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Analytic and Continental Schools pt1

  • 作家相片: Richard Liu
    Richard Liu
  • 9月8日
  • 讀畢需時 4 分鐘
Image from The Living Philosophy, go check out his blog. https://www.thelivingphilosophy.com/p/analytic-vs-continental-philosophy
Image from The Living Philosophy, go check out his blog. https://www.thelivingphilosophy.com/p/analytic-vs-continental-philosophy

Fundamentally, the difference between analytic (or Anglo-American) schools—though the terminology doesn’t really matter—and continental schools in philosophy lies in premise. Analytic schools take the Kantian/Platonic premise on language: language either corresponds to truth or carries truth. Continental schools, however, are generally more skeptical about language’s capacity for truth: language and the concept of truth are subject to a phenomenological, structural, or post-structural construction—it is less a mirror or carrier than an object to be studied for truth. Hence, continental schools are more skeptical about language and its truth-carrying capacities. In Foucault, we find that language sometimes acts as a technology of power—the “us” and “them,” “right” and “wrong” that puppet people into supporting the ruler. In Derrida and Lacan, we find the powerlessness of language—its inability to express everything.


Much like the Catholic and Orthodox churches, the divide between analytic and continental is a division over the interpretation of an essential element, and from this difference stem so many more disagreements: intuition, methodology, style, etc. Yet, to extend this metaphor further, the division is not only normative: the culture and tradition of the two schools also played a major role (and I think the rationalist vs. empiricist history played a large part in constructing this opposition). More importantly, however, there lies a fundamental division in ideology. More precisely, the ideological traps that the schools contain.


If we take a look at the major trends in continental philosophy, it is not hard to spot that all of them—existentialism (be it Heidegger or Sartre), structuralism, poststructuralism, postmodernism—all have their political perversions, and some are even invented for a certain political end. It would be outrageous to generalize where on the political spectrum these trends reside, for even within existentialism we have a fascist version, a liberal version, a communist version, and, unsurprisingly, an anarchist version. However, it could be said that the politics of these trends are usually primarily critical. Indeed, in Heidegger we find first a critique of modern society, metaphysics, and ideology before the constructive content in his phenomenological existentialism. In Althusser and Merleau-Ponty, it is always the critique of other Marxists and Liberals that frames their attempt to construct a new Marxism for the West. Some thinkers even took criticalness to the point where it nullifies their own constructive attempts: as Saul Newman has analyzed in From Bakunin to Lacan, Foucault and Deleuze, for example, failed to conceive a place of resistance outside power for their constructive politics. Not to mention Derrida, who posed himself as solely a scholar of language separate from his politics until the publication of Specters of Marx. Perhaps the best example is the postmodern school: Baudrillard, though extensively engaging with critiques of the politics of his time, offered literally no solutions or constructive system in any of his works.


In the continental school, critique is mainly targeted at larger and broader social or academic contexts, serving a primary role in their philosophies. In the analytic school, it is quite different: Carole Pateman’s The Sexual Contract, for example, critiques Rawls and his theories only, not the broader social context. In other words, analytic philosophy targets the logic and integrity of the philosopher’s system only. Critique, then, is secondary to construction—critique serves the end of construction. After all, the philosopher must construct a system first for it to be critiqued. Indeed, pivotal figures like Locke and Hobbes are constructive: starting with the state of nature and working their way to an ultimate political system. We find Rawls and Nozick both starting with some initial state and working toward a constructive understanding of justice, distribution, and forms of society.


The analytic school acts as if it is Bob the Builder, while the continental school is that sour soy-boy who finds a problem in everything. So what? What does this have to do with ideology?

What is the difference between a builder and a cynic?


The builder trusts building—he thinks building is the solution to all problems and, most importantly, he trusts what he builds. He trusts it to stay intact, pure, and perfect for as long as he designed it to be. The cynic, on the other hand, mistrusts everything—he sees every building as a source of potential or ongoing calamity, and he never trusts anything to deliver. This is the ideological difference between analytic and continental schools—the builder and the cynic. The analytic school constructs, it builds, therefore vesting faith in systems and their capacity to deliver results. If a system falters, it must mean it requires either maintenance or reconstruction, and in most cases, maintenance is sounder than reconstruction. It is easy to see how this can pervert into a sort of conservatism: it is easy for economic minds to persuade themselves that every fault in the system is a sign of maintenance rather than a sign for complete reflection and reconstruction—the builder turned conservatist. Continental schools, on the other hand, critique, thereby removing all faith in maintenance and pushing for demolition and reconstruction. Similarly, the cynical continental school can also be perverted: a cynic, with his angst and anger, can easily see everything as festering with corruption and push for total demolition and reconstruction—the cynic turned radical.


There we get the ideological traps of the two schools: the analytic philosopher prone to the trap of conservatism and the continental prone to radicalism. This is perhaps why we find those most devoted to the analytic school turn out to be conservatists and those most devoted to the continental school turn out to be radicals.


Yet, it would be equally hasty to think the middle ground between the two schools would be a proper synthesis, as with thinking analytic philosophy = conservatism and continental = leftist radicalism. I will discuss this in the subsequent part to this blog.

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