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Josiah Lee Auspitz

The Wasp Leaves the Bottle:
Charles Sanders Peirce

Originally published in The American Scholar, vol.63, No. 4, Autumn, 1994, pp. 602-618. The present version is a digital copy of the original, and it appears here with the permission of the author. The page numbers of the original are interpolated into the present version at the appropriate location (enclosed in brackets) to make uniformity in scholarly reference possible.
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      In 1983, a review of the first two volumes of the new chronological edition of the Peirce papers noted that at Peirce's alma mater, Harvard, his name had appeared in the catalogue of philosophy courses only once in the previous five years, buried in fine print with the usual clutch of "American pragmatists." During the same period, two courses a year were usually devoted to the work of Wittgenstein, early and late.

      In the intervening decade, the canon has changed little with respect to Wittgenstein, who in 1993 shared with Plato, Aristotle, Kant, and Hegel the distinction of being twice featured in the titles of Harvard philosophy courses. But Peirce is inching up. And when his name, too, at last breaks into the bold print of American university course catalogues, that outcome will owe much to the long-term institutional support evident in the volumes and series listed at the end of this essay.

      Three of the books contain selections that introduce Peirce to serious students of philosophy (joining similar anthologies published in the past decade in German, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, Romanian, and Spanish). Another three are scholarly editions of Peirce's writings, by theme and chronology. Five more collect by topic some of the three hundred essays from the 1989 Peirce Sesquicentennial Congress, at which world-renowned professors lent their luster to the devoted scholars who, working in unfashionable places, have been the mainstay of the Peirce revival. Finally, there are three secondary works of more general interest -- the first full-length biography, a recent paperback edition of the best introductory survey, and a collection of historical essays setting Peirce in his nineteenth-century context -- and a selection of six monographs from the more than forty booklength titles of the past seven years.

      In all, the expanding bookshelf gives evidence that Peircean studies have completed an important decade in a growing movement of rediscovery. Taken together, the materials go far to establish Charles Sanders Peirce as the classic American philosopher -- a difficult, ranging, and rigorous philosophical mind, as important as any that the English-speaking world has produced.

     The point, moreover, at which Peirce diverges radically from the more celebrated Wittgenstein may now be working to Peirce's advantage. Wittgenstein posed the issue in the opening pages of his Blue Book, a collection of his lecture notes from the early 1930s. Here he departed from his usually restrained style to disparage the "craving for generality" that, as he saw it, had led philosophy astray. His disdain set a cleansing tone of scrupulous modesty in an age of ideological excess. It seemed to his followers to be vindicated in a new departure -- the case method, focused not on metaphysical isms but on the minutious examination of both ordinary language and the "language games" that shape experience:

If we say thinking is essentially operating with signs, the first question you might ask is: "What are signs?"-- Instead of giving any kind of general answer to this question, I shall propose to you to look closely at particular cases which we should call "operating with signs." (My italics)
     Peirce, by contrast, tackled the question "What are signs?" head on, not because he was less fastidious than Wittgenstein in his craving for generality, but because his was a mind of greater speculative power. More rigorously trained than Wittgenstein as both mathematician and experimental scientist, and incomparably better read in the history of logic and philosophy, Peirce saw the case method as posing a problem for signs in general.

     To recognize something as a case, an instance, always raised the question "a case of what?" As Peirce saw it, any sign can be viewed simultaneously in both general and particular aspects. His distinction between "token" and "type" went to the heart of the problem. (The young Cambridge logician F. P. Ramsey had in fact commended it to Wittgenstein in a 1923 review of the Tractatus). A mark on a piece of paper may be viewed both as a physical inscription (and as such a particular instance or "token") and as a representation of more general attributes shared by any inscription of that "type." Further, the token-type distinction, now canonical among logicians, is but a partial rendering of one of many triadic divisions in a ramified theory of signs that Peirce developed from the mid-1860s until his death in 1914.

     For Peirce actual signs are never univocal. It is in their general character that they may be construed variably and analyzed modally. Of Peirce's own divisions, icon-index-symbol is the most commonly used. Santayana took it up the moment he heard Peirce expound it, and the linguist Roman Jakobson, when he came upon it in late career, saw it as opening "new, urgent and far-reaching vistas to the science of language." In a computer age we are quick to see it as a modal classification with no pure referents in everyday experience.

     Thus, as a portrait, Gainsborough's "Blue Boy" is an "icon," a self-sufficient sign that represents its object by resemblance. But we can also view it as an "index," pointing to something beyond itself that can be confirmed with collateral evidence, as when a physician sees in the pallor of Blue Boy's skin evidence that Gainsborough's model suffered from a nutritional deficiency. Or we might take it as a "symbol" -- of youth, of British eighteenth century portraiture, of the spirit of an age, or any other generality it may represent by convention or habit of association. And since the various modal classes need not exclude each other, a symbol may be further analyzed under the token-type distinction (a sign modality which is both symbol and token being in Peirce's lexicon a "replica").

     Icon-index-symbol, tone-token-type, and the five dozen other Peircean classificatory terms are not grammatical or linguistic groupings but elements in a table of the modalities of signification. They are markers in a continuum of "semeiosis" (Peirce's punctilious transliteration of the Greek for what Wittgenstein called "operating with signs," or Zeichenhandeln.)

     Peirce's categories proceed from a formal, three-way view of the semiotic relationship, in which a "sign" mediates between an "object" and an "interpretant," the interpreting effect that the sign produces upon, for example, a human mind. In exploring the myriad relations and gradations among these three correlates, Peirce's modalities make of every sign-event a moment pregnant with infinite possibility.

     In so doing, they permit a more widely ranging phenomenology than that limited to the givens of actual experience. As constructs, they are judged not by the correspondence of each modality to some particular fact or utterance but by the explanatory power of the theory of signs as a whole. Like the elements of the periodic table, Peirce's sign-modalities occur in experience mainly in combination. And, like the periodic table, they are meant to cover every possible compound. One of their advantages over natural language is that they can account for sciences of discovery. Because they are not limited to what exists, they are able, at least in principle, to accommodate whatever might be. And by including modal terms to explain, criticize, and justify the persistence of commonsense ideas, the Peircean system both encourages flexibility and guards against a merely frivolous deconstruction of experience.

     Peirce, one of the founders of modern symbolic logic, thus introduces into the philosophy of language the premeditated artificiality that constitutes at once the power and limitation of modern science. Science leaps out of common sense into a rigorously defined language that it uses to model aspects of experience. Peirce pursues this habit to a philosophically conscious and self-critical level.

     As Hegel, relatively early in the develop[604]ment of modern historiography, produced a philosophy that took wing from historical consciousness, Peirce, at the first stirrings of the American research university, became the philosopher par excellence to bring the reality posited by modern science to the point of reunion with experience as a whole.

     Whether we wish, as protagonists, to give the fullest play to a scientific worldview or, as critical philosophers, to understand its conditionality, Peirce's work as a whole -- independent of its still unexhausted technical achievements -- is an indispensable port of call. And because he was profoundly learned in ancient and medieval logic, Peirce gives us a philosophy in the grand tradition, one that is genuinely post- rather than anti-Aristotelian.

     Whence the headnote of Joseph Brent's pioneering biography, taken from one of Peirce's portentously self-referential manuscript pages:

[I intend] to make a philosophy like that of Aristotle, that is to say, to outline a theory so comprehensive that, for a long time to come, the entire work of human reason, in philosophy of every school and kind, in mathematics, in psychology, in physical science, in history, in sociology, and in whatever other department there may be, shall appear as the filling up of its details.

     Brent's narrative leans heavily on such direct quotations from unpublished manuscripts and epistolary material, so that one can appreciate that Brent's work was seriously retarded by the refusal of the Harvard Philosophy Department circa 1958 to grant him access to four boxes of Peirce family letters. When he gained knowledge of some of the contents from other archival sources -- and quoted from them in a 1960 doctoral dissertation in history at UCLA -- he incurred, as he reports it, the wrath of Harvard. He believes that this hostility more than any professional judgment on the quality of his work accounted for the failure of academic presses to publish his dissertation in the 1960s.

      Happily, Brent's preface reports that in 1989 Indiana University Press paid him a small advance to bring up to date and reconsider the doctoral work of thirty years before. Without incident, Harvard gave permission to quote from its full collection, and the shroud of secrecy surrounding Peirce's personal life, maintained by surviving relatives as well as a decorous Harvard department, was officially broken.

      The family archive does in fact contain dirt on Peirce, but the real scandal is more institutional than personal. It lies in the conduct of scientific rivals, who seized upon Peirce's weaknesses to deny him preferment, employment, and grants. Brent documents what others have also observed: that after the death of Peirce's main patron, his father Benjamin Peirce, Jr., a group closed in upon him; the movement was orchestrated at crucial junctures by Simon Newcomb, the noted astronomer who succeeded Peirce's father as the most influential American scientist of his generation. Such eminences as the university presidents Eliot of Harvard, Gilman of Johns Hopkins, and Butler of Columbia were among Charles Peirce's leading detractors. Though they sometimes claimed to be protecting innocent students from Peirce's allegedly baneful moral influence, they also took care to deny him opportunities for guest lectures and pure research that involved no student contact.

      Peirce's family and publishing connections, his admitted brilliance, and his own and his wife's inherited income, until they lost it in the crash of 1893, were such that he could not be eliminated entirely from the intellectual scene. His supporters included William James, Josiah Royce, John Dewey, a few loyal students he had inspired in his four years at Johns Hopkins, some college classmates, and several important editors, officials, publishers, and men of means: Garrison of the Nation, Carus of the Monist, Cattell of Popular Science Monthly, Baldwin of the Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology, Smith of the Century Dictionary, Langley of the Smithsonian, the publishers Putnam and Plimpton, the millionaires Pinchot and Morrison.

     These admirers often came through in a pinch with a writing commission, a few lectures, a loan, or a direct subsidy. Charles's elder brother James Mills Peirce, a Harvard mathematics professor and dean of the graduate school, intervened to straighten out his financial affairs, and his younger brother Herbert, a career diplomat, used his Washington connections as well as those of Senator (and cousin) Henry Cabot Lodge on Charles's behalf.

     But in the small university world of his day, [605] Peirce's enemies controlled the heights. When Peirce was forty-five, Daniel C. Gilman abruptly dismissed him from Johns Hopkins upon receiving testimony that Peirce had lived with his second wife before the completion of the legal divorce from his first. After that Peirce was repeatedly blackballed from further university positions. When, in his mid-fifties, he began to reach, as philosophers often do, the full range of his powers, there was no institution to underwrite him, no body of students to take direct guidance from him.

      Peirce's most enraging flaw was that he often seemed not to care. He was dedicated to making his mind a vessel through which reality might shine, and this gave him a childlike insouciance that was both a provocation and an easy target for academics bent on the more mundane aspects of their calling.

      Charles had been raised in a hothouse environment in which intellectual excellence was prized above all else. His father, aunt, uncles, and family friends led lives largely devoted to science and mathematics. The elder Peirce was so completely concentrated upon intellectual achievement that, in the midst of the Civil War, he condoned slavery if used, as in ancient Greece, to free an elite for scientific inquiry. He began training his son early in mathematical games and in discrimination among the senses. When Charles was eleven he wrote "A History of Chemistry." At sixteen, father and son began regular readings in Kant's Critique of Pure Reason; at eighteen Charles worked with his father's sister on an English translation of the section on the Transcendental Analytic.

     Both at Harvard and nationally, the Peirce circle was at the center of a movement dedicated to the proposition that intellectual excellence alone should determine appointments to scientific and scholarly positions. This meritocratic view, always of limited appeal, reflected a devotion to inquiry that became the guiding principle of Charles Peirce's life. It explains both the singleness of purpose and the resilience that enabled him to surmount many tribulations.

     In charting Peirce's troubles, Brent does not flinch from the lugubrious or the sensational. He documents the facial neuralgia that caused Peirce excruciating physical pain for most of his life, the resulting addiction to narcotics, the violent outbursts, the periods of near madness, the (hetero-) sexual excesses, the financial crises, the petty mendacities and thefts. On slimmer evidence, Brent speculates on Peirce as a wife beater and on the earlier career of Peirce's second wife, Juliette, as a French courtesan. And, on Peirce's authority, he presents the philosopher's left-handedness as a disability comparable to neuralgia (Peirce attributed the incomprehensibility of his work to his "left-brained," diagrammatic way of thinking).

     Brent is at his archival best, however, in tracing the bureaucratic proceedings that resulted in Peirce being severed from Johns Hopkins, ousted from the Coast and Geodetic Survey, and finally, denied an early Carnegie grant despite the support of the president of the United States, the secretary of war, a raft of the leading philosophers and editors, and Andrew Carnegie himself. At almost every turn Brent shows how Peirce's self-absorption and consequent obtuseness to his effect on others conspired to undercut his own cause.

     As a consolation, Peirce, at age sixty-four, received the honor from the Harvard Corporation of allowing private funds raised by William James to be passed through it to pay him for a series of lectures -- his one fleeting academic berth in all the years after the Johns Hopkins dismissal. The talks were given in Sever Hall, which stands on the site of the house where Peirce grew up (a bronze plaque noting this fact now graces the entry of the building).

     Ever proving himself beholden to no one, Peirce opened the lectures with what must have appeared as chaffingly condescending remarks about the lively but mistaken pragmatism of William James, his most reliable friend and benefactor, who had generously credited Peirce with originating the philosophical doctrine. Peirce saw Jamesian pragmatism as exaggerating practicality into a metaphysical doctrine parading as an anti-metaphysics. (James, as Peirce saw it, took practical effect as a criterion of truth rather than as a razor for clarifying meaning, and Peirce would soon rename his own view "pragmaticism," the better to distinguish it from that of James.)

     James reacted by firing off an uncharacteristically furious letter, not quoted by Brent, calling Peirce "a monster of desultory intellect . . . without even any intellectual residuum from his work that can be called a finished construction, only 'suggestions' and a begging old [606] age." James subsequently discouraged publication of the Sever Hall lectures, but continued to stand by Peirce financially, raising a fund that assisted him in the mendicant, unusually productive final decade of his life.

     In assessing Peirce as a philosopher, Brent has profited from the thirty years since his dissertation. Not only has the accumulating opinion on Peirce's philosophy helped to enrich the accepted view of it, but Brent modifies his earlier, callow thesis of a direct relation between Peirce's temperament and the allegedly failed architectonic of the Peircean system. Instead, he gives us, in his final chapter, a moving gloss on Peirce's own description of himself as a 'wasp in a bottle," buzzing furiously in a glass cage formed by his own self-conception and the reaction of others to it.

     Brent portrays Peirce as spurred by the ruins of his private life and scholarly career to a contrite, peculiarly scientific piety, in which the theoretical gift of hypothesis becomes man's best stab at entering into the mind of God. Brent argues also that the philosopher's belated attempt at a "moral reconstruction of pragmatism" should be read as a "direct result of Peirce's recognition of his own folly and the remorse consequent upon it."

     A single-volume biography has understandable difficulty doing justice to Peirce's philosophical development. For this, one turns to the Peircean corpus itself and to the expanding literature of re-engagement with it. Notwithstanding Peirce's fame as a neglected genius, his work has always commanded the attention of serious thinkers. It can be argued that recognition of his importance has been retarded because major writers have been moved by his work to pursue, not a full and fair understanding of Peirce, but ambitious and sometimes original lines of their own.

     Peirce's papers, certainly, have not wanted for distinguished editors. At his death in 1914, the manuscript materials not previously published were enough to fill seventy-five 500-page volumes of the sort now produced by Indiana University Press. Harvard paid his widow $250 for the lot. Josiah Royce took charge of the editing in the two years before his own death in 1916. In the early 1920s, the editorial task passed to Charles Irving Lewis, who had been brought to Harvard partly for this purpose after his Survey of Symbolic Logic (1918) proclaimed Peirce's contribution, on the basis of the published materials alone, to have been "the most considerable of any up to his time, with the doubtful exception of Boole."

     Lewis spent two years immersed in the manuscripts and wrote an editorial plan before giving the project up to pursue his own work in modal logic. In the 1920s the fundraising efforts of a student of James and Royce, Morris Raphael Cohen of the City College of New York, enabled Harvard to employ as editors two junior faculty members Charles Hartshorne and Paul Weiss, who were themselves to become important professors of philosophy.

     Their first volume, published in 1931, cast Peirce's work into a mold for philosophy propounded by Alfred North Whitehead in his Gifford Lectures of 1926-27 (published as Process and Reality in 1929), in which a philosophical system was seen as generated recursively by a few fundamental metaphysical categories. Peirce seemed to fit this model precisely. From his triadic divisions of signs to his metaphysical categories of Firstness, Secondness, and Thirdness, triadicity recurred throughout his writings. To lay bare the architectonic of his philosophy, the editors began their collection with a volume devoted to Peirce's writings on the categories, without regard to chronology, to suggest that all else was generated from them. By 1935 Harvard University Press had issued the first six volumes of an eventual eight-volume Collected Papers, organized thematically.

     The Hartshorne-Weiss edition revolutionized the accepted view of Peirce. Previous to it even Peirce's staunchest admirers considered his work fragmentary and undeveloped. The "tragedy" of Peirce was thought to be that his erratic temperament and unfavorable circumstances had conspired to deprive the world of any connected piece of his reasoning. Even Cohen, who had compiled the first Peirce bibliography (1916) and had edited a well-selected anthology of a dozen of Peirce's published essays (1923), had placed him among the lonely pioneers of philosophy whose main influence was in the fruitful suggestions they gave to others.

      The Harvard Collected Papers, by contrast, established Peirce as the author of a major philosophical system. But it also set him up for a fall. It seemed to have him claiming too much. [608] A wave of contrarian scholarship arose showing the Peircean "system" to be quaint, or failed, or no single system at all but two incipient systems in conflict with each other, or a series of three or four of them each developing out of the collapse of the previous one. The author of the most thorough and influential of these critical works merely reflected academic common sense circa 1965 when he wrote, in the first issue of the quarterly Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society, that "so much of Peirce's writing is so bizarre that the reader clings for dear life to those few doctrines which, like pragmatism, have an aura of reasonableness about them."

     It was not until 1958, with the publication of the seventh and eighth volumes of the Collected Papers, edited by Arthur W. Burks and underwritten by the Rockefeller Foundation, that the scholarly apparatus to the Harvard edition included a partial chronology enabling readers to date the various excerpts. And it was not until 1967 that Richard S. Robin's annotated catalogue of the Harvard manuscript materials was published. (The editorial introduction to the recent electronic edition of the Collected Papers recommends using its search features in conjunction with the Burks and Robin bibliographies to undo the "artificial dismemberment of the Peircean corpus" in the topical arrangement of the original editors.)

     In 1973 increasing dissatisfaction with the captious cast of the secondary literature led a group of scholars from the Charles S. Peirce Society to call for a more comprehensive, critical edition of his work, chronologically arranged. Under Edward C. Moore, the founding director of the Peirce Edition Project, funds were raised from the National Science Foundation, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and (in a remarkable gesture for an out-of-state writer by a local elected body) the Indiana State Legislature. Work on the chronological edition began in 1975 on the Indianapolis campus of Indiana and Purdue universities. It took a team of scholars six years to decipher, date, collate, transcribe, select, verify, emend, and annotate manuscripts before the first critically edited volume was ready for press. After eighteen years, the fifth volume, just out, takes Peirce's writings only through the aftermath of the Johns Hopkins period.

     To hasten the dissemination of the post-Hopkins materials -- a selection of which is now projected at twenty-five further volumes -- photocopies of the full collection of dated manuscripts were early made available in open file cabinets both at the Peirce Edition Project and at the Center for the Study of Pragmaticism at Texas Tech University in Lubbock. Both the Indiana and Texas centers have other research aids that attract international visitors. The directors of both have actively promoted a range of research and study materials (most recently, The Essential Peirce, two volumes edited for convenient classroom and scholarly use by the current and past directors of the Peirce Edition Project, Nathan Houser and Christian Kloesel). As a result, the chronological edition has already given rise to a new wave of scholarship on Peirce's development.

     The doyen of this scholarly movement is Max H. Fisch, whose first contribution to the Peirce literature came in 1939. Named by the Harvard Philosophy Department in 1959 as the official biographer, Fisch set about methodically to collect all relevant archival materials. Beginning with Brent's contribution of his extensive dissertation notes, scholars added to the "Fisch Notes" -- a twenty-thousand-card collation of Peirce materials from numerous family and governmental archives -- which were made more widely available at the Indianapolis and Lubbock centers. In addition, Fisch assembled forty-nine file drawers of scholarly correspondence and offprints on Peirce and an extensive personal library, which now forms the basis of more than seven hundred linear feet of bookshelves lining the walls of the Peirce Edition Project. As Fisch proceeded, he issued strategically placed articles that illuminated aspects of Peirce's thought and milieu. His services to other scholars, however, impeded his own progress on a biography. A punctilious correspondent, he was also known (as this writer can testify) to open his office, his files, and his home for weeks at a time to visiting researchers.

     When Fisch's advancing years (he is now ninety-four) put a biography beyond his grasp, the directors of the Indiana and Texas centers, Christian Kloesel and Kenneth Laine Ketner, performed the filial act of collecting most of his important writings on Peirce under the title Peirce, Semeiotic and Pragmatism.

     A careful scholar, Fisch nevertheless had a [609] bold thesis on the origins of Peirce's pragmatism. Though Peirce was almost wholly preoccupied with science and logic, Fisch early suggested that the origins and implications of Peirce's philosophy were social. In this he followed an insight from Vico, who in Fisch's translation of him presents even logical relations as reflections upon institutionally dominant habits of thought. In an essay not reprinted in the collection, Fisch sees philosophy itself as emerging from the "critique of institutions."

     For Peirce's pragmatism the institutional and social origins are, Fisch argued, bound up with law. Peirce and James both traced the doctrine to the early 1870s in the meetings of the Cambridge Metaphysical Club. Of the six most active club members, three were lawyers. Whereas James credited Peirce with pragmatism, Peirce himself cited Nicholas St. John Green, among the founding group of professors of the Harvard Law School, as the "grandfather of pragmatism."

     Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., in his time the leading American writer on jurisprudence, was another of the active lawyers in the Cambridge Metaphysical Club, and Fisch saw in Holmes's youthful "prediction theory of law" the first application of pragmatism to the social sphere. Holmes's prediction theory defined law as what the legal system could be expected to enforce after whim and idiosyncrasy were winnowed out by successive review. This fit the pragmatic maxim as Peirce would later expound it, first in French and then in carefully convoluted English phrasing: "Consider what effects, which might conceivably have practical bearings, we conceive the object of our conception to have. Then, our conception of these effects is the whole of our conception of the object."

     Notwithstanding Holmes's antipathy to Peirce's speculative tendencies, Fisch suggested in the 1942 article that opens his collected essays that a Peircean recasting of Holmes might supply a more systematic logical ground than Holmes himself could muster.

     Fifty years later, in the midst of a self-described pragmatic movement in American law schools, few have taken up Fisch's suggestion. Among the lawyers, an attempt to fashion a Wittgensteinian pragmatism (for which Richard Rorty rather than Wittgenstein would appear to be the philosophical mentor) may have delayed a grasp of Peirce's thought. The adage attributed to Wittgenstein that "meaning is use" is often misread as a pithy substitute for Peirce's original pragmatic maxim.

      The original of Wittgenstein's remark, however, is neither pithy nor pragmatic. The words "meaning . . . is . . . use" are extracted from a much longer sentence that Wittgenstein characteristically limits to "a large class of cases -- though not for all -- in which we use the word 'meaning.'" The abridgment encourages a merely empirical inquiry into the practices of identifiable communities of interpreters. Peirce's pragmatic maxim, by contrast, is cast in a bolder spirit. It identifies meaning with conceivable practical bearings, independent of actual usage. It thus extends the community of interpreters hypothetically and indefinitely into all conceivable futures.

     Peirce's maxim is intended to make a place for the imaginative element in science -- hypothesis, the hallmark of what he called the method of abduction. Transposed into legal thought it would emphasize the vision that distinguishes disciplined jurisprudential reasoning from that of the pedestrian practitioner.

      On a factual standard of use, Holmes's prediction theory of law could be maintained without much discernment. It would merely assert -- as in fact Holmes did assert -- the doctrine that law is what those in authority can reasonably be expected to do when on good behavior. It would seek the ultimate locus of law in current professional canons, a quest with understandable appeal in the law schools. By contrast, if pragmatic meaning extends to conceivability, the circle of interpretation will be more open. A prediction theory of law must then take into account a range of conjectured futures, many of which may not accord with the profession's conventional norms. The theory might then lead -- as Holmes was indeed led -- to a supplementary doctrine of judicial restraint founded in the fallibility of the legal profession.

     A Peircean pragmatism thus shifts emphasis from the actual to the potential; by adding a greater burden of foresight, it anticipates Holmes's more mature jurisprudence. Which is what Fisch meant to suggest: that a Peircean standpoint helps to make explicit the underlying coherence in Holmes's thought in a way that eluded Holmes himself and that provides a logical basis for a reconstructed legal pragmatism.

      To repeat: Peirce's motive in providing explicitly for the free, forward play of mind was to give prominence to hypothesis in scientific discovery. Instead of stifling the bold, speculative leap, Peirce wished to find ways to encourage and discipline it. He did so out of a faith in the human capacity to guess correctly. As he saw it, the progress of science testified to a reality present in both the human mind and the order of the universe. Science did not proceed merely in small inductive increments but in imaginative theorizing in which our use of signs in their general aspects enabled us to participate in a natural order that was itself evolving toward greater generality.

     If, then, as Fisch would have it, philosophy is rooted in the critique of institutions, the relevant institution for Peirce's philosophy as a whole is modern science. Indeed, Peirce may be profitably read in terms of a double burden he placed upon himself: creating a logic for science that would also embody, through philosophical critique, the self-restraint appropriate to the limits of science as an institution.

     Recent thematic collections and secondary literature give prominence both to this dual theme and to Peirce's success in transcending it. There is, indeed, a growing scholarly consensus that Peirce advances the logic of scientific inquiry in the context of a broader philosophical criterion applicable elsewhere.

     The extent of Peirce's immersion in the science of his day is evident in his reviews in the Nation, collected and indexed in four volumes by Kenneth Laine Ketner, and in his papers, grant applications, and publishers' prospectuses in the history and practice of science, collected by Carolyn Eisele, herself a pioneering scholar on Peirce's work in science and mathematics. Peirce often earned his daily bread with such writings, or at least tried to. They show him learned in the history of science, alert to new discoveries and trends, and remarkably prescient about fruitful lines of inquiry.

     His more popular articles throw a few "sops to Cerberus," as he called the inevitable compromises in making theoretical issues accessible. Yet, since they were at times his only public medium, they often broach his most difficult ideas in deceptively fluent and abbreviated form. Viewed against the background of what Peirce was writing in his notebooks and suffering in his life, even a minor book notice may serve as a running commentary on central issues that engaged him. Especially poignant is his preoccupation with the honors and material support conducive to the flowering of scientific genius.

     The thematic collections have encouraged an increasingly respectful treatment of Peirce's main work in logical semiotic and philosophy. Instead of trying to trip him up in inconsistencies and reversals, scholars are now wont to fasten on a powerful core of interrelated conceptions that provide a standard for both assessing his development and explaining his uncanny relevance across a variety of philosophical schools and academic disciplines.

     Whether one approaches Peirce through scientific method, the pragmatic maxim, the theory of signs, his view of continuity, his work on the categories, his concepts of evolution and chance, his notions of God and love, or his logic of relations, one soon finds that each topic involves the others in a complex of ideas that he integrated with increasing mastery as he grew older.

     Several new guides to this development are now available, each with some distinctive emphasis. Christopher Hookway's Peirce (1985), recently reissued in paperback in the Arguments of the Philosophers series, has the advantage over most of the earlier surveys of following Peirce on his own terms. Though alive with interstitial criticism, it does not try to impose an overarching structure or thesis upon him. Its leitmotif is Peirce's attention to traditional philosophical questions and his determination to supersede Kant. C. F. Delaney's Science, Knowledge, and Mind addresses Peirce's philosophy of science, using Descartes as his foil and limiting the number of concepts treated in the interest of brevity and readability. Carl R. Hausman's Charles S. Peirce's Evolutionary Philosophy stresses the architectonic character of Peirce's thought. By informing a reading of the early writings with the later, more speculative work, it develops a coherent view of Peirce's project, which it compares favorably with the best current academic work.

     There is also an expanding monographic literature that reconstructs aspects of Peirce for contemporary use. In this technical realm, the strongest claims for Peirce are often the most narrowly couched. A prime example is Robert W. Burch's A Peircean Reduction Thesis: The Foundations of Topological Logic, which attempts in ten chapters an algebraic reconstruction of [611] Peirce's logic. Burch sets his terms to prove a thesis central to Peirce's thought: that all logical relations of more than three elements are reducible to triadic relations, but that triadic relations are not reducible to dyads and monads. As Peirce liked to point out, our everyday language, by distinguishing between direct and indirect objects, has a version of this logical insight built into its grammar. "John gives Mary a book" cannot be reduced to the three dyads John gives/Mary, John gives/book, and Mary/book, whereas the four elements in "John gives Mary a book and a candle" are reducible into two three-element sentences without loss of logical content.

     In the course of his demonstration, Burch argues (chapter 7) that all dyadic and monadic relations are expressible in a triadically grounded form, and (chapter 8) that the entire body of quantificational logic, which rests on a dyadic notion of identity, can be translated into a neo-Peircean system. In other words, triadic logics are richer than dyadic ones (though precisely how much richer is by no means settled, and several papers in Studies in the Logic of Charles Peirce begin to address the technical issues).

     In an eleventh, non-algebraic chapter, Burch presents some of the fruits of his construction in graphs. He takes his cue from Peirce's own graphical systems of notation, as explicated by Don D. Roberts, J. Jay Zeman, and others. He compares Peirce's achievement in combining topology and logic -- in effect, freeing logic from an algebraic notation based on movable type -- with Descartes's melding of algebra and geometry in the analytic geometry. Burch's reconstruction is so much more perspicuously expressed in a few diagrams as to persuade one that topology is indeed the natural medium for Peirce's logic of relations, and that the heuristic test will come not with further algebraic work but with computer-graphic and other imaging aids.

     The implications of Burch's argument are far-reaching. Peirce's core example of a purely triadic relation comes from semiosis, which relates object, sign, and interpretant. Peirce's approach differs from that of Saussure, the other pioneer of modern semiotic, who proposed a two-pronged view connecting the signifier and the signified. Burch's argument could be extended to suggest that Peircean semiotic swallows up the rival school.

     The same point prompts a reconsideration of work done in Peirce's own name. Many who accept Peirce's triadic view of the sign divide the analysis of it into three dyadically organized subfields: semantics (studying relations of sign and object), syntactics (studying relations of signs to each other), and pragmatics (studying relations of signs to their interpretants). Charles Morris, an American follower of Tarski and the Vienna Circle who established this terminology in the 1930s, traced his approach to Peirce's first (1867) paper on the topic. John Dewey and the political scientist Arthur Bentley objected vociferously that something essential in Peirce's project was lost in Morris's three-way partition. Burch's proof that a triad cannot be reduced to three dyads makes their criticism of Morris more exact. It suggests that Peirce should be viewed not merely as precursor and contributor to the mainstream of semiotics of the past half century, but also as having conceived a project of a more spacious kind.

     Burch is more explicit in drawing this very conclusion for modern logic. Previous to his work, debate had centered on whether Peirce's reduction thesis might have exceptions. Quine and others influenced by Tarski directed attention to the purely algebraic issue of whether there might be tetrads that are irreducible to triads. Burch concentrates instead on theses of more pointedly logical consequence: he argues that all relations of both more than and fewer than three elements may be rendered in triadic form without loss of logical content. He thus suggests that a three-way notion of identity ("teridentity") is what distinguishes logic from other branches of study expressible in mathematical form. If this is true, the achievements of twentieth-century logic, insofar as they are philosophically neutral, can be retained and superseded in a fully reconstructed Peircean scheme.

     The issue is more than quantitative. The tertium quid that Peirce persistently provides for is the active role of interpreting mind. One may, as noted, use Peirce's semiotic to analyze signs without attending to their interpretant -- as in a purely formal semantics treating the relations of signs to their objects. But we know in advance that, however compelling and precise such abstraction might seem, its clarity will be of an inferior grade. For, if meaning consists in conceivable practical bear[613]ings, an "uninterpreted" system is meaningless by definition, and a logic that prescinds the interpretant from its purview will be tempted to slip in hidden assumptions and covert interpretive judgments.

     Among formal logicians (Peirce included), one accepted solution to this and other dilemmas is to stratify discourse, positing hierarchies of languages in which one interprets another. Peirce's elegant alternative is to provide for interpretation architectonically by casting logic as semiotic: He introduces interpretation from the bottom up, at the level of the sign-interpretant rather than only at the more inflated stratum of a metalanguage. Instead of pretending that formal logic and other branches of "pure" mathematics necessarily exclude interpretants, we are encouraged to analyze the modalities of interpretation peculiar to them. If the Peircean approach is accepted, a great deal of highly regarded twentieth-century work, including stock-in-trade notions that shape Burch's own presentation, would appear more narrowly applicable than previously thought.

     A further technical topic with profound philosophical implications is to be found in Peirce's theory of the continuum. Peirce's father taught him the calculus as Leibniz had originally conceived it, as a continuum of infinitesimals. The Leibnizian view has been revised in late twentieth-century mathematics under the label "nonstandard." Nonstandard analysis, as well as his own work in modal logic and Cantor's work on orders of infinity, provides Hilary Putnam with a point of reference against which to reconstruct Peirce's view of continuity.

     In the introduction to Reasoning and the Logic of Things: The Cambridge Conferences Lectures of 1898 (jointly written with Kenneth Laine Ketner), Putnam shows that if we illustrate Peirce's continuum linearly, it can be grasped not simply as an uncountable infinity of points along a line, but as a potential explosion of infinitesimals at any point at which we may choose to cut the line. Or as Peirce puts it, a point "might burst into any discrete multitude of points whatever, and they would all have been one point before the explosion". As Putnam is acutely aware, this is not an isolated mathematical curiosity, but a technical way of presenting the metaphysical concept that led Peirce to call his later philosophy "synechism," the doctrine of continuity. Synechistic points are conceived possibilia of infinite (infinitesimal) breadth and depth.

     When we add to Putnam's analysis the reminder that semiosis provides Peirce with the prime case of continuity, the radical implications of his view are apparent. Peirce's sign relation, as we have seen, connects object, sign, and interpretant in an irreducible triad. But since every interpretant may also be viewed as a sign, to be registered upon the mind with its own interpretation, the continuity of signs will be unbroken. Moreover, since signs are open to modal analysis, not only does every sign-interpretant lead to others but every sign is analyzable into a multitude of modalities.

     Peirce's concept of continuity, in sum, when coupled with his view of semiosis, portrays the universe as both endlessly unfolding and susceptible to an inexhaustible plurality of representations, ready to "explode," as it were, at any point we care to examine. Within this picture, the organizing conceptions of much contemporary academic philosophy may be accommodated and delimited. For example, Peirce's microcosmic view of possibilia helps to situate large talk about "possible world" in a context at once precise and metaphysical so that, as Putnam gently puts it, the possible-worlds theories of contemporary writers appear as a façon de parler.

     A mind as powerfully kaleidoscopic as Peirce's is apt to neglect the contours of common experience. Peirce portrayed himself self-deprecatingly as physiologically prone to thus failing. He at times attributed his genius for compact conceptions to his left-handedness, which disposed him to think diagrammatically, at times to the unusually small size of his brain, which limited the number of ideas he could entertain. Be that as it may, he was not bashful about suggesting how others might make up for his deficiencies within a structure that he set forth. In doing so, he sometimes slipped into what he called "triadomany," which is misconceived when it attempts to derive substantive classifications from three-way modal distinctions.

     Peirce's program for inquiry as well as his underlying diagrammatic and triadic habits of thought are meticulously elucidated in Beverly Kent's Charles S. Peirce: Logic and the Classification of the Sciences. Treating what might be re[614]garded as a dated, nineteenth-century curiosity -- Peirce's neo-Comtean classifications of the sciences -- Kent excavates a latticed structure reminiscent of Escher. (In a much sketchier appendix she also compares Peirce's iconic habits of thought to those of Einstein.) In her hands the fussy tables of the sciences are turned into the best exposition available of Peirce's view of the place of logic in relation to mathematics, the positive sciences, and the several branches of philosophy. Kent traces the shifts in classification and terminology that reflect Peirce's approach to a fundamental dilemma: on the one hand, Peirce portrays formal logic as a branch of pure mathematics; on the other, he insists on the triadic and normative character of logical semiotic as against the dyadic and non-normative character of mathematics. It follows that formal logic as a branch of mathematics will always fall short of representing the essential character of logic itself. This helps us to understand why for Peirce a logic of relations, even when expressed algebraically, must be classified as distinct from the algebra of relations. Far from being the passive follower of mathematical fashion, logic provides its own, inner dynamic for mathematical innovation. As Kent is aware, Peirce's deep admiration for Hegel's Science of Logic -- remarkable in a pioneer of precise notation -- follows from this underlying view of logic as always bursting the formal bounds in which it is cast.

      Classification, moreover, raises questions central to Peirce's philosophy and, indeed, to any theoretical project that explains the world in terms of supersensible structures. Supposing Peirce's views of continuity and triadicity to hold, how would they affect the conduct of inquiry? Or, more broadly: Given a world of seamless continuity and unending possibility, how do we go about making the meaningful distinctions that are the stuff of science as it is practiced and of life as we live it?

      Recent monographs attempt to show the way Peirce might address these questions on two crucial topics: inquiry and the self. In Truth and the End of Inquiry, C. J. Misak draws distinctions that sometimes elude latter-day pragmatists, as well as Peirce's analytic critics. To say, as Peirce does, that everything is relational need not mean that "all truth is relative" or merely situational. And to say that interpretation is integral to the sign relationship does not eliminate meaningful distinctions between knowledge and opinion.

      Though Peirce's early pragmatic writings did not dwell upon what contemporary analytic philosophers call a theory of truth -- he discussed most issues that concern them under the heading of "reality" -- Misak performs an artful reconstruction to present the Peirce of the early, academic years as a figure who more than holds his own in contemporary debate.

      Peirce, it should be said, had a way of putting the question that does not translate easily into current academic parlance. He saw "reality" as categoreally distinct from "existence." (It is significant that in a famous essay he makes an argument for the reality, not the existence, of God.) What exists -- brute materiality -- forces itself upon us at the beginning of inquiry. Reality, on the other hand, is what we would believe at the completion of inquiry. (The notion of conceivability in the pragmatic maxim, we have seen, encourages us not only to consider what exists but also to form clear hypotheses about a reality that might be.) Adapting a notion from differential calculus, Peirce once called reality a "limit" -- what would be believed by a community of inquirers after inquiry had run its course. By identifying truth with this hypothetical consensus ad quem, Misak constructs a "pragmatic theory of truth" that captures Peirce's streak of objectivity without sacrificing his vivid sense of the interpretative and communal element in science. Her account, which contains several important subtleties, errs, however, in speaking as if objectivity requires -- and hence that a reconstruction of Peirce's system should somehow vindicate -- a "bivalent" logic, in which propositions must be either true or false.

      To the contrary, if we are to borrow terms about truth values from formal logic, Peirce's logic of inquiry would have as its mathematical complement a formal system of more than two values, in which, for example, a third value between true and false might accommodate the crucial no-man's-land of propositions that are unproven, unprovable, or open to reconsideration. (And it is no accident that Peirce developed the first matrix notation for many-valued logic in late, unpublished notebook entries, more than a decade before the logicians Lukasiewicz and Post independently published similar innovations.) As Peirce put it techni[615]cally, in keeping with one aspect of his doctrine of continuity, a triadic logic has a third value to represent "the common limit of 'P' and 'not P'"

     Peirce's overall trademark, both technically and metaphysically, is to set his terms so that intellectual boundaries are open to continuing revision in the pursuit of an ever more general grasp of reality -- where "reality" is both explicandum and criterion for the inquiring mind and, at the same time, a general condition in which mind participates.

     This supple and initially difficult conception is illustrated at the level of the formation of personality in Peirce's Approach to the Self, a book of essays by Vincent Michael Colapietro. Peirce makes the topic of the self inescapable. By building the interpretant into the definition of a sign, he requires as a philosophical complement a highly developed account of self-consciousness, self-criticism, and self-control. How else are we to sift out what is merely idiosyncratic in interpretation?

      As he grew older, Peirce incessantly invoked an ideal of "self-control." Yet since his scattered writings on the self are often inconsistent and overstated, his emphasis on self-control has been plausibly read as a cry of remorse at the ruins of his private life. His failings on the topic have seemed especially glaring when compared with the robust and seductive portrayal of the self that suffuses the work of William James.

     Hence Colapietro's work fills a gap of more than archival interest. If it can be shown that Peirce had a theory of the self that explains how we retain a personal identity while entering into a general and publicly articulable order of nature and society -- and further how we exercise some control over the world and ourselves through our use of signs -- this would justify strong claims for his philosophy as a whole.

     Colapietro takes Peirce a good distance toward such a theory. He understands Peirce's semiotic to address a central problem in the conception of human subjectivity: the opposition between an inner, private self and a communal self defined by its relations with others -- a tension, as Colapietro puts it, between solitude and solidarity. If mind is defined as operating with signs, and if the meaning of a sign is to be found in its conceivable practical effects, it follows that a self can be meaningful to itself only to the extent that it thinks in terms of practices, which are, in turn, predicated upon relations with others.

     Peirce does not deny that we have idiosyncratic feelings, thoughts, and actions; that they are entrenched in the habits that define our individuality; and that we must summon energy to redirect or correct them. But all such personal struggles with habit are part of a continuum of semiosis and, as such, of a web of sign relationships whose meaning resides in practical bearings that go beyond us. The stage on which human life is enacted -- including the life of the hermit-philosopher -- is indelibly public.

     Thus, whereas James' Principles of Psychology asserted the completely personal character of consciousness, Peirce stressed its communicability. In an evocative portrayal of consciousness,James had written:

The only states of consciousness that we naturally deal with are found in personal consciousness, minds, selves, concrete particular I's and you's. Each of these minds keeps its own thoughts to itself; there is no giving or bartering between them . . . . Absolute insulation, irreducible pluralism, is the law . . . every thought being owned . . . . The breaches among such thoughts are the most absolute breaches in nature.

     To which Peirce responded: "Is not the direct contrary nearer the observed facts?" That is, is not consciousness better defined by what it shares than what it negates in its relation with others? Is not thought itself, even the most private, really a dialogue involving signs that have meaning only by virtue of their effects in a world of outward relations? And if this is so, is not our capacity to enter into more general relations through our use of signs the very definition of human personality? On Peirce's view, a being speaking a purely private language would have a self utterly devoid of humanity.

     In his early writings, when he adopted somewhat polemical stances to make his philosophy accessible to a broader readership, Peirce was wont to cast his communal insights in opposition to the logical individualism underlying English nominalism; at later times he railed against the crass individualism of the Gilded Age. In such moods he sometimes denied the self altogether. Colapietro's service is to glean the best from Peirce's writings on the self, supplemented by his mature concepts of indi[617]viduality, continuity, organism, substance, and mind, and to suggest that a fully elaborated Peircean account would subsume a doctrine of individual personality in a larger perspective. Colapietro also joins Peirce himself, Walker Percy, and others in believing that a philosophical psychology along Peircean lines would avoid confusions in psychology and brain science deriving from overly rigid subject-object and mind-body dichotomies.

      Colapietro's reconstruction, however, stops short of the technical virtuosity that makes Peirce compelling in other fields. Colapietro is aware that Peirce's system provides the raw material for a still more precise treatment: The modalities of the interpretant include terms to describe the formation and reshaping of habits. Unfortunately, Peirce waited until too late in life to undertake the demanding task of refashioning his terms to account for "self-control" at the level of the sign-interpretant. To supply this gap would complete his project.

     For it is integral to Peirce's view that the more general our grasp of reality becomes,the more precise and ramified will be our explanations. Far from submerging all distinctions in the Oneness of the All, his concept of continuity would have us proceed from a core of received, often fruitfully vague ideas to an ever more differentiated picture. Each new discovery leads to others. Each new concept is open to further elaboration. It is through the purposeful embrace of the public and communal character of semiosis that the self finds its ultimate meaning.

     Does this vision, congenial to science, extend beyond the laboratory? Do the compact conceptions of Peirce's philosophy have the broader applicability he intended?

     For the crucial core of Peirce's later philosophy -- the theorizing that proceeds from the continuous sign relationship -- the range of his relevance cannot be in doubt. Once we accept Wittgenstein's verdict that "all thinking is essentially operating with signs," it follows that theorizing about the power, presuppositions, and limits of semiosis has by definition a universal subject matter. It must apply to anything and everything that may occur to consciousness. Thus, had our discussion centered on the current scholarship that treats Peirce's significance for the arts, morals, religion, linguistics, anthropology, evolutionary biology, cognitive science, cinematography, information theory, or quantum physics, the same organizing concepts -- semiosis, continuity, pragmatic meaning, modalities of signs, reality -- would have come into play.

      As a result, three tendencies in twentieth-century philosophy that have also claimed broad applicability require Peirce's perspective for their own completion. The linguistic turn that has dominated the English-speaking world is a subspecies of the semiotic approach that Peirce took. The phenomenological movement popular on the Continent is likewise insufficiently self-critical without a phenomenology of signs, the medium in which thought itself takes place (and Husserl's late metaphysical attempt in this direction in fact took a triadic, albeit ego-centered, form). The scientific trend in philosophy, insofar as it excludes the interpreting mind from its working definition of reality, is subsumed and re-oriented in Peirce, who locates its abstractions in a more capacious yet no less exacting context. (Abner Shimony, the noted practitioner and philosopher of quantum physics, concludes the section on complex systems of his two-volume Search for a Naturalistic Worldview with this self-effacing credo: "It is honorable to be an epigone of Peirce.")

      Admittedly, it seems extravagant to suggest that a blackballed, debt-ridden, small-brained, left-handed, pain-wracked, opium-eating, skirt-chasing, nineteenth-century recluse, by the simple device of including the sign-interpretant in the formal definition of the sign and by a life-long struggle to draw out the implications of this idea, may still have more to teach us than the contemporary discussions we have learned to regard as momentous.

      But consider: From his first paper on the subject in 1867, Peirce returned repeatedly to the continuous sign relationship. For the last three decades of his life, Peirce worked in increasing isolation, writing prodigiously, publishing only a portion -- buzzing furiously, as he put it, like a wasp in a bottle. His interests and his situation reinforced each other. He attended more and more to phenomena of common experience that could be examined without the benefit of colleagues or scientific instruments. Though the growth of the modern university has done great things for topics that can be cast into specialized departments, there is no reason to suppose that anyone in [618] the past century would have duplicated, let alone superseded, Peirce's concentration on a few ineluctable and inter-related concepts. The only excuse for not taking him seriously is a skeptical dogmatism that would have us deny (on a priori grounds?) that some ideas may be more fundamental than others.

     Peirce's chosen idioms were doubly demanding: on the one hand, metaphysics, in which contributions are judged against a tradition of 2,400 years; on the other, symbolic logic, then in its infancy, of which he was a pioneer in its algebraic, quantificational, and topological forms. He insisted that each must reflect the other. How many writers of the past century have had Peirce's aptitude for both prongs of this bilingual enterprise, or have matched his unrelenting fecundity in concurrent innovation in them into his seventies?

      Now, eighty years after his death, Peirce has himself become a topic for specialized inquiry. New tools for scholarship and for pedagogy are giving him a delayed afterlife. The consensus ad quem is that we shall have to take him more fully into account. The wasp is out of the bottle. His sting remains to be felt.


Writings of Charles S. Peirce: A Chronological Edition, Volume 5, 1884-1886. Compiled by the Editors of the Peirce Edition Project. Indiana University Press, 1993. $75.

Historical Perspectives on Peirce's Logic of Science: A History of Science. Edited by Carolyn Eisele. Mouton Publishers, 1985. 2 volumes, $306.70.

Charles Sanders Peirce: Contributions to The Nation, Part Four: Index. Edited by Kenneth Laine Ketner. Texas Tech University Press, 1987. $44.

The Essential Peirce: Selected Philosophical Writings, Volume 1, 1867-1893. Edited by Nathan Houser and Christian J. W. Kloesel. Indiana University Press, 1992. $45; paper, $19.95. Volume 2, forthcoming, 1995.

Reasoning and the Logic of Things: The Cambridge Conference Lectures of 1898 of Charles Sanders Peirce. Edited by Kenneth Laine Ketner, with an introduction by Kenneth Laine Ketner and Hilary Putnam. Harvard University Press, 1992. $45; paper, $22.50.

Peirce on Signs: Writings on Semiotic. By Charles Sanders Peirce, edited by James Hoopes. University of North Carolina Press 1991. $39.95; paper, $13.95.

The Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce. MS-DOS version, with an editorial introduction by John Deely. InteLex Corporation, 1994. 8 vols. on 7 MB. $134.95 for individuals $324.95 for institutions.


Studies in the Logic of Charles Sanders Peirce. Edited by Nathan Houser, Don D. Roberts, and James Van Evra. Indiana University Press, forthcoming, 1995.

Peirce and Contemporary Thought: Philosophical Inquiries. Edited by Kenneth Laine Ketner. Fordham University Press, forthcoming, 1994. $35.

Charles S. Peirce and the Philosophy of Science. Edited by Edward C. Moore. University of Alabama Press, 1993. $49.95.

Peirce and Value Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics. Edited by Herman Parret. Benjamins, North America, 1993. $95.

Peirce and Law: Issues in Pragmatism, Legal Realism, and Semiotics. Edited by Roberta Kevelson. Peter Lang, 1991. $43.95.

Charles Sanders Peirce: A Life. By Joseph Brent, with an introduction by Thomas Sebeok. Indiana University Press, 1993. $35.

Peirce, Semeiotic and Pragmatism: Essays By Max H. Fisch, edited by Kenneth Laine Ketner and Christian J. W. Kloesel. Indiana University Press, 1986. $45.

Peirce. By Christopher Hookway. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985. Paper (1992), $17.95.

A Peircean Reduction Thesis: The Foundations of Topological Logic. By Robert W. Burch. Texas Tech University Press, 1991. $30.

Peirce's Approach to the Self: A Semiotic Perspective on Human Subjectivity. By Vincent M. Colapietro. State University of New York Press, 1989. $59.50; paper, $19.95.

Science, Knowledge, and Mind: A Study in the Philosophy of C. S. Peirce. By C. F. Delaney. University of Notre Dame Press, 1993. $28.95.

Charles S. Peirce's Evolutionary Philosophy. By Carl R. Hausman. Cambridge University Press, 1993. $49.95.

Charles S. Peirce: Logic and the Classification of the Sciences. By Beverly Kent. McGill-Queen's University Press, 1987. $44.95.

Truth and the End of Inquiry: A Peircean Account of Truth. By C. J. Misak. Oxford University Press, 1991. $55.

* JOSIAH LEE AUSPITZ is the secretary of the Sabre Foundation. His article on Michael Oakeshott appeared in the Summer 1991 issue of THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR

END OF:  Josiah Lee Auspitz: The Wasp Leaves the Bottle

CONTRIBUTED BY: Josiah Lee Auspitz
Posted to Arisbe website on March 24, 1998


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