Legal Studies
1
over . . . it would follow that the grammaticality of sentences
cannot be determined either, independent of the situation in which
they are uttered. But this has the immediate consequence that one's
grammar would not be predictive.
We are thus faced with the conclusion that a theory which incor
porates a speaker relative concept of presupposition as part of its
semantic representation is in principle unable to fulfill any of the
four conditions I set up initially (1.1) as a prerequisite for any
semantic theory and therefore must be relinquished. (p. 60)
2
biases. It is just those predispositions and biases--those assumptions con
cerning what must be the case in the matter of language--that fill her
judgment, and one would be making if not an impossible at least Her
culean demand if one were to ask her to set them aside.
This, however, is to get ahead of my story, and for the time being
I would like to linger a little longer on the issues Kempson raises, for
much of what I want to say builds on the thesis from which she draws
back in horror, the thesis that the meaning of a sentence is not a func
tion of the meaning of its constituent parts; or to put it another way,
that meaning cannot be formally calculated, derived from the shape of
marks on a page; or to put it in the most direct way possible, that there
is no such thing as literal meaning, if by literal meaning one means a
meaning that is perspicuous no matter what the context and no matter
what is in the speaker's or hearer's mind, a meaning that because it is
prior to interpretation can serve as a constraint on interpretation. It
might seem that the thesis that there is no such thing as literal mean
ing is a limited one, of interest largely to linguists and philosophers of
language; but in fact it is a thesis whose implications are almost bound
less, for they extend to the very underpinnings of the universe as it is
understood by persons of a certain cast of mind. It is a cast of mind
Kempson displays when she concludes that if a unit of meaning cannot
be identified independently of the beliefs of speakers and hearers, the
entire enterprise of formal linguistics falls apart, since the first principle
of that enterprise demands what the speaker-relative account of presup
position denies.
3
Were it otherwise, written contracts would be enforced not accord
ing to the plain effect of their language, but pursuant to the story
of their negotiation as told by the litigant having at the time being
the greater power of persuading the trier of fact. So far as con
tracts are concerned the rule of law would give way to the mere
notions of men as to who should win law suits. Without that [the
parol evidence] rule there would be no assurance of the enforce-
ability of a written contract. If such assurance were removed today
from our law, general disaster would result . . . ( Cargill Com
mission Co. v. Swartwood, 198 N.W.538 [ 1924]).
What is remarkable about this passage is the short time it takes to move
from the focus on the "plain effect" of language to the conclusion that
if that focus is abandoned, general disaster--not just disaster for those
with a professional interest in notions like "plain meaning"--will re
sult. The reasoning behind this conclusion is not drawn out, but it is
worth drawing out because it is writ large in many of the essays that
follow. It is first and last a question of power in relation to the putting
in place of constraints. What the Cargill court sees is that if there is
no public way of setting down marks that stand firm against interpre
tive manipulation, the rule of law--of perfectly explicit and impersonal
utterances--is replaced by the rule of persuasion, the rule of "the liti
gant having at the time being the greater power of persuading the trier
of fact." As a result, authority becomes structurally unstable, embodied
not in some abiding core (what H. L. A. Hart calls an "authoritative
mark"1) but in the words of whatever person or persons happens to
have sway "at the time being." This last phrase connects the court's fear
with an ancient tension between a notion of truth as something inde
pendent of local, partial perspectives and a notion of truth as whatever
seems perspicuous and obvious to those embedded in some local, partial
perspective. It is the difference between a truth that judges human
achievements and a truth that is a human achievement, inseparable
finally from "the mere notions of men," and it is the court's conten
tion that only the first kind of truth--the truth whose availability
makes plain language at once possible and essential--will assure order
that is principled, based not on the accidents of history and culture, but
on the essence of enduring values.
By making its cases in these terms, the Cargill court illustrates the
intimate relationship between formalism as a thesis in the philosophy
of language and foundationalism as a thesis about the core constituents
of human life. Formalism as a doctrine has been under attack for a long
time now and few will acknowledge subscribing to it, but as Roberto
Unger has observed, "Those who dismiss formalism as a naive illu
sion . . . do not know what they are in for . . . they fail to under
stand what the classic liberal thinkers saw earlier: the destruction of
formalism brings in its wake the ruin of all other liberal doctrines of
adjudication."2 Here and in other places Unger issues a double warn
ing: don't think that formalism is a simple position, easily identified
and easily avoided, and don't think that you avoid formalism by acknowledging
context, or proclaiming the inescapability of politics, or
any other of the gestures by which the anti-foundationalist insight
4
is embraced at a general level without any strong awareness of the
implications of that insight for assumptions and practices that remain
unexamined. Formalism, as Unger correctly sees, is not merely a lin
guistic doctrine, but a doctrine that implies, in addition to a theory of
language, a theory of the self, of community, of rationality, of practice,
of politics. A formalist believes that words have clear meanings, and
in order to believe that (or because he believes that) he must also be
lieve (1) that minds see those clear meanings clearly; (2) that clarity
is a condition that persists through changes in context; (3) that noth
ing in the self interferes with the perception of clarity, or, that if it
does, it can be controlled by something else in the mind; (4) that
meanings are a property of language; (5) that language is an abstract
system that is prior to any occasion of use; (6) that occasions of use
are underwritten by that system; (7) that the meanings words have in
that system (as opposed to the meanings they acquire in situations) are
of should be the basis of "general" discourses like the law; (8) that
because they are general rather than local, such discourses can serve
(in the form of rules or statutes) as constraints on interpretive desires;
(9) that interpretive desires must (and can) be set aside when there
is serious public business afoot; (10) that the fashioning of a just
political system requires such a setting aside, the submission of the
individual will to impersonal and public norms (encoded in an im
personal and public language); (11) that this submission would be a
rational act, chosen by the very will that is to be held in check; (12)
that rationality, like meaning, is an abstract system that stands apart
from the contexts in which its standard is to be consulted; (13) that
the standard of rationality is available for the settling of disputes be
tween agents situated in different contexts; (14) that the mark of a
civilized (lawful) community is the acknowledgment of that standard
as a referee or judge; (15) that communities whose members fail to
acknowledge that standard are, by definition, irrational; and (16) that
irrationality is the state of being ruled by desire and force--that is, by
persuasion--rather than by a norm that reflects the desires of no one,
but protects the desires of everyone. All of these beliefs and more
follow from and give support to the belief that words have clear mean
ings, and many of the essays in this book begin by challenging the
linguistic thesis and end by challenging everything else.
5
thesis of speaker-relative presupposition), one can only determine it by
going behind the words to the intentional circumstances of production
in the light of which they acquire significance. Nor is it the case that
these circumstances can themselves be regarded as a new (and higher)
set of formal facts, a new text whose meaning can now be read off;
for if it is by means of the intentional context and not directly that
a reader imputes meaning to a text, that context must itself be im
puted--given an interpreted form--since the evidence one might cite
in specifying it--the evidence of words, marks, gestures--will only be
evidence, have a certain shape rather than another, if its own shape
has already (and interpretively) been assumed. Once words have been
dislodged as the repository of meaning in favor of intention, no amount
of them will suffice to establish an intention since the value they have
will always depend on that which they presume to establish. In Unger's
words, "as soon as it is necessary to engage in a discussion of purpose
[another word for intention] to determine what an utterance means
formalism has been abandoned" (p. 93); and it is my contention in
the essays that follow that the abandonment of formalism--of the
derivation of meaning from mechanically enumerable features--has
always and already occurred.
6
As an example of how interpretation works under this analysis,
consider the case of John Milton as he argues in 1643 for the relaxing
of the constraints on divorce. In 1643 both sides must support their
positions from Scripture, and one of the crucial proof texts cited by
Milton's opponents is this verse from Matthew: "Whosoever shall put
away his wife, except it be for fornication . . . committeth adultery"
( 19: 9). In the course of his Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce Milton
labors at what might seem an impossible task, to read that text as say
ing that a man may put away his wife for any reason he likes. He does
it (or tries to do it) by arguing from intention. He points out that
when Christ uttered these words he was speaking to the Pharisees in a
context in which they were tempting him to a lax pronouncement con
7
The result is a world aptly described by Bishop Hoadly's observa
tion that "whoever hath an absolute authority to interpret any written