Between Kant and Hegel: Hen Kai Pan

by John Holbo on October 23, 2016

I’m still teaching Kierkegaard this semester, now excavating the historical subterrain somewhat. I’m reading Dieter Henrich, Between Kant and Hegel: Lectures on German Idealism. It’s relatively light, given the heavy subject matter. Which I find agreeable. The original lectures were delivered in 1973 at Harvard, so it’s all perhaps out of date, although I understand that Henrich – who is still alive – made appropriate updates and edits before the book was published in 2008. Also, it is not my impression that a wave of subsequent historicist work has, indeed, swept this work away. I am open to correction on that point.

I find the book extremely interesting. I am thinking fresh thoughts about this period, but I can’t say I’m sure they are true. But that is mostly my fault. The lectures, true to their original form, have a sweeping, generalizing quality. If I want to verify, I should go back and read a lot of Jacobi and Fichte and Schelling. Which is, admittedly, unlikely. Let me just quote, and comment on, some passages I’m contemplating paraphrasing for class purposes.

Let me start with something definitely true, which I hadn’t ever thought hard enough about before: it all happened really fast. Kant published The Critique of Judgment in 1790. Within the next five years, there sprouted four different, major strands of post-Kantian dissent/development. Henrich focuses on 1795 as an especially fecund year. Here’s a tree diagram from the book. (Sorry for poor quality of reproduction. Buy the book yourself, you big cheapskate!)


There you see it. Kant lives until 1804. And he was more or less appalled/uncomprehending at these rapid turns. Kant equates all this new-fangled idealism with ‘mysticism’ [Alchemie], which he contrasts with the proper, hard work [Arbeit] of criticism. And all the new kids on the block fight among themselves for good measure.

The time between the publication of the Critique of Pure Reason in 1781 and the 1844 publication of Kierkegaard’s Concept of Anxiety – the same year in which Marx wrote the Early Economical Philosophical Manuscripts – is just sixty-three years. Shorter still is the time from the publication of the Critique of Pure Reason to the final step Hegel made in his philosophical development: the establishment of a speculative logic as the fundamental discipline of his system and not simply a negative introduction into it. This happened in 1804, the same year in which Kant died. What is astonishing about this very short period of time is that within it, the entire development from Kant through Fichte and Schelling to Hegel occurred. This unique development that unfolded during the late lifetime of Kant both invites and resists interpretation.

No one who is a good student of Nietzsche – as I consider myself – can be totally taken by surprise by this picture. From Beyond Good And Evil:

It strikes me that nowadays people everywhere are trying to direct attention away from the real influence Kant exercised on German philosophy and, in particular, prudently to overlook the value he ascribed to himself … Then came the honeymoon of German philosophy. All the young theologians of the Tubingen seminary went off right away into the bushes … And what didn’t they find — in that innocent, rich, still youthful time of the German spirit, in which Romanticism, that malicious fairy, played her pipes and sang, a time when people did not yet know how to distinguish between “finding” and “inventing”! Above all, a faculty for the “super-sensory.” Schelling christened this intellectual intuition and, in so doing, complied with the most heartfelt yearnings of his Germans, whose cravings were basically pious. —The most unfair thing we can do to this entire rapturously enthusiastic movement, which was adolescent, no matter how much it boldly dressed itself up in gray and senile ideas, is to take it seriously and treat it with something like moral indignation. Enough — people grew older — the dream flew away. There came a time when people rubbed their foreheads. People are still rubbing them today. They had dreamed: first and foremost — the old Kant.

Even so. 1795. Just five years. Yes, they were a bunch of kids, drunk on Kant. Even so, what made it so heady?

I dot-dot-dotted out some Nietzsche, above. I think Henrich does a more painstaking job of filling in the blanks. (Because he, unlike Nietzsche, thinks we should take the technical details somewhat seriously.) He starts by outlining what he thinks Kant thought he was up to, which is largely backwards-looking. He contrasts that with what those who followed thought he had been up to, and what they thought they were up to.

Henrich, by the by, gives Fichte original credit for inaugurating the Anglo-Saxon/Continental split, for better or worse. Not sure whether I agree with that. But it’s interesting. Because everyone working in philosophy feels the split. But who reads Fichte?

Philosophy has a single origin in Greece (if one distinguishes from the logic of Hinduism and Buddhism). It also enjoyed a single tradition from its origin up to the end of the eighteenth century. This means in part that the philosophers whom we could call “great” were connected with each other, irrespective of political borders or the boundaries of language. It also means that philosophy had one language. At first this language was Greek; then, with the rise to dominance of the Roman Empire, the language of philosophy became Latin, which endured until the eighteenth century. This situation changed entirely at the end of the eighteenth century with the appearance of Fichte. At that time a split took place that has since separated two worlds of philosophy: the Anglo-Saxon, which is basically empirically oriented, and what is called Continental philosophy, which understands itself as somehow in a tradition that emerged at the end of the eighteenth century.

Yeah, yeah, over-simple. (Henrich was delivering lectures! Please make allowance for lack of footnotes and fussy hedging.) But worth thinking about.

This is getting a bit long, as posts go, so let me just pile up some thoughts here. What follows is from chapters (lectures) 5-7, on mysticism, Jacobi and Spinozism.

Beyond his intention, Kant actually undermined the Leibnizian metaphysical tradition and Lockean empiricism (initially in Germany, and later on throughout Europe). As a consequence of this complete change, the dominant schools were no longer able to suppress other traditions, even though Kant was more hostile toward these formerly suppressed traditions than he was toward the dominant schools of his time. This is something that very often happens when revolutions take place: a revolution always opens possibilities for those who are rivals of the revolutionaries, yet who had also been victims of the fallen rule. Having been suppressed by that rule in the past, although they are not in any accord with those making the revolution, they receive a new opportunity by virtue of the revolution itself. When the Critique of Pure Reason effectively upended Leibnizian metaphysics and Lockean empiricism, the traditions Leibniz and Locke had once discounted regained influence.

There were three such traditions: (1) Spinozism, not in its academic form, but as a philosophy that various little Protestant sects (in the Netherlands, for instance, from whence their influence subsequently spread over Europe) advocated; (2) a certain popular philosophy that we may call “the philosophy of love,” of which Shaftsbury,- for instance, is a representative, and that proved more influential in literature than in academic philosophy; and (3) a certain theological line of thinking, the “theology of the spirit,” …

Each of these suppressed traditions, which lacked any academic influence, depended in one way or another on Plato. Platonism is one of the main lines of European thinking. We can define it superficially-although not entirely misleadingly-by contrasting it to Aristotelianism. Accordingly, we could say that Platonic positions do not accept Aristotle’s ultimate orientation toward the concept of being as the most basic notion in theory and in the understanding of human life. By contrast, Platonism identifies unity as the central concept from which all reasoning begins.

This is interesting at the level of academic culture and sociology. Is Henrich right that Kant, unawares, cracked open academic barriers, letting in those he considered cranks?

Getting back to Platonism-as-Unity. Obviously there is a spirit of German nationalism – a will to German unification – running through German Romanticism. It’s politicized stuff. Henrich emphasizes as well that one of the main criticisms of Kant, from these followers, had to do with the unsatisfactory, ‘multidimensionality’ of Kant’s philosophy. What’s that? Henrich:

By tracing the way in which Kant’s system became multidimensional from its dualistic inception – of intuition and concept, of sensibility and understanding – we saw how he established the ontological framework for his system. But Kant established this framework by way of a further distinction between understanding and reason, and this route made it impossible for him to relate the ontological framework back to the basic distinction he had investigated (intuition and concepts). In Kant’s new conception of the concept, freedom emerges as a suitable way to reintegrate his analysis of the self into his own epistemological framework. Kant conceives of freedom as mediating between the intellectual and the sensible worlds. Indeed, within this system, freedom is the only imaginable mediation we can be aware of as occurring. The mediating function of freedom is what makes Kant’s program a system in the proper sense, inasmuch as freedom is the principle that holds the system together. Freedom as the principle of the system is typical of the systems of Kant’s successors as well, but they differ in specific ways. Unlike them, Kant’s concept of freedom is not accessible as the “keystone” from the beginning. Instead, Kant somehow has to describe freedom as a fact. This means, for Kant, that freedom is neither something that is immediately accessible for integration into the system – or that can be integrated into a logical framework in a deductive sense – nor is freedom something that allows us to make deductions from it regarding other things. The insertion of freedom into the system of reason makes the system become a meaningful whole. But it is not the case, for Kant, that reason would be impossible without the insertion of freedom. This is the claim Fichte would make at a later date – that the very essence of reason is freedom.

Henrich argues that, for Kant, systematic philosophy ends with freedom – ascends to freedom. Whereas, for the idealists, it tends to start there. They saw this as not only more ethically attractive but more coherent. Kant’s way leaves it mysterious why there should be a dualistic split at the base of his system, ontologically and epistemologically and methodologically. Maybe freedom makes a handsome keystone, holding up the arch. But why should there be an arch with two bases, feet planted far apart, never the twain shall meet save at the top? (Nietzsche, describing everyone off into the Tubingen bushes, like a bunch of Pokemon Go, gotta-catch-em-all faculty collectors, misses this drive towards unity. Not that Nietzsche would care. He thinks it’s all pretty silly, either way.)

More about Spinoza. Henrich talks about the famous ‘Lessing was a Spinozist’ scandal. (That much, everyone who knows anything about the period has heard of!)

The post-Kantian intellectual movement begins with a revival of Spinozism. In Jacobi’s letters to Moses Mendelssohn, he takes up the doctrine of Spinoza. Jacobi reported that the poet and critic Lessing had confessed in conversation that he was a Spinozist. This report came after Lessing’s death and is not substantiated by anything in his own writings. Nevertheless, Jacobi claimed that Lessing had said: “The orthodox concepts of the Divinity are no longer for me; I cannot stomach them. Hen kai pan! I know of nothing else…. There is no other philosophy than the philosophy of Spinoza.” With the alleged endorsement of Lessing, Jacobi goes on to explain the spirit of Spinozistic thought. Spinoza has as his first premise a nihilo nihil fit, from nothing comes nothing. Maintaining this premise in its strictest possible sense means that we have to reject all transitory causes, including the Christian idea of the creation of the world (ex nihilo, from nothing) and the neo-Platonic idea of emanation from the transcendent One. If one takes a nihilo nihil fit in the strict sense, the omnipotent God can no more create the world originally than emanation theory can claim that the finite is a place that God fills by emanation, because these statements rest on the assumption that something is brought out of nothing. According to Jacobi, Spinoza’s ultimate premise is that we have to reject this idea entirely. Spinoza rejected any transition from the infinite to the finite, and consequently replaced the emanating ensoph with an immanent one. Given Jacobi’s presentation of Spinozism, it is not difficult to see how Spinozism becomes, in modern times, the reestablishment of Stoicism, under the provisos of Platonic thought on The One. It is doubtless puzzling that this idea of the Spinozistic immanent ensoph could be associated with Kant’s philosophical position. Indeed, Kant rejected the association as absurd and could not understand why there were those who claimed that the Critique of Pure Reason is Spinozistic.

I’ve always been with Kant on this one. I can’t say I have ever lost sleep, wondering why every German thinker and his poet brother went gaga for Kant-plus-Spinoza around the turn of the 19th Century. But I can’t say I’ve ever got it either.

Jacobi’s construal of Lessing’s confession forms the point of view from which Spinoza and Kant seem to correspond: there is no transcendent God on whom we are dependent, whose laws we have to obey, and on whom the salvation for which we hope rests …

If God is acting at all, God is acting inside of us; and if we are free, it must be possible to think that our freedom is not simply in contradiction with, but something that is already essentially a part of the life of God. This is what the rallying cry of the “Spinozism of freedom” meant to the generation of Hegel, Holderlin, Fichte, and Schelling …

Therefore, the (Stoic) idea of hen kai pan, the “All in One,” is the only possible philosophy. Accordingly, infinity exists without any change, and the finite exists eternally in an original relation to it, that is, in a way that has to be determined but that excludes transition. Philosophically, this signals the end of orthodox concepts of God. It also shows what Jacobi’s Spinoza (whom he also claimed was Lessing’s Spinoza) holds in common with Kant, despite their apparent opposition: both philosophers teach liberation from orthodox images of the world …

Not the clearest thoughts ever. But I’m starting to get it. I think.

It’s the weekend, so it’s traditional to offer up something lighter. Maybe a YouTube video. I can’t think of too many songs about people probably wrongly thinking they hear someone saying ‘hen’, when they probably aren’t. But here’s one.

[Sorry for lack of page references. I’ve only got Kindle locations. And, if you’ve got a Kindle, you can just search text inside. So what good are Kindle locations?]



Daniel Lindquist 10.23.16 at 7:26 am

Förster’s “The Twenty-Five Years of Philosophy” covers the period from 1781 (with the first Critique, which Kant claimed was starting philosophy in earnest for the first time) to 1806 (with the Phenomenology, when Hegel starts claiming in lectures that philosophy has been brought to a close). So Henrich’s not the only one to notice that an awful lot of events happen in rapid fire here. Förster’s book is great, by the way. I think it’s going to become the standard “From Kant to Hegel” monograph; it’s definitely the best treatment of Fichte I’ve ever read, and makes lots of good points I’d never encountered elsewhere. Though Henrich’s book has aged pretty well.

On the “multidimensionality” of Kant’s work, Paul Franks’s “All or Nothing” has really fun historical details about Reinhold’s membership in the Bavarian Illuminati. He apparently wanted to use Kant’s philosophy to advance Illuminationist social-political goals, which was why he was so bothered about its apparent incompleteness. If the system was going to be used to unify humanity towards Perfectibilist ends, it wouldn’t do for it to lack grounding in a simple principle that could be communicated to everyone. Which is why Reinhold tries to both simplify and popularize Kant’s system (and it’s Reinhold’s Kant that a lot of Germans read, as Karl Ameriks has shown; Fichte starts off trying to remedy not just Kant’s system, but Reinhold’s version of it).

It’s a fun historical period for a lot of reasons.


John Holbo 10.23.16 at 7:42 am

“Paul Franks’s “All or Nothing” has really fun historical details about Reinhold’s membership in the Bavarian Illuminati. He apparently wanted to use Kant’s philosophy to advance Illuminationist social-political goals, which was why he was so bothered about its apparent incompleteness.”

That sounds great! I’ve long had this idea about writing a novel about Kant being, secretly, a paranormal investigator of the mysteries of Swedenborg Space. Turns out all this critical philosophy was just a cover for what he was really working on. (Kant did have a brief flirtation with that stuff, so that’s the historical hook.) But even better would be a fictional account of the development of German idealism as a proxy war between Swedenborgian mystics and Bavarian Illuminati!


FS 10.23.16 at 9:06 am

You could also read Henrichs “Grundlegung aus dem Ich. Untersuchungen zur Vorgeschichte des Idealismus Tübingen – Jena (1790 – 1794)” if your german is good enough for 1740 pages. On the Early Romanticism Period, you might consult Manfred Frank, there is an (apparently highly abridged, 963 to 286 pages) english version of “Unendliche Annäherung” called “The Philosophical Foundations of Early German Romanticism”.
I would actually put more emphasis on the skeptical branch, especially G.E. Schulze, in putting an early challenge on the metaphysics of Kant and Reinhold, which led to Fichte’s earlier Philosophy. The influence of Spinoza is in my opinion something that comes later (if you can say so in that short period) with the Tübinger Stift Students, and I’m not sure if you can characterize Reinhold’s philosophy and Fichte’s early philosophy as spinozist. They are in my opinion more cartesian ( – which by the way would put up the question if the whole continental/anglo-saxon thing is not based more on cartesianism than on Kant and german idealism).
I think both the question of the systemacity/unity of Kant’s Philosophy (leaving a lot of loose ends with the faculties) and the unexplained status of a some of his metaphysical concepts (thing-in-itself) left a lot of room for following philosophers to fill in blanks and make up connections that were not there in the beginning, and weren’t Kant’s idea of philosophy at all.


One of Many 10.23.16 at 9:16 am

Then came the honeymoon of German philosophy. All the young theologians of the Tubingen seminary went off right away into the bushes … And what didn’t they find…

Nietzsche, describing everyone off into the Tubingen bushes, like a bunch Pokemon Go, gotta-catch-em-all faculty collectors…

I suspect that Nietzsche had a different and earthier sort of image in mind.


marcel proust 10.23.16 at 1:33 pm

Comparing this (admittedly brief) comment thread and the longer thread on JQ’s Unnecessary Wars post with many of those over the last 6-8 months, I think the new comments policy is working out rather well…


Adam Roberts 10.23.16 at 4:19 pm

Me, I’m wondering if there’s ever been a comparable period in the history of Philosophy (maybe Athens, 5th-C BC? But I’m not sure even then, actually) when Philosophy not only churned as rapidly through innovation and new-modelling as this post argues, but also sparked whole new parallel movements in culture less narrowly conceived. The really important thing about Kant, it seems to me, is not just that he got lots of other philosophers talking and thinking, but that he got lots of poets talking and thinking. Coleridge is the key figure here: he was reading Kant in the 1790s and starting to write about him in the early 1800s, and Biographia Literaria appeared in 1817, and that book not only invented ‘Literary Criticism’ pretty much out of whole cloth but was full-on, explicit Kantianism. Wordsworth’s great poems, ‘Tintern Abbey’ and the immortality Ode and the important bits of The Prelude dramatise a sort of second-hand Kant that William W. picked up by talking to Coleridge, or being talked-at by Coleridge. And from there through into a major strand of 19th-C aesthetic, political and cultural discourse, all heavily indebted to Coleridge’s reading of Kant: Carlyle, American transcendentalists like Thoreau and so on. Even John Stuart Mill!

I don’t mean to get breathless. I’m only agreeing, it seems, with the thesis of Henrich’s book, as described here. It is strange, isn’t it? When else has philosophy washed over into, say, poetry in such a marked and important way as this?


Henry 10.23.16 at 4:52 pm

Not to mention the influence on half-mad employees locked up for the winter in Arctic research stations …


Jared 10.23.16 at 6:34 pm


I wonder if you could help clarify a couple of things. I’m a relatively new student to Nietzsche, but it seems like he does have more to say about this in Twilight, especially “‘Reason’ in philosophy”. I think, in fact, that this part is where he connects up the emphasis on being with the Platonic urge toward unification–he talks about, for example, how becoming is taken as objectionable, and how this in turn requires that the good, the perfect, the true not be caused by other things (i.e., the sorts of things that became, rather than simply are), but must cause themselves And then, since these self-caused things must (necessarily, so the unity-fetishists would think) not ever come into contradiction with one another, they must be seen as *one* self-caused thing–and that’s where you get the new conception of God. This coheres, moreover, with his remarks in BGE (that you block-quoted), since there’s a lot of inventing (motivated by the fetishization of being and unity) happening in this process of ‘discovering’ God.

I don’t have the book on hand, but I seem to remember that it concludes with a sort of ‘climb’ toward unity–and Kant is decidedly *not* at the end, but right about the middle! Anyway, I think Nietzsche was keen on what was happening to philosophy at that time, but I’d like to hear your thoughts!


phenomenal cat 10.23.16 at 11:16 pm

Jared @8

Just one way of thinking about this: I believe in BGE (not sure, but not going to look it up right now) N. gives, as was his wont, a pithy little critique of Kant that goes something like: Kant set out to confirm/prove “common sense” (metaphysical) claims upon the world, but did so in language that was absolutely incomprehensible to common people.

A plausible interpretation based on the above, and other things N. said about Kant’s philosophy, is that N. took Kant to be instituting what were becoming or had already become widely shared Modern understandings or “prejudices” of the world–as philosophical truth. Thus Kant was a synthesizer par excellence, but in the final analysis his work merely formalized and codified what was already, albeit disparately, “known” (and perhaps unknown) by many people. To put it baldly, Kant said what everyone was thinking, but couldn’t quite say themselves.

“Kant’s way leaves it mysterious why there should be a dualistic split at the base of his system, ontologically and epistemologically and methodologically.” Holbo

This problem runs deeper than Kant and goes to the heart of Modern thought–perhaps Western thought itself. But it is clearly a major reason why Kant remains important as the problem is so transparent and intractable in his work.


LFC 10.24.16 at 1:28 am

Based on the first few pp. as glanced at via Amazon, the Henrich book seems very readable, as lectures should be. A few minor points: first, the book has an editor who apparently added references to more recent available English versions of the German works being discussed; second, Henrich says at the end of the preface that the lectures are published pretty much as delivered in ’73; third, the book was published in 2003, w/ paperback edition in 2008 (not orig. published in 2008, as the OP says).


John Holbo 10.24.16 at 3:55 am

LFC, thanks for corrections. Yes, the lectures seem to have been published as written, but there are a few footnotes that I think are by Henrich, although it could just be the editor, indicating, e.g. some manuscripts uncovered – by Henrich himself, I think – after 1973, which bear on the points being made in the lectures. These concerned late revisions of the eternally revised, never republished Fichte magnum opus – if memory serves.


ben wolfson 10.24.16 at 11:03 pm

that he got lots of poets talking and thinking. Coleridge is the key figure here

Goethe—and a whole horde of German poets and critics—wept!


john c. halasz 10.25.16 at 12:51 am

IIRC Henrich is regarded as an important *academic* scholar of German Idealism and especially Fichte (with respect to his conception of consciousness), meticulously re-reading, reconstructing, and contextualizing the arguments involved. I don’t think that there is any worry that his work is outmoded, any more than, say, Henry Allison’s books on Kant are. (Yes, criticisms and refinements and emendations, but largely based on or stimulated by the “original work”). He later published a work in his own voice, “Flight Lines”, advocating for a limited, heuristic rehabilitation of metaphysics, based on Fichte, which Habermas attacked, according to his own presuppositions and prejudices, and thus probably distorted. (Metaphysics is is less taboo, under political criteria, than pointless/undecidable as an ongoing enterprise in offering guarantees to tame an untamable world).


John Holbo 10.25.16 at 6:45 am

“And from there through into a major strand of 19th-C aesthetic, political and cultural discourse, all heavily indebted to Coleridge’s reading of Kant: Carlyle, American transcendentalists like Thoreau and so on. Even John Stuart Mill!:”

I think the proper thing to say is: a version of the same development happened, independently, in the English-speaking world. There are parallels to what happened in Germany. Starting from Kant we get Coleridge and Carlyle and, later, Mill. As Adam says. But, obviously, in Germany, Coleridge is not the poetic key on the German side. Holderlin and Goethe and some others. And it’s key that figures like Jacobi are really accomplished literary figures – novelists, playwrights, poets – in their own right.


Adam Roberts 10.25.16 at 8:17 am

John: yes, fair point. But is there another case where philosophy (and quite abstruse, technical hard-core philosophy) bled through in so major a way into great poetry etc?

I wonder about this, I think, because so much philosophy has been absorbed into literary and cultural criticism nowadays under the aegis of ‘Theory’. One might think that philosophy therefore must inform contemporary writing and movies and whatnot; but I’m not sure it does, really. Or does it?


novakant 10.25.16 at 11:12 am

Manfred Frank, a pupil of Henrich, also did important work on that period, it’s a shame only few of his works have been translated into English – he has a talent for elucidating complex problems and relationships in comparatively clear language. I found this online:


stevenjohnson 10.25.16 at 11:59 am

Looking at the dates for most of these works, it seems that mostly the explosion in diverse readings of Kant coincide with the explosion of the French Revolution. Kant’s work itself seemed to me to be a kind of indirect response to the latter days of the French Enlightenment, mediated by a rediscovery of Hume’s epistemological skepticism. And Hume’s fame as a philosopher I thought was largely due to his historical rejection of religious enthusiasm, a repudiation of revolution in the only forms known thus far (Dutch revolution, Wars of Religion and the Puritan revolution in England itself.) Readings of Kant had to be as diverse as the responses to the Revolution.

Which I guess rather tends in one sense to explain away the original post, instead of reconstructing the play of ideas. Perhaps this view of the role of revolutionary ferment reveals nothing but my philosophical ignorance yet somehow it still seems to have more to do with the topic of the OP.


oldster 10.25.16 at 2:27 pm

From ’47 to ’50, when he evacuated to Taiwan, Chiang Kai-shek’s loyal batman and valet, ever at the side of his austere camp bed, was Hen Kai-pan. After the fall of the Mainland resistance, Hen Kai-pan refused to fly to Taiwan, instead emigrating to the US. There he died in Brooklyn in 1965, in a small basement flat festooned with campaign posters of Dick Nixon, and red white and blue banners reading “E pluribus unum”.


John Holbo 10.25.16 at 11:49 pm

Thanks for the video link. I’ll check that out a bit later.


john c. halasz 10.27.16 at 12:29 am

Couldn’t access the posted video (old computer), but M. Frank did write a book available in English “What Is Neo-Structuralism?’, which is one of the better overviews of what Anglophones call “post-structuralism”. (The single best such book I’ve read is Peter Dews’ “Logics of Disintegration”.).


arj 10.28.16 at 3:38 am

Seems good to add Frederick Beiser to the list of connected scholars here.


novakant 10.28.16 at 8:00 am

Yes, ‘What Is Neo-Structuralism?’ is very good, Frank’s talent for close reading helps a lot.

I didn’t know about Dews, thanks.

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