus, we can determine that the literary discourse actually contains three meaning systems. Consequently, both the literary work and the literary image of the other are constructed with three instead of two meaning systems. In the first meaning system all the information of the text forms the signifier. Its s­ ignified is two-leveled: the obvious content on the manifest layer, and the relations of all of the information of the text on the latent layer. The first meaning system functions as the signifier of the second meaning system that similarly signifies two layers of the signified: the manifest connotation and the latent c­ onnotation. Sequentially, the second meaning system serves as the signifier of the third meaning system that also points to two layers of the signified: the manifest thought and the latent thought of the work. In this manner, a 123-model is constructed (see Figure 5). Through this model the complicated literary structure 37 Barthes, Mythologies, 116. 38 Ibid.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

Signifier A all of the information about the other and self

Signified A representations of the other structural relations between the other and self

Sign A = Signifier B representations of the other

Signified B manifest connotation of the image of the other

structural relations between the other and the other elements

latent connotation of the image of the other

Sign B = Signifier C manifest connotation of the image of the other

Signified C manifest ideology and other manifest thoughts

latent connotation of the image of the other

latent ideology and other latent thoughts

Sign C Figure 5  123-model: The semiotic structure of the image of the other in a literary text.

of the image of the other can be expressed clearly and systematically. This is a prerequisite of researching the image of the other, because “[d]ialogic relationships exist among all elements of novelistic structure.”39 Moreover, this model leads us to pay more attention to the latent layer, which could escape from the control of the dominant ideology, and which could be the locus where the dialogic image of the other can be sought out.

2.4. Interim summary In this section, we have discussed the substance of the image of the other from a variety of viewpoints (psychological, cultural, and literary semiological), which serves as a methodological foundation for the research of the dialogic image of the other. Psychologically, the image of the other functions 39 Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, trans. Caryl Emerson (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), 40.

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as the specular reflection of the ideal ego and the variant of the big Other (the unconscious) at the same time. As the reflection of the narcissistic ideal ego, the image of the other is monologic. However, as a variant of the language of the big Other, the image of the other could contain a dialogic quality, because the big Other is an open field, which tackles the relations to the worlds and others. Nevertheless, the dialogic quality is difficult to perceive because the dialogic quality in the image of the other, by its cultural nature, is a variation of the power relation of a discourse system stemming from the deep foundation of a culture. In other words, above all the self-centered thought and the hierarchal dualism must be broken, in order to build a new power relation. For seeking this variation in the literary text, a new semiological model – the 123-model, which is based on the signification-model of Roland Barthes – is used. The 123-model reveals the complicated signification structure of a literary work and reminds us of the structuralistic nature of the image of the other. Moreover, it frees the imagological study from a merely ideological research, and hence, provides a wide structural view for researching the dialogic image of the other.

3. THE DIALOGIC QUALITY OF THE IMAGE OF THE OTHER 3.1. Dialogic quality A dialogic image of the other means an image of the other implying the dialogic quality. According to Section 2, we can draw a general conclusion about ­dialogic quality: psychologically, the dialogic quality is the speech of the unconscious; culturally, it is based on the equal power relation between the self and the other; literarily, it occurs in the latent layer that is constructed by the structural relations of all relative elements in the text. Furthermore, Bakhtin’s dialogism provides a specialized theoretical framework to understand the ­dialogic quality of the image of the other. In Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics (1984), Bakhtin suggests, “dialogic quality is a special form of interaction among autonomous and equally signifying consciousnesses.”40 Through Dostoevsky’s novel, he interprets the concrete meaning of this definition. Bakhtin affirms that “Dostoevsky’s novel is dialogic”41 and argues: 40 Ibid., 284. 41 Ibid.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

It is constructed not as the whole of a single consciousness, absorbing other consciousnesses as objects into itself, but as a whole formed by the interaction of several consciousnesses, none of which entirely becomes an object for the other; this interaction provides no support for the viewer who would objectify an entire event according to some ordinary monologic category… and this consequently makes the viewer also a participant.42 Thus the new artistic position of the author with regard to the hero in Dostoevsky’s polyphonic novel is a fully realized and thoroughly consistent ­dialogic position, one that affirms the independence, internal freedom, unfinalizability, and indeterminacy of the hero. For the author the hero is not “he” and not “I” but a fully valid “thou,” that is, another and other autonomous “I” (“thou art”).43 From the quotations we can see, the dialogic quality is primarily a special relationship between several subjects. Thus we can come to the first basic factor of the dialogic quality, which is another autonomous subject instead of an objectified puppet. Therefore, there are at least two independent, free autonomous subjects, which are the initial condition of a dialogue. This relationship of subjects shall be kept not only between the characters in a text, but also between the author and the characters. The author shall in no way make a character’s discourse to serve as a vehicle for the author’s own ideological position. In this sense the image of a character in Dostoevsky’s works is not the usual objectified image of a hero in the traditional novel,44 because “the author’s consciousness does not transform others’ consciousnesses (that is, the consciousnesses of the characters) into objects, and does not give them secondhand and finalizing definitions.”45 However, treating the other “not as an object but as another subject”46 is not enough, because the dialogic characters must also “successfully accomplish if they are to overcome their ethical solipsism, their disunited ‘idealistic’ consciousness, and transform the other person from a shadow into an authentic reality.”47 That means the participants of a dialogue must challenge the instinctive narcissism of their ego. It is difficult but necessary to perceive and

42 Ibid. 43 Ibid., 63. 44 Ibid., 59. 45 Ibid., 68. 46 Ibid., 10. 47 Ibid.

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recognize the consciousness and rights of the other person.48 Only then can “a dialogic position with equal rights” be realized.49 Only with equal rights and an equal position, all participants of a dialogue, being “infinite and open-ended,”50 have an open attitude toward oneself and toward the other.51 A non-finalized interaction between them then becomes achievable. All in all, equality is the second factor of the dialogic quality. Many different voices can then be heard: Agreement and disagreement, affirmation and supplementation, question and answer, mother tongue and foreign language, and so on. They encounter and collide not only between words, sentences, or other elements of a single utterance, but also between whole utterances,52 so that the main ideology cannot easily manipulate them.53 These voices are not fitting within the framework of confident and calmly meditative monologic consciousness; they appear particularly abrupt; they throw off the ideological balance and collide with one another.54 Thus, polyphony is the third factor of the dialogic quality. In this way, the objective prerequisite is created for the fourth factor of the dialogic quality: interaction of consciousnesses. In Bakhtin’s view, Dostoevsky portrayed not the life of an idea in an isolated consciousness, and not the interrelationship of ideas, but the interaction of consciousnesses in the sphere of ideas (but not of ideas only) . . . [A consciousness] is pulled into interaction with other consciousnesses. In Dostoevsky, consciousness never gravitates toward itself but is always found in intense relationship with another consciousness. Every experience, every thought of a character is internally dialogic, adorned with polemic, filled with struggle, or is on the contrary open to inspiration from outside itself – but it is not in any case concentrated simply on its own object; it is 48 When man gets too self-centered, the rights of others can be violated. C. Franklin Truan, Meta-values: Universal Principles for a Sane World (Tucson, AZ: Fenestra Books, 2004), 53. 49 Bakhtin, Dostoevsky’s Poetics, 72. 50 “Alongside and in front of itself it senses others’ equally valid consciousnesses, just as infinite and open-ended as itself. It reflects and re-creates not a world of objects, but precisely these other consciousnesses with their worlds, recreates them in their authentic unfinalizability (which is, after all, their essence).” (Bakhtin, Dostoevsky’s Poetics, 68). 51 Ibid., 251. 52 Ibid., 188. 53 “The term ‘ideological novel’ therefore seems to us inadequate, for it distracts from Dostoevsky’s authentic artistic task.” Ibid., 32. 54 Ibid., 20.

The Dialogic Image of the Other accompanied by a continual sideways glance at another person. It could be said that Dostoevsky offers, in artistic form, something like a sociology of consciousnesses – to be sure, only on the level of coexistence.55

Bakhtin emphasizes the interaction of consciousnesses, because it indicates the real acceptance of the other, and the real acceptance by the other. It is the interaction that can connect the isolated individuals to be communicative persons, can make existence to coexistence, can transform the many voices into a structural net instead of many single self-talks, and thus can make a dialogue reality. Therefore, interaction is the central factor of the dialogue reality. The fifth factor of the dialogic quality is the unfinalizability, which is a special feature, derived from the Bakhtin’s philosophy into the dialogist and the dialogue. To Bakhtin, above all, a person qua free voice is unfinalizable. The unfinalizability of a person means that, in principle, she can never finalize herself, and can never exhaust the various relations she has with either herself (expressively) or with others (communicatively). Although each person is the “self-same person,” a person nevertheless does not coincide with herself and is thus other to herself, because there is always something that remains unthematized about a person—not only from the perspective of others, but even from that of herself. For this reason, every act of communication in which a person tries to express that which constitutes her “core” is unfinalized, and an ever further unwrapping act of revelation.56 Since the person is unfinalizable, the dialogue between the persons is also unfinalizable. That dialogue is unfinalizable means that it is meaningful at every moment and can always be carried on further. “Dialogue is an exchange in which the participants can continue to converse with each other without ever exhausting their various relations either with themselves (by expressing their personal other through the voice) or with other persons (by communicating with them through the voice).”57 Therefore, in a dialogic literary work, the characters sense themselves “to be from the very beginning a rejoinder in an unfinalized dialogue. Such thought is not impelled toward a well-rounded, finalized, systemically monologic whole.”58 55 Ibid., 18. 56 Dmitriĭ Vladimirovich Nikulin, On Dialogue (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2006), 55-56, 59. 57 Dmitriĭ Vladimirovich Nikulin, Dialectic and Dialogue (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2010), 77. 58 Bakhtin, Dostoevsky’s Poetics, 32.

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In summation, we can conclude five elemental factors of the dialogic quality. First, the participants of a dialogue are autonomous subjects. Second, all of the participants have equal rights. Third, many different voices and languages meet and collide. Fourth, interaction connects consciousnesses. Fifth, the participants and their dialogue are unfinalizable. With these criteria, we can effectively distinguish whether an image of the other is dialogic or not.

3.2. Dialogic image of the other Section 2 established that the image of the other in a literary text should not be defined as a being concrete in character, but rather as having a series of c­ omplex relationships between the figure of the foreign people or nation and all of the relevant thematic and structural elements of the text. It implies not only the knowledge and attitudes of the image-maker to the other, but also the knowledge and attitudes of the image-maker to his selfhood. In addition, there is the inescapable comparison between them, namely, a comparative relationship between the image-maker and the other. It is as if two persons or two groups of people are lumped together in a forum; and their mutual observations, mutual judgments, as well as their consequent actions constituting a kind of relation between them. The dialogic quality of an image of the other is embodied by this relation. Specifically, a dialogic image of the other should have the following features. First, there should be at least two humanized autonomous subjects. That is to say, in a literary work, the image-maker and the other are both subjects with autonomous consciousness. To be specific, both sides recognize and acknowledge the unique value of each other; they all believe that the other side has the ability to express themselves, to present and defend their own ideas; moreover, both sides are certain that they can understand what the other side says; similarly, the other side is deemed to be capable of understanding and responding to what “I” say. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done, especially when it comes to the relationship between West and East, which can be summarized with the notion “Orientalism.” It is a widely accepted opinion that the Orient was almost a European invention, and had been since antiquity understood to be a place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes, as well as remarkable experiences, so that the Orient is an integral part of European material civilization and culture.59 Orientalism is a Western style for dominating, 59 Edward Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin, 2003), 2.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

restructuring, and having authority over the Orient. The Orient was thus not (and is not) a free subject of thought or action.60 Though by “Orient,” Said means the Middle East, what he says applies to the Far East as well, “especially to China, as the paradigm and locale of the other with its own history and tradition of thought, imagery, and vocabulary.”61 The image of China in the Western eye has always been historically shaped to represent values that are considered as different from the Western ones, and has served as foils to the West at one time or another, either as idealized utopias, alluring and exotic dreamlands, or as lands of eternal stagnation, spiritual purblindness, and ignorance.62 As mentioned at the beginning of this study, before the 1980s, China in the European literature and films is objectified and even stereotyped. It is either the object of European desire or the mouthpiece of European ideas. Thus, the images of China presented were barely human, much less endowed with their own autonomous consciousness and voice. In European cinema, from The Last Emperor (1986) by the Italian director Bernardo Bertolucci and on, a humanized image of China emerges with its own autonomous consciousness and voice. In the film, China is finally able to express its own history and culture as a humanized, neutral and normal entity.63 From then on, almost all images of China in cinema are humanized and have an autonomous consciousness.64 Second, all of the participants have equal rights. That is to say, the imagemaker and the other are not only the autonomous subjects, but also occupy equal positions, so that they both realize that the other side has the same rights. For this purpose, both sides must overcome their ethical solipsism, their disunited “idealistic” consciousness. Then it is possible for them to admit their own weaknesses and limitations. Only in this way can they recognize the subjectivity and rights 60 Ibid., 3-4. 61 Longxi Zhang, “The myth of the other: China in the eyes of the West,” Critical Inquiry 15, no. 1 (Autumn, 1988): 114. 62 Ibid., 127. 63 Xiaojing Wang, Jenseits des Orientalismus: neues Fremdbild und neue Kulturpsyche in Filmen europäischer Regisseure 1980–2010 [Beyond Orientalism: New hetero-image and new cultural psychology in films of European directors, 1980-2010] (Goettingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 45-124. 64 For example: Drachenfutter [Dragon Chow] (1987), L’amant (1992), Irma Vep (1996), Augustin, roi du Kung-fu [Augustin, King of Kung-Fu] (1999), Maður eins og ég [A man like me] (2002), Clean (2004), Kinamand [Chinaman] (2005), Waar is het paard van Sinterklaas? [Where is Winky’s horse?] (2007), Gomorra (2008), City of Trance (2008), Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu? [Serial (Bad) Weddings] (2014).

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of the other. Consequently, there is no superiority, no hierarchy, no domination, and no command of one over another.65 Though China becomes an autonomous entity in the film The Last Emperor, Europe and China do not have equal rights. The European character Reginald Johnston is not only the teacher of the Chinese emperor Pu Yi but also the ideal father, the spiritual mentor of Pu Yi’s life.66 He is Pu Yi’s f­lawless idol, who guides Pu Yi, looking down at the history of China with calm regard.67 Since the 1990s, equal rights between Europe and China have been depicted in European films, for example, in Jean-Jaques Annaud’s L’amant (1992), Olivier Assayas’s Irma Vep (1996), and Anne Fontanine’s Augustin, roi du Kung-fu (1999). In these films, both sides give up the sense of self-­ superiority, because they all perceive the strengths and weaknesses of each other. Thus, they allow the other side to hold forth, and they are ready to listen to ­divergent opinions.68 Third, many different voices meet and collide. In other words, a dialogic image of the other is constructed as a multi-leveled polyphony. The voice does not just mean the lines an actor recites, rather, it also refers to the inner viewpoint and perception hidden in the structural relations of the literary text. The speakers are not necessarily the characters. They could be the character, the author, or the text itself. Their opinions are by no means monotonous or uniform. They think and speak from a variety of perspectives and viewpoints, even from different temporal and spatial contexts. In consequence, judgment and contradiction, agreement and disagreement, affirmation and supplementation, question and answer, my language and your language, crying and laughing, and so on, gather together to construct a world that is full of relativity and possibility. In such a world, the power of the main ideology is limited or even deconstructed. The French comedy Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu?69 offers a good example in this respect. In this film—through satire, irony, joke, self-mockery, 65 These “equal rights” are not equal to the concept “equal power relation”(self = other). The “equal rights” are rather a kind of static concept about the equal, free and authentic existence of the participants in a dialogue; The equal power relation is understood as a complex relation including the static equal rights and the dynamic mutual influences between the participants in a dialogue. 66 Wang, Jenseits des Orientalismus, 112-13. 67 Ibid., 59. 68 Ibid., 198-210. 69 Philippe de Chauveron, Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu? [Serial (Bad) Weddings] (France, 2014).

The Dialogic Image of the Other

quarrel, contrast, and so on—a large number of dialectic or paradoxical points of view are expressed: about France and other countries, about Catholicism and other religions, and about racialism and racial equality. It seems as though the entire film is a carnival of different audacious opinions about the self and others. In this way, stereotypes, hierarchies, and ideologies such as Eurocentrism, nationalism, and so on, are dissolved and undermined. Fourth, the interaction connects the consciousnesses of subjects. By the relation of the image-maker and the other, the interaction usually takes the form of mutual influence. This means that both sides not only listen to the words from the other side, but also accept these words and contemplate it. Furthermore, they let the speech unfold inside them. That is to say, they are ready to be involved in different voices from the other side and to be changed accordingly. Said says that in the relationship between the West and the Orient, “the Orient is watched, since its almost (but never quite) offensive behavior issues out of a reservoir of infinite peculiarity; the European, whose sensibility tours the Orient, is a watcher, never involved, always detached.”70 This description is in total accord with most of the European images of China. Since the beginning of the twentieth Century, in European literature there are more humanized and seemingly autonomous images of China, such as André Malraux’s Les Conquérants (1928) and La Condition humaine (1933), Ilse Langner’s Die purpurne Stadt (1937), Harold Acton’s Peonies and Ponies (1941), and Kopfgeburten oder Die Deutschen sterben aus (1980) by Günter Grass. However, it is as if there is a transparent wall standing between the Chinese and the European. The European characters all entrench themselves on their own side and never allow themselves to be positively influenced by the Chinese, who are mostly the equal comrades, colleagues, and friends of the Europeans. Hence, the humanized China and Chinese function more often as the verisimilar stage and background in the theater that presents the monologue of the Europeans. Therefore, it can be said that without mutual influences, “autonomous subject,” “equal rights,” and “multi-leveledness” become empty talk; without mutual influences, there is no dialogue, only monologue. Since the 1990s, European films present the image of China in a completely different light. In films such as Jean-Jaques Annaud’s L’amant (1992), Olivier Assayas’s Irma Vep (1996), and Anne Fontanine’s Augustin, roi du Kung-fu (1999), European characters let themselves be involved in Chinese love, in Chinese art and culture, and even in typical Chinese life, improving 70 Said, Orientalism, 103.

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themselves accordingly. Still, the Chinese characters are hardly influenced by the Europeans in a positive way.71 In the twenty-first century, mutual influences occur in films such as the French director Olivier Assayas’s Clean (2004), Chinaman (2005), by the Danish director Henrik Ruben Genz, Gomorra (2008) by the Italian director Matteo Garrone, and Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu? (2014) by the French director Philippe de Chauveron. In the film Clean, for example, there are two kinds of mutual influences. One is between the Chinese heroine, the drug-­addicted rock’n’roll singer Emily and her Canadian father-in-law Albrecht: on the one hand, Albrecht is struck by Emily’s determined efforts to get “clean,” and as a result revises his opinion of her; on the other hand, Emily gains confidence and reassurance from Albrecht’s support, allowing her to persist in fighting her addiction. The other kind of mutual influence occurs within Emily: for one thing, as a volatile rock’n’roll singer, the Chinese cultural character helps her to be placid, good-tempered, and forbearing in the process rehabilitation from drug addiction; for another, the Western rock spirit encourages her to continue the pursuit of her ideal.72 Fifth, the participants and their dialogue are unfinalizable. This means that the author or director gives both side the possibility to continue the development. To be specific, it is firstly acknowledged that the characters are unable to completely understand themselves and the world; nevertheless, they go on an unfinalized journey of self- and world-discovery; they can adapt to the changes, and are always offered the chances of new discoveries and new beginnings. Thus, the dialogue between them should not be closed as well. On the contrary, it implies an unpredictable potential for further progression. By the end of the film Clean, for instance, the Chinese heroine Emily, the once-addicted rock star, is finally through with drugs and allowed to live with her son. Nevertheless, she makes an unexpected decision: she finds out that she loves her singing career so much that she cannot give it up. Hence, she asks her father-in-law to take care of her child, so that she can make a comeback on stage, no longer as an addict but as a “clean” woman. Therefore, the future of Emily is uncertain: will she succeed? How can she balance her family and career? Will she take drugs again under duress? The film leaves these questions open. The dialogue between the Western spirit and Chinese culture continues.

71 Wang, Jenseits des Orientalismus, 198-210. 72 Ibid., 211-96.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

Table 1  Three types of the image of the other Monologic image

Middle image

Dialogic image

Autonomous subjects

No

Yes

Yes

Equal rights

No

No/Yes

Yes

Polyphony

No

No/Yes

Yes

Interaction/ Mutual influence

No

No

Yes

Unfinalizability

No

No

Yes

Power relation

self > other

self > other; self < other

self = other

General thought/ idea

self centred

self centred; relative

relative; dialectic; deconstructive

3.3. Interim summary In this section, five relevant factors of dialogic quality in the image of the other were summarized from Bakhtin’s dialogism theory: autonomous subjects, equal rights, polyphony, interaction/mutual influence, and unfinalizability. Accordingly, the image of the other can be divided into three types (see Table 1): They are the monologic image, the middle image, and the dialogic image. The monologic image does not have any factor of dialogic quality. The other is the disguise, puppet, mouthpiece of the image-maker. Images that satisfy some of these factors are called middle images. In comparison to the monologic image, the middle image is a step forward, but still cannot be considered a dialogic image. An image of the other can be described as a dialogic image only when it includes all of the five factors. Films such as Clean, Chinaman, Gomorra, and Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu? meet this condition. The power relation in these images of the other is equal. The thought behind the image is relative, dialectic, or even deconstructive.

4. DIALOGIC IMAGE OF CHINA IN EUROPEAN FILMS In the twenty-first century, the dialogic image of China appears in European films such as the aforementioned French films Clean and Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu?, the Danish film Chinaman, and the Italian film Gomorra. The

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Signifier A plot and re-presentation

Signified A deceitful Chinese man, charming Chinese woman

Sign A = Signifier B deceitful Chinese man, charming Chinese woman Sign B = Signifier C exotic temptation

Signified B exotic temptation Signified C Orientalism

Sign C Figure 6  Signification-model: The manifest layer of the image of China in Chinaman.

image of China in the film Chinaman can be regarded as a typical example of the dialogic image.73 Chinaman (2005) was directed by Henrik Ruben Genz, and tells the story of a sham intermarriage. The hero, Keld Decker, is a plumber. After 25 years of marriage, his wife Rie leaves him. He becomes very depressed and neglects his work. He often goes to a Chinese restaurant, ordering every dish from the menu because he cannot cook. One day the water pipes in the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant burst and Keld helps to repair them. Thus, a friendship between Keld and the restaurant owner Feng develops. Feng asks Keld to marry his sister Ling for the sake of her residence permit in Denmark. In return, Feng promises to give Keld 8,000 Krone. Since Keld’s ex-wife Rie demanded 8,000 Krone as a divorce settlement, he accepts Feng’s request. After a joyful wedding, Keld and Ling live together in Keld’s apartment. Ling is pretty and competent but does not speak Danish. They communicate through facial expressions and gestures. All the same, they gradually fall in love. Unfortunately, however, soon afterwards Ling dies of a congenital heart defect. After the funeral, Rie gives Keld back most of the divorce settlement. With this money, Keld brings Ling’s urn back to China. At first glance, the manifest layer of Chinaman looks like a stereotypical story of Orientalism (see Figure 6): A Western man marries a Chinese 73 The film Chinaman was produced and released in 2005. The director of the film is Henrik Ruben Genz; the cast include Bjarne Henriksen (Keld), Junmei Wu / Vivian Wu (Ling), and Linkun Wu (Feng).

The Dialogic Image of the Other

woman; members of mainstream society help the marginalized immigrants; the Chinese woman looks elegant and charming in her cheongsam; the Chinese man is a crafty old devil. Nevertheless, when we turn our attention from the expressed contents to the way of the expression—and especially to the structural relations among the expressions—the latent layers of the film begin to be revealed.

4.1. Autonomous subjects In 1837 Hegel’s Vorlesung über die Philosophie der Geschichte74 was published. Hegel relegated China to a settled existence of its own, which plays no active part in historical progress.75 Thus, a stereotypical perception treating China as stagnant and ahistorical was created. China was hence treated as an “it,” a non-autonomous object existing outside of time. Accordingly, nobody cares why Dr. Fu Manchu76 is so evil, as though he were born to be demon; and Shangri-La, in the novel Lost Horizon,77 can disappear from the world as swiftly as it appeared. Nevertheless, by portraying the history of the Chinese family Feng, Chinaman regards China not as “it,” but as “you,” namely another autonomous “I” with its own consciousness. Feng is the owner of the Chinese restaurant. The parents of Feng are the first generation of the family who stay in Denmark; Feng and his brothers and sisters are the second generation; Feng’s son is the third generation. The three generations live together in a house and reveal various personalities and different modes of life. The parents of Feng are about 70 years old. There are predominantly three film scenes that are concerned with the parents of Feng. First,78 they watch a Chinese martial arts movie attentively. At this moment, Keld comes in. The mother asks sternly: “Who is the man with big nose?” Second,79 Feng’s mother is cleaning the room with a vacuum cleaner, while his father still sits on the sofa reading a newspaper. Third,80 at the funeral of their daughter Ling, the mother says emphatically that Ling’s ashes must be brought 74 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Vorlesung über die Philosophie der Geschichte [Lecture on the philosophy of history] (Berlin: Duncker und Humblot, 1837). 75 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Lectures on the Philosophy of World History, trans. Hugh Barr Nisbet (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 216. 76 Sax Rohmer, The Mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu (London: Methuen, 1913). 77 James Hilton, Lost Horizon (London: Macmillan, 1933). 78 Chinaman, from 15’01. 79 Ibid., from 32’58. 80 Ibid., from 69’27.

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back to China. These scenes simply but vividly sketch the typical features of a traditional aging Chinese couple: as a symbol of the highest authority in the family, the father is an introverted man of few words. The mother is demonstrative and functions as the emotional tie between the generations and family members. The second generation is the backbone of the family. Within the second generation, Feng is the one who can master Danish most competently. He works in the dining room and deals directly with the Danes. His brothers and sisters work in the kitchen. Except the film scenes about Feng, there are four main scenes that are concerned with the second generation. First,81 Feng’s wife warmly greets Keld and serves him a cup of tea in the kitchen. As Feng tells Keld about the business of the bogus marriage in the kitchen, a sister (or a sister-in-law) of Feng makes a smiling eye contact with Keld. Second,82 in the living room of the Chinese family, Feng’s brothers and sisters encourage Ling to strike a conversation with Keld. Third,83 Feng’s wife warmly entertains the guests and sings a Chinese song at the wedding of Ling and Keld. Fourth,84 at the celebration for the residence permit of Ling, Feng’s brothers and sisters congratulate Ling and Keld by proposing a toast to the new couple. In these scenes, we can see that the people of the second generation are represented as kind and active. In comparison with the first generation, they are more open and receptive to new things and people. Feng’s son is the third generation of the family. He is about twenty years old. In appearance, he looks like a Western boy. Being a fluent speaker of Danish, he dresses in a hip-hop style and wants to move out and to be independent. Obviously, he was raised in Denmark. Still, he is rooted in Chinese family culture. There are two scenes concerned with the dissensions between Feng and his son.85 Each scene portrays Feng lecturing his son angrily. It is obvious that such lectures upset the son but he never talks back to his father. By contrast, Keld’s son behaves impudently to his father, even forcing his father to confess to an adultery that he never committed. While Feng’s son often joins his grandparents in watching movies and translates for them with pleasure, Keld’s son refuses to play chess with his father and will not even stay to spend one more minute with him. From this disparate information about the Chinese family we can relate to its immigration history: about twenty years ago (after the birth of Feng’s son), 81 82 83 84 85

Ibid., from 20’51. Ibid., from 27’57. Ibid., from 38’12. Ibid., from 56’20. Ibid., from 18’12 and from 25’00.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

Feng and his brother and sister immigrated to Denmark and opened a Chinese restaurant. Feng’s son lived in China with his mother and grandparents. Feng’s youngest sister Ling might only have been ten years old at that time, and as such was too young to work abroad. Thus she stayed in China with her parents. In Denmark, Feng works as a waiter in the dining room, which greatly improved his spoken Danish. Many years later, after obtaining the long-term residence permit or Danish citizenship, they brought their spouses to Denmark. At that time, Feng’s son was a child. Thus, he could adapt to the country with less effort. Nevertheless, he has been imprinted with Chinese family culture because he spent part of his childhood in China. A few years earlier, Feng brought his parents to Denmark but it is very difficult for them to integrate. Now the current goal of this family is to help the youngest sister Ling to remain in Denmark. Therefore, the immigration history of this family is reconstructed. From that, we can perceive its cultural source and see its developing trend. Such a dynamic family history is the embodiment of autonomous consciousness because it contains its own inner logic. This logic is dependent on the Chinese cultural, social, and individual realities, but exists independently of the director’s intentions or that of the Western characters. With their own history, posture, and purpose, the Chinese characters achieve the first prerequisite to participating in dialogue with the Westerners.

4.2. Equal rights The equal rights given to both the Europeans and the Chinese are realized in primarily two ways. The first is composition of the balance of morality; the second is opposition of the objectification. In the monologic image of China, the moral positions of Europe and China are unequal. Europe occupies the moral high ground, while China has a lower moral standard. The imbalance of the moral positions provokes the imbalance of rights. Europe has thus the right to survey, criticize, and guide China, while China has to wait passively for Europe to be enlightened. However, Chinaman presents a fairly balanced viewpoint with regard to the moral standards of both Europe and China. Chinaman tries to be dispassionate about the personalities of the Chinese and Danes. It does not demonize or idealize the Chinese. On the contrary, as compared to the characteristics of the Danes, the film shows that the Chinese and the Danes have human weaknesses with their own cultural characteristics. The film presents four major weaknesses of the Chinese: evasion of responsi­ bility, self-seeking (namely profiting for themselves at the expense of others),

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relationship crises between father and son, and a crafty character. Every time the weaknesses of the Chinese are presented, the weaknesses of the Europeans are also revealed to the audience in the film (see Table 2). In this way, the film reminds the European audience, “[w]hy do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?”;86 there are no perfect people; the moral high ground of the European does not actually exist. Since the Chinese and the Danes are both mere mortals, they have equal rights to be free and unique people in a dialogue. With innovative camera language, Chinaman skillfully presents the more impartial and balanced characterizations of both groups. After his wife has left him, Keld comes to the Chinese restaurant “Grill,”87 which is the nearest restaurant to his apartment. When he enters the restaurant, he looks around the dining room. It is a dining room upholstered in the manner of a Western fast-food restaurant. Behind the checkout counter there is a rectangular window through which customers can look into the kitchen of the restaurant and see busy Chinese workers speaking Chinese. This rectangular window has an ingenious design: in this picture the whole dining room of the restaurant appears in pale green, while the kitchen behind the window is painted in light blue; the tabletop of the checkout counter and the bottom frame of the window are visually on the same level. Thus, it establishes a special visual effect: the whole window looks like a TV, which is set on the checkout counter and transmits a Chinese film about the Chinese cuisine. For this reason, the dining room and the kitchen of the restaurant seem like two irreconcilable worlds that have no connection to each other. The former is authentic; the latter seems to be an objectified shadowy picture. In the dining room, the Chinese imitate and court the Danes, while in the kitchen the Chinese work and behave according to their traditional style. Hence, the European customers are already accustomed to the “China” of the dining room, while the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant is strange and forbidden to them. This rectangular window serves as a portal to another exotic world, which attracts the curiosity and the desire of Keld and the Western audience.88 Through this window, the Western customers and the 86 Matthew 7:3-5, Bible Gateway, accessed October 26, 2017, https://www.biblegateway. com/passage/?search=Matthew+7:3-5. 87 Chinaman, from 4’09. 88 Laura Mulvey, “Visuelle Lust und narratives Kino” [Visual pleasure and narrative cinema], in Texte zur Theorie des Films, ed. Franz-Josef Albersmeier (Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam Jun. 2003), 394.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

Table 2  Moral balance between Chinese and European in the film Chinaman. Weaknesses

Chinese

European

Evasion of responsibility

The water pipes in the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant burst. Feng puts the blame of the burst of the water pipes on his uncle who died long ago. (from 13’05)

Keld works as an irresponsible plumber. He is often late for work and impolite to customers. (from 0’16)

Self-seeker

Feng asks Keld to repair the water pipes in the kitchen, but he will not pay for it. (from 13’05)

Keld’s son sells Keld a TV set for an unusually high price. (from 9’45)

Crisis between father and son

Feng’s son wants to move out and be more independent. However, Feng does not allow him. (from 25’00)

Keld’s son treats Keld disrespectfully. He even forces Keld to sign a confession to admit his adultery, which he has never done. (from 19’08)

Crafty

The Chinese family proposes a Keld’s wife Rie has an extrasham marriage to Keld. marital affair. Nevertheless, she (from 20’51) attempts to cajole Keld into admitting a fabricated adultery, in order to divorce Keld as soon as possible. (from 23’23)

Western audience observe the Chinese and their life as though the Chinese were objectified elements of a picture. Consequently, the rectangular window represents the objectification of the other, and the barrier that prevents the equal rights of the other to be free and authentic. With the window in the Chinese restaurant, Chinaman reveals the traditional and stereotypical superior attitude of the Europeans. However, Chinaman wants not only to reveal the problem but also to correct it. In the film, after the wedding Ling moves into Keld’s apartment. After a period of time together, Keld und Ling fall in love. One day, Ling and Keld practice Taiji-Quan in the living room. Suddenly, Keld’s ex-wife Rie, who had an extramarital affair during her marriage with Keld, comes back and wants to reconcile with Keld.89 In order to let Keld and Rie talk alone, Ling exits the 89 Chinaman, from 52’21.

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living room and enters the kitchen. This time, the camera is set in the kitchen. Through a rectangular window between the kitchen and the living room, the audience can see Keld and Rie standing and talking in the living room. The window motif once again emerges but this time the people who are within its frames are Danish. They are now the elements of a picture to be observed within the frames while the observer outside the frames is Chinese. In comparison with the window that appeared in the Chinese restaurant, this window in Keld’s apartment places the Western audience, who identifies with Keld, under the intense gaze to be objectified. This scenario reminds the audience “[w]hat you yourself do not desire, do not do to others” (Confucius).90 In this way Chinaman expresses its opposition to the manner of objectifying the other, and its intent to “transform the other person from a shadow into an authentic reality.”91 In summary, Chinaman breaks the moral superiority of the Europeans and places both the Chinese and the Europeans under the same moral scrutiny. Furthermore, with the correlation of the two windows in the Chinese kitchen and in Keld’s apartment, the film expresses its opposition to the objectification of the other. In this way, Chinaman puts the Chinese and the Europeans on the same level. Between them there is no superiority, no hierarchy, no domination, and no command of one over another; rather, everyone is endowed with the equal right to speak and act.

4.3. POLYPHONY 4.3.1. “I keep away from the Chinese.” vs. “I like the Chinese.” Chinaman creates a place where the people can discuss China and the Chinese. Thus, a variety of voices about China and the Chinese can be heard. “I keep away from the Chinese.” is the first voice that can be heard from Keld’s heart. The story of Chinaman takes place predominantly in Keld’s apartment and the Chinese restaurant “Grill,” which is opposite his apartment. Keld’s first contact with the Chinese takes place in the dining room of the “Grill.” Following the film’s title sequence, the first scene in the film begins with a nighttime aerial shot of the street dividing Keld’s apartment and the “Grill.” 90 Paul R. Goldin, Confucianism (London: Routledge, 2014), 15. 91 Bakhtin, Dostoevsky’s Poetics, 10.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

In the scene, Keld crosses the street and goes to the “Grill” (3’25). A lone street lamp illuminates a small area around Keld, highlighting the solitude of Keld’s figure. Compared with the figure of Keld, the street seems to be particularly wide. But in the opening credits it is made clear that the street between Keld’s apartment and the “Grill” is not a main road but only a narrow street in a residential district. By means of visually widening the street and minimizing Keld’s figure, it is suggested that it is not easy for Keld to cross this street, and that he is perhaps very reluctant to go to the Chinese restaurant. As the plot unfolds, it will become clearer that Keld is actually forced to go to the ­restaurant. In the prologue, three scenes of Keld’s single life are presented: Keld eats biscuits in the kitchen, sleeps in a messy bed, and looks at his empty fridge in a frustration. The three sequences inform the audience that Keld cannot cook and that he is also very lonely. In order to survive and also to overcome this loneliness he is forced to cross the narrow street and go to the nearest restaurant. As Keld enters the restaurant, he displays a sense of unfamiliarity on his face. The response of Feng, the chef, also shows us that Keld had never visited the Chinese restaurant before. In the restaurant, Keld looks through the menu, which has been amended already several times, suggesting that “Grill” has been there for several years. Although “Grill” has long been in operation, and despite the fact that “Grill” is just opposite Keld’s apartment, Keld had never visited the restaurant before. Only when his survival is threatened does he enter the Chinese restaurant. Taken altogether, the beginning of the film suggests Keld’s dislike and resistance to the Chinese. Through his actions, Keld expresses a principle of his life: “Keep away from the Chinese.” This is a loud warning in his mind, though never explicitly stated.     However, after his visit to “Grill,” this warning becomes invalid. Having been served the chicken soup, Keld gazes at the soup and weeps silently. In a following close-up shot, a tear falls into the soup. Even when his wife left him, Keld did not cry at home – at least not as depicted in the film – but he cannot help himself when he sees the warm chicken soup in the Chinese restaurant, where the Chinese chief Feng welcomes him as a respectable guest and where his loneliness is thus temporarily dissolved. Keld finds psychological comfort in the Chinese restaurant. Hence, he goes to “Grill” every day and eats every type of food offered there. He will even offer his help to the Chinese to repair the water pipes in the kitchen without pay. “I like the Chinese” is now Keld’s inner voice.

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4.3.2. “The Chinese are terrible.” vs. “The Chinese are warm.” Besides Keld, there is another Danish regular guest at the “Grill,” whose name goes unmentioned in the film. As Keld goes to “Grill” for the first time, this man observes Keld without saying anything. By the third time, he talks to Keld: Man: I eat here Tuesday and Thursday. It’s structuralization. One’s everyday life has to be structured. On Monday and Friday I eat at the central station cafeteria. Wednesday and Saturday it’s the pizzeria. But Tuesday and Thursday I’m here. Keld: What about Sunday? Man: I improvise. I’m a kind of culinary refugee. My stomach cannot take the Swedish cuisine. 92

One day, after he has learned that Keld would marry Feng’s sister, he advises Keld: Man: What is this I hear? Keld: What do you hear? Man: That you’re getting married to his sister. Keld: It’s just to help Feng. Man: You’re skating on thin ice. Keld: How’s that? Man: You should not get involved with people like that. Keld: Why not? Man: I would not feel good about it. If you happen to annoy them ... If you do not keep your word ... Keld: What then? Man: (with a gesture: cutting his own throat) I’d think twice before I married one of those people. I mean it.

On the wedding day of Keld and Feng’s sister Ling, Feng rents two luxury sedans to pick up Keld and Ling. Before Keld goes into the sedan, the Danish

92 Chinaman, from 12’05.

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regular guest stops him. He reminds Keld again of the risk of marrying a Chinese woman: Man: If you sit down in this car now, then there’s no way back. Keld: Really? Man: Keld, Chinaman. Keld: Chinaman? Man: That’s your name. From now on. Keld: Chinaman ...93

The three dialogues suggest that the man, just like Keld, is afraid of loneliness and a boring daily routine, and so he visited the Chinese restaurant regularly to enjoy the exotic atmosphere. However, he shows a distinct lack of interest in learning more about China. As a result, he cautiously keeps his distance from the Chinese, and his perception of China remains negative. The Chinese, as far as he is concerned, are terrible. It should be noted that, despite the fact that he is a ordinary guest of the Chinese restaurant, and despite the fact that this name is not even mentioned in the film, the Danish man usually appears alone in the close-up shots with an authoritative facial expression.94 This illustrates out his important role in the film. The man does not have a relationship with Keld and does not belong to the family of Feng. However, from the very beginning, he observes the development of the relations between the Chinese and Keld. In addition, he performs the function of naming. In the film, he is the first person who calls Keld “Chinaman.” “Chinaman” is not only a nickname but also refers to a property. The right of naming a natural person belongs to parents in most countries; the right of naming a character in the film belongs to the “parents” of the film, the filmmaker. In this sense, this man serves as a living point of view of the (European) filmmaker, advising Keld on the behalf of the film audience. Therefore, “the Chinese are terrible” is not only his opinion, but also the opinion of many people outside the film. Nevertheless, Keld does not take his advice. He marries Ling and attends the wedding.95 The scene of the wedding party – from the first shot at the restaurant until the end of the song by Feng’s wife – has 28 shots. It includes only four full shots. The others are set up as a bust shot or a waist shot with 93 Ibid., from 37’02. 94 Ibid., from 43’4, 12’42, 27’07. 95 Ibid., from 38’12.

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a relatively long focal length (presumably a focal length 55–70 mm). In this way, the camera captures the natural facial expressions of the characters: the mother of Ling chatting happily with relatives and friends; Feng toasting to the guests; the wife of Feng looking peaceful and smiling at Ling and Keld. There is an immense joy on the faces of the characters. The camera also details the actions of other guests, whether they are smoking, drinking, talking or simply mute. The sunshine contours their faces, which highlights their happy and peaceful expressions. It is remarkable that this is the first time sunshine appears in the film, which suggests a blazing hope in dull and uneventful lives. The background music of the wedding is the famous love song of the singer Deng Lijun, “Yueliang daibiao wo de xin” (The moon represents my heart).96 The sweet melody conveys the beautiful and peaceful atmosphere and conceals the boisterous noise of the location. In this way, it covers the ordinary tumult of a party and highlights the aesthetic content of this scene. To liven up the wedding, Feng’s wife sings the song “Yueliang daibiao wo de xin,” which is accompanied on the traditional Chinese musical instrument Erhu by Feng. This song is both the source and background music of this scene. Through this ingenious combination, Deng’s song in the background symbolizes the ideal love and the singing of Feng’s wife represents its manifestation in reality. In this way, it is suggested that, at this moment, the real merges with the ideal.     In such a beatific atmosphere, not just Keld but also the Danish man who had tried to discourage Keld from marrying Ling become more enthusiastic. After the performance of Feng’s wife, Keld and Feng sing a Danish song together: In a lovely garden, filled by the golden sun. Full of scents of lilies, roses and violets. Here we meet each other. I am heavy and weary. You, on your white wings, float along so lightly. Little butterfly, little butterfly.97 96 The lyrics can be translated as follows: “You ask me how much I love you. / Please think, / Please have a look. / The moon represents my heart. / A gentle kiss / has touched my heart. / A deep love / accompanies me to this day.” 97 Ibid., from 40’56.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

All the Chinese and the Danish men clap along. In summary, the vivid presentation of the wedding makes people forget the outward form of the sham marriage and feel only the enviable Chinese familial love. It emphasizes the simple warmth expressed by ordinary people, which effectively refutes the voice that argues for terrible portrayals of the Chinese.

4.3.3. “China and Europe cannot get along.” vs. “China and Europe can get along well.” Europe and China have different cultures. Whether they are compatible is a question discussed in the film. Before the wedding, Keld comes to find Ling at Feng’s home one day, in order to forge some love letters to pass the scrutiny of the immigration office.98 During the talk with Feng and Ling, he is very nervous because he still doubts whether marriage is the right decision. He smokes to calm himself and looks around aimlessly. Meanwhile, the camera reveals Keld’s point of view: Feng’s mother, who is about 70 years old, clumsily drags around the tube of a vacuum cleaner as she cleans the apartment. This shot seems abrupt because it is unrelated to the current plot. However, this inserted scene of Feng’s mother embodies implicitly and appropriately the currently confused state of Keld. The old Chinese woman here symbolizes the strange old-fashioned lifestyle, while the vacuum cleaner represents modern Western life. The “disobedient” tube of the vacuum cleaner suggests an uncomfortable combination of them. This picture transmits an alien, unsafe, and unreliable feeling that corresponds to the inner feelings of Keld at that time. This is the function of this seemingly extraneous shot. Nevertheless, a different voice is heard after a while. After the wedding, Ling obtains the residence permit. One day, Keld and Ling come back to the Chinese family to show off the new visa.99 The whole family is, as a result, in a cheerful mood. All of the Chinese characters enthusiastically peruse the new visa and talk about it. At that time, someone proposes to have a drink. Ling brings beer and a glass for Keld from the kitchen. Then, all of the Chinese characters stand up and propose a toast to Keld and Ling. Remarkably, they all say “congratulations” to Keld rather than “thank you.” This means that the Chinese people celebrate not only for Ling but also for Keld, because they believe that he has received a good marriage and a good wife. In other words, 98 Ibid., from 32’58. 99 Ibid., from 56’20.

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the Chinese do not deem the marriage as false; they have accepted Keld as their family member. “Thank you” is used only to the outsider who helps one of their own, while “congratulations” is said in this context to a member of the family. The song that the Chinese characters sing next illustrates this stance. Feng subsequently suggests that all members of the family should sing a song for Ling and Keld. Therefore, the whole family sings the song “Fuqi shuangshuang ba jia huan” (The couple returns home in pairs), which is the most famous song from the well-known traditional Chinese opera “Tian xian pei” (Goddess Marriage). The song’s lyrics praise the deep love between a goddess and an ordinary person, and describe their happy married life in the countryside. In China, this song is usually sung to congratulate a newly married couple. Thus, the song points out that the Chinese already regard Ling and Keld as a real couple. On the other hand, it also indicates that the Chinese and the Dane— like the goddess and the mortal who come from two different worlds—can lead a happy life together. It is also worth noting that during the toast Keld takes a glass while the Chinese take the teacups. Despite the fact that this is supposed to be a fraudulent marriage, Keld and the Chinese cheer and clink their glass and teacups exultingly. The joyful and loving atmosphere dissolves the disharmony of the unusual combination. The teacup and the beer glass embody the typical cultural signs of China and Europe, respectively. The unusual affiliation of teacup and beer glass is thus like an intercultural carnival, which goes beyond the cultural barriers and realizes a dramatic multi-cultural encounter.

4.3.4. “China can cure Europe.” vs. “China cannot cure Europe.” Themes such as “China can cure Europe” and “China influences Europe” are new and popular concepts that first appeared in the 1990s.100 In Chinaman, this trend can be perceived as well. After Rie leaves Keld, his life immediately becomes chaotic. A new marriage is a new hope for his life. The Chinese woman Ling does not fail him. She brings Keld a happy new life, curing his physical and emotional pain. The first day after the wedding begins with the idyllic melody of a flute. It is especially significant that the hue of Keld’s apartment has changed from a cold blue to a warm yellow. Passing the door of Ling’s room in the morning, Keld is fascinated by Ling, who wears a Chinese white robe and is practicing tai chi. 100 Wang, Jenseits des Orientalismus, 198-210.

The Dialogic Image of the Other

Ling’s arms move through the air delicately and gracefully, like fluttering wings, which corresponds to the description of the song sung by Keld on the wedding: “You, on your white wings, float along so lightly.” In the background, the window is bright and white, highlighting her slim figure. The Chinese breakfast is a surprise to Keld as well. In an aerial shot, the small plates, the white rice porridge, the golden spring rolls, red sauce, and colorful vegetables all come into view. It appears that they are works of art rather than food. In the next shot, Keld kneads his hands under the table, which points to his great surprise and excitement. Then, Ling serves him the food. The rice porridge is steaming hot. The room appears full of warmth. After breakfast, they go to Keld’s office together, which had been closed after Rie’s departure. It seems that Ling does not have an aversion to the small, old, chaotic room. She gives Keld a Chinese good luck charm. Before they leave the office, Keld hangs a sign for the reopening. This points to a fresh start in his profession. Then, they go to a Chinese supermarket. Ling buys a metallic lunch box for Keld so that he can bring lunch to the office daily. The supper is the highlight of the day. In the evening, Ling wears a colorful cheongsam dress and serves Keld a sumptuous Chinese dinner. She takes the cigarette out of Keld’s hand, puts the music on, and begins the meal. She teaches Keld to use chopsticks. However, Keld cannot use them well. Ling smilingly goes into the kitchen and brings a fork for him. A few days later, Keld begins to learn tai chi from Ling. Tai chi is a typical Chinese traditional treatment for the physical and emotional harmony of a human being (from 57’28). That Keld learns tai chi suggests that he wants to improve himself by the Chinese element. While practicing tai chi, Keld’s injured shoulder suddenly begins to hurt. To cure the sharp pain, Ling treats his shoulder with Chinese massage. Gradually, the pain is relieved. The shoulder injury that is mentioned in the prologue is Keld’s excuse for not taking part in the dance course. As such, it is also one of the reasons that Rie leaves him. In this sense, Keld’s shoulder problem embodies his inherent weakness, from which he suffers greatly, and which deters the further development of his life. Therefore, Ling treating Keld’s shoulder injury implies a sense of redemption in his life. However, another voice will soon be heard. A few days later, Ling dies of complications from a heart attack. Keld’s apartment reverts to its original state: cold, blue, and empty, as if nothing had happened here.101 In a close-up shot, Keld sits silently in the living room. At that time, two policemen visit him in 101 Chinaman, from 75’40.

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order to check up on the marriage. Keld does not report that Ling is already dead. He stands at the door, fumbles with his ring. This suggests that Keld is reluctant to admit the fact that Ling has already died. He clings to hope and waits for a miracle. According to the investigation of the police officer: “It does not look too good, I’m sorry to say. There was only one toothbrush in the bathroom. There’s only a single bed. And there’s no trace of women’s clothes. We can only conclude that you live here alone.” When the policeman says “you live here alone,” Keld can no longer hold back his feelings and he begins to cry because the policeman expresses a truth that shakes Keld from his delusion. His last hope is gone. He repeats: “I cannot. I cannot.” In a close-up lasting forty-eight seconds, Kelds cries in pain. In the following, medium shot, he weeps even more openly, so that his body doubles over. It seems that he wants to raise his left arm. But the arm remains immobile. This means that his old shoulder injury is recurring. The overwhelming physical and emotional pain finally defeat him. Ling dies, as if a beautiful dream had shattered. After the shattering of the dream, Keld’s life returns immediately to its previous state and his shoulder injury recurs, as if the magic had disappeared. The great contrast between his warm life with Ling and his current situation illustrates the invalidity of the mythology “Madame Butterfly”: China has no cure!

4.3.5. Interim summary Chinaman presents the polyphony through the dialogues of the characters, the filmmaker, the plot of the story, the relations of aesthetic elements, and the structure of the film text. They collide, respond, and fuse with each other, so that established ideas and stereotypes are challenged and even resolved. As a result, a complex and indefinite China takes form.

4.4. Interaction/Mutual influence In the midst of different voices, the Chinese and the Europeans ponder deeply the words of the other. Then, they become more aware of themselves, and can understand others and the world better. Their thoughts and behaviors change correspondingly. In Chinaman, we not only hear different voices, but also see the mutual influences caused by the voices. According to the plot of the opening credits/prologue, Keld is a lazy, indifferent, and antisocial man. He keeps finding excuses to avoid exercise,

The Dialogic Image of the Other

Figure 7  The spatial structure in Chinaman.

travel, and dealing with other people. During his contacts with the Chinese, he becomes more aware of the limitations of his fixed ideas and stereotypical expectations. The warmth and love of the Chinese family encourage him to be more courageous. Thus, he begins to learn Chinese, speak Chinese, and practice tai chi. In the epilogue, he even offers to go to China alone, which is in complete contrast to what he used to be. The Chinese are changing as well; for instance, the film subtly shows the process the Chinese family undergoes from excluding Keld to accepting him. There are four scenes that present Keld and Feng’s family sitting together in the living room.102 In the first scene, Keld gets his clothes wet repairing the water pipes in the kitchen.103 Then, he goes to Feng’s home behind the kitchen to change his clothes. After changing, Keld sits next to Feng’s parents on a sofa and watches a Chinese kung fu film, the sound and music of which are inscrutable and noisy. In the frontal shot, Keld’s European appearance and his fat body are deliberately put on view between the two old, thin and glassy-eyed Chinese, so that he seems to be an eyesore in the room. In short, this scene informs the audience that the Chinese family and Keld are totally incompatible. Keld comes into the private space of the Chinese for the second time, in order to be introduced to Ling.104 This time, Keld sits again in the middle of the sofa among the Chinese. However, the camera shoots him not from the front but from the side. Therefore, Keld’s European figure does not stand out as it did the first time. During his third visit, Keld, along with the Chinese family, celebrates the attainment of Ling’s residence permit.105 He does not sit on the main sofa but sits with Ling on a smaller 102 In fact, there are not four but five scenes concerning Keld in Feng’s home. There is another scene, where Feng’s home becomes the place for both Keld and Ling to forge love letters. At that time, Keld does not sit directly in the living room but at the dining table nearby. 103 Chinaman, from 15’01. 104 Ibid., from 27’57. 105 Ibid., from 56’20.

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one nearby, and seems unobtrusive. However, as it was explained in Section 4.3.4, by toasting and singing, the Chinese show their approval of Keld as a family member. Keld comes to Feng’s home for the fourth time in order to attend Ling’s funeral.106 Keld then sits on the chair behind the sofa. It is, as it were, difficult to recognize him among the Chinese, which suggests that the Chinese family has wholly accepted him. The Chinese and Keld feel as one. To sum up, Keld and the Chinese all make great efforts to listen to the voices of the other side and build together a virtuous cycle of a symbiotic life built on mutual understanding. As the film unfolds, Keld is changing, because he is encouraged by the Chinese who are different from the stereotypes in his mind, who respect and accept him as family. The Chinese go over from exploiting Keld as a sham husband to accepting him as a real family member because they perceive Keld’s honesty and desire to change. Without much verbal communication, Keld and the Chinese respond to the other side with their actions. These interactions realize an equal power relation (self = other), thus transforming speech into dialogue.

4.5. Unfinalizability The people in Chinaman are unfinalized. Thus, not only Keld and the Chinese but also Keld’s ex-wife, his son, and the Danish stranger change their attitudes toward Chinese. Not only the people but also the culture are portrayed as unfinalized in the film. By means of the spatial changing of Keld, Chinaman shows the unfinalizability of a culture and the unfinalized process of the culture learning (see Figure 7). Ever since Keld has entered the Chinese restaurant “Grill,” he is walking step by step into the Chinese space. As mentioned in Section 4.2, Keld arrives first at the dining room of the restaurant. The dining room, which is decorated as a Western fast-food restaurant with Chinese ornaments, is a space serving the Westerners. It is the first station of the cultural encounter, where the Westerners are catered. They can learn something about China there in their daily life but only in a superficial environment. Because of the breakdown of the water pipes, Keld walks into the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant, which is in fact an area forbidden to Westerners. There the Chinese do not need to cater to Westerners. They work in their own way. Hence, a lot of problems and weaknesses of the Chinese are exposed. It 106 Ibid., from 69’27.

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could be argued that the Chinese kitchen symbolizes the second station of the cultural encounter, where the Westerners have closer contact with the Chinese and can see a relatively authentic China. However, due to the great differences in social conditions and cultural backgrounds, the Westerners can still perceive China negatively. After repairing the water pipes, Keld enters the private living room of the Chinese with great trepidation. The private living room is a place where all of the family members meet. The scenes of Keld in the living room (Keld’s introduction, the writing of the love letters, the celebration of the attainment of the residence permit, and Ling’s funeral) all show that familial love plays a central role there. From the conversation between Feng and his mother, for instance, Keld and the audience can see that Feng’s family is so poor that Feng cannot afford a plane ticket to China.107 That is why Feng cannot fulfill the tradition of the Chinese family to bring the urn of Ling back to their hometown; that might also be the cause of his stinginess. In this way, the importance of family reunion will be highlighted via a comparison: although these Chinese are not very wealthy, they seek to get 8.000 Krone to carry out the family reunion. In comparison, it is ironic that Keld needs the same amount of money in order to bring about the separation of his family. By means of the affairs in the private living room, the audience is informed that all the Chinese tricks happening inside the dining room and kitchen are for the single purpose of the family reunion. Therefore, the private living room of the Chinese symbolizes the third station, where the Westerners can learn the core culture of China and find answers to the questions and problems encountered in the second station. Significantly, behind the curtain of the living room is another room that is never revealed in the film. Although Keld moves in to live with the Chinese family, he never enters this room. It is only the Chinese who go in and out of this room in daily life. This hidden area embodies a part of Chinese culture that Europeans as foreigners may find it difficult to—or may never—understand. It objectively demonstrates the profound uniqueness of each culture and the unfinalizability of learning a culture. At the end of the film, Rie gives Keld back most of the divorce settlement.108 With this money, Keld can fulfill the Chinese family tradition of scattering the ashes of the family members in the river of their hometown. In the last scene, Keld has reached the river of Ling’s hometown.109 Accompanied by three 107 Ibid., from 80’15. 108 Ibid., from 81’20. 109 Ibid., from 83’02.

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Signifier A All of the information about the Chinese and the Europeans

Signified A The deceitful Chinese man and the charming Chinese woman use the Europeans. The Chinese and the Europeans are all ordinary people, who help one another.

Sign A = Signifier B The deceitful Chinese man and the charming Chinese woman use the Europeans.

Signified B Parasitical exotic temptation

The Chinese and the Europeans are all ordi- Dialogist and nary people, who help one another cooperative partner Sign B = Signifier C Parasitical exotic temptation

Signified C Orientalism

Dialogist and cooperative partner

Relativism, Postmodernism Sign C

Figure 8 123-model: The semiotic structure of the image of China in Chinaman.

Chinese—two middle-aged persons and a young woman—he squats down on a raft and scatters Ling’s ashes into the river. At this time, the sweet song of Deng Lijun is heard again as background music. The camera moves up and zooms out from the medium shot of Keld to a long shot of the river, mountains, and clouds. Finally, the film ends with a shot of the magnificent Chinese landscape. Compared to the beginning of the film, the inner connection between the beginning and the end is obvious: the film begins with a narrow street and a small space in the city, and ends with an extensive natural landscape; it begins with conflicts and alienation happening in a European family, and ends with the cooperation of the people of two nations; it begins with the weaknesses of human nature, and ends with the goodness of the people. All of these moments suggest the change from a bigoted attitude to an open and tolerant outlook on life, which is the fruit of the dialogue. Moreover, it is to be observed that it could be more charming and more harmonious, if a Chinese young woman wearing the Chinese traditional

The Dialogic Image of the Other

dress would be set in the final scene of the magnificent Chinese landscape, because in this way the elegant Chinese classical sentiment would be underlined strongly. Nevertheless, the Chinese young woman standing on the raft behind Keld wears the sport shoes and denim shorts. She is completely different from Ling who is always dressed in Chinese traditional dresses. The attire of the young woman appears to be abrupt and disharmonious in the picture. However, it is just such an obvious disharmony that reminds the audience to ponder a new question: just what kind of country is China? With this question, the unfinalized dialogue continues.

4.6. Interim summary As analyzed above, the image of China in the film Chinaman can be explicated with the 123-model as follows (see Figure 8). In Chinaman, the filmmaker, the European, and the Chinese can equally express themselves with their own voices. With their different voices, they understand the others and are understood by others; they accept the others, and are accepted by the other; they influence the others, and are influenced by the others. They are thus all in constant change. Their dialogue is accordingly unfinalized. As such, there is no hegemonic part, no dominated part, no higher part, no lower part; the old criterions, concepts, and power relations are seen to be relative and even deconstructed in this context. China, then, becomes the dialogist and the cooperative partner of Europe. The occurrence of such an image of China is by no means fortuitous but rather indicates the deep and steady deconstructive variation in the cultural unconscious; it is a synthetic result of the operation of the big Other, which has made a positive reaction to the situation in the changing world (see Figure 9).

5. CONCLUSION According to Lacan, narcissism is the origin of an individual’s psychology. Thus, self-centeredness is the inevitable result of the development of individual psychology and of social psychology. Reflected in the culture and in literary works, the monologic image of the other can be regarded as a spontaneous outcome. By contrast, the dialogic image of the other renders the deconstructive variation in the cultural unconscious, indicating equal power relations between the self and the other. Therefore, it can be deemed as a breakthrough stemming from spontaneity, a deconstructing challenge to the traditional self-cognition

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subject: cooperative

ego: relativistic

little other: dialogic

big Other: postmodern

Figure 9  The psychological structure of Europe reflected by the dialogic image of China.

and habitual thinking mode. Hence, it emerges with difficulty and develops slowly, and is hidden deep within a text; namely, in the latent layer of the semiotic structure of an image. In other words, only when the latent layer of an image of the other is dialogic can the image be treated as a dialogic image. The dialogic image of the other should not only be considered as a representation of the other but also as a complex structural relationship between the self and the other. Subjectivity, equality, polyphony, interaction/mutual-influence, and unfinalizability are the five essential factors of a dialogic image of the other. To be specific, within the dialogic image of the other, it is seen that the self and the other are both humanized subjects with autonomous consciousness; they mutually recognize the equal right of the other to action and to thinking; on this basis, both sides express themselves freely, supplement one another mutually, and contradict one another actively; in this intricately connected web of the voices, they are continually rediscovered by each other and dynamically interrelated, which causes changes in their thinking and behavior, and brings to light their unclosed and indeterminable personality; since the partners in the dialogue are unfinalized and thus have endless possibilities, there are always endless opportunities to propel their dialogue forward. In case of the European films, we have seen that the dialogic image of China has budded in Europe through this highly influential and popular visual art form. Although it is still in its initial stage, it heralds a deep and profound cultural transformation, which, as it were, has turned a new page in the cultural histories of Europe and China.

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Refrences Lorenzer, Alfred, and Hans-Dieter König, ed. Kultur-Analysen [Culture analysis]. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 1986. Mackerras, Colin. Western images of China. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1999. Magnusson, Eva, and Jeanne Marecek. Gender and Culture in Psychology: Theories and Practices. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Malrauxs, André. La Condition humaine [Man’s fate]. Paris: Gallimard, 1933. . Les Conquérants [The conquerors]. Paris: Grasset, 1928. Mellard, James. M. Beyond Lacan. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2006. Moura, Jean-Marc. “L’imagologie littéraire, essai de mise au point historique et critique.” Revue de Littérature Comparée, 263/66, no. 3 ( July-September 1992): 271–87. Mulvey, Laura. “Visuelle Lust und narratives Kino [Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema].” In Texte zur Theorie des Films, edited by Franz-Josef Albersmeier, 389-408. Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam jun, 2003. Nikulin, Dmitriĭ Vladimirovich. On Dialogue. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2006. Nikulin, Dmitriĭ Vladimirovich. Dialectic and Dialogue. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2010. Pageaux, Daniel. “De l’imagerie culturelle à l’imaginaire [From cultural imagery to the imaginary].” In Précis de littérature comparée, edited by Brunel Pierre and Chevrel Yves, 133-61. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1989. Rohmer, Sax. The Mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu. London: Methuen, 1913. Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books, 1978. . Orientalism. London: Penguin, 2003. Sheridan, Alan. “Translator’s note.” In Écrits: A Selection. Translated by Alan Sheridan. Abingdon: Routledge, 2001. Spence, Jonathan. The Chan’s Great Continent: China in Western Minds. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1998. Tan, Yuan. Der Chinese in der deutschen Literatur [The Chinese in German literature]. Göttingen: Cuvillier, 2007. Truan, C. Franklin. Meta-values: Universal Principles for a Sane World. Tucson, AZ: Fenestra Books, 2004. Wang, Xiaojing. Jenseits des Orientalismus: neues Fremdbild und neue Kulturpsyche in Filmen europäischer Regisseure 1980–2010. [Beyond Orientalism: New hetero-image and new cultural psychology in films of European directors 1980-2010]. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014. Zhang, Longxi. “The myth of the other: China in the eyes of the West.” Critical Inquiry 15, no. 1 (Autumn, 1988): 108-131. Zhou, Ning. Tianchao Yauyuan [Western images of China]. Beijing: Peking University Press, 2006.

173

Filmography Annaud, Jacques. L’amant. (Paris: Fox Pathé Europa, 1992), 115 min. Assayas, Olivier. Clean. (Paris: ARP Sélection, 2004), 111 min. . Irma Vep. (Paris: Dacia Films, 1996), 97 min. Bertolucci, Bernardo. The Last Emperor (Culver City, CA: Columbia Pictures, 1986), 218 min. Chauveron, Philippe de. Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu? [Serial (Bad) Weddings]. (Neuilly-surSeine: UGC Distribution, 2014), 97 min. Douglas, Róbert I. Maður eins og ég [A man like me] (Reykjavík: Sambíóin, 2002), 90 min. Fontanine, Anne. Augustin, roi du Kung-fu [Augustin, King of Kung-Fu] (Paris: Pathé Distribution, 1999), 105 min. Garrone, Matteo. Gomorra (Roma: 01 Distribution, 2008), 137 min. Genz, Henrik Ruben. Kinamand [Chinaman] (Valby: Nordisk Film International Sales, 2005), 88 min. Kamp, Mischa. Waar is het paard van Sinterklaas? [Where is Winky’s horse?] (Amsterdam: Warner Bros, 2007), 90 min. Schütte, Jan. Drachenfutter [Dragon Chow] (Köln: Pandora Film Produktion, 1987), 89 min. Verbeek, David. City of Trance (Amsterdam: Filmmuseum Distributie, 2008), 100 min.

List of Contributors Dr. Maria Andrianova is Professor of Russian Literature at St. Petersburg State University (Russia). Dr. Kryštof Boháček is Professor of Philosophy at Západočeská University v Plzni (Czech Republic). Dr. Matthias Freise is Professor of Slavic and Comparative Literature at Georg-August-Universität, Göttingen (Germany). Dr. Michał Kaczmarczyk is Professor of Sociology at Uniwersytet Gdański (Poland). Dr. Klaus Krippendorff is Professor of Design Theory at the University of Pennsylvania (United States). Dr. med. Reinhard Plassmann is Professor of Psychology at the International Psychoanalytic University, Berlin (Germany). Dr. Xiaojing Wang is Professor of Comparative Literature and Film Studies at Georg-August-Universität, Göttingen (Germany).

Index Note: Page numbers followed by ’n’ denotes notes

A

Ainsworth, Mary, 114 Alexievich, Svetlana, 5 Alpers, Svetlana, 26 Andrianova, Maria, 1–6 Annaud, Jean-Jaques, L’amant (1992), 145n64, 146–147 aporia, 13, 16, 18, 38 Aristotle, xvi–xvii, 12, 72–73 Assayas, Olivier, Clean (2004), 145n64, 148–149 Irma Vep (1996), 145n64, 146–147 Austen, Jane, 47 Austin, John Langshaw, 57

B

Bakhtin, Mikhail, vi, xviii, xix, xxiii–xxiv, xxvii, 2, 12, 14, 15n24, 19–21, 23, 25, 36, 41, 59, 77–79, 84, 88–89, 95, 106, 128, 149 Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics (1984), 140–143 Baranger, Madeleine, 113 Baranger, Willy, 113 Baroque, 33, 42–48 Barthes, Roland, 31n10, 136–138, 140 Bateson, Gregory, 85 Bauman, Zygmunt, 70 Berger, Peter, 52, 93 Bertolucci, Bernardo, The Last Emperor (1986), 145, 146 Bible, xiv, 31 Joshua 10:12–14, 31n11 Matthew 7:3–5, 154n86 Bitov, Andrej, 4, 5 Lessons of Armenia, The Georgian Album, 4 Pushkin House, 2–3 Blumenberg, Hans, 58–59 Boháček, Kryštof, viii, 7–24, 60n22,

Bohm, David, 51–52, 54 Boudon, Raymond, 70 Bowlby, John, 114, 123 Brisch, Karl Heinz, 121 Buber, Martin, 83

C

Calhoun, Craig, 70 Camic, Charles, 70 Cassirer, Ernst, xvi–xxvii Substance and Function, and Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, xvi Castoriadis, Cornelius, 67 Chinaman (2005), see Genz, Henrik Ruben chronotopia, 9, 14, 17, 19, 23 classicism, 33, 43, 45–47 cognition, xiii, xviii, 51, 63, 107 Collins, Randall, 70 consciousness, 1–2, 4, 29, 130, 140–145, 147, 151, 153, 170 Coren, François, 84 Corlett, Angelo, 11 Curtius, Ernst Robert, 33, 34n21

D

d’Argens, Marquis, Lettres chinoises (1739), 135 Darwin, Charles, xix Chauveron, Philippe de, Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu?, 146, 148–149 Descartes, René, xxi, 98 Dewey, John, 54, 65 dialectics, 14, 20–23, 62 dialogicity, xxvii, 39–45, 128 diachronic, 42, 45, 64n29 hermeneutic, 36, 41–42, 64n29 polemic, 41, 43, 64n29

Index structural, 42, 44–45, 4n29 diglossia, 14 Dilthey, Wilhelm, x–xiv, xvi Ideas On a Describing and Parsing Psychology, xi Dostoevsky, Fyodor Mikhajlovich, 1–3, 140–143 The Brothers Karamazov, 2 Douglas, Róbert I., Maður eins og ég (2002), 145n64 Durkheim, Emile, 52–55, 66, 70, 73–74

E

Eisenstadt, Shmuel, 71 Enlightenment, 30, 43, 46, 90, 97, 135 Erler, Michael, 11 Etiemble, René, 135 Eurocentrism, 126, 133, 147 existential (dialogical) theory of action, 60–69 experimental psychology, xix–xx

F

Fernbach, Philip, 78 Ferro, Antonino, 113, 116–117, 122 Fielding, Henry, An Apology for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews, 47 Focillon, Henry, 27n8 Fontanine, Anne, Augustin, roi du Kung-fu (1999), 145n64, 146–147 Foucault, Michael, 85–86, 134 Fonvizina, Natalia, 1 Frege, Gottlob, xii–xiii Freise, Matthias, vi–xxix, 25–50 Frenchness, 138, see also Barthes, Roland Freud, Sigmund, xxiii–xxv Ratschläge für die psychotherapeutische Behandlung, xxiii Friedländer, Salomo, 10

G

Gadamer, Hans-Georg, xv, 12, 36, 40 Truth and Method, xv Genz, Henrik Ruben, Chinaman (2005), 145n64, 148–169 Gomorra (2008), 145n64, 148–149 Gesellschaft, 52 Goffman, Erving, 55–56, 58–59 González, Francisco, 11 Gouldner, Alvin, 64 Grondin, Jean, “Einführung in die philosophische Hermeneutik” (1991), xv

H

Habermas, Jürgen, xixn17, 70, 79 Hamilton, William, see Mill, John Stuart Hardy, Cynthia, 93 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, Vorlesung über die Philosophie der Geschichte, 151 Heidegger, Martin, xivn12, xvii, xxi–xxii, 96 Being and Time, xvii hermeneutics, xiv–xvi, 12, 28, 36, 40 historiography, xi, 22, 25, 27–28, 34, 39, see also Koselleck, Reinhard Hobbes, Thomas, 72–73 Husserl, Edmund, xii, xiiin7, xvi, xviii, xxi–xxii Logical Investigations (1900), xi

I

ideal ego, 131, 133, 140 International Bakhtin conference, Stockholm, 15th ( July 2014), xxvii Irma Vep (1996), see Assayas, Olivier Ivanov, Vjacheslav, xxivn21

J

Jakobson, Roman, xxvii, 33 James, William, 53, 55 Joas, Hans, 70

K

Kaczmarczyk, Michal, viii, 51–76 Kahn, Charles H., 10, 12, 14–15 Kamp, Mischa, Waar is het paard van Sinterklaas? (2007), 145n64 Kant, Immanuel, x–xi, xivn12, xvii–xviii, xxiv, 73 Critique of Pure Reason, xvii Neo-Kantians, xvii, 10 Kołakowski, Leszek,i Husserl and the Search for Certitude, xii Koselleck, Reinhard, “Wozu noch Historie?,” 34–35 Krippendorff, Klaus, 77–111 Kronecker, Leopold, xiin3

L

Lacan, Jacques, xxii, 128–131, 132, 133n25, 169 language, vii–ix, xii–xiii, xvii–xviii, xixn17, xxv–xxvii, 58–59, 71, 77–79, 85–86, 89, 91, 97, 99, 106, 112, 119, 122, 129–131, 142, 144, 146 of the big Other, 133, 136, 140

177

178

Index Latour, Bruno, 85 Lermontov, Mikhail, 3 Levine, Donald, 58, 71–73 Lewin, Kurt, field theory, 113 Luckmann, Thomas, 52, 93 Luhmann, Niklas, 36–38, 56, 70 Lutoslawski, Wincenty, 9

M

Main, Mary, 114 Mandel’shtam, Osip, 40–41 mannerism, 46–47 Marshall, Alfred, 73 Martindale, Don, 71 McKeon, Richard, 57, 71 Mead, George Herbert, 53–54, 62, 64 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 113 meta-approach (meta-attitude), xviii Michelangelo, 47–48 Mill, John Stuart, “Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy,” xxiv–xxv Mouzelis, Nicholas, 70 Münch, Richard, 70 myth, xvii–xviii, 80, 103, 136–137

N

Natorp, Paul, 10 natural science, xi–xii, xiv, xvi–xvii, xxvi– xxvii, 68, 71, 88, 97–98, 107, see also scientification of the humanities; scientific discourse Novalis, 57

O

Orientalism, xxii, 134, 144, 145, 150, 168, Lsee also Said, Edward

P

Pareto, Vilfredo, 73 Paris Match, 138 Parsons, Talcott, 70, 73–74 Peirce, Charles Sanders, 54, 63, 67 Pelevin, Viktor Olegovich, 3–5 Chapayev and Void, 3 Hermit and Sixfinger, 3 Life of Insects, 3 Numbers, 3 The Sacred Book of the Werewolf, 3–4 S.N.U.F.F., 4, 5 The Yellow Arrow, 3

Phillips, Nelson, 93 physiognomy, 27n8, 28 Plassmann, Reinhold, xxiii, 112–125 Plato, 7–24, 60–62, 64, 67, 73 Plato’s dialogues, vi, viii, 7–24, 60–62, 67 Apology, 9, 13, 18n35, 21–22 Charmides, 15–16 Critias, 20 Euthydemus, 15 Euthyphro, 12–13 Gorgias, 15, 17, 19n36, 22 Filebus, 20 Hippias Maior, 10, 12–13 Hippias Minor, 10, 12–13 Ion, 9, 12–13 Laws, 20 Laches, 13, 15–16, 60–62 Lysis, 10, 15–16 Menexenus, 15, 17, 21 Meno, 15, 17, 18n34–35 Parmenides, 19–20 Phaedo, 14, 19 Phaedrus, 67 Politicus, 20 Protagoras, 15–16, 19n36, 22 Republic, 10, 14, 19 Sophist, 20 Statesman, 67 Symposium, 9, 17, 19, 22 Theaetetus, 19 Timaeus, 20 platonic dogmas, 9, 19, 20n41 Platonism, 66–67, see also Plato polyphony, 2, 9, 14–16, 21, 60n22, 78–79, 95, 128, 141–142, 146, 149, 156–171 psychotheraphy, 85, 114–116, 120–121, 123 “Pu Yi, 146

Q

Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au Bon Dieu? (2014), see Chauveron, Philippe de

R

Raphael, “The Transfiguration of Christ” (1520), 47 rational psychology, see Christian, Wolff Reale, Giovani, 11 reflexive loops, 81–82, 97 religion, viii, xvii–xviii, 1,19, 44, 54, 55, 86, 132, 147 Renaissance, 33, 42–47, 57 Rittel, Horst, 98

Index Ritter, Constantin, 9 Robinson, Richard, 67 Rorty, Richard, xixn17 Rule, James, 70

S

Sack of Rome (1527), 48 Said, Edward, Orientalism, 145, 147 Saussure, Ferdinand de, viii, xiii, xxvi, 77 Schleiermacher, Friedrich, xiv, 10 Schütte, Jan, Drachenfutter (1987), 145m64 scientific discourse, 90–91, 97–99, 102 Shishkin, Mikhail, 5 semantics, vii, ix, xviii, xxiii, xxv–xxvi, 27–28, 32, 42–44, 137 semiotics, viii, ix, xxvi–xxvii literary semiotic structure, 128, 136–140, 168, 170 “semiotic turn,” viii, ix, xxvi sentimentalism, 46, 47 set theory, xvii Shenk, Joshua Wolf, 82 signification-model, 136–137, 140, 150 Simmel, Georg, 71 Simon, Herbert, The Sciences of the Artificial, 98, 102–103 Sloman, Steven, 78 Small, Albion, 68–69, 74 Smirnov, Igor’, 39, 45–46 “social self,” 53–54 Socrates, 9, 12–23, 60–62, 67, see also Plato Sokratische Frage, 9 sophists, 13–14, 16, 19, 20, see also Plato Sorokin, Pitirim, 71 Sorokin, Vladimir, 5 Stark, Werner, 66 “Strange Situation,” 114–115 Strauss, Leo, 10 structural linguists, 78 substantialism, see Aristotle Szlezák, Thomas Alexander, 12

T

teamwork, 101, 103, 105, 107 teleology, 32–33 telephone conversations, 83–84, 103 therapist–patients relationships (also psychotheraphy), vii, xxiii, 84–85, 112–123 Thesleff, Holger, 15, 17n29

Tönnies, Ferdinand, see Gesellschaft transcendence, 43–45, 47 transitional epochs, 5, 46–48 Tschiževskij, Dmitrij, 33 Turgenev, Ivan, 3, 63 Tynjanov, Jurij, 33, 39 Tyutchev, Fyodor, 4 “Three Prophets,” 5

U

utilitarianism (also utilitarian concept of the dialogue), 19, 60, 73

V

Vasari, Giorgio, 47 ventriloquism, see Coren, François Verbeek, David, City of Trance (2008), 145n64 verum factum principle, see Vico, Giambattista veterinary surgeon, 2, 6, 14, 16, 19, 31, 39, 41, 45, 79, 80 Vico, Giambattista, 98 Scienza nuova, 98 Vlastos, Gregory, 12, 14, 16n27 Vodička, Felix, 39 Voloshinov, Valentin, xxiii–xxiv Frejdizm, xxiii

W

Wang, Xiaojing, xxii, 31n10, 126–174 Jenseits des Orientalismus: Neues Fremdbild und neue Kulturpsyche in Filmeneuropäischer Regisseure (1980–2010), 127 Weber, Max, vii, 52–55, 70, 73–74 White, Hayden, 25 Windelband, Wilhelm, x–xi Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 78–79 Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1921), xxv Wolff, Christian, xi, xiii Wölfflin, Heinrich, 26, 33, 39, 42, 45 Worringer, Wilhelm, 33, 39

Y

Young grammarian theory, xxvi

Z

Znaniecki, Florian The Social Role of the Man of Knowledge, 65–66

179