OntheDisunityofTheoryandPractice

OntheDisunityofTheoryandPractice

byRonaldBeiner

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Source: PRAXISInternational(PRAXISInternational),issue:1/1987,pages:2534,onwww.ceeol.com.

PHILOSOPHICAL DEBATES: THEORY AND PRACTICE

ON THE DISUNITY OF THEORY AND PACTICE

Ronald Beiner It is today a fashionable assumption among many who define themselves as theorists that the primary purpose of engaging in theoretical activity is to unify theory and practice, that is, to devote oneself to developing true theories that can in some sense be put into practice or applied to the world of practice. It is further assumed that one must be either politically irresponsible or morally deficient if one does not feel constrained as a theorist to affirm the unity of theory and practice. The argument of this essay is that it is indeed possible to uphold the unity of theory and practice, but that the theoretical premises required to make this a coherent doctrine are no longer even minimally plausible, and in any case these premises would not be embraced by the large majority of those who currently uphold the doctrine. My argument is that these adherents must either go back to a more strict version of the doctrine (which would be more coherent, but which they would be likely to find unpalatable), or alternatively redefine their conception of their own activity as theorists. I I shall begin by outlining what I take to be the canonical statement of the undiluted doctrine of theory-practice unity, namely that of Lukcs in his essay What is Orthodox Marxism?, published in History and Class Consciousness.1 I will merely paraphrase Lukcs statement of the Marxian conception of unity of theory and practice. This prcis will provide us with a standard of comparison by which to measure less orthodox versions of the doctrine. For Lukcs, dialectical method turns on the question of theory and practice. Here he cites Marx: theory becomes a material force when it grips the masses.2 What must be sought is the means of converting the theory, the dialectical method, into a vehicle of revolution. Reality must come to a consciousness of itself, and this through the conscious self-understanding of a class. Theory and practice are brought into unity by means of this relation between consciousness and reality. Unity of theory and practice means for Lukcs that a class becomes both the subject and object of knowledge. The class must understand itself, and accordingly must understand society as a whole. These are the preconditions of the revolutionary function of theory. The theory of the proletariat is essentially the intellectual expression of the revolutionary process itself. Theory does nothing but arrest and make conscious each necessary step. The central problem for the dialectical method is to change reality (the object of theory). Therefore one cannot neglect the dialectical relation between subject and object in the historical process. The 25

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class which is conscious of itself as object will at the same time be the subject (or agent) of changing reality. Dialectics overcomes the separation between method and reality, thought and being. Any enumeration of facts already implies an interpretation, that is, a theory or a method. One cannot escape theory, for one cannot get at reality or the facts apart from theory. Facts are particular, theory is total; it seeks to capture the whole of social reality, seeks totality. When theory comprehends concrete totality, reality then lends itself to effective praxis. Theory is therefore understood as knowledge of the whole which in turn means knowledge of social contradictions. Both Hegel and Marx conceive theory as the self-knowledge of reality. Marx, however, reproaches Hegel for failing to overcome the duality of thought and being, theory and practice, subject and object. Thus Hegel failed in the crucial point to go beyond Kant. In Hegel, the philosopher ascends to self-knowledge only retrospectively, after the fact, rather than taking an active part in the shaping of social reality by putting self-knowledge into the active service of praxis. Marx, according to Lukcs, develops the revolutionary core of Hegels thought, but discards its residual idealism. Marxs premise is that social existence determines mens consciousness rather than the converse. In the context of dialectical theory, Lukcs says, this premise points beyond mere theory and becomes a question of praxis. The process of the self-consciousness of reality and the merging of subject and object in history comes to completion in the historical emergence of the proletariat. It was necessary for the proletariat to be born in order for social reality to become fully conscious. Reality itself becomes comprehensible with the emergence of the proletariat because for the proletariat, total knowledge of its class-situation was a vital necessity, a matter of life and death. To understand its class-situation it must understand society as a whole, and only on the basis of such understanding can it act (i.e., proletarian praxis uninformed by theory would be self-destructive, an act of class suicide). Lukcs writes: The unity of theory and practice is only the reverse side of the social and historical position of the proletariat.3 Self-knowledge for it means knowledge of the whole. The proletariat is at one and the same time the subject and object of its own knowledge. The dehumanization of the proletarian leads to theoretical consciousness of his own status, and this in turn impels him to act on the basis of his theoretical consciousness to eliminate this dehumanization. This is the basic model of how the Marxist unity of theory and praxis works. One cannot separate knowledge and action; one cannot distinguish between dialectical materialist knowledge of reality on the one hand, and the struggle of the proletariat on the other. The proletariat, according to Lukcs, is the conscious subject of total social reality. The rise and evolution of the proletariats knowledge and its actual rise and evolution in the course of history are just the two different sides of the same real process. This, I would say, is the key: Remove the proletariat as the agent of theory and the whole idea of a unity of theory and praxis becomes extremely abstract unless one is prepared to posit, say, a class of organized technocrats who would take over

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the role of a self-conscious subject or agent of history not a cheerful prospect!).4 This idea can only be rendered concrete by assuming a class which will realize the theory through a leap of self-consciousness, a privileged insight into its own situation. Only in this way can one make sense of the idea of theory-practice unity. Lukcs castigates revisionism as the utopian dualism of subject and object, theory and practice. It opens up a gulf between the subject of an action on the one hand, and the facts on the other. This, he says, results in loss of any directive for action. Dialectical materialism, on the other hand, is the only approach to reality which can give action a direction. Comprehension of totality tells you how to act. Theory means concrete determination of the correct course of action at any given moment. The method of dialectics implies the interaction of subject and object, the unity of theory and practice, and implies that historical changes in the reality underlying our categories are the root cause of changes in thought. None of this would be intelligible at all without the proletariat as the embodiment of this dialectical knowledge. I accept, then, Lukcs statement of the fundamental conditions of a unity of theory and practice: In order to give substance to the idea of theory-practice unity, one must posit the proletariat as a universal class which both can and must come to full consciousness of itself; otherwise one is left with merely an empty slogan with no content to it. What is unacceptable in Lukcs position is the self-transparent comprehension that he actually ascribes to this class. Lukcs writes with uninhibited enthusiasm that the inherent meaning of reality shines forth with an ever more resplendent light, and that the meaning of the process is embedded ever more deeply in day-to-day events 5 This, I claim, is what is no longer credible, what bedevils the unity of theory and practice. What is Orthodox Marxism? may be taken as a classical formulation of the Marxist conception of the unity of theory and practice. Lukcs, writing in 1919, and therefore in the immediate aftermath of the Russian Revolution (and while further revolutions were still expected in Germany and elsewhere) can still conceive of the proletariat as the immediate agent of revolutionary theory. However, in the light of subsequent experience in both the capitalist and communist worlds, such a position is far more difficult to sustain, and one is likely to move toward either of two possibilities: (1) drifting into Stalinism (which was the path Lukcs himself took, at least in a qualified fashion, with all the hazards which that entailed); or (2) transforming dialectics as a positive science of society into negative dialectics, la Adorno. But with the latter alternative, one parts company with the doctrine of unity of theory and practice. When dialectics turns from a theory of totality (which it was for Lukcs) into a theory of fragmentation (as for Adorno) one must forfeit any claim for theory to provide the key to praxis. 2 Before proceeding any further, I ought to emphasize that the argument which follows should in no way be construed as against social change or in

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favour of the status quo. That the world needs changing is not in question here. The issue is what contribution theory is to make to this changing of the world. One can be a most resolute revolutionary and yet be distrustful of the doctrine of the unity of theory and practice. My thesis, roughly, is this: that theory and practice can each stand on their own two feet, that each can get on perfectly well without the other. Men or women who have not had the slightest taste of theory have succeeded in changing the world for the better. Conversely, some of the boldest and truest insights of theory have neither arisen from, nor been subsequently tested by, the experience of practice. Practice offers no guarantee whatever that one will be a better theorist, nor does theory equip one in any special way for the exertions of practice. Discussions of this issue are filled with confusion, and it will be a considerable achievement if we can succeed in picking our way through a few of these confusions. It is indeed not impossible to have a coherent notion of the unity of theory and practice, but this involves a particular concept of theory and a particular understanding of what is promised by practice, and these tend to be either discredited or no longer appealing to present-day adherents of theory-practice unity. For instance, Marx, we see, had a perfectly coherent doctrine of theory-practice unity.6 A true, objective science of society would be comprehensible to, and immediately embraced by, the true revolutionary class (the proletariat) because it would be the truest and therefore most convincing articulation of what proletarians themselves experienced in their day-to-day working life (namely, experiences of exploitation, oppression, revolutionary fervour, class solidarity, and eschatological expectations of a better society and of justice). Putting into practice this theory would be merely confirming what was already present to them in the experiences of working life. Perhaps it was a true theory of society (though false by its own criterion!), but today we know perfectly well that it was not universally embraced by proletarians as the natural articulation of their real lifeexperience. Consequently, an equally coherent, but quite different doctrine of the unity of theory and practice was formulated by Lenin. Since the revolutionary class was unable or unwilling to embrace spontaneously the theory that was intended as the objective articulation of the situation of that class, intellectuals and theoreticians (in the Party) must interpret the correct theory on behalf of the class which would eventually put the theory into practice. Practice would be directed from above, through the vehicle of theoreticians of the Party. To be sure, this doctrine remedied the patent deficiencies of Marxs idea of theory, but at a cost. It is not at all clear that practice had any compliment paid to it by being subordinated to theory. At the same time it became progressively harder to distinguish theory from the theoreticians tasks of strategy, propaganda, and the enforcement of the political line. The line was blurred between theorist and tactician. In Marx, theory and practice fell into a natural harmony (by the postulation of a revolutionary class that would unproblematically mediate the two). In Lenin, this becomes a forced harmony, to the dubious credit of both theory and practice. When I speak of the unity of theory and practice, I use these terms in the

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sense which they have taken on within the Marxist tradition. Practice does not mean how I conduct my life (in some vague, unspecified sense). It means collective action in order to change the world, that is, transform social arrangements. It does not mean being concerned with change or wishing the world were a better place; it means doing things (joining a trade union, or forming a pressure group, organizing meetings, picketing, delivering speeches, distributing pamphlets, collecting petitions, writing tracts or polemics, participating in demonstrations, beseeching elected representatives, running for local council, leading marches, etc.) for the purpose of effecting such change. No doubt, there are senses in which it is unexceptional to assert a unity of theory and practice. For instance: if one has come to the theoretical conclusion that the highest way of life is a life devoted to philosophical reflection, it would be peculiar if this did not inform ones life-practice (in this sense, Spinozas On the Improvement of the Understanding is an appeal for unity of theory and practice). Obviously, there can be no denying the validity of theory-practice unity in this case, where no more than the conduct of the individual theorist within his own life-sphere is at stake. On the other hand this is not an understanding of theory or practice that is likely to recommend itself to Marxist adherents of theory-practice unity. Similarly, if the reasoning of the philosopher leads him to the conclusion that morality is to be rationally preferred to immorality, little is ventured in allowing that this theoretical judgment should be incorporated in his practical conduct. But again, it is all too easy to concede the point on these grounds (where no collective praxis is involved), while doing little to satisfy those who are most insistent upon the unity of theory and praxis. One often encounters intellectuals on the Left who wish to import the idea of theory and practice, as it originally appeared in Marx, into contemporary discussions, but without the substantive theoretical commitments which, in Marxs own case, gave this notion its sense. This involves either rendering the idea of practice so vacuous that virtually anything would count as theorypractice unity, or pretending that Marxs postulation of a harmony between the scientific studies of the theorist and the revolutionary praxis of the masses could continue to operate in a practical and theoretical context utterly different than his. In the former case, the notion is unproblematical because the whole tiling has been made vacuous; in the latter, what is problematical is evaded by surreptitious means. At best, these ideas are confused; at worst, dishonest. Theory-practice unity is a vestige, a left-over.| To render practice in any way dependent upon theory is to place the theorist in a privileged position within the world of practice. Thus it is the unity of theory and practice rather than their separation which leads to elitism (as, for instance, in Lenin). To respect the separation between the realms of theory and practice goes with a democratic conception of practice: One does not need to be a theorist to see what is required in the way of action; all one needs is the ordinary common sense and good judgment of a simple citizen. There is no guarantee that the theorist will be more discerning, more foresightful, or more sensitive to dangers and opportunities in the practical

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sphere. Nor does he have special responsibilities in this sphere; he has the same responsibilities as every other responsible citizen, no more, no less. And in exercising those responsibilities he is acting not in his capacity as a theorist, but as a citizen, like any other. In the world of political practice, we are all in it together; we all have responsibilities as citizens the theorist cannot claim a privileged position, by way either of special burdens or of privileged insight. What he sees (for purposes of action) should be visible to all, and where there is an obligation to act, it is his citizenship which obliges him, not his calling as a theorist. In this way, the separation of theory and practice shows itself to be the proper stance of a radical democrat.7 Intellectual partisans of democracy ought to confront the possibility that democracy even needs defending against the intellectuals. For, unlike the world of practice, that of theory is hardly conducive to democracy. The world of theory can only be governed by an aristocracy of the spirit. There is nothing elitist in this, it is a mere observation of fact, obvious to anyone who has had acquaintance with this world and has had direct experience of the peculiar joys and sufferings of theory. Theory presupposes a certain training, self-imposed discipline, capacity for sustained effort, as well as a native endowment which does not harmonize well with the doctrine of equality. One can only get around this if one believes, as Marx did, in the discovery of a scientific doctrine which can be universally disseminated and universally understood and applied. Failing that, it would be better to respect the principle of equality in the sphere of practice by denying to the theorist any special privileges or prerogatives beyond those which he shares with his fellow citizens. Theory, in the sense of sustained reflection upon society in order to render ones understanding as comprehensive and as coherent as possible, is for the few; practice is for the many. Denial of this fact leads one either into transforming theory into ideology to make it accessible to the masses, or subordinating men of practice to men of theory in the guise of Party theoreticians. Both routes lead to a debasement of theory as well as a bastardization of action. The most decisive evidence for this claim is offered by the history of Marxism itself. Suppose (and this is a massive supposition) that one can theorize the social situation with sufficient specificity to generate specific prescriptions for practice. How will these prescriptions be made available to the masses who will act on the basis of the analysis (that is, engage in theoretically-informed praxis)? It seems to me that there are two conceivable alternatives: (1) The analysis of the social situation will be of sufficient simplicity and lucidity to be comprehensible to those who will be the agents of change, and compelling enough in its self-evidency to secure unanimity among those who will be called upon to act in realizing and confirming the theory. Or (2) Interpretation of the social situation will be left in the hands of a theoretical elite, who will direct mass praxis, and where the masses whose social praxis is directed from above will take it on trust that the interpretation is the correct one and that the theory effectively represents the best interests of the class concerned. The first alternative is Marxs; the second, Lenins. Neither is very convincing today. The social situation in the modern world of the present is so overwhelmingly

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complex that no theory offered (if it is genuine theory and not merely blatant ideology) will be able to command general assent, even assuming universal comprehension, which in turn can only be expected if one presupposes a highly literate, self-conscious class (e.g., middle-class feminists). On the other hand, after the Bolshevist and other experiences of this century, the revolutionary class is unlikely to trust their fate to an elite whose analysis they are not privy to and whose premises they do not fully understand. Unity of theory and practice can be postulated only on the assumption of an analysis having been made available, of which at least the premises are universally shared among those who are the potential agents of the theory, and who further share the common will to realize its objectives. The only way to satisfy this requirement will be through a massive simplification of social reality. Only a childish theory, or a theory which treated the agents of its realization as children who could be instructed on how to act in their specific situation, could hope to unify theory and practice. Admittedly, theory can have indirect and long-term repercussions for practice, by transforming ways of thought within society in either subtle or unmistakeable ways. Such is the achievement of a Bacon, a Hobbes, a Machiavelli, Rousseau, Marx, Nietzsche, Freud. It is the mark of an exceptional thinker. But this is not something which will emerge from the efforts of the likes of you or I or the vast majority of our contemporaries. In any case, there is no reason to expect any necessary or even reliable correlation between the profundity of an idea and its impact in the practical world. Fashion and ideology determine this, not the inner truth of what is propagated.8 What hierarchy of intellect dictates the popularity of a Marcuse or McLuhan or Buckminster Fuller or Dr. Spock or E. F. Schumacher or the latest trend of psychoanalysis? These are not the most creative or penetrating minds of the epoch, yet they become the gurus, they influence peoples ways of thinking (and by extension, ways of acting). To claim that one engages in theory to affect practice in this way is sheer pretension. Sometimes ideas have this effect as an unintended by-product; but to have this as ones specific aim betokens charlatanry rather than committed theorizing. Sometimes the argument is made that there must be a unity of theory and practice because all practice is based on thought, and all thought is a kind of theory, and therefore the more adequate ones thought (ones theory), the more valid ones practice. This line of thought strikes me as very faulty. Of course, thought is integral to practice, and thought can be more or less adequate to reality. But it does not follow that efficacy of practice lies in a unity of theory and practice. Theory gives one a general perspective on the world: Things are not right with us. But what to do about it is another matter. In a given set of circumstances, which of the things listed above under the rubric of doing things is the right or most effective thing to do? And what guarantees that I, as a theorist, will be any more acute in my choice or more effective in its carrying-out than any other potential actor? It is all contingent (contingent, for instance, that E. P. Thompson happens to be a theorist). My general sense that things are not right does not carry me very far. Perhaps, another cannot articulate so precisely the sources of his malaise;

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but he or she can make up for this lack in other respects: superior organizing skill, capacity for leadership, above-average prudence or political astuteness, genius for pamphleteering, inborn oratorical powers, or plain energy. These things count for more than theory in answering the question what is to be done?. Can we really consider any thought about politics, however muddled and unreflecting, as a kind of theory of as implicitly theoretical? Surely it is absurd to admit that any set of thoughts or beliefs determining conduct counts automatically as theory (or even as latent or nascent theory). One would then have to say, for instance, that the alteration of human conduct during the past twenty years owing to the influence of the Rolling Stones (an influence which exceeds that of any thinker or philosophy!) constitutes an application of theory to practice.9 A thought or belief becomes theoretical only when it is pursued to its foundations, and the occasion for this pursuit requires a very special context governed by its own norms and standards. What I understand by theory is an intensely disciplined activity of the mind that will spare no pains in its quest for coherence, refinement, and intellectual cogency (and, of course, truth). Hegel was speaking quite literally when he referred, in the preface to the Phenomenology, to the exertion of the concept: conceptual and theoretical inquiry requires concerted mental effort that is an extremely rare and prized achievement. Embracing a conclusion is easy but disentangling and following through the theoretical arguments that warrant the conclusion can be horrendously difficult. The conditions of this unique activity include not only leisure but also a special ability as well as the extra-special inclination to put this ability to work. Theoretical inquiry goes well beyond what is required for the mundane purposes of life, and it is entirely right that the ordinary practical man should be somewhat bewildered by such an expenditure of energy and labour in dedication to the odd enterprise of pure understanding for its own sake. We see exemplified in the work of Habermas, for instance, the compulsion to assert that theory must issue in a more adequate practice. Here is a case of a social theory which does offer a rich and important theoretical analysis of declining capitalism, but which shackles itself unnecessarily with the impossible duty of contributing to a better social praxis. As Richard Rorty remarks, It is precisely Habermass mistake to think that everything will be fine once we bring theory and practice together by, of all things, having a theory about practice.10 The belief in a convergence of theory and practice, however, is not confined to Marxist or neo-Marxist thinkers. Certain followers of Leo Strauss, for instance, assume, no less implausibly, that there is a direct relationship between philosophical texts and political reality, and that immediate practical struggles can be conducted in the arena of intellectual commitments. They, too, are mistaken in failing to conceive a far more mediated relation between the intellectual and the practical, or between text and world.11 In rejecting the notion of a unity of theory and practice, I would urge a return to the classical, and in particular Aristotelian, concept of the autonomy of the practical sphere of life vis-a-vis the life of theory. According to this

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classical conception, theory and praxis each form a distinct and self-sustaining bios or way of life. As Gadamer points out in commenting on the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle held that ethics is only a theoretical enterprise and that anything said by way of a theoretic description of the forms of right living can be at best of little help when it comes to the concrete application to the human experience of life.12 The ethical virtues are described merely in outline.13 Aristotles theoretical analyses of the practical good for human beings do not intend to invade the proper place of practically reasonable decisions, which are required of the individual in any given situation. All his sketchy descriptions of the typical are rather to be understood as oriented towards such a concretization.14 The study of ethics, according to the classical conception, does not tell one what to do or furnish maxims for conduct; rather, it forms the kind of person one is making one, for instance, more reflective, more discriminating, more attentive and it is only in this indirect way that it has an influence upon practice. The desire for unity of theory and practice can have many sources: naivety, vanity, dishonesty, misplaced optimism, but the most common of all is bad conscience for devoting ones energies to understanding for its own sake in a world in urgent need of change. To the man of practice one may say: Change the world, by all means! But dont wait for theory to provide the springboard. It would be a very long wait. Neither should theorists demand of their theories confirmation in practice before admitting their claim to truth. In a world refractory to theory, our truths would wait an eternity for confirmation.15 In short, we honour theory and practice most by granting each its independence. Theory must be justified for its own sake, for otherwise we would be totally at a loss to excuse so privileged and issueless an activity. If salvation rested upon the possibility of winning-over whole societies to the truth of certain theoretical propositions, our situation would indeed be hopeless. Hope resides in the unprompted action of the common citizenry.
NOTES
Georg Lukcs, What is Orthodox Marxism?, in History and Class Consciousness, trans. Rodney Livingston (London: Merlin Press, 1971), pp. 1-26. 2. Ibid., p. 2 (quoted from Marx, The Critique of Hegels Philosophy of Right, in Early Writings, ed. T. B. Bottomore (London, 1963), p. 52). 3. Lukcs, p. 20. 4. My insistence on a strict boundary between theory and practice is not a logical one, but a merely pragmatic one. In a sense, theory already is heavily enmeshed in practice, namely in those technicist or technocratic understandings of politics that are widely effectual in contemporary society. This is the thrust of Habermas critique of Lwith, who embraces the classical conception of theory (see Habermas, Philosophical-Political Profiles, trans. Frederick G. Lawrence (Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press, 1983), pp. 91, 95-96). To this extent, theory must at least serve the negative function if restraining or repulsing the theoretical praxis that is already realized in the technicist understanding of society. 5. Lukcs, p. 23. 6. I am presenting a reading of Marx as seen from the vantage point of Lukcs. However it is not even clear that Marx himself was really concerned with uniting theory and practice. It is possible to argue 1.

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that the Theses on Feuerbach indicate that Marx, along with many other modern thinkers, sought to give supremacy to practice at the expense of theory. In any case, the categories needed to illuminate the practical world may be immanent to the practical world (that is, available without the intervention of philosophy). When Marx says that philosophers have been at fault for merely interpreting the world rather than changing it, it is not clear whether this means that philosophy should henceforth assume a special responsibility for changing the world, or, to the contrary, that philosophy should be forsaken in favour of more purely practical modes of cognition. For a similar argument, see Roberto Mangabeira Unger, Knowledge and Politics (New York, The Free Press, 1975), p. 257. I fear that Nietzsche was not far from the truth when he observed: Without blind disciples the influence of a man and his work has never yet become great. To help a doctrine to victory often means only so to mix it with stupidity that the weight of the latter carries off also the victory for the former. (Human, All-Too-Human, part I, no. 122). Nietzsches own influence upon twentieth-century practice certainly tends to bear out the truth of his dictum. Kenneth Minogue, in a recent review article, rightly castigates the use of the term theory as a catch-all covering just about everything people think about their social life. The problem with such a catch-all expression is that it cannot distinguish between genuine theoretical attempts to understand, and the kinds of theoretical construction advanced by politicians and ideologists. Relativism on the Banks of the Isis, Government and Opposition, vol. 18, no. 3, Summer, 1983, p. 361). A Discussion, Review of Metaphysics, vol. XXXIV, no. 1, pp. 51-52. In his 1971 Introduction to Theory and Practice (trans. John Viertel, (London: Heinemann, 1974), pp. 1-40: Some Difficulties in the Attempt to Link Theory and Praxis), Habermas renounces any straightforward (Lukcsian) application of theory to practice, yet he still remains firmly committed to a theory of society conceived with a practical intent (p. 3), or a conception of theory as action-oriented. (p. 2) More recently, however, Habermas has adopted a much more modest view of what theory can contribute to practice: I prefer a weak concept of moral theory ... it should explain and justify the moral point of view, and nothing more. Deontic, cognitive and universal moral theories in the Kantian tradition are theories of justice, which must leave the question of the good life unanswered. They are typically restricted to the question of the justification of norms and actions. They have no answer to the question of how justified norms can be applied to specific situations and how moral insights can be realized. In short, one should not place excessive demands on moral theory, but leave something over for social theory, and the major part for the participants themselves whether it be their moral discourses or their good sense. This merely advocatory role sets narrow limits to theory. (A PhilosophicoPolitical Profile, New Left Review, no. 151, May/June 1985, p. 91. There seems to me more truth in Gadamers insistence upon the necessary modesty of the philosopher. To be sure, one should be as ambitious as can be in ones theorizing. But, as Gadamer notes, delineation of the ideal is not a guide for action but a guide for reflection (Reason in the Age of Science, trans. Frederick G. Lawrence, (Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press, 1981), p. 82). A theory of literature does not instruct one in the writing of novels. Why, then, should a theory of politics instruct one in the enacting of political practice? Just as a theory of literature teaches one to appreciate works of literature rather than to compose them, so a theory of politics should teach one how to appreciate political events. Gadamer, p. 112. Ibid., p. 48. Ibid., pp. 133-134. Charles Taylor is of course correct when he describes our society as in one sense very theory-prone, and even theory-drenched (Political Theory and Practice, in Social Theory and Political Practice, ed. Christopher Lloyd (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983), p. 81). But rather than assuming that this demonstrates the efficacy of theory, the proper question to raise should be whether this instead exhibits the political malady of a culture that hungers for theoretical instruction, that is, for scientific solutions to its problems (cf. note 4 above).

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12. 13. 14. 15.