The Hermeneutics Reader
The Hermeneutics Reader
Edited, with an
introduction and notes, by
Kurt Mueller-Vollmer
Bibliography: p. 347
Includes index.
1. Hermeneutics — Addresses, essays, lectures.
2. Philosophy, German — Addresses, essays, lectures.
I. Mueller-Vollmer, Kurt.
BD241.H374 1985 121'.68'0943 85-461
ISBN: 0-8264-0208-9
ISBN: 0-8264-0402-2 (pbk)
Acknowledgments will be found on page 363,
which constitutes an extension of the copyright page.
Contents
Preface ix
v
vi Contents
Bibliography 347
Acknowledgments 363
Index 365
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Preface
ix
x Preface
method of interpreting literary texts, while still others use the term to refer to
those disciplines in the human and social sciences (as opposed to the natural
sciences) which make use of the methods of understanding and interpretation
(Von Wright). In some quarters, the word "hermeneutics" has assumed the char-
acter of a voguish term as if we were dealing with a new movement or intellectual
trend like "structuralism" or "poststructuralism" which would provide us not
merely with a fresh vocabulary but with an alternative methodology as well.
Gadamer and the students of philosophical hermeneutics have always insisted, of
course, that hermeneutics has nothing to do with the creation or validation of
specific methodologies of any kind. They may be overstating their case, for there
exists and has existed an active reciprocal relationship between hermeneutics on
the one hand and the rise and development of specific methodologies on the other,
as we shall point out later. But their insistence should at least discourage those
who are all too eager and ready to seize and popularize what seems to them a new
and useful paradigm.
The problem is that hermeneutics is both a historical concept and the name for
an ongoing concern in the human and social sciences; and for the historical aspect
of hermeneutics a simple definition will not do. As Nietzsche succinctly put it:
"all concepts in which an entire process is semiotically concentrated elude defini-
tions; only that which has no history is definable."* It was this editor's task,
therefore, to present to his readers texts which would allow a sufficient grasp of
the hermeneutic enterprise in its various aspects.
A few additional words about the principles which guided this selection. It has
not been my intention to document a full history of hermeneutic theory during
the past two centuries. This would have been a task far beyond the limits set by
this single volume. Instead, I have attempted to include texts characteristic of
those positions which have been or still are significant for the hermeneutic debate.
Hence, my main attention was focused on a notion of general hermeneutics rather
than on that of a particular discipline with its narrower interests and perspectives.
The texts represented here were written by members of different disciplines and
fields of inquiry—philosophers, historians, philologists, theologians, social scien-
tists— and constitute significant contributions to their individual disciplines. But
at the same time, they transcend the boundaries of these disciplines and raise
issues of much larger import and thus form part of what might rightfully be called
the mainstream of hermeneutic tradition. I hope that this mainstream and its con-
cerns will become evident to the reader. To simplify matters it makes sense to
identify two distinct phases in the development of the modern German hermeneu-
tic tradition: the philological and the philosophical phase or school of thought.
The first is represented by such names as Schleiermacher, Ast, Droysen, Hum-
boldt, and Boeckh; the second includes Dilthey, Husserl, Heidegger, and
Gadamer and their respective followers. This is a useful distinction. It does not
mean, however, that the philological hermeneutics of the nineteenth century was
unphilosophical or antiphilosophical. On the contrary. Some of the most radical
arguments of twentieth-century philosophical hermeneutics derive from the in-
sights first articulated by the nineteenth-century writers, even though they were
primarily interested in the problems of philology and the cultural sciences. Simi-
larly, the writings of the hermeneutic philosophers invariably display a deep con-
cern for the problems facing these disciplines. In addition, writers like Heidegger
or Gadamer have exercised a considerable influence upon the way in which
students of literature read and understand poetic texts and speak about their
understanding. Of course, hermeneutics did not begin with the nineteenth-century
philologists and historians, and we must consider some important writers from
the eighteenth century and earlier in any serious study of the history of hermeneu-
tics. But since this reader is to serve as an introduction to modern hermeneutics,
only one eighteenth-century author, Chladenius, was chosen to illustrate the state
of hermeneutic thought at that time. The hermeneutics of Schleiermacher and the
Romantics that would follow afterwards represents a complete and radical break
from the older tradition. With Schleiermacher, modern hermeneutics begins.
For the occasion of this book a number of the contributions have been translated
for the first time, or were retranslated. When necessary, existing translations
were corrected and changed to assure accuracy of terminology and of the ideas
expressed. I owe thanks to Professor Jerry Dibble and to my former students
Carrie Asman-Schneider, Barbara Hyams, and Linda DeMichiel for having
undertaken the translation of some exceedingly difficult texts, a task whose suc-
cessful fulfillment represents a hermeneutic accomplishment in its own right. I
am also indebted to Robert Leventhal for his suggestions in rendering some of
Dilthey's terms and phrases. The bibliography at the end was not meant to be
exhaustive. It is intended for the reader who wants to follow up on the various
problems raised by the different texts and who would like to have a fair and
accurate overview of the current debate. Emphasis has been placed on English
language titles. I should like to thank my publishers for the support which they
lent to this project in the face of many difficulties. Last but not least, I wish to
thank my wife, Patricia Ann Bialecki, whose continued assistance and numerous
helpful suggestions I deeply appreciate.
KURT MUELLER-VOLLMER
Stanford, California
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Introduction
Language, Mind, and Artifact:
An Outline of Hermeneutic Theory
Since the Enlightenment
They mean by that the messenger of the gods who, according to the
opinion of these heathens, must proclaim to the humans the will of the
gods.
Johann Heinrich Zedler, Grosses Vollstandiges Universal-
lexicon oiler Wissenschaften und Kunste, vol. 12 Halle-
Leipzig, 1735
1
2 Introduction
it has come to designate today should best be kept separate. Interpretation was
performed in various ways since late antiquity, as for example, in the school of
Alexandria. It later became an integral part of the theological culture of the Middle
Ages, but it was not until the Renaissance, Reformation, and thereafter that
hermeneutics as a special discipline came into being. Against the Catholic insis-
tence on church authority and tradition in matters of understanding and inter-
preting the Holy Scriptures, which was reaffirmed at the Council of Trent in
1546, the Protestant reformers advanced the principles of perspicuity—perspi-
cuitas— and of the self-sufficiency of the holy text. Thus the need existed for the
reformers to develop the means of demonstrating the basic intelligibility and non-
contradictory nature of the Scriptures. The most important Protestant theorist and
apologist of biblical interpretation was Matthias Flacius Illyricus with his work
Clavis Scripturae Sacrae (1567).3 Drawing on the Aristotelian rhetorical tradition
and the entire tradition of patristic Bible exegesis from Origen to his own days,
Flacius laid a firm basis for the development of Protestant hermeneutics. Over
the next hundred years his Clavis went through ten editions. Flacius advanced two
principal arguments which proved important for subsequent developments. First,
he argued that if the Scriptures had not yet been understood properly, this did not
necessarily imply that the church ought to impose an external interpretation to
make them intelligible; it merely reflected the insufficient knowledge and faulty
preparation of the interpreters. A thorough linguistic and hermeneutic training
could remedy the situation. Second, Flacius claimed, in accordance with the opin-
ion of the other reformers, Luther and Melanchthon, that the Scriptures contained
an internal coherence and continuity. He thus asked the interpreter to explicate
each individual passage in the light of the whole continuity of the Scriptures. If
Flacius believed that he had freed biblical interpretation from the norms and
restrictions of church authority and tradition, he did not realize that he himself
was instrumental for the introduction of a new system of norms with its own body
of hermeneutic rules, which would insure a necessary degree of consent in mat-
ters of scriptural exegesis. Without such consent the unity of the Protestant
church would have faltered.
Besides the sacred hermeneutics of the Protestant reformers, three other ten-
dencies were instrumental for the rise of modern hermeneutics: developments in
classical philology, jurisprudence, and philosophy.4
A resurgence of interest in the study of the classical texts from Greek and
Roman antiquity occurred during the Renaissance. Humanist scholars and their
successors at universities and academies produced an arsenal of philological-
critical methods (Ars Criticd) whose object was to establish the authenticity of a
given text and to reconstruct as much as possible its original or correct version.
Philological criticism and its concerns became an important source for the subse-
quent development of systematic theories of interpretation. The humanist herme-
neutic tradition stayed alive well into the eighteenth century, as is testified by the
Introduction 3
frequent reediting of relevant works by writers like Vives, Scioppius, and Johan-
nes Clericus.5 For some time, the theory of translation was subsumed under the
category of interpretation as, for example, in works by the English humanist
Laurentius Humphrey in the sixteenth century and by the French Bishop Huet in
the seventeenth century.6
The revival of interest in Roman law, which began during the so-called twelfth-
century Renaissance in Italy with the concomitant efforts of scholars to elucidate
the Code of Justinian (A.D. 533), led to the development of a special hermeneu-
tics of jurisprudence. This special hermeneutics would soon spread across the
Alps to the rest of Europe. In 1463 Constantius Rogerius, in his Treatise concern-
ing the Interpretation of Laws,1 summarized the main tenets of these interpretive
efforts which had their center in Bologna. Rogerius wanted to explicate and har-
monize the various parts of Justinian's code. He introduced a fourfold distinction
of forms of legal exegesis which he termed "the corrective," "the extensive," "the
restrictive," and "the declarative" interpretations. This distinction remained in
force until the beginning of the nineteenth century when traditional legal herme-
neutics was replaced by the historical school of Savigny and his followers.8 The
rise and development of legal hermeneutics was intimately connected with the
rise of philology, and we can witness a frequent transferal of ideas and concepts
from one field to the other. Thus, in his lurisconsultus of 1559, the humanist
Franciscus Hotomanus viewed grammatical interpretation as the basis of legal ex-
plication.9 In fact, grammatical interpretation remained an essential category for
most writers in legal hermeneutics. In his Treatise on the Science of Interpretation
(1689), the German jurist Johannes von Felde attempted to establish interpretive
principles which would be valid for all classes of text, both literary and legal. He
also offered a definition of hermeneutics which Chladenius would incorporate
into his hermeneutics. To interpret, for von Felde, meant but to explicate to
someone that which proves difficult for him to understand.10 The jurist Thibaut
— the last writer in the humanist and Enlightenment tradition—in 1806 defined
the relationship between grammatical and other kinds of legal interpretation in
the following manner. Grammatical interpretation should be directed solely at the
literal sense of a given law. It finds its limits only where the meaning of a law
cannot be understood from ordinary linguistic usage. At this point, the "purpose"
(Absichf) of the law and the intention of the lawgiver have to be considered
("logical interpretation").11
Finally, with the desire of Enlightenment philosophers to proceed everywhere
from certain principles and to systematize all human knowledge, hermeneutics
became a province of philosophy. Following the example of Aristotle, who had
analyzed the problems of logic in his treatise On Interpretation (Peri hermeneias),
Enlightenment philosophers viewed hermeneutics and its problems as belonging
to the domain of logic. This was an important event in the history of hermeneutic
thought. For even though many writers of special (technical) hermeneutic texts—
4 Introduction
II
Chladenius (1710-1759), who had made a name and a living for himself as a uni-
versity teacher and scholar in such diverse fields as philosophy, history, theology,
and rhetoric, published his Introduction to the Correct Interpretation of Reason-
able Discourses and Books in 1742.14 He wanted to provide a consistent theory
of interpretation together with a body of practical rules for the students of those
disciplines which derived their knowledge by interpretation. Chladenius did not
consider philosophy one of these disciplines. For the philosopher was not con-
cerned with the interpretation of the meaning of statements but rather with the
critical examination of what they claimed was true. On the other hand, the study
of poetry, rhetoric, history, and the Ancients, together with all those disciplines
which comprised the "sciences of beauty" (the humanities), had to rely on the art
of interpretation (Auslegekunsi). Hermeneutics for Chladenius is but another
name for this art. Since "to be understood" was in the nature of an utterance,
Chladenius defined hermeneutics as the art of attaining the perfect or complete
understanding of utterances (vollstandiges Verstehen)— whether they be speeches
(Reden) or writings (Schrifteri) ,15
Chladenius's use of the term art reveals the extent to which his hermeneutic
enterprise was still rooted in the Aristotelean rhetorical tradition. For the term
6 Introduction
does not carry any aesthetic or artistic connotation, but refers to the teaching and
mastery of a specific area of knowledge as, for example, in the liberal arts, the
disciplines of rhetoric, grammar, and dialectic. Drawing his inspiration from
Wolff and other predecessors in the field of logic, Chladenius set out to develop
in a rational and systematic fashion the principles, rules, and techniques govern-
ing the art of interpretation as he knew it. But he was concerned only with
"reasonable speeches and writings." By this he meant those utterances which
observe the rules of reason in language and thought, and among those he singled
out historical writings. To the readers of his Introduction he promised the publi-
cation of a hermeneutics of poetic discourse in the future— a promise which he
did not keep.
Chladenius's Introduction is significant not only because of its systematic expo-
sition of Enlightenment hermeneutic theory.16 It also raises, often inadvertently,
a great many problems and issues which were to become dominant themes for
writers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. But those who have seen in him
the founder of a modern-day hermeneutics of the human sciences are largely
mistaken. To the careful reader of his work it should be obvious how far removed
his ideas are from those of the Romantic and post-Romantic schools of herme-
neutic thought. His position can be made sufficiently clear by considering three
aspects of his theory which are closely interrelated: his concept of hermeneutics,
his implied notion of the nature of verbal meanings, and his theory of the "point
of view" (Sehe-Puncki) with respect to historical writings.
If the purpose of the art of interpretation is to help us attain "perfect understand-
ing," it must be the task of the hermeneutic philosopher to describe the aims of
this understanding, the obstacles which have to be overcome, and the methods
which must be used to achieve the desired goal. These are precisely the issues
which Chladenius's Introduction addresses. Chladenius believed that there were
primarily two criteria by which one could determine whether perfect understand-
ing had been attained. This is the case whenever we have grasped the intention
of the author and whenever we are able to think in our minds all that the words
of the author are able to arouse in us according to the "rules of reason" and of
the mind itself. What is meant here by authorial intention, namely, the generic
choice of discourse by the author rather than his psychological state of mind, was
explained in our discussion of Wolffs hermeneutics. In the same vein, the second
criterion does not carry a psychological connotation or imply the idea of a rela-
tivization of meaning of a given utterance. The rules of reason were considered
unchangeable by Chladenius and guaranteed the stability of meaning and the
possibility of its objective transfer through verbal expressions. If an utterance was
only constructed reasonably and in accordance with the appropriate rules of
discourse, and if the writer had succeeded in making his ideas clear, his words
on the page would give rise to a correct and perfect understanding: author and
reader alike shared in the same rational principles.
Introduction 7
We can see why the notions of understanding and of meaning did not pose a
particular philosophical problem to the author of the Introduction, as it would
later to the Romantics and the moderns. These notions were simply taken for
granted by him. Given the skill and expertise of the interpreter, all hermeneutic
problems appeared solvable to him simply because all reasonable utterances had
to be intelligible. For Chladenius, as for the enlightened mind in general, the
grounds for a correct interpretation and for understanding resided in reason itself.
It was shared by writer and reader and was found embodied in the text.
Chladenius is best known for his notion of point-of-view or perspective (Sehe-
Punckt) which he introduced into historical methodology. If one historian's ac-
count differs considerably from what another historian tells us about the same
events, this does not necessarily mean, Chladenius argued, that there is a contra-
diction between the two accounts; or that only one version of the story could be
true and that the other had to be rejected. For it is a characteristic of human
nature, Chladenius believed, that an individual would perceive the events and
happenings surrounding him from his own particular perspective or point-of-
view. This relativity of perspective was, however, no cause for anxiety for
Chladenius, because each observer would still perceive the same event. Taking
into account the viewpoint of a given observer, I can still judge the truthfulness
of his statements. When I place myself into his perspective, I can compare what
I perceive through his account with what I know from other sources. This notion
of perspective, Chladenius tells his readers, was derived from Leibniz's Optics.
But it reminds us even more strongly of the same philosopher's Monadology in
which each monad always perceives the same universe, but from its own perspec-
tive and according to its own abilities. Similarly, for Chladenius, each historical
account (perception) would differ from another, since it reflected the observer's
personal perspective, but it would still refer to the same event.
His introduction of the notion of perspective opened new dimensions which
could have led to important changes in the assumptions of eighteenth-century
hermeneutic theory—possibilities which Chladenius himself did not perceive. In
our age of post-Nietzschean criticism the concept of interpretation itself has
become thoroughly perspectivist, and there are, in the eyes of many— as Nietzsche
once put it— no facts but only interpretations, where each interpretation represents
one of the many possible "meanings" of a given text. It must be pointed out that
any suggestion of a relativity of meanings and of interpretations was far removed
from Chladenius's mind. Even though some of his modern interpreters have not
resisted the temptation of reading a twentieth-century meaning into his notion of
perspectivism, Chladenius did not proclaim the relativity of meaning or of inter-
pretation, but merely the relativity of the account.17 Despite its perspectivism, a
given text remained for him transparent and unambiguous with regard to its refer-
ent and its meaning. It was the task of the interpreter to make the reader realize
and restore wherever necessary this textual transparency; that is, whenever he
8 Introduction
Ill
to the theory and practice of textual interpretation. Even though the philologists
of the nineteenth century—notably Boeckh—absorbed many of Schleiermacher's
concerns, they also lost an awareness of Schleiermacher's discovery of the lin-
guistic dimensions of human understanding and its importance.
Schleiermacher did not create his hermeneutics in a vacuum. His endeavors
must be seen as part of the early Romantic movement which, from 1795 to 1810,
revolutionized the intellectual life of central Europe. A new aesthetics and poetics
created by philosophers such as Fichte and Schelling, by critics such as Friedrich
and August Wilhelm Schlegel, and by the poets Novalis, Tieck, and Wackenroder
opened new dimensions and produced new tasks for hermeneutic thought. From
now on hermeneutics concerned itself with the idea of the author as creator and
of the work of art as an expression of his creative self. In harmony with the poets
and philosophers of the period, the hermeneutic thinkers advanced the conception
"f the organic unity of a work, subscribed to a notion of style as the inner form
of a work, and adhered to a concept of the symbolic nature of art which gave rise
to the possibility of infinite interpretations.20 The ancient task of interpreting and
explicating texts suddenly appeared in a new and pristine light. Even more impor-
tant than the ideas of the new aesthetics was the transcendental turn hermeneutic
thinking underwent in the hands of the Romantic theorists—particularly F.
Schlegel, Schleiermacher, and Wilhelm von Humboldt. Already Kant's Coper-
nican revolution of thought had brought about a new and different usage for the
term understanding. From the viewpoint of the Critique of Pure Reason, under-
standing (Verstand) appeared as an underlying capacity for thought and experi-
ence, and acts of understanding (Versteheri) which were present in all thinking
and experience were an expression of man's rationality.21 Fichte radicalized the
Kantian position and in his Doctrine of Science (1795) attempted boldly to deduce
the entire system of human knowledge from the operations of the mind itself.
Following Fichte's example, F. Schlegel and, subsequently, Schleiermacher,22
attempted to ground hermeneutics in a concept of understanding. Since then,
"understanding" has become the cornerstone of hermeneutic theory.23 For
Schleiermacher, hermeneutics was no longer occupied with the decoding of a
given meaning or with the clearing away of obstacles in the way of proper under-
standing, but was above all concerned with illuminating the conditions for the
possibility of understanding and its modes of interpretation. Against the assump-
tion of the older hermeneutics that a reader would understand everything unless
or until he encountered contradictions or a nonsensical passage, Schleiermacher
advanced a radically different position. From the point of view of hermeneutics
we cannot claim to understand anything that we "cannot perceive and construct
as necessary. In accordance with this maxim, understanding is an unending
task."24
The student of Schleiermacher's hermeneutics is faced with singular difficulties
which result from the particular form in which his ideas have been transmitted
10 Introduction
IV
The historian Droysen has called Wilhelm von Humboldt "the Bacon of the
historical sciences" and understood his own theory of history and human culture
as an application and further elaboration of Humboldt's ideas.33 Humboldt's im-
portance for the development of the hermeneutics of the human sciences has been
Introduction 13
considerable indeed and is still increasing. Besides Droysen, the names Dilthey
and Cassirer immediately come to mind. Early in his career Dilthey declared that
he intended to emulate Humboldt's approach to the study of men and human
speech in his own studies of religion. And he thought his attempt to ground his
notion of understanding in human nature was in harmony with Humboldtian prin-
ciples.34 Cassirer's project of a philosophy of symbolic forms assigned a special
status to language which provided the key to man's entire range of symbolic crea-
tions. Cassirer defines language strictly in Humboldtian terms, and the first
volume of his Philosophy of Symbolic Forms can be read as an interpretation of
Humboldt's philosophy of language for the purpose of providing an epistemologi-
cal basis for Cassirer's own theory of the human sciences and their modes of
operation.35 The reception of many of Humboldt's ideas by various schools of
linguistics in the last decades not only has created a new interest in Humboldt's
linguistic writings but also, due to the increasing attention linguistics has been
given by many social scientists in recent years, has led to a renewed relevancy
of Humboldt's linguistics and philosophy of language for social and historical
sciences. Yet there has been no recent study on Humboldt's contribution to modern
hermeneutics.36 This is doubly surprising because, in addition to the aforemen-
tioned names, the representatives of philosophical hermeneutics—notably Hei-
degger and Gadamer— often refer to Humboldt and lay claim to certain of his
ideas.
Two different aspects of Humboldt's work must be considered in order to assess
his contribution to modern hermeneutics: the hermeneutic dimensions of his
views on language which form an integral part of his linguistics and philosophy
of language; and, subsequently, his own application of some of his hermeneutic
insights to historical writings— in particular, his introduction of the concept of
understanding into the study of history. With Schleiermacher Humboldt shared
certain fundamental beliefs regarding the nature of language, its relation to
human nature, and the structure of the human mind. Their beliefs form part of
what we might rightfully call the Romantic linguistic paradigm since it is shared
to various degrees by other writers as well: A. W. and F. Schlegel, the poet
Novalis, and philosophers like Bernhardi or Schelling.37 In our own century the
Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure has been generally credited for having
introduced a decisive distinction into linguistics between language as a system
(langue) and language as speech or utterance (parole). Yet a very similar— if not
the same— distinction was generally accepted by both Schleiermacher and Hum-
boldt. However, in addition to viewing human linguisticality (Sprachvermogen)
both as language (Sprache) and speech (Rede), Humboldt also used the distinction
between language as energeia (process) and as ergon (objectified product) to
characterize linguistic phenomena. This latter distinction cuts across both langue
and parole—since both can be seen from the angle of either process or product.
Understanding for Humboldt was grounded in language and linguisticality and
14 Introduction
was seen by him (as by Schleiermacher) as the correlative of speaking. But for
him speaking and understanding were necessarily connected with a third term:
that of active linguistic competence (Sprachkrafi) which occurred in both speaker
and listener. "One can understand a word which one hears only because one could
have spoken it oneself," Humboldt wrote.38 This is an important idea, because
it puts an end to the older notion which saw in language some neutral means of
transporting "meanings" from the mind of one person into that of another. We
found this transportative view of language to be operative in Chladenius's theory
of interpretation. It was shattered with the advent of transcendental idealism and
its application to the philosophy of language. There can be nothing in one's mind,
Humboldt asserted, echoing Fichte's theory of knowledge,39 except one's own
spontaneous mental activity. Meaning cannot be transferred from one speaker's
mind to that of another. In fact, meaning in this objective and naive sense did not
exist at all for Humboldt. Meaning must be seen rather as the coproduction of
speaker and listener where both share in the same active power of linguistic com-
petence. Humans can understand each other, Humboldt argued, because they
produce (erzeugen) and understand speech (Rede) according to the same underly-
ing principles: those of the mind and those embodied in the grammar of the
language which they share.
Even though certain universal principles were to be found in all languages (an
idea which many latter-day "Humboldtian" linguists seem to have forgotten), each
language, Humboldt believed, constituted through its grammatical form a unique
manner and way of perceiving the world. The linguist's occupation, therefore,
had a decidedly hermeneutic aspect to it: studying another language meant to
liberate oneself to some degree from the fetters of one's own and to gain through
the other language another perspective on the world. This process of understand-
ing would repeat itself in one's own language as well: from the understanding of
the verbal utterances of others to the written word, culminating in works of
literature and philosophy. Each utterance, each work in a given language is the
product of an individual mind and retains an aura of individuality. For this reason
every act of understanding, Humboldt thought, was in some way also necessarily
a non-understanding.
Humboldt believed that this shortcoming of all human language could be com-
pensated for to some degree on another level. For language in its fullest sense—
language as process (energeia)— only occurred in the societal context.40 Societies
are internally linked through language, which constituted not only a cultural force
but a cultural product as well. Human beings can only understand themselves,
according to Humboldt, if they test the intelligibility of their words against other
humans. Objectivity of understanding, in other words, can be obtained to a certain
degree if the utterance I have produced through my own mental activity resounds
from the mouth of another person. What Humboldt is trying to say is that there
are certain elementary forms of linguistic understanding and communication
Introduction 15
which occur in all human societies. These might in turn serve as a basis for
achieving objectivity in the human sciences and the humanities. Humboldt's posi-
tion thus anticipates the solution to a problem which Dilthey later tried to solve
from an essentially different and extralinguistic point of view: that of determining
the nature of understanding and of objectivity in the cultural sciences (Geistes-
wissenschafteri).
Humboldt's essay "On the Task of the Historian" has been a favorite classic
among German historians from Gervinus and Droysen to Dilthey, Troeltsch, and
Meinecke; many commentaries have been written about it— including a recent
one by the American historian Paul Sweet.41 What interested historians principally
was Humboldt's notion of the role which ideas play in history, and the relation
between the craft of the historian and that of the poet. Beginning with Meinecke's
research into the rise of the modern historical consciousness, Humboldt's position
has often been viewed within the context of nineteenth-century historicism.42
Whether or not this is an accurate assessment, the essay with its complex and
multifaceted argumentation certainly offers a wealth of insights from the many
different perspectives which one might take. Most important, it presents to the
reader not only a philosophy of history and a theory of historical research but also
offers a theory of historical understanding of great subtlety. This theory already
indicates the direction which hermeneutics would later take in the writings of
Droysen, Dilthey, and even Heidegger and Gadamer. Against two of the schools
of historical thought which would become dominant in the nineteenth century, the
Ideological one (which includes Hegelian, Marxist, and positivist historians) and
the objectivist academic school, represented by Ranke and his followers, Hum-
boldt developed his own hermeneutic approach to history. Humboldt maintained
that a Ideological view of history does not attain to the "living truth" of real
history. Because the Ideologically oriented historian looks in vain for "final
causes" in the concrete phenomena of history, he feels obliged to search for an
ultimate purpose of history in "lifeless institutions," and in the "notion of an ideal
whole" or in the attainment of a "state of perfection of civil society or some ideas
of this sort." Such teleological constructions were totally erroneous for Hum-
boldt, because he thought that historical truth could only be found in the concrete
individual phenomena themselves.43 Yet the deceptively simple definition (a la
Ranke) of the historian's task, with which Humboldt begins the essay, leads to
more and more complex questions: for what actually happens in history is only
partially accessible to the glance of the historian. The historian merely perceives
some scattered and isolated events and never the coherence or nexus between
them. The historian himself must supply the inner coherence and unite the indi-
vidual events without which these events would be meaningless. Thus there
existed for Humboldt an inner affinity between the artist and the historian and
their respective crafts: both have to rely on their creative imagination to produce
a guiding vision which would unite all individual elements into a cohesive whole.
16 Introduction
This creative notion of the task of the historian implies still another idea which
would acquire great importance in hermeneutic thought. If the historian must in-
terpret individual phenomena in the light of an overriding cohesive whole which
itself is not directly observable, he must supply the idea of this whole himself.
In other words, the historian is involved in what later generations will call the
hermeneutic circle. This means that in any process of understanding the parts
must be understood in relation to the whole, just as the whole can only be under-
stood in relation to its parts. In actuality this apparent paradox is always overcome
by the historian, because he begins his work with an intuition of the invisible
coherence which unites the individual event.
If Droysen perceived Humboldt as the latter-day Bacon of the historical studies,
it is not surprising that he owed to Humboldt one of his most famous and influen-
tial distinctions which he passed on to the emerging hermeneutics of the human
sciences. I am referring to Droysen's designation of the term "understanding"
(Versteheri) to define the nature and method of the historical sciences as opposed
to those of the natural sciences.44 Through Droysen understanding became a
technical term which stood for a view widely held since the latter part of the
nineteenth century of the dichotomy between the natural sciences and the human
sciences. According to this view, the former engage in causal explanation (Er-
kldrung) and the latter were identified with "the method of understanding" (Ver-
steheri). At the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries
Dilthey would provide the theoretical underpinnings for this view and transform
Humboldt and Droysen's historical method into that of the human sciences at
large (Geisteswissenschafteri).
Humboldt maintained in his essay that the historian should above all study the
"form" of that which happens in history. This alone would enable him to under-
stand what in fact can be profitably investigated. For the historian understanding
and investigation go hand in hand (we shall find these two terms again in Droysen)
and help him to recognize what he would not have learned from his mere use of
reason (Verstandesoperationeri). What is required is that the historian's "investi-
gative capability" (forschende Kraft) become assimilated with the object under
investigation. Only when this takes place is he able to bridge the gap between
himself and the historical phenomena, between subject and object. But how does
the historian attain to the form of an event? Humboldt's answer— by drawing it
from the events themselves— seems contradictory at first. But this contradiction
disappears upon closer examination. According to Humboldt, every act of com-
prehension (Begreiferi) "presupposes, as a condition of its possibility, the exis-
tence of an analogue" in the person who is comprehending and in the phenomena
actually comprehended by him. This analogue constitutes what Humboldt calls
a "precursive primary correspondence between subject and object."45 In the case
of linguistic understanding, as we have seen, this primary correspondence is to
be found in the commonality of the language shared by speaker and addressee,
Introduction 17
Even though many of Humboldt's ideas can be interpreted in the light of later
developments—as we have just done ourselves—it would be a serious mistake
to view his contributions merely as an anticipation of certain twentieth-century
schools of thought. Humboldt's hermeneutics rests on its own feet and must be
understood in its own terms before its relation to other schools of thought can be
properly explored. The same is also true of the historical and hermeneutic theories
of Johann Gustav Droysen. Droysen's intellectual fortunes have been on the rise
in recent years. Hay den White believes that in Germany today Droysen is "ranked
with Marx and Dilthey" and equals their importance as an historical thinker.46
The work upon which Droysen's reputation rests is his Historik, or Lectures on
the Encyclopedia and Methodology of History.41
Droysen developed the Historik over many years from 1852 until 1882 to 1883
when he taught this course at the University of Berlin for the last time before his
death. In the Anglo-Saxon world Droysen is mainly known as the leading historian
of the Prussian school of historiography, whose adherents interpreted German
history from the point of view of Prussia's mission to bring about the unification of
Germany.48 But besides his work on German history, Droysen also distinguished
18 Introduction
himself in the field of ancient history, where he is best known for his work on
Alexander the Great and the late Greek civilization. (It was he who coined the
term Hellenism.) His outspoken political engagement as an historian made for a
conception of the historian's task which was radically different from that of
Leopold von Ranke and his school. Droysen did not believe that the historian
should or would ever be able to write objective history and to recreate the past
as it actually happened: given the nature of human life the past will always remain
inaccessible to us. On the other hand, the historian finds himself surrounded or
affected by events and forces which originated in the past. These constitute the
proper object of his investigations. In short, it is the past within the present which
makes us ask historical questions and pursue our work as historians. We must
interpret remnants of the past—documents, books, monuments, records of legal
or economic systems—in order to attain an understanding of what they reveal
about the past. The task of the historian is first of all a hermeneutic one for
Droysen. Consequently, hermeneutics for him is an integral part of a comprehen-
sive historical theory. This theory is concerned with the subjective and objective
conditions of historical understanding and research, with the nature of the histori-
cal object, and with the methodology which the historian ought to pursue.49 As
a student Droysen had attended Hegel's Lectures on the Philosophy of World
History, and he undoubtedly learned from Hegel's notion of historical reality.
There is a certain similarity between Hegel's notion of an "objective spirit" (ob-
jektiver Geist) which he introduced to describe social, political, and cultural sys-
tems, and Droysen's term for these entities, "ethical powers" (Sittliche Machte).
But Droysen rejected Hegel's teleological scheme of world history as the self-
realization of spirit and, instead, opened himself to the quite different ideas of
Humboldt and of Schleiermacher, particularly their notion of understanding.
Droysen defined the historical method as "understanding by means of investiga-
tion" (forschendes Versteheri). For him there were three distinct methods for
obtaining knowledge, each characterized by its own mode of cognition resulting
from the nature of the objects of knowledge and of the human mind:
The possibility of this understanding arises from the kinship of our nature
with that of the utterances lying before us as historical material. A further
condition of this possibility is the fact that man's nature, at once sensuous
and spiritual, speaks forth every one of its inner processes in some form
apprehensible to the senses, mirrors these inner processes, indeed, in
every utterance.54
VI
Of the varied signs and symbols in which the human spirit expresses itself,
the most adequate to express knowledge is speech. To study the spoken
or written word is, as the name philology testifies, the earliest philological
activity whose universality and meaning are clear: without communica-
tion knowledge and life itself would fare ill. Philology is actually one of
the prime conditions of life, an original element in the depth of human
nature as well as in the chain of culture. It rests upon a basic pursuit of
cultured people; to philosophize is possible for uncivilized nations, but to
practise philology is not.
August Boeckh
turn, constituted for him the matrix of all human sciences. To understand Boeckh's
hermeneutic system and his complex theory of interpretation we must first explain
his notion of philology. Boeckh defines the task of the philologist as "achieving
knowledge of what is known" (Erkennen des Erkannteri), a formulation which has
given rise to much criticism and contradictory interpretations. Since I think that
he explained quite well what he meant by that definition, I should like to quote
his own words:
This means that philological knowledge is concerned with the knowledge invested
in the cultural creations of mankind as they have come down to us. Boeckh is not
advocating simply a rethinking or a reconstruction of an original meaning. In
order to make the knowledge invested in cultural artifacts the object of philologi-
cal knowledge, the philologist must go beyond the obvious meaning which the
original author intended and uncover the formal and material conditions behind
them. These conditions are often hidden to the author, Boeckh thought, or lie
unconsciously in his mind. Because all philological knowledge is based on under-
standing as its mode of cognition, it follows that the philologist must aim at
understanding a work or cultural phenomenon not only differently but also "bet-
ter" than its author or producer.
Boeckh believed that the most adequate expression of knowledge available to
man was language. Philology, which deals primarily with the spoken and written
word, was therefore the basis of all human sciences for him. This history of
science and of learning is essentially "philological." History itself as a discipline
is not possible without philology. But philology is also "historical": a strict sepa-
ration between the two disciplines is, according to Boeckh, not possible. For
example, the grammar of any given language which the philologist studies is also
a historical phenomenon. It contains the linguistic system of a nation as it has his-
torically evolved (historisch gewordene Sprachsysteni), and the philologist may
study it either diachronically or in a definite synchronic state of its history.
Philology for Boeckh was both a universal human science and the science of
the culture of antiquity. Since in both instances the understanding of verbal and
linguistic phenomena constituted the core of the philological activity, hermeneu-
tics had to occupy a prominent position within his system. Following Schleier-
macher, Boeckh argued for a general hermeneutics which could provide a
comprehensive theory of understanding rather than a hermeneutics consisting of
practical rules and precepts. Boeckh's hermeneutics is concerned with studying
the art of understanding and interpretation as practiced by the philologist. This
study was necessary because the philologists themselves were not aware of the
22 Introduction
VII
was only late in his life that he was able to make some significant headway. This
occurred under the impact of Edmund Husserl's Logical Investigations (1899-
1901), whose importance for his own enterprise was immediately apparent to
Dilthey.71 Returning to his earlier studies on Schleiermacher and adopting
Hegel's theory of the "objective spirit," Dilthey now proceeded to develop his
hermeneutics of the human sciences from the phenomenological vantage point
made available to him by Husserl. He produced numerous studies, drafts and
treatises for his Critique of Historical Reason. In 1910—one year before he
died—his pioneering treatise On the Construction of the Historical World in the
Human Sciences appeared.72
At first glance, Dilthey seems to follow closely in the footsteps of his nineteenth-
century predecessors by emphasizing, as they had, the concept of understanding.
But compared to Schleiermacher, for example, a radical shift, with far-reaching
implications, occurred in his position. Dilthey abandoned Schleiermacher's con-
tention that understanding was primarily rooted in language and man's linguistic
nature, an idea still present in Boeckh's view of "grammatical interpretation," and
he embraced instead a very different conception.73 In Dilthey's view, understand-
ing as a methodological concept has its roots and its origin in the process of human
life itself: it is primarily a "category of life" (Lebenskategorie).
What is meant by "category of life"? Dilthey maintains that in their daily lives
human beings find themselves in situations in which they have to "understand"
what is happening around them so that they may act or react accordingly. Thus,
their actual behavior reflects their lived understanding and comprehension of
their social or cultural environment. Dilthey claimed that all "higher" or complex
manifestations of understanding, including those found in the human sciences,
derived from those "lower" or primitive forms of comprehension. We can detect
in Dilthey's position a definite affinity with the views of the later Wittgenstein,
according to whom the meaning of words and statements rests ultimately on a
specific practice or "form of life" (Lebensform).14 This affinity between Wittgen-
stein's analytic philosophy of language and certain tenets in the hermeneutic tradi-
tion will become more apparent as we move on to other writers. The philosopher
K.-O. Apel, for example, made it the starting point toward a new linguistically
and socially oriented hermeneutics, as is evident from his essay which is included
in this Reader.
In order to grasp the full dimensions of Dilthey's concept of understanding, we
must examine it within the context into which he placed it. According to Dilthey,
what we understand as humanists or human scientists is always a manifestation
of human life, a "life-expression" (Lebensausserung). But understanding itself is
a manifestation of life; acts of understanding are lived by us, they constitute "lived
experience" (Erlebnis). The concept of "lived experience" functions as the middle
ground in Dilthey's system.75 A "life-expression" points back at a "lived experi-
ence" as its source, and we understand its expressed meaning (Ausdruck) in the
26 Introduction
their production, both with what they produce and how they produce."76 Against
this background we can easily discern that it was Dilthey who uncovered the her-
meneutic dimension of this notion of expressive manifestation or Ausserung. If
we were to rephrase the Marxian dictum from Dilthey's hermeneutic perspective,
it would therefore read: "As individuals express their lives— so they can be under-
stood by others."
Dilthey distinguishes expression (Ausdruck) from life-expressions as a class of
hermeneutic objects that carry a meaning independent from the individuals who
produced them and whose life-expressions they once were. These may be meaning
complexes such as legal or economic systems which result from human inter-
actions, or works of art which Dilthey believed to be the highest form of expres-
sion. In the human sciences, "understanding" becomes formal and methodical
(wissenschaftlich) once it is directed at a specific class of hermeneutic objects.
In the actual work of the humanist, understanding becomes explication. It is note-
worthy that Dilthey considered the highest forms of explication those dealing with
life-expressions of a written nature:
Because our mental life finds its fullest and most complete expression only
through language, explication finds completion and fullness only in the
interpretation of the written testimonies of human life.77
Paul Ricoeur has recently restated Dilthey's idea of hermeneutic primacy of the
written word and developed a model of textual interpretation as a foundation for
a general hermeneutics of the human and social sciences.78 But Ricoeur's notion
of interpretation is not identical with Dilthey's "explication." For Dilthey, the stu-
dent of Droysen, the human sciences had as their object the interpretation of all
phenomena, nonverbal as well as verbal, and the latter required their own specific
methods of investigation.
Commencing with Dilthey, the term "understanding" has assumed the meaning
of a "category of life" or an existential principle without ceasing to be considered
a methodological concept in the human sciences. The difficulty is that a gap has
arisen between the two which neither Dilthey nor the adherents of philosophical
hermeneutics have been able to bridge satisfactorily. Moreover, the practitioners
of contemporary hermeneutic philosophy who have followed Heidegger have not
been very successful in delineating the difference between the existential and the
methodological aspect of understanding. Consequently, the distinction between
understanding and interpretation which, we found, was frequently ambiguous in
the texts of classical hermeneutics has become all but obliterated. One recent
German writer, Bubner, has reduced hermeneutics itself to a "doctrine of under-
standing."79 Dilthey, in contrast, had still maintained, as we have learned, that
hermeneutics is both the art and science of understanding and interpretation.
28 Introduction
Thus, for Dilthey, it was the task of the hermeneutician to make understanding
and interpretation, as it has evolved in the disciplines of the sciences of man, the
object of cognitive analysis. For this reason, Dilthey's ideas have maintained their
vitality and presence in the methodological disputes among social scientists, his-
torians, and literary students today.
VIII
Dilthey in his later years came to appreciate through Husserl's teachings the
avoidance of psycho logistic reasoning and the importance of the idea of evidence
and strict methodological procedure in cognitive analyses. He was not to remain
the only thinker who benefited from the new phenomenological way of thinking.
However, it would be a serious error to judge Husserl's importance for hermeneu-
tic theory solely historically, that is, in terms of the impact he has had on Heideg-
ger's thought, notably in Being and Time. Husserl's importance for hermeneutics
and its further development is of a manifold and far-reaching nature. The Logical
Investigations,80 his first major work, sets forth nothing short of a new foundation
for hermeneutic theory. It has exercised a strong influence on different writers
from Ingarden in Poland and E. D. Hirsch in America to M. Leibfried in Ger-
many.81 Other works of Husserl which have had a momentous effect upon the
development of twentieth-century hermeneutics include his Phenomenology of
Internal Time Consciousness (1929), and his late works, The Crisis of the Euro-
pean Sciences (1936) and Experience and Judgment (1938).82 In the latter two
books Husserl introduced the notion of a "life-world" and laid the ground for a
phenomenology of human social behavior. Subsequently, his student Alfred Schutz
elaborated Husserl's ideas in sociological terms and fashioned from them his
Introduction 29
meaning. Husserl would later introduce the terms noesis and noemata to dis-
tinguish between act and intended meaning. The point is, of course, that noesis
and noemata, although genetically related, both have their own structures, which
should not be confused. In a given expression one must distinguish, according
to Husserl, between its expressed meaning and the object meant by it. The expres-
sion through its meaning always refers to its object as its referent. By its very
nature, an expression possesses always an objective correlate, or, in other words,
it projects the object meant in the meaning-fulfilling act. This correlate does not
have to be a real object "out there" in the world in order for the expression to be
meaningful. One is mistaken, Husserl argued, to identify the meaning of the ex-
pression with the object meant by it. Expressions like "round square" or "golden
mountain" are not meaningless. Husserl's reasoning here parallels arguments set
forth today by the generative linguists who maintain that seemingly nonsensical
expressions are nevertheless meaningful and can be understood if their structure
is grammatically acceptable.87
It is evident for Husserl that one and the same meaning can be meant or intended
in different acts and by different subjects. This notion has some consequence for
interpretation theory. Some members of certain contemporary schools of literary
criticism seem to be committing the error, in Husserl's language, of identifying
the act of meaning-fulfillment with the meaning of the act itself. The American
critic Stanley Fish, for example, in a well-known essay, "Literature in the Reader:
Affective Stylistics,"88 eagerly identifies the meaning of a literary text with the
total reading experience, that is, the total effect of that experience. According to
Husserl, such assumption must be considered an error which can be explained
by the fact that we ordinarily do not pay attention in our mind to the difference
between the act of fulfillment and the meaning itself which is realized in this act.
This is so, Husserl argues, because "in the act of fulfillment the act of intention
coincides with the fulfilling act," so that "it readily seems as if the experience first
got its meaning here, as if it drew meaning from the act of fulfillment. The ten-
dency therefore arises to treat the fulfilling intuitions . . . as meanings."89 The
clarification of these relationships is precisely what Husserl's phenomenological
analyses are all about. Studying the "total effect" of a reading experience may be
of interest for developing a psychology or sociology of the reader, but it does not
offer a way to discern and interpret methodically the meaning of the text which
is concretized in this experience. Husserl's personal student, the late Polish phi-
losopher and aesthetician Roman Ingarden, elaborated these distinctions in two
important works, The Literary Work of An (1929) and On the Cognition of the
Literary Work (1968).90
The contributions of Ingarden to contemporary aesthetics can be evaluated
variously from the point of view of the philosopher or that of the student of
aesthetics and literary theory. In the first instance, Ingarden's position may be
explained as a corrective for Husserl's division of reality into "real" and "ideal"
Introduction 31
entities. An investigation of the mode of being of the aesthetic object, which does
not belong to either of the two divisions, offered an obvious approach to the prob-
lem of the Husserlian dichotomy. This view coincides with Ingarden's original
intention.91 In the second instance, we can cite the reception of his work by con-
temporary literary scholarship in various countries—by the Czech structuralists
Mukarovsky and Vodicka, the German receptionist critics Iser and Warning, and
by Rene Wellek in America. However, Ingarden's work must also be studied in
the light of its significance for hermeneutic theory. Both of his major works, if
seen together, represent a coherent and innovative approach to a number of the
problems which classical hermeneutics tried to solve. Part of its importance
results from the fact that Ingarden, by relying on the conceptual tools of phenom-
enology, did not employ the traditional hermeneutic concepts and terminology,
but instead introduced a complex set of distinctions and a method of investigation
which opened entirely new vistas. In his Literary Work of Art he developed an
elaborate theory of the linguistic and nonlinguistic structures of literary works.
In the sequel volume, On the Cognition of the Literary Work, he investigated the
complex and highly structured acts through which literary meanings are under-
stood and the literary work is concretized (i.e., actualized) in the reading expe-
rience. The important point for our context is that the meaning-apprehending acts
and their inherent structures are studied by Ingarden in relation to the architecture
of the literary work. He provides pioneering insights and descriptions of those
processes and operations which lie at the bottom of the distinctions that classical
hermeneuticians, such as Schleiermacher and Boeckh, made in the nineteenth
century. The significance of Ingarden's work for developing a literary herme-
neutics has hardly been realized.
In The Literary Work of Art Ingarden treated the structures of a work of litera-
ture in a seemingly objective fashion and abstracted from the fact that a work of
art constitutes an object only for a given subject. In the sequel volume he undoes
this abstraction and studies the work in relation to the different attitudes which
we assume as readers. The analysis of the process of "understanding" and "con-
cretization" reveals certain structural elements and typical qualities. Their de-
scription by Ingarden can be seen as an explicit exposition of those interpretive
acts which mediate our understanding of literary texts. Literary understanding is
possible only through interpretation as "silent" mental activity. The rules and
classifications of classical hermeneutics intimated this state of affairs, though in
an unreflected manner. Thus, the division by Boeckh of "interpretation" into
grammatical, historical, generic, and individual categories implied the existence
of certain correlative acts through which the constitutive elements of interpreta-
tion can now be studied and described. A phenomenologically-oriented herme-
neutics would have to replace the mere enumeration of "kinds of interpretation"
with the description of the constitutive acts from which they arise; such a descrip-
tion must be directed at these operational acts, as well as at the literary objects
32 Introduction
themselves which are constituted through them. These operational acts of the
mind and the resulting modes of interpretation cannot be viewed as separate
aggregates. They are parts of a unified process. Schleiermacher was aware of this
fact when he stated that the division into grammatical and psychological interpre-
tation was merely a useful heuristic device, for "understanding is nothing but the
identity of these two moments."92
IX
Heidegger did not stop . . . with the transcendental schema that still
motivated the concept of self-understanding in Being and Time. Even in
Being and Time the real question is not in what way being can be under-
stood but in what way understanding is being, for the understanding of
being represents the existential distinction of Dasein.
Hans-Georg Gadamer
The philosophical hermeneutics of recent decades has derived much of its inspira-
tion and conceptual framework from Martin Heidegger's ontology of human
existence or Dasein (being-there) as he expounded it in Being and Time (1927).93
This truly ground-breaking book, certainly Heidegger's most sustained effort, has
made its mark over the years on the entire spectrum of the social and the human
sciences from philosophy, psychology, jurisprudence, and theology to sociology
and literary criticism. From the point of view of hermeneutics, it presents a new
departure in more ways than one. First of all, Heidegger has given a new meaning
to the term hermeneutics by associating it closely with his specific philosophical
endeavor. By defining his own task as a philosopher as a hermeneutic one, he has
transformed the character of philosophy itself from its previous occupation with
metaphysical, ethical, epistemological, and aesthetical questions. But in doing so,
he relied on the ideas found in the classical hermeneutic tradition and utilized for
his own purposes the vocabulary which was developed by the classical writers
in that tradition—Schleiermacher, Humboldt, and Boeckh—within the context of
textual and philological hermeneutics. It may seem strange at first to encounter
Introduction 33
But this is not all. We noted that for Heidegger phenomenological hermeneutics
is concerned with the disclosure of the basic existential structures of human exis-
tence (Daseiri) as a necessary precondition for pursuing the question of Being.
We can say, therefore, that hermeneutics has taken the place which, in traditional
philosophy at least since Kant, was occupied by the transcendental critique in its
various forms. Hermeneutics now has become the cornerstone of philosophy, the
prolegomena to a true ontology as interpretation of Being. Meanwhile, hermeneu-
tic questioning had to bring to an ontological understanding that understanding
which Dasein possessed already as part of its Being. Thus, what the hermeneutic
philosopher must explicate and understand is not external and alien to him.
According to Heidegger, there is a certain primary existential understanding that
is constitutive for man's being-in-the-world. It forms the basis for the concept of
understanding as a methodological category as we know from the human
sciences. With this position Heidegger goes several steps beyond that of Dilthey,
from whom he undoubtedly learned. Dilthey, as we saw, interpreted the herme-
neutic operations performed by the historian, social scientist, and humanist
scholar as derivative from certain elementary acts of understanding found in
everyday life. Heidegger, in contrast, views all acts of understanding from the
elementary to the most complex kind, as springing from a primordial mode of
understanding which is part of Dasein's Being. Dasein is that kind of being to
whom Being discloses itself. This disclosure lies at the heart ofDasein's primor-
dial understanding.
As a constitutive element of man's being-in the world, understanding bears an
inner relationship to his temporality. According to Heidegger, man's being is
essentially temporal: his lived horizon includes past, present, and future, but he
projects himself primarily toward the future. Understanding is that mode through
which the possibilities and potentialities of his life are disclosed to a person. In
a primordial sense, understanding for Heidegger is both existential and herme-
neutic; man interprets Being in terms of his projects in relation to the world.
"Understanding," as it points toward a projected future possibility, calls for the
realization of this possibility, for its fulfillment. For this kind of fulfillment
Heidegger introduces the term "explication." Thus, Dasein always projects itself
in an act of understanding toward self-realization, which is the unfolding or
explication of this understanding. Consequently, interpretation originates in
Introduction 35
understanding and is always derived from it. This is an important stance. Heideg-
ger and, following him, Gadamer insist that all forms of interpretation in real life
and in the human sciences are grounded in understanding and are nothing but the
explication of what has already been understood.
We must consider still another element of "understanding" in Being and Time.
This element, Heidegger maintains, is responsible for the phenomenon of the
hermeneutic circle which we discussed earlier; namely, the fact that we under-
stand something only in relation to the whole of which it is a part, and vice versa.
This paradox is only apparent, for the so-called hermeneutic circle reveals to us
the nature of all understanding and interpretation. According to Heidegger, inter-
pretation occurs only within a given horizon of preunderstanding. There can be
no understanding and interpretation on the part of Dasein without such pre-
understanding. These ideas would later be reapplied to the human sciences and
the humanities and their history by Gadamer in his attempt to investigate their
operations in order to determine their underlying structures of preunderstanding.
Heidegger, too, deals with the nature of interpretive statements, the kind we
expect to find in the works of historians, social scientists, or literary critics. Inter-
pretive statements or "assertions," as he calls them, are a derivative mode of inter-
pretation for him.96 Given that the nature of interpretation itself is an outgrowth
of understanding, it follows that verbal explications and assertions are but the
fulfillment of "understanding." They are the forms which understanding takes in
the human sciences.
Words like "statement" or "assertion" indicate that the analysis has moved into
a new plane: that of language and speech. Assertions which are made for the pur-
pose of communication depend on speech. Speech and language for Heidegger
are equally as important as understanding itself. We are told, in fact, that speech
possesses a foundational quality of its own. Speech is the ordering and structuring
power which dwells in our understanding, and for that reason becomes the basis
for interpretation and assertion. Echoing Humboldt's ideas on language and lin-
guisticality (Sprachkrafi), Heidegger argues that understanding itself is of a
linguistic nature. The essential structures of understanding and interpreting in the
final analysis turn out to be intimately connected with language and speech.
However, Heidegger in Being and Time does not elaborate further on the
linguisticality of understanding. This has something to do with the main argument
of the book. Having established the relationship between understanding and
speech, Heidegger moves on to demonstrate how inauthentic existence masks
itself in alienated speech (das Gerede).91 Only many years later, after his "onto-
logical turn" (Kehre), did Heidegger return to the positive aspects of linguistical-
ity in his essays on poetry and language. But then he no longer ventured to speak
on this topic with the kind of rigor and determination that characterizes his diction
in Being and Time. It was up to Gadamer to develop more fully the notion of the
linguisticality of understanding which Heidegger had suggested.
36 Introduction
The impact of Heidegger's existential hermeneutics went far beyond the con-
fines of academic philosophy and can be detected in such diverse works as the
Swiss critic Emil Staiger's influential Fundamental Principles of Poetics (1946)98
or the psychiatrist Ludwig Binswanger's trend-setting Basic Forms and Analysis
of Human Existence (1942)." In French and Anglo-Saxon literary criticism today
Heidegger's ideas have gained a new momentum of actuality which still seems
to be growing. But while this development is still in flux, it seems appropriate
at this point to discuss Heidegger's relationship to theology as it evolved from
Being and Time and, in particular, his relationship to the theology of Rudolf
Bultmann and the so-called school of the New Hermeneutics. This New Herme-
neutics is, above all, a theological movement which drew substantive inspiration
from Heidegger's existential analysis, while it also attempted to revitalize some
of the older Protestant hermeneutic traditions.100 But we are interested not in the
strictly theological concern of the movement, but rather its implications for the
enterprise of general hermeneutics. In this one respect, the New Hermeneutics
resembles Schleiermacher and his Hermeneutik despite the "new" hermeneuti-
cians' general opposition to the latter's theology. Bultmann's point of departure
is the ontology of Being and Time, the existential interpretation of man's being-in-
the-world. Heidegger's concept of understanding in particular and his hermeneu-
tic approach to the problems of philosophy were important for Bultmann in two
different ways: for the philosophical substance and direction and for the method-
ology which Heidegger offered. Regarding the first, Bultmann believed that the
message of the Holy Scriptures lies in its existential appeal. This appeal, he
argued, is clothed in a mythological form of discourse, an expression of the world
view and thinking of the times in which the Scriptures were written. The business
of the contemporary theologian, Bultmann maintained, is to penetrate via inter-
pretation this mythological shell, in other words, to pass through what is merely
said to what is actually meant—the existential core of the text. Theological inter-
pretation, as Bultmann once put it, "distinguishes what is said from what is meant
and measures the former by the latter."101 Bultmann's "what is meant," that is,
the true kernel of the Scriptures, is essentially "what is meant" also by Heidegger's
existential hermeneutics. Philosophy and theology for Bultmann ultimately have
the same object: man and his existence. But these disciplines pursue their tasks
in different ways. Philosophy, Bultmann believes, inquires "ontologically into the
formal structures of human existence," whereas theology speaks about the "con-
crete man insofar as he is faithful."102
As interesting as the relationship may be from the standpoint of theology, be-
tween the philosophy of Martin Heidegger and the theology of Rudolf Bultmann
and followers of the New Hermeneutics like Fuchs and Ebeling, the second, the
methodological aspect of Bultmann's thinking, reaches clearly beyond the theo-
logical aspects of the debate. Bultmann was a student of Heidegger (with whom
he was closely associated during their stay at the University of Marburg in the
Introduction 37
From the interest of the subject arises the nature of the formulation of the
enquiry, the direction of the investigation, and so the hermeneutic prin-
ciple applying at any given time. . . . The object of interpretation can be
established by the psychological interest. . . . The object can be given by
the aesthetic interest. . . lastly, the object of interpretation can be estab-
lished by interest in history as the sphere of life in which human existence
moves.103
object and the hermeneutic operation of the interpreter are both part of an over-
riding historical and cultural tradition or continuum which Gadamer calls "effec-
tive history" (Wirkungsgeschichte). This effective historical continuum is the
ultimate cause of the prejudices (positive and negative ones) which guide our
understanding. Because prejudices function as a necessary condition of historical
understanding, Gadamer argues, they should be made the object of hermeneutic
reflection. To engage in such hermeneutic reflection and to determine our own her-
meneutic situation is what Gadamer refers to in an almost untranslatable term as
the development of one's "effective-historical consciousness" (wirkungsgeschicht-
liches Bewusstsein), that is, of one's consciousness of the effective historical
continuum of which he is a part.
It was this notion of an effective historical continuum which served as a point
of departure in the 1960s for the debates between the adherents of philosophical
hermeneutics on the one side and the representatives of orthodox and neo-Marxist
philosophy on the other.107 But it was also a point of convergence between herme-
neutics and the critical theory of the Frankfurt School. This becomes evident in
Habermas's critique of the objectivist creed of contemporary social sciences,
when he raises the question of whether "the social sciences— like the human-
ities— are not bound by a certain implicit pre-understanding when they attempt
methodically to delineate their subject matter."108
But before we can discuss any of the issues raised by the Gadamer-Habermas
debate, it is necessary to treat, however briefly, another essential element in
Gadamer's notion of understanding: his view of the linguistic nature or linguisti-
cality (Sprachlichkeii) of understanding. One recent American writer has gone
so far as to claim that Gadamer's "most original contribution" to hermeneutics was
his "linguistic turn" which supposedly distinguishes his views from those of the
nineteenth-century writers.109 Gadamer himself never made such claims. On the
contrary, he often stressed the significance of Schleiermacher's and Humboldt's
contributions to hermeneutics which lay precisely in their discovery of the lin-
guisticality of understanding.110 However, to the reader of Gadamer's Truth and
Method and many of his other studies, it is quite obvious that his concept of the
linguistic nature of understanding is not identical with that of Schleiermacher or
Humboldt, but deviates from theirs in some essential ways. Gadamer does not
clearly distinguish—as did Schleiermacher and Humboldt—between language
(Sprache), speech (Rede), and linguisticality (Sprachvermogen), which denote
different aspects of linguistic phenomena. Gadamer generally uses language (die
Sprache) to cover a variety of meanings and thereby allows contradictions and
ambiguities to enter. According to Gadamer, the possibility for all understanding
rests ultimately in language itself (die Sprache). The peculiar function (eigentliche
Leistung) of language is to bring about the fusion of the horizons of the interpreter
and of the historical object, which characterizes the act of understanding. But how
is language able to fulfill this hermeneutic function? Gadamer does not provide
40 Introduction
XII
The legitimate claim which hermeneutics brings forth against the absolut-
ism of a universal methodology of the experiential sciences with all its
practical consequences does not dispense us from the business of method-
ology altogether. This claim, I am afraid, will either become effective in
these sciences—or not at all.
Jiirgen Habermas
positivist and analytical theories in these sciences with the views of some of the
principal hermeneutic writers. He does not agree with all of their assumptions and
is quite critical of the hermeneutical philosophers' attitude toward methodological
problems and issues. To understand the point of departure of the Gadamer-
Habermas debate, therefore, it is necessary to look at Habermas's reception of
the hermeneutic tradition and of Gadamer's views in particular.
The hermeneutic component in Habermas's critical theory can be plainly iden-
tified in his critique of Max Weber's conception of sociology, which he finds both
deficient and ambiguous. In his Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive
Sociology Weber defined sociology as "a science concerning itself with the inter-
pretive understanding of social action and thereby with a causal explanation of
its course and consequences."116 In this definition the two methods, understanding
and causal explanation, stand in an uneasy relationship to each other and, accord-
ing to Habermas, give rise to uncertainty and confusion. He argues that Weber
did not distinguish properly between the understanding of motivations that re-
enact the subjective meaning underlying a given social act and the hermeneutic
understanding of meaning (hermeneutisches Sinnverstehen). The latter term
stands for the appropriation of a meaning which has been objectified into events,
institutions, or works of culture. Furthermore, Habermas argues that modern
positivist and empiricist sociologists, by turning all history into a static present,
run into a serious methodological problem. They reduce the meaning of social
and cultural phenomena that have come down to us from the past to the status of
mere empirical facts which can be subjected to causal explanation. Thus, the
traditional dualism between the methods of the natural and the human sciences
which contemporary scientists and humanists seem to have quietly accepted in
their daily work erupts again, this time in the very center of the social sciences.
For this reason, Habermas directs attention to the works of Dilthey, Schutz, and
others whose methodological ideas quite ostensibly went beyond Max Weber's
conception of a scientific sociology.
In a section of his study On the Logic of the Social Sciences, entitled "The
hermeneutic approach," Habermas discusses Gadamer's Truth and Method. He
singles out Gadamer's notion of "effective history" which according to him had
all the earmarks of a methodological principle applicable to textual interpretation
in the human sciences. Gadamer had never claimed such functional status for his
notion. Nevertheless, Habermas reproaches him for wanting to reduce hermeneu-
tics to a mere investigation of the transcendental conditions of understanding. He
thereby neglected, Habermas claimed, both the methodological demands of the
human and social sciences and the concrete social and material conditions which
have determined the development of these sciences. Habermas believes that
Gadamer is still a prisoner of the ideas of the Neokantianism of the Marburg
school, an imprisonment which he allegedly shares with his teacher Heidegger.
In Heidegger's existential ontology Habermas perceives but another version of
Introduction 43
while using one and the same word. To speak of hermeneutics as the "method of
understanding" is therefore quite misleading.
Modern hermeneutics from the Enlightenment to the present has continued to
display the tendency to combine theoretical and philosophical with practical and
critical concerns (the texts which follow will amply illustrate this point). In fact,
throughout that period the hermeneutic enterprise seems to have received guid-
ance and orientation from two different directions. First, from a desire to account
for and secure the procedures of a particular discipline (i.e., history, biblical
scholarship, classical philology, theology, jurisprudence, aesthetics, or linguis-
tics). In this context hermeneutics can be seen in relation to the history of a
particular discipline or a group of disciplines. Second, from a more general
philosophical concern that transcended the boundaries of a particular discipline
and its limited methodological interests. The borderline between these two orien-
tations is, however, often fluid and anything but distinct, as can be witnessed in
the writings of Schleiermacher, Droysen, Humboldt, or Boeckh. This state of
affairs can be explained in part by the fact that hermeneutic concerns almost
inevitably lead us back to the consideration of epistemological problems, and
these tend effectively to undermine any purely pragmatic way of dealing with the
methodology of a given humanistic discipline. Instead of a method or the method
of understanding, hermeneutics should better be conceived of as a logic of the
humanities and human sciences, which would complement the notion of a logic
and theory of the natural sciences.
In order to function as a logic of the human sciences, hermeneutics must add
yet another dimension to its traditional areas of concern. K.-O. Apel is right when
he sees the rise of the human sciences from the eighteenth to the twentieth century
in connection with the break-up of the institutionalized transmission of our cul-
tural traditions which was effectively valid up to the French Revolution and the
rise of industrial capitalist society:
Notes
1. A concise discussion of the etymology and history of the term hermeneutics and its
cognates can be found in G. Ebeling's article "Hermeneutik" in the encyclopedia Religion
in Geschichte und Gegenwart, 3rd ed., vol. 3, pp. 243-62.
2. Aristotle's "Categories"and "De Interpretation,"trans, with notes by J. L. Ackrill
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963).
3. For the early history of hermeneutics the reader is referred to G. Ebeling's article
(n. 1) and the bibliography supplied by him. Of particular interest are the valuable observa-
tions by L. Geldsetzer in his various introductions to the reprints of important historical
texts which he has reissued. Among these: G. Fr. Meier, Versuch einer allgemeinen
Auslegungskunst, Neudruck der Ausgabe Halle 1757 (1965); Flacius Illyricus, De vera
ratione cognoscendi sacras literas, Neudruck aus dem Clavis Scripturae Sacrae, 1567;
J. M. Chladenius, Einleitung zur richtigen Auslegung vernunftiger Reden und Schriften,
Neudruck der Ausgabe Leipzig 1742 (1969).
4. See L. Goldsetzer in the Preface to Meier's Versuch (n. 3), p. VHIff.; H.-G. Gadamer
in Seminar: Philosophische Hermeneutik (1976) (Sect. C, Bibl.), pp. 7-30; K. Weimar,
Historische Einleitung zur Literaturwissenschaftlichen Hermeneutik (1975) (Sect. B,
Bibl.).
5. Johannes Ludovicus Vives, De ratione studendi ac legendi interpretandique auc-
tores, 1539; Scioppius (Kaspar Schoppe), De Arte Critica, 1597; Johannes Clericus, Ars
Critica, 1697.
6. Laurentius Humphrey, De ratione interpretandi, 1559; Petrus Daniel Huet, De inter-
pretatione libri ii, 1661.
7. This treatise was published only in 1559: Constantius Rogerius, Singularis Tractatus
de luris Interpretatione.
8. A brief history of legal hermeneutics is provided by L. Geldsetzer in his introduction
to the reprint of A. F. J. Thibaut's Theorie derLogischen Auslegung des Romischen Rechts
48 Introduction
United States during his lifetime. An English translation of the Outline of the Historik by
E. Benjamin Andrews, president of Brown University, appeared in Boston in 1897 (Sect.
A, Bibl.).
49. For a discussion of the Historik, see the references given by Hiiber in his edition.
Droysen himself explains the nature of his undertaking in his introduction, op. cit., p. 3ff.
50. See p. 123 below.
51. Einleitung zum Kawiwerk— Uber die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaus
und ihren Einfluss aufdie Entwicklung des Menschengeschlechts. Gesammelte Schriften,
vol. VII, pp. 1-349. Eng. trans.: Linguistic Variability and Intellectual Development
(1971) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
52. Whereas the close resemblance between Vico's and Dilthey's epistemology of the
human sciences has caught the attention of modern commentators, the startling kinship
between the Italian philosopher's and Droysen's hermeneutic conception of the world of
culture and history still remains to be explored. On the affinity between Vico and Dilthey,
see L. Rubinoff, "Vico and the Verification of Historical Interpretation," in Vico and Con-
temporary Thought (1916), pp. 94-121 (Sect. B, Bibl.), and H. N. Turtle, "The Epistemo-
logical Status of the Cultural World in Vico and Dilthey," in Giambattista Vico's Science
of Humanity (1976), pp. 241-50 (Sect. B, Bibl.).
53. Historik, op. cit., p. 26. My translation.
54. Outline, # 9, see below 121.
55. Historik, op. cit., p. 35. My translation.
56. Ibid.
57. The German terms are: Die pragmatische Interpretation, Die Interpretation der
Bedingungen, Die psychologische Interpretation, Die Interpretation nach den sittlichen
Machten oder Ideen.
58. Droysen distinguishes between four modes of historical representation: the analytical
or investigative, the narrative, the didactic, and the discussive mode.
59. For a general treatment of Boeckh, see the works by J. Wach (1926) (Sect. B, Bibl.)
and Steinthal (Sect. A, Bibl.).
60. Boeckh's role within the tradition of nineteenth century classical scholarship is ex-
amined by several of the contributors to the recent volume Philologie und Hermeneutik im
19. Jahrhundert (Sect. C, Bibl.). See also nn. 61 and 64 below.
61. Enzyklopaedie und Methodologie der philologischen Wissenschaften (1886) (Sect.
B, Bibl.). For particulars regarding this work, see the headnote, p. 132 below.
62. Enzyklopaedie, p. 10. My translation. For an excellent analysis of Boeckh's defini-
tion of philology, see F. Rodi, "'Erkenntnis des Erkannten—August Boeckh's Grund-
formel der hermeneutischen Wissenschaften," in Philologie und Hermeneutik (1979), pp.
68-83 (Sect. C, Bibl.).
63. Enzyklopaedie, p. 75; see also p. 133 below.
64. E. D. Hirsch (1967) (Sect. B, Bibl.).
65. A persuasive reexamination of Boeckh's theory of interpretation was offered by
Ingrid Strohschneider-Kohr, "Textauslegung und hermeneutischer Zirkel—Zur Innova-
tion des Interpretationsbegriffs von August Boeckh," in Philologie und Hermeneutik
(1979), pp. 84-102 (Sect. C, Bibl.).
Introduction 51
66. On Dilthey's achievements, see the works by Ermarth (1978), Hodges (1952),
Makkreel (1975) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
67. Einleitung in die Geisteswissenschaften. Versuch einer Grundlegungfiir das Studium
der Gesellschaft und der Geschichte. Gesammelte Schriften, vol. I (Sect. A, Bibl.).
68. Droysen wrote a lengthy review of Buckle's History of Civilization in England in
which he took issue with the assumptions of the nineteenth-century positivistic school of
history: "Erhebung der Geschichte zum Rang einer Wissenschaft," reprinted in Historik
(1977), pp. 386-405.
69. See, in particular, his "Ideas concerning a descriptive and analytic psychology"
(Ideen iiber eine beschreibende und zergliedernde Psychologic) from 1894. Gesammelte
Schriften, vol. V, pp. 139-240 (Sect. A, Bibl.).
70. He had made some important headway, however, in his studies on literature and
literary theory. See Mueller-Vollmer (1963) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
71. In this context, see Dilthey's statements in Gesammelte Schriften, vol. VII, pp. 10,
14, 39ff., andG. Misch'sLebensphilosophieundPhdnomenologie(1931) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
72. Der Aujbau der Geschichtlichen Welt in den Geisteswissenschaften. Gesammelte
Schriften, vol. VII, pp. 79-188 (Sect. A, Bibl.).
73. Cf. n. 9 above.
74. L. Wittgenstein, Philosophische Untersuchungen, in Schriften, I (1960), p. 296:
"Und eine Sprache verstehen, heisst, sich eine Lebensform vorstellen." (Sect. B, Bibl.).
75. On this question, see Bollnow (1955), Ermarth (1978), Hodges (1952), Makkreel
(1975), Mueller-Vollmer (1963) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
76. The German Ideology (1970), p. 42 (Sect. B, Bibl.). In holding with our own
philological findings, Marx uses "aussern" for "to express": "Wie die Individuen ihr Leben
aussern, so sind so." Marx-Engels Studienausgabe, vol. I, p. 86 (Sect. B, Bibl.).
77. Gesammelte Schriften, vol. VII, p. 217 (Sect. A, Bibl.). See also p. 161 below.
78. Paul Ricoeur (1976) (1977) (Sect. B, Bibl.).
79. In an essay entitled "Transzendentale Hermeneutik?" published in Wissenschafts-
theorie der Geisteswissenschaften (1975) (Sect. C, Bibl.).
80. Logical Investigations I and II (1976) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
81. Roman Ingarden (Sect. A, Bibl.); E. D. Hirsch (1967) and M. Leibfried (1970)
(Sect. B, Bibl.).
82. The Phenomenology of Internal Time Consciousness (1964), The Crisis of European
Sciences (1970), Husserliana (1950 ff.) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
83. A. Schutz (1967) (Sect. B, Bibl.).
84. I am particularly referring to Husserl's detailed studies of the "acts of passive syn-
thesis" and of the constitution of inter subjectivity and of the processes of mental representa-
tions found in vols. XI-XV, XXII of the collected works, Husserliana (Sect. A, Bibl.).
85. J. N. Findlay in his preface to Logical Investigations I, p. 3 (Sect. A, Bibl.).
86. This basic hermeneutic element in Husserl's phenomenology was recently pointed
out by G. Buck in New Literary History X (1978) (Sect. A, Bibl.).
87. See, for example, Chomsky's Aspects of the Theory of Syntax (1965) for his discus-
sion of what is considered "acceptable" and what is taken as "grammatical" in a given
language (see pp. 11, 19, 75-79) (Sect. B, Bibl.).
88. Stanley Fish (1970) (Sect. B, Bibl.).
52 Introduction
54
Johann Martin Chladenius 55
with the general characteristics of interpretations and the task of the interpreter. For
literature on Chladenius, see Bibliography, Section A.
152. One fully understands an order if one can discern the will of the person
giving the command, insofar as he wanted to make his will known. One soon sees
from this that it is difficult to understand laws and commands; for it is not enough
that I— depending on the type of command— discover the nature of the will of the
commanding person, but it is essential to understand the extent to which he has
expressed his will in words and how much of this he wants to have me know
about. For in actuality, the will of the superior is not the concern of the person
receiving the order beyond the extent to which it can be perceived in his words.
The rest, which is not present in the words of the command, is not considered
part of the command.
153. It is another thing to understand a proposition in itself and to understand
it as being presented and asserted by someone; the latter only concerns us in the
interpretation. From Descartes we have the statement: One should doubt all
things once. If I say I understand the statement completely then this means that
I am acquainted with Descartes's opinions, which can either be correct or incor-
rect, founded or unfounded. We can accept this as a sign of complete understand-
ing if the statements deduced or inferred by the author of the proposition are also
made understandable by the same.
154. A meaningful oration or written work is presented or written in order to
cause a stirring in our souls. These stirrings serve joy, laughter, seriousness,
shame, sadness, and other emotions. An obstacle may be present which does not
allow these emotions to be awakened at certain times and in certain people. But,
if in listening to or reading a meaningful oration or writing one senses the in-
tended emotion, or at least sees that such an emotion could result if there were
no obstacles, then one has fully understood that oration or writing.
155. If, drawing from the examples we have cited, one fully understands this
or that writing, one can make the following general concept by abstraction. One
understands a speech or writing completely if one considers all of the thoughts
that the words can awaken in us according to the rules of heart and mind.
156. There should be no difference between fully understanding a speech or
writing and understanding the person who is speaking or writing. For they too
have the same rules to consider as the reader and the listener. Thus, the speaker
or writer can be thinking of the same thing as the reader or listener when he uses
certain words. Consequently, it would make no difference whether I imagine
what the writer thought by using certain words, or whether I reflect about what
one could imagine with these words according to the rules. Because one cannot
foresee everything, his or her words, speeches, and writings may mean some-
thing which was not intended. Thus in trying to understand these writings, we
may think of something which the writer was not conscious of. It can also happen
that a person imagines or thinks that he has expressed his opinion in such a way
that one would have to understand him. But everything still is not there in his
words which would enable us to completely comprehend the sense of what he is
Johann Martin Chladenius 57
give us any concepts, or fewer than one desires, then we shall call it unproductive.
165. The passages of a speech or written work are often less productive than
their creator imagines, because he often puts more into words than he can reason-
ably expect his reader to perceive (156). And, on the other hand, some passages
are often more productive than the author thinks because they inspire many more
thoughts than he intended, some of which he would rather have left unthought.
166. If one learns to understand a book, many thoughts arise in us which we
had not had before reading it (161). If this happens because we now understand
passages which we formerly did not understand at all (163), then a dark passage
has become clear and somewhat productive (164). But if we learn to understand
certain passages better, then the unproductive passages will have become more
productive. Consequently, our learning to understand a text consists of dark
passages becoming clear and unproductive ones becoming productive.
167. Time has no influence on this process but on the things themselves which
change in time. Therefore, because we learn to understand a book with time
(160), it does not mean that the cause must lie in time, but that it was the thoughts
which arose and were changed in our mind. If one wants to learn to understand
a book a little at a lime, then one must acquire the concepts which are necessary
for a complete understanding of the book.
168. These concepts, which we slowly acquire and are the cause for our learn-
ing to understand a book (167), either originate in us independently of the book,
or we have acquired them because we expected to learn to understand the book
through them. Imagine that we are reading Cicero's speech before Milo. At first,
much will appear which we do not understand. Some things will become under-
standable to us later only if we read the speech again. We soon realize that a
knowledge of Roman history and antiquity would contribute a great deal to our
comprehension of the speech. Before we undertake another reading of the speech
we take a look at these related works and discover how much our comprehension
of this beautiful speech has increased.
169. There is nothing more common than someone, who, in his desire for us
to understand a certain book, will teach us those concepts necessary for its under-
standing. And we say of this person that he has interpreted the book for us. An
interpretation is, then, nothing other than teaching someone the concepts which
are necessary to learn to understand or to fully understand a speech or a written
work.
170. It may just so happen that we ourselves will arrive in time at the concepts
necessary for the understanding of a text (168). But this method alone is copious
and precarious. We can achieve our goal more quickly if we can learn the concepts
we are lacking from someone who fully understands the book and knows which
concepts we need to acquire. We could act as interpreters ourselves in the hopes
that we would be lucky enough to hit upon the correct and necessary concepts,
but it would still be easier, if someone who understands the book were to help us.
Johann Martin Chladenius 59
171. Since an interpretation only takes place if we are still lacking certain con-
cepts necessary to the complete understanding of the book, the interpreter's duty
terminates when we completely understand the work.
172. If we should ask for an interpreter, then we should acknowledge that we
have not completely understood the book. The next simple question one might
ask is how we know that we still do not completely understand the meaning of
a book. This conjecture may have a good many causes, so we shall only take a
few of these as examples.
173. If an account which we hold to be true, as the author would have it, seems
to contain things which contradict another account also purported to be true, then
we still do not understand either one of the two or both of them completely. We
will show in the following that a true account can appear to contradict another
one. The fault of the apparent contradiction is to be found in the person who feels
that the narrative does not present the nature of things the same way as he
perceives it. From this one can conclude that we either read too much or too little
into the words and, therefore, do not have the correct concepts which the words
should call forth. We consequently still do not fully understand the history.
174. If we read a story which is acclaimed for its ingenuity and we know that
many people have been inspired by it, yet we still remain unmoved by it, then
this is also a sign that we have not yet understood it. This also applies to an in-
genious speech. The complete understanding of such a text demands that we be
moved by it, or, at least, that we recognize how the text could move certain
readers or listeners (154). It follows that if we do not sense any of these things,
then we have not completely understood it.
175. If we are certain from specific details that a commanding officer has made
his will known to us and things nevertheless occur where we no longer know what
his intent is, then we have not completely understood the commands and laws
which were given to us. For if a commanding officer has made his will known
to us, there must be enough cause contained in the words of the orders and laws
for us to understand his will from them. If we perceive this, then we would fully
understand the laws and commands (152). But because we do not know his will,
regardless of its having been made known to us, then we must not have fully
understood the laws and commands in this instance.
176. In this and in other cases where we do not fully understand a text we need
an interpretation. The interpretation is different in each instance so that another
interpretation must be used for every dark or unproductive passage (169). The
interpretation may express itself in an infinite number of ways, but, just as all
repeated human actions proceed according to certain laws, an interpretation is
also bound by certain principles which may be observed in particular cases. It has
also been agreed that a discipline is formed if one explains, proves, and correlates
many principles belonging to a type of action. There can be no doubt, then, that
a discipline is created when we interpret according to certain rules. For this we
60 Reason and Understanding
have the Greek name "hermeneutic" and in our language we properly call it the
art of interpretation.
177. Very little knowledge of this discipline can be found in the field of philos-
ophy. It consists of a few rules with many exceptions which are only suitable for
certain types of books. These rules, which were not allowed to be regarded as
a discipline, were given a place among the theories of reason. The theory of
reason deals with matters pertaining to general epistemology and cannot go into
the area of history, poetry, and other such literature in depth. For this is the place
of interpretation and not a theory of reason. Hermeneutics is a discipline in itself,
not in part, and can be assigned its place in accordance with the teachings of
psychology.
178. Aside from the shortcoming mentioned above, as to the unsuitable place-
ment of this discipline (177), other oversights were made which have distorted
its reputation and made it unrecognizable. Philology and criticism, insofar as the
latter consists of improving and restoring damaged passages, have almost always
been associated with hermeneutics; but when the critic and philologist have done
their work on a book, the work of the interpreter is just beginning. One has
arrived at the notion that this admixture of philologist and critic could constitute
an excellent interpreter. Indeed, we have them to thank for the fact that we receive
the book in its entirety and that we can clearly discern the text. All of these are
great merits but differ only too greatly from those of interpretation. Many inter-
pretations that were advanced with this belief in mind lacked the necessary
prerequisites.
179. Many things were demanded of interpretations which were impossible,
either in themselves, or according to the few principles of interpretation which
were available. An interpretation can only take place if the reader or listener can-
not understand one or more passages (169, 170). On the other hand, it is impos-
sible to find an interpretation if the words in themselves do not contain anything
from which the meaning can be conjectured or ascertained with certainty. The
interpreter has been called to give meaning to such dark and ambiguous passages,
which is of course impossible. To ask him to give even a probable meaning to
these passages would be too great a demand, for an interpreter is not in a position
to be called to account for passages, even when their meaning is obvious and
clear. It cannot be denied that a probable interpretation can be made where a cer-
tain one is not possible, but this would be too difficult to put into rules since a
rational theory of probability has not yet been sufficiently developed, even though
the manner by which we ohtain certain truths has been thoroughly ascertained.
It is no wonder then that the theory of interpretation has been attacked in its most
difficult chapter and that it has not been easy to come away from this.
180. Yet another type of interpretation has come to be grouped with the main
type and has also been a considerable hindrance to the progress of the discipline.
We express both our perceptions of things and our desires when we speak or
Johann Martin Chladenius 61
write. In fact, in some speeches and written works, we have no other aim than
to explain to someone else what we know or want—as is the case, for example,
in contracts and transactions. Here, if one expresses himself ambiguously, un-
clearly, contradictorily, or indefinitely, then one may at first attempt to find a
probable explanation (179). But, if this is insufficient, then it often must be
assumed that the statement which has been made cannot be verified by the text
itself with the necessary degree of certainty or probability. This mode of giving
meaning to someone's words without being made accountable for it may be called
a judicial interpretation (interpretationem judicarem) because only a judge or
someone who claims the duties of a judge can be held responsible for an interpre-
tation of this kind. This is indispensable for court procedure and is therefore
highly worthy of a careful investigation. Such interpretations must, however, not
be grouped with the main type of interpretation, but treated separately with
special rules. We shall say more about this below.
181. The reputation of the art of interpretation is also distorted by the fact that
it was initially used to show how a person should interpret a book or passage
himself. This envisaged the purpose for the art of interpretation. An interpreter
should guide a person (let us say his pupil) who does not understand a text to a
true understanding of it. Therefore, the interpreter must understand the work
himself. But according to the general concept, one should interpret a work before
one knows the meaning, which is impossible.
182. Some people believe that there would not be much left of the discipline
or for interpretation if we were to exclude the grammatical ambiguities (178), the
ambiguous and unintelligible passages (179), and the judicial decrees (180). And
they would subsequently contend that this is an empty and useless endeavor. The
following should provide more than enough material to the contrary, and we can
say beforehand that there would still be a considerable amount left to interpret
for this or that reader even if a book were written with all necessary caution, and
even if there were no difficulties with orthography or language such that a philol-
ogist or critic needed to supplement it. This is because interpretation consists of
teaching the reader or listener certain concepts necessary for a complete under-
standing of a text (169). In constructing an interpretation, one must consider the
insight of the pupil and use this or that interpretation in accordance with the
pupil's lack of knowledge. Since there is no one interpretation of a book suitable
for all readers, there may be as many as there are classes of readers grouped
according to knowledge and insight. To be precise, almost every person needs
a special interpretation.
183. In the act of interpreting, one provides certain concepts which the reader
lacks (169). This can just be a matter of a few words or an extended speech con-
taining many sentences. We call an interpretation of a book which consists of
parts containing single words, scholia, or glosses. But if the parts are long and
consist in turn of many smaller parts, then we call this a commentary.
62 Reason and Understanding
184. The concepts which belong to the complete understanding of a text and
which are consequently contained in the glosses and commentaries can appear in
written form; as we can see, these make up no small portion of our stock of books.
After one knows the rules of interpretation, we will go on to show how one could
and should write commentaries.
185. In interpreting a book, one must be sure that the pupil is taught the con-
cepts he is lacking in order to understand the book (169). Because this can be done
with many as well as with few words, one needs to keep this in mind and be able
to explicate a passage with brevity or at length. It is not sensible to write nothing
but glosses, nor is it a good idea to write a commentary which consists solely of
long passages. A reasonable interpretation will consist of both glosses and
lengthy annotations.
186. Many centuries ago, scholars considered the production of interpretations
to be one of the most prestigious endeavors and, because there were no principles
which would have enabled these to be done reasonably (177), one cannot be sur-
prised that many interpretations were unsuccessful and that the disciplines which
were built up on interpretations were completely devastated. This is proven in the
case of philosophy by the unfortunate interpretations made of Aristotle, by the
glossaries for jurisprudence, and by the interpretations of the Fathers and the
Scholastic teachers. They finally saw no alternative but to toss the interpretations
out and to start all over again.
187. In philosophy there is little need for the art of interpretation. Here, every
individual must rely on the strength of his own ability to think. A proposition in
a philosophical work at which we can only arrive after much interpretation does
not do us a particular service because we then ask whether it is true and how one
should prove it—which really belongs to the art of philosophy.
188. We need a hermeneutics all the more in the arts, e.g., in rhetoric, poetry,
history, and antiquities, from which we generally have more to learn than from
the old Roman and Greek scholars. But when we find, as we have seen in (173,
174, 175), that we still only understand little after we have already acquired the
general requisita, e.g., a knowledge of the words and their relationship (2, 3),
then we still need an interpretation (169). A number of the scholia and commen-
taries which we often find by old scribes have slowly developed this way. We can
learn to save and use the rules from hermeneutics and then go on to improve and
extend their usage.
189. Theology relies primarily on the interpretation of Holy Scripture. For this
reason, much effort has been made over the course of many years to collect rules
suitable for its interpretation. Hermeneutics would stand itself in good stead here
to acknowledge that it alone does not determine the matter. The Holy Scriptures
are a work of God for which many rules might be more certain than for human
books. However, many rules which might be useful here cannot be applied at all.
Revelation has its own special criticism which goes beyond this— there are secrets
Johann Martin Chladenius 63
and prophecies which we are led to, not through philosophy, but through revela-
tion. It is a book which is written for the whole world and it has its own special
consequences for the interpretation which can only be introduced in a work of
God. The usefulness of the general rules for the interpretation of the Holy Scrip-
tures will reveal itself when these have become better known and more precise
with time.
190. The books of law which we find among humans are all constituted such
that they need some sort of an interpretation (175). The history of scholarship
illustrates the disorder which Bartholus and Baldus have brought to the science
of law. Just as the lack of knowledge about the principles of interpretation was
damaging and troublesome for them, one can assume that we cannot hope to be
insured against new confusion unless scholars are in agreement about these rules.
191. If one ignores that hermeneutics is not needed for philosophy (187), but
considers how much theology and jurisprudence depend on this discipline (189,
190), then one sees how important it is that a person first thoroughly acquaint
himself with hermeneutics before making this discipline his life work. It is not
enough for a scholar merely to know the tenets of the theory of reason; these must
be so familiar to him that he is never affected by words which are meaningless
to him, tautological explanations, circular proofs, or by other mistakes. A person
who is well versed in theology and jurisprudence should firmly inculcate himself
with the principles of interpretation, so that such words produce no response,
rather than a false one. However, one frequently forgets to practice the general
rules of hermeneutics— which were formerly presupposed— at the time when
they are most appropriate, so that our whims and those of others may become con-
fused with a true interpretation of a dark passage.
192. Clearly, an interpretation has to be correct. It must teach us the kinds of
thoughts which will ultimately allow us to come closer to an understanding of a
text (169). But one tends to think of things which hinder our perception of the
meaning and allow us to misconstrue the words and to mistake wrong interpreta-
tions for correct ones. If such similarly wrong interpretations are produced by
an oversight, we call them twisted interpretations. For everyone would like to
present his ideas to another person as an interpretation when he thinks he has
understood a text. However, just as we called a presumed understanding a mis-
understanding, we can also use this term to designate a false interpretation.
193. If one misinterprets a passage and is conscious of it, yet still tries to
present the interpretation as a correct one, then one willfully misrepresents the
meaning of a text. We carefully distinguish misunderstanding from misrepresen-
tation because one is a mistake of understanding and the other is the result of
malicious intent. If one wants to convey to someone that he has misrepresented
a text, then it is not enough to convince him that he has misunderstood and mis-
interpreted the passage. It must be demonstrated to him that he did such a thing
against his better knowledge and conscience. The misunderstanding has to be
64 Reason and Understanding
dealt with through instruction and the misrepresentation must be met with mea-
sures to keep the maliciousness under control.
194. Hermeneutics teaches us accordingly to discover and avoid misunder-
standings and misrepresentations, for these have caused much evil in the world.
Admittedly, much harm may have been done by the lack of rules for proper
interpretation.
195. Unrefined forms of misrepresentations were used before even a few prin-
ciples of interpretation had been acknowledged and presented to the various
disciplines. Many men of some reputation presented their thoughts as the true
opinion and interpretation of the author, taking no interest in being able to account
for these interpretations. Introduced in such a manner, they found little applause
among the people, not even from those with a limited understanding. An attempt
was slowly made to restrict these arbitrary interpretations through rules, and
from these grew the principles of hermeneutics, which have been taught up to
now. Many people abused the rules to the point of misrepresentation in their at-
tempts to justify various false interpretations. This succeeded quite easily because
many of the rules were too general. If more definitive rules are introduced in addi-
tion to the general ones, the abundance of these misrepresentations will be in-
creasingly curbed—assuming that they will be properly applied.
ON THE INTERPRETATION OF
HISTORICAL BOOKS AND ACCOUNTS
306. Things which happened and things past are written down in historical
books for future generations (46). The things which happen in the world are of
both a physical and a moral nature. The former refers to changes of body and is
generally perceived by the senses; whereas the latter happens through human will
and understanding. The nature of the first is well enough known, but the moral
things stand in need of further explication. This category includes offices, titles,
rights, grievances, privileges, and all such things which are created and abolished
again through man's volition. These moral things, their changes and the histories
which evolve from them, must be perceived through reason. But this generally
only refers to common reason which all people possess with no particular exper-
tise in the synthetic theories of reason. One can gain an idea of these moral things
and the things which came to pass within them, if one pays attention to human
activity. At a public place, for example, one sees that all sorts of things are set
out for sale on certain days which does not happen at other places. In this way,
one arrives at the notion of marketplace. If I later hear or see myself that the same
merchants are no longer at this place, but have gathered together at another place,
Johann Martin Chladenius 65
and I also notice that this happens in response to an order which has been issued,
then I know that the marketplace has been moved—which is a type of history.
Mere attention, which, in this case, is no greater than is generally found with all
people, serves to teach me adequately about the subject and its histories.
307. Histories are accounts of things that have happened (306). If one intends—
as is presumed—to speak the truth about an event, he cannot recount it in a way
that differs from his perception of it. We arrive, therefore, at the author's concep-
tion of the event directly through his account of it; however, our understanding
of it is also shaped indirectly both by the account and the conclusions which we
ourselves draw from it. If we take exact note of the changes of a thing, we form
nothing but judgments; a history thus consists of pure judgments or postulates,
which are virtually one and the same. There are two types of judgments: intuitive
and discursive judgments (judicia intuitiva et discursiva). Because conclusions
and deductions are so tenuous in historical accounts and because one wishes to
present only truths which are indisputable and avoid even the implication of sur-
reptitious propositions and premature judgments, then such accounts must consist
of pure intuitive judgments, so that we only present that which we have perceived
through mere attentiveness. Although the reputation of historical insight is largely
acquired through the fact that much of this must be brought out through personal
experience, evidence given by others, or through speculation, the following still
remains certain. Had we been present at the right time, we would have come to
know the same historical proposition through mere attentiveness, which we
would otherwise have to learn about indirectly. This proposition is then, accord-
ing to its origin, an intuitive judgment.
The proposition— Charlemagne was born in Germany— is an intuitive judg-
ment, for it can also be correct if stated another way, disregarding the fact that
it must also be known through documents, evidence, and conjecture. It is a truth
perceived by those who lived at that time and who were at court; a truth conceived
by a very general intuitive judgment.
308. Different people perceive that which happens in the world differently, so
that if many people describe an event, each would attend to something in par-
ticular— if all were to perceive the situation properly. The cause of the difference
is due partly to the place and positioning of our body which differs with everyone;
partly to various associations with the subject, and partly to individual differences
in selecting objects to attend to. It is generally accepted that there can only be one
correct representation for each object and that if there are some differences in
description, then one must be completely right and the other completely wrong.
This principle is not in accordance with other general truths or with the more
exact perceptions of our soul. With the following general example we only wish
to prove how differently we can conceive of one particular event.
Assume there are three spectators at a battle which is underway: one is on a
hill near the right flank of the one army, the other is on a rise near the left flank,
66 Reason and Understanding
and the third person observes the same army from behind the battle. If these three
spectators should make an exact catalogue of what has taken place during the
battle, then none of the descriptions would be in complete agreement with any
of the others. The first person who stood near the right flank might state that his
flank suffered a great deal and retreated a little at one point. He might go on to
relate various specific conditions which will not have occurred to the person
positioned near the left flank. Whereas this person might report dangerous events
which are unknown to the first person. Each of the two will claim to have per-
ceived certain happenings that the other person will not concede to have witnessed
but will hold instead to something imagined. For the small changes and turns of
a throng of soldiers appear quite differently from a distance than from up close.
The dispute between the first two might be decided through the third spectator
who stood behind the army or he might just add to it with new facts which the
others will not want to accept. This is the nature of all histories. A rebellion is
perceived one way by a loyal subject, a rebel perceives it another way, a foreigner
or a person from court will perceive it still another way, and all of these percep-
tions will differ from a citizen or farmer, even if they know nothing about it other
than that which seems plausible. Surely, certain parts of all true accounts of an
event must be in agreement with each other, because we still agree about the prin-
ciples of human knowledge, even if we find ourselves confronted with different
conditions and do not perceive certain parts of the event in the same way. We only
wish to claim that true accounts still may differ, even if different people recount
the event in correct accordance with their perceptions.
309. We shall designate the term viewpoint to refer to those conditions gov-
erned by our mind, body, and entire person which make or cause us to conceive
of something in one way and not in another. Because the positioning of our eyes—
and especially their distance from the object perceived— causes us to receive one
particular image and not another, there is consequently a reason why we should
come to know something one particular way and not another in all our percep-
tions; and this is determined by the viewpoint. A king, for example, has no
accounts of events which take place in distant provinces other than those reported
to him by the governors whom he has relegated to the different areas. These
reports are responsible for the kings being properly, falsely, laboriously, thor-
oughly, or only slightly informed about the situation in the provinces. They
provide, then, the viewpoint according to which a great ruler bases his notions
about what is going on in distant provinces. The present designation of the word
viewpoint probably originates with Leibnitz; it appears otherwise only in the con-
text of optics. What he was trying to illustrate can best be seen in our definition
which clearly explains the same concept. We are making use of the same concept
because it is indispensable if one wishes to take into account the numerous
changes in a person's conception of a thing.
310. We conclude from this concept that people who see a thing from a different
Johann Martin Chladenius 67
viewpoint must also have different conceptions about it, and those who see some-
thing from the same viewpoint must have the same notion about a thing. Although
it should be noted that the phrase "one and the same" may not be construed as
"completely the same," as it is impossible for two people to perceive something
from one and the same viewpoint, in that innumerous differences can always be
found in the conditions of body, mind, and of the entire person which engender
a multiplicity in their perceptions. It has long been established that no two people
can have one and the same perception of things which is captured in the famous
saying: quot capita, tot sensus ("As many heads, as many options").
311. If people perceive a thing from a different viewpoint and they tell each
other about their conceptions and the conclusions they have drawn from them,
then it will appear to each that the other's account has the following character-
istics. First, one will come across all sorts of improbable things in the other
person's description. Because sufficient proof of this cannot be presented here
without many subtle metaphysical propositions, we would prefer to confirm this
hypothesis as an observation by example. If, when the Spanish arrived, they had
shown an American the specific parts of a rifle, its structure, and how to load it,
then the American would certainly have had a concept of it. But if he were told
to be careful with the rifle because it might endanger his life, or if he were told
that people had already had bullets shot into their bodies, then the Indian would
not have understood any of this. If a shot were to follow, he would be thoroughly
surprised as he would not have expected such a thing to happen. And so, a private
individual can believe everything to be at peace and hold an attack on his country
for impossible— especially if he is at court where talk centers on the great dangers
which threaten from internal or outside unrest.
312. This is especially true when human actions are related to us from a view-
point which differs from the one we have previously held. We find the ensuing
qualities unexpected, i.e., that some circumstances come about more easily and
naturally than we had previously imagined: there was more intrigue, artfulness,
or luck, than we had thought; many actions seem more praiseworthy than before
and many seem more shameful. Furthermore, some parts of the story will bring
us pleasure which had not been particularly pleasing before. On the one hand,
we will participate more in the story than before, and on the other, it will seem
to be something which has little to do with us. Not to mention the other un-
expected things which will arise when two people with different viewpoints make
their insights known to one another. These will depend on the different types of
history, i.e., whether it be state, church, or natural history.
313. Furthermore, when another person perceives a thing or an event from a
viewpoint which differs from ours, we usually think we have come across some-
thing incongruous, contradictory, or paradoxical. For we judge the nature of a
thing according to the concept we have of it. Whatever disagrees with our con-
cept, must in our opinion, also disagree with the nature of the object itself.
68 Reason and Understanding
Different things may come up in another person's account which seem to contend
with ours because we do not know the nature of the ideas precisely enough. It
often seems to us as though there were contradictions and inconsistencies in
history itself. One often encounters this sort of contradiction when comparing
different accounts of the same event, regardless of the fact that the authors com-
posed them with such scrupulosity that they would swear with a clear conscience
to the conscientiousness of their work. Clearly, the event itself cannot contain
contradictions; it alone may be presented to the observers so differently that the
accounts of it contain something contradictory in themselves.
314. The number of these contradictions is not decreased by the fact that a per-
son immediately draws conclusions while watching an event and later considers
these to be a part of the event although they do not belong to it and are more
probably incorrect. Such a statement, which one believes to have experienced
although it is actually concluded from the experience, is called a surreptitious
statement. For example, in the evening when the sky is brightly lit, one often sees
a light fall downwards in the air or to the side. A completely injudicious person
would immediately imagine he had seen a star fall from the sky and burn out in
the course of its fall. A more intelligent person would say that a star had flickered
or that it had emitted a beam of light. Everyone tends to describe the event accord-
ing to his own perception; at the same time, however, presenting his imagined
or incorrect judgment of the falling heavenly body as the event itself. Such hasty
and premature conclusions creep into almost all of our accounts and it would be
difficult even for a philosopher to keep from bringing his own conclusions into
the event, although he may be scrupulously trained to distinguish between his
judgment and the thing itself.
315. Because of the unexpected and incongruous things which we encounter
in an event told from a viewpoint which differs from ours (311, 313), it also
follows that we have difficulty believing that the event took place. We know that
things cannot happen which are contradictory and without sufficient reason and,
therefore, that we need not believe them. We find things in this same story which
are incongruous or for which there is not sufficient cause and it is difficult for us
to believe the story for this reason—even if the narrator were plausible enough
otherwise.
316. An account of things which did not happen is called a fiction (66). When
(hi)stories, with which we ourselves are familiar, are related to us by someone
who perceives them from another viewpoint, we do not believe that they actually
took place (315) and they appear therefore to be a fiction to us. Similarly, because
of its apparent incredibility, that which actually took place (and thus belongs to
historical accounts) acquires the reputation of a fable.
317. If a story is told to us from a viewpoint which seems improbable, then it
may appear to us to be a fiction (316) because of its incredibility. But since fables
are not appropriate in all cases, the improbability may mean that we push the
Johann Martin Chladenius 69
blame for the lack of knowledge of the event onto the person telling the story,
or it may also mean that we believe he planned to deceive the reader (16). In both
cases, the conclusion casts a poor light on the author and it thus becomes neces-
sary to show how the author of an account could unjustly be met with such
criticism. We will then go on to show how one might save both these passages
and the author himself.
318. The event and the concept of the event are commonly held to be one and
the same, which is not always incorrect. Yet one must indicate the difference and
clearly make note of it, particularly when one is dealing with the interpretation
of an event. For it is not the event in itself, but the concept of the event which
is unclear to another person and is in need of an interpretation. The difference
is, by the way, very noticeable: the event is one and the same, but the concept
of it different and manifold. There is nothing contradictory in an event; the con-
tradictions arise from the different conceptions of the same thing. All things in
an event have sufficient reason; in its conception, things can appear which seem
to happen without sufficient reason.
319. A history is narrated or written down so that readers and listeners will
believe it. If the event is possible in itself and the narrator is worthy of belief,
then there exists no reason or cause for us not to believe it. We see, however,
that we do not want to believe an account because it seems unexpected, incon-
gruous, and fabulous. Such accounts are then in need of an interpretation (169).
In this case it is the responsibility of the interpreter to eliminate the improbable,
the incongruous, and the fabulous aspects of the account, or to place his pupil in
a position where the account no longer appears to him to have these characteris-
tics. And we must show how an interpreter might practically be able to do this.
320. The reason we do not believe a history presented to us from a strange
viewpoint is that we think we find contradictions or fabulous elements in it (319).
We will always sense a difficulty in believing such accounts as long as these
elements are not done away with. Meanwhile, it is possible for one to gradually
stop noticing such contradictory and unexpected elements and allow oneself, in
the end, to be persuaded by an account, although the doubts have not been proved
unfounded. Accordingly, this is a means of making an account plausible for
someone by putting their attentiveness to sleep, so that they no longer experience
the doubt which they felt in the beginning.
an account which we did not thoroughly understand in the beginning and which
is why we did not believe it (161). This means in this case that we learn the cir-
cumstances of the event of which we were previously unaware and that we learn
to reflect on those details which are already known to us (323). But we cannot
foresee which details we are missing and which details would allow us to com-
prehend the account if they were known to us.
325. But because each account has its own specific place, particular people, and
certain time, and because it is the knowledge of these things which enables us to
comprehend it, we can give this rule according to which one must interpret in-
credible accounts for himself. One must inquire about all details concerning time
and place, if and where an event took place. Subsequently, one can generally
arrive, in this manner, at a knowledge of those details which will make the entire
matter comprehensible and plausible.
326. If an interpreter either cannot interpret a seemingly incongruous and in-
credible account according to the prescribed method (322, 323), or if he for some
reason is unable to make the crucial details clear to his pupil, then he can move
him to accept the account if he clearly shows him that there are indeed true
accounts in which there are things which will seem implausible or incongruous
to this or that reader. Furthermore, he may impress on him that a student of
history should place his trust more in the integrity and insight of the writer of the
history, rather than to doubt the account itself because of apparent absurdity and
contradiction with other truths.
327. Two or more similar accounts are called parallel histories. Just as many
types of similarities may be found in accounts, there are also many types of
parallel histories to be discovered. An example of a peculiar type of this sort is
when both events share the same cause and consequence— as in the case where
the very greatness of an empire has afforded the opportunity for its downfall, or
where often the most insignificant persons in the republic have undertaken the
greatest changes.
328. When a history appears to us to be incredible and there also exist parallel
histories of whose truth there is no doubt, then we are easily persuaded that the
account in question is not necessarily incredible. Therefore, if a pupil does not
believe an account because it seems incongruous and the interpreter of the ac-
count wishes to make it plausible to him, then he can make use of this expedient.
By bringing in parallel accounts which cannot be called into question, he can
demonstrate that accounts of this sort are indeed possible.
329. If the authors of two accounts contradict one another, regardless of
whether the issue has been presented correctly or from different viewpoints (312),
the reader will generally think the authors were so opposed to each other that one
must necessarily be in the right and the other in the wrong. Of course, it could
be that this contradiction is only an apparent one (313), and stems from the fact
that the reader does not completely understand either one or both of the authors
Johann Martin Chladenius 71
Friedrich D. E. Schleiermacher
FRIEDRICH (DANIEL ERNST) SCHLEIERMACHER (1768-1834), the founder of modern
Protestant theology, was also a respected classical philologist (best known through his
work on Plato) and an original thinker in his own right. His interest in hermeneutic prob-
lems was first kindled when he lived in Berlin in close personal contact with Friedrich
Schlegel and the other Romantics (1796-1802). Among his group, Schlegel was the first
to apply the principles of transcendental idealism to the realm of literature with his Philos-
ophy of Philology. Taking his cues from Schlegel's suggestive insights, Schleiermacher
went to work in a consistent and systematic fashion, and thus became the founder of
modern hermeneutics. By critically uniting the hermeneutic traditions in Protestant theol-
ogy and the rhetorical and philological traditions of classical scholarship with the new
transcendental approach inherited from Kant and Fichte, Schleiermacher created the
"classical" system of Romantic hermeneutics. He wrote down his ideas first in aphoristic
form (1805, 1809-10), subsequently elaborated a draft of his system, and finally produced
a detailed outline of his ideas in 1819. This so-called Compendium of 1819 served Schleier-
macher as the basis for the lecture course which he taught repeatedly over the years when
he held his chair in Protestant theology at the University of Berlin between 1810 and 1834.
In 1828 he added additional notes ("Marginal Notes") and comments to the original text.
After Schleiermacher's death, his student, F. Liicke, published in 1838 a volume called
Hermeneutics and Criticism which offered a coherent version of Schleiermacher's herme-
neutics, composed of notes taken by students attending his lectures and of Schleiermacher's
own notes and outlines. It was only in 1958 that Schleiermacher's manuscripts were
published separately and in their entirety by one of Gadamer's students, H. Kimmerle. The
text of the Liicke edition has recently been reissued (F. D. E. Schleiermacher, Hermeneu-
tik und Kritik, 1977. Sect. A, Bibl.). The selections are from the English translation by
J. Duke and J. Forstman of the Kimmerle edition. They comprise the "Introduction,"
"Part 1: Grammatical Interpretation," and "Part 2: Technical Interpretation" of the Com-
pendium of 1819, together with the marginal notes of 1828, which are reproduced here
in smaller type following the passages to which they relate. A few short paragraphs which
did not directly contribute to the main argument have been omitted from "Part 1."
72
Friedrich D. E. Schleiermacher 73
[GENERAL HERMENEUTICS]
Introduction
*1828
1. Hermeneutics and criticism are related such that the practice of either one presup-
poses the other.
In both, the relationship to the author is general and varied.
Hermeneutics is presumed to be unimportant because it is necessary where criticism is
hardly applicable at all, in general because the task of criticism supposedly ends, whereas
the task of hermeneutics is endless. The hermeneutical task moves constantly. My first
sentence refers to this movement.
2. With respect to its study of both genre and language, special hermeneutics is only
an aggregate of observations and does not meet the requirements to science. To seek
understanding without reflection and to resort to the rules of understanding only in special
cases is an unbalanced operation. Since one cannot do without either of these two stand-
points, one must combine them. This occurs in two ways: (1) Even where we think we
can proceed in an inartistic way we often encounter unexpected difficulties, the clues for
the solution of which may be found in the materials already passed over. Therefore, we
are always forced to pay attention to what may be able to resolve these problems. (2) If
we always proceed artistically, we come at the end to an unconscious application of the
rules, without ever having been inartistic.
1. Hermeneutics deals only with the art of understanding, not with the
presentation of what has been understood. The presentation of what has been
understood would be only one special part of the art of speaking and writing,
and that part could be done only by relying upon general principles.
2. Nor is hermeneutics concerned exclusively with difficult passages of
texts written in foreign languages. To the contrary, it presupposes a famili-
arity with both the contents and the language of a text. Assuming such
familiarity, difficulties with particular passages of a text arise only because
the easier ones have not been understood. Only an artistically sound under-
standing can follow what is being said and written.
3. It is commonly believed that by following general principles one can trust
one's common sense. But if that is so, by following special principles, one
can trust one's natural instincts.
2. It is very difficult to assign general hermeneutics its proper place among the
sciences.
74 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
1. For a long time it was treated as an appendix to Logic, but since Logic
is no longer seen as dealing with applied matters, this can no longer be done.
The philosopher per se has no interest in developing hermeneutical theory.
He seldom works at understanding, because he believes that it occurs by
necessity.2
2. Moreover, philology has become positivistic. Thus its way of treating
hermeneutics results in a mere aggregate of observations.
3. Since the art of speaking and the art of understanding stand in relation to each
other, speaking being only the outer side of thinking, hermeneutics is a part of
the art of thinking, and is therefore philosophical.*
1. Yet these two are to be related in such a way that the art of interpretation
at once depends upon and presupposes composition. They are parallel in the
sense that artless speaking does not require any art to be understood.
II. 4. Speaking is the medium for the communality of thought, and for this rea-
son rhetoric and hermeneutics belong together and both are related to dialectics.
1. Indeed, a person thinks by means of speaking. Thinking matures by
means of internal speech, and to that extent speaking is only developed
thought. But whenever the thinker finds it necessary to fix what he has
thought, there arises the art of speaking, that is, the transformation of
original internal speaking, and interpretation becomes necessary.
2. Hermeneutics and rhetoric are intimately related in that every act of
understanding is the reverse side of an act of speaking, and one must grasp
the thinking that underlies a given statement.
Dialectics relies on hermeneutics and rhetoric because the development of
all knowledge depends on both speaking and understanding.
5. Just as every act of speaking is related to both the totality of the language and
the totality of the speaker's thoughts, so understanding a speech always involves
two moments: to understand what is said in the context of the language with its
possibilities, and to understand it as a fact in the thinking of the speaker.*
a language, but also for its entire history, because language develops through
speaking. In every case commnication presupposes a shared language and
therefore some knowledge of the language. Whenever something comes be-
tween the internal speaking and its communication, one must turn to the art
of speaking. So the art of speaking is due in part to a speaker's anxiety that
something in his use of language may be unfamiliar to the hearer.
2. Every act of speaking is based on something having been thought. This
statement, too, could be reversed, but with respect to communication the
first formulation holds because the art of understanding deals only with an
advanced stage of thinking.
3. Accordingly, each person represents one locus where a given language
takes shape in a particular way, and his speech can be understood only in
the context of the totality of the language. But then too he is a person who
is a constantly developing spirit, and his speaking can be understood as only
one moment in this development in relation to all others.
6. Understanding takes place only in the coinherence of these two moments.
1. An act of speaking cannot even be understood as a moment in a person's
development unless it is also understood in relation to the language. This is
because the linguistic heritage [Angeborenheit der Sprache] modifies our
mind.
2. Nor can an act of speaking be understood as a modification of the
language unless it is also understood as a moment in the development of the
person (later addition: because an individual is able to influence a language
by speaking, which is how a language develops).
III. 7. These two hermeneutical tasks are completely equal, and it would be in-
correct to label grammatical interpretation the "lower" and psychological inter-
pretation the "higher" task.*
*On 7. There is no way to distinguish between what is easy or difficult in general terms.
Rather, to one person the one task is easier; to another, the other. Consequently, there are
two different main approaches and main works, notes on language and introductions.
4. Continuation of 7. Neither task is higher than the other. 6, 8, 9.
8. The task is finally resolved when either side could be replaced by the other,
though both must be treated, that is to say, when each side is treated in such a
way that the treatment of the other side produces no change in the result.
1. Both grammatical and psychological interpretation must be treated, even
though either can substitute for the other, in accordance with II, 6.
2. Each side is complete only when it makes the other superfluous and con-
tributes to its work. This is because language can be learned only by under-
standing what is spoken, and because the inner make-up of a person, as well
as the way in which external objects affect him, can only be understood from
his speaking.
9. Interpretation is an art.
1. Each side is itself an art. For each side constructs something finite and
definite from something infinite and indefinite. Language is infinite because
every element is determinable in a special way by the other elements.
This statement also applies to psychological interpretation, for every intui-
tion of a person is itself infinite. Moreover, external influences on a person
will have ramifications which trail off into infinity. Such a construction,
however, cannot be made by means of rules which may be applied with self-
evident certainty.
2. In order to complete the grammatical side of interpretation it would be
necessary to have a complete knowledge of the language. In order to com-
plete the psychological side it would be necessary to have a complete
knowledge of the person. Since in both cases such complete knowledge is
impossible, it is necessary to move back and forth between the grammatical
and psychological sides, and no rules can stipulate exactly how to do this.
10. The success of the art of interpretation depends on one's linguistic compe-
tence and on one's ability for knowing people.
1. By "linguistic competence" I am not referring to a facility for learning
foreign languages. The distinction between one's mother tongue and a
foreign language is not at issue here. Rather, I refer to one's command of
language, one's sensitivity to its similarities and differences, etc. —It could
be claimed that in this respect rhetoric and hermeneutics must always belong
together. But hermeneutics requires one kind of competence, rhetoric re-
quires another, and the two are not the same. To be sure, both hermeneutics
and rhetoric require linguistic competence, but hermeneutics makes use of
that competence in a different way.
2. One's ability to know people refers especially to a knowledge of the sub-
jective element determining the composition of thoughts. Thus, just as with
hermeneutics and rhetoric, so with hermeneutics and the artful description
of persons, there is no permanent connection. Nonetheless, many errors in
hermeneutics are due to a lack of this talent or to a flaw in its application.
3. Insofar as these abilities are universal gifts of nature, hermeneutics is
Friedrich D. E. Schleiermacher 77
*Hour 5. 10-11.
On 11. Of minimal worth is such common speech as (a) business discussions [geschdft-
liche] and (b) conversations. Of maximal worth, predominately for language: (a) original
[urbildlich] for the production of thoughts = too much. Those types of speech between
these two extremes lie closer to one extreme or the other—(a) toward common speech,
that is, with a relatively important subject matter and a graceful presentation; (b) toward
creative [geniale] speech, the classical quality of the language need not be original, and
the originality in the combination of elements need not be classical.
A great deal of talent is necessary not only to deal with difficult passages, but also in
order not to be content with an immediate purpose, and to pursue both directions in order
to reach the goal.
VI. This accounts for the singularity of Homer as a book for general educa-
tion and of the Old Testament as a body of literature from which everything
is to be drawn. To this it should be added that the mythical contents in both
are developed into esoteric [gnomische] philosophy on the one hand and into
history on the other. But there is no technical interpretation for myth because
it cannot be traced back to a single person, and the shifting in ordinary
understanding between the literal and figurative meanings draws out the
double meaning most clearly. In the case of the New Testament, however,
the situation was quite different, and a method based on two principles was
developed. First, in keeping with the close connection between the two
80 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
*Whether the view that everything in the Scriptures was inspired means that everything
must relate to the whole church? No. This view would necessarily entail that the original
recipients would interpret them incorrectly, so that it would have been better if the Holy
Spirit had not produced the Scriptures as occasional writings. Therefore, grammatical and
psychological interpretation always proceed in accord with the general rules. To what ex-
tent a specialized hermeneutics is still required cannot be discussed until later.
* 14-16. We stand at the point of total opposition between artless and artful interpreta-
tion. If one moves to the latter only when difficulties are encountered, one will come to
no more than discrete observations. —Precise understanding means that one grasps the
easy parts of the meaning and uses them as a key for interpreting the difficult parts.
1. Were the art of interpretation needed only for foreign and ancient texts,
then the original readers would not have required it. Were this the case, then
in effect the art of interpretation would be based on the differences between
the original readers and us. But historical and linguistic knowledge removes
that obstacle, and so only after significant points of comparison between the
first readers and us have been reached can interpretation begin. Therefore,
the only difference between ancient and foreign texts and contemporary texts
in our own language is that the comparisons necessary for interpreting the
former cannot be completed prior to the interpretation but begins and is com-
pleted with the process of interpretation. As he works the interpreter should
keep this fact in mind.
2. Nor do written texts alone call for the art of interpretation. Were that
true, the art would be necessary only because of the difference between writ-
ten and spoken words, that is, because of the loss of the living voice and the
absence of supplementary personal impressions. But the latter must them-
selves be interpreted, and that interpretation is never certain. To be sure, the
living voice facilitates understanding, and a writer must take this fact into
consideration. Were he to do so, then, on the assumption that the art of inter-
pretation is not necessary for oral statements, the art would not be necessary
for the written text. But that simply is not the case. Therefore, even if an
author did not consider the effects of the living voice, the necessity for the
art of interpretation is not based on the difference between oral and written
statements. *
*That the art is necessary more for spoken than written language, because as the speech
is spoken one cannot remember the various rules which are to be used.
3. Given this relationship between speaking and writing, the distinction be-
tween artful and artless interpretation must be based on nothing else than the
principle stated above, and it follows that artistic interpretation has the same
aim as we do in ordinary listening.
VIII. 15. There is a less rigorous practice of this art which is based on the
assumption that understanding occurs as a matter of course. The aim of this prac-
tice may be expressed in negative form as: "misunderstanding should be avoided."
1. This less rigorous practice presupposes that it deals mainly with insigni-
ficant matters or that it has a quite specific interest, and so it establishes
limited, easily realizable goals.
82 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
*9. Discuss the difference (pistis) between the subjective interpretation and the objec-
tive as such.
* 17. Negative formulation of the task: to avoid misunderstanding the material and formal
elements.
4. This thesis (17) encompasses the full task of interpretation, but because
it is stated negatively we cannot develop rules from it. In order to develop
rules we must work from a positive thesis, but we must constantly be
oriented to this negative formulation.
5. We must also distinguish between passive and active misunderstanding.
The latter occurs when one reads something into a text because of one's own
bias. In such a case the author's meaning cannot possibly emerge.*
*Hour 10. 17,5. This represents the maximum, because it is caused by completely false
presuppositions.—18. 19.
IX. 18. The rules for the art of interpretation must be developed from a positive
formula, and this is: "the historical and divinatory, objective and subjective
reconstruction of a given statement."
1. "Objective-historical" means to consider the statement in [its] relation to
the language as a whole, and to consider the knowledge it contains as a prod-
uct of the language. — "Objective-prophetic" means to sense how the state-
ment itself will stimulate further developments in the language. Only by
taking both of these aspects into account can qualitative and quantitative
misunderstanding be avoided.
2. "Subjective-historical" means to know how the statement, as a fact in the
person's mind, has emerged. "Subjective-prophetic" means to sense how the
thoughts contained in the statement will exercise further influence on and in
the author. Here, again, unless both of these aspects are taken into account,
qualitative and quantitative misunderstandings are unavoidable.
3. The task is to be formulated as follows: "To understand the text at first
as well as and then even better than its author." Since we have no direct
knowledge of what was in the author's mind, we must try to become aware
of many things of which he himself may have been unconscious, except in-
sofar as he reflects on his own work and becomes his own reader. Moreover,
with respect to the objective aspects, the author had no data other than we
have.
4. So formulated, the task is infinite, because in a statement we want to trace
a past and a future which stretch into infinity. Consequently, inspiration is
as much a part of this art as of any other. Inasmuch as a text does not evoke
such inspiration, it is insignificant. —The question of how far and in which
directions interpretation will be pressed must be decided in each case on
practical grounds. Specialized hermeneutics and not general hermeneutics
must deal with these questions.
19. Before the art of hermeneutics can be practiced, the interpreter must put
himself both objectively and subjectively in the position of the author.
1. On the objective side this requires knowing the language as the author
84 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
knew it. But this is a more specific task than putting oneself in the position
of the original readers, for they, too, had to identify with the author. On the
subjective side this requires knowing the inner and the outer aspects of the
author's life.
2. These two sides can be completed only in the interpretation itself. For
only from a person's writings can one learn his vocabulary, and so, too, his
character and his circumstances.
20. The vocabulary and the history of an author's age together form a whole from
which his writings must be understood as a part, and vice versa.
1. Complete knowledge always involves an apparent circle, that each part
can be understood only out of the whole to which it belongs, and vice versa.
All knowledge which is scientific must be constructed in this way.
2. To put oneself in the position of an author means to follow through with
this relationship between the whole and the parts. Thus it follows, first, that
the more we learn about an author, the better equipped we are for interpreta-
tion, but, second, that a text can never be understood right away. On the
contrary, every reading puts us in a better position to understand because
it increases our knowledge. Only in the case of insignificant texts are we
satisfied with what we understand on first reading.
X. 21. An interpreter who gains all his knowledge of an author's vocabulary
from lexical aids and disconnected observations can never reach an independent
interpretation.*
*Hour 11. 19, 20, 21, 22. I only began 22. Neither 21 nor 22 were applied to the New
Testament.
Hour 12. Apply 21 and 22 to the New Testament.
The various ways of arranging and using this fragmentary background infor-
mation have given rise to different, but also one-sided, schools of interpreta-
tion, which can easily be branded as fads [als Manier].
XI. 23. Also within each given text, its parts can only be understood in terms
of the whole, and so the interpreter must gain an overview of the work by a
cursory reading before undertaking a more careful interpretation.
1. Here, too, there seems to be a circle. This provisional understanding
requires only that knowledge of the particulars which comes from a general
knowledge of the language.
2. Synopses provided by the author are too sparse to serve the purpose of
even technical interpretation, and the summaries which editors customarily
give in prolegomena bring the reader under the power of their own inter-
pretations.
3. The interpreter should seek to identify the leading ideas by which all the
86 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
*13. 23. General rule for the method: (a) Begin with a general overview of the text,
(b) Comprehend it by moving in both directions simultaneously, (c) Only when the two
coincide for one passage does one proceed to another passage, (d) When the two do not
agree, it is necessary to go back until the error in calculation is found.
[Bedeutung] and not a sense [Sinn]; that a sentence regarded in isolation has
a sense [Sinn], but not a purport [Verstand], for only a complete text has a
purport. Of course, it could be claimed that even a whole text would be more
completely understood in the context of its entire world, but this considera-
tion leads us beyond the sphere of interpretation altogether. —The latter
terminology is certainly preferable inasmuch as a sentence is an inseparable
unity and as such its sense [Sinn] is also a unity, that is, there is a mutual
co-determination of its subject and predicate. Nonetheless, this terminology
is not adequate to linguistic usage. For with reference to the purport [Ver-
stand] of a text, meaning and sense are identical. The truth is that in
interpretation the task of clarifying what is vague, is never-ending. —When
a given sentence is a self-enclosed whole, the distinction between sense and
purport seems to disappear, as in the case of epigrams and maxims. This
whole, however, must be determined by the reader: each reader has to
puzzle through such statements as best he can. The meaning is decided by
reference to the particular subject matter.
3. The era in which an author lives, his development, his involvements, his
way of speaking— whenever these factors make a difference in a finished
text— constitute his "sphere." But this sphere cannot be found in toto in every
text, for it varies according to the kind of reader the author had in mind. But
how do we determine who these readers were? Only by a cursory reading
of the entire text. But determining the sphere common to the author and the
readers is only the first step. It must be continued throughout the process of
interpretation, and it is completed only when the interpretation itself is
concluded.
4. There are several apparent exceptions to the rule.
a. Archaic expressions lie beyond the immediate linguistic sphere of
the author and his readers. They serve the purpose of making the past
contemporaneous with the present; they are used in writing more than
in speaking, in poetry more than in prose.
b. Technical expressions occur in even the most common forms of
speaking, as, for example, in legal proceedings, even though not every-
one understands them. This fact leads us to observe that an author does
not always have his entire public in mind, but only certain sectors of it.
Consequently, the application of this rule requires a certain amount of
art, since it depends on the interpreter's sensitivity [richtige Gefuhle}.
XIV. 5 .The statement that we must consciously grasp an author's linguistic
sphere, in contrast to other organic aspects of his language, implies that we
understand the author better than he understood himself. Both in our general
survey and in our work on particular passages difficulties arise, and we must
become aware of many things of which the author himself was unaware.
6. By drawing on our general survey of the work, interpretation may
88 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
continue smoothly for some time without actually being artless, because
everything is held together in a general picture. But as soon as some detail
causes us difficulty, we begin to wonder whether the problem lies with the
author or with us. We may assume that the author is at fault only when our
overview of the text uncovers evidence that the author is careless and im-
precise, or confused and without talent. Our own errors may be caused in
two ways. We may have made an early mistake in understanding that had
continued unnoticed, or our knowledge of the language might be inadequate.
In either case, the correct word usage does not occur to us. I will discuss
the former later, because it is related to the use of parallel passages. I want
to discuss the latter now.
7. Dictionaries, which are the normal resources for supplementing our
knowledge of a language, view the various usages of a word as a many-
faceted, loosely-bound aggregate. They do not trace the meaning [Bedeu-
tung] back to its original unity, because to do so would require that the
material be arranged according to the system of concepts, and this is im-
possible. The multiplicity of meanings, then, is to be analyzed into a series
of distinctions. The first is the distinction between the literal and the figura-
tive. Upon closer scrutiny this distinction disappears. In similes two parallel
series of thoughts are connected. Each word stands in its own series and
should be determined only in those terms. Therefore, it retains its own
meaning. In metaphors this connection is only suggested, and often only a
single aspect of the concept is emphasized. For example, coma arborum is
foliage, but coma still means hair. And we speak of the lion as the king of
the animals. But a lion does not govern, and kings are not entitled to devour
others on the principle that "might makes right." Such a single usage of the
word has no meaning, and usually the entire phrase must be given. This
distinction may be ultimately traced to the belief that not all non-literal
[geistliche] meanings are original, but that they are imagistic usages of
words that had sense-referents. XV. But this question lies beyond the sphere
of hermeneutics. Even if theos (God) is derived from thed, this fact would
not be immediately evident in the language because it arose in the primitive
history of the language, with which hermeneutics does not deal. The ques-
tion is whether non-literal ideas [geistliche Vorstellungen] are a second
shape of development that does not begin until after the language has been
formed, and there does not seem to be any answer to that question. It is
undeniable that there are non-literal words which at the same time signify
sense-objects, but a parallelism governs these cases in that both, as they pre-
sent themselves to us, are included in the idea of one living whole. This
accounts, too, for the use of the same words for matters relating to space
and time. The two meanings are essentially the same because we can deter-
mine space only by reference to time, and vice versa. Terms for form and
Friedrich D. E. Schleiermacher 89
We must divide formal elements into those that combine sentences and those that
combine parts of speech to form a sentence.
1. At this point we must begin with the simple sentence, because combining
individual statements into clauses and combining clauses to construct sen-
tences are the same, whereas combining the parts of speech into a simple
sentence is quite different. Included in the first are conjunctions and their
rules, and whatever substitutes for them. Included in the second are
prepositions.
The crux of the matter concerns the type of combination, its degree, and how
much has been combined. In speech, as in everything else, there are only
two types of combination, organic and mechanical, i.e., an inner fusion and
an external adjoining of parts. This distinction, however, is not absolute,
since one often seems to shade off into the other. Often a causal or adversa-
tive particle seems merely additive. In such cases it has lost or even aban-
doned its true content. But often an additive term becomes decisive, and it
may then be said to have been enhanced or made emphatic. In this way a
qualitative difference becomes quantitative. Often, however, this transposi-
tion is only apparent, and the interpreter must always refer back to the
original meaning. Often, too, apparent transpositions are due to the fact that
the extent or the object of the connection have not been correctly identified.
Thus one should not decide about a given case until all other questions have
been considered.
XXII. a. An organic connection may be more or less cohesive, but one
should never suppose that it has lost all its meaning, as is sometimes
done when statements which have been combined do not seem to belong
together. But (a) the last clause before the particle can be a mere addi-
tion, and therefore the connective terms refer back to the main clause.
Or the first clause after the connective term may be merely intro-
ductory, such that the connection refers to the major thoughts which
follow. Of course, in order to specify the extent of a given connection,
these dependent clauses should be changed into parenthetical statements
92 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
undertaking of the author, since a sense for this necessity emerges only if
the genesis of the text is never lost from view.
3. The goal of technical interpretation should be formulated as the complete
understanding of style.
We are accustomed to restrict the term "style" to the way language is handled.
But thoughts and language are intertwined, and an author's distinctive way
of treating the subject is manifested by his organization of his material and
by his use of language.
Since a person always has numerous ideas, the development of any specific
one involves accepting something and excluding something else. —Yet
when an idea does not develop from the distinctive character of the author,
but is acquired by study or by custom, or is cultivated for its effect, then there
is mannerism, and mannerism is always poor style.
4. The goal of technical interpretation can only be approximated.
Despite all our progress we are still far from the goal. There are still conflicts
over Homer, and the three tragedians still cannot be perfectly distinguished.6
— Not only do we never understand an individual view [Anschauung] ex-
haustively, but what we do understand is always subject to correction. This
becomes evident when we consider that, beyond doubt, the best test is the
attempt to imitate an author. But since imitation is so rarely successful and
since higher criticism is still embroiled in disputes, we know we are quite
far from our goal.
5. Before technical interpretation can begin, one must learn the way the author
received his subject matter and the language, and whatever else can be known
about the author's distinctive manner [Art und Weise] of writing.
This first task includes learning about the state of a given genre when the
author began to write. The second includes learning about the use of language
current in this area and related areas. Consequently, exact understanding in
this regard requires knowing about related literature current in that era as
well as earlier models of style. In technical interpretation there is no sub-
stitute for such comprehensive and systematic research.
Learning about the author's manner of writing is a laborious task, and the
easiest way to gain such knowledge is to turn to secondary sources. These
works, however, make judgments which must be assessed by acts of inter-
pretation. Consequently, reliance on such distant works is to be avoided. As
aids for understanding, biographical sketches of authors were originally in-
cluded in editions of their works, but they usually neglected discussing the
question of literary models. Certainly a useful prolegomenon will give the
most necessary information about the other two points.
On the basis of this background knowledge and the initial overview of the
work, the interpreter develops a provisional conception in terms of which
the distinctiveness of the author is to be sought.
96 General Theory and Art of Interpretation
Notes
1. The two classical philologists with whose work Schleiermacher takes issue here and
elsewhere. In 1829 he delivered two addresses before the Royal Prussian Academy: "On
the Concept of Hermeneutics, with reference to F. A. Wolf's Instruction and Ast's Text-
book." Cf. Friedrich Ast, Grundlinien der Grammatik: Hermeneutik undKritik (Landshut,
1808); Friedrich August Wolf, Darstellung der Altertumswissenschaft nach Begriff, Um-
fang, Zweck und Wert (Berlin, 1807).
2. Cf. Christian Wolff in his Vernunftige Gedanken von den Kraften des menschlichen
Verstandes(seebib\.), chs. 10, 11, 12, offered a brief treatment of the problems of textual
understanding within the framework of logic. Since philosophical texts were believed not
to offer any special hermeneutical problems, they were excluded from consideration by
the Enlightenment theoreticians. Thus Chladenius (see bibl.) insists (§ 187) that in
philosophy we do not need the art of interpretation, since we can rely immediately on our
power of thinking in order to judge whether a philosophical statement is true or false. For
Schleiermacher, on the other hand, all understanding is in need of critical examination and
reconstructing.
3. Historical and philological methods of interpreting the Holy Scriptures were applied
in the eighteenth century by J. A. Turrentinus (De sacra scripturae interpretandae
methodo tractatus bipartitus, 1728) and by J. S. Semler (Abhandlung vonfreier Unter-
suchung des Canon, 1771-75). Orthodox and pietistic theologians opposed such historical
interpretation on principle and advanced instead the notion of an immediate illumination
while interpreting the Scriptures.
4. On the history of theological and juristic hermeneutics, see H.-G. Gadamer's article
in Historisches Worterbuch der Philosophic, ed. by J. Ritter (Darmstadt: Wissenschaft-
liche Buchgesellschaft, 1974) vol. 3, and the literature cited therein (1061-73).
5. Schleiermacher's outline here is unclear, and the text has been outlined by the
translators. (Translator's note)
6. The conflict over Homer was sparked by F. A. Wolfs Prolegomena ad Homerum
(Halle, 1794). In this piece Wolf advances the thesis that the works traditionally ascribed
to Homer (the Iliad and the Odyssey) originated in six different eras and represent the work
of several authors. Schleiermacher is referring to the three ancient tragedians, Aeschylus,
Sophocles, and Euripedes. (Translator's note)
3
Foundations:
Language, Understanding,
and the Historical World
98
Wilhelm von Humboldt 99
argumentation, which typically is complex and multifaceted, permits the reader to per-
ceive one and the same phenomenon from different perspectives. The second selection
consists of an address Humboldt delivered before the Berlin Academy of Sciences in 1821.
It was first published in the proceedings of the Academy in 1822. There Humboldt
develops a theory of understanding as an integral part of a theory of history and historical
investigation. There was for him an essential affinity between the creativity of the poet and
artist and the activity of the historian who tried to understand what is only partially acces-
sible to him. Ideas in history were forces in Humboldt's eyes, pervading both the object
of historical knowledge and the subjective conceptualization performed by the historian.
Humboldt's essay points out to us many of the problems which have dominated herme-
neutic debates in the human sciences until today.
At this point, I shall discuss the process of language in its broadest sense. I shall
consider it not merely in its relationship to speech and the stock of its word com-
ponents as its direct product, but also in its relationship to the human capacity for
thought and perception. The entire course of operation, starting from its emana-
tion from the intellect to its counteraction upon the latter, will be considered.
Language is the formative organ of thought. Intellectual activity— completely
intellectual, completely inward, and to a certain extent passing without a trace—
becomes externalized in speech and perceptible to the senses. It and the language,
therefore, form a unity and are indivisible from one another. Intellectual activity
is inherently tied to the necessity of entering into a combination with the phoneme
(Sprachlauf). Otherwise thought cannot attain distinctness, the image cannot
become a concept. The indissoluble bond connecting thought, vocal apparatus,
and hearing [auditory perception] to language is an invariable part of the original
constitution of human nature, and defies further explanation. The coincidence of
the sound with the idea thus becomes clear. Just as the idea, comparable to a flash
of lightning, collects the total power of imagination into a single point and ex-
cludes everything that is simultaneous, the phonetic sound resounds in abrupt
sharpness and unity. Just as the thought engages the entire disposition, the
phonetic sound is endowed with a penetrating power that arouses the whole ner-
vous system. This feature, distinguishing it from all other sensory impressions,
is visibly based upon the fact that the ear is receptive to the impression of a
motion, especially to the sound of a true action produced by the voice (which is
not always the case for the remaining senses). Furthermore, this action proceeds
from the interior of a living creature; as an articulated sound from a thinking
being and as an unarticulated sound from a merely sensing creature.
Inasmuch as thought in its most typically human relationships is a longing to
escape from darkness into light, from limitation into infinity, sound streams from
the depths of the breast to the external ambient. There it finds in the air, this most
subtle and motile of all elements whose apparent incorporeality significantly cor-
responds to the intellect, a marvelously appropriate intermediary substance. The
incisive sharpness of the phoneme is indispensable to our understanding of physi-
cal and other objects, for objects in external nature, as well as in the internally
excited activity, exert a compulsion upon man, penetrating his being with a mass
of characteristics. He, however, strives to compare, distinguish, and combine.
Furthermore, he aims at the formation of an ever more comprehensive unity. He
demands, therefore, to be able to comprehend objects in terms of a definite unity
and requires the unit of sound to represent them appropriately. The sound, how-
ever, does not displace any of the other impressions which the objects are capable
of producing upon the external or internal senses, but instead becomes their
bearer. Moreover, it adds, in its individual association with the object, a new des-
ignative impression according to the manner in which the individual sensitivity
of the speaker conceives it. The sharpness of the sound permits an indeterminable
Wilhelm von Humboldt 101
its effect upon a language, the more the language profits, other conditions remain-
ing constant. What language makes necessary in the simple act of production of
ideas is incessantly repeated in the intellectual life of man. Communication
through language furnishes him conviction and stimulation. The power to think
requires something equal to yet differentiated from itself. It is fired up by its
equivalent; from its counterpart it acquires a touchstone for its innermost prod-
ucts. Although the basis for the perception of truth reposes in man's inner
recesses, his intellectual striving toward truth is always surrounded by the danger
of deception. With an immediate and clear sense only for his varying limitations,
he is forced to regard truth as something external to himself. One of the most
powerful media to approach veracity, and to measure one's remoteness from it,
is the social exchange of ideas. All speech, starting from the very simplest, con-
sists of an association of the individual perception with the common denominator
of human nature.
The situation is no different as far as understanding is concerned. Nothing can
be present in the mind (Seele) that has not originated from one's own activity.
Moreover understanding and speaking are but different effects of the selfsame
power of speech. Speaking is never comparable to the transmission of mere
matter (Stoff). In the person comprehending as well as in the speaker, the subject
matter must be developed by the individual's own innate power. What the listener
receives is merely the harmonious vocal stimulus. It is, therefore, natural for man
to enunciate immediately what he has just comprehended. In this way language
is native to every human being in its entire scope; this signifies that everyone
possesses a drive, controlled by a modified regulatory power, that is directed
toward bringing forth little by little his entire language and understanding it when
produced, as the internal or external occasion requires.
Understanding then, as we have come to understand it, could not be based upon
man's spontaneous mental activity and his social discourse would have to be
something other than the mutual arousing of the speech impulse in the listener— if
the unity of human nature did not underlie the variation of the individual-
splitting itself up, as it were, into distinct individualities. The comprehension of
words is something completely different from the understanding of unarticulated
sounds and includes much more than the mere reciprocal production of sounds
and of the indicated object. The word can also be taken as an indivisible entity,
just as we recognize the significance of a written word group without being sure
of its alphabetic composition. It might be possible that the mind of the child
operates in this way during the very beginnings of linguistic comprehension.
Whenever his animal sensory capacity, along with his human power of speech,
is excited (and it is probable that even in children there is no instant when this—
no matter how feebly attested—would not be the case), the word is perceived as
articulated. Now, however, the factor which articulation adds to the simple evo-
cation of its meaning (an evocation which naturally takes place more completely
Wilhelm von Humboldt 103
of the being, depends entirely upon social intercourse. In cases of this kind, it has
been hard to observe with sufficient exactitude how difficult it was to overcome
the inherited structure, and how the latter nevertheless persisted unconquered in
its most delicate nuances. Disregarding the foregoing, we can explain this phe-
nomenon sufficiently by the fact that man is everywhere one with his kind, and
development of speech capacity may proceed with the aid of any given individual.
It does not for this reason evolve any the less from the intimate self; only because
it simultaneously requires external stimulation must it prove analogous to that
which it is experiencing, and it is capable of so doing via the coincident features
of all human tongues. Even disregarding this, however, we can say that the power
of genealogy over languages lies clearly enough before our eyes in their distribu-
tion according to nations. In itself, this is easily comprehensible, inasmuch as
descent acts so powerfully, in fact predominantly on the entire individuality with
which each particular language is most intimately associated. If language were
not to enter by its very origin from the recesses of human nature into an actual
association with physical descent, why would the parental idiom, for the educated
and the uncultured as well, possess a so much greater power and intimacy than
a foreign tongue? Does not one's native tongue capture the ear with a kind of sud-
den enchantment after a long absence, and does it not awaken nostalgia when
heard on foreign soil? This certainly is based not upon its intellectual attributes,
nor upon the idea or emotion expressed, but precisely upon its most inexplicable
and most individual features, its phonemes and sounds. It seems to us as if we
are perceiving a part of our very selves through our native tongue.
In a consideration of the factor produced by language, the manner of concep-
tion cannot be substantiated; it is as if it merely designated the objects perceived
in themselves. Moreover, one would never exhaust the deep and full content of
language by means of these objects. Just as no concept is possible without
language, at the same time language cannot be an object for the mind since,
indeed, every external object attains complete substantiality only through the
medium of a concept. However, the entire manner of subjective perception of
objects is transmitted necessarily into the structure and into the usage of language.
For the word originates precisely from this perception; it is an offprint not of the
object per se, but of the image of the latter produced in the mind. Inasmuch as
subjectivity is unavoidably admixed with all objective perception, we can con-
sider each individual, quite independently from his language, as possessing his
own standpoint for viewing the world. However, the fact that it may be regarded
thus is greatly enhanced by language, since the word, as will be shown subse-
quently, with an accretion of self-significance (Selbstbedeutung), becomes the
object and obtains a new property. This property being of a phonemic kind is
necessarily analogous to that of the language as a whole; since a homogeneous
subjectivity operates on the language of a nation, each language embodies a view
of the world peculiarly its own. Just as the individual sound intervenes between
Wilhelm von Humboldt 105
object and man, the entire language does so between him and nature acting upon
him both externally and internally. He surrounds himself with an ambient of
sounds in order to assimilate and process the world of objects. These expressions
do not in any way exceed the measure of simple truth. Man lives principally, or
even exclusively with objects, since his feelings and actions depend upon his con-
cepts as language presents them to his attention. By the same act through which
he spins out the thread of language he weaves himself into its tissues. Each tongue
draws a circle about the people to whom it belongs, and it is possible to leave this
circle only by simultaneously entering that of another people. Learning a foreign
language ought hence to be the conquest of a new standpoint for the previously
prevailing world-view of the individual. In fact, it is so to a certain extent,
inasmuch as every language contains the entire fabric of concepts and the concep-
tual approach of a portion of humanity. But this achievement is never complete,
because one always carries over into a foreign tongue to a greater or lesser degree
one's own viewpoint and that of one's mother tongue.
of a free and objective state of mind; thus to a certain extent the historical truth
resembles the clouds, which take shape before our eyes only in the distance; and
thus the facts of history in their particular connecting circumstances are little
more than the results of tradition and research which have been accepted as true
because they are the most probable in themselves and also fit best into the context
of the whole.
With the bare discernment of what has really taken place, however, the skele-
ton of the event has still scarcely been won. What we obtain from it is the
necessary foundation for history, its material, but not history itself. To stop at
this point would mean to sacrifice the essential inner truth founded in the causal
relationships for one that is external, literal, only apparent, to choose certain
error in order to avoid a still uncertain danger of error. The truth of all that has
taken place depends upon the addition of that invisible part of each fact mentioned
above, and which the historian therefore must contribute. Considered from this
perspective, he is spontaneous and even creative; not in that he brings forth that
which is not present, but in that he forms, of his own ability, that which he could
not have perceived in its true reality by receptivity alone. Like the poet, but in
a different manner, he must take the scattered pieces he has gathered into himself
and work them into a whole.
It may seem questionable to allow the domains of the historian and the poet to
overlap, if even at only one point, but the activities of both are undeniably related.
For if, in accordance with what has been said above, the historian in his depiction
is able to attain to the truth of what has taken place only by supplementing and
connecting what was incomplete and fragmented in his direct observation, he can
do so, like the poet, only through the imagination. But there exists a crucial
difference between the historian and the poet which eliminates all danger, in that
the historian subordinates his imagination to experience and to the exploration of
reality. In this subordination the imagination does not function as pure imagina-
tion and is therefore more properly called faculty of presentiment [Ahndungs-
vermogen] and talent for combination [Verknupjungsgabe]. With this alone,
however, history would still be assigned too low a standing. The truth of what
has taken place may seem simple, but is in fact the highest achievement that can
be conceived. For if it were fully attained, it would reveal that which conditions
all real things as a necessary chain. The historian must therefore strive for the
necessary—not to give his material necessity through the domination of form, like
the poet, but to keep fixed in his mind the ideas which are its laws, because only
insofar as he is filled by them is he able to find their trace in his pure investigation
of real events in their reality.
The historian gathers in all strands of earthly activity and all imprints of super-
natural ideas; the sum of all being is more or less directly the object of his work
and he must therefore pursue all directions of the human spirit. Speculation, ex-
perience, and poetic composition are not, however, isolated, mutually opposed
Wilhelm von Humboldt 107
and mutually limiting activities of the spirit, but rather different radiant facets of it.
Two paths must therefore be followed simultaneously in order to approach the
historical truth: the exact, impartial, critical determination of what has taken
place and the connection of the results of this investigation, the intuitive conjec-
ture of that which is not attainable by the former means. Whoever follows only
the first of these paths will miss the essence of the truth itself; on the other hand,
whoever neglects this path in favor of the second risks the danger of misrepresent-
ing it in its details. Even the simple and straightforward description of nature
cannot make do with the enumeration and portrayal of parts and the measurement
of sides and angles, for there still remains a living breath which animates the
whole and an inner character which speaks from it, neither of which can be
measured or merely described. The description of nature is also driven to utilizing
the second of these means, namely to represent the form of the general and indi-
vidual being of natural bodies. In history too, nothing isolated or individual is to
be found by this second path, much less anything fictively invented and added.
Rather, by assimilating into itself the form of all that takes place, the spirit will
understand better the material which can actually be investigated, and learn to
recognize more in it than the mere operation of reason is able to do. It is exactly
upon this assimilation of the investigative capability and the object under investi-
gation that all depends. The more deeply the historian is able to comprehend
humanity and its activity through his genius and study, or the more humanly he
is disposed by nature and circumstance, and the more purely he allows his human-
ity to reign, the more completely will he resolve the task of his enterprise. The
chronicles are proof of this. Despite many distorted facts and a number of obvious
fictions, the good ones among them cannot be denied a basis in the most genuine
historical truth. The older of the so-called memoirs follow these, although the
close reference to the individual in them is often detrimental to the general
reference to humanity which history requires, even in the treatment of a single
point.
Although history, like every scientific occupation, serves many subordinate
purposes, its work is no less than that of philosophy and poetry a free art, com-
plete in itself. The immense throng of ceaselessly pressing world events—in part
arising from the physical constitution of the earth, the nature of humanity, the
character of nations and individuals, in part springing forth as if from nothing,
and as if sown by a wonder, dependent upon dimly sensed forces, and obviously
ruled by eternal ideas rooted deep in the heart of man—is an infinity, which the
mind will never be able to bring into a single form, but which constantly provokes
it to try and gives it the strength to partially succeed. As philosophy strives toward
the first principles of things, and art toward the ideal of beauty, history strives
toward the picture of human destiny in full truth, living fullness, and pure clarity,
perceived by a spirit directed toward its object in such a way that the attitudes,
feelings, and demands of personality are lost and dissolved in it. To bring forth
108 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
and nourish this state of mind is the ultimate goal of the historian, one which he
is able to achieve only when he pursues his immediate goal with conscientious
faithfulness—the straightforward depiction of what has taken place.
For it is the sense of reality which he is called upon to awaken and to enliven,
and his enterprise is circumscribed subjectively by the development of this notion,
as objectively by that of depiction. Every intellectual endeavor which exercises
an effect upon the whole man possesses something which can be called its ele-
ment, its effective force, the secret of its influence upon the spirit, and which is
so obviously distinct from the objects which it draws into its sphere that these
often serve only to bring it before the mind in a new and different way. In mathe-
matics this is the reduction to number and line, in metaphysics the abstraction
from all experience, in art the marvelous treatment of nature in which everything
appears to be taken from nature and yet nothing can be found existing in it in the
same way. The element in which history moves is the sense of reality, and in this
lies not only the feeling of the transitoriness of being in time and its dependence
on preceding and accompanying causes but also, on the other hand, the con-
sciousness of inner spiritual freedom, and the recognition on the part of reason
that reality, despite its seemingly accidental nature, is nevertheless bound by an
inner necessity. If one mentally scans even only one human life, one is seized by
the various moments through which history stimulates and captivates, and in
order to resolve the task of his enterprise the historian must assemble events in
such a manner that they move the spirit in a way similar to that of reality itself.
In this aspect, history is related to the active life. It does not serve primarily
through individual examples of what is to be followed or avoided, which are often
misleading and seldom instructive. Rather, its true and inestimable use—arising
more through the form which adheres to events rather than through the events
themselves—is to enliven and refine our sense for the treatment of reality, to pre-
vent its dissipation in the realm of mere ideas and yet to govern it by ideas, and,
on this narrow middle path, to keep present in the mind the fact that there can
be no successful intervening in the press of events other than by recognizing that
which is true in each given dominant trend of ideas and adhering to this truth with
determination.
History must always bring forth this inner effect, whatever its object may be,
whether the narration of a coherent network of events or a single event. The
historian who is worthy of the name must depict each event as part of a whole,
or, in other words, on the basis of a single event depict the form of history itself.
This leads us to a more precise exposition of the notion of the depiction required
of him. The network of events lies before him in apparent confusion, ordered only
chronologically and geographically. He must separate the necessary from the ac-
cidental, uncover the inner succession, and make visible the truly effective forces
in order to give his depiction a shape upon which not an imaginary or dispensable
philosophical value or a poetic attractiveness rests, but rather its primary and
Wilhelm von Humboldt 109
most essential requisite, its truth and faithfulness. For one only half recognizes
events or recognizes them in a distorted way, if one stops at their superficial
appearance; indeed, the ordinary observer constantly intermixes them with errors
and untruths. These are dispelled only by the true shape which reveals itself only
to the historian's naturally gifted vision, a vision which has been further sharpened
by study and practice. How then should he begin in order to be successful here?
Historical depiction, like artistic depiction, is an imitation of nature. The basis
of each is the recognition of true shape, the discovery of the necessary, and the
separation of the accidental. We must therefore not be reluctant to compare the
more easily recognizable procedure of the artist to that of the historian, which
has been subject to greater doubts.
The imitation of organic shape can occur in two ways: through a direct copying
of external outlines, as exactly as hand and eye are able to do, or from the inside
outwards, through the previous study of the way in which these external outlines
arise from the idea and the form of the whole, through the abstraction of their
relationships, through a process by means of which the shape first is recognized
completely differently from the way in which it is perceived by the unskilled eye
and then is born anew by the imagination in such a manner that in addition to its
literal conformity with nature it bears in itself another, higher truth. For the
greatest merit of the work of art is the revelation of the inner truth of shapes which
is obscured in their appearance in reality. The two ways mentioned above have
been the criteria of false and genuine art in all periods and genres. There are two
people, greatly separated in time and place, both of whom, however, signify for
us starting points of culture, with whom this distinction is exceedingly obvious—
the Egyptians and the Mexicans. Numerous similarities between the two have
been shown, and indeed correctly. Both had to overcome that dangerous obstacle
to all art, their use of the iconic image as a written sign. In the drawings of the
latter a correct view of shape is nowhere to be found, while in the case of the
former there is style in the most insignificant hieroglyphic. * Quite understandably.
In the Mexican drawings there is scarcely a trace of the notion of inner form or
*I wish only to illustrate what was said on art with an example; it is thus far from my intention
to pass a definitive judgment on the Mexicans. There are even sculptures of theirs, like the head here
in the Konigliches Museum, which was brought back by my brother, which bear a more favorable
witness to their artistic accomplishment. If one considers how small the extent of our knowledge of
the Mexicans is and how recent the paintings which we know are, it would be very risky to judge
their art according to what could very well stem from the period of its sharpest decline. The fact that
degenerate forms of art can exist even at the stage of its highest development became especially
apparent to me in the case of the small bronze figures which are found in Sardinia and which obviously
seem to stem from the Greeks or Romans, but which by no means lag behind the Mexican ones in
incorrectness of proportion. A collection of this sort is found in the Collegium Romanum in Rome.
It is also probable, for other reasons, that at an earlier time and in another region the Mexicans stood
at a much higher level of culture. The historical traces of their migrations which are carefully col-
lected and compared with one another in the works of my brother are indications of this.
110 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
appearance of free play. There is also a captivating magic in the bare intuition
of mathematical truths, of the eternal relationships of space and time, whether
they reveal themselves in musical tones, numbers, or lines. Their contemplation
imparts in itself an eternally new satisfaction in the discovery of constantly new
relationships and of problems which always allow for a complete solution. The
sense for the beauty of the form of pure science can be weakened in us only by
too early and too frequent an application.
The artist's imitation thus proceeds from ideas, and the truth of shape appears
to him only by means of these. The same must also be true of historical imitation,
since in both cases it is nature which is to be imitated. The question is then only
whether there are such ideas which are able to guide the historian and what they
might be.
Further progress along these lines, however, requires great caution in order
that even the mere mention of ideas does not harm the purity of historical accu-
racy. For although both the artist and the historian depict and imitate, their goals
are completely different. The artist skims off from reality only fleeting appear-
ances and touches reality only to swing himself away from it; the historian seeks
it and it alone and must absorb himself in it. For this reason and because he cannot
be content with a loose external connection of individual events, but rather must
attain to the central point from which their true concatenation can be understood,
the historian must seek the truth of the event in a way similar to that in which the
artist seeks the truth of shape. The events of history lie even less open to us than
the appearances of the world of the senses and do not allow us to merely read them
off. Our understanding of them is only the combined result of their own constitu-
tion and the meaning which we bring to them. Here too, as with art, we cannot
by the mere operation of reason deduce them all logically one from the other and
dissect them into concepts. What is right, fine, hidden can be grasped only because
the mind is properly attuned to grasp it. The historian too, like the artist, brings
forth only distorted images, if he sketches merely the isolated individual circum-
stances of events as they appear to present themselves, arraying one next to the
other, if he does not rigorously account for their inner connection, gain an intui-
tion of the effective forces, recognize the direction which they take at a given
moment, and investigate their connections both with concurrent states of affairs
and with preceding changes. In order to be able to do so, he must be familiar with
the constitution, the effect, and the reciprocal dependency of these forces, since
the complete penetration of the particular always presupposes the knowledge of
the general under which it is subsumed. In this sense, the comprehension of what
has taken place must be guided by ideas.
It goes without saying, of course, that these ideas arise from the profusion of
events itself, or, to be more precise, arise in the mind through a consideration
of these events which is undertaken with a true historical sense. They must not
be lent to history as an alien addition, a mistake which is easily committed by
112 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
of the object until, through repeated reciprocal action, clarity as well as certainty
emerge.
In this way, through the study of the productive forces of world history, the
historian sketches for himself a general picture of the form of the connection of
all events; and within this sphere lie the ideas discussed above. They are not
brought to history from without, but rather constitute the essence of history itself.
For every dead and every living force acts according to the laws of its nature,
and everything that happens stands in an inseparable connection in time and space.
In this aspect, history seems like a dead clockwork, following immutable laws
and driven by mechanical forces, no matter how manifold and lively its move-
ment before our eyes might be. For one event gives rise to another; the extent
and the constitutive nature of each effect are prescribed by its cause; and even
the apparently free will of the individual finds its determination in circumstances
which were immutably laid out long before his birth, indeed long before the for-
mation of the nation to which he belongs. Thus to be able to calculate from each
single moment the whole series of the past, and even of the future, seems to be
impossible not in itself, but rather only because of a deficient knowledge of a set
of intermediate links. It has long been known, however, that the exclusive pursuit
of this path would lead away from the insight into the truly productive forces, that
in every activity involving living beings it is precisely the main element itself
which defies all calculation, and that this apparently mechanical determination
does in fact fundamentally obey free-working impulses.
Thus, in addition to the mechanical determination of one event by another, we
must pay particular attention to the characteristic nature of the forces involved;
and the first step here is their physiological activity. All living forces—man like
plants, nations like individuals, the human race like individual peoples—indeed
even the products of the human spirit, such as literature, art, customs, the external
form of bourgeois society, have characteristic features, developments, and laws
in common, insofar as they depend upon a certain sequence of continued activity.
Thus the progressive attainment of a culmination point, and the gradual falling
away from it, the transition of certain perfections into degenerate forms, and so
forth. A mass of historical information undeniably lies here, but the productive
principle itself does not become visible through it; rather, only a form is recog-
nizable to which that principle must submit if it does not find in it an elevating
and supporting carrier.
The psychological forces of the multiply interpenetrating human capabilities,
sensations, inclinations, and passions are even less calculable in their course and
are not so much subject to recognizable laws as rather graspable only through cer-
tain analogies. As the direct mainsprings of actions and the most immediate
causes of the occurrences arising from them, they are of preeminent concern to
the historian and are most frequently employed by him in the explanation of
events. But it is particularly this approach which demands the greatest degree of
114 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
caution. It is the least world historical: it degrades the tragedy of world history
to the melodrama of everyday life and all too easily misleads one into tearing the
individual event out of the context of the whole and into setting a petty machinery
of personal motivations in the place of world destiny. In this approach, everything
is centered in the individual, but the individual is not recognized in his unity and
depth, in his essential being. For this being cannot be split open in such a way,
analyzed, or judged according to experiences which are drawn from many indi-
viduals and are therefore also supposed to apply to many. Its particular force
penetrates all human emotions and passions and also impresses upon all its stamp
and its character.
One could make an attempt to classify historians according to these three
approaches, but the characterization of the truly gifted ones among them would
not be exhausted by any of these, nor indeed by all of them taken together. For
these approaches do not even exhaust the causes of the connection of events, and
the fundamental idea which alone makes possible an understanding of events in
their full truth does not lie in their sphere. They encompass only the phenomena
of dead, living, and spiritual nature which are easily graspable in their regularly
self-reproducing order, but none of the free and independent impulses of an origi-
nal force. These phenomena give account only of regular developments which
reoccur according to a recognized law or certain experience; but that which arises
like a wonder and which may be accompanied by mechanical, physiological, and
psychological explanations but is not really deducible from any of them remains
not only unexplained within such a framework but also unrecognized.
No matter how one might begin, the phenomenal realm can only be compre-
hended from a point external to it, and the reflective stepping out from it is as
free of danger as a blind withdrawal into it is certain of error. World history is
not understandable without a world order.
An adherence to this point of view also gives us the considerable advantage of
not regarding the comprehension of events as closed by explanations drawn from
the natural sphere. To be sure, this hardly makes the last, most difficult, and most
important part of the historian's task any easier for him, since he is not provided
with any special organ of perception by means of which he can directly investigate
the plans of this world order, and any attempt to do so, like the search for final
causes, might well only lead him astray. But the directing principle of events
which lies external to natural development nonetheless reveals itself in these
events themselves through means which, while if not themselves phenomenal ob-
jects, nevertheless cling to them and can be recognized in them, like incorporeal
beings which cannot be perceived unless one steps out of the phenomenal realm
and mentally enters into that realm in which they have their origin. The last condi-
tion of the resolution of the task of the historian is thus linked to their investigation.
The number of productive forces in history is not exhausted by those which
directly manifest themselves in events. Even if the historian has investigated all
Wilhelm von Humboldt 115
of these both singly and in combination—the shape and the transformations of the
earth's surface, the changes of climate, the intellectual ability and the character
of nations and, more particularly, of individuals, the influences of art and science,
the deeply penetrating and widespread influences of social institutions—remains
an even more powerfully effective principle, not immediately visible, but lending
these forces impetus and direction—namely, ideas, which, in accordance with
their very nature, lie beyond the finite realm, but rule and control world history
in all its aspects.
There can be no doubt that such ideas reveal themselves, that certain phe-
nomena which cannot be explained by a mere action in accordance with natural
laws owe their existence to their animating breath, and, likewise, that there is
consequently a certain point at which the historian is referred to a realm beyond
that of phenomenal events in order to recognize them in their true shape.
Such an idea expresses itself in a dual way: both as a directing tendency, which
is initially not apparent, but gradually becomes visible and finally irresistible,
seizing many particulars in various places and under various circumstances; and
also as a generative force which in its scope and prominence cannot be derived
from any of its accompanying circumstances.
Examples of the former can be found without difficulty; they have scarcely ever
been misunderstood. But it is very likely that many events which are currently
explained in a more material and mechanical way must be regarded in this manner.
Examples of generative forces, phenomena for whose explanation accompany-
ing circumstances are not sufficient, are the eruption of art in its pure form in
Egypt, as we mentioned above, and, perhaps even more striking, the sudden
development in Greece of the free and yet self-regulating individuality with which
language, poetry, and art suddenly stand at a state of perfection, the gradual way
to which has been sought in vain. For what is admirable in Greek culture and what
above all holds the key to it appears to me to be the fact that while the Greeks
received all the important things which they assimilated from nations that were
divided into castes, they themselves remained free from this constraint. They
always retained forms analogous to castes, but moderated this strict notion into
the freer one of schools and free associations, and through both a division of the
original national spirit into tribes, nations, and individual cities—a more manifold
division than had ever before existed in a people—and an ever increasing unifica-
tion, they brought the diversity of individuality into a most lively interaction.
Greece thus established an idea of national individuality which neither existed
before that time nor has existed since; and since the secret of all being lies in indi-
viduality, the world-historical progress of mankind is dependent upon the extent,
the freedom, and the particular character of the reciprocal actions of individual
beings.
Indeed, an idea can appear only in a natural context, and thus in the case of
these phenomena too we can demonstrate a number of favorable causes, a
116 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
transition from less perfect to more perfect forms, and justifiably assume them
to exist where there are enormous gaps in our knowledge. But the wonderful ele-
ment lies nonetheless in the seizing of the initial direction, in the first spark.
Without this, the favorable circumstances could have no effect, nor could practice
or gradual progress, even for centuries, lead to the goal. The idea can entrust
itself only to a spiritually individual force, but the seed which the idea plants in
this force develops in its own way, this way remains the same when it passes on
into other individuals, and the plant which sprouts from it attains flower and frui-
tion and afterwards wilts and disappears no matter how the circumstances and
individuals involved might be structured—all these facts show that it is the auton-
omous nature of the idea which completes its course in the phenomenal realm.
In this manner, forms attain reality in all the various species of physical being
and spiritual creation, forms in which some aspect of infinity is reflected and
through whose intervention in life new phenomena are brought forth.
While a sure approach to the investigation of the spiritual world has always
been the pursuit of analogies in the physical world, one cannot expect to find in
the latter the development of such significantly new forms. The varieties of
organization have at one time or another found their set forms and although they
never exhaust themselves in their organic individuality within these forms, fine
nuances are not directly visible, nor hardly even visible in their effect on spiritual
development. Creation in the physical world occurs suddenly in space, creation
in the spiritual world occurs gradually in time, or, rather, at least the former more
readily finds the resting point upon which creation loses itself in a uniform repro-
duction. Organic life, however, stands much closer to spiritual life than do form
and physical structure, and the laws of each find more ready application in the
realm of the other. In a state of healthy vigor this is less visible, although it is
very likely that even here changes in accordance with hidden causes occur in rela-
tionships and tendencies and, with the ages, gradually alter the disposition of
organic life. But in an abnormal state of life, in diseased forms, there is undeni-
ably an analogue to be found in tendencies which arise suddenly or gradually
without explainable causes and seem to follow their own particular laws and thus
point to a hidden connection of things. This has been confirmed by repeated
observations, even though they may not be historically useful for a long time.
Every human individuality is an idea rooted in the phenomenal realm, and
sometimes this idea shines forth so brightly that it seems to have taken on the form
of the individual only in order to reveal itself in it. If one pursues the development
of human activity, there remains, after the subtraction of all its determining
causes, something fundamental which, instead of being stifled by such influences,
transforms them; and in this element there lies an incessant active striving to pro-
vide an external existence for its own particular inner nature. The same is true
for the individuality of nations and in many periods of history is much more
apparent in their case than in the case of individuals, since in certain epochs and
Wilhelm von Humboldt 117
course of this investigation: that an idea which is itself not directly perceptible
rules in all that takes place, but that this idea can only be recognized in the events
themselves. The historian therefore cannot exclude the power of the idea from
his depiction and seek all solely in the material; he must at least leave room open
for its effect; he must further keep his spirit receptive for it; but above all, he must
guard against attributing to reality ideas which he has himself created, or sacrific-
ing the living richness of the individual in his search for the relationships of the
whole. This freedom and delicacy of perspective must become his very own
nature to such an extent that he brings it to the consideration of each event, for
no one event is fully separable from the whole, and, as we have shown above,
a part of everything that happens lies beyond the realm of direct perception. If
the historian is lacking in this freedom of perspective, he does not recognize the
events in their scope and their depth; if he is lacking in delicacy of perspective,
then he damages their simple and living truth.
In 1937 R. Hiibner published an integral text of Droysen's course (together with the
Outline). An historical-critical edition of all of Droysen's theoretical writings has begun
to appear (Sect. A, Bibl.). The selection "On Interpretation" is taken from the Hiibner
edition of the Historik and comprises sections 37 (The Investigation of Origins) and 38
(The Modes of Interpretation) of the full version of the text (Enzyklopadie), as well as
sections 39-44 (The Four Kinds of Interpretation) from the Grundriss (Outline). The
selection on "The Historical Method" was reprinted from the English edition of the Outline
published in Boston in 1897. It is characteristic for Droysen's approach that he brings the
tools and the insights of the new philological hermeneutics to bear upon the study of history
and society.
HISTORY AND
THE HISTORICAL METHOD
Nature and History are the widest conceptions under which the human mind
apprehends the world of phenomena. And it apprehends them thus, according to
the intuitions of time and space, which present themselves to it as, in order to
comprehend them, it analyzes for itself in its own way the restless movement of
shifting phenomena.
Objectively, phenomena do not separate themselves according to space and
time; it is our apprehension that thus distinguishes them, according as they appear
to relate themselves more to space or to time.
The conceptions of time and space increase in definiteness and content in the
measure in which the side-by-side character of that which is and the successive
character of that which has become, are perceived, investigated and understood.
2
The restless movement in the world of phenomena causes us to apprehend
things as in a constant development, this transition on the part of some seeming
merely to repeat itself periodically, in case of others to supplement the repetition
with ascent, addition, ceaseless growth, the system continually making, so to
speak, "a contribution to itself."1 In those phenomena in which we discover an
advance of this kind, we take the successive character, the element of time, as
the determining thing. These we grasp and bring together as History.
120 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
To the human eye, only what pertains to man appears to partake of this constant
upward and onward motion, and of this, such motion appears to be the essence
and the business. The ensemble of this restless progress upward is the moral
world. Only to this does the expression "History" find its full application.
4
The science of History is the result of empirical perception, experience and
investigation (historid). All empirical knowledge depends upon the "specific
energy" of the nerves of sense, through the excitation of which the mind receives
not "images" but signs of things without, which signs this excitation has brought
before it. Thus it develops for itself systems of signs, in which the corresponding
external things present themselves to it, constituting a world of ideas. In these the
mind, continually correcting, enlarging and building up its world, finds itself in
possession of the external world, that is, so far as it can and must possess this
in order to grasp it, and, by knowledge, will and formative power, rule it.
5
All empirical investigation governs itself according to the data to which it is
directed, and it can only direct itself to such data as are immediately present to
it and susceptible of being cognized through the senses. The data for historical
investigation are not past things, for these have disappeared, but things which are
still present here and now, whether recollections of what was done, or remnants
of things that have existed and of events that have occurred.
6
Every point in the present is one which has come to be. That which it was and
the manner whereby it came to be—these have passed away. Still, ideally, its past
character is yet present in it. Only ideally, however, as faded traces and sup-
pressed gleams. Apart from knowledge these are as if they existed not. Only
searching vision, the insight of investigation, is able to resuscitate them to a new
life, and thus cause light to shine back into the empty darkness of the past. Yet
what becomes clear is not past events as past. These exist no longer. It is so much
of those past things as still abides in the now and the here. These quickened traces
of past things stand to us in the stead of their originals, mentally constituting the
"present" of those originals.
The finite mind possesses only the now and the here. But it enlarges for itself
this poverty-stricken narrowness of its existence, forward by means of its willing
Johann Gustav Droysen 121
and its hopes, backward through the fullness of its memories. Thus, ideally lock-
ing in itself both the future and the past, it possesses an experience analogous to
eternity. The mind illuminates its present with the vision and knowledge of past
events, which yet have neither existence nor duration save in and through the
mind itself. "Memory, that mother of Muses, who shapes all things,'^ creates for
it the forms and the materials for a world which is in the truest sense the mind's
own.
It is only the traces which man has left, only what man's hand and man's mind
has touched, formed, stamped, that thus lights up before us afresh. As he goes
on fixing imprints and creating form and order, in every such utterance the human
being brings into existence an expression of his individual nature, of his "I."
Whatever residue of such human expressions and imprints is anywise, anywhere,
present to us, that speaks to us and we can understand it.
8
The method of historical investigation is determined by the morphological
character of its material. The essence of historical method is understanding by
means of investigation.
9
The possibility of this understanding arises from the kinship of our nature with
that of the utterances lying before us as historical material. A further condition
of this possibility is the fact that man's nature, at once sensuous and spiritual,
speaks forth every one of its inner processes in some form apprehensible by the
senses, mirrors these inner processes, indeed, in every utterance. On being per-
ceived, the utterance, by projecting itself into the inner experience of the percipi-
ent, calls forth the same inner process.3 Thus, on hearing the cry of anguish we
have a sense of the anguish felt by him who cries. Animals, plants and the things
of the inorganic world are understood by us only in part, only in a certain way,
in certain relations, namely those wherein these things seem to us to correspond
to categories of our thinking. Those things have for us no individual, at least no
personal, existence. Inasmuch as we seize and understand them only in the rela-
tions named, we do not scruple to set them at naught as to their individual exis-
tences, to dismember and destroy them, to use and consume them. With human
beings, on the other hand, with human utterances and creations, we have and feel
122 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
that we have an essential kinship and reciprocity of nature: every "I" enclosed in
itself, yet each in its utterances disclosing itself to every other.
10
The individual utterance is understood as a simple speaking forth of the inner
nature, involving possibility of inference backward to that inner nature. This
inner nature, offering this utterance in the way of a specimen, is understood as
a central force, in itself one and the same, yet declaring its nature in this single
voice, as in every one of its external efforts and expressions. The individual is
understood in the total, and the total from the individual.
The person who understands, because he, like him whom he has to understand,
is an "I," a totality in himself, fills out for himself the other's totality from the indi-
vidual utterance and the individual utterance from the other's totality. The process
of understanding is as truly synthetic as analytic, as truly inductive as deductive.
11
From the logical mechanism of the understanding process there is to be dis-
tinguished the act of the faculty of understanding. This act results, under the
conditions above explained, as an immediate intuition, wherein soul blends with
soul, creatively, after the manner of conception in coition.
12
The human being is, in essential nature, a totality in himself, but realizes this
character only in understanding others and being understood by them, in the
moral partnerships of family, people, state, religion, etc.
The individual is only relatively a totality. He understands and is understood
only as a specimen and expression of the partnerships whose member he is and
in whose essence and development he has part, himself being but an expression
of this essence and development.
The combined influence of times, peoples, states, religions, etc., is only a sort
of an expression of the absolute totality, whose reality we instinctively surmise
and believe in because it comes before us in our uCogito ergo sum,"4 that is, as
the certainty of our own personal being, and as the most indubitable fact which
we can know.
13
The false alternative between the materialistic and the idealistic view of the
world reconciles itself in the historical, namely in the view to which the moral
Johann Gustav Droysen 123
world leads us; for the essence of the moral world resides in the fact that in it
at every moment the contrast spoken of reconciles itself in order to its own
renewal, renews itself in order to its own reconciliation.
14
According to the objects and according to the nature of human thinking, the
three possible scientific methods are: the speculative, philosophically or theologi-
cally, the physical, and the historical. Their essence is to find out, to explain, to
understand. Hence the old canon of the sciences: Logic, Physics, Ethics, which
are not three ways to one goal, but the three sides of a prism, through which the
human eye, if it will, may, in colored reflection, catch foregleams of the eternal
light whose direct splendor it would not be able to bear.
15
The moral world, ceaselessly moved by many ends, and finally, so we in-
stinctively surmise and believe, by the supreme end, is in a state of restless
development and of internal elevation and growth, "on and on, as man eternalizes
himself."5 Considered in the successive character of these its movements the
moral world presents itself to us as History. With every advancing step in this
development and growth, the historical understanding becomes wider and deeper.
History, that is, is better understood and itself understands better. The knowledge
of History is History itself. Restlessly working on, it cannot but deepen its inves-
tigations and broaden its circle of vision.
Historical things have their truth in the moral forces, as natural things have
theirs in the natural "laws," mechanical, physical, chemical, etc. Historical things
are the perpetual actualization of these moral forces. To think historically, means
to see their truth in the actualities resulting from that moral energy.
Notes
and posit the origin in relation to that which has already become. For if we
speculate, we can certainly construct an unmitigated and absolute beginning in
which we could devoutly believe; but we could not prove it historically. He who
wishes to establish such an origin would not do so using a historical method as
he might run the risk of being drawn into the tedious discussion over whether the
chicken came before the egg, or the even more uninteresting theory on the gene-
ratio aequivoca of the primeval protoplasm put forth by the followers of Darwin.
It is essential to have a clear understanding of the fact that our empirical research
can only proceed from current materials. Furthermore, if the results are pre-
sented in the form of narration, they will have been assigned an origin ad hoc
which, therefore, can only be a relative one. This is important to note because,
in explaining the origin of that which has become, the genetic mode of narration
consistently leads one to the misconception that it is possible to verify historically
why things had to come into being and why they had to become what they became.
But this issue has yet another aspect worthy of note which also wants
clarification.
It goes without saying that we can only completely understand something after
we understand how this thing has come to be what it is. But we can only know
something if we investigate and understand what it is like in the most precise way.
The fact that we conceive of the present and the existing as "having become" is
only a form and a mode of expressing this understanding. And, on the other hand,
we develop our concept of becoming and having become from the existing which
we analyze and conceptualize chronologically in order to understand it.
As one can see, we are moving in a circle; however, one which brings us fur-
ther, but not the issue at hand. One moment we have an object before us which
we observe as existing, and in the next moment, we conceive of it as having
become. Here we have a dual formula for the way in which we see and conceive
of the object; it is not the object, but our understanding of the object which we
control and enhance by viewing it stereoscopically from two sides at once, or,
more accurately, from two points of vision.
One must know this in order to realize just how far the limits of our discipline
can and want to be extended. It [our discipline] proceeds empirically in that the
material used for investigation is both given and existing; it is precise because it
obtains its results by drawing proper syllogisms for such material and not from
hypothesized origins. This accuracy is strengthened by its attempt to explain
phenomena that are empirically available without using nonempirical primary
origins.
For if one were to accept that our discipline sets itself the task of explaining
the present from the past through deductive reasoning, then one would acknowl-
edge that the conditions for that which follows are already present in the pre-
ceding, whether these were established by inquiry or not. Such a discipline would
exclude one of the most intrinsic properties of the historical world, that is, the
126 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
moral world: the freedom of will, the responsibility for one's own action and the
right of every individual to be a new beginning and totality unto himself. To this
discipline the moral world would become an uninteresting analogy for the perpe-
tuity of matter and the mechanics of atoms. For the future would already have
been preconceived in the past. It would already have to have been present in
embryo form in the beginning; events would need only to reveal and interpret
themselves in order to be able to evolve logically from the preceding. This
mechanism is not even experienced by plants since it is not yet contained in its
seed, but requires nourishment from the earth, air, or light, and with this it is
nourished and enhanced to become that which it has not yet become in its seed.
These observations suffice to refute the false doctrine of organic preformation
or history's so-called "organic" development. That which is generally extolled as
organically preformed is, admittedly, a factor, a condition of historical life—but
I might add that this is the least historical as it belongs to the natural substratum.
If taken seriously, the truly organic development would exclude progress, the
epidosis eis auto.1
This preface was necessary to prevent the concept of interpretation which we
are about to discuss from being misconstrued. We are not interpreting historical
facts such as the Revolution of 1789 or the Battle of Leipzig in order to infer situa-
tions and conditions whose necessary results these events would be. On the con-
trary, we are interpreting existing materials in order to find out—by explicating
and interpreting—what can be perceived as going beyond the facts to which they
attest. This we are doing on the basis of explication, interpretation, and the best
possible understanding of these facts. Our interpretation intends to enliven and
analyze these dry, lifeless materials in the hopes of returning them to life and
allowing them to speak again through the art of interpretation.
If I do not know the author of the letter personally, the impression I have of
the letter is much flatter. Unless the statement is particularly emphatic or skill-
fully written, it will require much effort to imagine the personality behind such
a letter.
If someone tells me of a conversation with someone or of a letter from someone
with whom I am befriended, I am able to correct and control the narrator's por-
trayal with my own additional knowledge. I might even be acquainted with the
narrator and be aware of his nature, his aspirations, and his relationship to my
friend. I will correct his story with this information in mind and will know just
how much to believe. According at least to my knowledge and opinion of my
friend, he would not have spoken in such a way nor would he have meant such
a thing. I shall correct the facts, make my decision, or form my opinion on the
basis of this.
And if I should learn through third or fourth hand what my friend said or wrote,
I shall be all the more cautious. And still more so, if I am to learn from this source
what someone has said whom I do not know. I shall first try to learn more about
this person in order to gain an idea of his personality.
These are roughly the same variances we find in historical materials which are
presented to us and also the same procedures which we must subject them to.
Criticism has done away with all sorts of imperfections and impurities which
the material initially had. Not only has it purified and verified them, but it has
organized them so that they may lie well ordered before us.
The rest of our task is now clear to us. We are now concerned with understand-
ing the things before us; that is, to comprehend them as an expression of that
element within them which wanted to express itself.
If we were to continue schematically, we would have to go back to what we
said earlier and say: that which lies before us as historical material is the expres-
sion and imprint of acts of volition and we must try to understand them in these
manifestations.
But the matter is not so simple. We are not so much concerned with the par-
ticular voluntary acts of those who acted; we are more interested in gaining an
idea and understanding of the events and the conditions (i.e., the facts) which
were evoked by the acts of volition. Each of these facts arises as a rule from inter-
action with many other facts and some were formed in such a way that they
opposed and acted against one another. And how should we react to facts, that
is, to evidence or remains of facts, in which (as with the remains of the Old
Roman Wall, or the leges barborum, or the founding of Knights' Orders in
Jerusalem) there are no longer any traces of a personal will and what is left to
speak to us is merely something general, like the genius of a race, the insight of
an age, the same uniform attitude of countless believers?
The task of historic interpretation, then, is not as simple as our understanding
of someone who is speaking to us.
128 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
But we do take our essential foundation from there. First of all, it is important
to find the viewpoints around which we will focus our historic understanding and
interpretation. These encompass everything which one can understand.
1. In keeping with the nature of the subject, we turn first to the basic historical
material as it has been organized by criticism; this order almost provides us with
a sketch of the factual context which we complete through the pragmatic inter-
pretation.
2. The facts for which these materials serve as proof took place at such and such
a time and in such and such a country; they were part of that present and were
under the influence of all of the conditioning factors present at the time. All of
these factors worked together and exercised an inhibiting or a stimulating in-
fluence on the situation which constituted that period of time. Each factor also
stood under the local, economic, religious, and technical conditions. The traces
of these effects present in the historic material must be found and reestablished
in terms of their impact and range. This is the interpretation of the conditions.
3. Our material will not always be constituted such that we can still state the
voluntary actions of the people concerned; and even where we can recognize the
leaders, or the productive individuals, the body of spectators and people being
lead will evade our scrutiny. But if these masses seem here to lack significance
and effectiveness, if they seem to be receptive and passive, this is only so when
seen beside the unfolding of some great event. The leading figures do not just
guide and determine the masses, they also represent them. We will have to under-
stand the opinions and perceptions of these leading figures, their inclinations,
behavior, and purpose; and we shall have to try to imagine ourselves in their place
in order that we may recognize the facts attested to by the material, keeping in
mind not only their actual course of development, but, more importantly, the
conditions under which they evolved and their unfolding through the will and pas-
sions of those actively involved. This is the psychological interpretation.
4. Our understanding is still incomplete. One factor still remains which is not
easily categorized under these three points. This is of no special significance,
although seemingly imperceptible, for it always carries the entire action and often
suddenly bursts forth with tremendous energy. Over and above all particular
interests, individual talents, and personal intentions, there is a common factor
which is more powerful than all of the factors taken together. It is under the effect
of this factor that the conditions become active and begin to focus themselves.
The entire pragmatic process is ruled and moved solely by this factor. These are
the common and moral forces from which man derives his expression, his unity,
and his strength; these are alive in the feelings and the conscience of every person.
They elevate him above his small self and draw him as a participator into the great
creations which offer him more than an individual and ephemeral existence. This
is what is meant by the expression "interpretation of ideas." Perhaps we should
reformulate this as the interpretation according to moral forces.
Johann Gustav Droysen 129
Still another observation should be made at this point. We saw that, according
to Bohmer, the only method of an historian is to lay out the materials he has
gathered. One often hears—most notably in philological circles—the opinion that
any step beyond this is an arbitrary product of the imagination. But it is precisely
this imagination which is immediately active in producing a picture of the events
past—be they recorded or not—and the saga illustrates to us just how historic
necessity is forced to proceed in such a manner. This also applies to the dilet-
tantism of today. The main objective is to find norms which produce an adequate
and secure procedure and one which also yields assured results.
Consequently, the second and greatest danger is that we involuntarily bring in
the views and presuppositions of our own time and the present interferes with our
understanding of the past. As mentioned in the criticism of correctness and valid-
ity.2 Shakespeare's dramatic works (Troilus and Cressida and Midsummer Night's
Dream) present that heroic people, the Greeks, according to the courtly customs
of the author's own times. It is only through cautious, methodical interpretation
that we can gain concrete and assured results and so correct our notions about
the past. This will enable us to measure the past according to its own standards.
39
(a) The pragmatic interpretation takes up the critical state of affairs; that is, the
critically verified remnants and ordered interpretations which are left from the
actual course of events. It examines the causal nature of that course in order to
reconstruct it.
The simple demonstrative method is sufficient when the material is plentiful.
When there is a lack of material, we are lead to analogy, a comparison of this
X with the unknown.
The analogy between two Xs, in as much as they supplement one another,
becomes the comparative method.
The hypothesis is the postulation of a correlation in which the fragmentary
evidence conforms to its conjectured direction and is thus confirmed by evidence.
40
(b) The interpretation of the conditions bases itself on the fact that the condi-
tions were already potentially contained in the once actual state of affairs. At the
same time, these conditions make this situation possible and will, for that matter,
always be partially present in its residuum and interpretations.
(An example can be seen in the aesthetically unpleasing position of the Bor-
ghesian gladiator with respect to the line of the tympanum, for which the statue
was created.)
130 Language, Understanding, and the Historical World
41
(c) The psychological interpretation attempts to determine the acts of will
which elicited the event. This method concerns itself with the person who willed
the act, the forcefulness of that person's will, his intellect, and the extent to which
all these things had an effect on the event. The person who wills the act is neither
consumed by the event nor can the event be considered the sole product of that
person's will and intelligence; it is neither the pure nor the entire expression of
his personality.
The personality as such does not find the measure of its value in history, or in
what it accomplishes, does, or endures. The personality is reserved its own realm
in which it communes with itself and God alone—regardless of how many or how
few its talents, how great or how small its influence and success. This intimate
realm is the source of willing and being, the realm in which all things are justified
or damned either before the historic individual or before God. Each individual
gains the most certitude through his conscience—the essence of his existence.
This is a sanctuary which research cannot penetrate.
One person may understand another person well; but this is only superficial;
he apprehends his deeds, speech, and gestures as separate moments, never truly,
never completely. It is true, however, that one friend can believe in another friend
and that in the love of the one for the other, his self is held secure through the
other's image: "You must be this way, for it is so that I understand you." This
is the secret of all upbringing.
Writers such as Shakespeare create the course of events based on the nature of
the people they are portraying; they tailor their psychological interpretation to the
event. In reality, other forces beside personality are at work here.
Johann Gustav Droysen 131
Things take their course despite the evil or benevolent will of the individual
who carries them out.
History's continuity, its work and progress, is located in the moral forces,
where every individual, poor and small, has his place and share in them.
But even the most brilliant, the strongest and most powerful of wills, is only
one impulse in this movement of moral forces. It is nonetheless a distinctive and
effective one in its place. Historical research perceives the individual only as
such; it is not his individual person which is significant here, but his position and
work as part of this or that moral force and as transmitter of the idea.
42
(d) The interpretation of the ideas fills the gap left by the psychological inter-
pretation.
For the individual constructs his own world to the same extent to which he
shares in the ethical forces of his age. And insofar as he assiduously and pros-
perously builds on his spot for the short duration of his life, will he have furthered
the common possessions in and for which he has lived. And he will, for his part,
have served the ethical forces which outlive him.
A person would not be a person without these forces. However, these will only
grow and intensify through the common work between people, races, times, and
in the movement of history, whose evolution and growth is their unfolding.
The ethical system of any period is only the speculative form and the recapitula-
tion of the unfolding to that point, only an attempt to sum it up according to its
theoretical content and to articulate it.
Every age is a complex manifestation of all moral forces. This is true no matter
how advanced its stage of development and it is true regardless of the degree to
which the higher might still be encapsulated in the lower forms, i.e., the state
within the family.
Notes
132
Philip August Boeckh 133
THEORY OF HERMENEUTICS
The term hermeneutics is derived from hermeneia, which obviously related to
the name of the god Hermes. . . . From the original significance of Hermes, who
clearly is one of the deities of earth, there developed the concept of him as the
messenger of the gods, the go-between of gods and men. He makes manifest the
divine thoughts, translates the infinite into the finite, the divine spirit into sensory
phenomena, and therefore he denotes analysis, measure, and particularizing. The
discovery of everything that becomes understood is ascribed to him, especially
language and literature. The essence of hermeneia consists in that which the
Romans called elocutio: the expression of thought—not the understanding, but
the rendering intelligible. Consequently, hermeneia has long signified the render-
ing of one person's language intelligible to another, the work of the interpreter.
As such it is not essentially different from exegesis, and the two words may be
used as synonyms. They are concerned not so much with interpreting as with
actually understanding, which becomes possible only through interpretation.
Philip August Boeckh 135
for each word spoken by anyone is drawn from the common vocabulary but in-
vested with an additional, peculiar meaning. To obtain this latter meaning, one
must know the individuality of the speaker. Likewise the general sense of words
is modified by their actual relations in discourse and by the kinds of discourse.
To interpret these modifications, one needs historical and generic interpretation,
the bases of which are in turn to be found only through grammatical interpreta-
tion, from which all interpretation starts.
We have here a circle of reasoning that points backward to the aforementioned
problem, in which the formal and material functions in philology were mutually
dependent. For example, grammatical interpretation requires knowledge of the
historical development of grammar; historical interpretation is impossible with-
out special knowledge of general history; individual interpretation requires
knowledge of matters pertaining to individual man; and generic interpretation
rests upon historical knowledge. In fine, the various kinds of interpretation
presume substantial amounts of factual knowledge, and yet these different bodies
of knowledge become known first through interpretation of all the sources. This
circle can, however, be broken in the following way. Grammatical interpretation
provides the literal meaning of the word, treats it under various conditions, and
relates it to the language as a whole. The history of language is established; gram-
mars and lexica are made, which in turn serve grammatical interpretation and are
themselves perfected with the progressing interpretative activity. This work
provides a basis for the other sorts of interpretation and at the same time for con-
stituting the material disciplines. The further these disciplines are developed, the
more nearly complete becomes the interpretation.
For instance, New Testament interpretation must lag behind interpretation of
the Greek classics because its grammar, stylistic theory, and historical condition-
ing forces are far less perfectly known. The grammatical usage of Attic writers
is far more accurately formulated than is the grammar of New Testament dis-
course, which is the product of a bad mixture of Greek and oriental usage, an
inferior jargon. The New Testament writers, moreover, were unlettered men,
with no concept of such highly developed art as is found in Attic writing. To
understand their way of writing, one must become familiar with the religious en-
thusiasm and oriental warmth of their ideas. A mythical darkness also cloaks the
circumstances in which these works came into being.
As another example, for the classical period in Greece lyric poetical form is
the least known, and consequently interpretation of the lyrics is especially diffi-
cult. The style of the poet is to be discovered through interpretation from his
works themselves, and yet the interpretation depends in its most significant points
upon the concept which one has derived from his literary style. To shun thepetitio
principii here requires particular skill.
The fact that while the kinds of interpretation always co-operate, they are not
always equally applicable, lightens the task of interpretation. Grammatical
138 Philological Hermeneutics
Hence it also comes to pass that, aside from quality of training, not everyone
can be equally good as an expositor; and above all an original talent belongs to
interpretation. What Ruhnken says of the critic—Criticus nonfit, sed nascitur
("the critic is born, not made")—is valid also for interpretation: interpres nonfit,
sed nascitur. This means that one can generally acquire no knowledge, but can
only develop and discipline what is innate in him. Character is shaped through
discipline; through speculation the penetration is sharpened; but clearly character
itself must first be present. Some naturally have penetration into understanding,
and conversely many expositions are fundamentally perverted, because man can
be born to misunderstanding as well as to understanding.
Interpretative talent is not developed by mechanical practice of hermeneutical
precepts; these must rather, after they become vividly alive through actual inter-
preting, become so familiar through practice that one unconsciously observes
them. They must at the same time combine to form a conscious theory, which
alone guarantees the trustworthiness of the clarifying interpretation. In genuine
interpreters, this theory is itself elevated into intuition; and so arises correct taste,
which guards against sophistical, strained interpretations.
The author composes according to the laws of grammar and style, but is as a
rule unconscious of them. The interpreter, however, cannot fully explain without
consciousness of these laws. The man who understands must reflect on the work;
the author brings it into being, and reflects upon his work only when he becomes
as it were an expositor of it. The interpreter consequently understands the author
better than the author understands himself.
The interpreter must bring to clear awareness what the author has uncon-
sciously created, and in so doing many things will be opened to him, many
windows will be unlocked which have been closed to the author himself. But
though he must come to know what lies objectively in the work alien to the
author's awareness of it, the interpreter must keep it separate from the author's
subjective knowledge of the work. If he does not so separate them, he follows
the practice of the allegorical interpretation in Plato, of ancient exposition of
Homer, and of the New Testament. The result is quantitative error; he under-
stands too much. This is as faulty as its opposite, quantitative lack of understand-
ing, which occurs when the sense of the author is not fully understood.
One can also misunderstand qualitatively, which occurs when something other
is understood than the author had in mind and is put in its place. This takes place
especially in allegorical interpretation, as in incorrect interpretation of an alle-
gory already there.
Here we draw nearer to allegorical interpretation, which many view as a
separate kind. The Middle Ages derived from Alexandrian philosophy and theol-
ogy the controlling view that a fourfold sense could be distinguished in literature:
literal, allegorical, moral, and anagogical or mystical. Here are four sorts of
interpretation, which may be reduced to two: literal interpretation on the one
140 Philological Hermeneutics
hand, and on the other the remaining three, which are all allegorical, i.e., show-
ing a sense different from the literal. Moral and anagogical interpretation are only
subdivisions of the allegorical. The sense which is substituted for the literal is
moral when, as in a parable or fable, one finds a moral idea in the actual picture
presented. In anagogical signification the allegorical meaning is on the specula-
tive level; for example, a concept in a fable is comprehended supersensually: it
is elevated from the aesthetic to the noetic. The literal interpretation can also
signify an ideal picture or a sensory object, for which allegorical interpretation
substitutes another sensory object. Such an allegory may be called simple or
historical.
Allegory has by its very nature extended application for it is a kind of represen-
tation founded deep in the nature of speech and thought. Myths, as sensory sym-
bols of the suprasensible, must first be allegorically explained, for they include
another than the meaning expressed in the words. Accordingly it is justifiable to
interpret Holy Writ allegorically, for its basic principle is that of myth; only it
is a debatable question to what extent its writers were conscious of its allegorical
sense. All classical poetry is full of myth, and art as a whole generally proceeds
symbolically, so that all branches of ancient art require allegorical interpretation.
All epic is mythical narrative; the ancients have therefore already interpreted
Homer allegorically. Here, however, this kind of interpretation goes beyond the
poet's meaning; he knows nothing of the myth's primitive meaning. The expositor
must carefully distinguish where he interprets Homer and where the myth itself.
Quite otherwise is the case with Dante; in the Divina Commedia he uses the myth
throughout with full awareness. Allegorical interpretation is quite at home with
him; we have from his own words in his remarkable Convivio authentic allegori-
cal expositions. It contains a philosophy of love like that in Plato's Symposium.
He explains there how every work can be understood in a fourfold sense, and how
he himself in his own poems had always in view the other, higher kinds besides
the literal. So Beatrice, for example, in the Divina Commedia is at the same time
an allegorical representation of the highest science, speculative theology. In
Dante's allegories there is a noble, exalted aspiration, which was in keeping with
the spirit of his time, yet in many peculiar and wondrous concepts also draws to
itself the weaknesses of that time.
In lyric poetry, there is the most conscious employment of allegory. In Pindar,
allegory appears only in a specific sense, as application of the myth or history
which he treats to the circumstances of his contemporaries whom he celebrates
in his idea. He uses myths not for their own sake; they are means of setting in
an ideal light something actual and nonmythical. They are idealized pictures of
human life, and consequently may have a moral thought as their meaning. Al-
though in many lyric forms no consciously intentional allegory has a place, yet
all forms have the symbolic character peculiar to the art as a whole. In all of them
the problem is to understand the thought, which reveals itself even in the slightest
Philip August Boeckh 141
THEORY OF CRITICISM
Criticism is, according to our definition given above, that philological per-
formance through which an object becomes understood not by itself nor for its
own sake, but for the establishment of a relation and a reference to something
else, so that the recognition of this relation is itself the end in view. This perform-
ance is signified in the name criticism. The basic meaning of krinein is analysis
and separation; every analysis and separation is, moreover, determination of
definite relation between two objects. The expression of such a relation is a judg-
ment; to judge signifies also to separate and is a synonym of passing sentence.
For the concept of criticism the kind of judgment that is passed is quite imma-
terial. However, the unbounded possible scope of judgments is limited by the goal
of critical activity. It can concern itself only with understanding the relation of
what is communicated to its conditioning circumstances. Since interpretation ex-
plains the communication itself out of these conditioning circumstances, criticism
must subdivide into the same classes into which interpretation is divided. There
are accordingly grammatical, historical, individual, and generic criticism, and
these four kinds of critical activity must naturally be internally connected just like
the corresponding interpretative performances. As what is communicated arises
from the conditioning circumstances of the communication, these are its measure.
What is communicated may conform to its conditioning circumstance or not, that
is, it may conform to the measuring principle inherent in them or it may deviate
from that principle. If also a communication is handed down through tradition,
as in the ancient authors, criticism has to investigate its relation to this tradition.
What is communicated can be dimmed through destructive natural influences or
through error and oversight of the transmitters, or it can be deliberately changed
Philip August Boeckh 143
by them. It is therefore necessary to establish whether the form of the work before
us agrees with the original or deviates from it.
Criticism has consequently a threefold task. First, it must investigate whether
a literary work, or its parts, are in keeping with the grammatical, literal sense
of the language, with its historical basis, with the individuality of the author, and
with the characteristics of its genre. In order not to follow a merely negative
course, it must secondly establish, when something seems not in keeping, how
it may be made more conformable. Thirdly, it has to investigate whether the form
handed down is original or not. It will be seen that with this all specifically critical
efforts are exhausted. I shall demonstrate this fact through detailed development
of the theory which runs parallel to the statement of interpretation that is my
personal theory. I shall first, however, present several general remarks about the
value of criticism, the critical talent, the levels of critical truth, and the relation
of criticism to interpretation.
The essence of criticism is not the tracking of all possible meanings. It must,
to be sure, ponder which forms of a document may be possible under the given
terms, but it does so only to select from these possibilities what is effective and
appropriate. In this, then, lies its value. When it falls foul of all tradition, criti-
cism is a destructively annihilating force. But it negates only error, and since
error is denial of truth, in this negation it works positively. If one were to remove
criticism and permit erroneous tradition to survive unchallenged, both knowledge
and life, in so far as they rest upon historical footing, would soon fall into extreme
error, as they did in the Middle Ages, which were hampered most of all by lack
of criticism. Without criticism, all historical truth founders. Furthermore, critical
activity disciplines through discovery of what is out of keeping with the subject.
Thereby, it destroys all hollow phantasy and chimera in relation to historical data.
At the same time it works effectually upon one's own development when it
becomes self-criticism.
For every science it is the balance of truth which weighs the import of the basic
data, teaches discernment between the probable and the merely plausible, the true
and the untrue, the merely subtle and the intuitively evident. If there were more
criticism in the world, the literary granaries would not be filled with chaff instead
of wheat, chaff served by uncritical minds, which very frequently carries the
name of criticism; nothing is less truly critical than the disgraceful conjectures
of many so-called critics.
It has been wisely said that every genuine scholar in a science must be ipso facto
a critic. Since critical examination and comparison together establish correctness
in the tradition, they refer all scientific progress as it advances to the ideal of
knowledge; thus they become on this positive side a necessary instrument of all
scientific investigation; they form judgment and taste.
One should not, however, over-value criticism as the characteristic task of
philology. It was once thought that the salvation of the world lay in investigating
144 Philological Hermeneutics
syllables and punctuating words; and with that vanity which is often characteristic
of the philologists this grammatical labor was described as the peak of all knowl-
edge, so that it was called diva critica ("the goddess criticism"). A rare divinity
indeed! Many a man might with Faust in such a case become fearful of his god-
likeness. It was a biased, false criticism which became thus over-valued; true
criticism keeps on guard against excessive self-esteem. Overweening criticism
can only act destructively, since it rejects the self-effacing exposition which is the
only sure basis of judgment.
Genuine criticism is unassuming, and its beneficial effects are unpretentious,
because it produces no creations of its own. Its value is shown only in the devasta-
tion which enters as soon as it is absent. When an age is hostile to criticism,
because it is viewed as either pedantic or destructive, either false criticism
prevails or true criticism is unrecognized. There must always be a counterweight
to criticism to keep it from curtailing productivity and weakening the power of
the idea. It has been well said: "Criticism is a very cunning guide, always nega-
tive; like the daimon of Socrates, it halts you, but does not make you proceed."
Few men practice genuine criticism; it belongs to a higher endowment than
does interpretation. If it is to reproduce the original or what is in conformity to
that, it demands more spontaneity than does interpretation, in which the subject's
contribution predominates. This ratio varies, however, when one takes into con-
sideration the corresponding kinds of both activities. Individual interpretation,
for instance, possesses far more spontaneity than criticism of words, but less than
belongs to individual criticism.
The nature of the critic's talent parallels the problems which the critic has to
solve. In order to distinguish the inappropriate from the appropriate in the tradi-
tion, he must unite objectivity with delicate judgment. Acuteness and sagacity are
requisite for the restoration of the original, but in addition the critic, as Bentley
demands in the preface to his edition of Horace, must have a suspicious mind
(animus suspicax) to prevent his accepting as appropriate and genuine whatever
is presented. Finally, for all three tasks of criticism the greatest exactness is
requisite. Specious critical talent consists in subtlety and impertinence; it substi-
tutes for the demands of the subject its own subjective concepts and starts to
criticize without entering interpretatively into understanding.
One must never suppose that the critic has the power to solve his problem with
his understanding alone, or that the critical talent consists merely in a higher level
of acuteness, a gift of discrimination. Obviously, criticism shares in the logical
circle which arises in the interpretative task: the single part must be judged on
the basis of the including whole, and this whole in turn on the basis of the single
part. The final decision must here lie for criticism in the immediate awareness
which arises from an incorruptible sense for historical truth. To bring this aware-
ness to its inner strength and clarity must be the critic's highest ambition. It is
developed into an artistic driving force, which intuitively hits the target. This
Philip August Boeckh 145
In the case of the plausible, the premises are objectively capable of demonstra-
tion. The essence of truth lies in the fact that if one thing exists, the other is
necessary; the essence of the plausible, however, depends on the fact that if the
one thing exists, the other is not indeed necessary but possibly and indeed usually
is so. The level of probability is arranged, therefore, according to the complete-
ness of the induction upon which one or both premises of the conclusion are
based. But since in actual experience no such induction can be complete, inter-
pretation and criticism cannot attain to the full degree of truth unless the premises
are immediately certain.
The presumable is obviously only a lower level of the plausible. The measuring
scale for the certainty of the premises is of course very subjective and depends
heavily upon the level of one's intuitive capability. One who is steeped in the lore
of the past looks upon something as immediately certain which to another is
thoroughly uncertain. Yet the greater knowledge conceals a danger of error if the
person making the decision thinks he has in his view a complete induction. Any-
one whose areas of knowledge are incomplete, that is, anyone who lacks adequate
perception of antiquity, overlooks innumerable relations, and can believe his
premises to be true, nearly true, or in harmony with the truth, whereas they are
directly opposed to it.
No fruitful critical or exegetical undertaking is to be thought of without a basis
on the greatest possible fullness of observation of the past. The scope of these
observations lies in one's erudition, their depth in one's native talent; premises
are to be validated only according to the measure of these two. The credible, as
it merely agrees with one's idea, is therefore a doubtful and almost entirely useless
category. What is credible to one man, who has fullness of learning and natural
talent, the unlearned and dull man finds incredible; and what is credible to the
latter, the former frequently sees as quite impossible.
The levels of certainty are extremely subjective not only by reason of their
premises, but frequently also by reason of demonstration. By the term "form of
demonstration" I understand here not the general logical meaning. Philological
demonstration has a form which is not given through ordinary logic alone. No
one can demand that a man write in syllogisms. Leibnitz, who often expressed
his teaching syllogistically in appendices, says: "Just as it is improper to be always
making verses, so also it is improper always to fling about syllogisms." It is a
question of the correct dialectic method, for dialectic is possible with or without
syllogisms; it is possible without syllogisms, in so far as the deduction may be
abbreviated without any incorrectness resulting from the brief statement. It is
enough that the conclusion stand up under the test of syllogistic form.
An investigator of greater mental acuteness may find finer distinctions in the
same object than those seen by another; he is in a position to bring to even greater
certainty what the other may have presented as only plausible. He defines more
exactly through more accurate analyses and draws conclusions through synthesis
Philip August Boeckh 147
of these which the other has been unable to draw. This is philological critical
dialectic. Fruitful synthesis allows the premises to be brought into such a position
and union that more emerges from them than one usually sees. But the greatest
acuteness falls into error if certainty of perception deserts it; the most acute in-
vestigations become a web of mistakes if the premises are false. One must accord-
ingly be more on his guard against nothing than against a vain acuteness and
against merely subjective decisions. As far as in him lies, he must seek to arrive
at a sort of mathematical objectivity; and however much active synthesis is re-
quired, holding to this objectivity he must never abandon clear vision, at which
as alpha and omega everything culminates.
Paramount for criticism is the synthesis of every fragment where the whole
must be made up of individual pieces. Here a high level of attentiveness is requi-
site, and often, as one fails to hold fast to this level, as he does at times in
uninteresting matters, a successful outcome is attainable only step by step.
Historical truth is ascertained through co-operation of interpretation and criti-
cism. We must accordingly investigate more closely how this co-operation pro-
ceeds. Interpretation always culminates, as we have seen, in the observation of
contradictions and relations; but it considers them only in order to understand the
separate situations in themselves. On the contrary, criticism must everywhere
presuppose the interpretative activity, the explanation of separate items, in order
to proceed thence to solve its specific problem, which is to comprehend into an
inclusive whole the relation of these details. One cannot judge without under-
standing the thing in itself; criticism accordingly presupposes the interpretative
problem to have been solved. Frequently, however, it is impossible to understand
the subject to be interpreted without first having reached a decision about its
nature; interpretation accordingly presupposes the solution of the critical prob-
lem. From this arises again a circle in reasoning, which limits our activity for
each difficult interpretative or critical problem and can be solved only through
approximation. Since in these circumstances one must continually pass from the
one to the other, in practice criticism and interpretation cannot be separated.
Neither of them can precede the other in time. But for the expression of what is
comprehended this combination can be preserved only when clarity does not
suffer from it. For difficult and extensive problems the critical notes must be
separated from the interpretative commentary.
In the great circle of reasoning which the relation of interpretation to criticism
presents, there lie then new and ever new circles, since every kind of interpreta-
tion and criticism presupposes the completion of all the other interpretative and
critical problems. We shall consider this situation through more precise inspec-
tion of the four kinds of critical activity, to which we now turn.
5
The Hermeneutics
of the Human Sciences
WilhelmDilthey
WILHELM DILTHEY (1833-1911) was born at Biebrich in the Rhineland (near the city of
Mainz) into the family of a Protestant minister of the Reformed Evangelical church. After
having attended the Gymnasium (classical high school) in Wiesbaden, he studied theology
first at Heidelberg but, like so many of the nineteenth-century German intellectuals,
changed over to philosophy. Dilthey received his doctorate in that discipline in Berlin in
1864. Subsequently, he taught at Basel as a colleague of Jakob Burckhardt, at Kiel and
at Breslau, and finally in Berlin (1882) where he remained until his death. Dilthey's in-
terests and writings ranged over a multitude of subjects from practically all areas of the
humanities and social sciences. Since he conceived of these as fundamentally interpretive
disciplines, practically all of his writings are of interest to the student of hermeneutics.
His hermeneutics proper derived inspiration from several sources: Schleiermacher's Her-
meneutik, the approaches to history developed by the nineteenth-century German histori-
cal school (Savigny, Raumer, Niebuhr, Welcker, among others), and the desire to develop
a sound methodological basis for the humanities and human sciences at large, which was
necessitated by the rise of the natural sciences. His contribution to twentieth-century
hermeneutics is twofold. Through his interpretation of Schleiermacher and the herme-
neutic tradition, he has largely determined the way Schleiermacher and the task of her-
meneutics itself were viewed for many decades. Of greater significance for twentieth-
century hermeneutics are his pioneering contributions toward a new foundation of the
theory and methodology of the human sciences. In his later studies, intended as a compre-
hensive Critique of Historical Reason, he advanced a new type of analysis of the processes
of understanding and explication, an analysis which Heidegger would take up again and
radicalize in Being and Time. The selections are taken from studies and drafts which
Dilthey produced during the last decades of his life and which were published for the first
time in volume 7 of his collected works in 1926. They document how, according to
Dilthey, the formal methods of interpretation in the human and social sciences are derived
from those ordinary forms of understanding that are characteristic of human life and social
interaction.
148
Wilhelm Dilthey 149
I am presupposing what I have said before about life and lived experience. We
must now demonstrate the reality of what is apprehended in such experience: as
we are concerned here with the objective value of the categories of the mind-
constructed world which emerge from experience, I shall first indicate the sense
in which the term "category" is to be used. The predicates which we attribute to
objects contain forms of apprehension. The concepts which designate such forms
I call categories. Each form contains one rule of the relationship. The categories
are systematically related to each other and the highest categories represent the
highest points of view for apprehending reality. Each category designates its own
universe of predications. The formal categories are forms of all factual asser-
tions. Among the real categories there are those which originate in the apprehen-
sion of the mind-constructed world even though they are then transferred to apply
to the whole of reality. General predicates about a particular individual's pattern
of lived experience arise in that experience. Once they are applied to the under-
standing of the objectifications of life and all the subjects dealt with by the human
studies the range of their validity is increased until it becomes clear that the life
of the mind can be characterized in terms of systems of interactions, power,
value, etc. Thus these general predicates achieve the dignity of categories of the
mind-constructed world.
The categorial characterization of life is temporality which forms the basis for
all the others. The expression "passsage of life" indicates this already. Time is
there for us through the synthesizing unity of consciousness. Life, and the outer
objects cropping up in it share the conditions of simultaneity, sequence, interval,
duration and change. The mathematical sciences derived from them the abstract
relationships on which Kant based his doctrine of the phenomenal nature of time.
This framework of relationships embraces, but does not exhaust, the lived
experience of time1 through which the concept of time receives its ultimate mean-
ing. Here time is experienced as the restless progression, in which the present
constantly becomes the past and the future the present. The present is the filling
of a moment of time with reality; it is experience, in contrast to memory or ideas
of the future occurring in wishes, expectations, hopes, fears and strivings. This
filling with reality constantly exists while the content of experience constantly
changes. Ideas, through which we know the past and the future, exist only for
those who are alive in the present. The present is always there and nothing exists
except what emerges in it. The ship of our life is, as it were, carried forward on
150 The Hermeneutics of the Human Sciences
a constantly moving stream, and the present is always wherever we are on these
waves—suffering, remembering or hoping, in short, living in the fullness of our
reality. But we constantly sail along this stream and the moment the future
becomes the present it is already sinking into the past. So the parts of filled time
are not only qualitatively different from each other but, quite apart from their con-
tent, have a different character according to whether we look from the present
back to the past or forward to the future. Looking back we have a series of
memory pictures graded according to their value for our consciousness and feel-
ings: like a row of houses or trees receding into the distance and becoming smaller
the line of memories becomes fainter until the images are lost in the darkness of
the horizon. And the more links, such as moods, outer events, means and goals,
there are between the filled present and a moment of the future the greater is the
number of possible outcomes, the more indefinite and nebulous the picture of the
future becomes. When we look back at the past we are passive; it cannot be
changed; in vain does the man already determined by it batter it with dreams of
how it could have been different. In our attitude to the future we are active and
free. Here the category of reality which emerges from the present is joined by
that of possibility. We feel that we have infinite possibilities. Thus the experience
of time in all its dimensions determines the content of our lives. This is why the
doctrine that time is merely ideal is meaningless in the human studies. We recol-
lect past events because of time and temporality; we turn, demanding, active and
free, towards the future. We despair of the inevitable, strive, work and plan for
the future, mature and develop in the course of time. All this makes up life, but,
according to the doctrine of the ideality of time, it is based on a shadowy realm
of timelessness, something which is not experienced. But it is in the life actually
lived that the reality known in the human studies lies.
The antinomies which thought discovers in the lived experience of time spring
from its cognitive impenetrability. Even the smallest part of temporal progress
involves the passing of time. There never is a present: what we experience as
present always contains memory of what has just been present. In other cases the
past has a direct affect on, and meaning for, the present and this gives to memories
a peculiar character of being present through which they become included in the
present. Whatever presents itself as a unit in the flow of time because it has a
unitary meaning, is the smallest unit which can be called a lived experience. Any
more comprehensive unit which is made up of parts of a life, linked by a common
meaning, is also called an experience, even where the parts are separated by inter-
rupting events.
Experience is a temporal flow in which every state changes before it is clearly
objectified because the subsequent moment always builds on the previous one and
each is past before it is grasped. It then appears as a memory which is free to ex-
pand. But observation destroys the experience. So there is nothing more peculiar
than the form of composition which we know as a part of a life: the only thing
Wilhelm Dilthey 151
mind.3 All this ultimately presupposes experience, so we must ask what it can
achieve.
Experience includes elementary acts of thought. I have described this as its
intellectuality. These acts occur when consciousness is intensified. A change in
a state of mind thus becomes conscious of itself. We grasp an isolated aspect of
what changes. Experience is followed by judgments about what has been expe-
rienced in which this becomes objectified. It is hardly necessary to describe how
our knowledge of every mental fact derives entirely from experience. We cannot
recognize in another person a feeling we have not experienced. But for the devel-
opment of the human studies it is decisive that we attribute general predicates,
derived from experience and providing the point of departure for the categories
of the human studies, to the subject who contains the possibilities of experience
in the confines of his body. The formal categories spring, as we saw, from the
elementary acts of thought. They are concepts which stand for what becomes
comprehensible through these acts of thought. Such concepts are unity, multi-
plicity, identity, difference, grade and relation. They are attributes of the whole
of reality.
Notes
1. [Editor's note] Erlebnis der Zeit. Throughout this selection Dilthey uses the terms
erleben, Erlebnis, das Erleben.
2. [Translator's note] Sais is the name of an ancient Egyptian city. The reference is to
a poem by Schiller about a youth there who unveiled the statue of truth.
3. See p. 164 n. 3.
(1) Life-Expressions
What is given always consists of life-expressions. Occurring in the world of the
senses they are manifestations of mental content which they enable us to know.
By "life-expressions" I mean not only expressions which intend something or seek
to signify something but also those which make a mental content intelligible for
us without having that purpose.
The mode and accomplishment of the understanding differs according to the
various classes of life-expressions.
Concepts, judgments and larger thought-structures form the first of these
classes. As constituent parts of knowledge, separated from the experience in
which they occurred, what they have in common is conformity to logic. They
retain their identity, therefore, independently of their position in the context of
thought. Judgment asserts the validity of a thought independently of the varied
situations in which it occurs, the difference of time and people involved. This is
the meaning of the law of identity. Thus the judgment is the same for the man
who makes it and the one who understands it; it passes, as if transported, from
the speaker to the one who understands it. This determines how we understand
any logically perfect system of thought. Understanding, focusing entirely on the
content which remains identical in every context, is, here, more complete than
in relation to any other life-expression. At the same time such an expression does
not reveal to the one who understands it anything about its relation to the obscure
and rich life of the mind. There is no hint of the particular life from which it arose;
it follows from its nature that it does not require us to go back to its psychological
context.
Actions form another class of life-expressions. An action does not spring from
the intention to communicate; however, the purpose to which it is related is con-
tained in it. There is a regular relation between an action and some mental content
which allows us to make probable inferences. But it is necessary to distinguish
the state of mind which produced the action by which it is expressed from the cir-
cumstances of life by which it is conditioned. Action, through the power of a
decisive motive, steps from the plenitude of life into one-sidedness. However
much it may have been considered it expresses only a part of our nature. It annihi-
lates potentialities which lie in that nature. So action, too, separates itself from
the background of the context of life and, unless accompanied by an explanation
of how circumstances, purposes, means and context of life are linked together in
it, allows no comprehensive account of the inner life from which it arose.
How different it is with the expressions of a "lived experience"! A particular
relation exists between it, the life from which it sprang, and the understanding
to which it gives rise. For expressions can contain more of the psychological
context than any introspection can discover. They lift it from depths which con-
sciousness does not illuminate. But it is characteristic of emotive expressions that
154 The Hermeneutics of the Human Sciences
their relation to the mental content expressed in them can only provide a limited
basis for understanding. They are not to be judged as true or false but as truthful
or untruthful. For dissimulation, lie and deception can break the relation between
the expression and the mental content which is expressed.
The important distinction which thus emerges is the basis for the highest sig-
nificance which life-expressions can achieve in the human studies. What springs
from the life of the day is subject to the power of its interests. The interpretation
of the ephemeral is also determined by the moment. It is terrible that in the
struggle of practical interests every expression can be deceptive and its interpreta-
tion changed with the change in our situation. But in great works, because some
mental content separates itself from its creator, the poet, artist or writer, we enter
a sphere where deception ends. No truly great work of art can, according to the
conditions which hold good and are to be developed later, wish to give the illusion
of a mental content foreign to its author; indeed, it does not want to say anything
about its author. Truthful in itself it stands—fixed, visible and permanent; this
makes its methodical1 and certain understanding possible. Thus there arises in the
confines between science2 and action an area in which life discloses itself at a
depth inaccessible to observation, reflection and theory.
contained in the circumstances themselves and thus the transition from one to the
other is, as it were, always at the door, but it need not enter.
What is thus related is linked in a unique way. The relation between life-
expressions and the world of mind which governs all understanding, obtains here
in its most elementary form; according to this, understanding tends to spell out
mental content which becomes its goal; yet the expressions given to the senses
are not submerged in this content. How, for instance, both the gesture and the
terror are not two separate things but a unity, is based on the fundamental relation
of expression to mental content. To this must be added the generic character of
all elementary forms of understanding which is to be discussed next.
highest possible degree of perfection in the conduct of human affairs, are related
to judicial procedures, law courts and the machinery for carrying out what they
decide. Within such a context many kinds of typical differences exist. Thus, the
individual life-expressions which confront the understanding subject can be con-
sidered as belonging to a common sphere, to a type. The resulting relationship
between the life-expression and the world of mind not only places the expression
into its context but also supplements its mental content. A sentence is intelligible
because a language, the meaning of words and of inflections, as well as the sig-
nificance of syntactical arrangements, is common to a community. The fixed
order of behaviour within a culture makes it possible for greetings or bows to
signify, by their nuances, a certain mental attitude to other people and to be
understood as doing so. In different countries the crafts developed particular pro-
cedures and particular instruments for special purposes; when, therefore, the
craftsman uses a hammer or saw, his purpose is intelligible to us. In this sphere
the relation between life-expressions and mental content is always fixed by a
common order. This explains why this relation is present in the apprehension of
an individual expression and why—without conscious inference based on the
relation between expression and what is expressed—both parts of the process are
welded into a unity in the understanding.
In elementary understanding the connection between expression and what is ex-
pressed in a particular case is, logically speaking, inferred from the way the two
are commonly connected; by means of this common connection we can say of the
expression that it expresses some mental content. So we have an argument from
analogy; a finite number of similar cases makes it probable that a subject has a
particular attribute.
The doctrine of the difference between elementary and higher forms of under-
standing here put forward justifies the traditional distinction between pragmatic
and historical interpretation by basing the difference on the relation— inherent in
understanding—between its elementary and higher forms.
one may express this psychologically—then this represents the inner principle of
the rise of individuality. And, if it were possible, in the act of understanding, both
to grasp the changes brought about by circumstances in the life and state of the
mind, as the outer principle of the rise of individuality, and the varied emphasis
on the structural elements as the inner principle, then the understanding of human
beings and of poetic and literary works would be a way of approaching the
greatest mystery of life. And this, in fact, is the case. To appreciate this we must
focus on what cannot be represented by logical formulae (i.e. schematic and sym-
bolic representations which alone are at issue here).
achieved by such struggles in lonely cells can survive, in spite of the church's
opposition. Christianity as a force for shaping family, professional and political
life converges with the spirit of the Age in the cities and wherever sophisticated
work is done as by Hans Sachs or Durer. As Luther leads this movement we can
understand his development through the links between common human features,
the religious sphere, this historical setting and his personality. Thus this process
reveals a religious world in him and his companions of the first period of the
Reformation which widens our horizon of the possibilities of human existence.
Only in this way do they become accessible to us. Thus the inner-directed man
can experience many other existences in his imagination. Limited by circum-
stances he can yet glimpse alien beauty in the world and areas of life beyond his
reach. Put generally: man, tied and limited by the reality of life is liberated not
only by art—as has often been explained—but also by historical understanding.
This effect of history, which its modern detractors have not noticed, is widened
and deepened in the further stages of historical consciousness.
science. For they rest on the relation between expressions and the inner states
expressed in them.
We must distinguish understanding from those preliminary grammatical and
historical procedures which merely serve to place the student of a written docu-
ment (fixiert Vorliegenderi) from the past or a distant place and linguistically
foreign, in the position of a reader from the author's own time and environment.
In the elementary forms of understanding we infer from a number of cases in
which a series of similar life-expressions reflects similar mental content that the
same relation will hold in other similar cases. From the recurrence of the same
meaning of a word, a gesture, an overt action, we infer their meaning in a fresh
case. One notices immediately, however, how little this form of inference
achieves. In fact, as we saw, expressions are also reflections of something
general; we make inferences by assigning them to a type of gesture or action or
range of usage. The reference from the particular to the particular contains a
reference to the general which is always represented. The relation becomes even
clearer when, instead of inferring the relation between a series of particular,
similar, expressions and the mental life expressed, we argue from analogy about
some composite, individual, facts. Thus from the regular connection between
particular features in a composite character we infer that this combination will
reveal an, as yet unobserved, trait in a new situation. By this kind of inference
we assign a mystical writing which has been newly discovered, or has to be
chronologically re-classified, to a particular circle of mystics at a particular time.
Such an argument always tends to infer the structure of such products from indi-
vidual cases and thus to justify the new case more profoundly. So, in fact, the
argument from analogy when applied to a new case becomes an induction. These
two forms of inference can only be relatively distinguished in understanding. As
a result, our expectations of a successful inference in a new case are invariably
limited—how much no general rule can determine but only an evaluation of the
varying circumstances. A logic of the human studies would have to discover rules
for such evaluation.
So understanding itself, because it is based on all this, has to be considered as
induction. This induction is not of the type in which a general law is inferred from
an incomplete series of cases; it is rather one which co-ordinates these cases into
a structure or orderly system by treating them as parts of a whole. The sciences
and the human studies share this type of induction. Kepler discovered the ellipti-
cal path of the planet Mars by such an induction. Just as he inferred a simple
mathematical regularity from observations and calculations by means of a geo-
metrical intuition, so understanding must try to link words into meaning and the
meaning of the parts into the structure of the whole given in the sequence of
words. Every word is both determined and undetermined. It contains a range of
meanings. The means of syntactically relating these words are, also, within
limits, ambiguous; meaning arises when the indeterminate is determined by a
164 The Hermeneutics of the Human Sciences
construction. In the same way the value of the whole, which is made up of
sentences, is ambiguous within limits and must be determined from the whole.
This determining of determinate-indeterminate particulars is characteristic. . .5
Notes
1. [Editor's note] Kunstmaflig is Dilthey's term which means "in accordance with the
rules inherent in the art of hermeneutics."
2. [Editor's note] Wissen.
3. [Editor's note] Dilthey employs Hegel's term objektiver Geist to denote the inter-
subjective products and creations of human culture as constituted by the systems of law
or economics, political and social institutions or natural languages. Dilthey introduced the
term in his treatise "The Construction of the Historical World in the Human Sciences" of
1910 (GS, vol. VII, p. 146)
4. Dilthey uses Hineinversetzen (to place oneself mentally into something, hence em-
pathy or transposition); Nachbilden (to imitate and reconstruct and thus to re-create
something); Nacherleben (to re-live something in our inner experience).
5. The text ends in this unfinished sentence.
6
The Phenomenological
Theory of Meaning and of
Meaning Apprehension
Edmund Husserl
EDMUND HUSSERL (1859-1938) was born in Prossnitz, Moravia (now Prostejov, Czecho-
slovakia), under the Austro-Hungarian Empire. After graduation from the German high
school (Gymnasium) in Olmiitz (Olomouc), he studied mathematics, physics, astronomy,
and philosophy at the Universities of Leipzig, Berlin, and Vienna. He received a doctorate
in Vienna in 1882 with a thesis called Contributions to the Theory of the Calculus of Varia-
tion. He worked first for the mathematician Weierstrass in Berlin as an assistant. In 1883
he transferred to Vienna to study philosophy with Franz Brentano. In 1886 he went to
Halle where he received his second doctorate and venia legendi (Habilitatiori) with a thesis
On the Concept of Number: A Psychological Analysis, in which the ground was laid for
his further work in philosophy. From 1887 to 1901 Husserl taught at Halle and was
occupied mainly with the problems of providing a secure philosophical grounding for
mathematics and formal logic. The results of his labors were contained in his epoch mak-
ing work, Logical Investigations (1900-01), which established his reputation as a philos-
opher and founder of a new philosophical direction—phenomenology. Between the years
1901 and 1916 Husserl taught at Gottingen where he gathered a circle of students and
disciples from many countries and backgrounds. They would eventually carry the phe-
nomenological viewpoint into different disciplines and in different directions. After having
accepted a call to Freiburg in 1916, Husserl concentrated for the rest of his life on develop-
ing his philosophy, teaching and writing almost incessantly. When he died in 1938, he left
over 40,000 pages of manuscripts in shorthand, most of which have now been published,
or are scheduled for publication, in his collected works (see Sect. A, Bibl.). The impulses
which Husserl gave to hermeneutics (its theory and practice) are numerous and far
reaching. Best known is the influence of his phenomenological method on Heidegger in
Being and Time. Of at least equal importance is the impact which his last work, The Crisis
of European Sciences and the Task of Phenomenology, with its notion of "life-world"
(Lebenswelt), has enjoyed in the social sciences. (See, for instance, A. Schutz's
165
166 The Phenomenological Theory of Meaning
Phenomenology of the Social World. Sect. B, Bibl.) Yet it is often overlooked that his early
work, Logical Investigations, constitutes a landmark for hermeneutic theory, because for
the first time it brings to bear the phenomenological method on the problems of the consti-
tution and understanding of meaning, problems which clearly transcend the realms of pure
mathematics or logic. In a very important sense, Logical Investigations must be read also
as a theory of hermeneutics, or more accurately, as the establishment of the ground and
possibility of hermeneutics. This can be gathered convincingly from the Investigations I
("Expression and Meaning"), from which our selections are taken; and from III ("On the
Theory of Wholes and Parts"), IV ("The Distinction Between Independent and Non-
independent Meanings, the Idea of Pure Grammar"), and many sections of the remaining
Investigations, for example, "Sense and Understanding" in VI. The relevance of Husserl's
analyses for present-day hermeneutic discussions becomes evident to the reader in the
introductory sections to I in which basic distinctions are drawn—a sine qua non without
which notions like meaning, sense, expression, and understanding in the human sciences
remain largely ambiguous.
ESSENTIAL DISTINCTIONS
An ambiguity in the term "sign"
The terms "expression" and "sign" are often treated as synonyms, but it will not
be amiss to point out that they do not always coincide in application in common
usage. Every sign is a sign for something, but not every sign has "meaning," a
"sense" that the sign "expresses." In many cases it is not even true that a sign
"stands for" that of which we may say it is a sign. And even where this can be
said, one has to observe that "standing for" will not count as the "meaning" which
characterizes the expression. For signs in the sense of indications (notes, marks,
etc.) do not express anything, unless they happen to fulfill a significant as well
as an indicative function. If, as one unwillingly does, one limits oneself to expres-
sions employed in living discourse, the notion of an indication seems to apply
more widely than that of an expression, but this does not mean that its content
is the genus of which an expression is the species. To mean is not a particular
way of being a sign in the sense of indicating something. It has a narrower applica-
tion only because meaning— in communicative speech — is always bound up with
such an indicative relation, and this in its turn leads to a wider concept, since
meaning is also capable of occurring without such a connection. Expressions
function meaningfully even in isolated mental life, where they no longer serve to
indicate anything. The two notions of sign do not therefore really stand in the
relation of more extensive genus to narrower species.
The whole matter requires more thorough discussion.
Edmund Husserl 167
under the historical rubric of the "association of ideas." Under this rubric we do
not merely have those facts which concern the "accompaniment" and "reactiva-
tion" of ideas stated in the laws of association, but the further facts in which
association operates creatively, and produces peculiar descriptive characters and
forms of unity.2 Association does not merely restore contents to consciousness,
and then leave it to them to combine with the contents there present, as the essence
or generic nature of either may necessarily prescribe. It cannot indeed disturb
such unified patterns as depend solely on our mental contents, e.g. the unity of
visual contents in the visual field. But it can create additional phenomenological
characters and unities which do not have their necessary, law-determined ground
in the experienced contents themselves, nor in the generic forms of their abstract
aspects.3 If A summons B into consciousness, we are not merely simultaneously
or successively conscious of both A and B, but we usually feel their connection
forcing itself upon us, a connection in which the one points to the other and seems
to belong to it. To turn mere coexistence into mutual pertinence, or, more
precisely, to build cases of the former into intentional unities of things which
seem mutually pertinent, is the constant result of associative functioning. All
unity of experience, all empirical unity, whether of a thing, an event or of the
order and relation of things, becomes a phenomenal unity through the felt mutual
belongingness of the sides and parts that can be made to stand out as units in the
apparent object before us. That one thing points to another, in definite arrange-
ment and connection, is itself apparent to us. The single item itself, in these
various forward and backward references, is no mere experienced content, but
an apparent object (or part, property etc., of the same) that appears only in so
far as experience (Erfahrung) endows contents with a new phenomenological
character, so that they no longer count separately, but help to present an object
different from themselves. In this field of facts the fact of indication also has its
place, in virtue whereof an object or state of affairs not merely recalls another,
and so points to it, but also provides evidence for the latter, fosters the presump-
tion that it likewise exists, and makes us immediately feel this in the manner
described above.
persons or not. Such a definition excludes facial expression and the various
gestures which involuntarily accompany speech without communicative intent,
or those in which a man's mental states achieve understandable "expression" for
his environment, without the added help of speech. Such "utterances" are not
expressions in the sense in which a case of speech is an expression, they are not
phenomenally one with the experiences made manifest in them in the conscious-
ness of the man who manifests them, as is the case with speech. In such manifesta-
tions one man communicates nothing to another: their utterance involves no intent
to put certain "thoughts" on record expressively, whether for the man himself,
in his solitary state, or for others. Such "expressions," in short, have properly
speaking, no meaning. It is not to the point that another person may interpret our
involuntary manifestations, e.g. our "expressive movements," and that he may
thereby become deeply acquainted with our inner thoughts and emotions. They
"mean" something to him in so far as he interprets them, but even for him they
are without meaning in the special sense in which verbal signs have meaning: they
only mean in the sense of indicating.
In the treatment which follows these distinctions must be raised to complete
conceptual clarity.
delimited, and can the fundamental opposition between the symbolic and the
epistemological function of meanings be worked out.
wishing etc. The hearer perceives the intimation in the same sense in which he
perceives the intimating person—even though the mental phenomena which
make him a person cannot fall, for what they are, in the intuitive grasp of another.
Common speech credits us with percepts even of other people's inner expe-
riences; we "see" their anger, their pain etc. Such talk is quite correct, as long
as, e.g., we allow outward bodily things likewise to count as perceived, and as
long as, in general, the notion of perception is not restricted to the adequate, the
strictly intuitive percept. If the essential mark of perception lies in the intuitive
persuasion that a thing or event is itself before us for our grasping—such a per-
suasion is possible, and in the main mass of cases actual, without verbalized,
conceptual apprehension—then the receipt of such an intimation is the mere
perceiving of it. The essential distinction just touched on is of course present here.
The hearer perceives the speaker as manifesting certain inner experiences, and
to that extent he also perceives these experiences themselves: he does not,
however, himself experience them, he has not an "inner" but an "outer" percept
of them. Here we have the big difference between the real grasp of what is in
adequate intuition, and the putative grasp of what is on a basis of inadequate,
though intuitive, presentation. In the former case we have to do with an experi-
enced, in the latter case with a presumed being, to which no truth corresponds
at all. Mutual understanding demands a certain correlation among the mental acts
mutually unfolded in intimation and in the receipt of such intimation, but not at
all their exact resemblance.
two factors of word and sense, the word comes before us as intrinsically in-
different, whereas the sense seems the thing aimed at by the verbal sign and meant
by its means: the expression seems to direct interest away from itself towards its
sense, and to point to the latter. But this pointing is not an indication in the sense
previously discussed. The existence of the sign neither "motivates" the existence
of the meaning, nor, properly expressed, our belief in the meaning's existence.
What we are to use as an indication must be perceived by us as existent. This holds
also of expressions used in communication, but not for expressions used in solilo-
quy, where we are in general content with imagined rather than with actual
words. In imagination a spoken or printed word floats before us, though in reality
it has no existence. We should not, however, confuse imaginative presentations,
and the image-contents they rest on, with their imagined objects. The imagined
verbal sound, or the imagined printed word, does not exist, only its imaginative
presentation does so. The difference is the difference between imagined centaurs
and the imagination of such beings. The word's nonexistence neither disturbs nor
interests us, since it leaves the word's expressive function unaffected. Where it
does make a difference is where intimation is linked with meaning. Here thought
must not be merely expressed as meaning, but must be communicated and in-
timated. We can only do the latter where we actually speak and hear.
One of course speaks, in a certain sense, even in soliloquy, and it is certainly
possible to think of oneself as speaking, and even as speaking to oneself, as, e.g.,
when someone says to himself: "You have gone wrong, you can't go on like that."
But in the genuine sense of communication, there is no speech in such cases, nor
does one tell oneself anything: one merely conceives of oneself as speaking and
communicating. In a monologue words can perform no function of indicating the
existence of mental acts, since such indication would there be quite purposeless.
For the acts in question are themselves experienced by us at that very moment.
is objective. This objective somewhat can either be actually present through ac-
companying intuitions, or may at least appear in representation, e.g. in a mental
image, and where this happens the relation to an object is realized. Alternatively
this need not occur: the expression functions significantly, it remains more than
mere sound of words, but it lacks any basic intuition that will give it its object.
The relation of expression to object is now unrealized as being confined to a mere
meaning-intention. A name, e.g., names its object whatever the circumstances,
in so far as it means that object. But if the object is not intuitively before one,
and so not before one as a named or meant object, mere meaning is all there is
to it. If the originally empty meaning-intention is now fulfilled, the relation to an
object is realized, the naming becomes an actual, conscious relation between
name and object named.
Let us take our stand on this fundamental distinction between meaning-
intentions void of intuition and those which are intuitively fulfilled: if we leave
aside the sensuous acts in which the expression, qua mere sound of words, makes
its appearance, we shall have to distinguish between two acts or sets of acts. We
shall, on the one hand, have acts essential to the expression if it is to be an expres-
sion at all, i.e. a verbal sound infused with sense. These acts we shall call the
meaning-conferring acts or the meaning-intentions. But we shall, on the other
hand, have acts, not essential to the expression as such, which stand to it in the
logically basic relation ofjulfilling (confirming, illustrating) it more or less ade-
quately, and so actualizing its relation to its object. These acts, which become
fused with the meaning-conferring acts in the unity of knowledge or fulfillment,
we call the meaning-fulfilling acts. The briefer expression "meaning-fulfillment"
can only be used in cases where there is no risk of the ready confusion with the
whole experience in which a meaning-intention finds fulfillment in its correlated
intuition. In the realized relation of the expression to its objective correlate,4 the
sense-informed expression becomes one with the act of meaning-fulfillment. The
sounded word is first made one with the meaning-intention, and this in its turn
is made one (as intentions in general are made one with their fulfillments) with
its corresponding meaning-fulfillment. The word "expression" is normally under-
stood— wherever, that is, we do not speak of a "mere" expression—as the sense-
informed expression. One should not, therefore, properly say (as one often does)
that an expression expresses its meaning (its intention). One might more properly
adopt the alternative way of speaking according to which the fulfilling act appears
as the act expressed by the complete expression: we may, e.g., say, that a state-
ment "gives expression" to an act of perceiving or imagining. We need not here
point out that both meaning-conferring and meaning-fulfilling acts have a part to
play in intimation in the case of communicative discourse. The former in fact
constitute the inmost core of intimation. To make them known to the hearer is
the prime aim of our communicative intention, for only in so far as the hearer
attributes them to the speaker will he understand the latter.
176 The Phenomenological Theory of Meaning
intuitive intention directed upon the word itself. With this act, the new acts or
act-complexes that we call "fulfilling" acts or act-complexes are often peculiarly
blended, acts whose object coincides with the object meant in the meaning, or
named through this meaning.
Notes
to them. But truly senseless speech would be no speech at all: it would be like
the rattle of machinery. This we of course meet with in the case of verses or
prayers learnt by rote and repeated unthinkingly, but not in the cases which here
require explanation. Popular comparisons with the squawking of parrots or the
cackling of geese, the well-known adage "Where ideas fail us, words come up
at the right moment" and so on, are not, soberly considered, to be taken literally.
Expressions such as "talk without judgement" or "senseless talk" may and should
certainly not be otherwise interpreted than such expressions as "a heartless,"
"brainless," "empty-headed man" etc. "Talk without judgement" plainly does not
mean talk unbacked by judgements, but talk backed by judgements not based on
independent, intelligent consideration. Even "senselessness," understood as ab-
surdity or nonsense, is significantly constituted: the sense of an absurd expression
is such as to refer to what cannot be objectively put together.
The opposite view can now only take refuge in the strained hypothesis of un-
conscious, unnoticed intuitions. How little this helps becomes plain if we con-
sider what basic intuition achieves in cases where it is noticeably present. In the
vast majority of cases it is by no means adequate to our meaning-intention, a fact,
which, in our conception, presents no problem. If the meaningful is not to be
found in intuition, speech without intuition need not be speech deprived of
thought. If intuition lapses, an act like that which otherwise hangs about intuition,
and perhaps mediates the knowledge of its object, continues to cling to the sense-
given expression. The act in which meaning is effective is therefore present in
either case.
that it conflicts with quite certain facts involved in the analysis of arithmetical
symbolic thought, facts that I myself have stressed elsewhere (in my Philosophy
of Arithmetic). In arithmetical thought mere signs genuinely do duty for concepts.
"The reduction of the theory of things to the theory of signs" (to quote Lambert)
is what all calculation achieves. Arithmetical signs are "so selected and perfected,
that the theory, combination, transformation etc. of signs can do what would
otherwise have to be done by concepts."1
Looked at more closely, however, it is not signs, in the mere sense of physical
objects, whose theory, combination etc., would be of the slightest use. Such
things would belong to the sphere of physical science and practice, and not to that
of arithmetic. The true meaning of the signs in question emerges if we glance at
the much favoured comparison of mathematical operations to rule-governed
games, e.g. chess. Chessmen are not part of the chess-game as bits of ivory and
wood having such and such shapes and colours. Their phenomenal and physical
constitution is quite indiiferent, and can be varied at will. They become chess-
men, counters in the chess-game, through the game's rules which give them their
fixed games-meaning. And so arithmetical signs have, besides their original
meaning, their so-to-say games-meaning, a meaning oriented towards the game
of calculation and its well-known rules. If one treats arithmetical signs as mere
counters in the rule-sense, to solve the tasks of the reckoning game leads to
numerical signs or formulae whose interpretation in their original, truly
arithmetical senses also represents the solution of corresponding arithmetical
problems.
We do not therefore operate with meaningless signs in the fields of symbolic-
arithmetical thought and calculation. For mere signs, in the sense of physical
signs bereft of all meaning, do duty for the same signs alive with arithmetical
meaning: it is rather that signs taken in a certain operational or games-sense do
duty for the same signs in full arithmetical meaningfulness. A system of natural,
and, as it were, unconscious equivocations bears endless fruit, and the much
greater mental work which our original array of concepts demanded is eased by
"symbolic" operations employing a parallel array of games-concepts.
Naturally such a procedure must be logically justified and its boundaries
reliably fixed: here we were only concerned to remove confusions readily caused
by misunderstanding of the nature of such "merely symbolical" mathematical
thought. If one grasps the sense, set out above, in which the "mere signs" of
arithmetic do duty for arithmetical concepts (or for signs in their full arithmetical
meaning) it is clear that talk of the surrogative function of arithmetical signs is
irrelevant to our present question, the question whether an expression of thought
is or is not possible without an accompaniment of illustrative, instantiating or
demonstrative intuitions. Non-intuitive symbolic thought in the sense just men-
tioned, and symbolical thought in the sense of thought which employs surrogative
operational concepts, are two quite different things.
Edmund Husserl 183
altering the content sensuously, yet giving it a new mental character. One may
similarly recall the way in which the reading or recitation of familiar poetry, un-
thinking at first, suddenly becomes charged with understanding. There are count-
less other examples which make evident the peculiar character of understanding.
their first conception. In the simpler case where an expression is understood, but
is not as yet given life by intuitive illustrations, this first conception makes the
mere sign appear before us as a physical object, e.g. as a sounded word, given
here and now. On this first conception, however, a second is built, which goes
entirely beyond the experienced sense-material, which it no longer uses as ana-
logical building-material, to the quite new object of its present meaning. The
latter is meant in the act of meaning, but is not presented in sensation. Meaning,
the characteristic function of the expressive sign, presupposes the sign whose
function it is. Or to talk pure phenomenology: meaning is a variously tinctured
act-character, presupposing an act of intuitive presentation as its necessary foun-
dation. In the latter act, the expression becomes constituted as a physical object.
It becomes an expression, in the full, proper sense, only through an act founded
upon this former act.
What is true in this simplest case of an expression understood and not as yet
intuitively illustrated, must also hold in the more complex case where an expres-
sion is bound up with a corresponding intuition. One and the same expression,
significantly used with or without illustrative intuition, cannot derive its mean-
ingfulness from different sorts of acts.
It is certainly not easy to analyse the descriptive situation in certain finer grada-
tions and ramifications that have been passed over here. It is extremely hard to
achieve a right conception of the part played by illustrative presentations in
confirming meaning-intentions or in conferring self-evidence on them, as well as
their relation to the characteristic note of understanding or meaning, the expe-
rience which lends sense to an expression even in default of intuition. Here we
have a broad field for phenomenological analysis, a field not to be by-passed by
the logician who wants to bring clarity into the relations between meaning and
object, between judgement and truth, between vague opinion and confirmatory
evidence. The analysis in question will receive a thoroughgoing treatment later.6
Notes
1. Lambert, Neues Organon (1764), Vol. II, §§ 23-4, p. 16. (Lambert is not referring
expressly to arithmetic.)
2. A. Riehl, Der philosophische Kritizismus, Vol. II, p. 399.
3. H. Hoffding, "Uber Wiedererkennen, Assoziation und psychische Aktivitat," Viertel-
jahrschriftf. wiss. Philos. Vol. XIII, p. 425.
4. As against this cf. Volkelt, Erfahrung und Denken, p. 362.
5. I am not here restricting the use of the word "understanding" to the hearer-speaker
relation. The soliloquizing thinker "understands" his words, and this understanding is
simply his act of meaning them.
6. See Investigation VI.
Roman Ingarden 187
Roman Ingarden
ROMAN INGARDEN (1895-1970) was born in Cracow, Poland, and studied philosophy in
Lvov under Twardowski. Later he went to Gottingen to study phenomenology with Husserl
and his circle. He followed Husserl's move to Freiburg in 1916 and obtained his doctorate
there with a thesis on the philosophy of Henri Bergson (1918). After his return to Poland
he completed his second doctorate (Habilitatiori) with a dissertation on the problem of
essences, Essential Questions, which was published by Husserl in his Yearbook for
Philosophy and Phenomenological Research in 1925. In 1933 Ingarden became professor
of philosophy at Lvov. In 1931 he published in German The Literary Work of Art: An
Investigation on the Borderline of Ontology, Logic and Theory of Literature (Eng. trans.,
1973). This was followed in 1937 in Polish by The Cognition of the Literary Work of An
(Eng. trans., 1973). These two works constitute the major contribution of Husserlian strict
phenomenology to aesthetics and literary theory until today. From 1939 to 1944 when
Polish universities were shut down under the German occupation, Ingarden taught mathe-
matics in a high school in Lvov. During these years he completed in two volumes his major
work, The Controversy Over the Existence of the World (1947-48). A German edition
appeared in three volumes from 1964 to 1966. When eastern Poland and Lvov were
annexed by the Soviet Union in 1945, Ingarden was able to obtain a chair in philosophy
in Cracow. He was barred from teaching, however, from 1949 until 1956 for his alleged
idealist position. Meanwhile, his work gained growing recognition in Europe and America
and left its imprint on different schools of criticism. Our selections are taken from the first
section of The Cognition of the Literary Work of Art, a phenomenological study of the
manner and the way by which literary texts assume their meaning for us, and of the nature
of the acts through which this meaning is actualized. It is the attitude which the reader
assumes—as consumer-recipient or active critic and literary scholar—which decides how
a text is understood and explicated. Nevertheless, there are certain structural givens which,
although they are actualized by the reader, are not dependent upon him for their essential
qualities. The importance of Ingarden's work for present-day hermeneutics derives from
his ability to develop a new set of distinctions together with a new manner of viewing the
problems of classical interpretation theory.
with the literary work. To be sure, we will not completely ignore the other ways
of experiencing the work, but neither will we pay particular attention to them at
the moment. Even "cognition" itself can take place in many different ways, which
can bring about various results. The type of work read also plays an essential role
in determining how cognition takes place.
I use the word "cognition" here for want of a better.1 It should be taken for the
moment in a rather vague and broad sense, beginning with a primarily passive,
receptive "experience," in which we, as literary consumers, "become acquainted
with" a given work, "get to know" it somehow, and thereby possibly relate to it
in a more or less emotional way, and continuing on to the kind of attitude toward
the work which leads to the acquisition of effective knowledge about the work.
All these extremely diverse attitudes lead to some kind of knowledge about a
work, whether it be a novel (for instance, Thomas Mann's Buddenbrooks) or a
lyric poem (like "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day") or a drama (for
instance, Ibsen's Rosmersholni). We shall not exclude from consideration other
written works, either, such as newspaper articles, essays, and scientific works.
On the contrary, one of the matters we are extremely concerned with is becoming
aware of how we "understand" scientific works and how we apprehend cogni-
tively the works themselves as well as what is portrayed in them. "Cognition"
should thus be taken to mean a kind of intercourse with literary works which
includes a certain cognizance of the work and does not necessarily exclude emo-
tional factors. Of course, we take into account from the outset that acquaintance
with a work, as well as its cognition, can take place in different ways and lead
to various results, according to the peculiar character of the work in question.
However, I hope to be able to show in the following that despite this considerable
diversity every "cognition" of a literary work has a stock of operations which are
always the same for the experiencing subject and that the process of "cognition"
follows a course which is characteristically the same in all these diverse cases,
provided it is not disturbed or interrupted by external circumstances. And the
concluding investigations will show that in certain specific cases one can achieve
genuine knowledge of the literary work and even of the literary work of art. We
can remove the dangers arising from uncritical use of an unexplicated and pos-
sibly much too narrow idea "cognition" as a basis for our investigation only in
this way of gradual progress, which does not lead to a delimitation of the ideas
involved until its last stage. The exact notion of the cognition of a literary work,
and in particular of a literary work of art, will thus be determined only as a result
of our investigations. At the same time, we shall consider under what conditions
this cognition can be accomplished. But on the way to such a result there are many
difficulties to be overcome which are connected with the problem of "objective"
knowledge and which can be solved only in a general epistemological investi-
gation. We shall have to content ourselves here with preparing the way to this
goal.
Roman Ingarden 189
9. The literary work as such is a purely intentional formation which has the
source of its being in the creative acts of consciousness of its author and its
physical foundation in the text set down in writing or through other physical
means of possible reproduction (for instance, the tape recorder). By virtue of the
dual stratum of its language, the work is both intersubjectively accessible and
reproducible, so that it becomes an intersubjective intentional object, related to
a community of readers. As such it is not a psychological phenomenon and is
transcendent to all experiences of consciousness, those of the author as well as
those of the reader.
though the speaker's voice is loud enough, we often say we "didn't hear" the
speaker and consequently didn't understand him.
The first basic process of reading a literary work is thus not a simple and purely
sensory perception but goes beyond such a perception by concentrating attention
on the typical features in the physical or phonetic form of the words.8 There is
still another way in which the basic process of reading goes beyond simple sen-
sory seeing. First, it takes the writing (printing) to be "expression," that is, the
carrier of a meaning;9 second, the verbal sound, which seems to be interwoven
in a peculiar way with the written sign of the word, is immediately apprehended,
again in its typical form, along with the written sign.
When we read a text "silently" (without speaking the words aloud, even softly),
our apprehension is normally not limited to simply seeing the graphic form of the
writing, as is the case with Chinese characters when we do not know Chinese,10
or when we see a drawing (for instance, an arabesque) without any idea that it
might be a written message. A normal reader who knows the phonetic form of
the language well will combine silent reading with an imaginary hearing of the
corresponding verbal sounds and the speech melody as well, without paying par-
ticular attention to this hearing. When the verbal sound is relatively important,
the reader might even pronounce the sound involuntarily and quietly; this can be
accompanied by certain motor phenomena. The auditory apprehension of the
phonetic form of the words is so closely related to the visual apprehension of the
written form that the intentional correlates of these experiences also seem to be
in especially close relation. The phonetic and visual forms of the word seem
almost to be merely two aspects of the same "verbal body."
As already mentioned, the verbal body is simultaneously grasped as an "expres-
sion" of something other than itself, that is, of the meaning of the word, which
refers to something or exercises a particular function of meaning (for instance,
a syntactical function).11 When we know the language in question well and use
it daily, we apprehend the verbal sounds not as pure sound patterns but as some-
thing which, in addition to its sound, conveys or can convey a certain emotional
quality.12 As I tried to show in my book The Literary Work of Art, this quality,
which is intuitively felt, can either be determined by the meaning of the word (or
the emotional aspect of the object meant) or can be related to the function of the
"expression" of the speaker's emotional processes (fear, anger, desire, etc.). The
latter possibility refers primarily to words and phrases quoted in a literary text
and spoken by a character in the work, and it is brought about not through the
phonetic form of the verbal sound but through the tone in which the words are
spoken. This emotional quality often aids in the recognition of the typical pho-
netic form of the verbal sound when recognition is otherwise difficult.
Simultaneous with and inseparable from the described apprehension of the ver-
bal sounds is the understanding of the meaning of the word; the complete word
is constituted for the reader in just this experience, which, although compound,
196 The Phenomenological Theory of Meaning
still forms a unity. One does not apprehend the verbal sound first and then the
verbal meaning. Both things occur at once: in apprehending the verbal sound, one
understands the meaning of the word and at the same time intends this meaning
actively.13 Only in exceptional cases, as when the word is, or seems to be, foreign
to us, is the apprehension of the verbal sound not automatically connected with
understanding the verbal meaning. Then we notice a natural tendency in us to
complete the act of understanding. If we cannot grasp the meaning immediately,
we notice a characteristic slowing-down or even a halt in the process of reading.
We feel a certain helplessness and try to guess the meaning. Usually it is only
in such a case that we have a clear thematic apprehension of the verbal sound in
its phonetic and visual form; at the same time, we are puzzled about not finding
the meaning, which should be immediately apparent and nonetheless does not
come to mind. If the meaning occurs to us, then the obstacle is overcome and the
act of understanding flows into a new understanding of the following words. But
when we know the words well, it is typical that the verbal sound is noted only
fleetingly, quickly and without hesitation; it represents only a quick transition to
the understanding of the words or sentences. The verbal sound is then heard
superficially and almost unconsciously. It appears on the periphery of the field
of awareness, and only incidentally does it sound "in our ears," provided, of
course, that nothing out of the ordinary draws our attention to it. It is precisely
this fleeting way of apprehending the verbal sounds which is the only correct way
for the apprehension of the literary work as a whole. This is the reason one often
hears the demand for a "discreet" declamation, to prevent the phonetic side of the
language from encroaching too much on the hearer, from coming to the fore.
In the literary work, as we have already mentioned, words do not appear in
isolation; rather, they join together in a certain arrangement to form whole
linguistic patterns of various kinds and orders. In many cases, especially in verse,
words are arranged with primary concern not for the context of meaning which
they constitute but instead with regard to their phonetic form, so that a unified
pattern arises from the sequence of sounds, such as a line of verse or a stanza.
Concern for the phonetic form in arrangement also brings about such phenomena
as rhythm, rhyme, and various "melodies" of the line, the sentence, or the speech
in general, as well as intuitive qualities of linguistic expression, such as "softness"
or "hardness" or "sharpness." We usually note these phonetic formations and
phenomena even when we read silently; even if we pay no particular attention to
them, our notice of them still plays an important role in the aesthetic perception
of at least a good number of literary works of art. Not only do they themselves
constitute an aesthetically important element of the work; they are often, at the
same time, a means of disclosing other aspects and qualities of the work, for
instance, a mood which hovers over the situations portrayed in the work. Thus
the reader must have an "ear" for the phonetic stratum of the work (for its
"music"), although one cannot say that he should concentrate on this stratum
Roman Ingarden 197
particularly. The phonetic qualities of the work must be heard "incidentally" and
add their voice to the entirety of the work.
However, because the disclosure of phonetic phenomena of higher order is
connected with the individual phases of becoming acquainted with the literary
work of art, it will be necessary to return to the phonetic phenomena in later
investigations.
the nature and properties of the object or situation but also to give it an identical
name, with an appropriately constituted meaning, or to describe it in a sentence.
The name or sentence becomes intelligible for the two persons with reference to
the commonly observed object.20 Suppose that, in a scientific investigation, it
becomes necessary to find a new expression for a new concept. The new meaning
will become intelligible to others only if it is either brought into relation with or
reduced to other, already intelligible meanings. Or it may be placed in an indirect
cognitive relation to appropriate objects, thus giving others the possibility of
attaining an immediate apprehension (in particular, a perception) of the object in
question and of constituting or reconstituting the word meaning relating to the
object in view of this object—of constituting, that is, the meaning already in-
tended by the investigator. Then there are means of checking the correctness of
the reconstituted meaning and of discovering and removing possible misunder-
standings. However great the practical difficulties may be, it is still beyond doubt
that the meaning of a new word is always constituted through the intellectual co-
operation of several subjects of consciousness in common and direct cognitive
contact with the corresponding objects. The meaning-carrying word originating
in this way is thus from the outset an intersubjective entity, intersubjectively
accessible in its meaning, and not something with a "private" meaning which must
be guessed at through observation of another's behavior. Then, too, words are
not fully isolated entities but are always members of a linguistic system,21 how-
ever loose this system may be in an individual case. At any rate, such a linguistic
system has certain characteristic qualities and regularities which apply both
phonetically and semantically and which are decisive in guaranteeing the identity
of individual verbal meanings as well as in determining them. After reference to
the direct experience of the same objects, such a linguistic system is the second
most effective means for reaching agreement about the identical meanings of
words belonging to the same language. Knowledge of a language is not restricted
to knowledge of a great many verbal meanings but also pertains to the manifold
regularities which govern the language. A word which is at first unintelligible
appears together with a sequence of other words, with which it is connected by
various syntactic functions or relations established through content. These rela-
tions often make it possible to guess the meaning of the word "from context," not
only in isolation, as it appears in a dictionary entry, but also in the full form, with
the nuances appropriate to this context. All these expedients, well known in
philological practice, show that the discovery of the meaning which the word has
in context is not impossible when one knows the language relatively well; nor is
it so difficult as the psychological theory sometimes maintains.
A living language forms a structured system of meanings which stand in
definite formal and material relations to one another and which also exercise
various functions in semantic units of greater complexity, particularly in sen-
tences. The structured system of meanings is made possible by the presence of
Roman Ingarden 201
several basic types of words, distinguished from one another by formal elements
(form in the grammatical sense) as well as by a different composition of their
meaning. We can distinguish three different basic types of words: (1) nouns,
(2) finite verbs, and (3) function words.22 The most important function of the
meaning of nouns is the intentional projection of the objects they name. The noun
determines its object as to its form (whether it is a thing, a process, or an event,
e.g., a tree, a movement, or a blow), as to its qualitative constitution (what kind
of object it is and what qualities it has), and finally as to its mode of being (whether
it is intended as a real or an ideal or perhaps as a possible object). For instance,
the noun "tree" designates a thing in the ontic mode of reality; a phrase like "the
similarity of mathematical triangles" designates an ideal relationship among
certain mathematical objects; the noun "perceptibility" designates a certain possi-
bility, etc. To each noun belongs a definite purely intentional object which is
dependent on the meaning of the noun for its existence, its form, and the stock
of material determinations attributed to it. We must distinguish between the
purely intentional object and the object, ontically independent of the meaning of
the noun, to which the noun can be applied and which, if it exists at all, is real
or ideal or what have you in a genuine sense. Of course, there are nouns which
do have a purely intentional object without any ontically autonomous object as
its correlate, as with the noun "centaur." The purely intentional character of the
object is evident.
In contrast to nouns, the function words— such as "is" (as a copula in cognizing
something, in a declarative sentence), "or," "and," "to," "each," "by"— do not con-
stitute an intentional object through their meaning; rather, they merely serve to
perform various functions in relation to the meanings of other words with which
they appear or in relation to the objects of the nouns which they connect. Thus
the word "and" between two nouns (dog and cat) joins these nouns together into
a semantic unit of a higher order, and as a correlate to this function it creates a
certain intentional interdependence of the objects of these nouns. The "and" can
also join two sentences, which then cease to be independent and become parts of
a compound sentence. Along with the syntactic functions performed by other
words—nouns and verbs—through their grammatical forms and their arrange-
ment in the sentence, the functions exercised by the function words play an impor-
tant role in constituting both sentences and groups of sentences.
The finite verbs, as the most important sentence-forming or coforming element
in the language, are just as important in this respect. They determine—although
not alone—the states of affairs as purely intentional sentence correlates. In their
various forms, in conjunction with the manifold syntactic functions of the func-
tion words, they produce a great multiplicity of sentence structures and sentence
complexes and, corresponding to them, a multiplicity of sentence correlates,
especially states of affairs and their interconnections. Sentences join in diverse
ways to form semantic units of a higher order which exhibit quite varied
202 The Phenomenological Theory of Meaning
structures; from these structures arise such entities as a story, a novel, a conversa-
tion, a drama, a scientific theory.23 By the same token, finite verbs constitute not
only states of affairs which correspond to the individual sentences, but also whole
systems of very diverse types of states of affairs, such as concrete situations, com-
plex processes involving several objects, conflicts and agreements among them,
etc. Finally, a whole world is created with variously determined elements and the
changes taking place in them, all as the purely intentional correlate of a sentence
complex. If this sentence complex finally constitutes a literary work, then I call
the whole stock of interconnected intentional sentence correlates the "portrayed
world" of the work.
But let us return to our investigation of the process of understanding.
When we apprehend a verbal sound or multiplicity of verbal sounds, the first
step in understanding it is finding24 the precise meaning intention which the word
has in its language. This meaning intention can appear in two different ways,
either in a way characteristic of the word in isolation or in another way, when
the word is part of a more complex semantic unit. The meaning of a word under-
goes a change, in many cases a regular one, according to the context in which
it appears.25 In particular, it is enriched by specially operative intentions which
are performed by the syntactic functions determined by the structure of the cor-
responding semantic unit of higher order and by the place where the word stands
in this semantic unit. In the understanding of a text, the meaning intentions are
present in one of these two forms. But whenever the word functions only as part
of a sentence, discovering that form of the meaning which the word has in isola-
tion would be neither advisable nor faithful to the text. It is remarkable, however,
that in such cases one immediately apprehends the meanings of the individual
words in the form they have in context. Usually this apprehension occurs without
special effort or resistance; it does not, however, always occur with the same
ease. Only in exceptional cases are we oriented toward the discovery of the lexical
meaning of words.26
The successful immediate discovery of the meaning intention is basically an
actualization of this intention. That is: when I understand a text, I think the mean-
ing of the text. I extract the meaning from the text, so to speak, and change it
into the actual intention of my mental act of understanding,27 into an intention
identical with the word or sentence intention of the text. Then I really "under-
stand" the text. Of course, this applies only when the work is written in one's
so-called native language or at least in a language completely familiar to the
reader. Then the text need not be translated into the reader's own language but
is immediately thought in the language of the text.28
Only when the language of a work is not immediately intelligible to the reader
does he have to search for the meanings of individual words separately, find them
(sometimes with a dictionary), and only then, after an appropriate interpretation
of the sense, "join" them to form a whole sentence. Thus one sometimes reads
Roman Ingarden 203
old Latin texts without having the ability to think in Latin (in which case the fact
that Latin is a "dead" language plays an important role). Basically we then under-
stand the text by translating it into our own language, and we check back only
to see whether this translation is correct. Disregarding the fact that a translation
of a work is never completely adequate (a problem in itself), the course the
reading itself follows is quite different in the two cases compared. In the first case
we assimilate the meanings of the individual words in such a way that we immedi-
ately think whole sentences. This "immediately" should not, of course, be taken
to mean that we think the complete sentences all at once, in one moment, or that
thinking the individual words is not necessary to the understanding of the whole
sentence. Each time we think a sentence explicitly formulated in words, we need
a short stretch of time to complete our thought; and it is also necessary when we
think a sentence to traverse in mental acts the verbal meanings which form it. In
reading a sentence, the opening words which we understand stimulate us to the
unfolding of a sentence-generating operation,29 a special mental flow in which the
sentence unfolds. Once we begin to move with the course of thought which the
sentence follows, we think it as a separate whole; and the individual verbal mean-
ings are automatically accommodated into the sentence flow as phases of it which
are not separately delimited. The verbal meanings can be so accommodated only
if they are immediately thought in those nuances of meaning which they have as
parts of that sentence. This is possible only because the sentence-generating
operation consists in filling out a special kind of system of syntactic functions.
The functions are filled by the words which make up the sentence. Once we are
transposed into the flow of thinking the sentence, we are prepared, after having
completed the thought of one sentence, to think its "continuation" in the form of
another sentence, specifically, a sentence which has a connection with the first
sentence. In this way the process of reading a text advances effortlessly. But when
it happens that the second sentence has no perceptible connection whatever with
the first, the flow of thought is checked. A more or less vivid surprise or vexation
is associated with the resulting hiatus. The block must be overcome if we are to
renew the flow of our reading. If we succeed, each following sentence will be
understood as a continuation of preceding sentences. Just what is "continued" or
developed is a separate problem, the solution of which depends on the structure
of the given work. All that is important just now is that there is such a thing as
an expectation for new sentences. And the advancing reading simply actualizes
and makes present to us what we are expecting. In our orientation toward what
is coming and our attempt to actualize it, we still do not lose sight of what we
have just read. To be sure, we do not continue to think vividly the sentences we
have already read at the same time that we are thinking the immediately following
sentence. Nevertheless, the meaning of the sentence we have just read (and, to
a limited degree also, that of several preceding sentences), as well as the sound
of the words just pronounced, is still peripherally experienced in the form of a
204 The Phenomenological Theory of Meaning
Any understanding of the semantic units in the literary work (words, sentences,
and complexes or structures of sentences) consists in performing the appropriate
signitive acts and leads thereby to the intentional projection of the objects of these
acts, or the intentional objects of the semantic units. Hence it appears, at first
glance, that the understanding in ordinary reading suffices to constitute for the
reader the objectivities portrayed in the work. But a closer look shows that this
is not the case.
Provisionally, we shall distinguish two different ways of reading the literary
work: ordinary, purely passive (receptive) reading and active reading.
Every reading, of course, is an activity consciously undertaken by the reader
and not a mere experience or reception of something. Nevertheless, in many
cases the whole effort of the reader consists in thinking the meanings of the
sentences he reads without making the meanings into objects and in remaining,
so to speak, in the sphere of meaning. There is no intellectual attempt to progress
from the sentences read to the objects appropriate to them and projected by them.
Of course, these objects are always an automatic intentional projection of the
sentence meanings. In purely passive reading, however, one does not attempt to
apprehend them or, in particular, to constitute them synthetically. Consequently,
in passive reading there is no kind of intercourse with the fictional objects.
This purely passive, receptive manner of reading, which is often mechanical
as well, occurs relatively often in the reading of both literary works of art and
scientific works. One still knows what one is reading, although the scope of
understanding is often limited to the sentence which is being read. But one does
not become clearly aware of what one is reading about and what its qualitative
constitution is. One is occupied with the realization of the sentence meaning itself
and does not absorb the meaning in such a way that one can transpose oneself by
means of it into the world of the objects in a work; one is too constrained by the
meaning of the individual sentences. One reads "sentence by sentence," and each
of these sentences is understood separately, in isolation; a synthetic combination
of the sentence just read with other sentences, sometimes widely separated from
it, is not achieved. If the passive reader were required to make a short summary
of the content of what he has read, he would be unable to do it. With a good
enough memory, he could perhaps repeat the text within certain limits, but that
is all. A good knowledge of the language of the work, a certain amount of practice
in reading, a stereotyped sentence structure—all this often results in the reading's
running its course quite "mechanically," without the personal and active participa-
tion of the reader, although he is the one doing the reading.
It is hard to describe the difference between passive, purely receptive reading
and "active" reading because in passive reading we do, after all, think the sen-
tences as we think them also in "active" reading. Thus there seems to be an activity
involved in both cases. It would perhaps be easier to contrast these two ways of
reading if we could say that, when one reads receptively, one does not think the
Roman Ingarden 207
Notes
1. In particular, it does not correspond to the word used in the Polish version, poz-
nawac, which clearly indicates an activity, not necessarily completed, and which can be
opposed to the Polish poznac, which designates a successful cognitive activity leading to
effective knowledge.
2. The word "value" and the word "work" are both used here with a certain double
meaning, which will become clear later. We cannot say everything at once.
3. I assumed an analogous standpoint as to method in the investigation of the basic
structure of the literary work of art in my book The Literary Work of Art [Das literarische
Kunstwerk (Halle: Max Niemeyer, 1931; 2d ed., Tubingen: Max Niemeyer, 1960; 3d ed.,
1965); English translation by George Grabowicz (Evanston, 111.: Northwestern University
Press, 1973)]. This method has been misunderstood from many sides. It does not mean
at all that I exclude the artistic or aesthetic value of the literary work of art from
consideration.
4. Even when we use artificial apparatus (e.g., a microscope, electron microscope,
radar, various electrical measuring devices, etc.) to observe objects (or processes), the
structure of the apparatus is designed to function in a certain way which is adapted to the
type of object or process which is to be "observed."
5. It is a special problem whether the declarative sentences which are only quoted in
the text, for example the sentences spoken by the persons portrayed, also undergo such
a modification. This is of particular importance for the drama. The question as to which
linguistic and perhaps also extralinguistic means produce the character of quasi-judgments
constitutes another problem, which has been investigated by Kate Hamburger. I shall
return to this problem in connection with the question of how the reader recognizes that
he is dealing only with quasi-judgments and not with genuine judgments, for instance in
a novel.
6.1 shall later have occasion to speak of the further differences between scientific works
and literary works of art.
7. An attentive, purely sensory perception (or, better, a series of continual perceptions
of the same thing, in sequence) gives us an object which is in every sense individual. In
a fleeting perception we tend to see clearly only a general aspect of the object; we then
say: "I see a mountain" or "a table." These words are general nouns and are applied to the
object of perception, which is indeed before us in its individuality without every detail
being strictly individualized. Only a further, more attentive perception leads to a more
exact apprehension of the uniqueness of many details, so that we understand its difference
from other "similar" objects. In reading a printed text, the individual letters and verbal
signs do not have individual qualities for us; they simply do not matter to us. On the con-
trary, it would disturb us in our reading if we noted individual differences in letters too
much. This becomes especially evident in reading manuscripts, where we purposely
ignore individual deviations in the physical form of the letters and direct ourselves to the
"character" of the person's handwriting—that is, to what is typical in his handwriting. If
we are unsuccessful in apprehending the character of the writing, we will be unable to
"decipher" the text at all.
8. I would not place such emphasis on this essentially trivial fact were it not for the
210 The Phenomenological Theory of Meaning
neopositivists, who once tried to reduce sentences to mere writing and this writing, as a
linguistic formation, to physical objects: spots of ink on paper, or particles of chalk on
a blackboard (see, in this connection, Erkenntnis, Vol. HI [1933]). But even linguists con-
sider the verbal sound the physical side of the word (see, for example, Emile Benveniste's
newest book, Problemes de linguistique generate [Paris: Gallimard, 1966]).
9. This is the case even when we do not know the meaning (as, for instance, in a foreign
language of which we have imperfect knowledge) and thus do not understand the word.
The phenomenon of not understanding can occur only where we are dealing from the
outset with a written sign and not with a mere drawing.
10. This is the case with all languages whose "pronunciation" we do not know.
11.1 use the word "expression' [Ausdruck] as Edmund Husserl did in his Logische Unter-
suchungen, 2 vols. (Halle: Max Niemeyer, 1900; 2d ed., 1913); [English translation by
J. N. Findlay, Logical Investigations, 2 vols. (New York: Humanities Press, 1970)].
Biihler used the same word later in another sense, in which what is expressed is not the
meaning of the word in a given language but rather a phenomenon of consciousness or an
emotional state of the speaker. In a literary work, words or entire phrases can exercise
this new expressive function if they are spoken by the characters in a work, e.g., in a
drama. The verbal sounds then gain a new, primarily emotional character, which adheres
to them without itself being any physical (visual or acoustic) quality.
12. Julius Stenzel once called attention to this possibility. The often-used word "expres-
sion" refers here only to the phonetic or written form of the word and is to be differentiated
from "word," which encompasses both the phonetic form and the meaning.
13. When we speak about the "word," we are using an artificial abstraction, because in
normal reading or understanding of a foreign language we do not concentrate on indi-
vidual, isolated words; rather, words form for us from the outset only part of a linguistic
structure of greater complexity, usually of a sentence. More about this later.
14. Danute Gierulanka furnished a good analysis of "understanding" in the various pos-
sible meanings of the word in her book Zagadnienie swoistosci poznania matematycznego
(The Character of Mathematical Knowledge) (Warsaw: Panstwowe Wydawn. Naukowe,
1962).
15. The neopositivists caused great confusion in the investigation of the meaning of
linguistic formations when they tried to eliminate the entire problem by preaching a
physicalistic theory of language. Since the Prague Congress (1934), where I was forced
to take a stand against the thesis that the meaning of a sentence is its verifiability, and since
the appearance of Alfred Tarski's "Der Wahrheitsbegriff in den formalisierten Sprachen,"
Studia Philosophica, Vol. I (1935), the neopositivists have tried to adopt another view-
point with regard to the problem of meaning. The "later" Wittgenstein, especially in his
Philosophical Investigations, was aware of these problems but was unable to find a real
solution.
16. It is usually said (especially in neopositivist circles) that the words which have a syn-
tactic function designate other "signs." This is false, primarily because the function of such
a word is entirely different from the designative function (the word "and" in the phrase "the
dog and his master" does not name these two nouns). In the second place, this explanation
completely overlooks the much more important function of such words with regard to what
is designated by other words, especially nouns.
Roman Ingarden 211
17. In connection with this kind of naming, it has become popular in the past few years
to speak of "deictic" definitions.
18. As I have mentioned, I am considering here only those cases of the cognition of a
literary work, and in particular of its semantic stratum, in which the reader really knows
the language of the work. This restriction obviates the question as to how one learns a
language—that is, the sense and the usage of individual words in larger linguistic forma-
tions. This latter case should not be confused with the situation of someone who reads a
work in an language he fully understands.
19. Oddly enough, those scholars, like the neopositivists, who postulate the intersubjec-
tivity of science as a conditio sine qua non are the same ones who, on the one hand,
interpret the meaning or sense of utterances psychologically (or interpret them according
to their so-called verifiability) and, on the other hand, maintain the impossibility of know-
ing another's experiences.
20. The language teachers who have developed the so-called direct method of learning
a foreign language have long been aware of this and have devised very subtle methods for
teaching their students the meanings of even abstract words without recourse to explicit
definitions.
Of course, one must examine further how one comes to the conviction that several
perceive the same object and are able to assure themselves of its identity. But these are
the last important questions in the clarification of the possibility of "objective" knowledge,
questions which have not yet been satisfactorily answered. The lack of satisfactory answers
cannot, however, make us doubt the intuitive possession of the identical and common
world. But the answers would be impossible if we did not have at our disposal a common
language, intelligible to all members of the same speech community.
21. That any given language is a structured system of definite meanings with definite
regularities and relationships is the basic assertion of Karl Biihler. Kasimir Ajdukiewicz,
the Polish logician, also treated this problem (see "Sprache und Sinn," Erkenntnis, Vol.
IV, no. 2 [1934]). His concern, however, was not spoken language but the artificial
languages of deductive systems. He did not discuss what determines the possibility of an
intersubjectively intelligible language. He merely developed the idea of a closed linguistic
system, which certainly does not hold for all "languages."
22. See The Literary Work of Art, § 15. [Das literarische Kunstwerk (Halle: Max
Niemeyer, 1931; 2ded., Tubingen: MaxNiemeyer, 1960; 3ded., 1965; English transla-
tion by George Grabowicz (Evanston, HI.: Northwestern University Press, 1973).] One
should remember that both nouns and finite verbs exercise various syntactic and logical
functions when they are parts of larger formations. These functions are exercised by the
grammatical "forms" of the nouns and the verbs.
23. In my book The Literary Work of An I discussed in somewhat greater detail what
I merely sketch here. The matter is very complex and demands a comprehensive investiga-
tion. I restrict myself here to a very rudimentary indication. If adequately developed, it
would lead, on the one hand, to a theory of language and, on the other, to regional
ontologies.
24. Normally one should not take the discovery of the verbal meaning to be the object
of a separate investigation. Such a thing is possible, of course, but usually occurs only
when we are dealing with a completely unfamiliar word or when we consider the verbal
212 The Phenomenological Theory of Meaning
meaning from a theoretical point of view, analyze it, or compare it with other meanings.
But such a consideration is not necessary in an ordinary reading and understanding of a
text; it simply does not occur. When we are dealing with a language we know, we
apprehend the appropriate meaning immediately, without making it an object of special
consideration. We shall soon explain how this immediate apprehension comes about.
25. See The Literary Work of Art, § 17.
26. This lexical form of the verbal meaning is, by the way, only an artificial construct
of linguistic analysis and not the original form of the verbal meaning, which in living
languages is always part of a linguistic unity. In its lexical form the word almost always
has many meanings; it becomes unambiguous when it is used concretely in a larger
linguistic unit.
27. Husserl would call this a "signitive act" [signitiver Akf]. See his Logical Investiga-
tions, Vol. n, Fifth Investigation, passim.
28. This distinction is usually ignored or insufficiently considered, but it is essential for
an apprehension of the work which is faithful to the text. Only when one reads a work in
its original language can one apprehend the original emotional character of the words and
phrases, the peculiar language melody, and all the subtle nuances of meaning of the text,
which often have no equivalent in another language.
29. I first discussed the sentence-generating operation in my book The Literary Work
of Art. The peculiar course of this operation and its possible variations have to be worked
out more closely. But, even in the rudimentary fashion in which I treated it at that time,
the indication of its existence is of great importance for the understanding of the unity of
the sentence and for the possibility of the apprehension of states of affairs. Precisely
because Franz Brenano, in his Von der Klassifikation der psychischen Phdnomene (Leip-
zig: Duncker & Humblot, 1911), found no place for unified operations extending beyond
the phase of the immediate present, he was unable to recognize the existence of states of
affairs, which then led to his confused theory of "reism."
30. The concept of "content" in contrast to "form" has, of course, a great many mean-
ings. I have also tried to compare the different concepts and, as far as possible, to define
them more precisely. (See, among others, "The General Question of the Essence of Form
and Content," Journal of Philosophy, Vol. LVn, no. 7 [I960].) In the text I make use of
one of these concepts, which seems to me the only justified and useful one for the purpose
of analyzing a literary work. The "content" of the literary work will be construed as the
organized structure of meaning in the work, which is constituted by the semantic stratum.
Of course, the "form" in which it is cast also belongs to this "content." The form is merely
the way in which the content of the work is organized into a whole. The form of the seman-
tic stratum must be distinguished, on the one hand, from the forms of the other strata and,
on the other, from the form of the whole work, i.e., the totality of strata in the structure
of the succession of the parts of the work. Each of these concepts can be determined unam-
biguously. But we must not contrast these various "forms" with the "content" of the work
as a whole; rather, we must reserve the concept of "content" for the organized whole of
the semantic stratum. The determination of the various "forms" which can be distinguished
in the literary work and the explication of their diverse interrelations require a special
investigation, which cannot be carried out here. Such an investigation is the only remedy
for the hopeless confusion which currently reigns in discussions of the "form-content
Roman Ingarden 213
problem." See my investigation in the second volume of the Studia z estetyki under the title
"O formic i tresci dziela sztuki literackiej" (On Form and Content in the Literary Work
of Art), pp. 343-473. [Also published as "Das Form-Inhalt-Problem im literarischen
Kunstwerk," in Roman Ingarden, Erlebnis, Kunstwerk und Wen (Tubingen: Max
Niemeyer, 1969), pp. 31-50.—Trans.]
31. As we shall see, this is only possible in a perspectival foreshortening or distortion.
I shall have more to say about this later.
7
Phenomenology and
Fundamental Ontology:
The Disclosure of Meaning
Martin Heidegger
MARTIN HEIDEGGER (1889-1976). The external and internal facts of Heidegger's life seem
scarce, and he has sometimes been called a man without a biography. Born in Messkirch,
a small town in the Black Forest, he attended a Jesuit school for several years and subse-
quently the Gymnasium (classical high school) in Freiburg. From 1913 to 1916 he studied
at the university in that town, theology at first and then philosophy together with some
science and history. He received his doctorate in 1913 and acquired his second doctorate
and venia legendi (Habilitatiori) three years later under the directorship of the Neokantian
philosopher Heinrich Rickert, with a thesis on Duns Scotus's theory of categories. He
began teaching that same year. He served in the German army from 1917 to 1919. In 1923
he became professor extraordinary at Marburg where he taught with great success. In 1928
he was appointed to the chair of philosophy at Freiburg which Husserl had vacated. Twice
(in 1930 and 1933) Heidegger declined a call to Berlin. After a brief interlude at the begin-
ning of the Third Reich (1933-1934), during which he assumed the rectorship of the
university, Heidegger concentrated exclusively on his teaching until 1944 when he was
drafted again, this time to dig trenches and foxholes for the army. From 1945 to 1951 he
was suspended from the university by the French military government. He became emeritus
in 1952, but continued teaching and lecturing until 1966 to 1967. In the years before 1927
Heidegger published essays and articles on various philosophical problems. While teach-
ing at Freiburg, he came increasingly under the influence of Edmund Husserl and his
phenomenology. In Marburg he worked in close contact with the theologian Rudolf
Bultmann. After Being and Time (1927), Heidegger published mainly essays and articles
and relinquished his plans for a second part of Being and Time. He was highly influential
as a teacher, and many of his courses were delivered from booklike manuscripts. His un-
published work is immense and will comprise a good portion of the planned fifty-six
volume edition of his writings (see Sect. A, Bibl.). The significance of Being and Time
for hermeneutics stems from the fact that Heidegger radicalized the Diltheyan notion of
214
Martin Heidegger 215
BEING-THERE AS UNDERSTANDING
State-of-mind is one of the existential structures in which the Being of the 'there'
maintains itself. Equiprimordial with it in constituting this Being is understanding.
A state-of-mind always has its understanding, even if it merely keeps it sup-
pressed. Understanding always has its mood. If we Interpret understanding as a
fundamental existentiale, this indicates that this phenomenon is conceived as a
basic mode of Dasein's Being. On the other hand, 'understanding' in the sense of
one possible kind of cognizing among others (as distinguished, for instance, from
'explaining'), must, like explaining, be Interpreted as an existential derivative of
that primary understanding which is one of the constituents of the Being of the
"there" in general.
We have, after all, already come up against this primordial understanding in
our previous investigations, though we did not allow it to be included explicitly
in the theme under discussion. To say that in existing, Dasein is its "there," is
equivalent to saying that the world is 'there'; its Being-there is Being-in. And the
latter is likewise 'there,' as that for the sake of which Dasein is. In the "for-the-
sake-of-which," existing Being-in-the-world is disclosed as such, and this
disclosedness we have called "understanding." In the understanding of the "for-
the-sake-of-which," the significance which is grounded therein, is disclosed along
with it. The disclosedness of understanding, as the disclosedness of the "for-the-
sake-of-which" and of significance equiprimordially, pertains to the entirety of
Being-in-the-world. Significance is that on the basis of which the world is dis-
closed as such. To say that the "for-the-sake-of-which" and significance are both
disclosed in Dasein, means that Dasein is that entity which, as Being-in-the-
world, is an issue for itself.
When we are talking ontically we sometimes use the expression 'understanding
something' with the signification of 'being able to manage something,' 'being a
match for it,' 'being competent to do something.n In understanding, as an
216 Phenomenology and Fundamental Ontology
existentiale, that which we have such competence over is not a "what," but Being
as existing. The kind of Being which Dasein has, as potentiality-for-Being, lies
existentially in understanding. Dasein is not something present-at-hand which
possesses its competence for something by way of an extra; it is primarily Being-
possible. Dasein is in every case what it can be, and in the way in which it is its
possibility. The Being-possible which is essential for Dasein, pertains to the ways
of its solicitude for Others and of its concern with the 'world,' as we have
characterized them; and in all these, and always, it pertains to Dasein's
potentiality-for-Being towards itself, for the sake of itself. The Being-possible
which Dasein is existentially in every case, is to be sharply distinguished both
from empty logical possibility and from the contingency of something present-at-
hand, so far as with the present-at-hand this or that can 'come to pass.'2 As a modal
category of presence-at-hand, possibility signifies what is not yet actual and what
is not at any time necessary. It characterizes the merely possible. Ontologically
it is on a lower level than actuality and necessity. On the other hand, possibility
as an existentiale is the most primordial and ultimate positive way in which
Dasein is characterized ontologically. As with existentiality in general, we can,
in the first instance, only prepare for the problem of possibility. The phenomenal
basis for seeing it at all is provided by the understanding as a disclosive
potentiality-for-Being.
Possibility, as an existentiale, does not signify a free-floating potentiality-for-
Being in the sense of the 'liberty of indifference' (libertas indifferentiae). In every
case Dasein, as essentially having a state-of-mind, has already got itself into
definite possibilities. As the potentiality-for-Being which it is, it has let such
possibilities pass by; it is constantly waiving the possibilities of its Being, or else
it seizes upon them and makes mistakes.3 But this means that Dasein is Being-
possible which has been delivered over to itself—thrown possibility through and
through. Dasein is the possibility of Being-free for its ownmost potentiality-for-
Being. Its Being-possible is transparent to itself in different possible ways and
degrees.
Understanding is the Being of such potentiality-for-Being, which is never
something still outstanding as not yet present-at-hand, but which, as something,
which is essentially never present-at-hand, 'w' with the Being of Dasein, in the
sense of existence. Dasein is such that in every case it has understood (or alter-
natively, not understood) that it is to be thus or thus. As such understanding it
'knows' what it is capable of—that is, what its potentiality-for-Being is capable
of.4 This 'knowing' does not first arise from an immanent self-perception, but
belongs to the Being of the "there," which is essentially understanding. And only
because Dasein, in understanding, is its "there," can it go astray and fail to
recognize itself. And in so far as understanding is accompanied by state-of-mind
and as such is existentially surrendered to thrownness, Dasein has in every case
already gone astray and failed to recognize itself. In its potentiality-for-Being it
Martin Heidegger 217
is therefore delivered over to the possibility of first finding itself again in its
possibilities.
Understanding is the existential Being ofDasein's own potentiality-for-Being;
and it is so in such a way that this Being discloses in itself what its Being is capable
of.5 We must grasp the structure of this existentiale more precisely.
As a disclosure, understanding always pertains to the whole basic state of
Being-in-the-world. As a potentiality-for-Being, any Being-in is a potentiality-
for-Being-in-the-world. Not only is the world, qua world, disclosed as possible
significance, but when that which is within-the-world is itself freed, this entity
is freed for its own possibilities. That which is ready-to-hand is discovered as such
in its serviceability, its usability, and its detrimenta//ry. The totality of involve-
ments is revealed as the categorial whole of a possible interconnection of the
ready-to-hand. But even the 'unity' of the manifold present-at-hand, of Nature,
can be discovered only if a possibility of it has been disclosed. Is it accidental that
the question about the Being of Nature aims at the 'conditions of its possibility'!
On what is such an inquiry based? When confronted with this inquiry, we cannot
leave aside the question: why are entities which are not of the character of Dasein
understood in their Being, if they are disclosed in accordance with the conditions
of their possibility? Kant presupposes something of the sort, perhaps rightly. But
this presupposition itself is something that cannot be left without demonstrating
how it is justified.
Why does the understanding—whatever may be the essential dimensions of
that which can be disclosed in it— always press forward into possibilities? It is
because the understanding has in itself the existential structure which we call
"projection."6 With equal primordiality the understanding projects Dasein's
Being both upon its "for-the-sake-of-which" and upon significance, as the world-
hood of its current world. The character of understanding as projection is consti-
tutive for Being-in-the-world with regard to the disclosedness of its existentially
constitutive state-of-Being by which the factical potentiality-for-Being gets its
leeway [Spielraum]. And as thrown, Dasein is thrown into the kind of Being
which we call "projecting." Projecting has nothing to do with comporting oneself
towards a plan that has been thought out, and in accordance with which Dasein
arranges its Being. On the contrary, any Dasein has, as Dasein, already projected
itself; and as long as it is, it is projecting. As long as it is, Dasein always has
understood itself and always will understand itself in terms of possibilities.
Furthermore, the character of understanding as projection is such that the under-
standing does not grasp thematically that upon which it projects—that is to say,
possibilities. Grasping it in such a manner would take away from what is
projected its very character as a possibility, and would reduce it to the given
contents which we have in mind; whereas projection, in throwing, throws before
itself the possibility as possibility, and lets it be as such.7 As projecting, under-
standing is the kind of Being of Dasein in which it is its possibilities as possibilities.
218 Phenomenology and Fundamental Ontology
tracking down and inspecting a point called the "Self," but rather one of seizing
upon the full disclosedness of Being-in-the-world throughout all the constitutive
items which are essential to it, and doing so with understanding. In existing,
entities sight 'themselves' [sichtet "sich"] only in so far as they have become
transparent to themselves with equal primordiality in those items which are con-
stitutive for their existence: their Being-alongside the world and their Being-with
Others.
On the other hand, Dasein's opaqueness [Undurchsichtigkeit] is not rooted
primarily and solely in 'egocentric' self-deceptions; it is rooted just as much in
lack of acquaintance with the world.
We must, to be sure, guard against a misunderstanding of the expression 'sight.'
It corresponds to the "clearedness" [Gelichtetheit] which we took as characteriz-
ing the disclosedness of the "there." 'Seeing' does not mean just perceiving with
the bodily eyes, but neither does it mean pure non-sensory awareness of some-
thing present-at-hand in its presence-at-hand. In giving an existential signification
to "sight," we have merely drawn upon the peculiar feature of seeing, that it lets
entities which are accessible to it be encountered unconcealedly in themselves.
Of course, every 'sense' does this within that domain of discovery which is
genuinely its own. But from the beginning onwards the tradition of philosophy
has been oriented primarily towards 'seeing' as a way of access to entities and to
Being. To keep the connection with this tradition, we may formalize "sight" and
"seeing" enough to obtain therewith a universal term for characterizing any access
to entities or to Being, as access in general.
By showing how all sight is grounded primarily in understanding (the circum-
spection of concern is understanding as common sense [Verstfindigkeit], we have
deprived pure intuition [Anschauen] of its priority, which corresponds noetically
to the priority of the present-at-hand in traditional ontology. 'Intuition' and 'think-
ing' are both derivatives of understanding, and already rather remote ones. Even
the phenomenological 'intuition of essences' ["Wesensschau"] is grounded in
existential understanding. We can decide about this kind of seeing only if we have
obtained explicit conceptions of Being and of the structure of Being, such as only
phenomena in the phenomenological sense can become.
The disclosedness of the "there" in understanding is itself a way of Dasein's
potentiality-for-Being. In the way in which its Being is projected both upon the
"for-the-sake-of-which" and upon significance (the world), there lies the dis-
closedness of Being in general. Understanding of Being has already been taken
for granted in projecting upon possibilities. In projection, Being is understood,
though not ontologically conceived. An entity whose kind of Being is the essential
projection of Being-in-the-world has understanding of Being, and has this as con-
stitutive for its Being. What was posited dogmatically at an earlier stage now gets
exhibited in terms of the Constitution of the Being in which Dasein as under-
standing is its "there." The existential meaning of this understanding of Being
220 Phenomenology and Fundamental Ontology
Translator's Notes
1. '. . .in der Bedeutung von "einer Sache vorstehen konnen," "ihr gewachsen sein,"
"etwas konnen."' The expression Vorstehen' ('to manage,' 'to be in charge') is here con-
nected with 'verstehen' ('to understand').
2. '. . . von der Kontingenz eines Vorhandenen, sofern mit diesem das und jenes
"passieren" kann.'
3. '. . . ergreift sie und vergreift sich.'
4. 'Als solches Verstehen "weiss" es, woran es mit ihm selbst, das heisst seinem Sein-
konnen ist.'
5. '. . . so zwar, dass dieses Sein an ihm selbst das Woran des mit ihm selbst Seins
erschliesst.'
6. 'Entwurf.' The basic meaning of this noun and the cognate verb 'entwerfen' is that of
'throwing' something 'off' or 'away' from one; but in ordinary German usage, and often
in Heidegger, they take on the sense of 'designing' or 'sketching' some 'project' which is
to be carried through; and they may also be used in the more special sense of 'projection'
in which a geometer is said to 'project' a curve 'upon' a plane. The words 'projection' and
'project' accordingly lend themselves rather well to translating these words in many con-
texts, especially since their root meaings are very similar to those of 'Entwurf and 'ent-
werfen'; but while the root meaning of'throwing off' is still very much alive in Heidegger's
German, it has almost entirely died out in the ordinary English usage of 'projection' and
'project,' which in turn have taken on some connotations not felt in the German. Thus when
the English translation Dasein is said to 'project' entities, or possibilities, or even its own
Martin Heidegger 221
Being 'upon' something, the reader should bear in mind that the root meaning of throwing'
is more strongly felt in the German than in the translation.
7. '. . . zieht es herab zu einem gegebenen, gemeinten Bestand, wahrend der Entwurf
im Werfen die Moglichkeit als Moglichkeit sich vorwirft und als solche sein lasst.' The
expression 'einem etwas vorwerfen' means literally to 'throw something forward to some-
one,' but often has the connotation of 'reproaching him with something,' or 'throwing
something in his teeth.' Heidegger may have more than one of these significations in mind.
8. '"Selbsterkenntnis."' This should be carefully distinguished from the 'Sichkennen.'
Perhaps this distinction can be expressed—though rather crudely—by pointing out that
we are here concerned with a full and sophisticated knowledge of the Self in all its implica-
tions, while in the earlier passage we were concerned with the kind of 'self-knowledge'
which one loses when one 'forgets oneself or does something so out of character that one
'no longer knows oneself.'
9. 'konkreten.' The earlier editions have 'konkreteren' ('more conceretely').
with what becomes visible through this process. That which has been circum-
spectively taken apart with regard to its "in-order-to," and taken apart as such—
that which is explicitly understood—has the structure of something as something.
The circumspective question as to what this particular thing that is ready-to-hand
may be, receives the circumspectively interpretative answer that it is for such and
such a purpose [es ist zum . . .]. If we tell what it is for [des Wozu], we are not
simply designating something; but that which is designated is understood as that
as which we are to take the thing in question. That which is disclosed in under-
standing—that which is understood—is already accessible in such a way that its
'as which' can be made to stand out explicitly. The 'as' makes up the structure of
the explicitness of something that is understood. It constitutes the interpretation.
In dealing with what is environmentally ready-to-hand by interpreting it circum-
spectively, we 'see' it as a table, a door, a carriage, or a bridge; but what we have
thus interpreted [Ausgelegte] need not necessarily be also taken apart [ausein-
ander zu legen] by making an assertion which definitely characterizes it. Any
mere pre-predicative seeing of the ready-to-hand is, in itself, something which
already understands and interprets. But does not the absence of such an 'as' make
up the mereness of any pure perception of something? Whenever we see with this
kind of sight, we already do so understandingly and interpretatively. In the mere
encountering of something, it is understood in terms of a totality of involvements;
and such seeing hides in itself the explicitness of the assignment-relations (of the
"in-order-to") which belong to that totality. That which is understood gets Articu-
lated when the entity to be understood is brought close interpretatively by taking
as our clue the 'something as something'; and this Articulation lies before [liegt
vor] our making any thematic assertion about it. In such an assertion the 'as' does
not turn up for the first time; it just gets expressed for the first time, and this is
possible only in that it lies before us as something expressible.5 The fact that when
we look at something, the explicitness of assertion can be absent, does not justify
our denying that there is any Articulative interpretation in such mere seeing, and
hence that there is any as-structure in it. When we have to do with anything, the
mere seeing of the Things which are closest to us bears in itself the structure of
interpretation, and in so primordial a manner that just to grasp something free,
as it were, of the "as," requires a certain readjustment. When we merely stare at
something, our just-having-it-before-us lies before us as a failure to understand
it any more. This grasping which is free of the "as," is a privation of the kind of
seeing in which one merely understands. It is not more primordial than that kind
of seeing, but is derived from it. If the 'as' is ontically unexpressed, this must not
seduce us into overlooking it as a constitutive state for understanding, existential
and a priori.
But if we never perceive equipment that is ready-to-hand without already
understanding and interpreting it, and if such perception lets us circumspectively
encounter something as something, does this not mean that in the first instance
Martin Heidegger 223
formally that this is something 'a prior?*? Why does understanding, which we
have designated as a fundamental existentiale of Dasein, have this structure as its
own? Anything interpreted, as something interpreted, has the 'as'-structure as its
own; and how is this related to the 'fore' structure? The phenomenon of the 'as'-
structure is manifestly not to be dissolved or broken up 'into pieces.' But is a
primordial analytic for it thus ruled out? Are we to concede that such phenomena
are 'ultimates'? Then there would still remain the question, "why? " Or do the fore-
structure of understanding and the as-structure of interpretation show an
existential-ontological connection with the phenomenon of projection? And does
this phenomenon point back to a primordial state of Dasein's Being?
Before we answer these questions, for which the preparation up till now has
been far from sufficient, we must investigate whether what has become visible
as the fore-structure of understanding and as the as-structure of interpretation,
does not itself already present us with a unitary phenomenon— one of which
copious use is made in philosophical problematics, though what is used so univer-
sally falls short of the primordiality of ontological explication.
In the projecting of the understanding, entities are disclosed in their possibility.
The character of the possibility corresponds, on each occasion, with the kind of
Being of the entity which is understood. Entities within-the-world generally are
projected upon the world—that is, upon a whole of significance, to whose
reference-relations concern, as Being-in-the-world, has been tied up in advance.
When entities within-the-world are discovered along with the Being of Dasein—
that is, when they have come to be understood—we say that they have meaning
[Sinn]. But that which is understood, taken strictly, is not the meaning but the
entity, or alternatively, Being. Meaning is that wherein the intelligibility [Ver-
standlichkeit] of something maintains itself. That which can be Articulated in a
disclosure by which we understand, we call "meaning." The concept of meaning
embraces the formal existential framework of what necessarily belongs to that
which an understanding interpretation Articulates. Meaning is the "upon-which"
of a projection in terms of which something becomes intelligible as something;
it gets its structure from afore-having, a fore-sight, and a fore-conception.10 In
so far as understanding and interpretation make up the existential state of Being
of the "there," "meaning" must be conceived as the formal-existential state of
Being of the "there," "meaning" must be conceived as the formal existential
framework of the disclosedness which belongs to understanding. Meaning is an
existentiale of Dasein, not a property attaching to entities, lying 'behind' them,
or floating somewhere as an 'intermediate domain.' Dasein only 'has' meaning,
so far as the disclosedness of Being-in-the-world can be 'filled in' by the entities
discoverable in that disclosedness.11 Hence only Dasein can be meaningful [sinn-
voll\ or meaningless [sinnlos]. That is to say, its own Being and the entities
disclosed with its Being can be appropriated in understanding, or can remain
relegated to non-understanding.
Martin Heidegger 225
and interpretation to a definite ideal of knowledge is not the issue here. Such an
ideal is itself only a subspecies of understanding—a subspecies which has strayed
into the legitimate task of grasping the present-at-hand in its essential unintelligi-
bility [Unverstandlichkeit]. If the basic conditions which make interpretation
possible are to be fulfilled, this must rather be done by not failing to recognize
beforehand the essential conditions under which it can be performed. What is
decisive is not to get out of the circle but to come into it in the right way. This
circle of understanding is not an orbit in which any random kind of knowledge
may move; it is the expression of the existential fore-structure of Dasein itself.
It is not to be reduced to the level of a vicious circle, or even of a circle which
is merely tolerated. In the circle is hidden a positive possibility of the most
primordial kind of knowing. To be sure, we genuinely take hold of this possibility
only when, in our interpretation, we have understood that our first, last, and con-
stant task is never to allow our fore-having, fore-sight, and fore-conception to be
presented to us by fancies and popular conceptions, but rather to make the scien-
tific theme secure by working out these fore-structures in terms of the things
themselves. Because understanding, in accordance with its existential meaning,
is Dasein's own potentiality-for-Being, the ontological presuppositions of histori-
ological knowledge transcend in principle the idea of rigour held in the most exact
sciences. Mathematics is not more rigorous than historiology, but only narrower,
because the existential foundations relevant for it lie within a narrower range.
The 'circle' in understanding belongs to the structure of meaning, and the latter
phenomenon is rooted in the existential constitution of Dasein—that is, in the
understanding which interprets. An entity for which, as Being-in-the-world, its
Being is itself an issue, has, ontologically, a circular structure. If, however, we
note that 'circularity' belongs ontologically to a kind of Being which is present-at-
hand (namely, to subsistence [Bestand]), we must altogether avoid using this
phenomenon to characterize anything like Dasein ontologically.
Translator's Notes
1. Heidegger uses two words which might well be translated as 'interpretation': 'Aus-
legung' and 'Interpretation.' Though in many cases these may be regarded as synonyms,
their connotations are not quite the same. 'Auslegung' seems to be used in a broad sense
to cover any activity in which we interpret something 'as' something, whereas 'Interpreta-
tion' seems to apply to interpretations which are more theoretical or systematic, as in the
exegesis of a text. We shall preserve this distinction by writing 'interpretation' for 'Aus-
legung,' but 'Interpretation' for Heidegger's 'Interpretation,' following similar conventions
for the verbs 'auslegen' and 'interpretieren.'
2. 'Auslegung.' The older editions have 'Auslegung.'
Martin Heidegger 227
out effectively by writing 'understandable,' 'understandability,' etc., but only at the cost
of awkwardness.)
11. Sinn "hat" nur das Dasein, sofern die Erschlossenheit des In-der-Welt-seins durch
das in ihr entdeckbare Seiende "erfullbar" ist.' The point of this puzzling and ambiguous
sentence may become somewhat clearer if the reader recalls that here as elsewhere the verb
'erschliessen' ('disclose') is used in the sense of'opening something up' so that its contents
can be 'discovered.' What thus gets 'opened up' will then be 'filled in' as more and more
of its contents get discovered.
12. 'Der Sinn von Sein kann nie in Gegensatz gebracht werden zum Seienden oder zum
Sein als tragenden "Grund" des Seienden, weil "Grund" nur als Sinn zuganglich wird, und
sei er selbst der Abgrund der Sinnlosigkeit.' Notice the etymological kinship between
'Grund' ('ground') and 'Abgrund' ('abyss').
In what follows, we give three significations to the term "assertion." These are
drawn from the phenomenon which is thus designated, they are connected among
themselves, and in their unity they encompass the full structure of assertion.
1. The primary signification of "assertion" is "pointing out" [Aujzeigen]. In this
we adhere to the primordial meaning of Xoyo? as dwioqxxvaK;— letting an entity be
seen from itself. In the assertion The hammer is too heavy,' what is discovered
for sight is not a 'meaning,' but an entity in the way that it is ready-to-hand. Even
if this entity is not close enough to be grasped and 'seen,' the pointing-out has in
view the entity itself and not, let us say, a mere "representation" [Vorstellung]
of it—neither something 'merely represented' nor the psychical condition in
which the person who makes the assertion "represents" it.
2. "Assertion" means no less than "predication." We 'assert' a 'predicate' of a
'subject,' and the 'subject' is given a definite character [bestimmt] by the 'predi-
cate.' In this signification of "assertion," that which is put forward in the assertion
[Das Ausgesagte] is not the predicate, but 'the hammer itself.' On the other hand,
that which does the asserting [Das Aussagende] (in other words, that which gives
something a definite character) lies in the 'too heavy.' That which is put forward
in the assertion in the second signification of "assertion" (that which is given a
definite character, as such) has undergone a narrowing of content as compared
with what is put forward in the assertion in the first signification of this term.
Every predication is what it is, only as a pointing-out. The second signification
of "assertion" has its foundation in the first. Within this pointing-out, the elements
which are Articulated in predication—the subject and predicate—arise. It is not
by giving something a definite character that we first discover that which shows
itself—the hammer—as such; but when we give it such a character, our seeing
gets restricted to it in the first instance, so that by this explicit restriction3 of our
view, that which is already manifest may be made explicitly manifest in its definite
character. In giving something a definite character, we must, in the first instance,
take a step back when confronted with that which is already manifest— the ham-
mer that is too heavy. In 'setting down the subject,' we dim entities down to focus
in 'that hammer there,' so that by thus dimming them down we may let that which
is manifest be seen in its own definite character as a character that can be deter-
mined.4 Setting down the subject, setting down the predicate, and setting down
the two together, are thoroughly 'apophantical' in the strict sense of the word.
3. "Assertion" means "communication" [Mitteilung], speaking forth [Heraus-
sage]. As communication, it is directly related to "assertion" in the first and
second significations. It is letting someone see with us what we have pointed out
by way of giving it a definite character. Letting someone see with us shares with
[teilt . . . mit] the Other that entity which has been pointed out in its definite
character. That which is 'shared' is our Being towards what has been pointed
out—a Being in which we see it in common. One must keep in mind that this
Being-towards is Being-in-the-world, and that from out of this very world what
230 Phenomenology and Fundamental Ontology
has been pointed out gets encountered. Any assertion, as a communication under-
stood in this existential manner, must have been expressed.5 As something
communicated, that which has been put forward in the assertion is something that
Others can 'share' with the person making the assertion, even though the entity
which he has pointed out and to which he has given a definite character is not close
enough for them to grasp and see it. That which is put forward in the assertion
is something which can be passed along in 'further retelling.' There is a widening
of the range of that mutual sharing which sees. But at the same time, what has
been pointed out may become veiled again in this further retelling, although even
the kind of knowing which arises in such hearsay (whether knowledge that some-
thing is the case [Wissen] or merely an acquaintance with something [Kennen])
always has the entity itself in view and does not 'give assent' to some 'valid mean-
ing' which has been passed around. Even hearsay is a Being-in-the-world, and a
Being towards what is heard.
There is prevalent today a theory of 'judgment' which is oriented to the phe-
nomenon of 'validity .* We shall not give an extensive discussion of it here. It will
be sufficient to allude to the very questionable character of this phenomenon of
'validity,' though since the time of Lotze people have been fond of passing this
off as a 'primal phenomenon' which cannot be traced back any further. The fact
that it can play this role is due only to its ontologically unclarified character. The
'problematic' which has established itself round this idolized word is no less
opaque. In the first place, validity is viewed as the 'form' of actuality which goes
with the content of the judgment, in so far as that content remains unchanged as
opposed to the changeable 'psychical' process of judgment. Considering how the
status of the question of Being in general has been characterized in the introduc-
tion to this treatise, we would scarcely venture to expect that 'validity' as 'ideal
Being' is distinguished by special ontological clarity. In the second place, "valid-
ity" means at the same time the validity of the meaning of the judgment, which
is valid of the 'Object' it has in view; and thus it attains the signification of an
'Objectively valid character1 and of Objectivity in general. In the third place, the
meaning which is thus 'valid' of an entity, and which is valid 'tunelessly' in itself,
is said to be 'valid' also in the sense of being valid for everyone who judges
rationally. "Validity" now means a bindingness, or 'universally valid' character.7
Even if one were to advocate a 'critical' epistemological theory, according to
which the subject does not 'really' 'come out' to the Object, then this valid char-
acter, as the validity of an Object (Objectivity), is grounded upon that stock of
true (!) meaning which is itself valid. The three significations of 'being valid'
which we have set forth—the way of Being of the ideal, Objectivity, and binding-
ness—not only are opaque in themselves but constantly get confused with one
another. Methodological fore-sight demands that we do not choose such unstable
concepts as a clue to Interpretation. We make no advance restriction upon the
concept of "meaning" which would confine it to signifying the 'content of
Martin Heidegger 231
judgment' just mentioned, may take some such form as The hammer is too
heavy,' or rather just Too heavy!,' 'Hand me the other hammer!' Interpretation
is carried out primordially not in a theoretical statement but in an action of cir-
cumspective concern—laying aside the unsuitable tool, or exchanging it, 'without
wasting words.' From the fact that words are absent, it may not be concluded that
interpretation is absent. On the other hand, the kind of interpretation which is cir-
cumspectively expressed is not necessarily already an assertion in the sense we
have defined. By what existential-ontological modifications does assertion arise
from circumspective interpretation?
The entity which is held in our fore-having—for instance, the hammer—is
proximally ready-to-hand as equipment. If this entity becomes the 'object' of an
assertion, then as soon as we begin this assertion, there is already a change-over
in the fore-having. Something ready-to-hand with which we have to do or perform
something, turns into something 'about which' the assertion that points it out is
made. Our fore-sight is aimed at something present-at-hand in what is ready-to-
hand. Both by and for this way of looking at it [Hin-sicht], the ready-to-hand
becomes veiled as ready-to-hand. Within this discovering of presence-at-hand,
which is at the same time a covering-up of readiness-to-hand, something
present-at-hand which we encounter is given a definite character in its Being-
present-at-hand-in-such-and-such-a-manner. Only now are we given any access
to properties or the like. When an assertion has given a definite character to
something present-at-hand, it says something about it as a "what"; and this "what"
is drawn^-om that which is present-at-hand as such. The as-structure of interpre-
tation has undergone a modification. In its funqtion of appropriating what is
understood, the 'as' no longer reaches out into a! totality of involvements. As
regards its possibilities for Articulating reference-relations, it has been cut off
from that significance which, as such, constitutes environmentally. The 'as' gets
pushed back into the uniform plane of that which is merely present-at-hand. It
dwindles to the structure of just letting one see what is present-at-hand, and letting
one see it in a definite way. This levelling of the primordial 'as' of circumspective
interpretation to the "as" with which presence-at-hand is given a definite character
is the specialty of assertion. Only so does it obtain the possibility of exhibiting
something in such a way that we just look at it.
Thus assertion cannot disown its ontological origin from an interpretation
which understands. The primordial 'as' of an interpretation (epfXTjveta) which
understands circumspectively we call the "existential-hermeneutical 'as'" in dis-
tinction from the "apophantical 'as'" of the assertion.
Translator's Notes
1. 'Gegliederte.' The verbs 'artikulieren' and 'gliedern' can both be translated by 'articu-
late' in English; even in German they are nearly synonymous, but in the former the
Martin Heidegger 233
emphasis is presumably on the 'joints' at which something gets divided, while in the latter
the emphasis is presumably on the 'parts' or 'members.' We have distinguished between
them by translating 'artikulieren' by 'Articulate' (with a capital 'A'), and 'gliedern' by
'articulate' (with a lower-case initial).
2. '. . . die Aussage (das "Urteil") . . .'
3. 'Einschrdnkung.' The older editions have 'Entschrankung.'
4. '. . . die "Subjektsetzung" blendet das Seiende ab auf "der Hammer da," um durch
den Vollzug der Entblendung das Offenbare in seiner bestimmbaren Bestimmtheit sehen
zu lassen.'
5. 'Zur Aussage als der so existenzial verstandenen Mit-teilung gehort die Ausge-
sprochenheit."
6. Heidegger uses three words which might conveniently be translated as 'validity':
'Geltung' (our 'validity'), 'Giiltigkeit' (our 'valid character'), and 'Gelten' (our 'being valid,'
etc.). The reader who has studied logic in English and who accordingly thinks of validity'
as merely a property of arguments in which the premises imply the conclusion, must
remember that in German the verb 'gelten' and its derivatives are used much more broadly,
so as to apply to almost anything that is commonly (or even privately) accepted, so that
one can speak of the 'validity' of legal tender, the 'validity' of a ticket for so many weeks
or months, the 'validity' of that which 'holds' for me or for you, the 'validity' of anything
that is the case. While Heidegger's discussion does not cover as many of these meanings
as will be listed in any good German dictionary, he goes well beyond the narrower usage
of the English-speaking logician. Of course, we shall often translate 'gelten' in other ways.
7. '. . . Verbindlichkeit, "Allgemeingultigkeit,"'
8. 'Woraufhin das vorgegebene Seiende anvisiert wird, das ubernimmt im Bestim-
mungsvollzug die Funktion des Bestimmenden.'
The fundamental existentialia which constitute the Being of the "there," the
disclosedness of Being-in-the-world, are states-of-mind and understanding. In
understanding, there lurks the possibility of interpretation—that is, of appropri-
ating what is understood. In so far as a state-of-mind is equiprimordial with an
act of understanding, it maintains itself in a certain understanding. Thus there
corresponds to it a certain capacity for getting interpreted. We have seen that
assertion is derived from interpretation, and is an extreme case of it. In clarifying
the third signification of assertion as communication (speaking forth), we were
led to the concepts of "saying" and "speaking," to which we had purposely given
no attention up to that point. The fact that language now becomes our theme for
234 Phenomenology and Fundamental Ontology
the first time will indicate that this phenomenon has its roots in the existential
constitution of Dasein's disclosedness. The existential-ontological foundation of
language is discourse or talk.1 This phenomenon is one of which we have been
making constant use already in our foregoing Interpretation of state-of-mind,
understanding, interpretation, and assertion; but we have, as it were, kept it sup-
pressed in our thematic analysis.
Discourse is existentially equiprimordial with state-of-mind and understand-
ing. The intelligibility of something has always been articulated, even before
there is any appropriative interpretation of it. Discourse is the Articulation of
intelligibility. Therefore it underlies both interpretation and assertion. That
which can be Articulated in interpretation, and thus even more primordially in
discourse, is what we have called "meaning." That which gets articulated as such
in discursive Articulation, we call the "totality-of-significations" [Bedeutungs-
ganze]. This can be dissolved or broken up into significations. Significations, as
what has been Articulated from that which can be Articulated, always carry
meaning [. . . sind . . . sinnhaft]. If discourse, as the Articulation of the intel-
ligibility of the "there," is a primordial existentiale of disclosedness, and if dis-
closedness is primarily constituted by Being-in-the-world, then discourse too
must have essentially a kind of Being which is specifically worldly. The intelligi-
bility of Being-in-the-world— an intelligibility which goes with a state-of-mind—
expresses itself as discourse. The totality-of-significations of intelligibility is put
into words. To significations, words accrue. But word-Things do not get supplied
with significations.
The way in which discourse gets expressed is language.2 Language is a totality
of words—a totality in which discourse has a 'worldly' Being of its own; and as
an entity within-the-world, this totality thus becomes something which we may
come across as ready-to-hand. Language can be broken up into word-Things
which are present-at-hand. Discourse is existentially language, because that en-
tity whose disclosedness it Articulates according to significations, has, as its kind
of Being, Being-in-the-world—a Being which has been thrown and submitted to
the 'world.'
As an existential state in which Dasein is disclosed, discourse is constitutive
for Dasein's existence. Hearing and keeping silent [Schweigen] are possibilities
belonging to discursive speech. In these phenomena the constitutive function of
discourse for the existentiality of existence becomes entirely plain for the first
time. But in the first instance the issue is one of working out the structure of
discourse as such.
Discoursing or talking is the way in which we articulate 'significantly' the
intelligibility of Being-in-the-world. Being-with belongs to Being-in-the-world,
which in every case maintains itself in some definite way of concernful Being-
with-one-another. Such Being-with-one-another is discursive as assenting or
refusing, as demanding or warning, as pronouncing, consulting, or interceding,
Martin Heidegger 235
as 'making assertions,' and as talking in the way of giving a talk.'3 Talking is talk
about something. That which the discourse is about [das Woriiber der Rede] does
not necessarily or even for the most part serve as the theme for an assertion in
which one gives something a definite character. Even a command is given about
something; a wish is about something. And so is intercession. What the discourse
is about is a structural item that it necessarily possesses; for discourse helps to
constitute the disclosedness of Being-in-the-world, and in its own structure it is
modelled upon this basic state of Dasein. What is talked about [das Beredete] in
talk is always 'talked to' ["angeredet"] in a definite regard and within certain
limits. In any talk or discourse, there is something said-in-the-talk as such [ein
Geredetes as solches]—something said as such [das . . . Gesagte als solches]
whenever one wishes, asks, or expresses oneself about something. In this "some-
thing said," discourse communicates.
As we have already indicated in our analysis of assertion,4 the phenomenon of
communication must be understood in a sense which is ontologically broad.
'Communication' in which one makes assertions—giving information, for in-
stance— is a special case of that communication which is grasped in principle
existentially. In this more general kind of communication, the Articulation of
Being-with-one-another understandingly is constituted. Through it a co-state-of-
mind [Mitbefindlichkeit] gets 'shared,' and so does the understanding of Being-
with. Communication is never anything like a conveying of experiences, such as
opinions or wishes, from the interior of one subject into the interior of another.
Dasein-with is already essentially manifest in a co-state-of-mind and a co-
understanding. In discourse Being-with becomes 'explicitly' shared; that is to say,
it is already, but it is unshared as something that has not been taken hold of and
appropriated.5
Whenever something is communicated in what is said-in-the-talk, all talk about
anything has at the same time the character of expressing itself [Sichaussprechens].
In talking, Dasein expresses itself [spricht sich . . . aus] not because it has, in
the first instance, been encapsulated as something 'internal' over against some-
thing outside, but because as Being-in-the-world it is already 'outside' when it
understands. What is expressed is precisely this Being-outside—that is to say, the
way in which one currently has a state-of-mind (mood), which we have shown
to pertain to the full disclosedness of Being-in. Being-in and its state-of-mind are
made known in discourse and indicated in language by intonation, modulation,
the tempo of talk, 'the way of speaking.' In 'poetical' discourse, the communica-
tion of the existential possibilities of one's state-of-mind can become an aim in
itself, and this amounts to a disclosing of existence.
In discourse the intelligibility of Being-in-the-world (an intelligibility which
goes with a state-of-mind) is articulated according to significations; and discourse
is this articulation. The items constitutive for discourse are: what the discourse is
about (what is talked about); what is said-in-the-talk, as such; the communication;
236 Phenomenology and Fundamental Ontology
and the making-known. These are not properties which can just be raked up em-
pirically from language. They are existential characteristics rooted in the state of
Dasein's Being, and it is they that first make anything like language ontologically
possible. In the factical linguistic form of any definite case of discourse, some
of these items may be lacking, or may remain unnoticed. The fact that they often
do not receive 'verbal' expression, is merely an index of some definite kind of
discourse which, in so far as it is discourse, must in every case lie within the
totality of the structures we have mentioned.
Attempts to grasp the 'essence of language' have always taken their orientation
from one or another of these items; and the clues to their conceptions of language
have been the ideas of 'expression,' of 'symbolic form,' of communication as
'assertion,'6 of the'making-known'of experiences, of the'patterning'of life. Even
if one were to put these various fragmentary definitions together in syncretistic
fashion, nothing would be achieved in the way of a fully adequate definition of
"language." We would still have to do what is decisive here—to work out in
advance the ontologico-existential whole of the structure of discourse on the basis
of the analytic of Dasein.
We can make clear the connection of discourse with understanding and intelli-
gibility by considering an existential possibility which belongs to talking itself—
hearing. If we have not heard 'aright,' it is not by accident that we say we have
not 'understood.' Hearing is constitutive for discourse. And just as linguistic
utterance is based on discourse, so is acoustic perception on hearing. Listening
to ... is Dasein's existential way of Being-open as Being-with for Others. In-
deed, hearing constitutes the primary and authentic way in which Dasein is open
for its ownmost potentiality-for-Being— as in hearing the voice of the friend
whom every Dasein carries with it. Dasein hears, because it understands. As a
Being-in-the-world with Others, a Being which understands, Dasein is 'in thrall'
to Dasein-with and to itself; and in this thraldom it "belongs" to these.7 Being-with
develops in listening to one another [Aufeinander-horen], which can be done in
several possible ways: following,8 going along with, and the private modes of
not-hearing, resisting, defying, and turning away.
It is on the basis of this potentiality for hearing, which is existentially primary,
that anything like hearkening [Horchen] becomes possible. Hearkening is phe-
nomenally still more primordial than what is defined 'in the first instance' as
"hearing" in psychology—the sensing of tones and the perception of sounds.
Hearkening too has the kind of Being of the hearing which understands. What we
'first' hear is never noises or complexes of sounds, but the creaking waggon, the
motor-cycle. We hear the column on the march, the north-wind, the woodpecker
tapping, the fire crackling.
It requires a very artificial and complicated frame of mind to 'hear' a 'pure
noise.' The fact that motor-cycles and waggons are what we proximally hear is
the phenomenal evidence that in every case Dasein, as Being-in-the-world,
Martin Heidegger 237
Translator's Notes
1. 'Rede.' We have translated this word either as 'discourse' or 'talk,' as the context seems
to demand, sometimes compromising with the hendiadys 'discourse or talk.' But in some
contexts 'discourse' is too formal while 'talk' is too colloquial; the reader must remember
that there is no good English equivalent for 'Rede.'
2. 'Die Hinausgesprochenheit der Rede ist die Sprache.'
3. 'Dieses ist redend als zu- und absagen, auffordern, warnen, als Aussprache, Riick-
sprache, Fiirsprache, ferner als "Aussagen machen" und als reden in der Weise des
"Redenhaltens."'
4. Reading '. . . bei der Analyse der Aussage . . .' with the older editions. The words
'der Aussage' have been omitted in the newer editions.
5. Das Mitsein wird in der Rede "ausdriicklich" geteilt, das heisst es ist schon, nur
ungeteilt als nicht ergriifenes und zugeeignetes.'
6.'. . . der Mitteilung als "Aussage" . . .' The quotation marks around 'Aussage' appear
only in the newer editions.
7. 'Als verstehendes In-der-Welt-sein mit dem Anderen ist es dem Mitdasein und ihm
selbst "horig" und in dieser Horigkeit zugehorig.' In this sentence Heidegger uses some
cognates of horen ('hearing') whose interrelations disappear in our version.
8. '. . . des Folgens . . .' In the earlier editions there are quotation marks around
'Folgens.'
240 Phenomenology and Fundamental Ontology
9. Here we follow the reading of the newer editions:'. . . nicht eine Mannigfaltigkeit
von Tondaten.' The older editions have 'reine' instead of 'eine.'
10. The author is here alluding to the German proverb, "Wer nicht horen kann, muss
fiihlen.' (I.e. he who cannot heed, must suffer.)
8
Hermeneutics and Theology
Rudolf Bultmann
RUDOLF BULTMANN (1884-1976) was born in Wiefelstede (Oldenburg) in North Germany
the son of a Lutheran pastor. At the age of nineteen he enrolled as a student of theology
at the University of Tubingen. In 1912—after his Habilitation—he became a lecturer
(Privatdozeni) at Marburg. After several years of teaching at various other universities
(Breslau, 1916-20; Giessen, 1920-21), he returned to Marburg as professor of New
Testament and remained in that city until his retirement in 1951 and his death in 1976.
During the period of the Hitler regime Bultmann supported the Confessing Church—a
Protestant group opposing Hitler. But he did not actively participate in politics. One of
the most important Protestant theologians in this century, Bultmann wrote a number of
significant works: among them, Jesus and the Word (1926; Eng. trans., 1934), Theology
of the New Testament (2 vols., 1951-54), History and Eschatology (1957), Jesus Christ
and Mythology (1958), and numerous essays and articles (see Sect. A, Bibl.). Bultmann
is best known for his radical program of demythologizing the Scriptures. He contended
that the Scriptures contained an existential message cloaked in mythical terms which were
a product of the time and place when they were written. It was the task of the interpreter
to uncover this existential meaning. The idea and the program of demythologizing
originated during the years 1922 to 1928, when Bultmann was in close contact with Martin
Heidegger during his Marburg stay. Bultmann derived major inspiration from Heidegger's
existential analysis as expounded in Being and Time, The hermeneutic dimension of
Bultmann's work is evident because it consists of a theory and philosophy of interpretation
of Scriptures. The approach developed by him and those who followed his ideas received
the name The New Hermeneutic (see J. M. Robinson, Sect. B, Bibl.). But Bultmann's
importance for hermeneutics is not limited to what is meant or implied by demythologiz-
ing. He was familiar not only with the theological history of hermeneutics included in his
considerations but the entire tradition of hermeneutic thought and its relevance for the
situation of the human sciences as he found them. Thus, he himself made an important
contribution to general hermeneutics. Our selections illustrate both aspects of Bultmann's
hermeneutics: the one which has to be viewed in connection with his idea of demythologiz-
ing; the other, more general one, which arises from his occupation with the problems of
interpreting historical texts. It is in the latter that his affinity with the positions of other
theoreticians—like Gadamer or Habermas—is best expressed.
241
242 Hermeneutics and Theology
Is EXEGESIS WITHOUT
PRESUPPOSITIONS POSSIBLE?
I
1. The demand that exegesis must be without presuppositions, in the sense that
it must not presuppose its results (we can also say that it must be without preju-
dice), may be clarified only briefly. This demand means, first of all, the rejection
of allegorical interpretation? When Philo finds the Stoic idea of the apathetic wise
man in the prescription of the law that the sacrificial animal must be without
blemish (Spec. Leg. I, 260), then it is clear that he does not hear what the text
actually says, but only lets it say what he already knows. And the same thing is
true of Paul's exegesis of Deut. 25:4 as a prescription that the preachers of the
gospel are to be supported by the congregations (I Cor. 9:9) and of the interpreta-
tion in the Letter of Barnabas (9:7 f.) of the 318 servants of Abraham (Gen. 14:14)
as a prophecy of the cross of Christ.
2. However, even where allegorical interpretation is renounced, exegesis is fre-
quently guided by prejudices.3 This is so, for example, when it is presupposed that
the evangelists Matthew and John were Jesus' personal disciples and that therefore
the narratives and sayings of Jesus that they hand down must be historically true
reports. In this case, it must be affirmed, for instance, that the cleansing of the
temple, which in Matthew is placed during Jesus' last days just before his passion,
but in John stands at the beginning of his ministry, took place twice. The question
of an unprejudiced exegesis becomes especially urgent when the problem of Jesus'
messianic consciousness is concerned. May exegesis of the gospels be guided by
the dogmatic presupposition that Jesus was the Messiah and was conscious of
being so? Or must it rather leave this question open? The answer should be clear.
Any such messianic consciousness would be a historical fact and could only be
exhibited as such by historical research. Were the latter able to make it probable
RudolfBultmann 243
that Jesus knew himself to be the Messiah, this result would have only relative
certainty; for historical research can never endow it with absolute validity. All
knowledge of a historical kind is subject to discussion, and therefore, the question
as to whether Jesus knew himself as Messiah remains open. Every exegesis that
is guided by dogmatic prejudices does not hear what the text says, but only lets
the latter say what it wants to hear.
II
1. The question of exegesis without presuppositions in the sense of unpreju-
diced exegesis must be distinguished from this same question in the other sense
in which it can be raised. And in this second sense, we must say that there cannot
be any such thing as presuppositionless exegesis. That there is no such exegesis
in fact, because every exegete is determined by his own individuality, in the sense
of his special biases and habits, his gifts and his weaknesses, has no significance
in principle. For in this sense of the word, it is precisely his "individuality" that
the exegete ought to eliminate by educating himself to the kind of hearing that
is interested in nothing other than the subject matter of which the text speaks.
However, the one presupposition that cannot be dismissed is the historical method
of interrogating the text. Indeed, exegesis as the interpretation of historical texts
is a part of the science of history.
It belongs to the historical method, of course, that a text is interpreted in accord-
ance with the rules of grammar and of the meaning of words. And closely con-
nected with this, historical exegesis also has to inquire about the individual style
of the text. The sayings of Jesus in the synoptics, for example, have a different
style from the Johannine ones. But with this there is also given another problem
with which exegesis is required to deal. Paying attention to the meaning of words,
to grammar, and to style soon leads to the observation that every text speaks in
the language of its time and of its historical setting. This the exegete must know;
therefore, he must know the historical conditions of the language of the period
out of which the text that he is to interpret has arisen. This means that for an under-
standing of the language of the New Testament the acute question is, "Where and
to what extent is its Greek determined by the Semitic use of language?" Out of
this question grows the demand to study apocalypticism, the rabbinic literature,
and the Qumran texts, as well as the history of Hellenistic religion.
Examples of this point are hardly necessary, and I cite only one. The New
Testament wordrcveGfjia is translated in German as "Geist." Thus it is understand-
able that the exegesis of the nineteenth century (e.g., in the Tubingen school)
interpreted the New Testament on the basis of the idealism that goes back to
ancient Greece, until Hermann Gunkel pointed out in 1888 that the New Testa-
ment Trveufzoc meant something entirely different—namely, God's miraculous
power and manner of action.4
244 Hermeneutics and Theology
The historical method includes the presupposition that history is a unity in the
sense of a closed continuum of effects in which individual events are connected
by the succession of cause and effect. This does not mean that the process of
history is determined by the causal law and that there are no free decisions of men
whose actions determine the course of historical happenings. But even a free deci-
sion does not happen without a cause, without a motive; and the task of the
historian is to come to know the motives of actions. All decisions and all deeds
have their causes and consequences; and the historical method presupposes that
it is possible in principle to exhibit these and their connection and thus to under-
stand the whole historical process as a closed unity.
This closedness means that the continuum of historical happenings cannot be
rent by the interference of supernatural, transcendent powers and that therefore
there is no "miracle" in this sense of the word. Such a miracle would be an event
whose cause did not lie within history. While, for example, the Old Testament
narrative speaks of an interference by God in history, historical science cannot
demonstrate such an act of God, but merely perceives that there are those who
believe in it. To be sure, as historical science, it may not assert that such a faith
is an illusion and that God has not acted in history. But it itself as science cannot
perceive such an act and reckon on the basis of it; it can only leave every man
free to determine whether he wants to see an act of God in a historical event that
it itself understands in terms of that event's immanent historical causes.
It is in accordance with such a method as this that the science of history goes
to work on all historical documents. And there cannot be any exceptions in the
case of biblical texts if the latter are at all to be understood historically. Nor can
one object that the biblical writings do not intend to be historical documents, but
rather affirmations of faith and proclamation. For however certain this may be,
if they are even to be understood as such, they must first of all be interpreted
historically, inasmuch as they speak in a strange language in concepts of a
faraway time, of a world-picture that is alien to us. Put quite simply, they must
be translated, and translation is the task of historical science.
2. If we speak of translation, however, then the hermeneutical problem at once
presents itself.5 To translate means to make understandable, and this in turn
presupposes an understanding. The understanding of history as a continuum of
effects presupposes an understanding of the efficient forces that connect the indi-
vidual historical phenomena. Such forces are economic needs, social exigencies,
the political struggles for power, human passions, ideas, and ideals. In the assess-
ment of such factors historians differ; and in every effort to achieve a unified point
of view the individual historian is guided by some specific way of raising ques-
tions, some specific perspective.
This does not mean a falsification of the historical picture, provided that the
perspective that is presupposed is not a prejudice, but a way of raising questions,
and that the historian is self-conscious about the fact that his way of asking
Rudolf Bultmann 245
questions is one-sided and only comes at the phenomenon or the text from the
standpoint of a particular perspective. The historical picture is falsified only when
a specific way of raising questions is put forward as the only one—when, for
example, all history is reduced to economic history. Historical phenomena are
many-sided. Events like the Reformation can be observed from the standpoint of
church history as well as political history, of economic history as well as the
history of philosophy. Mysticism can be viewed from the standpoint of its signifi-
cance for the history of art, etc. However, some specific way of raising questions
is always presupposed if history is at all to be understood.
But even more, the forces that are effective in connecting phenomena are
understandable only if the phenomena themselves that are thereby connected are
also understood! This means that an understanding of the subject matter itself
belongs to historical understanding. For can one understand political history
without having a concept of the state and of justice, which by their very nature
are not historical products but ideas? Can one understand economic history
without having a concept of what economy and society in general mean? Can one
understand the history of religion and philosophy without knowing what religion
and philosophy are? One cannot understand Luther's posting of the ninety-five
theses, for instance, without understanding the actual meaning of protest against
the Catholicism of his time. One cannot understand the Communist Manifesto of
1848 without understanding the principles of capitalism and socialism. One
cannot understand the decisions of persons who act in history if one does not
understand man and his possibilities for action. In short, historical understanding
presupposes an understanding of the subject matter of history itself and of the men
who act in history.
This is to say, however, that historical understanding always presupposes a
relation of the interpreter to the subject matter that is (directly or indirectly) ex-
pressed in the texts. This relation is grounded in the actual life-context in which
the interpreter stands. Only he who lives in a state and in a society can understand
the political and social phenomena of the past and their history, just as only he
who has a relation to music can understand a text that deals with music, etc.
Therefore, a specific understanding of the subject matter of the text, on the
basis of a "life-relation" to it, is always presupposed by exegesis; and insofar as
this is so no exegesis is without presuppositions. I speak of this understanding as
a "preunderstanding." It as little involves prejudices as does the choice of a
perspective. For the historical picture is falsified only when the exegete takes his
preunderstanding as a definitive understanding. The "life-relation" is a genuine
one, however, only when it is vital, i.e., when the subject matter with which the
text is concerned also concerns us and is a problem for us. If we approach history
alive with our own problems, then it really begins to speak to us. Through discus-
sion the past becomes alive, and in learning to know history we learn to know
our own present; historical knowledge is at the same time knowledge of
246 Hermeneutics and Theology
ourselves. To understand history is possible only for one who does not stand over
against it as a neutral, nonparticipating spectator, but himself stands in history
and shares in responsibility for it. We speak of this encounter with history that
grows out of one's own historicity as the existentiell encounter. The historian
participates in it with his whole existence.
This existentiell relation to history is the fundamental presupposition for under-
standing history.6 This does not mean that the understanding of history is a "sub-
jective" one in the sense that it depends on the individual pleasure of the historian
and thereby loses all objective significance. On the contrary, it means that history
precisely in its objective content can only be understood by a subject who is
existentiell moved and alive. It means that, for historical understanding, the
schema of subject and object that has validity for natural science is invalid.7
Now what has just been said includes an important insight—namely, that
historical knowledge is never a closed or definitive knowledge—any more than
is the preunderstanding with which the historian approaches historical phenom-
ena. For if the phenomena of history are not facts that can be neutrally observed,
but rather open themselves in their meanings only to one who approaches them
alive with questions, then they are always only understandable now in that they
actually speak in the present situation. Indeed, the questioning itself grows out
of the historical situation, out of the claim of the now, out of the problem that
is given in the now. For this reason, historical research is never closed, but rather
must always be carried further. Naturally, there are certain items of historical
knowledge that can be regarded as definitively known—namely, such items as
concern only dates that can be fixed chronologically and locally, as, for example,
the assassination of Caesar or Luther's posting of the ninety-five theses. But what
these events that can thus be dated mean as historical events cannot be definitively
fixed. Hence one must say that a historical event is always first knowable for what
it is—precisely as a historical event—in the future. And therefore one can also
say that the future of a historical event belongs to that event.
Naturally, items of historical knowledge can be passed on, not as definitively
known, but in such a way as to clarify and expand the following generation's
preunderstanding. But even so, they are subject to the criticism of that generation.
Can we today surmise the meaning of the two world wars? No; for it holds good
that what a historical event means always first becomes clear in the future. It can
definitively disclose itself only when history has come to an end.
Ill
What are the consequences of this analysis for exegesis of the biblical writings?
They may be formulated in the following theses:
(1) The exegesis of the biblical writings, like every other interpretation of a
text, must be unprejudiced.
Rudolf Bultmann 247
him who he, man, is and who God is, and he will always have to express this word
in a new conceptuality. Thus it is true also of Scripture that it only is what it is
with its history and its future.
Notes
1. Walter Baumgartner, to whom the following pages are dedicated, has published an
essay in the Schweizerische theologische Umschau, XI (1941), 17-38, entitled "Die
Auslegung des Alien Testaments im Streit der Gegenwart." Inasmuch as I completely agree
with what he says there, I hope he will concur if I now attempt to carry the hermeneutical
discussion somewhat further.
2. If there is actually an allegory in the text, then, of course, it is to be explained as an
allegory. However, such an explanation is not allegorical interpretation; it simply asks for
the meaning that is intended by the text.
3. A criticism of such prejudiced exegesis is the chief concern of the essay of W.
Baumgartner mentioned above (cf. n. 1).
4. Cf. H. Gunkel, Die Wirkungen des Heiligen Geist nach der populdren Anschauung
der apostolischen Zeit und der Lehre des Apostel Paulus (1888; 3rd ed., 1909).
5. Cf. with the following, my essays, "Das Problem der Hermeneutik," Glauben und
Verstehen, E (1952), 211-35. [Eng. trans, by J. C. G. Greig mEssays, Philosophical and
Theological (1955), pp. 234-61], and "Wissenschaft und Existenz," Ehrfurcht vor dem
Leben: Festschrift for Albert Schweitzer (1954), pp. 30-45; and also History and Escha-
tology (1957), ch. VIII.
6. It goes without saying that the existentiell relation to history does not have to be raised
to the level of consciousness. By reflection it may only be spoiled.
7. I do not deal here with certain special questions, such as how an existentiell relation
to history can already be present in the research of grammar, lexicography, statistics,
chronology, and geography or how the historian of mathematics or physics participates
existentiell in the objects of his research. One thinks of Plato!
finds himself within this world and orients himself by positing himself against it.
He counts on his connection to it and calculates how to control it in order to secure
his life. This way of perceiving reality is developed in natural science and in
technology, which natural science made possible.
This way of perceiving reality is demythologizing as such insofar as it rules out
the effects of the supernatural powers described in myth, be it the effects of
powers which start natural processes and preserve them, or of powers which
interrupt natural processes. Thoroughly consistent natural science does not need
the "hypothesis of God" (Laplace); the powers which control natural processes
are immanent to them. Likewise, natural science eliminates the notion of wonder
as a miracle which interrupts the causal nexus of the world-process.
Like all phenomena in the world surrounding him, man can also submit himself
to objectifying observation to the extent that he is tangible in the world. He posits
himself over against himself and makes himself an object. In this way he reduces
his authentic, specific reality to reality in the world. This occurs in "explanatory"
psychology (in distinction to verstehenden psychology— cf. Dilthey) and in this
type of sociology.
This perspective can also come to the fore in the discipline of history, and it
is likewise the case in positivistic historicism.1 The historian acts as a subject
observing the object, history, and thus takes a stand as spectator outside of the
historical time process.
Today there is a growing recognition that there is no such objectivity, because
perceiving the historical process is in itself a historical procedure. Attaining
distance from the object through neutral observation is impossible. The seem-
ingly objective picture of historical processes is always stamped with the per-
sonality of the observer, who is himself historical and can never be a spectator
standing outside of historical time.
Now, I am not treating something here; namely, that an analogous understand-
ing of the subject-object relationship has also become pervasive in modern
science in the recognition that that which is observed is partially formed or
modified somehow by its observer. How far the analogy between the modern
discipline of history and natural science extends would require special examina-
tion. The point here is that the modern understanding of history sees reality as
the reality of man existing in history as opposed to observing it objectify ingly.
Human being is fundamentally different from natural being perceived through
objectifying observation. Today we like to designate specifically human being as
existence.2 "Existence" does not mean a mere presence, in the sense that plants
and animals, too, "exist," but rather, a specifically human mode of being.
Unlike beings of nature, man is not determined by the causal nexus of natural
occurrence; rather, he has to take charge of himself, be responsible for himself.
This means that human life is history; it leads man through his decisions at every
turn into a future in which he chooses himself. The decisions are made according
250 Hermeneutics and Theology
to how a man understands himself and what he sees as the fulfillment of his life.
History is the realm of human decisions. It becomes understandable if seen as
such; i.e., if it is seen that the potentialities for self-understanding have been
operative in it. These are the same potentialities as those for contemporary self-
understanding and can only be perceived whatsoever as one with these decisions.
I call such an interpretation of history existential interpretation, since it, stirred
by the interpreter's own inquiry into existence, inquires after the understanding
of existence which is operative in every instance in history.
Since, in fact, all people emerge from a past in which potentialities for self-
understanding already rule, are offered up, or are placed into question, the deci-
sion is then always one of deciding in relation to the past; indeed, deciding in the
final end in relation to man's own past and future.
Now, the decision need not be made consciously and is in most cases uncon-
scious. Indeed, that which is, in fact, the unconscious decision in favor of the
past— man in the hands of his past— can appear to be indecisiveness. That means,
however, that man can exist authentically or inauthentically. Just this potentiality
for authentic or inauthentic being belongs to historicity, i.e., to human reality.
If authentic human being is existence, in which man has to take charge of
himself and is responsible for himself, then the following belongs to authentic
existence: openness towards the future, the freedom in every instance to become
an event [die jeweils Ereignis werdende Freiheit]. Consequently, the reality of
historical man is never a settled one like that of animals, which is always entirely
what it can be. Man's reality is his history; i.e., it constantly lies before him such
that one can say: Juture being is the reality in which man lives.
This becomes clear in the history of mankind in that the historical sense [Sinn]
of an event first becomes understandable by way of its future outcome. The future
is essential to the event. Thus, the sense of historical occurrences will only be
decisively understood at the end of history. But since such a retrospective view
from the end is impossible for human eyes, a philosophy which endeavors to
understand the sense of history is also impossible. It is only possible to speak of
the sense of history as the sense of the moment, which is meaningful as a moment
of decision.
Now, all decisions are made in concrete situations, and indecisive behavior
too—i.e., inauthentic human being—always takes place in concrete situations.
If the discipline of history is going to point out the potentialities for self-
understanding which come to light in human decisions, it also has to portray
concrete situations in past history. But these are only revealed through an objecti-
fying view of the past. As little as this captures the historical sense of a deed or
event, it very well can and must try to recognize the simple facts of the deeds and
events and to determine "how it was" in this sense. And as little as the nexus of
human actions is determined by causal necessity, it is very much linked by the
consequences of cause and effect. Even free decision results from reasons so as
Rudolf Bultmann 251
a world which is full of enigmas and mysteries, and he experiences a fate which
is just as enigmatic and mysterious. He is forced to recognize that he is not the
master of his life. He realizes that the world and human life have their ground
and their limit in a power (or in powers), in a transcendent power, which lies
beyond that which he can calculate or control.
Mythological thought, however, naively objectifies the otherworldly as inner-
worldly insofar as it, at odds with its authentic intention, imagines the transcen-
dent as spatially distant and its power as quantitatively greater than human
capability. In opposition to this, demythologizing endeavors to bring forth the
authentic intention of myth; namely, the intention to speak of the authentic reality
of man.
Now, is there a limit to demythologizingl It is often said that religion, and
Christian faith as well, cannot forgo mythological discourse. Why not? It cer-
tainly provides religious poetry and cultic and liturgical language with images and
symbols. And pious devotion may intuitively and feelingly perceive an inner
sense [Sinngehalt] in them. The decisive point, however, is that such images and
symbols really conceal an inner sense, and philosophical and theological reflec-
tion has the task, after all, of clarifying this inner sense. But this, in turn, cannot
be expressed in mythological language; otherwise, its sense would in turn, have
to be explained—and so ad infinitum.
The claim that myth is indispensable means, however, that there are myths
which do not allow for existential interpretation. Thus, it is necessary—at least
in certain cases—to talk objectifyingly about the transcendent, the Godhead,
since mythological discourse is objectifying language to begin with.
Is this valid? It all gives rise to the question: is discourse about the activity of
God necessarily mythological discourse, or can and must it also be interpreted
existentially?
Since God is not an objectively ascertainable phenomenon in the world, it is
only possible to speak of His activity in such a way that one is speaking simul-
taneously of our existence, which is affected by God's activity. One may wish to
call such ways of speaking about God's activity "analogical." This serves to ex-
press that the condition of being affected by God has its origin absolutely in God
Himself, and because of this, man alone is the suffering and receiving being.
But it must be likewise confirmed that the condition of being affected by God's
activity can only be spoken of in the same manner as one can speak of an existen-
tiell event which is not objectively ascertainable or demonstrable.
Now, each and every existential condition of being affected occurs in a concrete
situation. Thus, it is obvious or only natural, so to speak, for the affected being
to trace this situation back to the activity of God— which is completely legitimate,
as long as one does not confuse origin in God's will with causality, which is
accessible to objectifying view. This is the proper place to speak of a wonder,
and not of a miracle!
254 Hermeneutics and Theology
Just as it speaks of wonder, faith also speaks of God's activity as His creation
of and sovereignty over nature and history, and it has to do so. For if man knows
himself in his existence to be called and led into life by God's omnipotence, then
he also knows that nature and history, within which his life plays itself out, are
permeated with God's activity. But this knowledge can only be avowed and never
be asserted as a general truth like a natural scientific or a historio-philosophical
theory. Otherwise, God's activity would be objectified into a secular process. The
testimony to God's creatorship and sovereignty has a legitimate ground only in
the existentiell self-understanding of man.
But the testimony therefore contains a paradox. For it affirms the paradoxical
identity of innerworldly occurrences with the activity of an otherworldly God.
Faith indeed affirms that it sees an act of God in an event or in processes which
are at the same time ascertainable to objectifying view in the nexus of natural and
historical occurrences. For faith, the activity of God is thus a wonder in which
the natural nexus of world occurrences is equally preserved [aufgehoben.}
But what is special for Christian faith is that it sees the activity of God within
a certain historical event, which can be objectively ascertained as such, in a very
special sense: the revelation of God which calls every man to faith, namely, in
the appearance of Jesus Christ. The paradox of this affirmation is most aptly
expressed in John's testimony: "The word became flesh."
This paradox is obviously of another kind than that which affirms that the
activity of God is at all times and everywhere indirectly identical with world-
occurrence. For the sense of the Christ-event is the eschatological occurrence
through which God has set an end to the world and its history. This paradox is
therefore the affirmation that a historical event is simultaneously the eschato-
logical event.
Now the question is: can this event be understood as an event which is ever
carried out in one's own existence? Or does it remain over against the man called
to faith, in the same way that the object is posited over against the subject in
secular reality? That would mean that it is an event in the past as the objectifying
view of the historian represents, or "recalls," it. If it ought, however, to be
understood as an event which ever touches me in my existence, it must be able
to be or to become present in another sense.
Just this is contained in its sense as an eschatological event. As such, it cannot
be or become an event of the past if indeed historical events can never have the
meaning ofephapax (once and for all). This belongs to the essence of the Christ-
event as an eschatological event.
Therefore, it cannot, like other historical events, be made present through
"recollection." It becomes present in the proclamation (the Kerygma) which
originates in the event itself and which cannot be what it is without it. That means:
the proclamation itself is eschatological occurrence. In it, as address, the Jesus
Rudolf Bultmann 255
Translator's Notes
1. The reader should note the following translations of words having to do with "history"
throughout the text: Geschichte = history; geschichtlich and historisch = historical;
Geschichlichkeit = historicity; Geschichtswissenschaft = the discipline of history; Histo-
rismus = historicism; die historische Wissenschaft = history as a factual science;
Historiker = historian.
2. The following terms are translated in accordance with the Macquarrie-Robinson
translation of Martin Heidegger's Sein und Zeit (Being and Time [New York: Harper &
Row, 1962]): Existenz = existence; existenzial = existential; existenziell = existentiell.
"Existence" in Being and Time refers to man's openness toward being in historical time
(see section 6 above). "Existential" thus predicates existence, while "existentiell" means
"resulting from personal choice," "Existentiell" therefore derives from "existential," which
is concerned with the structure of the constitution of Dasein, and lays ground for personal
choice.
3. ". . . that the 'Kerygma' comprises the essence of the event (in so far as it is mystery);
and the possible historical analysis of the event does not do injury to revelation, because
it [the analysis] is the revelation of the message and of the event (i.e., of history) at the
same time."
9
The Historicity of Understanding
Hans-Georg Gadamer
HANS-GEORG GADAMER (b. 1900) was born in Marburg, where he also studied philosophy
and classics. He received his doctorate in 1922 and began teaching at Marburg as an
instructor (Privatdozent) in 1929, where he became a professor extraordinary in 1937.
From 1938 to 1947 he taught at Leipzig, and from 1947 to 1949 at Frankfurt. In 1949 he
moved to the University of Heidelberg where he taught until his retirement in 1968.
Gadamer, a personal student of Heidegger's, combines in his work a vital interest in Greek
thought and culture with a strong inclination toward the German idealist tradition in its
different facets. His work in hermeneutics grew out of his historical and philosophical
studies and his abiding interest in literature and poetry, both ancient and modern. In Truth
and Method Gadamer developed an extensive and profound analysis and critique of classi-
cal hermeneutic thought in its various manifestations. The concept of the historicity of
understanding—which he derived from Heidegger's Being and Time—is at the center of
his argument. But he is also indebted to Dilthey's methodological studies and interests in
the nature and history of the humanities and human sciences. In contrast to Dilthey,
however, Gadamer does not wish to secure a methodology for these sciences. Instead, he
chose to concentrate his efforts on exposing and criticizing the hermeneutic principles
which underlie the humanistic disciplines in their actual history and present-day manifesta-
tions. Our first two selections present sections from Truth and Method. The first one deals
with the important notion of prejudice (Vorurteil) without which understanding is not
possible, according to Gadamer. Because of the attitude of Enlightenment philosophers
against prejudice and bias, he believes that we have until now overlooked the positive, or,
better, the constitutive character of prejudice in our culture. The concept of effective
history (Wirkungsgeschichte) is one of equal importance for Gadamer. What he means,
in a nutshell, is that no understanding would be possible if the interpreter were not also
part of the historical continuum which he and the phenomenon he studies must share.
One of the criticisms leveled against Truth and Method by Habermas and the followers
of the Frankfurt School concentrated on Gadamer's alleged narrow transcendental interest
in hermeneutics and the human sciences. Habermas expressed this criticism in his study
On the Logic of the Social Sciences (1967). Gadamer replied almost immediately and at
length in an essay which constitutes our third selection, Rhetoric, Hermeneutics, and the
Critique of Ideology (1967). Points of affinity, as well as differences, between the positions
256
Hans-Georg Gadamer 257
of Gadamer and Habermas are brought out in this essay, and the indebtedness of both
thinkers to the hermeneutic tradition becomes quite apparent. Habermas's reply to this
essay is reprinted below in chapter 10.
knowledge: this is the maxim with which the modern enlightenment approaches
tradition and which ultimately leads it to undertake historical research.5 It makes
the tradition as much an object of criticism as do the natural sciences the evidence
of the senses. This does not necessarily mean that the "prejudice against preju-
dices" was everywhere taken to the extreme consequences of free thinking and
atheism, as in England and France. On the contrary, the German enlightenment
recognised the "true prejudices" of the Christian religion. Since the human in-
tellect is too weak to manage without prejudices it is at least fortunate to have been
educated with true prejudices.
It would be of value to investigate to what extent this kind of modification and
moderation of the enlightenment6 prepared the way for the rise of the romantic
movement in Germany, as undoubtedly did the critique of the enlightenment and
the revolution by Edmund Burke. But none of this alters the fundamental facts.
True prejudices must still finally be justified by rational knowledge, even though
the task may nqver be able to be fully completed.
Thus the criteria of the modern enlightenment still determine the self-
understanding of historicism. This does not happen directly, but in a curious
refraction caused by romanticism. This can be seen with particular clarity in the
fundamental schema of the philosophy of history that romanticism shares with the
enlightenment and that precisely the romantic reaction to the enlightenment made
into an unshakeable premise: the schema of the conquest of mythos by logos. It
is the presupposition of the progressive retreat of magic in the world that gives
this schema its validity. It is supposed to represent the progressive law of the
history of the mind, and precisely because romanticism has a negative attitude to
this development, it takes over the schema itself as an obvious truth. It shares the
presupposition of the enlightenment and only reverses the evaluation of it, seek-
ing to establish the validity of what is old, simply because it is old: the "gothic"
middle ages, the Christian European community of states, the feudal structure of
society, but also the simplicity of peasant life and closeness to nature.
In contrast to the enlightenment's belief in perfection, which thinks in terms of
the freedom from "superstition" and the prejudices of the past, we now find that
olden times, the world of myth, unreflective life, not yet analysed away by con-
sciousness, in a "society close to nature," the world of Christian chivalry, all these
acquire a romantic magic, even a priority of truth.7 The reversal of the enlighten-
ment's presupposition results in the paradoxical tendency to restoration, i.e. the
tendency to reconstruct the old because it is old, the conscious return to the un-
conscious, culminating in the recognition of the superior wisdom of the primaeval
age of myth. But the romantic reversal of this criterion of the enlightenment
actually perpetuates the abstract contrast between myth and reason. All criticism
of the enlightenment now proceeds via this romantic mirror image of the en-
lightenment. Belief in the perfectibility of reason suddenly changes into the
perfection of the "mythical" consciousness and finds itself reflected in a paradisic
Hans-Georg Gadamer 259
dogma, the step to the objective knowledge of the historical world, which stands
as an equal besides the knowledge of nature achieved by modern science.
The fact that the restorative tendency of romanticism was able to combine with
the fundamental concern of the enlightenment to constitute the unity of the his-
torical sciences simply indicates that it is the same break with the continuity of
meaning in tradition that lies behind both. If it is an established fact for the
enlightenment that all tradition that reason shows to be impossible, i.e. nonsense,
can only be understood historically, i.e. by going back to the past's way of looking
at things, then the historical consciousness that emerges in romanticism involves
a radicalisation of the enlightenment. For the exceptional case of nonsensical
tradition has become the general rule for historical consciousness. Meaning that
is generally accessible through reason is so little believed that the whole of the
past, even, ultimately, all the thinking of one's contemporaries, is seen only
"historically." Thus the romantic critique of the enlightenment ends itself in en-
lightenment, in that it evolves as historical science and draws everything into the
orbit of historicism. The basic discrediting of all prejudices, which unites the
experiential emphasis of the new natural sciences with the enlightenment,
becomes, in the historical enlightenment, universal and radical.
This is the point at which the attempt to arrive at an historical hermeneutics has
to start its critique. The overcoming of all prejudices, this global demand of the
enlightenment, will prove to be itself a prejudice, the removal of which opens the
way to an appropriate understanding of our finitude, which dominates not only
our humanity, but also our historical consciousness.
Does the fact that one is set within various traditions mean really and primarily
that one is subject to prejudices and limited in one's freedom? Is not, rather, all
human existence, even the freest, limited and qualified in various ways? If this
is true, then the idea of an absolute reason is impossible for historical humanity.
Reason exists for us only in concrete, historical terms, i.e. it is not its own master,
but remains constantly dependent on the given circumstances in which it operates.
This is true not only in the sense in which Kant limited the claims of rationalism,
under the influence of the sceptical critique of Hume, to the a priori element in
the knowledge of nature; it is still truer of historical consciousness and the pos-
sibility of historical knowledge. For that man is concerned here with himself and
his own creations (Vico) is only an apparent solution of the problem set by histori-
cal knowledge. Man is alien to himself and his historical fate in a quite different
way from that in which nature, that knows nothing of him, is alien to him.
The epistemological question must be asked here in a fundamentally different
way. We have shown above that Dilthey probably saw this, but he was not able
to overcome the influence over him of traditional epistemology. His starting-
point, the awareness of "experience," was not able to build the bridge to the
historical realities, because the great historical realities of society and state
always have a predeterminant influence on any "experience." Self-reflection and
Hans-Georg Gadamer 261
THE REHABILITATION OF
AUTHORITY AND TRADITION
This is where the hermeneutical problem conies in. This is why we examined the
discrediting of the concept of prejudice by the enlightenment. That which presents
itself, under the aegis of an absolute self-construction by reason, as a limiting
prejudice belongs, in fact, to historical reality itself. What is necessary is a funda-
mental rehabilitation of the concept of prejudice and a recognition of the fact that
there are legitimate prejudices, if we want to do justice to man's finite, historical
mode of being. Thus we are able to formulate the central question of a truly
historical hermeneutics, epistemologically its fundamental question, namely:
where is the ground of the legitimacy of prejudices? What distinguishes legitimate
prejudices from all the countless ones which it is the undeniable task of the critical
reason to overcome?
We can approach this question by taking the view of prejudices that the enlight-
enment developed with a critical intention, as set out above, and giving it a
positive value. As for the division of prejudices into those of "authority" and those
of "over-hastiness," it is obviously based on the fundamental presupposition of
the enlightenment, according to which a methodologically disciplined use of
reason can safeguard us from all error. This was Descartes' idea of method. Over-
hastiness is the actual source of error in the use of one's own reason. Authority,
however, is responsible for one's not using one's own reason at all. There lies,
then, at the base of the division a mutually exclusive antithesis between authority
and reason. The false prejudice for what is old, for authorities, is what has to be
fought. Thus the enlightenment regards it as the reforming action of Luther that
"the prejudice of human prestige, especially that of the philosophical (he means
Aristotle) and the Roman pope was greatly weakened."12 The reformation, then,
262 The Historicity of Understanding
gives rise to a flourishing hermeneutics which is to teach the right use of reason
in the understanding of transmitted texts. Neither the teaching authority of the
pope nor the appeal to tradition can replace the work of hermeneutics, which can
safeguard the reasonable meaning of a text against all unreasonable demands
made on it.
The consequences of this kind of hermeneutics need not be those of the radical
critique of religion that we found, for example, in Spinoza. Rather the possibility
of supernatural truth can remain entirely open. Thus the enlightenment, especially
in the field of popular philosophy, limited the claims of reason and acknowledged
the authority of bible and church. We read in, say, Walch, that he distinguishes
between the two classes of prejudice—authority and over-hastiness—but sees in
them two extremes, between which it is necessary to find the right middle path,
namely a reconciliation between reason and biblical authority. Accordingly, he
sees the prejudice from over-hastiness as a prejudice in favour of the new, as a
predisposition to the overhasty rejection of truths simply because they are old and
attested by authorities.13 Thus he discusses the British freethinkers (such as
Collins and others) and defends the historical faith against the norm of reason.
Here the meaning of the prejudice from over-hastiness is clearly reinterpreted in
a conservative sense.
There can be no doubt, however, that the real consequence of the enlightenment
is different: namely, the subjection of all authority to reason. Accordingly,
prejudice from over-hastiness is to be understood as Descartes understood it, i.e.
as the source of all error in the use of reason. This fits in with the fact that after
the victory of the enlightenment, when hermeneutics was freed from all dogmatic
ties, the old division returns in a changed sense. Thus we read in Schleiermacher
that he distinguishes between narrowness of view and over-hastiness as the causes
of misunderstanding.14 He places the lasting prejudices due to narrowness of view
beside the momentary ones due to overhastiness, but only the former are of
interest to someone concerned with scientific method. It no longer even occurs
to Schleiermacher that among the prejudices in the mind of one whose vision is
narrowed by authorities there might be some that are true—yet this was included
in the concept of authority in the first place. His alteration of the traditional divi-
sion of prejudices is a sign of the fulfilment of the enlightenment. Narrowness
now means only an individual limitation of understanding: "The one sided pref-
erence for what is close to one's own sphere of ideas."
In fact, however, the decisive question is concealed behind the concept of
narrowness. That the prejudices that determine what I think are due to my own
narrowness of vision is a judgment that is made from the standpoint of their
dissolution and illumination and holds only of unjustified prejudices. If, contrari-
wise, there are justified prejudices productive of knowledge, then we are back
with the problem of authority. Hence the radical consequences of the enlighten-
ment, which are still contained in Schleiermacher's faith in method, are not tenable.
Hans-Georg Gadamer 263
The distinction the enlightenment draws between faith in authority and the use
of one's own reason is, in itself, legitimate. If the prestige of authority takes the
place of one's own judgment, then authority is in fact a source of prejudices. But
this does not exclude the possibility that it can also be a source of truth, and this
is what the enlightenment failed to see when it denigrated all authority. To be
convinced of this, we only have to consider one of the great forerunners of the
European enlightenment, namely Descartes. Despite the radicalness of his meth-
odological thinking, we know that Descartes excluded morality from the total
reconstruction of all truths by reason. This was what he meant by his provisional
morality. It seems to me symptomatic that he did not in fact elaborate his
definitive morality and that its principles, as far as we can judge from his letters
to Elizabeth, contain hardly anything new. It is obviously unthinkable to prefer
to wait until the progress of modern science provides us with the basis of a new
morality. In fact the denigration of authority is not the only prejudice of the
enlightenment. For, within the enlightenment, the very concept of authority
becomes deformed. On the basis of its concept of reason and freedom, the concept
of authority could be seen as diametrically opposed to reason and freedom: to be,
in fact, blind obedience. This is the meaning that we know, from the usage of their
critics, within modern dictatorships.
But this is not the essence of authority. It is true that it is primarily persons that
have authority; but the authority of persons is based ultimately, not on the subjec-
tion and abdication of reason, but on recognition and knowledge—knowledge,
namely, that the other is superior to oneself in judgment and insight and that for
this reason his judgment takes precedence, i.e. it has priority over one's own. This
is connected with the fact that authority cannot actually be bestowed, but is
acquired and must be acquired, if someone is to lay claim to it. It rests on recogni-
tion and hence on an act of reason itself which, aware of its own limitations,
accepts that others have better understanding. Authority in this sense, properly
understood, has nothing to do with blind obedience to a command. Indeed,
authority has nothing to do with obedience, but rather with knowledge. (It seems
to me that the tendency towards the acknowledgement of authority, as it emerges
in, for example, Karl Jaspers' Von der Wahrheit, pp. 766ff. and Gerhard Kriiger,
Freiheit und Weltverwaltung, pp. 23 Iff., is not convincing unless the truth of this
statement is recognised.) It is true that authority is necessary in order to be able
to command and find obedience. But this proceeds only from the authority that
a person has. Even the anonymous and impersonal authority of a superior which
derives from the command is not ultimately based on this order, but is what makes
it possible. Here also its true basis is an act of freedom and reason, which fun-
damentally acknowledges the authority of a superior because he has a wider view
of things or is better informed, i.e. once again, because he has superior
knowledge.15
Thus the recognition of authority is always connected with the idea that what
264 The Historicity of Understanding
authority states is not irrational and arbitrary, but can be seen, in principle, to
be true. This is the essence of the authority claimed by the teacher, the superior,
the expert. The prejudices that they implant are legitimised by the person himself.
Their validity demands that one should be biased in favour of the person who
presents them. But this makes them then, in a sense, objective prejudices, for they
bring about the same bias in favour of something that can come about through
other means, e.g. through solid grounds offered by reason. Thus the essence of
authority belongs in the context of a theory of prejudices free from the extremism
of the enlightenment.
Here we can find support in the romantic criticism of the enlightenment; for
there is one form of authority particularly defended by romanticism, namely
tradition. That which has been sanctioned by tradition and custom has an author-
ity that is nameless, and our finite historical being is marked by the fact that
always the authority of what has been transmitted— and not only what is clearly
grounded—has power over our attitudes and behaviour. All education depends
on this, and even though, in the case of education, the educator loses his function
when his charge comes of age and sets his own insight and decisions in the place
of the authority of the educator, this movement into maturity in his own life does
not mean that a person becomes his own master in the sense that he becomes free
of all tradition. The validity of morals, for example, is based on tradition. They
are freely taken over, but by no means created by a free insight or justified by
themselves. This is precisely what we call tradition: the ground of their validity.
And in fact we owe to romanticism this correction of the enlightenment, that
tradition has a justification that is outside the arguments of reason and in large
measure determines our institutions and our attitudes. It is even a mark of the
superiority of classical ethics over the moral philosophy of the modern period that
it justifies the transition of ethics into "politics," the art of right government, by
the indispensability of tradition.16 In comparison with it the modern enlighten-
ment is abstract and revolutionary.
The concept of tradition, however, has become no less ambiguous than that of
authority, and for the same reason, namely that it is the abstract counterpart to
the principle of the enlightenment that determines the romantic understanding of
tradition. Romanticism conceives tradition as the antithesis to the freedom of
reason and regards it as something historically given, like nature. And whether
the desire is to be revolutionary and oppose it or would like to preserve it, it is
still seen as the abstract counterpart of free self-determination, since its validity
does not require any reasons, but conditions us without our questioning it. Of
course, the case of the romantic critique of the enlightenment is not an instance
of the automatic dominance of tradition, in which what has been handed down
is preserved unaffected by doubt and criticism. It is, rather, a particular critical
attitude that again addresses itself to the truth of tradition and seeks to renew it,
and which we may call "traditionalism."
Hans-Georg Gadamer 265
the beginning of any such research as well as at the end: as the choice of the theme
to be investigated, the awakening of the desire to investigate, as the gaining of
the new problematic.
At the beginning of all historical hermeneutics, then, the abstract antithesis be-
tween tradition and historical research, between history and knowledge, must be
discarded. The effect of a living tradition and the effect of historical study must
constitute a unity, the analysis of which would reveal only a texture of reciprocal
relationships.17 Hence we would do well not to regard historical consciousness
as something radically new—as it seems at first—but as a new element within
that which has always made up the human relation to the past. In other words,
we have to recognise the element of tradition in the historical relation and enquire
into its hermeneutical productivity.
That there is an element of tradition active in the human sciences, despite the
methodological nature of its procedures, an element that constitutes its real nature
and is its distinguishing mark, is immediately clear if we examine the history of
research and note the difference between the human and natural sciences with
regard to their history. Of course no finite historical effort of man can completely
erase the traces of this finiteness. The history of mathematics or of the natural
sciences is also a part of the history of the human spirit and reflects its destinies.
Nevertheless, it is not just historical naivete when the natural scientist writes the
history of his subject in terms of the present stage of knowledge. For him errors
and wrong turnings are of historical interest only, because the progress of
research is the self-evident criterion of his study. Thus it is of secondary interest
only to see how advances in the natural sciences or in mathematics belong to the
moment in history at which they took place. This interest does not affect the
epistemic value of discoveries in the natural sciences or in mathematics.
There is, then, no need to deny that in the natural sciences elements of tradition
can also be active, e.g. in that particular lines of research are preferred at particu-
lar places. But scientific research as such derives the law of its development not
from these circumstances, but from the law of the object that it is investigating.
It is clear that the human sciences cannot be described adequately in terms of
this idea of research and progress. Of course it is possible to write a history of
the solution of a problem, e.g. the deciphering of barely legible inscriptions, in
which the only interest was the ultimate reaching of the final result. Were this not
so, it would not have been possible for the human sciences to have borrowed the
methodology of the natural ones, as happened in the last century. But the analogy
between research in the natural and in the human sciences is only a subordinate
element of the work done in the human sciences.
This is seen in the fact that the great achievements in the human sciences hardly
ever grow old. A modern reader can easily make allowances for the fact that, a
hundred years ago, there was less knowledge available to a historian, who
therefore made judgments that were incorrect in some details. On the whole, he
Hans-Georg Gadamer 267
would still rather read Droysen or Mommsen than the latest account of the par-
ticular subject from the pen of a historian living today. What is the criterion here?
Obviously one cannot simply base the subject on a criterion by which we measure
the value and importance of research. Rather, the object appears truly significant
only in the light of him who is able to describe it to us properly. Thus it is certainly
the subject that we are interested in, but the subject acquires its life only from
the light in which it is presented to us. We accept the fact that the subject presents
itself historically under different aspects at different times or from a different
standpoint. We accept that these aspects do not simply cancel one another out as
research proceeds, but are like mutually exclusive conditions that exist each by
themselves and combine only in us. Our historical consciousness is always filled
with a variety of voices in which the echo of the past is heard. It is present only
in the multifariousness of such voices: this constitutes the nature of the tradition
in which we want to share and have a part. Modern historical research itself is
not only research, but the transmission of tradition. We do not see it only in terms
of the law of progress and verified results; in it too we have, as it were, a new
experience of history, whenever a new voice is heard in which the past echoes.
What is the basis of this? Obviously we cannot speak of an object of research
in the human sciences in the sense appropriate to the natural sciences, where
research penetrates more and more deeply into nature. Rather, in the human
sciences the interest in tradition is motivated in a special way by the present and
its interests. The theme and area of research are actually constituted by the
motivation of the enquiry. Hence historical research is based on the historical
movement in which life itself stands and cannot be understood Ideologically in
terms of the object into which it is enquiring. Such an object clearly does not exist
at all in itself. Precisely this is what distinguishes the human sciences from the
natural sciences. Whereas the object of the natural sciences can be described
idealiter as what would be known in the perfect knowledge of nature, it is
senseless to speak of a perfect knowledge of history, and for this reason it is not
possible to speak of an object in itself towards which its research is directed.
element of the tradition is led from the twilight region between tradition and
history to be seen clearly and openly in terms of its own meaning— this is a new
demand (addressed not to research, but to methodological consciousness itself)
that proceeds inevitably from the analysis of historical consciousness.
It is not, of course, a hermeneutical requirement in the sense of the traditional
concept of hermeneutics. I am not saying that historical enquiry should develop
this effective-historical problematic that would be something separate from that
which is concerned directly with the understanding of the work. The requirement
is of a more theoretical kind. Historical consciousness must become aware that
in the apparent immediacy with which it approaches a work of art or a tradition,
there is also contained, albeit unrecognised and hence not allowed for, this other
element. If we are trying to understand a historical phenomenon from the his-
torical distance that is characteristic of our hermeneutical situation, we are always
subject to the effects of effective-history. It determines in advance both what
seems to us worth enquiring about and what will appear as an object of investiga-
tion, and we more or less forget half of what is really there—in fact, we miss
the whole truth of the phenomenon when we take its immediate appearance as the
whole truth.
In our understanding, which we imagine is so straightforward, we find that, by
following the criterion of intelligibility, the other presents himself so much in
terms of our own selves that there is no longer a question of self and other.
Historical objectivism, in appealing to its critical method, conceals the involve-
ment of the historical consciousness itself in effective-history. By the method of
its foundational criticism it does away with the arbitrariness of cosy re-creations
of the past, but it preserves its good conscience by failing to recognise those
presuppositions—certainly not arbitrary, but still fundamental—that govern its
own approach to understanding, and hence falls short of reaching that truth
which, despite the finite nature of our understanding, could be reached. In this
historical objectivism resembles statistics, which are such an excellent means of
propaganda because they let facts speak and hence simulate an objectivity that in
reality depends on the legitimacy of the questions asked.
We are not saying, then, that effective-history must be developed as a new
independent discipline ancillary to the human sciences, but that we should learn
to understand ourselves better and recognise that in all understanding, whether
we are expressly aware of it or not, the power of this effective-history is at work.
When a naive faith in scientific method ignores its existence, there can be an
actual deformation of knowledge. We know it from the history of science as the
irrefutable proof of something that is obviously false. But looking at the whole
situation, we see that the power of effective-history does not depend on its being
recognised. This, precisely, is the power of history over finite human con-
sciousness, namely that it prevails even where faith in method leads one to deny
one's own historicality. The demand that we should become conscious of this
Hans-Georg Gadamer 269
especially when referring to the claim of historical consciousness to see the past
in terms of its own being, not in terms of our contemporary criteria and prej-
udices, but within its own historical horizon. The task of historical understanding
also involves acquiring the particular historical horizon, so that what we are seek-
ing to understand can be seen in its true dimensions. If we fail to place ourselves
in this way within the historical horizon out of which tradition speaks, we shall
misunderstand the significance of what it has to say to us. To this extent it seems
a legitimate hermeneutical requirement to place ourselves in the other situation
in order to understand it. We may ask, however, whether this does not mean that
we are failing in the understanding that is asked of us. The same is true of a con-
versation that we have with someone simply in order to get to know him, i.e. to
discover his standpoint and his horizon. This is not a true conversation, in the
sense that we are not seeking agreement concerning an object, but the specific
contents of the conversation are only a means to get to know the horizon of the
other person. Examples are oral examinations, or some kinds of conversation be-
tween doctor and patient. The historical consciousness is clearly doing something
similar when it places itself within the situation of the past and hence is able to
acquire the right historical horizon. Just as in a conversation, when we have
discovered the standpoint and horizon of the other person, his ideas become intel-
ligible, without our necessarily having to agree with him, the person who thinks
historically comes to understand the meaning of what has been handed down,
without necessarily agreeing with it, or seeing himself in it.
In both cases, in our understanding we have as it were, withdrawn from the
situation of trying to reach agreement. He himself cannot be reached. By includ-
ing from the beginning the other person's standpoint in what he is saying to us,
we are making our own standpoint safely unattainable. We have seen, in consid-
ering the origin of historical thinking, that in fact it makes this ambiguous transi-
tion from means to ends, i.e. it makes an end of what is only a means. The text
that is understood historically is forced to abandon its claim that it is uttering
something true. We think we understand when we see the past from a historical
standpoint, i.e. place ourselves in the historical situation and seek to reconstruct
the historical horizon. In fact, however, we have given up the claim to find, in
the past, any truth valid and intelligible for ourselves. Thus this acknowledge-
ment of the otherness of the other, which makes him the object of objective
knowledge, involves the fundamental suspension of his claim to truth.
The question is, however, whether this description really corresponds to the
hermeneutical phenomenon. Are there, then, two different horizons here, the
horizon in which the person seeking to understand lives, and the particular
horizon within which he places himself? Is it a correct description of the art of
historical understanding to say that we are learning to place ourselves within alien
horizons? Are there such things as closed horizons, in this sense? We recall
Nietzsche's complaint against historicism that it destroyed the horizon bounded
Hans-Georg Gadamer 271
by myth in which alone a culture is able to live.20 Is the horizon of one's own
present time ever closed in this way, and can a historical situation be imagined
that has this kind of closed horizon?
Or is this a romantic reflection, a kind of Robinson Crusoe dream of the his-
torical enlightenment, the fiction of an unattainable island, as artificial as Crusoe
himself for the alleged primary phenomenon of the solus ipse? Just as the in-
dividual is never simply an individual, because he is always involved with others,
so too the closed horizon that is supposed to enclose a culture is an abstraction.
The historical movement of human life consists in the fact that it is never utterly
bound to any one standpoint, and hence can never have a truly closed horizon.
The horizon is, rather, something into which we move and that moves with us.
Horizons change for a person who is moving. Thus the horizon of the past, out
of which all human life lives and which exists in the form of tradition, is always
in motion. It is not historical consciousness that first sets the surrounding horizon
in motion. But in it this motion becomes aware of itself.
When our historical consciousness places itself within historical horizons, this
does not entail passing into alien worlds unconnected in any way with our own,
but together they constitute the one great horizon that moves from within and,
beyond the frontiers of the present, embraces the historical depths of our self-
consciousness. It is, in fact, a single horizon that embraces everything contained
in historical consciousness. Our own past, and that other past towards which our
historical consciousness is directed, help to shape this moving horizon out of
which human life always lives, and which determines it as tradition.
Understanding the past, then, undoubtedly requires an historical horizon. But
it is not the case that we acquire this horizon by placing ourselves within a
historical situation. Rather, we must always already have a horizon in order to
be able to place ourselves within a situation. For what do we mean by "placing
ourselves" in a situation? Certainly not just disregarding ourselves. This is neces-
sary, of course, in that we must imagine the other situation. But into this other
situation we must also bring ourselves. Only this fulfills the meaning of "placing
ourselves." If we place ourselves in the situation of someone else, for example,
then we shall understand him, i.e. become aware of the otherness, the indis-
soluble individuality of the other person, by placing ourselves in his position.
This placing of ourselves is not the empathy of one individual for another, nor
is it the application to another person of our own criteria, but it always involves
the attainment of a higher universality that overcomes, not only our own par-
ticularity, but also that of the other. The concept of the "horizon" suggests itself
because it expresses the wide, superior vision that the person who is seeking to
understand must have. To acquire a horizon means that one learns to look beyond
what is close at hand— not in order to look away from it, but to see it better within
a larger whole and in truer proportion. It is not a correct description of historical
consciousness to speak, with Nietzsche, of the many changing horizons into
272 The Historicity of Understanding
Notes
8. Horkheimer and Adorno seem to me right in their analysis of the "dialectic of the
enlightenment" (although I must regard the application of sociological concepts such as
"bourgeois" to Odysseus as a failure of historical reflection, if not, indeed, a confusion of
Homer with Johann Heinrich Voss [author of the standard German translation of Homer],
who had already been criticised by Goethe).
9. Cf. the reflections on this important question by G. von Lukacs in his History and
Class Consciousness (London, 1969; orig. 1923).
10. Rousseau, Discours sur I'origine et les fondements de I'inegalite parmi les hommes.
11. Cf. the present author's Plato und die Dichter, p. 12f.
12. Walch, Philosophisches Lexicon (1726), p. 1013.
13. Walch, op. cit., p. 1006ff. under the entry Freiheit zu gedenken. See p. 257 above.
14. Schleiermacher, Werke I, 7, p. 31.
15. The notorious statement, "The party (or the Leader) is always right" is not wrong
because it claims that a certain leadership is superior, but because it serves to shield the
leadership, by a dictatorial decree, from any criticism that might be true. True authority
does not have to be authoritarian.
16. Cf. Aristotle's Eth. Me., book 10, chap. 9.
17. I don't agree with Scheler that the pre-conscious pressure of tradition decreases as
historical study proceeds (Stellung des Menschen im Kosmos, p. 37). The independence
of historical study implied in this view seems to me a liberal fiction of a sort that Scheler
is generally able to see through. (Cf. similarly in his Nachlass I, p. 228ff., where he affirms
his faith in the historical enlightenment, or that of the sociology of knowledge).
18. The structure of the concept of situation has been illuminated chiefly by K. Jaspers
(Die geistige Situation der Zeit) and Erich Rothacker.
19. Nietzsche, Unzeitgemasse Betrachtungen II, at the beginning.
theory of the human sciences,1 for example, my own endeavor was closely linked
to Dilthey's philosophical development of the heritage of German Romanticism;
at the same time, however, it was based on a new, much broader foundation—
namely, the experience of art, which replies to the historical alienation of the
human sciences with its own persistent and triumphant claim to contemporaneity.
In approaching the subject as I did, I had in view a kind of truth which goes ques-
tioningly behind and in anticipation before all knowledge—a kind of truth which
I hoped to bring to light in terms of the essentially linguistic character of all
human experience, the consummation and the burden of which is its constantly
self-renewing contemporaneity. Still, it was inevitable that the phenomenon
which had served as my point of departure should exert a special force even in
my analysis of the universal linguistic character of man's relationship to the
world, and that it should do so, moreover, in a way which reflected the intellectual
and historical origin of the hermeneutical problem itself. The problem had been
touched off by the written tradition, a tradition which had become foreign through
fixity, longevity, and the distance of time. Thus, it was natural to take the many-
layered problem of translation as a model of the linguisticality of man's relation-
ship to the world and to develop the general problem of how that which is foreign
becomes ours in terms of the structures of translation.
Nevertheless, what O. Marquard has called the Sein zum Texte2 does not
exhaust the hermeneutic dimension—unless the word "text" is taken to mean,
above and beyond its narrower sense, the text which "God has written with His
own hand," the liber naturae, and thus to embrace all scientific knowledge as
well, from physics to sociology and anthropology. And even then the model of
translation is by no means broad enough to encompass the manifold significance
of language in human affairs. To be sure, one can demonstrate in the reading of
this greatest of all "books" the pattern of tension and resolution which structures
understanding and understandability—perhaps even the understanding mind
itself; and in this respect it is impossible to have any doubt about the universality
of the hermeneutic problem. It is no secondary topic; hermeneutics is no mere
handmaiden to the human sciences of the Romantic period.3
At the same time, however, the universal phenomenon of human linguisticality
unfolds itself in other dimensions as well. As a result, the concerns of hermeneu-
tics make themselves felt in other fields which also have to do with the linguisti-
cality of the human experience. Some of these were touched upon in Truth and
Method itself. Thus, effective historical consciousness (wirkungsgeschichtliches
Bewusstseiri)4 was presented there, in several phases of its history, as the
conscious illumination of the human idea of language; it extends, however, as
Johannes Lohmann has since shown in his book Philosophy and Linguistics5 and
in a discussion of my own work in Gnomon ,6 into still further and entirely different
dimensions. Taking up the history of "the coinage of the concept 'language' in
Occidental thought" which I had sketched, Lohmann extends it both forwards and
276 The Historicity of Understanding
The first history of rhetoric was written by Aristotle. We have only fragments.
It is clear, however, that Aristotle's theory of rhetoric was developed as the
realization of a program originally drawn up by Plato. Behind all the specious
claims put forward by contemporary teachers of oratory, Plato had discovered
a genuine task which only the philosopher, the dialectician, was in a position to
carry out: namely, to obtain mastery of truly illuminatory speech in such a man-
ner that the appropriate arguments were brought forward in regard to the specific
receptivity of the souls of those to whom they were directed. That is an enlighten-
ing theoretical statement of the task of rhetoric, which nevertheless involves two
Platonic assumptions: (1) that only he who is at home with the truth (i.e., the
Ideas) knows how to find unerringly the "plausible" pseudos represented by the
rhetorical argument; and (2) that the rhetorician must be equally knowledgeable
and at home with the souls on which he hopes to work. Aristotelian rhetoric is
preeminently a working out of the latter concern. There, the theory of the corre-
spondence between speech and soul which Plato had called for in the Phaedrus
culminates in an anthropological approach to the art of speaking.
The theory of rhetoric was the long-term result of a controversy which had been
touched off by the intoxicating and alarming invasion of a new art of speaking
and a new concept of education which we now refer to as sophism. At that time,
rhetoric, in the form of an uncanny new knowledge which showed the way to turn
everything topsy-turvy, had streamed from Sicily into an Athens socially and
politically stratified but animated by a younger generation easily led astray. Thus,
it became imperative to teach this great dictator (as Georgias calls rhetoric) obe-
dience to a new master. From Protagoras to Isocrates it was the claim of the
masters of rhetoric not only to teach public speaking but to form as well the sound
civic consciousness which promised political responsibility. However, it was
Plato who first laid down the principles on the basis of which the new, universally
disruptive art of speaking—Aristophanes has portrayed that for us vividly
enough—found its limit and its legitimate place. To that the philosophical
dialectic of the Platonic Academy attests with the same force as the Aristotelian
foundation of logic and rhetoric.
The history of understanding is no less ancient and venerable. If one acknowl-
edges hermeneutics to exist wherever a true art of understanding is in evidence,
one would have to begin, if not with Nestor in the Iliad, then certainly with
Odysseus. Then, too, one could usefully make reference to the new sophistic
movement in education, which actually practiced the explication of famous
passages of poetry and skillfully elaborated them as pedagogical examples; and
one could distinguish between the practice of the Sophists and a Socratic herme-
neutics, as Gundert has done.9 Even so, that is far from being a theory of under-
standing; and indeed it seems to be generally characteristic for the emergence of
the hermeneutical problem as such that a situation must exist where something
remote has to be brought nearer, a strangeness overcome, a bridge built between
278 The Historicity of Understanding
established, and when it has been absorbed into the medium of intersubjective
understanding.
Thus the rhetorical and the hermeneutical aspects of human linguisticality
interpenetrate each other at every point. There would be no speaker and no such
thing as rhetoric if understanding and agreement were not the lifeblood of human
relationships. There would be no hermeneutical task if there were no loss of
agreement between the parties to a "conversation" and no need to seek under-
standing. The connection between hermeneutics and rhetoric ought to serve,
then, to dispel the notion that hermeneutics is somehow restricted to the aesthetic-
humanistic tradition alone and that hermeneutical philosophy has to do with a "life
of the mind" which is somehow opposed to the world of "real" life and propagates
itself only in and through the "cultural tradition."
It is in keeping with the universality of the hermeneutical approach that its
implications must be considered for the logic of the social sciences as well.
Accordingly, Habermas has taken up the analysis of "effective historical con-
sciousness" and of the model of "translation" in Truth and Method and given them
a positive role to play in overcoming the positivistic paralysis of social scientific
logic and the historical naivete of its fundamental assumptions about the nature
of language. Such reference to hermeneutics, therefore, is made on the avowed
premise that it should serve the methodology of the social sciences. That is a pre-
supposition of the greatest moment, and one of course which severs Habermas's
approach from the traditional grounds of the hermeneutic problematic, in the
aesthetically oriented human sciences of the Romantic period. To be sure, the
methodical alienation which is of the essence in modern science is employed as
well throughout the "humanities."11 The opposition which the title of Truth and
Method implies was never meant to be absolute (see the Preface to the second
edition, p. xv). Nevertheless, the human sciences were chosen as the starting
point of the analysis because they have to do with experiences in which it is a
matter not of method or science but, on the contrary, of experiences which lie
outside of science— among them the experience of the culture which bears the
imprint of science's own historical tradition. The hermeneutical experience is
fully operative only in such instances, nor can it be itself the object of methodical
alienation; on the contrary, it necessarily precedes methodical alienation, in that
it assigns to science the questions with which it occupies itself and thereby makes
possible for the first time the application of its methods. The modern social
sciences, on the other hand, to the extent that they recognize hermeneutical reflec-
tion as unavoidable, nevertheless claim to raise understanding, as Habermas puts
it, "from a pre-scientific pursuit to the rank of a conscious procedure" through
"controlled alienation"—as it were, through the "methodical cultivation of
cleverness" (172/174).
Now it has long since been the way of science to accomplish through teachable
and controllable modes of procedure what also accrues to individual cleverness
Hans-Georg Gadamer 281
history out of its own orientation to the future. What good is it to know that such
projections are provisional and repeatedly subject to revision?
In situations where hermeneutical reflection actually comes into play, however,
what does it do? In what relationship does "effective historical consciousness"
stand to the tradition of which it becomes conscious? Now my thesis is— and I
believe—that the thing hermeneutics teaches us, as a necessary consequence of
recognizing the contingency and finitude which are inseparable from historical
involvement, is to see through the dogmatic antithesis between ongoing "autoch-
thonous" tradition, on the one hand, and its reflective appropriation on the other.
Behind such an antithesis lurks a dogmatic objectivism which deforms the very
concept of reflection itself. Even in the interpretive sciences, the one who does
the understanding can never reflect himself out of the historical involvement of
his hermeneutical situation so that his own interpretation does not itself become
a part of the subject at hand. The historian, even the historian of the so-called
critical school, so little dissolves ongoing traditions—for example, nationalistic
ones—that, on the contrary, he is really engaged, as a national historian, in their
formation and development. And most important of all, the more consciously he
reflects upon his hermeneutical conditionality, the more engaged he becomes.
Droysen, who saw through the "eunuchlike objectivity" and the methodological
naivete of the historians, was himself highly influential when it came to the
nationalism of nineteenth-century middle-class culture— in any event, more in-
fluential than Ranke's epical consciousness, which sought to inculcate instead the
apoliticality appropriate to a state based on higher authority alone. The act of
understanding is itself an event. Only a naive, unreflective historicism will see
in the historical-hermeneutical sciences something absolutely new which puts an
end to the power of tradition.
In Truth and Method I sought to furnish unequivocal proof for the constant
process of mediation by means of which societal tradition perpetuates itself in
terms of linguisticality, which is at once the medium and the register of all under-
standing. To this Habermas replies that the process of mediation profoundly
alters the medium of knowledge through reflection— an insight, as Habermas
would have it, which is itself the perpetual legacy bequeathed us by German
idealism out of the spirit of the eighteenth century. Although Hegelian reflection,
as it appears in my work, no longer culminates in an absolute consciousness, the
"idealism of linguisticality," which exhausts itself in mere "cultural tradition"— in
its hermeneutical appropriation and continuation—nevertheless remains tragi-
cally impotent vis-a-vis the concrete whole of the living social network, which
is woven not of language alone but of work and domination as well. Hermeneutical
reflection, Habermas concludes, must pass over into a critique of ideologies.
With this, Habermas touches upon the main motive behind sociology's interest
in epistemology. Rhetoric (as theory) took its stand against the enchantment of
consciousness through the power of speech, in that it insisted on the distinction
Hans-Georg Gadamer 283
between the matter of fact, or the true, and the plausible or apparently true which
its adherents are taught to produce; hermeneutics endeavors to reestablish a
disrupted intersubjective agreement through the dialectical exchange of ideas
and, in particular, to free an alienated epistemology from false objectivism and
return it to its hermeneutical foundations. Similarly, there is an emancipatory
interest at work in sociological reflection as well which undertakes to disperse
external and internal social compulsions by bringing them to the level of con-
sciousness. Insofar as these compulsions seek to legitimize themselves in and
through language, the critique of ideologies (itself, of course, an act of reflection
which makes use of the powers of language) becomes an exposure of "deception
with language" (178).
In the realm of psychoanalytical therapy, Habermas argues, one finds further
evidence of the emancipatory power of reflection for social life. When we see
through repression, we rob false compulsions of their power; and just as in
psychotherapy, as the end result of a reflective educational process, the meaning
of all motives for action would coincide with that which they have for the patient
himself—an end result which is, of course, limited in the psychoanalytical situa-
tion by the therapeutic task and therefore represents here only a theoretical
concept—so, by analogy, social reality, too, would be hermeneutically compre-
hensible only in such a fictive final state. In reality, the life of society is a web
of understandable motives and concrete compulsions. It is the task of social
research to disentangle that web through a continuing educational process and set
it free for action.
One cannot deny that this socio-theoretical conception has its logic. It seems
questionable, however, whether the role of hermeneutics is not unjustly restricted
when its limits are defined in terms of a conjunction between all motives for action
and their understood meaning. Indeed, the hermeneutical problem is so universal
and so fundamental for all interpersonal experience, both of history and of the
present, precisely because meaning can be experienced even where it was not the
conscious intention of its author. It abridges the universality of the hermeneutical
dimension when a realm of understandable meaning ("cultural tradition") is set
off against other determinants of social reality, identifiable solely as concrete
factors. As if every ideology, as a false linguistic consciousness, presented itself
only in the garb of understandable meaning and could not also be understood in
its "true" sense—for example, as an expression of the interests of dominance. The
same thing is true of the unconscious motives which the psychoanalyst brings to
consciousness.
Here the choice of the experience of art and of the human sciences as the start-
ing point for the development of the hermeneutical dimension in Truth and
Method appears to have made an appreciation of its true compass more difficult.
Certainly, even the so-called "universal" exposition in the third part of the book
is too sketchy and one-sided. In light of the subject matter, however, and in
284 The Historicity of Understanding
particular of the way the hermeneutical problem was posited, it seems altogether
absurd that the concrete factors of work and dominance should be seen as lying
outside the scope of hermeneutics. What else are the prejudices with which her-
meneutical reflection concerns itself? Where else shall they originate if not in
work and dominance? In the cultural tradition? To be sure, there, too. But of what
is that tradition compounded? The idealism of linguisticality were a grotesque
absurdity indeed—if it would extend beyond its mere methodological function.
Habermas says at one point: "Hermeneutics bangs from within, so to speak,
against the walls of tradition" (177). There is some truth to that, if by "from
within" he means to indicate the opposite of a position taken up "from without"—
one which does not enter into our interpretational world, intelligible or unintel-
ligible, but persists instead in the detached observation of external alterations (as
opposed to individual actions). That my position amounts to the same thing as an
absolutization of cultural tradition, however, seems to me an erroneous supposi-
tion. It means only: to want to understand everything which will allow itself to
be understood. That is the proper meaning of the statement: "Being which can
be understood is language."
It does not mean nor does it entail confinement to a world of meaning which,
as a "knowing of the known" (A. Boeckh),13 were a kind of secondary object of
knowledge, with the appropriation of that which is already known, the wealth of
the "cultural tradition," serving as a supplement to the economic and political
realities which preeminently determine the life of society. On the contrary, every-
thing that is reflects itself in the mirror of language. In language and only in
language are we confronted by that which we encounter nowhere else, because
it is we ourselves (not merely that which we believe to be true and which we know
about ourselves). When all is said and done, language is no mirror at all, nor is
that which we catch sight of in it a mere reflection of our own and of all existence.
Rather, it is the continual definition and redefinition of our lives, in the concrete
dependencies of work and dominance as well as in all the other dependencies
which make up our world. Language is not the ultimate anonymous subject, dis-
covered at last, in which all social-historical processes and actions are grounded,
and which presents itself and the totality of its activities, its objectifications, to
the gaze of the detached observer; rather, it is the game in which we are all
participants. None less so than any other. Each of us is "it," and it is always our
turn. That is true whenever we understand something, and especially so when we
see through prejudices or unmask pretenses which disguise the truth. Yes, there
most of all we "understand." When at last we have got to the bottom of something
which seemed to us strange and unintelligible, when we have managed to accom-
modate it within our linguistically ordered world, then everything falls into place,
just as it does with a difficult chess problem, where only the solution renders the
necessity of the absurd setup intelligible, down to the very last piece on the board.
But does that mean that we understand only when we see through some
Hans-Georg Gadamer 285
subterfuge and expose false presumption? Habermas appears to assume so. At the
very least, reflection seems to demonstrate its power for him only in such
instances— and its powerlessness when we get stuck in the web of language and
spin it out further. Indeed, he assumes that reflection, as practiced in the herme-
neutical sciences, "upsets the dogmatics of the practical life." Conversely, it
seems to him insupportable and a betrayal of the heritage of the Enlightenment
to say that elucidation of the biases inherent in understanding can lead to an
acknowledgement of authority— of a dogmatic force! It may well be that conserv-
atism (not the conservatism of Burke's generation, but that of a generation which
has seen three great upheavals in German history, not one of them involving a
revolutionary upset of the established social order) lends itself to the recognition
of a truth easily overlooked. In any case, it is a desire to throw some light on the
problem at hand and not a mere "deep-seated conviction" (174) which leads me
to sever authority and reason from the abstract antithetical relationship they have
for the Enlightenment, with its emancipatory frame of mind, and to insist instead
on their essentially ambivalent relationship.
The Enlightenment's abstract antithesis between authority and reason seems to
me to mistake the truth, and to do so with fatal consequences—namely, because
one thereupon ascribes a power to reflection which it does not have and so
mistakes the true dependencies involved through false idealism. Granted, author-
ity exercises dogmatic force in countless forms, from the system of education,
through the chain of command in army and government, to the power structures
of political and evangelistic movements. But this view of the obedience rendered
to authority can never explain why it should express itself in power structures and
not in the disorder which characterizes the exercise of force alone. As I see it,
then, there are compelling reasons for viewing acknowledgment as the determin-
ing factor in true authority relationships. The question is simply: on what does
this acknowledgement rest? In many cases, to be sure, such acknowledgement is
really nothing much more than a yielding of the powerless to force, but that is
not true obedience and does not rest on authority. One need only study representa-
tive instances of the loss or decline of authority to see what authority is and
whence it derives its life. Not from dogmatic force, but from dogmatic acknowl-
edgment. What, however, is dogmatic acknowledgment, if not this: that one
concedes to authority a superiority in knowledge and judgment and on that ground
believes that it is just. On that alone, authority "rests." It prevails, therefore, not
because it is blindly obeyed, but because it is "freely" acknowledged.
It is an undue imputation, though, to suppose that I thought there were no such
thing as loss of authority and emancipatory critique. Whether one can really say
that loss of authority comes about through emancipatory critique and reflection,
or ought to say, instead, that loss of authority manifests itself in critique and
emancipation is a question which may be let drop and which perhaps involves a
distinction without a difference after all. The point at issue is simply whether
286 The Historicity of Understanding
claim to necessity— seen from the point of view of the ability to exercise technical
control over nature? At most, the researcher himself will disclaim the technical
motivation of his work in the interest of his relationship to the science itself—and
with full subjective right. But no one will deny that the practical application of
modern science profoundly alters our world, and with it our language. Indeed,
"also our language." That in no way means—Habermas's imputations notwith-
standing— that the material existence of practical life is determined by the
linguistic articulation of consciousness; it means simply that there is no social
reality, with all its concrete compulsions, which does not also exhibit itself in a
linguistically articulated consciousness. Reality does not happen "behind the back
of language" (179); it happens behind the backs of those who live in the subjective
opinion that they understand the world (or no longer understand it), and it
happens in language as well.
Seen from this point of view, of course, the concept of an "autochthonous" or
"natural" order of things—which Marx set in uncritical opposition to the working
world of modern class society and which Habermas, too, is fond of using ("the
autochthonous substance of tradition," but also "the causality of autochthonous
relationships" [173/4]—takes on a highly questionable aspect. Indeed, that is
sheer romanticism—and such romanticism creates an artificial gulf between
tradition and reflection grounded in historical consciousness. The "idealism of
linguisticality" at least has the distinction of not lapsing into that kind of thinking.
Habermas's critique culminates in an attack on the immanentism of transcen-
dental philosophy, calling it into question by reference to the same historical
conditions on which its arguments are based. In fact, a central problem. Anyone
who takes the finiteness of human existence seriously and who constructs neither
a "consciousness in general" nor an intellectus archetypus or transcendental ego
to serve as the repository and reference point for all authority will not be able to
avoid the question of how his own thinking, as transcendental, is empirically
possible. So far as the hermeneutical dimension I have developed is concerned,
however, I see no real difficulty in that respect.
Pannenberg's highly useful discussion of my work14 has led me to see what a
fundamental difference there is between Hegel's claim to find reason in history
and those constantly self-renewing, constantly antiquated conceptions of univer-
sal history, in the framing of which one always behaves as if he were "the last
historian" (166). To be sure, the nature and validity of Hegel's claim to a philos-
ophy of world history is open to debate. He, too, knew that "the footsteps of our
pall-bearers can already be heard at the door," and one can find that, in spite of
all one's reservations about world-historical speculation, there is a compelling
kind of certainty about the root idea of universal human freedom itself which one
can no more dismiss than he can dismiss consciousness itself. All the same, the
claim which every historian must make by virtue of his need to tie the meaning
of all events to a "today" of his own (and to the future of that "today") is a
288 The Historicity of Understanding
fundamentally different and much more modest one than Hegel's. No one can
deny that history presupposes futurity, and to that extent a conception of universal
history is unavoidably one of the dimensions of contemporary historical con-
sciousness, "from a practical point of view." But does it do justice to Hegel to
restrict the meaning of his work to an expression of this interpretational need
which makes itself felt in every present? "From a practical point of view"—that
no one today goes beyond such a claim is understandable in view of the ingrained
consciousness of our own finitude and a mistrust of the dictatorship of the con-
cept. But does one seriously want to reduce Hegel to practical terms?
So far as I can see, my discussion with Pannenberg comes to a dead end on this
point; for Pannenberg has no desire to renew Hegel's claim either—only it does
make a difference, of course, that for the Christian theologian the "practical point
of view" involved in every conception of universal history has its fixed point of
reference, its "today" so to speak, in the absolute historicity of the Incarnation.
Still the question remains. If the hermeneutical problematic expects to hold its
own ground against the universality of rhetoric on the one hand, and the topicality
of the critique of ideologies on the other, it must make a case for its own uni-
versality, and that precisely over against modern science's claim to absorb
hermeneutical reflection into itself and make it subservient to science (through the
"methodological cultivation of cleverness"). It will be able to do that only if,
instead of taking refuge in the immanence of transcendental reflection, it is able
to show in its own right what such reflection accomplishes over against— and not
merely within the purview of—modern scientific knowledge.
the arts and the philological-historical sciences, it is easy to show the kind of
effect hermeneutical reflection has. Consider, for example, the way the autonomy
of style study in art history has been shaken by hermeneutical reflection on the
concept of art—or on the concepts of individual periods and styles; how icon-
ography pressed to the fore from its peripheral position; and the influence
hermeneutical reflection on the concepts of experience (Erlebnis} and expression
(Ausdruck) has had on literary criticism— if only in the form of a more conscious
pursuit of scholarly trends long since emergent. (Interaction is also a form of in-
fluence.) It goes without saying that the shaking of fixed prejudices gives promise
of an advancement in knowledge, for it makes new questions possible; indeed,
we experience on an every day basis what historical scholarship is able to gain
from an awareness of the history of ideas. In these fields I hope to have demon-
strated how the alienation brought about by historicism is mediated through a
"fusing of horizons." Then, too, thanks to Habermas's astute observations, the
contribution of hermeneutics has made itself felt within the social sciences as
well, in particular through a confrontation between the hermeneutical dimension
and the preconceptions involved not only in the positivistic philosophy of science
but in an aprioristic phenomenology and a universal linguistics as well.
But the function of hermeneutical reflection is not exhausted by the role it plays
within the sciences themselves. Inherent in all modern sciences is a deep-rooted
alienation, which they impose on natural consciousness and which, in the form
of the concept of method, has been a part of reflective consciousness since the
formative stage of modern science. Hermeneutical reflection cannot claim to do
anything about that; it can, however, by elucidating for the sciences the ruling
preconceptions of the moment, uncover new avenues of inquiry and thus in-
directly be of service to the work of methodology. And, beyond that, it can bring
to consciousness what the methodology of the sciences exacts in payment for the
progress it makes possible: how much screening and abstraction it demands, and
how, in the process, it leaves natural consciousness perplexed behind it—which
nevertheless, in its role as consumer of the inventions and information acquired
through science, perpetually follows in its wake. Or, to use Wittgenstein's terms:
the "language games" of science remain related to the metalanguage represented
by the mother tongue. The findings of science, travelling through modern chan-
nels of information and then, after due (many times after unduly great) delay, via
the schools and education, become at last a part of the social consciousness. In
this way, they give articulation to "socio-linguistic" realities.
For the natural sciences as such, of course, all that is largely irrelevant. The
true natural scientist already knows full well how particular is the realm of knowl-
edge encompassed by his field, compared with the whole of human reality. He
does not take part in the deification of it which the public forces upon him. And
yet that is all the more reasons why the public—and the scientist who goes before
the public— stands in need of hermeneutical reflection on the presuppositions and
290 The Historicity of Understanding
the limits of science. The so-called Humaniora, by contrast, are still able to
convey their knowledge to the general consciousness with ease— insofar as they
still reach it at all— since the objects of that knowledge belong immediately to
the cultural tradition and to the subject matter of conventional education. But the
modern social sciences stand in an inherently and peculiarly strained relationship
to the object of their knowledge, the social reality—a relationship which has a
special need for hermeneutical reflection. For the methodical alienation to which
the social sciences are indebted for their progress is brought to bear in their work
on the whole of the human and social world, a world which thus finds itself ex-
posed to scientific disposition in planning, management, organization, develop-
ment—in short, in a multitude of offices which determine from the outside, so
to speak, the life of every individual and every group within the society. The
social engineer, who looks after the operation of the social machine, thus seems
sundered from the society, of which he is nevertheless a member.
Clearly, that is a role which is unacceptable to a hermeneutically reflected
sociology. In a lucid analysis of the logic of the social sciences, Habermas has
resolutely worked out the distinctive epistemological interest which sets the
sociologist apart from the social technician. It is, he says, an emancipatory
interest, which aims only at reflection, and he makes reference in this connection
to the example of psychoanalysis.
In fact, the role which hermeneutics has to play in the setting of a psycho-
analysis is a fundamental one; and since, as I have already emphasized, un-
conscious motives lie well within the scope of hermeneutical theory—more,
since psychotherapy can be described as the work of "unfolding interrupted
processes of education into a complete history (which can be recounted)" (189)—
hermeneutics and the circle of language, which is closed in conversation, have
their place there, as I believe I have learned above all from the work of J. Lacan.
Nevertheless, it is clear that that is not the end of the matter. The categories
of interpretation worked out by Freud make a distant but nevertheless real claim
to the character of genuine natural-scientific hypotheses—that is, to constitute a
knowledge of operative laws. One would expect that to be reflected in the role
methodical alienation plays within psychoanalysis, and so it is. Although a
successful analysis receives its own validation from the results it produces, the
claim to knowledge of psychoanalysis as a discipline is by no means a matter that
can be decided on pragmatic grounds alone. That means, however, that it is
manifestly open to further hermeneutical reflection. What, it must be asked, is
the relationship between the knowledge of the psychoanalyst and his professional
position within the social reality, of which he is, after all, a member? That he
inquires behind superficial explanations, breaks through obstacles to self-
understanding, sees through the repressive effect of social taboos—all these
things are part and parcel of the emancipatory reflection in which he engages with
his patients. But if he exercises the same kind of reflection in situations and in
Hans-Georg Gadamer 291
fields where his role as doctor is not legitimately involved, where he is himself
a participant in the social game, then he steps out of his social role. The person
who "sees through" his playing partners to something beyond the understandings
involved in their relationship—that is, does not take the game they are playing
seriously—is a spoilsport whom one avoids. The emancipatory power of reflec-
tion to which the psychoanalyst lays claim thus has its limit—a limit which is
defined by the larger social consciousness in terms of which analyst and patient
alike understand themselves, along with everyone else. For hermeneutical reflec-
tion teaches us that social community, with all its tensions and disruptions, leads
us back time and again to a social understanding, by virtue of which it continues
to exist.
In light of such considerations, however, Habermas's analogy between psycho-
analytical and sociological theory becomes problematic. For where is the latter
to find its limit? Where in Habermas's scheme of things does the patient stop and
the social partnership step in in its unprofessional right? Behind and beyond which
self-interpretation of the social consciousness—and every custom is such a self-
interpretation— appropriate for one to inquire and go (perhaps out of desire for
revolutionary change), and which not? Such questions are apparently unanswer-
able. The inevitable consequence seems to be that the emancipatory consciousness
cannot stop short of the dissolution of every obligation to restraint—and thus that
its guiding light must be the vision of an anarchistic Utopia. This, of course, seems
to me a hermeneutically false consciousness.
Notes
Jurgen Habermas
JURGEN HABERMAS (b. 1929) studied first at the University of Bonn where he earned a
doctorate in 1954. For the next five years he worked as an assistant in the Institute for
Social Research (Institutfiir Sozialforschung) in Frankfurt under Adorno and Horkheimer.
In 1961 he received his second doctorate (Habilitatiori) at Mainz and began teaching at
the University of Heidelberg during that same year. He became a professor of philosophy
at Frankfurt in 1964, and joined the Max Planck Institute in Starnberg near Munich in
1971, to concentrate more fully on his research and writing. Habermas's work, with its
numerous philosophical, historical-critical, and sociological concerns, has many implica-
tions for hermeneutics in both its theoretical and practical aspects. His first important
book, Communication and the Evolution of Society (1962; Eng. trans. 1979), demon-
strated new ways by which the production and reception of literary works, and the change
in aesthetic and ideological attitudes, can be studied in precise historical and sociological
terms. In Knowledge and Human Interests (1968; Eng. trans. 1976) Habermas rethought
from a new point of view some of the central problems which had occupied philosophers
and human scientists during the past 150 years. His efforts display an astute interpretive
mastery of the hermeneutic tradition in which the book itself also participates. Habermas's
"reply" to Gadamer, therefore, cannot be read simply as a polemical statement by a neo-
Marxian thinker against the views of an allegedly idealist metaphysical philosopher. It is
a statement which reveals, above all, the hermeneutic dimensions of Habermas's own
thought and the extent to which hermeneutics plays an essential part in his conception of
the social sciences. The essay was first published by Habermas in 1970 in the Festschrift
dedicated to Gadamer on his seventieth birthday.
293
294 Hermeneutics and the Social Sciences
ON HERMENEUTICS' CLAIM
TO UNIVERSALITY
i
Hermeneutics refers to a "capability" which we acquire to the extent that we come
to "master" a natural language—with the art of understanding the meaning of lin-
guistic communication and, in the case of disrupted communication, of making
it understandable. Understanding of meaning focuses on the semantic content of
speech, but also on the meaning contained in written forms of expression or in
nonlinguistic symbol systems, so far as such meanings can, in principle, be
"recovered" in speech. Not by accident do we speak of the "art" of understanding
and of making something understandable, for the interpretive capability which
every speaker has at his command can be stylized, even developed to the level
of an artistic ability. The art of interpretation is the counterpart of the art of con-
vincing and persuading in situations where practical questions are brought to
decision. Indeed, the same thing that is true of hermeneutics is true of rhetoric
as well; for rhetoric, too, rests on a capability which belongs to the communi-
cative competence of every speaker but can be artificially developed into a special
skill. Rhetoric and hermeneutics have their origin in arts which take in hand the
methodical training and development of a natural capability.1
Philosophical hermeneutics is a diiferent matter: it is not an art but a critique—
that is, it brings to consciousness in a reflective attitude experiences which we
have of language in the exercise of our communicative competence and thus in
the course of social interaction with others through language. Because rhetoric
and hermeneutics have to do with the teaching and disciplined development of
communicative competence, hermeneutical reflection has been able to draw upon
their realm of experience. But [hermeneutical] reflection on (1) skillful under-
standing and explication, on the one hand, and (2) convincing and persuading,
on the other, serves in the interest not of an art but of a philosophical inquiry into
the structures of colloquial communication.
(1) From the characteristic experience of the art of understanding and explica-
tion, philosophical hermeneutics has learned that the resources of a natural
language are in principle sufficient to clarify the meaning of any configuration of
symbols, however foreign and inaccessible it may at first be. We can translate
from any language into any other language. We can place the objectifications of
the most remote period and the most alien culture in understandable relationship
to the familiar (that is, previously understood) context of our own surroundings.
Jttrgen Habermas 295
At the same time, of course, the factual distance from foreign traditions forms
part of the horizon of every natural language. And then, too, the long since
understood context of familiar surroundings can at any time be revealed as
something questionable; it is the potentially unintelligible. Only the two moments
taken together encompass the whole of the hermeneutical experience. The inter-
subjectivity of colloquial understanding is in principle as limitless as it is frag-
mentary: limitless, because it can be enlarged at will; fragmentary., because it can
never be exhaustively constructed. That is as much true of contemporary com-
munication within a socio-culturally homogeneous language community as it is
of communication which takes place over the distance between different classes,
cultures, and time periods.
The hermeneutical experience raises to the level of consciousness the relation-
ship between the speaking subject and language. The speaking subject can make
use of the reflexive property of natural language metacommunicatively in order
to paraphrase modifications of any kind. Indeed, it is possible to construct hier-
archies of formal languages on the foundation of the colloquial language, which
in each case serves as the "ultimate" metalanguage. These are related to each other
as object-language to meta-language to meta-meta-language, and so forth. The
formal construction of such languages precludes ad hoc stipulation, commentary
on, or alteration of the rules of application for individual statements. And the
logic of classes forbids metacommunication about statements within a formal
language on the level of that object-language itself. Both, however, are possible
in colloquial language. The system of a natural language is not closed but permits
ad hoc stipulation, commentary on, or alteration of the rules of application for
any given expression. And metacommunication in natural languages can make
use only of the same language which is being spoken about as object: for every
natural language is its own meta-language. On that rests the reflexivity of natural
languages, which makes it possible, in contrast to class-logic languages, for the
semantic content of linguistic expressions to carry, along with the manifest
message, an indirect message as to its application. That is true, for instance, of
the metaphorical use of language. Owing to the reflexive structure of natural
languages, then, the native speaker has at his command a unique realm of meta-
communicative free play.
The obverse of this freedom of movement is a palpable bondage to linguistic
tradition. Natural languages are informal, and for that reason speaking subjects
cannot come face to face with their language as they could with a closed system.
Language competence remains, as it were, behind the backs of those who make
use of it: they can be certain about the meaning of something only to the extent
that they also remain dependent, explicitly, on a context which has been, on the
whole, dogmatically transmitted and, implicitly, long since preestablished.
Hermeneutical understanding cannot enter into a question without prejudice; on
the contrary, it is unavoidably biased by the context in which the understanding
296 Hermeneutics and the Social Sciences
subject has first acquired his schemata of interpretation. Such a preconception can
be thematized; it must be assayed as part of the question at hand in every herme-
neutically conscious analysis. But even the modification of the unavoidable
anticipations involved in understanding does not break through the objectivity of
the language vis-a-vis the speaking subject: in the process of learning, he merely
forms a new preconception, which in turn becomes the reigning preconception
at the next hermeneutical step. That is the meaning of Gadamer's statement:
"Effective historical consciousness is inescapably more existence than it is con-
sciousness."2
(2) From the characteristic experience of the art of convincing and persuading,
on the other hand, philosophical hermeneutics has learned that the medium of
colloquial communication serves not only to exchange messages but as well to
shape and alter the attitudes which inform behavior. Rhetoric has traditionally
been seen as the art of producing a consensus on questions which cannot be
decided on the basis of compelling proof. Classical antiquity thus reserved to
rhetoric the realm of the merely "plausible," as opposed to that in which the truth
of statements is discussed on theoretical grounds. It is a matter, then, of practical
questions—questions which can be reduced to decisions about the acceptance or
rejection of standards, of criteria of evaluation and norms of behavior. When such
decisions are made rationally, they are arrived at by means which are neither
theoretically compelling nor merely arbitrary; instead, they are motivated by con-
vincing speech. In the notable ambivalence between conviction and persuasion
which attaches to the consensus produced by rhetoric, one sees not merely the
element of force, which to the present day remains an ineradicable part of any
consensus—as, indeed, it has always been of processes aimed at the shaping of
volition through discussion; that same equivocality is also circumstantial evi-
dence that practical questions can be decided only through dialogue and therefore
remain bound to the context of the colloquial language. Rationally motivated
decisions are reached only on the basis of a consensus which is produced through
convincing speech, and that means: in dependence on the cognitively and ex-
pressively appropriate resources of representation in colloquial language.
The rhetorical experience, too, teaches us something about the relationship be-
tween the speaking subject and his language. The speaker can make use of the
creativity of natural language to respond spontaneously to changing states of
affairs and to define new situations through fundamentally unpredictable expres-
sions. In formal terms, that presupposes a language structure which, with the help
of a finite number of elements and in conformity with general rules, makes it
possible to produce and to understand an infinite number of statements. This
productivity, however, is by no means limited to the short-term production of in-
dividual statements, but extends as well to the long-term process of shaping collo-
quially formulated schemata of interpretation— schemata which not only make
experience possible but prejudice it at the same time. The skillful use of language
Jurgen Habermas 297
which brings about a consensus in the decision of practical questions marks only
the point at which we consciously attempt to take a hand in this natural process
and see what we can do to change ingrained schemata of interpretation, to learn
(and teach others) to see things understood on the basis of tradition differently and
to judge them anew. This type of insight draws its innovational power from its
ability to choose the right word. Owing to the creativity of natural languages,
then, the native speaker has at his command a unique power over the practical
consciousness of corporate bodies of men—a power which, as the long history
of sophism shows, can be used for the purpose of obfuscation and agitation as
well as for enlightenment.
The obverse of this power is, of course, a specific powerlessness of the speak-
ing subject vis-a-vis familiar language games. Anyone who wishes to modify a
language game must participate in it first. That, in turn, is possible only through
internalization of the rules which define the language game. Acclimating oneself
to linguistic traditions thus demands, at least potentially, the kind of effort that
is involved in a process of socialization: the "grammar" of language games must
become a constituent part of the personality structure. Indeed, skillful speech
owes its power over the practical consciousness to the fact that a natural language
cannot be adequately grasped as a system of rules for the production of system-
atically ordered and semantically meaningful configurations of symbols; for it is
also immanently and compellingly dependent on the context established by
actions and gestural forms of expression. The rhetorical experience thus teaches
us to see the connection between language and praxis. Colloquial communication
would not just be incomplete, but impossible outside of a context that is gramma-
tically regulated and includes certain shared standards of interaction, as well as
the accompanying or intermittent presence of experiential expressions. Language
and behavior interpret each other reciprocally: indeed, that idea is already present
in Wittgenstein's conception of the language game, in which the game is also a
way of life. The grammar of language games, understood as a complete life-
praxis, governs not only the combination of symbols but the interpretation of
linguistic symbols through actions and expressions.3
Philosophical hermeneutics, then—and my remarks are intended only to call
this to mind—develops the insights into the structure of natural languages which
are to be derived from a reflective use of communicative competence: Reflexivity
and objectivity are as fundamental to language as creativity and the integral rela-
tionship between language and life-praxis. A reflective knowledge of this sort,
which comprises the "hermeneutical consciousness," is obviously different from
the artistic expertise which goes into disciplined understanding and speaking
themselves. But hermeneutics is equally distinct from linguistics.
Linguistics does not concern itself with communicative competence and hence
with the ability of the native speaker to take part in colloquial communication by
understanding and speaking; it limits itself to "linguistic competence" in the
298 Hermeneutics and the Social Sciences
"things," not by paying attention to the mirror of human speech, but by proceed-
ing on the basis of a monologue: by advancing theories, in other words, which
are formulated in its own language and supported by controlled observation.
Because the hypothetical-deductive systems of statements one finds in science are
not part of the elements of speech, the information which can be derived from
them stands apart from the world of everyday life which is articulated in natural
language. Doubtless the transposition of useful technical knowledge into the con-
text of the world at large requires us to render monologically produced meaning
understandable in the dimension of speech, and thus in the dialogue of everyday
language; and to be sure such a translation poses a hermeneutical problem. But
it is a problem which is new to hermeneutics itself. Hermeneutical consciousness
originates in reflection on our activity within natural language, while the interpre-
tation of the sciences for the world at large must mediate between natural
language and monological language systems. This process of translation over-
steps the boundaries of the art of rhetoric and hermeneutics, which had to do
merely with the culture constituted in and handed down through colloquial
language. If hermeneutics is to go beyond the hermeneutical consciousness which
has been developed in the reflective exercise of that art, it must elucidate the
conditions which make it possible to withdraw, as it were, from the dialogical
structure of colloquial language and to use language monologically instead, for
rigorous formation of theories and for the organization of rational goal-oriented
behavior.
I would like to insert a thought parenthetically at this point. The genetic episte-
mology of Jean Piaget8 lays bare the language-independent roots of operational
thinking. To be sure, such thinking can reach full development only on the
strength of an integration into the linguistic rule system of the cognitive schemata
which originate prelinguistically in the sphere of instrumental action. However,
there are ample indications that language is merely "superimposed" on categories
such as space, time, causality, and substance, and on rules which govern the com-
bination of symbols according to the laws of formal logic—both of which have
aprelinguistical foundation. On this hypothesis, it would be possible to explain
the monological use of language for the organization of rational goal-oriented
behavior and the construction of scientific theories: in such cases natural language
could be seen as freed, so to speak, from the structure of intersubjectivity — as
functioning, in other words, without its dialogical element and severed from
[colloquial] communication, subject only to the conditions of operative intelli-
gence.9 This complex of questions still awaits its resolution; whatever the out-
come, however, it will be relevant for the answer to our question. If it proves
true that operative intelligence originates in prelinguistic cognitive schemata and
therefore can employ language instrumentally, then hermeneutics' claim to
universality finds a limit in the language systems of science and in theories of
rational choice. On this presupposition, in other words, it is possible to offer a
Jtirgen Habermas 301
II
Hermeneutical consciousness is incomplete so long as it has not incorporated into
itself reflection on the limit of hermeneutical understanding. The limit experience
of hermeneutics is defined by specifically unintelligible expressions. Such specific
unintelligibility cannot be overcome by the exercise, however artful, of naturally
acquired communicative competence; its refractoriness may be taken as an indi-
cation that it is not to be explained alone in terms of the structure of colloquial
communication which hermeneutics brings to consciousness. In such a case, it
is not the objectivity of the linguistic tradition, the limitations imposed on
linguistic understanding of the world by its own horizons, or the potential
unintelligibility of the apparently obvious that presents the primary obstacle to
interpretive effort.
When confronted with difficulties in comprehension which arise from a large
distance between cultures, time periods, or social classes, we can say in principle
what additional information we would have to have at our disposal in order to
understand: we know that we must make out an alphabet, familiarize ourselves
with the lexicon, or derive context-specific rules of application. In the attempt to
throw light hermeneutically on unintelligible configurations of meaning, we can
know, within the limits of everyday colloquial communication, what we do not
(yet) know. Such hermeneutical consciousness proves inadequate in the case of
systematically distorted communication: here the unintelligibility results from a
faulty organization of speech itself. Openly pathological disturbances of speech—
of the sort, for example, which appear in psychotics—hermeneutics can neglect
without damage to its conception of itself; for so long as pathological cases alone
elude the grasp of hermeneutics, its sphere of application remains coincidental
with the limits of normal colloquial communication. The self-conception of
hermeneutics can be shaken only if it becomes apparent that systematically
distorted patterns of communication also occur in "normal"—that is to say, in
pathologically inconspicuous—speech. That, however, is true in the case of
pseudocommunication, in which a disruption of communication is not recogniz-
able by the parties involved. Only a newcomer to the conversation notices that
they misunderstand each other. Pseudocommunication produces a system of
misunderstandings which remain opaque because they are seen in the light of a
false consensus. Now we have learned from hermeneutics that so long as we have
Jtirgen Habermas 303
established language games and that "foreign land within" (Freud) which manifests
itself in the symbolism of private or primitive language.
Alfred Lorenzer, who has investigated the analytical conversation between
doctor and patient from a point of view which sees psychoanalysis as an analysis
of language,10 thinks of the depth-hermeneutical deciphering of specifically un-
intelligible objectifications as an understanding of analogically related "scenes."
Regarded hermeneutically, the goal of analytical interpretation is thus the eluci-
dation of the unintelligible meaning of symptomatic expressions. In cases where
neuroses are involved, such expressions are part of a deformed language game
in which the patient becomes an "actor"—that is, he plays out an unintelligible
scene, contravening accepted behavioral expectations in a conspicuously stereo-
typical way. The analyst attempts to make the meaning of the symptomatic scene
intelligible by establishing its relationship to analogous scenes in the transference
situation. Such scenes hold the key to the enciphered relationship between the
symptomatic scene the adult patient plays outside the analysis and an original
scene from early childhood; for in the transference situation the patient forces the
doctor into the role of the conflict-invested primary reference person. The doctor,
in the role of reflective supporting actor, can interpret the transference situation
as a repetition of early childhood scenes and so compile a lexicon of the private
meanings attached to the patient's symptomatic expressions. Scenic understand-
ing, then, is based on the discovery that the patient conducts himself in his symp-
tomatic scenes as he does in certain well-defined transference ones; its goal is the
reconstruction of the original scene, authenticated by an act of self-reflective
insight on the part of the patient.
Typically, as Lorenzer has shown in reference to the phobia of Freud's "Little
Hans," the original scene is a situation in which the child is exposed to and
attempts to ward off an intolerable conflict. The attempt to ward off" the conflict
is accompanied by a process of desymbolization and the formation of a symptom.
The child excludes the experience of the conflict-laden object relation from public
communication (thereby rendering it inaccessible to his own ego as well); he
sunders the conflict-laden portion of the object representation and desymbolizes
to some extent the meaning of the relevant reference person. The gap which is
left in the semantic field is filled by the symptom, in that an apparently normal
symbol takes the place of the sundered symbolic content. The symbol in question,
however, has the conspicuousness of a symptom, for it has taken on a private
meaning and can no longer be used in accordance with the rules of public
language. Scenic understanding—which establishes the equivalencies of mean-
ing among the elements of three different patterns (the everyday scene, the
transference scene, and the original scene) and thus does away with the specific
unintelligibility of the symptom—therefore aids in the process of resymboliza-
tion—that is, in the reintroduction into public communication of the sundered
symbolic content. The latent meaning of the present-day situation becomes
Jtirgen Habermas 305
eliminates obscurities which originate not within language but with language
itself: the structure of colloquial communication, which forms the basis for every
translation, is thus itself involved. Consequently, depth-hermeneutical under-
standing requires a systematic preconception which has to do with language as
a whole, whereas hermeneutical understanding begins, in each case, from a
preconception defined by the tradition which is formed and altered within
linguistic communication. The theoretical hypotheses which have to do with
(1) the two stages of symbol organization and (2) the processes of de- and resym-
bolization, penetration of paleosymbolic elements into language, and conscious
excommunication of these xenocysts, as well as the linguistic integration of
prelinguistic symbolic content—these theoretical hypotheses can be classified
according to a structural model which Freud derived from fundamental experi-
ences with the analysis of defense processes. The constructs "ego" and "id"
interpret the analyst's experiences with resistance on the part of the patient.
Ego is the agency which carries out the tasks of reality testing and impulse
censorship. Id is the name for that part of the self which is isolated from the ego
and to which we gain access, through its manifestations, in connection with
defense processes. The id manifests itself indirectly through the symptoms which
fill the gaps left in the normal use of language by desymbolization, and directly
through the delusory paleosymbolic elements imported into language by projec-
tion and denial. Now the clinical encounter with "resistance" which makes the
constructs of ego and id necessary also shows that the activity of the defending
agency proceeds for the most part unconsciously. Freud therefore institutes the
category "superego": a defense system alien to the ego which is comprised of
abandoned identification with the expectations of primary reference persons. All
three categories, ego, id, and superego, are therefore linked to the specific mean-
ing of a systematically distorted communication which the doctor and patient
enter into with the object of setting in motion a dialogical process of enlighten-
ment and of leading the patient to self-reflection. Metapsychology can be grounded
only as metahermeneutics.18
The model of agencies relies implicitly on a model of deformations in colloquial
intersubjectivity: the dimensions which the id and superego define for the struc-
ture of personality clearly correspond to those of structural deformations in the
intersubjectivity of unconstrained communication. The structural model which
Freud introduced as the categorical framework of metapsychology is therefore
reducible to a theory of deviations in communicative competence.
Now metapsychology consists principally of hypotheses about the origination
of personality structures. And that, too, is accounted for by the metahermeneu-
tical role the psychoanalyst must play. The analyst's understanding, as we have
seen, owes its explanatory power to the fact that a systematically inaccessible
meaning can be elucidated only to the extent that the origin of the loss of meaning
can be explained. The construction of the original scene makes both things
312 Hermeneutics and the Social Sciences
Ill
What follows from the foregoing so far as hermeneutics' claim to universality is
concerned? Would it not be true of the theoretical language of a metahermeneutics
— a question which must be asked in reference to every theory—that a given,
nonreconstructed colloquial language remains its ultimate metalanguage? And
would not the application of the universal interpretations derived from such a
theory to a given material in colloquial language have as much need as before of
ordinary hermeneutical understanding, which no generalized technique of scien-
tific analysis can replace? It would no longer be necessary to answer either
question without circumstance in terms of hermeneutics' claim to universality if
the knowing subject, who to be sure must always draw upon his previously
acquired linguistic competence, were able to assure himself of that competence
expressly through a theoretical reconstruction. We have left this problem of a
universal theory of natural languages out of consideration. Even without such a
theory to hand, however, we can call to witness the competence which the analyst
Jtirgen Habermas 313
(and the critic of ideology) must actually have at his command in deciphering
specifically unintelligible expressions. Indeed, the implicit knowledge of the
determinants of systematically distorted communication, which is presupposed by
the depth-hermeneutical use of communicative competence, is enough to call into
question the ontological self-conception of hermeneutics which Gadamer expli-
cates, following Heidegger.
The context-dependency of understanding which hermeneutics brings to con-
sciousness and which compels us in each case to begin from a preconception
supported by tradition and to develop constantly, in every process of learning,
a new preconception, Gadamer attributes ontologically to an insuperable primacy
of the linguistic tradition.19 Gadamer poses the question: "Is the phenomenon of
understanding adequately defined if I say: understanding means avoiding mis-
understanding? Does not, in truth, every misunderstanding presuppose the
existence of something like a "standing agreement"?20 On the affirmative answer
to this question we agree; not, however, on the way in which that prior consensus
is to be defined.
Gadamer, if I am correct, is of the opinion that the hermeneutical elucidation
of unintelligible or misunderstood expression must always refer back to a prior
consensus which has been reliably worked out in the dialogue of a convergent
tradition. This tradition, however, is objective for us, in the sense that it cannot
be confronted with a claim to the truth on principle. The inherently prejudiced
nature of understanding renders it impossible—indeed, makes it seem point-
less—to place in jeopardy the factually worked out consensus which underlies,
as the case may be, our misconception or lack of comprehension. Hermeneu-
tically, we are obliged to have reference to concrete preunderstandings which,
ultimately, can be traced back to the process of socialization, to the mastery of
and absorption into common contexts of tradition. None of the contexts involved
is off-limits to criticism as a matter of principle, but none of them can be called
into question abstractly. That would be possible only if we could look at a con-
sensus produced through mutual understanding from the sidelines, as it were, and
could subject it, behind the backs of the participants, to renewed demands for
legitimation. But we can make demands of this sort to the face of the participants
only by entering into a conversation with them. In so doing, we resubmit our-
selves to the hermeneutical obligation of accepting for the time being—as a
standing agreement— whatever consensus the resumed conversation may lead to
as its resolution. The attempt to cast doubt, abstractly, on this agreement—which
is, of course, contingent—as a false consciousness is pointless, since we cannot
transcend the conversation which we are. From this, Gadamer infers the onto-
logical precedence of linguistic tradition over criticism of all sorts: we can, it
follows, bring criticism to bear only on given individual traditions, since we
ourselves are part of the encompassing traditional context of a language.
Such considerations seem plausible at first. They are upset, however, by the
314 Hermeneutics and the Social Sciences
and reason. The authority of tradition, he says, does not prevail blindly but
through the reflective acknowledgment of those who, standing within the tradi-
tion, interpret it and continue its development through application. In his reply
to my critique,24 Gadamer once again makes his position clear:
Granted, authority exercises force in countless forms. . . . But this view of the
obedience rendered to authority can never explain why it should express itself
in power structures and not in the disorder which characterizes the exercise of
force alone. As I see it, then, there are compelling reasons for viewing
acknowledgement as the determining factor in true authority relationships. . . .
One need only study representative instances of the loss or decline of authority
to see what authority is and whence it derives its life. Not from dogmatic force,
but from dogmatic acknowledgement. What, however, is dogmatic acknowl-
edgement, if not this: that one concedes to authority a superiority in knowledge
and judgment [p. 285].
Notes
1. The word "natural" is used here in the same sense that it is used to distinguish "natural"
from "artificial" languages.
2. H.-G. Gadamer, "Rhetorik, Hermeneutik, [und] Ideologiekritik," inKleine Schriften
I (Tubingen, 1967), pp. 113-30. [In this volume, pp. 174-92. Subsequent references to
Gadamer's essay are to the translation in the present collection and are cited parenthetically
in the text.]
3. See the author's Erkenntnis und Interesse (Frankfurt am Main, 1968), pp. 206ff.
[Knowledge and Human Interest, trans. Jeremy J. Shapiro (Boston, 1971).]
4. Noam Chomsky, Aspects of the Theory of Syntax (Cambridge, MA, 1965).
5. Gadamer demonstrates this point in the Second Part of Truth and Method.
6. See the author's Zur Logik der Sozialwissenschaften, Philosophische Rundschau,
Beiheft 5 (1967): Chapter III.
7. H.-G. Gadamer, "Die Universalitat des hermeneutischen Problems," in Kleine
Schriften I, p. 109. ["The Universality of the Hermeneutical Problem," trans. David E.
Linge, in Philosophical Hermeneutics, ed. Linge (Berkeley, 1976).]
8. See H. G. Furth's excellent study, Piaget and Knowledge (Englewood Cliffs, 1969).
9. This view is further supported by Lorenzen's proposed operative construction of
logic. His scheme would explain why the elements of the calculus of statements can be
introduced language-independently, in the sense that the natural language used to intro-
duce them is called upon in an auxiliary capacity only, for didactic purposes, but need not
be presented systematically. See P[aul] Lorenzen, Normative Logic and Ethics (Mann-
heim, 1969). Also, K. Lorenz and J. Mittelstrass, "Die Hintergehbarkeit der Sprache,"
Kantstudien 58 (1967): 187-208.
10. A. Lorenzer, Sprachzerstorung und Rekonstruktion: Vorarbeiten zu einer Meta-
theorie der Psychoanalyse (Frankfurt, 1970).
11. This is reflected as well in our relationship to foreign languages. In principle, we
can acquire a mastery of any foreign language because all natural languages are reducible
to a universal generative rule system. And yet we learn a foreign language only to the
extent that we recapitulate, virtually at least, the same process of socialization the native
speaker goes through, and thereby, again virtually, become part of an individual language
community: a natural language is something universal only as something concrete.
12. On the concept of the nonidentical, see T. W. Adorno, Negative Dialektik (Frank-
furt, 1966). [Negative Dialectics, trans. E. B. Ashton; (New York, 1973).]
13. See S[ilvano] Arieti, The Intrapsychic Se//(New York, 1967), especially Chapters
7 and 16. Also H. Werner and B. Kaplan, Symbol Formation (New York, 1967), and Paul
Watzlawick, J. H. Beavin, and D. D. Jackson, Pragmatics of Human Communication
(New York, 1967), especially Chapters 6 and 7.
14. Representations through the opposite, or words with antithetical meanings, of
course, are not merely examples of agrammaticality; they are probably the record as well
of primal situations involving behavioral and attitudinal ambivalence, an ambivalence
which has become chronic with the differentiation of the impulse system and the break-
down of class-specific responses, and which has been caught up and stabilized through
Jttrgen Habermas 319
prelinguistic symbolism. See A[rnold] Gehlen, Urmensch und Spdtkultur (Bonn, 1956)
and A. S. Diamond, The History and Origin of Language (London, 1959).
15. Lorenzer (in Kritik des psychoanalytischen Symbolbegriffs [Frankfurt, 1970],
p. 87ff.) finds the same characteristics in the unconscious representations which govern
neurotic kinds of behavior: confusion of experiential expression and symbol, close
coordination with a particular kind of behavior, scenic content, context dependency. The
unconscious schemata are part of concretely established interactions; they are "correla-
tional stereotypes."
16. See Arieti, p. 286ff.; Werner and Kaplan, p. 253ff.; and L. C. Wynne, "Denk-
storung und Familienbeziehung bei Schizophrenen," Psyche, May 1965, p. 82ff.
17. Arieti, p. 327ff.
18. See Erkenntnis und Interesse, p. 260ff.
19. On Gadamer's metacritique of my arguments against the ontological construction of
hermeneutical consciousness in the Third Part of Truth and Method (Zur Logik der Sozial-
\vissenschaften,, pp. 172-80), see, more recently, C[laus] v. Bormann, "Die Zweideutig-
keit der hermeneutischen Erfahrung," Philosophische Rundschau 16 (1969): 92ff.
20. Gadamer, "Die Universalitat des hermeneutischen Problems," Kleine Schriften, I,
p. 104.
21. A[lbrecht] Wellmer, Kritische Gesellschaftstheorie und Positivismus (Frankfurt am
Main, 1969), p. 48f. [Critical Theory of Society, trans. John Gumming (New York,
1971).]
22. K.-O. Apel, "Szientismus oder transzendentale Hermeneutik?" in Hermeneutik und
Dialektik, ed. Rudiger Bubner et al (Tubingen, 1970), p. 105.
23. G. H. Mead, Mind, Self, Society (Chicago, 1934), p. 327.
24. Zur Logik der Sozialwissenschaften, p. 174ff.
25. See the Introduction to the author's Protestbewegung und Hochschulreform (Frank-
furt, 1969), p. 43n.6.
11
Perspectives for a
General Hermeneutic Theory
Karl-Otto Apel
KARL-OTTO APEL (b. 1922) was born in Dusseldorf and studied at the University of Bonn
where he received a doctorate in 1950. He obtained his second degree (Habilitatiori) in
Mainz in 1961 and subsequently became professor of philosophy at Kiel (1962-69). From
1969 to 1972 he taught at Saarbriicken. He has been holding a chair for philosophy at the
University of Frankfurt since 1972. In his work Apel first combined the historical-
philosophical traditions of Dilthey and his teacher Rothacker with a phenomenological
orientation derived from Husserl and Heidegger. His field of interest include the philos-
ophy and history of science and the humanities, the history of thought, hermeneutics,
social theory, linguistics, and the philosophy of language. Over the years he became
increasingly interested in bridging the gulf between the Continental and the Anglo-Saxon
approaches to philosophy. Many of his works can be seen as an effort to mediate between
the hermeneutic-humanistic and the analytical-empiricist outlooks. He was one of the first
writers to point out and to investigate in detail the affinities between ordinary language
philosophy—notably of the late Wittgenstein— and the hermeneutic tradition on the Conti-
nent. The following essay was first published in 1968 and summarizes Apel's long standing
occupation with hermeneutic philosophy and the methodology of the human and social
sciences. He argues for the development of what he terms an anthropological-
epistemological basis for all theory formation. In contradistinction to Gadamer, Apel is
keenly interested in going beyond transcendental analysis and critique and in exploring and
clarifying practical methodological issues. Hermeneutics is always a part of existing
systems of knowledge and cannot be divorced from them, except for theoretical considera-
tions. Apel does not subscribe to the notion of the mutually exclusive character of the
scientific and the hermeneutic attitudes, but instead believes in their complimentary nature.
Both the sciences of nature and the sciences of man and society arise from the common
ground of a shared a priori which Apel identifies as the linguistic (or speech) community
of communication.
320
Karl-Otto Apel 321
nature with an a priori schema of regular processes in thought (i.e., in the tem-
porally and spatially schematizing imagination), as Kant had already noted, but
have also placed this schema into a real relation with nature in the form of an
instrumental apparatus, i.e., as an artificial nature. Only by means of this tech-
nological intervention, which translated the human inquiry into the language of
nature, so to speak, were scientists able, to use Kant's words, "to compel nature
to answer their questions."2 The fact that this is a condition of the possibility of
physical knowledge which is a necessary complement to the categorical synthesis
as a function of the understanding and which constitutes an integral moment of
the physicalist language game was made particularly clear, in my opinion, by
Einstein's semantic revolution in the definition of the fundamental concepts of
physics. As a consequence, the meaning of "simultaneity," for example, had to
be so defined as to take into account the technological-material conditions of the
measurement of simultaneity. Natural constants such as the speed of light there-
fore belong to the "paradigms" of the language game of the theory of relativity;
one speaks of "material" or "physical conditions of the possibility of experience."3
On the one hand, the conditions of the possibility and validity of knowledge
indicated above cannot be deduced from the logical functions of consciousness
alone; on the other hand, they can also not be attributed to the object of knowledge
under investigation, since they are already presupposed by all knowledge of
objects. The Cartesian subject-object relation is not sufficient for the foundation
of an epistemological anthropology: a pure consciousness of objects, taken in
itself, is not able to extract meaning from the world. In order to achieve a
meaning-constitution, consciousness, which is in its essence "eccentric,"4 must
engage itself centrically, i.e., bodily, in the here and now. Every meaning-
constitution refers back to an individual perspective, which corresponds to a
standpoint, and, that is to say, to a bodily engagement of the cognitive
consciousness.
But, surprisingly enough, not only is each particular individual constitution of
possible meaning mediated by an actual engagement of the cognitive conscious-
ness, but also the intersubjective validity of each meaning-constitution.
That is to say, it is only through linguistic signs that my meaning intentions are
mediated with the possible meaning intentions of others in such a way that I can
really "mean" something. In other words, I have valid meaning intentions only
because a language exists in which not only my own meaning intentions are
secured. This agreement with others on possible meaning intentions, which to a
certain degree has always been achieved in the "meanings" of language, is a
condition of the possibility of the unification of empirical data in the Kantian "syn-
thesis of apperception"; in addition, however, it opens up an empirical dimension
of its own.
Namely, from an epistemological-anthropological point of view, linguistic
signs no more belong to the objects of knowledge than do the sense organs or the
Karl-Otto Apel 323
technological instruments by means of which the sense organs are able to inter-
vene into external nature, since signs too, as a condition of the possibility of all
meaning intentions, are themselves presupposed in order that objects of knowl-
edge may be constituted. Nor, on the other hand, can language, as a sign medium,
be reduced to the logical conditions of consciousness for knowledge. Rather,
language too, like the material-technological intervention that belongs to the pre-
suppositions of experimental natural science, refers back to a particular subjective
a priori which had not been taken into consideration in traditional Cartesian
epistemology. I would like to call it the "bodily a priori" of knowledge.5
The bodily a priori of knowledge, as it appears to me, stands in a comple-
mentary relationship with the a priori of consciousness, i.e., both conditions of
the possibility of knowledge necessarily supplement one another in the totality of
knowledge, but in the actual process of cognition either the bodily a priori or the
a priori of consciousness takes precedence: "knowledge through reflection: and
"knowledge through engagement" are diametrically opposed. For example, I can-
not extract a significant aspect from the world and at the same time reflect upon
the standpoint that I must take in doing so. All experience—including even the
theoretically guided, experimental experience of natural science—is primarily
knowledge through bodily engagement; all theory formation is primarily knowl-
edge through reflection.6
Now, insofar as an episte mo logical anthropology regards man's bodily engage-
ment as a necessary condition of all knowledge, it can and must, in my opinion,
elevate still another condition of knowledge to the status of an a priori: namely,
a particular cognitive interest corresponds to the manner of the bodily engage-
ment of our knowledge.7 Thus, for example, a technological cognitive interest
corresponds a priori to the experimental engagement of modern physics.
This is not to say that psychologically ascertainable motives of technological
utility belong to the conditions of the possibility and the validity of scientific
theory formation. Such motives are doubtless by no means characteristic of the
subjective mentality of the major theoretical scientists. The inquiry into such
motives, however, in my opinion, completely misses the problem of the a priori
valid interconnection of technology and science and thus the question of the
necessary interest which makes this particular type of knowledge possible in the
first place. This interest appears to me to lie solely in the prior linkage of the
inquiry of modern physics to the possibility of operational verification which it
presupposes in principle. This linkage corresponds to the bodily a priori of
modern physics that lies in the presupposition of an instrumental intervention
through which the inquiry of man can be brought to bear upon nature. The
modern scientist must be guided by a technological interest in the sense of this
a priori linkage of his inquiry to instrumental verification. It is this supra-
individual, quasi-objective linkage which differentiates his cognitive interest
from that of the philosophy of nature of the Greeks and the Renaissance, and, in
324 Perspectives for a General Hermeneutic Theory
turn, from that of Goethe and the Romantics. And it is above all this methodically
relevant interest which distinguishes the whole of the exact sciences from the
essentially different practical interest and world engagement which lies at the
basis of the so-called "cultural sciences."8
With this I come to the main topic of my lecture. Presupposing the epistemo-
logical-anthropological categories outlined above, I would like to take up once
again the old controversy of the relationship between the natural sciences and the
cultural sciences—a problem which has recently become even more complicated
by the development of the "behavioral" sciences—and, if possible, bring it nearer
to a resolution. The solution which I have in mind is expressed in the trichotomy
of the title: "scientistics," "hermeneutics," "critique of ideology." It is to be shown
that the various methodical approaches of the currently practiced empirical
sciences can be defined and related to one another within the framework of this
methodological trichotomy. My argumentation takes two parts: the first and more
comprehensive part is concerned with the assertion of a complementarity between
"scientistics" and "hermeneutics" (in other words, between the natural sciences
based on explanation and the cultural sciences based on understanding). This
complementarity-thesis is critically directed against the idea of a "unified science."
The second part is concerned with a dialectical mediation of "explanation" and
"understanding" in the approach of the critique of ideology.
anthropology, in following Kant, had made the constitution of the empirical data
itself dependent not only on the synthetic function of the human understanding
as such, but also on an engaged world-understanding, i.e., on a meaning-
constitutive cognitive interest.
Neopositivism, on the other hand, would like to eliminate the question of
cognitive interest, like the question of evaluation, at least from the problems of
the foundations of the logic of science. It would like to see in these questions
secondary problems of cognitive psychology or the sociology of knowledge, i.e.,
questions which can be thematized as purely factual problems by interest-free,
purely theoretical thematizations of facts, cognitive operations which obey funda-
mentally the same methodology, the unified "logic of science."
Proceeding from these assumptions, neopositivism is inclined to see in the so-
called "transcendental" conditions of knowledge, insofar as these are made
responsible for a dissimilar constitution of empirical data in different sciences,
an ideological mixture of theoretical insights and unacknowledged practical ob-
jectives. As far as the theoretical insights are concerned, these are considered to
belong to empirical psychology or sociology, as already indicated. As for the
practical objectives, they are to be subject to a critique of ideology, which itself,
as a component of a unified science, is supposed to be free from practical interests.
The presuppositions of the idea of a "unified science" just indicated can be
illustrated by the way in which neopositivism judges the distinction attempted by
Dilthey and others between the natural sciences based on "causal explanation" and
the cultural sciences based on the "understanding of meaning."11
To the extent that this distinction lays claim to an epistemological status, it is
declared by the neopositivists to be ideologically suspect metaphysics, according,
say, to the following pattern. The title "cultural sciences" from within and a
merely external "explaining" reveal that here certain objective domains (of human
life) are to be withdrawn from the impartial grasp of explanatory science
("science" itself) and made into the preserves of a secularized theology of the
spirit (as derived from Hegel or Schleiermacher).
In spite of this, however, according to neopositivism there is a correct psycho-
logical finding in the distinction between "explaining" and "understanding." We
are able to "internalize" certain causal relations between events of the outer
world—to experience them from within as it were—namely, those which are
known as stimulus and response in the behavior of organisms: for example, a
fearful man's flight in the face of a hostile attack or a threatening natural event,
or an angry man's attack in the same situation, a freezing man's search for
warmth, a hungry man's search for food, and the like. We are familiar with such
behavioral responses from within to some extent and, on their basis, with more
complex ones too, and we are therefore accustomed to interpolating them auto-
matically into our mental construction of events of the outer world.
The following example is from T. Abel,12 who, in his essay "The Operation
326 Perspectives for a General Hermeneutic Theory
which, in conjunction with the assumption of certain trivial laws, can be intro-
duced as causes for particular events.15 Dray asserts, in opposition to this view,
that historical explanations do not fulfill the condition of subsumption under
general laws for certain fundamental reasons and offers the following example.
A historian could perhaps explain the unpopularity of Louis XIV at the time
before his death by stating that the king pursued policies detrimental to the French
national interests. If this were a causal explanation in the sense of the "logic of
science," then a logician would have to be able to explicitly formulate the general
law which the historian implicitly assumed, such as: "Rulers who pursue policies
detrimental to their subjects' interest become unpopular."
The historian in the meantime might object that this supposition was incorrect,
and he might also object to any attempt at the specification of a hypothesis as un-
satisfactory, with the exception perhaps of the following formulation: "Any ruler
pursing policies and in circumstances exactly like those of Louis XIV would
become unpopular."
This statement—which does not deduce the particular explanandum from a
general explanans, but rather has recourse to a particular in the explanans itself—
is not, however, from a logical point of view, a general hypothesis at all, but
rather only the formal assertion of the necessity of a particular event, lacking any
explanatory value.
It thus becomes apparent that the historian's explanation cannot in any case be
regarded as a deductive-nomological explanation. Nor, however, can it be
regarded as an inductive-nomological explanation, which derives from laws only
the statistical probability of an event-type, since such an explanation of the
"empirical social sciences" in principle falls short of the historian's claim of
explaining the "necessity" of a particular event. On what then is the specifically
historical explanation of its plausibility based? Dray offers the following points
for consideration. A historical explanation does establish a relationship between
an event and necessary conditions for the occurrence of that event. But these con-
ditions (1) are not sufficient conditions for the prognosis of the event; (2) hold
as necessary conditions only within the context of a given total situation.
What lies behind these qualifications?
Ad 1:
That the conditions introduced by the historian are not sufficient for a prognosis
stems in the end from the fact that all events which the historian "explains" are
mediated in their constitution by the intentions of the acting individuals. To this
extent, conditions for these events are not "causes," but rather "rationales" of
actions. As such, however, they must be "understood" by the historian from the
situation of the acting individuals; they cannot be treated in the logic of the expla-
nation of events in the same way as causal conditions in the context of a prognosis
on the basis of laws. Hypotheses can be falsified by negative instantiations, but
328 Perspectives for a General Hermeneutic Theory
sciences attain that pragmatically sufficient certainty which Dray allows to enter
into the factual explanation as a situationally conditioned necessity?
Early hermeneutics (Schleiermacher, Droysen, Dilthey) spoke of the historian's
having to project himself back into the total situation of the actions to be under-
stood. This statement is true in a metaphorical sense. But how, to come back to
Dray's example, does the historian project himself back into the total situation
from which the French populace judged Louis XIV's policies shortly before his
death? How are the facts of a past situation of human activity constituted for the
historian in the first place?
In accordance with the presuppositions of the world-understanding of objective
unified science, we would come to the following remarkable conclusion. From
all of the events which actually occurred in the time preceding Louis XIV's death,
the historian must select those which are relevant as conditions for the actions of
Louis XIV's contemporaries. In actuality, however, the historian will not proceed
in this way, since he neither knows "all the events which actually occurred" before
the death of Louis XIV, nor can he find them out from anyone. They exist only
in the metaphysics of positivism. That is to say, the natural sciences can infer only
certain classes of events of the time of Louis XIV from their semantic world-
understanding: for example, earthquakes, solar eclipses, and the like. In many
cases, these can be related to specific constellations of human action which have
been historically handed down. The natural sciences and the historical sciences
are able to work together in the dating of so-called prehistoric finds, for example.
The historian, however, obtains his primary orientation regarding events of the
past from a different "language game" than does the scientist, to use Wittgenstein's
term. It is a language game which has already been played before the actually
scientific language game of the historian: that of the transmission of culture, or,
better still, that of a particular, itself historically thematizable transmission of
culture. The historian's scientific language game then consists in a critical exam-
ination and supplementation of this primary transmission. Because of this,
however, he is fundamentally dependent on the credibility of linguistic trans-
mission— for example, narratives of events which have been handed down in oral
or written form. In order to examine these narratives in detail (through so-called
source criticism) he must however presuppose them in principle as a medium of
communication with a former human "being-in-the-world." It is from the situa-
tional horizon of these transmitted "histories," which he understands from the
situational horizon of "the" history within which he himself belongs,17 that the
historian actually obtains the "data" which are relevant in terms of antecedent
conditions for a "historical explanation" of events. The plausible connection of
these data with the event to be explained at a given time consists then in a new
narration of a history in which as many events as possible, mediated by the situa-
tional relationships of the persons involved, are related to one another.18
Thus the process of the hermeneutically mediated recollection of events and
330 Perspectives for a General Hermeneutic Theory
their relations can in principle no more be brought to a conclusion than the pro-
cess of the verification of scientific hypotheses; but, like the latter, it attains a
pragmatically sufficient validity within a given research situation.
It appears to me that it is from this perspective that the result reached by W.
Dray in his analysis of an example of a historical explanation best becomes com-
prehensible. Dray writes: "The force of the explanation of Louis XIV's un-
popularity in terms of his policies being detrimental to French interests is very
likely to be found in the detailed description of the aspirations, beliefs, and the
problems of Louis's subjects. Given these men and their situation, Louis and his
policies, their dislike of the king was an appropriate response."19
The distinction reached by Dray between a logic of "historical explanation,"
based on the explication of situations of action, and a logic of scientific explana-
tion, which deduces from hypotheses, however, is still not able to properly illu-
minate the difference and the complementary relationship between the natural
sciences and the cultural sciences, between scientific and hermeneutical method.
Political history is really not the proper place to make fully clear the epistemo-
logical-anthropological meaning of hermeneutical presuppositions which we
indicated, is still primarily a science which explains facts and objectifies events
in a temporal framework. The "understanding" of meaning still functions here as
an aid in the explanation of the fact that certain events have occurred as a con-
sequence of other events, whether or not this objective connection, in contrast to
the causal nexus of natural science, is mediated by the understanding of rationales,
emotional dispositions, socially binding behavioral expectations, institutionalized
values or individual objectives. (This makes it comprehensible why positivists
have again and again equated the notion of the motive of an action with that of
the cause of a process.20 A motive, however, before it can be objectified as a
cause, must first be understood in a completely different manner, in accordance
with its meaning contents. The inquiry of political history does however display
a certain undeniable analogy to the causal analysis of natural science in its a priori
tie to the objectification of temporal events.)
In contrast, the genuinely hermeneutical inquiry, in my opinion, stands in a
complementary relationship to the scientific objectification and explanation of
events. Both inquiries are mutually exclusive and thereby supplement one
another. This structural relationship can best be made clear if we take up the ques-
tion of the linguistic conditions of the possibility and validity of natural science
and think it through to its conclusion from the standpoint of an epistemological
anthropology. A scientist cannot by himself explain something for himself
alone.21 In order even to know "what" he is to explain, he must already have come
to an understanding with others on the matter. As C. S. Peirce recognized, a
semiotic community of interpretation always corresponds to the community of
experimentation of natural scientists.22 Now, such an agreement on the inter-
subjective level can never be replaced by a procedure of objective science,
Karl-Otto Apel 331
Europe, and which still have to do so, are forced into a much more radical
detachment and alienation from their traditions than we are. It would hardly occur
to them to compensate for the break with the past by means of hermeneutical
reflection alone. In addition to a hermeneutical reflection on their own traditions
and on foreign traditions, they are faced from the start with the necessity of
having to work out a quasiobjective system of reference based on a philosophy
of history which will enable them to integrate their own position into the world-
historical and human-planetary connection which was created without their doing
by European-American civilization. Because of their inevitable alienation from
their own traditions, they have also been made aware of the fact that intellectual
meaning-interpretations of the world (such as religious-moral value systems, for
example) must be understood in close connection with social forms of life (institu-
tions). What they therefore are seeking above all is a philosophical-scientific
orientation to mediate the hermeneutical understanding of their own tradition and
foreign meaning-traditions through sociological analyses of past and current
economic and social orders. It is primarily this situation which makes compre-
hensible the power of fascination which Marxism holds on the intellectuals of
developing countries.
What lesson then can the theory of science learn from an illustration of the
problem of historicism on the basis of the situation of the non-European cultures?
Let us first sketch the answer to this question in a speculative language, to
which I would like to attribute at least a heuristic value. The spirit does not
descend into time as such, as Hegel suggests in his system of historical idealism,
but rather enters on the basis of a mediation with the natural history of man which
continues in his social behavior. In other words, when Gadamer makes the
"productivity of time" responsible for the fact that the guiding idea of classical
hermeneutics must remain an illusion31 —the idea of making oneself contempo-
raneous and finally identifying oneself with the author of the text which is to be
understood— it appears to me that in all human life-utterances the obscure impact
of what is not intended and what cannot yet be intended is to blame for this "pro-
ductivity" which disturbs our understanding— i.e., the fact that for the time being
nonunderstandable natural history still continues in understandable intellectual
history.
If men were transparent to themselves in their motives of action or at least in
the meaning-conceptions of their literary works, then the act of making oneself
contemporaneous in understanding, the reciprocal identification of individual
monads (Schleiermacher, in reference to Leibniz), the "elevated talk of the
spirits" of all illustrious authors which succeeds in overcoming time (Petrarch,
Bembo) would in principle be possible. In other words: if men were transparent
to themselves in their intentions, then only two complementary cognitive interests
would be justified: the scientific interest in the technologically relevant knowl-
edge of nature, and the hermeneutical interest in the intersubjective agreement
338 Perspectives for a General Hermeneutic Theory
Notes
1. It is a central thought in the later Wittgenstein that fixed natural phenomena, as well
as artificial measures, instruments, or even work procedures together with their material
342 Perspectives for a General Hermeneutic Theory
8. The thesis of technological cognitive interest by no means asserts that the truth -claim
of scientific knowledge can be instrumentally reduced. In opposition to such a pragmatism
in the manner of Nietzsche, James, and Dewey, and later taken up by M. Scheler, we must
emphasize along with C.S. Peirce, that merely the possible meaning of experimental
knowledge is opened up and delimited a priori through the verification-context of a techno-
logical praxis. In accordance with its meaning, human knowledge cannot be the knowledge
of objects on the part of a "consciousness as such," but rather only the knowledge of a
bodily engaged and practically interested being. It is in this, in my opinion, that the
epistemological-anthropological radicalization and transformation of Kantian epistemol-
ogy lies; we cannot meaningfully conceive of any knowledge other than one which is
meaningful for us and thus to such an extent possibly true. Cf. my "Introduction" to C. S.
Peirce, Schriften I and II, Frankfurt, 1967 and 1970, on the "meaning-critical" transforma-
tion of epistemology.
9. Cf. the work published in the journal Erkenntnis (1930-38) and continued in the
United States in the Journal of Unified Science (1939) and in the International Encyclo-
pedia of Unified Science (1938ff.).
10. Which of course has seldom been advocated since Popper's Logic of Scientific
Discovery. Instead, the "language-analytical" approach of modern neopositivism, effective
since the early Wittgenstein, has again focussed attention on the problem of a transcen-
dental constitution of the meaning of the so-called "data" in terms of the problem of
necessary linguistic conventions. Cf. K.-O. Apel, "Die Entfaltung der 'sprachanalytischen'
Philosophic und das Problem der 'Geisteswissenschaften,'" in Philosophische Jahrbucher,
72, Jg., 1965, pp. 239-89.
11. My characterization of the positivist critique of ideology in such matters makes use
of E. Topitsch, Sozialphilosophie zwischen Ideologic und Wissenschaft (Neuwied, 1961)
as a point of departure.
12. In H. Feigel and M. Brodbeck, eds., Readings in the Philosophy of Science, New
York, 1953, pp. 677-88.
13. In H. Feigl and M. Brodbeck, eds., op. cit., p. 319ff.
14. W. Dray, Laws and Explanation in History, Oxford, 1957.
15. Cf. K. R. Popper, The Open Society and its Enemies, Vol. II, 5th ed., London,
1966.
16. The theoretical reflection of the nineteenth century on the difference between the
"natural sciences" and the "cultural sciences" was initially psychologically oriented, like
the positivism of J. S. Mill to which it was reacting: i.e., one spoke of the "cultural
sciences" as "understanding" life as an expression of the inner man, whereas the natural
sciences were seen as "describing" the nonunderstandable "backdrop of life" (Dilthey)
from without and "explaining" it according to laws which had been discovered inductively.
Today, where the positivistic program of "unified science" occurs in a language-analytical
formulation (so as not to appear as a metaphysical reductive theory), philosophical "her-
meneutics" has every reason to likewise accept this new basis of argumentation. It can then
refute the positivistic thesis of objective-analytical unified science from its own language-
analytical presuppositions, without having recourse to the terminology of a metaphysics
of the spirit (or of life). (Cf. K.-O. Apel in Philosophische Jahrbucher, op. cit.). The
distinction between "objectivations of the spirit" (Hegel, Dilthey) which are understandable
344 Perspectives for a General Hermeneutic Theory
from within, on the one hand, and "natural processes" which are explainable from without,
on the other, can be replaced—or, concretized, if you will—by the distinction between
those "objects" with which the investigator can enter into linguistic communication and
those with which no such communication is possible. He must thematize the latter, as data,
from the linguistic preconception of theories which have been applied from without; the
former confront him together with the data of their situational world from a linguistic
world-understanding to which they themselves, as communication partners, contribute.
The behavioral explanations applied to "mute" objects can only be verified through obser-
vations; hermeneutical "hypotheses" of understanding, on the other hand, are verified
primarily through the answers of the communication partner. Even "texts" can "answer."
It is interesting to note in this connection that N. Chomsky, the founder of so-called
"generative" or "transformational" grammar, has shown that even a language usage which
appears to be easily objectifiable as an anonymous-subconscious group behavior cannot
be described without an understanding communication with a "competent speaker." It is
not possible to decide whether someone is "speaking" at all or according to which rules
he proceeds solely on the basis of external observations, as, for example, on the basis of
statistical distributional criteria, as the behavioristically oriented Bloomfield school
assumed. See Chomsky's articles in J. A. Fodor and J. J. Katz, eds., The Structure of
Language, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, 1964. An answer to the question posed by
Wittgenstein as to how one can decide if someone is following a rule leads to a similar
result. Cf. P. Winch, The Idea of a Social Science and its Relation to Philosophy, London,
4th ed., 1965. On Chomsky and Winch, cf. also J. Habermas, Zur Logik der Sozial-
wissenschaften, Tubingen, 1967 (5th enlarged ed. Frankfurt am Main, 1982).
17."History as such" would be a senseless ontological hypostatization according to
Heidegger and Wittgenstein. There is only "our particular" history!
18. In his Analytical Philosophy of History (Cambridge, 1965), A. C. Danto differen-
tiates in this sense between historical explanations as "narrative explanations" and the de-
ductive explanations of natural science. The phenomenologist W. Schapp (In Geschichten
verstrickt. Zum Sein von Mensch und Ding, Hamburg, 1953) had earlier developed a
similar approach. H. Ltibbe in his essay "Sprachspiele und Geschichten" (Kantstudien,
Vol. 52, 1960/61) previously compared this phenomenological-hermeneutical approach
with the "analytical philosophy" proceeding from Wittgenstein.
19. Dray, op. cit., p. 134.
20. Cf., for example, Stegmuller, Hauptstromungen der Gegen\vartsphilosophie, 3rd
ed., Stuttgart, 1965, p. 457f. In addition cf. Apel in Philosophische Jahrbucher, 72 Jg.,
1965, p. 254f.
21. Cf. Wittgenstein's thought experiments on the problem of a "private language," in
Philosophical Investigations, I, §§ 197ff., 199, 243, 256.
22. Cf. my "Introduction" to C. S. Peirce, Schriften I and II.
23. Cf. H.-G. Gadamer's interpretation of the hermeneutical cultural sciences from the
functional context of the process of the communication of tradition in Wahrheit und
Methode, Tubingen, 2nd ed., 1965. In addition, cf. K.-O. Apel in Hegelstudien, Vol. 2,
Bonn, 1963, pp. 314-22.
24. Cf. E. Rothacker, "Sinn und Geschehnis," in Sinn und Sein, Tubingen, 1960,
pp. 1-9.
Karl-Otto Apel 345
25. Cf. J. Royce, The Problem of Christianity, New York, 1913, II, p. 146ff. In addi-
tion, cf. K.-Th. Humbach, Das Verhdltnis von Einzelperson und Gemeinschaft nach
Josiah Royce, Heidelberg, 1962, p. HOff.
26. Cf. E. Heintel, "Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften und die Tradition," in Wissenschaft
und Weltbild, 1960, pp. 179-94.
27. Cf. J. Ritter, "Die Aufgabe der Geisteswissenschaften in der modernen Gesell-
schaft," \r\Jahresschrift 1961 der Gesellschaft zur Forderung der Westfdlischen Wilhelms-
UniversitdtzuMunster, pp. 11-39. In addition, cf. H. Schelsky, Einsamkeit und Freiheit,
Hamburg, 1963, pp. 278ff.
28. Cf. H.-G. Gadamer, op. cit.
29. In my opinion, E. Betti (Die Hermeneutik als allgemeine Methodik der Geistes-
wissenschaften, Tubingen 1962) is correct in opposing the implied demand for actualiza-
tion as it appears to be directed to the cultural "scientist" in existential hermeneutics.
30. The opposition between the position of Gadamer on the one hand and that of J. Ritter
and Schelsky on the other appears to me in fact to rest partially on the ambiguity of the
notion of "tradition."
31. Cf. Gadamer, op. cit., p. 279ff.
32. G. W. F. Hallgarten, Imperialisms vor 1914, 2 vols., 1951.
33. This has been pointed out in particular by H. Skjervheim in his treatise Objectivism
and the Study of Man (Oslo: Universitatsforlaget, 1959). For a discussion of the difficulties
which result from the conversion of communicative experience into quantitative data in
the social sciences, cf. J. Habermas, "Zur Logik der Sozialwissenschaften," Sonderheft
5 der Philosophischen Rundschau, Tubingen, 1967, p. 95ff.
34. For a developement and critical discussion of the theoretical model sketched here,
cf. P. Winch, The Idea of a Social Science, London, 1958; J. Habermas, Erkenntnis und
Interesse, Frankfurt, 1971; G. Radnitzky, Contemporary Schools of Metascience, 2nd
ed., Goteborg, 1970; K.-O. Apel, "Communication and the Foundation of the Human-
ities," in Acta Sociologica, Vol. 15, Nr. 1, 7-26; K.-O. Apel et al., Hermeneutik und
Ideologiekritik, Frankfurt, 1971.
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Hufnagel, E. Einfiihrung in die Hermeneutik. Stuttgart, Berlin, Cologne, Mainz: Kohl-
hammer, 1976.
Humphrey, Laurentius. De ratione interpretandi libris III. Basel: n.p., 1559.
Japp, Uwe. Hermeneutik. Der theoretische Diskurs, die Literatur und die Konstruktion
ihres Zusammenhanges in den philologischen Wissenschaften. Munich: W. Fink
Verlag, 1977.
Kamper, Dietmar. "Hermeneutik-Theorie einer Praxis?" Zeitschrift fur allgemeine
Wissenschaftstheorie 5 (1974) 39-53.
Kimmerle, Heinz. "Die Funktion der Hermeneutik in den positiven Wissenschaften."
Zeitschrift fur allgemeine Wissenschaftstheorie 5 (1974) 54-73.
. Philosophic der Geisteswissenschqften als Kritik ihrer Methoden. DenHaag: Mar-
tinus Nijhoff, 1978.
Kunne-Ibsch, Elrud. "Rezeptionsforschung: Konstanten und Varianten eines literatur-
wissenschaftlichen Konzepts in Theorie und Praxis." Amsterdamer Beitrdge (1974)
1-36.
Labroisse, Gerd. "Uberlegungen zu einem Interpretations-Modell." Amsterdamer Bei-
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Landgrebe, Ludwig. "Vom geisteswissenschaftlichen Verstehen." Zeitschrift filr philo-
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Leibfried, E. Kritische Wissenschaft vom Text. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1970.
Levi, Albert William. "De interpretatione: Cognition and Context in the History of Ideas."
Critical Inquiry 3/1 (1976) 153-78.
Licher, Edmund. "Kommunikationstheoretische Aspekte der Analyse einiger Gedichte
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358 Bibliography
Subjective Understanding in the Social Sciences. Ed. Marzello Truzzi. Reading, MA:
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Texthermeneutik. Aktualitat, Geschichte, Kritik. Ed. U. Nassen. Paderborn: Schoningh,
1979.
Theorie Diskussion: Hermeneutik und Ideologiekritik. With contributions by Apel,
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Understanding and Social Inquiry. Ed. F. Dallmayr and T. McCarthy. Notre Dame, IN:
Notre Dame University Press, 1977.
Verstehende Soziologie. Grundziige und Entwicklungstendenzen. Ed. W. L. Buhl.
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Zimmerli. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1975.
Section D: Bibliographies
363
364 Acknowledgments
Index of Subjects
Account, 4, 7f., 20, 55, 59, 64-71, 80, 114, Ancient, 9, 18, 54, 132, 139-42, 228, 243,
252, 259, 267, 322, 328. See also 256, 259
Description; History; Narrative; Story Ancients, 5, 140, 314
Act (of), 9-11, 16, 22, 25, 28-31, 34, 38, Anthropology, anthropological, 23, 26, 98,
40, 42, 74, 79, 96, 105, 112, 127, 130, 275, 277, 320
152, 154, 162, 167f., 172-77, 180f., Antiquity, If., 20f., 58, 62, 85, 146, 278,
184-86, 190-92, 195, 198f., 202, 204-8, 296
212, 244, 254, 259, 263, 265, 269, 273, Apprehension, to apprehend, 31, 149, 151,
282, 298, 304. See also Interpretation; 155-57, 165, 173, 189-96, 200, 202,
Speaking; Speech; Understanding 205-9. See also Comprehension; Under-
Action(s), 26, 29, 42, 59, 67, 79, 113, 115, standing
128, 135, 141, 153f., 157, 163, 167, 232, Art, 5f., 9, 12, 2If., 27, 30f., 52, 60-62,
243f., 261, 265, 281, 283f., 297, 306, 72-77, 81-83, 87, 93, 95, 97, 107, 109-
308, 328-30, 337-39, 341 13, 115, 126, 133-36, 140, 154f., 161,
Aesthetics, aesthetic, aesthetical, aestheti- 164, 167, 178, 187-97, 205-9, 211-13,
264, 267, 270, 274-79, 283, 289, 294,
cally, 5, 9, 23, 30, 32, 37, 46, 98, 129,
296, 298, 300f., 336. See also Interpreta-
134, 187, 189, 193, 196, 205, 208, 259,
tion; Understanding
273, 279f., 293
Artist, 15, 99, 109-11, 117, 130, 159
Allegory, allegorical, 78f., 139-42, 162,
Artistic, 5, 73, 94, 109f., 134f., 140f., 144,
242 154, 157, 161, 189, 193, 208f., 294, 297
Ambiguity, ambiguous, ix, 5, 12, 27, 39, Ars Critica, 2, 19
42, 60f., 166, 170, 174, 183, 228, 264, Assertion, 145, 149, 154, 162, 168, 172,
270 178, 192, 197, 205, 207, 211, 222, 228-
Analysis, to analyze, 23f., 28, 31, 33, 35f., 32, 234-36, 238, 248, 251, 257, 279,
40, 43, 57, 99, 134, 136, 142, 146, 148, 299, 324, 332. See also Clause; Proposi-
152, 158, 166, 182-84, 191-93, 204, tion; Sentence; Statement
212, 221, 228, 231, 235f., 239, 241, 246, Audience, 10, 78, 278. See also Listener;
255f., 258, 266, 268, 273-75, 279f., 290, Public; Reader; Spectator
296, 301, 304f., 309-12, 315, 320, 324, Authenticity, authentic, 2, 19, 218, 228,
326, 328, 330, 332f., 336-40. See also 236f., 249-51, 253
Existential; Life Author, authorial, xi, 4-9, 11, 21, 33, 37,
Analytic(al), 24, 42, 44, 50, 122, 224, 281, 44, 56f., 59, 64f., 68-71, 73, 78-81, 83-
304, 306-10, 312, 320, 328, 340, 343f. 88, 90, 92, 94-97, 127, 129, 134, 136,
365
366 Indexes
138f., 142f., 154, 157, 162f., 178, 194, 296, 300, 308, 322-25, 328, 331,
199, 240, 283, 303, 335, 337f., 340 337-43; of a literary work, 30, 187f.,
Authority, 257, 261-64, 274, 282, 285-87, 190, 192, 205, 207, 211
315f. Commentary, 15, 6If.,
Autobiography, autobiographical, 261, 341 Communicate, 29, 75, 94, 134, 142, 153f.,
171f., 199, 230, 235, 332
Beauty, the beautiful, 58, 107, llOf., 117, Communication, 1, 12, 14, 20, 35, 43f., 46,
161, 189. See also Aesthetics; Aesthetic 74f., 94, 101, 117, 135f., 138, 142, 172-
Behavior, 15, 28, 98, 128, 156, 200, 231, 74, 199, 229, 232, 235f., 274, 294-97,
250, 264, 296f., 300f., 303, 305, 308, 301-17, 320, 329, 331-36, 338, 340,344
310, 312, 319, 325f., 328, 337, 339f., Communicative, 166, 170-72, 175, 281,
342, 344 294f., 297f., 302, 305, 307, 310-13, 341,
Behavioral, 303f., 318, 324f., 328, 330, 345
339-41, 344 Community (of communication, interpreta-
Being-in-the-world, 33f., 36, 215, 217-20, tion, readers, speech, etc.), 44, 156, 166,
224, 226, 229-31, 233-35, 238. See also 194, 258, 291, 295, 299, 306f., 314f.,
World 317f., 320, 330, 332, 339
Being-there/Dasein, 32-5, 215-21, 224-26, Competence/Capacity, 9, 22, 43, 76, 216,
234-39 233; communicative, 294, 297f., 302,
Biblical, 2, 46, 244, 246, 257, 262, 278 305, 311-13; hermeneutic, 12, 22, 45,
Biography, biographical, 23, 95, 118, 124, 76, 294, 312f.; linguistic, 1, 10, 14, 17,
214 76, 102-4, 211, 276; of language, 294f.,
297f., 301, 305, 312, 344
Canon, canonical, 8, 23, 86, 90, 92, 123, Comprehension, to comprehend, 16f., 19,
331, 335 22, 25, 40, 45, 57f., 70, 85f., 96, 100,
Category, categorical, 3f., 26, 31, 33f., 43, 102f., 11 If., 114, 119, 126f., 135, 140,
64, 121, 146, 149f., 152, 177, 214, 216f., 147, 151, 159, 191, 302f. See also Appre-
238, 290, 300, 307f., 311, 321, 322, 324; hension; Understanding
of life, 25,27, 151, 215 Concretization, to concretize, 30f., 193,
Catholicism, Catholic, 2, 245, 247 204, 342
Certainty, certain, 24, 57, 59-61, 65, 70, Condition (of knowledge, science, under-
76, 81, 122, 130, 146f., 154, 156f., 162, standing), 16, 18f., 21f., 29, 36f., 42-44,
169, 188, 243f., 247, 252, 279, 317, 326, 49, 75, 101, 112, 121f., 130, 155, 211,
329 217, 226, 267, 301, 305f., 314, 321-25,
Christian, 79, 253f., 258, 288 328, 330f., 333-36
Christianity, 78, 80, 124, 161, 257 Conscious, 56, 63, 140, 152, 154, 156, 159,
Church, 2, 4, 54, 62, 80, 160f., 241, 255, 162, 170, 181, 185, 198, 206, 242, 258,
262 265, 268, 273-75, 278, 280, 282f., 286,
Circle (hermeneutic, logical, vicious, of 288f., 296, 306, 311, 335, 339
understanding), 16, 19, 35, 50, 84f., 105, Consciousness, 51, 80, 108, 133, 139, 149-
123, 125, 137f., 144, 147, 190, 225f., 53, 159, 161, 170f., 175-77, 181, 185,
290. See also Whole and its parts 190, 192, 194, 200, 208, 210, 242, 247f.,
Classic(s), 98, 118, 137, 256 258-60, 265-75, 277-83, 287-91, 294-
Classic, classical, 2, 20, 32, 54, 72, 77, 85, 300, 302f., 310, 313, 315, 317, 319, 321-
98, 118, 132, 137, 140, 142, 148, 187, 23, 334, 343
214, 264, 296, 331 Construction, to construct, 5f., 8f., 15, 57,
Clause, 91. See also Assertion; Proposition; 61, 67, 76f., 91-4, 103, 125, 131, 152,
Sentence; Statement 162, 164, 212, 261, 295, 300, 305,
Cognition, cognitive, 18, 21, 28, 30-32, 309-11, 319, 325, 334. See also Recon-
150, 162, 187-92, 200, 205, 209, 279, struction
Indexes 367
Content, 4, 19, 28f., 73, 79, 87, 90-3, 96, Demythologizing, 241, 248f., 251-53
131, 134, 149-50, 153-57, 172, 176f., Depiction, to depict, 105f., 108, 111, 117f.
180, 185, 192, 198-200, 204, 206, 212, See also Account; Description; Narrative;
217f., 228-30, 246, 248, 25If., 265, 270, Report, Story
294f., 297, 301-5, 308-11, 313, 330, Dialectic(s), 6, 74, 146f., 277
335, 344; inner, mental, 153-58, 161, Dialectic, dialectical, 74, 146, 251, 283,
163, 168f., 170-72, 198f. 324, 336, 341
Context, ix, 11, 14f., 25, 29, 33, 86f., 89, Dialogue, dialogical, 94, 173f., 296, 300,
90-93, 106, 114f., 117, 128, 134, 136, 311, 317
153-57, 168, 174, 196, 200, 202, 228, Dictionary, 84, 88-90, 93, 202. See also
264, 294-96, 299-301, 305f., 309, 313f., Lexicon
317, 319, 327f., 336, 343 Decription, to describe, 1, 29, 31, 43, 65-
Conversation, 77, 89, 127, 202, 270, 278, 67, 76, 92, 107, 152, 167, 170, 176f.,
280, 290, 302, 304f., 307, 313-15, 319, 179f., 183, 186, 190f., 195, 197, 200,
338. See also Speech 205f., 267, 270f, 301, 343
Council of Trent, 2, 162 Discipline, ix-xi, 2, 4-5, 12, 21, 24, 38,
Create, 24, 64, 78, 85, 103, 117f., 121,130, 44-46, 59, 60-62, 64, 85, 89, 125f., 132,
139, 170, 177, 201f., 225, 264f., 286f., 137, 139, 148, 165, 249-52, 256, 290.
337 Disclosure, disclosedness, to disclose, 19,
Creation, creative, 8f., 11, 13, 15f., 21, 43, 23, 29, 33f., 122, 192, 196f., 204, 208,
77, 99, 105f., 116, 124, 128, 144f., 214f., 219-25, 231, 234-39, 246f., 252
157f., 161f., 170, 194, 198, 208, 251, Discourse, discoursive, 1, 5f., 29, 40, 45,
254, 259, 265, 310 54, 102, 123, 137, 165f., 172, 175, 232,
Creator, 9, 33, 58, 154, 158, 208 234-39, 252f., 279, 306-9, 314-17. See
Critic(s), 9, 29, 31, 36, 60f., 118, 133f., also Speech; Speaking
139, 143^5, 187, 263, 313
Divination, divinatory, divine, 8, 83, 96,
Critical, 2, 4f., 29, 42-47, 49, 52, 72, 85,
145. See also Inspiration
97, 112, 131, 134, 142^7, 161, 230,
Drama, dramatic, 129, 141, 188, 202, 334
247, 261, 264, 268, 278, 301, 314-17,
319, 329, 345
Criticism, 2, 7, 19, 21-23, 48, 52f., 60, 62, Economics, economic, 18, 27, 128, 244f.,
69, 72-4, 79, 95, 97, 124, 127-29, 132- 259, 284, 337, 339
34, 142^7, 162, 186f., 246, 248, 256- Effective-historical, 39, 267-69, 298
58,264,268,274, 313, 319, 329; generic, Effective-historical consciousness, 269,
142; grammatical, 142; historical, 142; 273, 275, 280, 282, 288, 291, 296
individual, 142, 144 Effective history, 256, 267-69, 335
Critique, 34, 39, 41f., 52f., 149, 257f., 260, Empathy, 159f., 164, 271, 326
262, 265, 285, 287, 294, 315f., 319f., Empirical, 42, 120, 125, 133, 169f., 191,
334; of ideology, 256, 274, 282f., 288, 236, 287, 299, 307, 322, 324f., 328, 339
301, 317, 321, 324f., 336, 341, 343 Empiricism, empiricist, 42f., 133, 192, 207,
Cultural, 2, 14, 18, 20-23, 25, 39f., 42, 320
44-47, 279f., 282f., 284, 290, 299, 303, Enlightenment, 1, 3f., 6, 38, 41, 45f., 97,
305, 316 256-65, 271, 278, 284, 297, 311, 314,
Culture, 2, 12, 20-21, 40, 42, 45f., 98, 109, 316f., 336
112, 115, 132, 156, 178, 256, 271, 280, Epic, 78, 138, 140
282, 294f., 300, 302, 329, 331, 335-38 Epistemological, 13, 24, 29, 32, 43, 46f.,
152, 162, 172, 188f, 230, 260f., 265,
Dasein. See Being-there 276, 290, 299, 320, 325
Deduction, deductive, 122, 125, 157, 211, Epistemological anthropology, 321-26,
326 330f., 340
368 Indexes
Epistemology, 14, 24, 60, 260, 282f., 300, Foreign tongue, 103-5, 210f., 237, 318. See
321, 323f. also Language; Native tongue; Speech
Erlebnis. See Lived experience Fragments ), 10 , 147, 160, 277
Essay, 15, 25, 98, 188, 256f., 325 Frankfurt School, 39f., 256
Ethics, ethical, 18, 20, 32, 79, 123, 131,
141, 264, 286 Gap (hermeneutic, historical), 16f., 22, 38,
Evaluation, to evaluate, 19, 163, 258, 272, 112, 116, 131, 268, 275, 278, 302
276, 296, 325, 338 Geisteswissenschaften, 15f., 24, 44, 50,
Evidence, evident, xi, 28, 30, 39, 65, 75f., 291, 342f., 345. See also Humanities;
84, 92, 94f., 110, 129, 141, 166-68, 170, Sciences, human; Sciences, social
179, 183f., 186, 189, 201, 209, 236, 241, Genre, 4, 10f., 73, 84, 95, 109, 134, 136,
257f., 266, 277 143
Exegesis, 2f., 23, 134, 136, 242f., 245-48, Generic, 4, 6, 11, 22, 31, 136-38, 141f.,
278. See also Explication 155, 170, 185
Existence, 33-38, 52, 112, 116f., 120f., Genius, 77, 107, 110, 127, 155
124f., 128, 130, 158, 160f., 167f., 174, Gesture(s), 26, 101, 130, 155, 157, 163, 171
178, 192, 201, 212, 215f., 218f., 225, Gloss(es), 6If.
234f., 246f., 249-55, 260, 268, 276, Grammar, 6, 10, 14, 21, 57, 74, 89f., 97,
284-87, 296, 313, 332f. 137, 139, 166, 238, 243, 297
Existential, existentiale, 23, 27, 32-34, Grammatical, 1, 3, 10f., 14, 22, 25, 30-32,
36f., 42, 215-22, 224-26, 230-39, 241, 61, 72, 74-80, 82, 86, 90, 94, 136-38,
250f., 253, 255, 333f., 336, 345 141-45, 163, 201, 276, 297f., 306,
Existentiell, 246-48, 253-55 308-10
Experience. See Inner experience; Lived Greek (lang.), 84f., 92f., 118, 137, 243
experience Greek (adj.), 2, 18, 60, 62, 110, 115, 132,
Explanation, to explain, 5, 16, 18, 20, 24, 137, 256, 276
30, 32, 42f., 46, 49, 59, 61, 63, 66, 73, Greeks, 1, 104, 110, 115, 129, 238, 323
78, 80, 89f., 93, 100, 104, 113-15, 123,
125, 135f., 139f., 142f., 153, 160, 162, Hearing, to hear, 55, 126, 172, 174, 183,
181, 190, 197, 210, 215, 248, 252f., 290, 194f., 236-38, 243, 272
305, 310f., 324-32, 339-41, 343f. Hearer, 75, 82, 103, 124, 172, 175, 186. See
Explication, to explicate, 1-3, 8f., 12, 19, also Audience; Listener; Public
27, 29, 33-35, 40f., 45, 62, 64, 126, 148, Hebrew, 85, 92f.
161,220,224,276-79,294,330. See also Hellenism, Hellenistic, 18, 118, 243
Exegesis Hermeneutic(al), ix-xi, 2-5, 7-9, 12-14,
Express, 20, 29f., 51, 56, 59-61, 104, 125, 16-18, 20-25, 27, 29, 31-35, 37^7, 54,
145, 153-55, 159, 166f., 169, 172, 185, 60, 72f., 75, 97-99, 134, 138f., 161f.,
207, 210, 222, 277, 230f., 234f., 237f., 166, 215, 232, 241, 244, 256f., 261,
245, 247, 253, 307, 333 268-70, 272-78, 280, 282-84, 286-91,
Expression(s), 4, 6f., 9f., 19-21, 25-27, 293-302, 305, 309-17, 320, 328-41; tra-
29f., 36, 45, 79, 82, 87, 89, 101, 105, dition, ix-x, 25, 37f., 41-43, 148, 215,
110, 121f., 126-28, 130, 134f., 138, 142, 257, 293
147, 153-60, 162f., 166, 170-77, 180- Hermeneutician, classical, 31, 44
86, 195f., 198, 200, 210, 215, 219f., 225, Hermeneutics, ix-xi, 1-6, 8-10, 12, 15-18,
227, 236, 252, 276, 278, 288f., 294-97, 20f., 23, 25, 27f., 31f., 34, 37-41, 43-
302-08, 312-14, 319, 332, 338f., 341, 46, 54, 60, 62-64, 72-74, 76, 82f., 88,
343; of life: See Life-expression 97, 132-34, 148, 161f., 165f., 187, 214,
241, 256f., 262, 268, 273-84, 289f.,
Fore-conception. See preconception 293f., 297-303, 305, 312-15, 317, 320f.,
Indexes 369
324, 329, 332f., 339; classical (tradi- of historiography, 24; of human sciences,
tional), 27, 31-33, 256, 337; debate, x; 24, 256; intellectual (history of ideas), 24,
depth, 304f., 309-15, 317; existential, 289, 337-39; of learning, 4, 21; literary,
23, 36f., 333; general, x, 4f., 21, 27, 23f., 40, 51; natural, 4, 67, 110, 337f.; of
36f., 45, 54, 73f., 83, 241; historical, 8, philosophy, 245; political (state history),
260f., 266; history of, x-xi, 3, 45, 47, 4,67, 245, 330, 338f.; of religion, 245, of
241; of human sciences, 12, 16, 25, 27, science, 21, 24, 268, 320; universal
265; legal, 3, 82, 97; literary ("of poetic (world history), 43, 112-15, 281f., 287f.
discourse"), 6, 23, 31; meta-, 31 If., 315; Horizon, 17, 33-35, 37, 39, 150, 161,
modern, xi, 2, 6, 12f., 72; new, ix, 36, 238f., 269-73, 291, 297f., 302, 316, 329;
241; phenomenological, 34; philological, fusion of, 37f., 44, 272f., 289; historical,
xi, 8, 32, 119, 132, 334; philosophical, 269-72
x-xi, 4, 8, 13, 20, 23, 27, 29, 32f., 38f., Human nature/Humanity, 7, 13, 19f., 25,
45, 269, 274, 276, 280, 294, 296-99, 99-102, 104f., 107, 117, 121, 158, 238,
320, 334; Protestant, 2, 36; romantic, 40, 249f., 260
72, 273; sacred (theological, religious), 2, Human studies, 13, 149-52, 154f., 158,
82, 97, 241; secular, 54; of social sci- 162f.
ences, 27; specific (special), 43-45, 73, Humanist, 3, 24f., 27, 29, 34, 38, 42, 320
80, 82f., 135; textual, 32; theory of, x, 1, Humanist(ic), 2, 20, 44, 46, 256, 280
6f., 9f., 17, 20f., 23, 28, 31, 74, 86, 132, Humanities, ix, 5, 7, 15, 35, 39, 46, 148,
134, 166, 278, 290 256, 280, 320. See also Human studies;
Historian(s), x-xi, 7, 12, 15-20, 24, 28, Liberal arts; Sciences, human
34f., 38, 43, 99, 105-9, 111-15, 117f.,
129, 159-61, 225, 244, 246, 249, 25If., Idealism, 26, 72, 243, 282, 284f., 287, 337
266f., 282, 287, 320, 326f., 329, 331,
Idealist(ic), 122, 187, 256, 286, 293
334f., 339
Ideology, ideological, 26, 38, 44, 51-53,
Historic(al), x, 3, 4, 6f., 11, 13, 15-19, 21,
256, 274, 282f., 288, 293, 301, 313, 317,
24f., 31, 37-41, 43-45, 54, 64f., 68, 78,
320, 324, 336, 341
81, 83, 85, 97-99, 106f., 109, 111-13,
Image, 66, 80, 100, 109, 111, 120, 130,
116, 118-32, 134-38, 140-45, 147-49,
151f., 156, 160-63, 170, 193, 241-47, 150, 174f., 177-80, 253, 258f.
250-52, 254, 256-62, 264-73, 275, 278, Imagine, 55-58, 66-69, 126-28, 174, 183,
280-82, 284, 287-89, 293, 295, 298f., 185, 253, 268, 270
305,308,317,320,327-30,332-36, 341 Imagination, 15, 100, 109f., 129, 133, 138,
Historical school, 3, 148, 259 141, 160f., 174, 185, 207f., 259, 322,
Historicism, 15, 249, 258, 260, 270, 282, 338
289, 333-38 Imitation, to imitate, 95, 109-11, 124, 164
Historicity, historicality, 23, 40, 43, 52, Individual (noun and adj.), 4, 7, llf., 14-16,
246, 250, 256, 265, 268, 288, 334 26f., 44, 48, 62, 65, 67, 75, 77, 80, 95f.,
Historiography, 17, 38, 99f., 102-5, 107f., 111-18, 121f., 126,
Historiology, historiological, 225f 128, 130f., 149, 155-58, 163, 177, 190-
History, ix-x, 1, 3, 5, 10, 12f., 15-19, 21, 94, 197, 200, 202-4, 208, 211, 242f.,
24, 26, 35, 37-40, 42, 45-47, 54f., 58- 261, 271, 274, 280f., 286, 289f., 296,
60, 62-70, 75, 78f., 84, 97-99, 106-8, 306f., 309, 313, 315, 327, 330, 337, 339
111-14, 116-20, 123f., 126, 130f., Individuality, 4, 11, 14, 77, 102, 104, 115-
137f., 140, 148, 158f., 161f., 214, 241, 17, 136f., 143, 158f., 194, 209, 243, 271,
243-46, 248-52, 254, 256, 258, 260, 307
265-69, 275-77, 279, 281, 283, 285-88, Induction. See Inference
290, 297, 305, 329f., 333, 335, 338-41; Inference, to infer, 122, 126, 145f., 153f.,
church, 4, 54, 67, 245; cultural, 44, 338; 156-58, 162f., 167, 169
370 Indexes
Information, 8, 84f., 95, 103, 113, 127, 82, 128, 130f.; rules of, ix, 5f., 62-64,
189, 221, 225, 235, 289, 299f., 302 83, 90; task of, 34, 83, 87,95, 127, 137f.;
Inner experience, 121, 172. See also Lived technical, technological, 11, 72, 79, 85f.,
experience 94-96, 130; textual, 8, 27, 42, 331;
Inspiration, to inspire, 32, 36, 58f., 79f., 83, theory of, 2, 5, 14, 20f., 30, 60, 187, 332
135, 160. See also Divination Interpreter, 2, 7, 22, 37^1, 59f., 81, 83-
Institution, 12, 15, 42, 46, 112, 115, 164, 85, 87, 93, 95f., 138, 245, 250, 256, 291,
281, 330, 336, 342 316, 334f., 338; task, duty of, 9, 55, 58f.,
Intelligibility, intelligible, 2, 7, 14, 57, 135, 61, 69-71
152, 155f., 170, 190, 200, 202, 211, 224- Interpre(ta)tive, 3, 22f., 29, 31, 35, 40, 42,
27, 268, 270, 279, 284, 304, 312 45, 135, 137-39, 142, 144f., 147f., 222,
Intend, 12, 21, 29f., 45, 55-58, 78, 142, 28If., 282, 293, 302
157, 162, 179, 1%, 198, 200f., 205, 215, Intersubjectivity, intersubjective, 29, 44,
248, 297, 331, 337 51, 164, 194, 199, 211, 281, 283, 295,
Intention, 1, 3-6, 19, 30f., 55, 57, 59, 63, 300, 303, 306-9, 311f., 314, 322,
109, 128, 152, 157, 170-72, 176f., 184, 330-33, 337f.
198, 202, 205, 252f., 261, 283, 301, 327, Intuition, intuitive, 16, 30, 36, 107, 110,
332f., 335, 337-39. See also Divination 138f., 141, 144-46, 163, 171f., 186,
Intentionality, intentional, 12, 28f., 43, 140, 195f., 208, 211, 219, 253, 259, 298, 342
170f., 181, 191f., 194f., 198, 201f., Investigation, to investigate, 16-18, 22,
205f., 208, 286, 306f., 309, 328 24f., 27, 29, 31, 33, 35, 37f., 42, 51, 61,
Interpretation, to interpret, x, 1-7, 9-11, 13, 99, 106f., Ill, 114, 116-25, 134, 136,
16-23, 26-29, 31, 33f., 36f., 40f., 44f., 141, 143, 147, 165, 188, 190-92, 197,
49, 54-64, 69-71, 74, 77-81, 83-87, 94, 200, 202, 209-12, 215, 220, 224f., 228,
97, 117, 119, 124, 126, 128f., 133-35, 239, 258f., 265f., 268, 281, 304, 320,
137-40, 142^4, 146f., 152, 154, 157, 322, 339, 344
161, 171, 181f., 185,202,205,211,215,
220-28, 230-34, 238f., 242f., 246-48, Judgment, 4, 48, 65, 68, 109, 114, 120,
251f., 257-76, 279, 281f., 291, 296-302, 142-45, 151-53, 157-69, 172, 180f.,
305, 309, 312, 314, 316f., 331f., 335, 183, 186, 189, 193, 205, 209, 228, 230-
337, 339, 341; acts, process of, 38, 61, 32, 257, 261f., 265f., 316
81, 87, 95; allegorical, 78f., 140f., 226, Jurisprudence, ix, 2f., 5, 32,46, 62f.; jurist,
242, 248; art of, 5f., 12, 21f., 27, 60-62, ix, 3f., 12. See also Law
73, 76f., 81f., 87, 97, 126, 294; artful,
artistic, 80f., 82, 84, 135; artless, 80f., Knowledge, ix, 2, 4-6, 8-10, 17f., 20f., 24,
82, 88; classes, kinds, types, categories 44, 46f., 49, 55, 61f., 66, 69f., 74-76,
of, 31, 35, 60f., 78, 80, 119, 136f., 142, 79, 81, 83f., 90, 95f., 109-11, 113,
290; concept, nature of, 35, 37, 53, 55, 116f., 120f., 127, 132f., 135-37, 139,
126; conditional, of conditions, 20, 50, 143-46, 151, 153, 155, 157, 167f., 172,
128f.; existential, 250f., 253; generic, 22, 180, 183f., 188, 192, 199, 206f., 209f.,
31, 136-38, 141; grammatical, 3, 11, 22, 221, 225-27, 230, 245, 254, 258f., 260,
25, 3If., 72, 74-80, 82, 86, 90, 94, 263, 265, 270, 275f., 279, 282, 284f.,
136-38, 141, 243; historical, 22, 31, 50, 288-91, 297, 300, 313, 315-18, 320,
78, 127f., 136-38, 141, 156, 225, 244, 322-25, 331f., 340, 342; historical, 58,
247; individual, 11, 22, 31, 136-38, 141, 81, 85, 99, 123, 137, 152, 162, 243,
144f.; methods, models of, 9, 11, 19, 22, 245f., 259f., 269
32, 35, 78, 118, 126, 148, 223, 228, 231;
objective, 82, 185; pragmatic, 19, 50, Language, 9-14, 21f., 25, 27, 29, 35, 40,
128f., 156; principles of, 5f., 60, 62, 64; 43f., 49, 51f., 61, 73, 75-77, 81-89, 90,
psychological, 11, 20, 32, 50, 74-78, 80, 94f., 98-103, 115, 117, 134-37, 141,
Indexes 371
143, 156, 161, 164, 194-96, 198-200, Literary, 20, 22-24, 28, 30f., 40f., 95, 136-
202f., 206, 210-12, 231, 233f., 236, 38, 143, 188, 331, 339; criticism (critics),
238f., 243f., 253, 259, 275, 279f., 282- ix, 30, 32, 35f., 289; studies, 31, 40, 45,
87, 294f., 300f., 303-5, 309-12, 314f., 331; scholars, ix, 28, 38, 187; theory, 30,
318f., 322f., 328, 332, 337f., 340, 343; 187
games, 281, 284, 286, 289, 297, 299, Literature, 14,23, 30f., 55, 60, 72, 79, 84f.,
304, 306, 312, 317, 321f., 328f., 342-44; 95, 97f., 113, 134, 136, 139, 256
meta-, 289, 295, 299, 301, 312. See also Lived experience/Erlebnis, 25f., 149-51,
Linguistic; Foreign tongue; Mother 153, 158f., 162, 289. See also Inner
tongue; Speech experience
Latin, 84, 89, 203 Logic, 1, 3f., 6, 29, 41f., 44, 46, 74, 97,
Law, 3, 48, 56, 59, 63, 93, 98, 155f., 164, 123, 132f., 146, 153f., 163, 165f., 169,
242, 274, 334f.; roman, 3, 47, 135, 335. 187, 197, 231, 233, 238, 256, 276f., 280,
See also Jurisprudence; Legal 283, 290, 295, 300, 315, 321, 324-27,
Law(s), 24, 99, 103, 106, 113-17, 123, 330
133-35, 139, 153, 162f., 170, 244, 258f., Logical, logically, 22, 25, 28f., I l l , 122,
266f., 269, 290, 300, 326-28, 331, 340, 126, 132f., 144-46, 152f., 156, 159, 162,
342f. See also Rules 165f., 168, 171f., 175, 182, 189, 197f.,
Legal/Judicial, 3, 18, 23, 27, 47, 61, 87, 216, 231, 308, 322f., 326f., 340f.
155f., 331 Logician, 186, 327
Letter/Epistle, 55, 78f., 94, 126f., 138, 160, Lyric, lyrical, 78, 137f., 140, 159, 188
242, 263
Lexicon, 57, 137, 302, 304, 306 Manuscript, 10, 72, 134, 214
Liberal arts, 6 Mathematical, llOf., 145, 147, 163, 168,
Life, 10, 20, 23-26, 28, 34f., 37, 51, 57, 67, 182, 190, 201, 324
75, 101-3, 108, 110, 114, 116, 120, 124, Meaning, to mean, ix, 3-9, 14, 18-22, 25,
126, 131, 143, 148-51, 153f., 158-61, 27-33, 36, 39^3, 45, 55-57, 59-61, 63,
165, 186, 214, 236, 245, 247, 249-51, 78f., 81-83, 86-93, 102, 105, 111, 127,
253f., 259, 267, 271, 279f., 283-85, 287, 134f., 137, 140-43, 146, 149f., 153,
290, 299f., 305, 308, 315f., 325, 333, 155f., 165-67, 171-80, 182-86, 188,
342; utterance, -expressions, 25-27, 152- 191f., 195, 197-207, 210-12, 214, 219,
157, 161, 163, 278, 337-40, 343; mental, 224-26, 228-30, 234, 241, 243, 245^7,
11, 27, 151, 157, 159, 160, 162f., 166. 252, 260, 262-65, 268-72, 283f., 287f.,
See also Lived experience 294f., 301-8, 311f., 317f., 321f., 330,
Linguist, 13f., 30, 38 332-34, 336-40, 341, 343; allegorical,
Linguistic, 2f., 9-14, 16, 19-22, 25, 31, 35, 140, 142; constitutive, conferring, 28,
39-41, 44f., 75-77, 81, 86f., 89f., 98f., 175, 177, 184, 194, 325; figurative, 78f.,
102f., 138, 163, 169, 189, 196f., 199f., 88; fulfillment, 30, 175, 271; intention,
207f., 236, 275f., 278f., 281, 283f., intended, 4f., 78, 175-78, 181, 183f.,
286f., 289, 294f., 297f., 300-3, 305-8, 186, 202, 204, 248, 322f., 334; literal, 3,
310-15, 320, 322, 328-32, 335, 338. See 78f., 88, 135-37, 141, 221. See also
also Competence; Understanding Intention; Sense; Significance
Linguisticality, 9-11, 13, 35, 39f., 43, 75, Meaningfulness, meaningful, 29f., 56, 170,
275f., 279-82, 284, 287, 299 178, 181, 204, 224, 321, 333f., 340, 343
Linguistics, 13, 46, 275, 289, 297f., 301, Meaningless, 15, 30, 63, 150, 182, 224f.,
320 338
Listener, 14, 16, 55f., 59f., 69, 102f., 237, Mental 10, 12, 14, 24, 31, 51, 102, 108,
272, 278. See also Audience; Reader; 114, 120, 152-57, 160-62, 169f., 172,
Public 175-77, 179, 185, 197; act, 202-4, 207,
372 Indexes
303, 325; states, 26, 169, 171. See also Native tongue, 104, 202f. See also Lan-
Mind guage; Mother tongue
Metaphysics, metaphysical, 32, 67, 108, Neo-positivism, neo-positivist, 44, 211,
293, 325, 329 324-26, 340
Method(s), x, 6, 16,18, 23f., 31, 33, 38-42, Norm, normative, 2, 5, 41, 46, 129, 136,
45f., 52, 58, 73, 79, 86, 96f., 121, 124, 262, 296, 303, 331
129, 13If., 146, 148, 152, 162, 165, 209, Novel, 188, 193, 202
211, 261f., 268, 270, 273f., 279f., 282f., Novelist, 160. See also Author
289, 299, 318f., 330, 336, 338f.; histori-
cal, 16, 18f., 119, 121, 125, 129, 243f. Objective, 14, 18, 77, 82f., 93f., 104, 106,
Methodical, 22, 27, 30, 38f., 41-47, 129, 108, 119, 135f., 138f., 145f., 161, 167-
154, 161, 294, 324, 332-36 69, 175f., 181, 188, 190, 197, 246, 248,
Methodological, 20, 23-25, 27f., 33f., 37, 260, 264f., 269f., 299, 313, 321, 323,
40, 118, 148, 215, 230, 256, 261f., 266, 325, 328f., 330-33, 339f., 343
268, 280-82, 284, 288, 290, 301, 317, Objectivity, objectification, objectivation,
320f., 339, 341 14f., 28, 30f., 42, 44, 101, 133, 144^7,
Methodology, ix-x, 7, 18, 24, 36, 41, 43, 185, 192f., 198, 205f., 208, 230, 249-54,
46, 50, 118, 148, 256, 266, 280, 289, 265, 268, 282, 286, 294, 296f., 302, 304,
320, 325 314, 330, 333, 336, 343
Middle Ages, 2, 44, 139, 143, 258 Objectivism, objectivist (academic school),
Mind, 6f., 9, 11-14, 18, 21, 26, 30, 55f., 15, 38f., 268, 281-83, 298, 331, 333f.
58, 62, 83, 93, 101-3, 105, 107f., lllf., Ontic, critically, 33, 201, 205, 215, 222
121, 127, 139, 143-45, 149, 151-53, Ontological, ontologically, 17, 29, 33-36,
155, 160, 172, 217, 259, 262, 269, 275, 38, 216, 219, 224-26, 230, 232, 234-36,
319, 341. See also Mental 238f., 286, 313, 315
Mind-constructed, 149, 151, 158. See also Ontology, 32-36, 39, 42f., 187, 211, 214,
World 219, 228, 238
Misinterpretation, 63, 155, 157f., 197, 279 Organism, organic, 9, 85, 87, 91f., 109f.,
Misunderstanding, 63f., 81-83, 86, 125, 116f., 126
133, 139, 182, 198, 209, 219, 223, 225, Origin, 99, 114, 124f., 135, 169, 232, 253,
262, 270, 302f., 313-15 270, 272, 275, 294, 305f., 31 If., 319
Monologue, monological, 174, 300f., 315, Originality, original, 2, 21, 77f., 80f., 84-
317 86, 88-92, 95, 112, 115, 120, 124, 138f.,
Morality, morals, moral, 55, 64, 122-23, 143f., 182, 205, 208, 212, 277-79, 304f.,
126, 128, 130f., 139-41, 263f., 331, 337, 311, 335, 340
340f. See also Ethics
Mother tongue, 76, 92, 105, 184, 289. See Painting, 79, 109, 142
also Language; Foreign tongue; Native Paradigm, x, 13, 19, 49, 322, 342
tongue Part (of a whole), 8, 10, 16, 35, 84f., 147,
Music, musical, 79, 134, 196, 245 151, 153, 157, 202f., 204f., 212. Seealso
Myth, mythical, 79, 140f., 248f., 252f., Circle; Whole and its parts
258f., 271, 273 Passage (clear, difficult, individual, parallel,
Mythology, mythological, 110-248, 252f. obscure, etc.), 2, 8, 57-63, 69, 71-73,
77f., 82, 85-91, 93, 96, 220
Narration, 71, 125, 329. See also Account; Perception, 29, 60, 63, 65-68, 102, 104,
History; Narrative; Story 114, 118, 120, 128, 145, 147, 172f., 185,
Narrative, 6, 50, 59,92, 108, 124, 140, 242, 189f., 194-96, 200, 207, 209, 216, 222,
244, 329, 344 236, 279
Narrator, 69, 127. See also Author; Poet Perspective, x, 7, 14f., 20, 48, 54, 99, 103,
Indexes 373
105f., U7L, 160, 244f., 249, 322. See Point of view, 6f., 47, 54, 90, 125, 145,199,
also Point of view; Viewpoint 212, 223f., 286-88, 291, 293, 321. See
Phenomenological, phenomenologically, also Perspective; Standpoint; Viewpoint
11, 25, 28-31, 33f., 40, 165-67, 169-71, Positivism, 24, 38, 251, 329
174, 176f., 180, 183-87, 192, 219, 281, Positivist, positivistic, 15, 42, 74, 118, 207,
320 249, 280f., 289, 324, 330, 336
Phenomenologist, 189, 191 "Post-structuralism," post-structuralist, x,
Phenomenology, 26, 28f., 31, 33f., 43, 23, 29
165f., 186f., 214, 269, 289 Preconception/Foreconception, 223f.,
Philological, x, 2, 19-22, 26, 72, 97, 129, 226f., 231, 281, 288f., 291, 296, 305,
132, 142, 146f., 161, 225, 340 311, 313, 344. See also Prejudice; Pre-
Philologists), x-xi, 4, 9, 12, 20-22, 60f., supposition; Preunderstanding
82,133,135, 144, 161, 331; classical, 22, Prejudice, 37-39, 242-45, 256-65, 272,
72, 97, 132 281, 284f., 288f., 295f., 314-16. See also
Philology, xi, 3, 19-22, 26, 60, 72, 74, Preconception; Presupposition; Preunder-
132f., 137, 143, 161f., 331; classical, 2, standing
45f., 132 Presupposition, to presuppose, 16, 129,
Philosopher(s), x-xi, 3-7, 9, 13, 25, 30, 32, 157f., 169, 180, 217, 223, 225f., 242-48,
34, 38, 40-43, 74, 133, 165, 214, 256, 259, 261, 268, 280, 286, 289, 296, 298,
259, 277, 293; hermeneutic, xi, 6, 34, 42;, 300f., 305, 312, 316, 321-25, 329-34,
social, 40, 43 340. See also Preconception; Preunder-
Philosophical, ix-x, 7, 18, 24, 32, 36-38, standing
45f., 62, 74, 97, 108, 112, 123, 132f., Preunderstanding, 17, 33, 35, 37, 245-47,
141, 165, 197, 214, 224, 238f., 253f., 313, 326. See also Preconception; Prej-
256, 261, 275, 277, 293f., 320, 324, 331- udice
33, 336f., 340 Principle(s), x, 2, 4, 6, 8, 13f., 20, 27, 42,
Philosophy, ix, 2-5, 8, 13f., 18, 24, 32-34, 66, 72f., 78, 80f., 94, 97-99, 107,
36-39, 41, 43-45, 54, 60, 62f., 68, 72, 113-15, 117, 135, 140, 142, 145, 159,
79, 97f., 107, 112, 132f., 139-41, 148, 226, 244, 263, 267, 277f., 294, 305, 313-
155, 165, 182, 187, 214f., 219, 241, 245, 16, 323, 329, 337; of hermeneutics, inter-
250, 256, 262, 264, 269, 274-76, 287, pretation, 3, 22, 37, 45, 59f., 64
293, 320, 336; analytical, 25, 43f.; of Probability, probable, 60f., 106, 109, 143,
history (historical philosophy), 43, 258, 146, 152, 156f., 169, 327
281, 287, 336-38, 341; of language, 13f., Proposition, 33, 56, 62, 65, 67, 168, 178,
25, 239, 320; of man, 45; of nature, 323; 190, 207. See also Assertion; Sentence;
political (political theory), 43, 98, 259; of Statement
science, 289, 320; social (social theory), Prose, 84, 87, 136, 138, 141
320 Protestant, 2, 36, 72, 148, 162, 241
Phoneme, phonetic, 99f., 104, 195, 197, Psychological, 4, 6, 8, 11, 18, 20, 29, 32,
200, 210 37, 57, 74-78, 80, 82, 113f., 128, 130f.,
Physics, 123, 165, 275, 279, 299, 321-23 152f., 159f., 162, 165, 176, 178, 185,
Poem, 134, 159, 188 190, 194, 197f., 200, 312, 323, 325f.,
Poet, 9, 13, 15, 26, 98f., 106, 133, 140f., 328, 339f.
154, 157, 159f., 259 Psychology, ix, 24, 30, 32, 60, 178f., 236,
Poetic(al), xi, 6, 106, 108, 112, 137, 159, 249, 325, 340; metapsychology, 31 If.
235, 259, 331 Psychoanalysis, psychoanalytical, 285f.,
Poetics, 9, 36, 278 290f., 301 f., 304, 309, 341
Poetry, 5f., 35, 54, 60, 62, 78, 84, 87, 89, Psychoanalyst, 283, 290f., 305, 311, 316f.
98, 107, 115, 132f., 136, 138, 140, 185, Psychotherapy, 283, 290, 340f.
253, 256, 277 Psychotherapist, 338f.
374 Indexes
Public, 64, 87, 289, 335 23, 33,40,48f., 258-60, 264f., 271, 275,
278, 280, 287, 291, 302
Rational. See Reasonable Romantics, xi, 4, 7f., 48, 72, 324
Reading, to read, 4, 10, 28, 30f., 45, 55-59, Rule(s), ix, 2, 4, 6, 10, 12, 20f., 31, 56f.,
84, 87, 111, 126, 134, 159, 178, 183, 59-64, 70, 73, 76, 80, 86f., 89, 91, 96,
190-96,202-9, 21 If., 215, 262, 275, 278 103, 118, 127, 133, 135, 149, 161, 163f.,
Reader, x, 7, 9f., 15, 28, 30f., 33, 39, 55f., 168, 182, 194, 243, 260, 276, 295-98,
58-61, 69f., 78-81, 83f., 87, 92, 166, 300-4, 306, 308f., 318, 332, 344. See
187, 189, 195, 202, 204-6, 208, 228, also Interpretation; Understanding
233, 255, 266. See also Audience;
Listener Scholar, 2f., 5, 20, 62f., 90, 143, 197f.,
Reason (rationality), 6f., 9, 16, 20, 24, 35, 274, 298
54, 57, 60,62-64, 66,68f., 79,99, 107f., Scholarly, 12, 80, 118, 132, 288f.
I l l , 119, 238, 257f., 260-65, 287, 314, Scholarship, 46, 63, 161f., 278, 289; classi-
316, 342 cal, 20, 50, 72, 132
Reasonable (rational), 5-8, 18, 54f., 58, 62, Scholastic, 5, 62
89, 286, 296, 298-301, 314-17, 336 Science(s),3,9, 11, 19, 27f., 41^4,46, 54,
Reconstruction, to reconstruct, 2, 21, 83, 63, 73, 99, 110-12, 115, 123, 140, 143,
93, 97, 124, 129, 158, 164, 205, 208, 151, 154f., 161-63, 165, 178, 182, 199,
258, 263, 270, 298, 304f., 312, 318, 338 214, 226, 238f., 244, 249, 252, 256,
Recreate, 18, 78, 159, 161f., 164, 268. See 259f., 263, 265, 276, 279-82, 286-90,
also Reexperience; Relive 299-301, 321, 323-27, 329-32, 334,
Reexperience, 159f., 338 336-38, 340; of beauty ("beautiful sci-
Reference, referent, refer, 30, 88f., 107, ences"), 5, 7, 8; behavioral, 324, 339f.;
cultural, xi, 15, 46f., 324-26, 330-34,
136, 141^3, 163, 170, 181, 190, 198,
336, 338f., 343f.; empirical, 286, 324;
200, 205, 224, 232, 270, 276f., 280, 287,
experiential, experimental, 41, 110, 321;
290, 304, 306, 308, 311-13, 322, 336f.
hermeneutical, 285, 331-34, 336; histori-
Reflection, to reflect, reflective, 7, 10, 17,
cal, 12f., 16, 23, 46, 120, 161, 243f.,
39,45,70,73,83,94,99, 101, 116, 12
259f., 272, 289, 326, 328-29, 331, 333f.;
139, 168, 181, 248, 253, 258, 260, 2 human, ix-x, 6, 12f., 15-17, 21, 23-25,
271, 275f., 278, 280-88, 290f., 294, 298 27-29, 32, 34f., 38, 40, 42-47, 99, 148,
300, 302, 311, 317, 323, 337, 342f. 152, 166, 215, 241, 256, 265-68, 275,
Reformation, 2, 161, 245, 261, 277 280f., 283, 298, 320, 340f.; natural, x,
Religion, 13, 122, 133, 155, 178, 243, 24, 16, 24, 42, 44, 46, 118, 148, 246, 24,
253, 258f., 274 25If., 258, 260, 266f., 289, 299, 32,
Religious, 128, 133, 137, 141, 160f., 253, 323-326, 328-30, 333, 339f.; philologi-
257, 259, 262, 331, 337 cal, 20, 132, 289; social, ix-x, 13, 23
Relive, 159-62,164. See also Reexperience; 27, 32, 38^5, 148, 165, 256, 276, 280
Recreate 286, 289f., 293, 298, 320, 327, 339f.
Renaissance, 2f., 44, 323 Scientific, 24, 29, 44, 46, 84, 94, 107, 12
Report, 55f. See also Account 133, 143, 145, 188f., 193, 198, 200, 202
Revelation, 9, 62f., 254f. 205f., 225f., 252, 262, 265f., 268f., 272,
Rhetoric, 5f., 12, 54, 62, 74, 76, 256, 27, 275f., 279-81, 288, 290, 298-301, 31
276-80, 282, 288, 294, 296f., 299. 320f., 323, 326, 329-37, 341
Rhetorical, 2, 5,20, 72, 74, 277, 279f., 296, Scientism, 324
299 Scientist, 42, 289, 321-23, 329f., 340
Roman (noun and adj.), 2, 58, 62, 104, 12 Scientistic, 299, 312, 336, 340
134 Scientistics, 321, 324, 339
Romanticism, romantic, 6, 9-11, 13, 19f., Sense, 4, 14, 32, 34, 41, 57, 78, 86-88, 93,
Indexes 375
102, 108, 110-12, 121, 124, 135, 137, Speaker, llf., 14, 16, 28, 56, 74f., 78, 82,
139, 141, 144f., 149, 166, 168-74, 176, 100-3, 135, 137f., 153, 172f., 175, 186,
178-86, 188f., 198f., 201f., 211, 218f., 195, 198, 278, 280, 294-98, 303, 306f.,
220, 228, 242-44, 248, 250-54, 278, 318, 344. See also Author; Poet; Speak-
283, 311, 338; allegorical, 139, 141; ana- ing; Speech; Writer
gogical, 139; fourfold, 139; fulfilling Spectator, 157, 193, 246, 249. See also
acts, 174, 182-84; giving, conferring Audience; Listener; Public; Reader
acts, 173f., 176, 179f.; grammatical, 143, Speech(es), 5f., 8, 55-61, 75, 80, 91, 135,
201; literal, 3, 139^1, 143; moral, 139f.; 278
mystical, 139. See also Meaning; Sig- Speech (human), 10f., 12f., 20, 35, 39, 45,
nificance 74f., 77, 98-104, 140, 166, 171f., 174,
Sentence, 4, 28, 57, 61, 84, 87, 91-93, 181, 196, 198f., 234, 237, 277, 279, 282,
154-56, 164, 178, 180, 191, 193, 197, 294, 296, 299-302, 308f., 332; common,
200-10, 212, 227f., 231, 238. See also ordinary, 77, 170, 172f., 178; parts of,
Assertion; Clause; Proposition; State- 82, 91, 93, 170. See also Language
ment Standpoint, 46, 136, 245, 262, 267, 269-71,
Sign(s), 20, 56, 59, 80, 92, 109, 120, 166f., 322, 330. See also Perspective; Viewpoint
170-74, 176, 178, 180-86, 194f., 199, State of mind, 6, 19, 26, 106, 108, 153, 159,
210, 262, 308, 322, 323 215f., 220, 233-35, 238
Significance, 29, 31, 37, 77-79, 102, 128, Statement, 1, 7, 10, 35, 38, 56, 61, 68, 74,
134-36, 141f., 154f., 160, 162, 214f., 76f., 81, 83, 87, 91-93, 97, 127, 143,
219, 221, 224, 232, 239, 245f., 269f., 145f., 172, 175, 180, 184, 232, 269, 277,
274, 279, 298, 305, 309, 342. See also 293, 295f., 299, 318, 329. See also Asser-
Meaning; Sense tion; Proposition; Sentence
Signify, 11, 34, 45, 88, 102, 109, 135, 140-
States of affairs, 31, 46, 129, 167f., 170,
42, 152, 154, 156, 206f., 212, 216, 219,
177, 191f., 199, 201f., 205, 207f., 212,
220, 223, 229-31, 234f., 238f., 308
296, 326
Social, 18,25,42f.,46,98, lOlf., 104, 115,
Story, 7f., 55, 59, 67f., 69, 71, 78, 105,
148, 155, 164, 199, 244, 274, 279, 281-
127, 202, 252. See also Account; De-
87, 290f., 294, 299, 303, 316f., 337,
scription; History; Narrative; Report
339f., 341
Stratum, 192f., 196, 204, 208, 212
Society, 14f., 24,42,44,46,49, 112f., 119,
245, 259-61, 274, 281, 284, 287, 319, "Structuralism," structuralist, x, 23, 31
341 Structure, 1, 13, 28-31, 33-36, 38, 67, 84,
Sociological, 28, 274, 283, 291, 293, 337, 104, 110, 116f., 153, 155, 163, 185,
339f. 189f., 192, 200-3, 206, 208-12, 215,
Sociologist, 40, 42, 290 217, 219, 222, 224, 226, 228f., 231f.,
Sociology, ix, 24, 26, 29f., 32, 37, 42, 45, 236, 238, 258, 274f., 281, 285, 295-97,
249, 275f., 282, 290, 325 300f., 305f., 31 If., 314-16, 340, 342,
Source, 7, 19, 40, 78, 84f., 95, 127, 137, 344
148, 257, 261-63, 273, 329, 331 Style, 9f., 92f., 95, 109, 137, 139, 155, 243,
Space, 88f., 92, 111, 113, 116, 119, 130, 278, 289
179, 300, 307f., 322, 331, 338 Subjectivity, subjective, 17f., 29, 42, 76f.,
Speaking, to speak, xi, 9-11, 14, 19, 20f., 82-84, 93, 99, 101, 104, 108, 133, 136,
35,41,73-77, 80f., 87, 89, 102, 121-23, 138f., 144f., 147, 162, 168, 246, 261,
126f., 137, 168, 172-74, 183, 195, 199, 269, 287, 307-9, 323, 328
211, 229, 233, 237, 245-47, 250-54, Symbol, 20, 134f., 140, 180, 253, 294, 297,
270f., 277f., 295, 297f., 307, 329; act of, 300f., 303-6, 308-11, 318
lOf., 74f., 77. See also Language; Speech; Symbolic, 9, 13, 140f., 159, 172, 181-83,
Writing 236, 298, 304, 308
376 Indexes
Technological, 130, 322f., 331, 336f., 340 51, 72, 117, 256, 287f., 319f., 324f.,
Technology, 249, 323 342f
Temporality, 34, 149f., 220, 322. See also Translation, to translate, 1, 3, 118, 203,
Time 244, 275, 280, 299, 300, 305, 310
Text, ix-xi, 1-3, 5, 7, 9, 10-12, 22, 27, Truth, 4, 15, 19, 23, 38f., 41f., 52, 60, 65,
29-31, 36f., 41, 45-47, 58, 61-63, 66, 70, 78, 80, 87, 102, 105f., 107, 109,
72f., 77, 81-88, 90, 92, 94-97, 132, 135, lllf., 114, 117, 123, 145f., 152, 162,
161, 194, 197-99, 202-6, 209, 212, 183, 186, 228, 25If., 254, 257f., 262-64,
242-45, 247f., 257,262, 270, 272, 275f., 268, 270-75, 277-80, 282-85, 299,
278f., 303, 309, 331, 334f., 337, 339, 313f., 316-19, 333, 335, 343; historical,
344 4, 15, 106f., 123, 144, 147
Theologian(s), ix-x, 4, 12, 18, 54, 97, 214, Type, typical, 19, 31, 55f., 59-61, 65, 67,
241, 288 70, 77, 80, 86, 91f., 96, 99f., 138, 148,
Theological, 2, 18, 36f., 85, 123, 160, 241, 156, 158, 163, 188f., 192-94, 196, 201f.,
248, 253, 278 209, 249, 297, 310, 323, 327, 340
Theology, ix, 5, 32, 36f., 46, 54, 62f., 72,
124, 139f., 148, 241, 325 Uncertainty, uncertain, 42, 57, 89, 105f.,
Theory, ix, 5, 9, 12f., 15-18, 23-26, 29f., 124, 138, 145f., 156f., 281. See also
40,42f., 45f., 48f., 51f., 60,63f., 90, 99, Certainty
125, 132f., 137, 143, 148, 154, 161, 166, Unconscious, 21, 73, 83, 87, 133, 139, 182,
181, 187, 197, 199, 207, 210f., 214, 230, 196, 250, 283, 290, 298, 311, 318, 339
259, 275-77, 281, 290f., 299-301, 312, Understandable, 56-58, 238, 244^6, 250,
318, 320, 332, 341f., 344; critical, 39f., 275, 283, 294, 300, 305, 328, 337, 339,
42f.; of hermeneutics, hermeneutic, 6f., 341, 343. See also Intelligibility
17, 20, 22f., 31, 49, 74, 86, 132, 134, Understanding, to understand, x-xi, 1-3, 5,
166, 278, 290f., 328; of knowledge: see 7-22, 24f., 27-29, 31-35, 37, 39f., 42-
epistemology; of science, scientific, 202, 45, 47, 49, 52, 54, 56, 58, 61-65, 70, 73,
321, 323f., 326, 331, 336-38, 340 75f., 79-83, 87-92, 94-96, 100-3, 110,
Thinking, thought, xi, 3, 6, 9f., 12, 16f., 112, 114, 119, 121, 123, 125-30,
22f., 28, 33, 36, 38, 43f., 48, 56-58, 132-37, 139-42, 144, 147-49, 151-58,
63f., 67, 73-77, 79, 82f., 91f., 94f., 97, 161-63, 172f., 178, 180f., 183-86, 188,
99f., 102, 121, 123, 132-34, 140f., 150- 190-92, 195, 197, 199, 202-7, 209f.,
53, 162, 167, 171f., 179-81, 184, 199, 212, 215-26, 228, 230f., 233-38, 243-
202f., 205f., 208, 219, 242, 252f., 256, 48, 250-52, 254, 257f., 261-63, 265,
259, 263, 269, 272, 276, 281, 287, 293, 267f., 270-75, 277-87, 290f., 295-97,
300, 310, 322, 344. See also Speaking; 301-4, 307, 309-17, 321, 324-27, 329-
Writing 36, 338-43; act of, process of, 9f., 14, 22,
Time, 88, 92, 103, 108f., I l l , 113, 116, 34, 38,40, 74, 122, 160, 162, 166, 195f.,
119, 122, 128-31, 141, 149, 150f., 153, 202, 233, 269, 273, 282, 326; art of, 12,
163, 249, 295, 300, 307f., 338. See also 21f., 27, 73-75, 270, 276-78, 294, 298,
Temporality 301; complete, correct, full, perfect, 5f.,
Tradition, ix-xi, 2, 19f., 25, 37, 39-44, 46, 8f., 19, 22, 45, 55, 56-59, 61f., 95, 125,
106, 135, 142-45, 161, 215, 219, 242, 138, 179, 211; concept of, 36, 38f., 44,
256-58, 260-80, 282-84, 286f., 290, 48, 53; elementary (forms of), 14, 25, 34,
295, 297, 302, 311, 313f., 316f., 320, 154-59, 163; forms of, 35, 154-57;
331, 333-37, 339, 345 higher, complex (forms of), 25, 34, 154,
Tragedian, 95, 97 156-59; historical; 15, 17-19, 22, 39,
Tragedy, 114, 132, 141 123, 128, 161, 244-46, 270
Transcendent, 160, 197, 244, 253 Unintelligibility, unintelligible, 57, 61, 136,
Transcendental, 9f., 14, 32, 34, 42-45, 49, 200, 276, 237, 284, 295, 302-5, 310, 313
Indexe 377
Unity, 9, 28, 82, 87-89, 94, 96, 100, 102, 141f., 144, 147, 151, 157f., 163f., 166,
114, 128, 149, 15 If., 155f., 167, 169f., 194, 202-5, 212. See also Circle; Part;
176, 192, 196, 212, 217, 244, 260, 266, Unity
338, 342. See also Circle; Whole and its Work(s), 4, 6, 8, lOff., 14, 18, 21f., 24, 28,
parts 31, 33, 41f., 55-58, 60-63, 68, 77, 82,
Utterance, to utter, 5-7, 10f., 13-14,26,29, 84, 90, 92f., 95-97, 106f., 131, 134-39,
121f., 138, 171, 211, 236-38, 270, 333, 141-43, 155, 158f., 187-89, 191-98,
335. See also Expression; Life-expres- 205, 209, 214, 266, 268, 279, 287f.,
sion; Language; Speech; Writing 290f., 293, 303; of art, 7, 9, 31, 134, 136,
154, 187-93, 195, 197, 205, 267f.; lit-
Valid,4,46, 135, 169, 189f., 230, 252, 257, erary, 4, 14, 23, 28, 30f., 41, 52, 143,
270, 301, 306, 317, 321, 333 159, 187-96, 202-13, 337; scientific,
Validity, to validate, validation, x, 22, 24, 188f., 193, 205f., 209
29, 131, 146, 149, 153, 162, 190, 230, World, 19, 23f., 29f., 33f., 63-65, 79, 87,
233, 246, 257-59, 264, 276, 279, 281, 105, 107, 112, 116f., 119f., 123-26,
286-88, 290, 301, 315, 317, 322f., 330, 152f., 155, 161, 164, 202, 206f, 211,
333, 336 215-19, 221, 223-25, 229, 237-39, 249,
Value, to value, 22, 82, 124, 130, 133, 251, 253f., 260, 271, 273-76, 279, 284,
143f., 149, 151, 155, 158, 164, 189f., 286-88, 290, 299, 301,306-10, 321-25,
193, 209, 225, 259, 261, 267, 272, 281, 328f., 334, 337-39, 342, 344; history,
310, 327f., 330, 332 17f., 49, 112-15, 287; mind-constructed,
Verification, to verify, 50, 61, 85, 125, 127, of the mind, 149, 151, 155-58, 160; view,
129, 210f., 252, 267, 299, 323, 326, 330, picture, 12, 14, 36, 104f., 244, 259, 309
332, 344 Writer, ix, xi, 3, 6-8, 10, 32, 39, 54, 56, 70,
Verse, 146, 181, 184, 196 81, 92f., 135f., 138, 140, 142, 154, 278f.
Verstehen. See Understanding Writing, to write, written, xi, 4-6, 10,
Viewpoint, 9, 11, 45, 66, 70, 77, 105, 128, 13-15, 21, 27, 36f., 46, 54-57, 62f., 69,
165, 210. See also Perspective; Point of 73, 79-81, 84f., 87, 90, 93-95, 98, 102,
view; Standpoint 109, 118, 126f., 127, 135, 137, 148,
160f., 171, 183, 187f., 194f., 202, 210,
Whole (cohesion, totality, unity of a work) 244, 246, 257, 273, 275, 278, 294, 329,
and its parts, 2, 8, 15f., 19, 35, 84f., 87, 334. See also Speaking; Speech
92, 94, 103-9, 112-14, 118, 122, 126,
Index of Persons
Bohmer, H., 129 296, 299, 313, 315, 316, 317, 333, 334,
Bolzano, Bernard, 197 335, 337, 339
Bratuschek, 132 Georgias, 277
Brentano, Franz, 165, 212, 286 Gervinus, G. G., 15
Buhner, R., 27 Gierulanka, Danute, 210
Buckle, Henry Thomas, 24, 118 Goethe, J. W. von, 26, 98
Buhler, Karl, 211 Goldsetzer, Lutz, 47
Bultmann, Rudolph, 36, 37, 214, 241-55 Gorgias, 138
Burckhardt, Jakob, 148 Gouhier, Henri, 279
Burke, Edmund, 258, 285 Grimm, Hermann, 267
Gundert, Hermann, 277
Cassirer, E., 13 Gundolf, 267
Castelli, Enrico, 255 Gunkel, Hermann, 243
Chladenius, Johannes Martin, 3, 4, 5-8,
54-71
Habermas, Jiirgen, 37, 38, 39, 41-43, 241,
Chladenius, Martin, 54
256, 257, 276, 280-91, 293-319
Chomsky, Noam, 298
Hallgarten, 339
Cicero, 58, 138, 278
Hamburger, Kate, 209
Clericus, Johannes, 3
Collins, W., 262 Hegel, G. W. F., 18, 25, 26, 269, 287, 288,
325, 337, 338
Heidegger, Martin, 4, 13, 15, 17, 23, 27,
Dannhauer, Konrad, 54
28, 29, 32-37, 38, 40, 42, 43, 148,
Dante, 140
214-40, 241, 256, 286, 313, 320, 328,
Darwin, Charles, 125
333
Descartes, Rene, 33, 56, 179, 261, 262,
Hempel, J., 326
263, 279
Heraclitus, 151
Dilthey, Wilhelm, 8, 13, 15, 17, 20, 23-28,
Hirsch, E. D., 22, 28
34,37,41,42, 43,44, 148-64, 214, 249,
Hoffding, H., 184
256, 260, 261, 275, 278, 320, 325, 329,
Homer, 79, 135, 139, 140
333, 338
Horace, 144
Dockhorn, Klaus, 276, 278
Horkheimer, Max, 293
Dray, William, 326, 327, 328, 329, 330
Hotomanus, Franciscus, 3
Droysen, Johann Gustav, 12, 13, 15, 16,
Hiibner, R., 119
17-20, 24, 27, 38, 44, 45, 46, 118-31,
Huet, Petrus Daniel, 3
267, 282, 329
Humboldt, Alexander von (brother of
Duns Scotus, John, 214
Wilhelm), 98
Diirer, Albrecht, 161
Humboldt, Wilhelm von, 9, 12-17, 18, 19,
32, 35, 39,40,46, 98-118
Ebeling, G., 36 Hume, David, 260
Ernesti, Johann Heinrich, 54 Humphrey, Laurentius, 3
Euripedes, 97 Husserl, Edmund, 25, 28-31, 33, 165-86,
187, 189, 191, 197, 198, 208, 214, 269,
Felde, Johannes von, 3 286, 320
Fichte, J. G., 9, 11, 14, 72, 162
Fish, Stanley, 30
Frege, G., 197 Ibsen, H., 188
Freud, Sigmund, 290, 303, 305, 312 Illyricus, Matthias Flacius, 2
Fuchs, Ernst, 36 Ingarden, Roman, 28, 30-32, 187-213
Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 4, 13, 15, 17, 32, Iser, 31
35,37-41,42,43,44,241,256-91,293, Isocrates, 277
Indexes 379
Jaspers, Karl, 263 Plato, 72, 132, 133, 139, 140, 141, 259,
Jesus, 242, 243, 254, 255 277, 279, 299
John (evangelist), 93, 242 Popper, Karl, 38, 326
Josephus, 85 Protagoras, 277