The New, the Different and the Very Old

Author(s): Judith Schlanger

Source: SubStance, Vol. 19, No. 2/3, Issue 62/63: Special Issue: Thought and Novation (1990),
pp. 168-176
Published by: University of Wisconsin Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3684677 .
Accessed: 14/08/2011 21:57

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .
http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of
content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms
of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

University of Wisconsin Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to
SubStance.

http://www.jstor.org
The New, the Different and the Very Old

Judith Schlanger

I AM GOINGTO SPEAKabout the past, the previous, the same; about

borrowing, recycling and transmitting; about redundancy, inheritance and
survival. I am going to look at the heuristic functions of what is already
here, around us or in the cultural past, trying to show how our selective,
partial memory is a condition for the production of thought, and how the
products of thought may become, in turn, part of our selective, partial
memory.

"Organic Totality" as a Metaphoric Cluster

Twenty years ago, I had just written a book exploring the overwhelm-
ing importance of the conceptual cluster of "organic totality" in the 19th
century, and in relation to the birth of the social sciences-the disciplinary
reshuffling of the humanities.
"Organic totality" could not be reduced to a conceptor an idea, not
even to a self-contained intuitive scheme. Massive, all-pervasive and
polymorphous, it was a kind of notional and historical "cluster," with
several cores, contiguous connections and unclear limits. It was therefore
complex, in the sense that it could not be brought down to one conceptual
center or to a single intuition. What was pregnant and successful
throughout the 19th century was really a conceptualconstellation;a cluster of
meanings, assertions and values, of partial descriptions and possible ap-
plications. Sometimes the cluster was connected in a logical way, but some-
times the connection was via some strong accidental contiguity. Some
aspects were linked together simply because they had been used together,
either for a very long time, or maybe just once, but very strikingly.
A cluster of notions, terms, arguments, relations and values does not
have the economical unity of a system,but its plasticity is not shapeless. It
may be redundant or lacunary, or both, but there are limits to its distor-
tion-limits which are not predictable, but which become clear when they

SubStanceN? 62/63, 1990 168

The New, the
The New, the Different &the
Different & VeryOld
the Very Old 169
169

are tampered with. The constraints here are not systematic constraints, but
rhetorical constraints.
Of course, the rhetoric of "the organism" has always been with us.
"Organic" terminology has been linked to political thought, cosmology,
aesthetics or criticism-if not exactly all along, at least from the beginning,
and more than once. Basically, these are old metaphors-old historical
imagery. But because this imagery is a cultural constant, and belongs to
our permanent cultural reserve, its use is conjunctional, and different at
different times.
For instance, allusionsdo not always refer to the same organism, to the
same level or to the same aspects of natural or spiritual life, to the same
knowledge about life forms. What can be said plausibly about life forms
does not always remain constant; it has an historical dimension. Further,
analogiesare used to describe a varietyof things-different kinds or levels of
reality, or different conceptual fields, and each application is linked to its
historical context.
Moreover, the "point" of an argument is not always the same. The
analogies that pertain to the rhetorics of organic form and organic totality
do not always support the same positions. (This does not mean that the
rhetorical cluster is neutral, but rather that it is always heavily value-
laden.) What is more, the same rhetorical pool can endorse contradictory
arguments in the same period. For instance, the Romantic notion of "or-
ganism" can provide a basis for progressive or authoritarianpolitics; it can
express the importance of the individual or the pre-eminence of the whole;
it can help illustrate an optimistic view of the historical process, or a
pessimistic attitude towards time as leading to degeneration and death.
Thus this huge, unwieldy cluster varies at each point in its natural imagery,
in its applications (social, abstract or others), and also in its meaning and
signification.
When such a cluster of analogies is predominant, it is not simply
cumulative-a "collection" of possible assertions. Each argument does not
stand alone, relying on its own strength, but is "loaded" by what has
already been said, and by what is being said all around. Each use of the
analogical cluster, or of some aspect of it, reflects its previous and current
uses. This gives any particular argument both "fuzziness" and authority.
Thus organic totality is, first of all, a "language" that enables one to
speak with a feeling of rational legitimacy. At its peak, organic totality
provided the obvious conceptual and verbal tools to deal with almost
anything. As a central metaphor in intellectual discourse, it shaped every-
thing it touched.
170
170 Judith
Judith Schianger
Schlanger

Such a "language" answers a very basic need-the need for orienta-

tion-how to name, to articulate,to conceptualize,to connect-be it at the
narrow cognitivelevel of abstract discourse, or at more common, everyday
levels, where we try to take our bearings in an ocean of opinions. At any
level, one has to speakin order to think.Not only in order to communicate
(and communication is not an "outside" dimension of thought), but more
basically, in order to know one own's mind, in order to think one own's
thoughts. It is obvious that a great "notional grid"-culturally pregnant
and rationally successful-fulfills one of our most basic needs, providing
us with the means to go ahead and speak. We need roads and roadsigns to
mark the way and map the landscape-whether to redesign the landscape,
to make room for something as yet unknown, to bring in a new
problematic, or simply to add one more redundant version of the current
paradigm.
Grids such as the language of organic totality are metaphoricalmodels;
what they show is not the strength of an intuition, but the transfer of
authority and "success." In order to understand their application, one does
not have to assume any morphological analogy, any special "likeness" or
"similarity"between organic form and what the metaphor is supposed to
describe. What makes the use of organic categories relevant? Certainly not
the intuitive grasp of a similarity between the model and something else.
Since it is a verbalmodel,there is no point in looking for a likenessbetween
the metaphorical complex and its applications; obviously, a language does
not look like what it expresses. (With this observation, we will bypass an
enormous load of professional discussion about models, metaphors, and
the way they work.)
So why is the use of organic categories sometimes received as relevant,
illuminating and obvious, and sometimes rejected as arbitraryor counter-
productive? This depends on what happens between the rational interests
or argumentative needs which are seeking definition and expression, and
the authority of the current model of "success."Cognitive or intellectual or
rational "success" tends to spread beyond its original field, to become
generalized, borrowed and distorted; it tends to originate metaphorical
models.
These models are used at very different levels, whether at "high"
levels such as philosophical or scientific theory, or at the "lower" levels of
ideology and opinion. In the 19th century, the metaphoric language of
TheNew,
The New, the
the Different
Different & the
the Very
VeryOld
Old 171
171

organic totality provided, at the same time, cognitive categories, polemical

categories and heuristic categories-that is, categories dealing with new
domains of knowledge, with programmatic disciplines, with the first
blueprints of theoretical anticipation.
I became interested in this heuristic function of metaphor, which was
highly visible in a broad range of 19th-century discourse-on society, the
State, history, civilization, linguistics, law, literature, the work of art, moral
life, and more. In order to create new knowledge, in order to investigate
new intellectual territory, or to win "plausibility" for a new disciplinary
field or a different theoretical approach, or even in order to make room for
some mental space that does not yet exist, and to put it on the map-we
grope with words that are not new.
How could it be otherwise? In the intellectual world, what is "novel"
happens between two kinds of boundaries. It cannot be merely tautologi-
cal, by definition; neither can it be radically unheard of and entirely uncon-
nected. An utterance that was cut off from all previous inquiry, from all
recognizable problematics and notions, would be meaningless to us-we
would call it irrational. It would not even come to our professional atten-
tion. We have to rely on the connectivenatureof languagein order to mark
out a possible landscape, and we have to use accepted or successful tools in
order to make sense.
The categories and systems that enable us to speak and think are
already given. But we don't use them passively; in fact, we can do a
number of things. We can borrow elements from successful contemporary
"languages" (like the notional language of systems); we can resort to our
cultural memory, and bring out some recurring patterns (such as organic
form, or the world as a theater),or some outdated but unforgotten set of
notions (like atoms). We can also try to introduce new terms, whether by
translating them from some foreign languages (Latin,Greek, Bororo),or by
investing a familiar term with new meanings and values (bricolage,car-
naval). All these tactics make use of previous verbal stuff; this verbal sub-
stance comes to us already "loaded" with the patina of its previous
meanings, and shaped up to a point by its previous arguments. We have to
make do with recycled tools, not quite adequate, not quite clear cut, and so
heavily memory-laden that they speak more than we know, and they
speak before we do.
172
172 Judith
Judith Schianger
Schlanger

Metaphorical Models and Intellectual Innovation

Obviously, a lot of questions stayed with me after that book. Here was
a major example of the way metaphorical models work-their function is
above all heuristic. They enable us to speak about what we don't yet
know-which is the beginning of conceptual knowledge. (The first draft of
conceptual knowledge is quite often incautiously wordy.) Models beget
intellectual discourse. But in such a "messy" way! They give birth to all
kinds and qualities of discourse, mixing together the cognitively valid, the
trivial, the outdated and the fruitful. What does this imply for our general
intellectual procedure? How are we to understand the situation of discur-
sive knowledge, if we look at it from its untidy birth?
What I was trying to focus on was the dimension of thought.If we use
very broad definitions at this point, mentioning limits rather than contents,
we can say that the general aims of thought are cognitive,but its range is
not restricted to any set of disciplines, nor does any discipline sit in juris-
diction over thought, since it includes not only theory, but also historical
and philological knowledge, as well as the reflective and essayist dimen-
sions of other modes. Thought, in this context, is both the huge body of
discursive knowledge, and the activityof discourseaiming at knowledge. So
that this verbal, discursive dimension is, as we know, both private and
social; it is something we do and experience by ourselves, as well as a
cultural, historical body of past knowledge, shared problems and trans-
mitted works.
From the point of view of thought, the problem of intellectual innova-
tion is not that someone, from time to time, brings forth a great cognitive
discovery, a great theoretical invention, a strikingly novel important crea-
tive work. Innovative thought is not something extraordinary;it is not rare,
it is not the exclusive domain of famous revolutions,it does not happen only
to a few exceptional minds, and it is not necessarily a stunning intuitive
revelation. It concerns all of us, inasmuch as we think- if to think is at the
very least to produce non-tautological meaning, to bring forth a difference,
however small or trite or purely subjective-something that was not there
before.
The general question would be, "How is it possible to think something
new?" I don't mean, "How do we do that?"-which is what the psychol-
ogy of creativity deals with. My question is, "How is it possible at all, and
what does it imply about our intellectual situation?" How are we to under-
stand the fact that it is possible to conceive and say and convey something
TheNew,
The New, the Different& the
the Different VeryOld
the Very Old 173
173

else, something new, that can be relevantfor knowledge, that can even be
fruitful, leading to more than it shows.
This would seem quite implausible, were it not for the fact that it
happens all the time. And since it is a main feature of our intellectual
world, the next question is, "What do we see from it?" What can we
understand about thoughtfrom the standpoint of innovation?

Innovative Thought and Risk-Taking

Here we come to the much less abstract level of the historical and
cultural landscape. Once the discursive process is completed, what we
have are discursive works pertaining to knowledge. Obviously, these
thoughtworks are not all innovative, or not all innovative in the same way
and to the same degree. Some works, for instance, may focus on just one
aspect of a prevailing paradigm, and perhaps bring out a small variation in
the same territory. This is what a cautious, not ground-breaking PhD
would set about to do. Indeed, with huge variations in problematic scale
and scope, this goes for the bulk of professional work. Which is, of course,
legitimate, since knowledge requires detailed mapping, and it is obviously
wise to try to get cognitive returns for minimal rational risks. I think we
should be able to face the fact that most of what we do is only slightly
novel, and rightly so, in the sense that it works within accepted
frameworks.
But since these very frameworks were constructed at some point in
time, and when they appeared were "new" and "different,"we know that
individual variation can be much wider or deeper in scope, and, if ac-
cepted, it can lead to a shift of vision, and maybe to a new discursive
system. This can happen when the situation is stuck, everybody is in a fix,
and an outsider brings in another approach that overcomes the previous
difficulty, scattering it along different lines, or dismissing it in the urgency
of a more arresting problematic. (This is what everybody hopes will hap-
pen with literary theory, where nothing has been disproved, of course, but
everybody is bored.) But even when there is no perceived need for solu-
tions, new theoretical intuitions and unsolicited theories are always trying
to assert themselves, and to command intellectual attention.
Intellectual innovation is generally opened by a singular body of
work. (This is even more visible outside of knowledge, for instance in
literature or art, where an innovative work can create a "type" that opens
a whole range of new works.) Individual thoughtworks that speak in a
174 JudithSchianger
Judith Schlanger

different way or about something else have to build their own authority.
What is clear at first glance is that they are not about what everybody is
interested in right now. They may seem frustratingly alien to the intellec-
tual mainstream. It would be unrealistic to suppose that if these works are
interesting, they will attract attention and recognition. The problem is that
they have to be "accepted" in order to become visible and interesting.
What happens to such intellectual works that do not answer the cognitive
expectations of their potential public? This is a very broad question, and a
fascinating one. I will explore very briefly a few possibilities.
Novelty in knowledgemust satisfy more constraints than do other
forms of innovation. (If a new musical band changes some of the rules, it
does not have to justify this; if the audience likes it, their acceptance will
bridge the gap, and eventually the band may even become "mainstream,"
a model for other bands to imitate.) But with a cognitive work, it is not
enough to be original and different. (Except in literary criticism, where, as
Wilfrid Sheed puts it, critical theories are mostly admired for their looks
and audacity.) Usually, a discursive work of knowledge must show that its
difference is not arbitraryor insignificant, and that the disruption it entails
is relevant.It is not always necessary for a new position to discuss explicitly
what it displaces-one can skip the polemical connection, especially in the
humanities. But what should be clear is that the change is relevant to
knowledge, and that the whole upheaval of rejection, reinterpretation and
redistribution brings strong intellectual benefits.
Thus cognitive works can "fail" in several ways. They can fail, like
other kinds of works, because they are not good enough-because they are
weak or mediocre. They are also liable to "professional" failure in their
field, if they are inadequate or simply wrong. But another kind of failure,
the most radical kind, is rational rejection.
I'm referring to texts that claim to deal with knowledge, but which the
establishment calls "marginal"or "deviant." These are the expoundings of
theories that we expel from accepted knowledge, and even from the realm
of reason. We call them "strange,"or "meaningless," "crank,"or worse. I
think we must take into account these kinds of productions, and their
rejection, in order to look at the limits of relevantinvention.
Consider the situation of the "long-term"thinker, who is engaged in a
very differentintellectual work. Since he is the only one to see what he
anticipates, how can he know whether he is alone because he is the first, or
because there is something wrong with his judgment, which makes him
professionally and rationally unacceptable? How is he to understand the
nature of the gap, and know whether he is innovativeor insane?If there
The New, the
The New, the Different
Different& the
the Very Old
Very Old 175
175

were a methodfor thinking both creatively and correctly, then we could

evaluate our thinking. But since there seems to be no heuristic method to
describe how intellectual invention takes place, all we can rely on in intel-
lectual loneliness is circumstantial reassurance. If what we think is truly
different,then there is a real risk-of failure, error, rejection and, at the
bottom, irrationality and insanity.

The Fate of "Outdated" Innovation

But what about success? What about an innovative work that is wel-
comed and integrated, and becomes part of the next prevailing intellectual
language? A cognitive work is usually valid for a limited time. Not because
knowledge is temporary, but because the problematic "frame of meaning"
is historical. As languages and verbal models change, so do "relevant"
notions and "interesting" categories. A work becomes outdated. Its ques-
tions seem obsolete, obscure, inadequate, and usually it is not read
anymore. Thus knowledge goes on, but its works stay behind.
A great many cognitive works disappear, of course, but the interesting
point is that a number of works continue to exist even beyond their cogni-
tive value. They remain in our intellectual and cultural memory, in this
strange reservoir of outdated theories, disproved facts, discarded data and
overvalued names and words. In their case, survival is linked to status.This
is where "status" is fate, in terms of impact, role, existence, disappearance,
reappearance, and survival. To survive beyond direct cognitive validity is
to receive some kind of cultural status.
For example, some thoughtworks become "classics," endowed with
canonical authority and an enduring relevance. When this happens, their
cognitive function and their relationship to knowledge undergo profound
modifications. The work is no longer transitive or transparent;it does not
give "direct"information. It is not a tool for understanding, but something
that should be understood. It requires specialized knowledge more than it
gives topical knowledge. The body of work of Aristotle, for instance,
stands like an opaque monument for specialists to study. In this sense, the
canonical has ceased to produceknowledge, but still occasionsknowledge, as
it becomes the subject matter of historical studies.
"Classic" thoughtworks have a number of cultural functions. For in-
stance, they are supposed to have a "formative"influence. This is the core
of the humanistic view of education, which relies on the impact of classic
works of all kinds, including thoughtworks, on the young reader. The idea
176
176 JudithSchianger
Judith Schlanger

is that classic texts, whatever their cognitivevalue, are inexhaustibly fruitful

on account of their great reflectivevalue, so that everybody should be
brought in contact with them, and preferably at a young age. Besides this
formative and reflective role, classic thoughtworks can also play a paradig-
matic role, as models of the "right" intellectual venture-the "type" of
what can be hoped for and what one should do. Newton, for instance, has
been for a long time, and in many domains, the model of rational success.
There is another status that can preserve obsolete thought-aesthetic
status. Aesthetic status enables us to not throwaway all that we discard;to
preserve part of the outdated. In order to do this, we have to attribute some
value to what has been knowledge, but does not belong to knowledge
anymore. Of outdated theories, dispelled beliefs and abandoned magical
ideas, we like to say that they are "beautiful," "fascinating," "quaint," a
"lovely read," "sheer poetry." That is, we give them our aestheticapprecia-
tion, forgetting sometimes that they were serious cognitive propositions in
their time. We give them aesthetic value in order to keep them with us
somehow, as part of our cultural memory.
The point here is that we needthe past. We need this strange selective
past, full of remnants and relics of knowledge. We need to keep with us
some of the historical productions of thought; we need notions, names and
works. We need them in order to wonder, compare, transfer, name and
initiate. We need them in order to ask meaningful questions. This is why
the history of thought is a prime concern for thought, and the reorganiza-
tion and interpretation of the intellectual past is one of the major dimen-
sions of intellectual innovation.
TheHebrewUniversity,Jerusalem