Vol. 4 No. 3 (March, 1994) pp. 33-35
THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS FREE SPEECH by Stanley Fish. New York:
Oxford University Press, 1994. 332pp. Cloth $25.00
Reviewed by Lief Carter, Department of Political Science,
University of Georgia
Virtually all students of law, the social sciences, and social
philosophy should read Stanley Fish's new collection of essays
(from the late 1980s to 1993.) That said, different subsets of us
will have very different payoffs for doing so. Indeed, the
central argument in nearly all Fish's work holds that our
readings and interpretations necessarily depend on the particular
rhetorical and political communities to which we belong. We
cannot escape or transcend them. Assuming for the moment that
Fish is right, it makes no sense to review the book from any
single homogeneous perspective, any more than it makes sense to
assume that a performance of "Hamlet" ought to mean the
same thing to a group of New York theater critics and to an
audience of freshmen enrolled in introductory psychology (cf.
p.97). Instead I'll describe how three -- among no doubt many --
audiences might benefit, each in distinctive ways, from taking
this fishing expedition.
First a bit more general description. Stanley Fish is, along with
Richard Rorty and Martha Nussbaum, the most provocative writer in
political philosophy in the United States today. He, as they,
swims in post-modernism's mainstream. (Nussbaum, however, swims
against the current.) Fish, its most flamboyant and entertaining
writer, prompted Adam Begley (NEW YORK TIMES MAGAZINE, May 3,
1992) to call him a "souped-up, politically correct
showman." Some of the titles of these nineteen essays
boarder on clowning: "The Empire Strikes Back,"
"Jerry Falwell's Mother," "The Incredible Ugliness
of Volvos," and the title essay, which carries the subtitle,
"and It's a Good Thing, Too." The essays draw as much
from such sources as the Broadway show, "How to Succeed in
Business without Really Trying," as on Habermas; as much
from David Duke as from Duke University, where Fish holds
positions in English and the law school. Fish, once a scrappy,
first-to-college kid from the flatlands of Providence, has
described his work as a philosophical version of "Saturday
Night Live."
But Fish is no clown. He mounts here a strong pragmatic case for
policies, including affirmative action, to improve the lives of
the poor and powerless. Chapters three through seven were
originally delivered in live campus debates with Dinesh D'Souza,
a policy analyst in the Reagan administration and critic of
"political correctness" in higher education. Fish
debunks a reverence for a Western literary canon that squelches
new voices. Above all, he makes the compelling case that all
academic behavior, indeed all social behavior, is inescapably
political. He argues that liberalism's fundamental premises --
particularly the public/private distinction and the existence of
objective reason and transcendent values -- are incoherent.
But here Fish throws us a curve. He argues that political
philosophy will go on just as it has, for all it will ever have
are its own constructed traditions. And it follows that we should
read Fish to find out where he is wrong and where we may,
consequently, aspire to retool political philosophy.
I. Mainstream Social Science Positivists. A highly respected and
self-effacing senior colleague in my department last term
approached me in the mail room with a request: "Lief, it
looks like postmodernism is here to stay, and I'm getting nervous
that if I don't learn more about it, I'll become even more out of
it than I am already. Why don't we organize a brown bag so that
us old-fashioned empiricists can pick the brains of those of you
familiar with the field?" I responded by promising to loan
him my copy of this book. My colleague rightly predicts
postmodernism's staying power, mainly because postmodernism's
main claim is quite old and familiar: Essences are rhetorical
contingencies forever under construction by the constantly
changing symbolic activity of people. (Hence no speech can be
truly free.) From the pre-Socratics to the American pragmatists,
most famously James and Dewey, thinkers have already woven these
insights into contemporary thought. In one form it is already a
commonplace in both
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the philosophy of science and its practice. (Experiments can
disprove nul hypotheses, but they can never prove THE TRUTH.)
Postmodernism is new only in the sense that its rhetoric is
"different." But, like learning to switch from one
computer language or word processing program to another, the
novelty seems at first a bitter pill. Fish's entertaining prose
coats the pill. (The index situates "Davis, Bette,"
next to "Deconstruction" and "Feminism" next
to "Fetchit, Stepin,".) But in three ways he removes
its very bitterness.
First, he familiarizes. He illustrates how we experience the
contingency of concepts like fairness and merit and equality in
daily practice. This is something every lawyer trained in common
law knows. In the particularly effective essay, "Speaking in
Code" (pp. 89-101), he reminds how easy it is to distinguish
Martin Luther King's meaning from David Duke's despite the fact
that Duke used surprisingly similar rhetoric about equal
opportunity. Second, he engages moral issues. Many beginners
wrongly equate postmodern thought with deconstructionism and its
nihilistic implications. But deconstruction was merely
positivism's last gasp, its final futile effort to focus the
humanities's microscopes down far enough to see what is
"really true." In fact, because all positions are
contingent, Fish shows how we can mount a moral argument as
defensibly as any other argument. Third, he draws a scholarly
map. Readers unfamiliar with the field get at least thumbnail
descriptions and criticisms of the field's major players --
Dworkin, Rorty, Posner, Nussbaum, and of course Wittgenstein.
II. Committed Liberal Scholars. Sandy Muir, my major professor at
Berkeley too many years ago, insists that good writing must
always have something or someone to "write against."
The liberal philosopher Cass Sunstein has effectively written
against Fish in just this fashion in "The Professor's New
Clothes," THE NEW REPUBLIC, December 6, 1993, pp. 42-46.
Sunstein notes that the pragmatism Fish espouses was nourished by
the liberal tradition and in no way need contradict it. Fish may
rightly embrace metaphor of games and rightly argue that our
political vocabulary is no truer than the vocabulary we use to
play any game, but so what? Liberalism is still the game we play.
Its language enables us to talk about whether to support public
financing of elections or the fairness doctrine in broadcasting.
The liberalism that Fish says "doesn't exist" turns out
to be a pre- pragmatic caricature. Fish demonstrates its
"nonexistence" via the very kind of scholastic
syllogistic word-spinning that he elsewhere debunks: Liberalism
defines its existence in terms of its difference from religion;
its claim to truth is no less political and ideological than
religion's; ergo, since the distinction is false, liberalism
cannot exist (pp. 137-138).
In short, Fish walks with pragmatic liberals out of the dark and
gloomy woods of formalism and positivism into such an open field
that it seems perverse for him to turn and run back into the
woods. If we grant that liberalism seeks a rhetoric designed to
minimize our tendency to slaughter fellow members of the species,
do not the metaphors and rhetorics of games -- essentially
peaceful activities -- lead us in a good direction? Why doesn't
debunking the authoritarian's claim of correctness simply improve
the liberal game, just as the forward pass improved football?
Fish, so enamored of games, particularly tennis, seems
competitively driven to try to defeat all challengers. He might
try sitting on the rules committee.
III. Postmodern Legal Scholars. Members of this audience who
missed Fish's legal essays in Kearns and Sarat's THE FATE OF LAW
(1991), Leyh's LEGAL HERMENEUTICS (1992), and Brint's PRAGMATISM
IN LAW AND SOCIETY (1991) will find these must readings reprinted
here. Fish's description of the legal process as doing "the
business of producing the very authority it retroactively
invokes" in order to buffer us from "a world without
foundational essences" (p. 179) seems so familiar that we
cannot help but take our experience of law as persuasive
validation of much of Fish's position.
But the game will go on, of course, so what's next? Here Fish
implies a cornucopia of
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useful questions and pugnaciously refuses to answer any of them.
Here are two sorts:
1. Why, if theory is self-referential, and indeterminate, do we
persist in theorizing? Why do games need rules committees? Surely
legal mechanisms in baseball or any other sport do pragmatic work
-- make games possible. Why? Individual interpretive communities
DO generate broad intersubjective agreement on many things? How?
What, in other words, is this game we call politics and that Fish
plays so zestfully. How do games and performances simultaneously
create agreements and changes of agreements?
2. Grant that we academics, like everybody else, can justify the
things we do only by invoking some transcending political values,
are there no criteria for distinguishing better from worse
justifications? Fish seems to deny that such criteria have any
bite outside the performing of them, but he doesn't hesitate to
perform them. He never hesitates to call an idea "so much
wrong" (e.g., p. 44) or "exactly right" (e.g., p.
169). So Fish must have some sense of how, politically, we
distinguish good from bad performances. Fish, like any good
pragmatist, must have an aesthetic sense -- a sense of hypocrisy
or a nose for internal self-contradiction, perhaps -- that he
could share with us. But all he will say is that writing is his
craft, that his role models are Austen and C.S.Lewis, and that
his writing strives for clarity (p. 283).
And so Fish, who aspires only to practice the craft of clarity,
finally leaves his postmodern audience muttering in confusion,
and in this sense he is wrong. He argues (p. 219) that pragmatism
best describes the law but that this description has no close
relation to the practice of law because description is a very
different kind of performance practice than law practice. Grant
the premise, but then it's hard to explain Fish's athletic zest
to approve or condemn legal opinions. If Justice White rightly
dissented from Justice O'Connor's rejection, in June of 1993, of
North Carolina's districting scheme on the pragmatic ground that
North Carolina's districting plan plainly achieved the purposes
of the Voting Rights Act (pp. viii-ix), then judges CAN practice
law pragmatically. At the close of the book, Fish dogmatically
returns to the point that there is no point, "and therefore
it would be contradictory for me to have a point beyond that
point." (p. 307). To quote from A CHORUS LINE, "That
ain't it, kid." Theories and points and rules can do
pragmatic work without being correct. They build trust in the
integrity of speakers and in their willingness to share
conversations and games and communities with us. Come on,
Stanley, get off the court and try sitting on pragmatism's rules
committee for a change. Of course its just another game, but it's
the game we academics would like to play with you better.
REFERENCES
Brint, Michael, ed. 1991. PRAGMATISM IN LAW AND SOCIETY. Boulder,
Colorado: Westview Press.
Leyh, Gregory, ed. 1992. LEGAL HERMENEUTICS: HISTORY, THEORY, AND
PRACTICE. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Sarat, Austin and Thomas R. Kearns, eds. 1991. THE FATE OF LAW.
Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.
Copyright 1994