Technology and culture

Photo: Charles Sheeler, "Power, wheels", 1939; MFA, Boston

Technology is sometimes thought of as a domain with a logic of its own -- an inevitable trend towards the development of the most efficient artifacts, given the potential represented by a novel scientific or technical insight. The most important shift that has occurred in the ways in which historians conceptualize the history of technology in the past thirty years is the clear recognition that technology is a social product, all the way down. And, as a corollary, historians of technology have increasingly come to recognize the deep contingency that characterizes the development of specific instances or families of technologies.

Thomas Hughes is one of the most important and prolific historians of technology of his generation. His most recent book, Human-Built World: How to Think about Technology and Culture, is well worth reading. It looks at "technology" from a very broad perspective and asks how this dimension of civilization has affected our cultures in the past two centuries. The twentieth-century city, for example, could not have existed without the inventions of electricity, steel buildings, elevators, railroads, and modern waste-treatment technologies. So technology "created" the modern city. But it is also clear that life in the twentieth-century city was transformative for the several generations of rural people who migrated to them. And the literature, art, values, and social consciousness of people in the twentieth century have surely been affected by these new technology systems.

This level of analysis stands at the most generic perspective: how does technology influence culture? (And perhaps, how does culture influence technology?) What Hughes has demonstrated in so much of his work, though, is the fact that the most interesting questions about the "technology-society" interface can be framed at a much more disaggregated level. Consider some of the connections he suggests in his earlier book on the history of electric power (Networks of Power: Electrification in Western Society, 1880-1930):

• Invention (by individuals with a very specific educational and cultural background)
• Concrete development of the artifacts within a laboratory (involving specific social relationships among various experts and workers)
• "Selling" the innovation to municipal authorities (for lighting and traction) and to industrial capitalists (for power)
• Finding investors and sources of finance for large capital investments in electricity
  
• Building out the infrastructure for delivery of electric power
  
• Government regulation of industry practices
• Development of an extended research capability addressing technology problems
  

Each part of this complex story involves processes that are highly contingent and highly intertwined with social, economic, and political relationships. And the ultimate shape of the technology is the result of decisions and pressures exerted throughout the web of relationships through which the technology took shape. But here is an important point: there is no moment in this story where it is possible to put "technology" on one side and "social context" on the other. Instead, the technology and the society develop together.

Hughes also explores some of the ways in which the culture of the machine has influenced architecture, art, and literature. He discusses photography by Charles Sheeler (whose famous series on the Rouge plant defined an industrial aesthetic), artists Carl Grossberg and Marcel Duchamp, and architects such as Peter Behren. The central theme here is the idea that industrial-technological developments caused significant cultural change in Europe and America. Hughes's examples are mostly drawn from "high" culture; but historians of popular culture too have focused on the impact of technologies such as the railroad, the automobile, or the cigarette on American popular culture. See Deborah Clarke's Driving Women: Fiction and Automobile Culture in Twentieth-Century America for a discussion of the effect of automotive culture. And Pam Pennock's examination of the effects of alcohol and tobacco advertising on American culture in Advertising Sin And Sickness: The Politics of Alcohol And Tobacco Marketing, 1950-1990 is also relevant.

Hughes doesn't consider here the other line of influence that is possible between culture and technology: how prevailing aesthetic and cultural preferences influence the development of a technology. This has been an important theme in the line of interpretation referred to as the "social construction of technology" (SCOT). Wiebe Bijker makes the case for the social construction of mundane technologies such as bicycles in Of Bicycles, Bakelites, and Bulbs: Toward a Theory of Sociotechnical Change. And automobile historian Gijs Moms argues in The Electric Vehicle: Technology and Expectations in the Automobile Age that the choice between electric and internal combustion vehicles in the early twentieth century turned on aesthetic and lifestyle preferences rather than technical or economic efficiency. (Here is a nice short discussion of SCOT.) This too is a more disaggregated approach to the question. It proceeds on the idea that we can learn a great deal by examining the "micro" processes in culture and society that influence the development of a technology.

It seems to me that the conceptual framework of "assemblages theory" would be useful in discussing the history of technology. (See Manuel DeLanda's A New Philosophy of Society: Assemblage Theory And Social Complexity for a review of the theory, and Nick Srnicek's blog at accursedshare, which makes frequent use of the framework.) The framework is useful here because technology is a social phenomenon that extends from one's own kitchen and household to the cities of Chicago or Berlin, to the global internet and the international system of manufacturing and design. And similar processes of shaping and conditioning occur at the micro, meso, and macro levels. In other words -- perhaps we can understand "technology" at the molar level, as a complex composition of activities and processes at many levels closer to the socially constructed individual. And the value-added provided by the sociology and history of technology is precisely this: to shed light on the mechanisms at work at all levels that have an influence on the aggregate direction and shape of the resulting technology.

Since we're thinking about "technology and culture" -- it's worth noting that Technology and Culture is the world's leading journal for the history of technology, emanating from the Society for the History of Technology (SHOT, established in 1958). The journal has played a significant role in the definition of the discipline over the past thirty years or so and is an outstanding source for anyone interested in the questions posed here.

Technology and culture

Photo: Charles Sheeler, "Power, wheels", 1939; MFA, Boston

Technology is sometimes thought of as a domain with a logic of its own -- an inevitable trend towards the development of the most efficient artifacts, given the potential represented by a novel scientific or technical insight. The most important shift that has occurred in the ways in which historians conceptualize the history of technology in the past thirty years is the clear recognition that technology is a social product, all the way down. And, as a corollary, historians of technology have increasingly come to recognize the deep contingency that characterizes the development of specific instances or families of technologies.

Thomas Hughes is one of the most important and prolific historians of technology of his generation. His most recent book, Human-Built World: How to Think about Technology and Culture, is well worth reading. It looks at "technology" from a very broad perspective and asks how this dimension of civilization has affected our cultures in the past two centuries. The twentieth-century city, for example, could not have existed without the inventions of electricity, steel buildings, elevators, railroads, and modern waste-treatment technologies. So technology "created" the modern city. But it is also clear that life in the twentieth-century city was transformative for the several generations of rural people who migrated to them. And the literature, art, values, and social consciousness of people in the twentieth century have surely been affected by these new technology systems.

This level of analysis stands at the most generic perspective: how does technology influence culture? (And perhaps, how does culture influence technology?) What Hughes has demonstrated in so much of his work, though, is the fact that the most interesting questions about the "technology-society" interface can be framed at a much more disaggregated level. Consider some of the connections he suggests in his earlier book on the history of electric power (Networks of Power: Electrification in Western Society, 1880-1930):

• Invention (by individuals with a very specific educational and cultural background)
• Concrete development of the artifacts within a laboratory (involving specific social relationships among various experts and workers)
• "Selling" the innovation to municipal authorities (for lighting and traction) and to industrial capitalists (for power)
• Finding investors and sources of finance for large capital investments in electricity
  
• Building out the infrastructure for delivery of electric power
  
• Government regulation of industry practices
• Development of an extended research capability addressing technology problems
  

Each part of this complex story involves processes that are highly contingent and highly intertwined with social, economic, and political relationships. And the ultimate shape of the technology is the result of decisions and pressures exerted throughout the web of relationships through which the technology took shape. But here is an important point: there is no moment in this story where it is possible to put "technology" on one side and "social context" on the other. Instead, the technology and the society develop together.

Hughes also explores some of the ways in which the culture of the machine has influenced architecture, art, and literature. He discusses photography by Charles Sheeler (whose famous series on the Rouge plant defined an industrial aesthetic), artists Carl Grossberg and Marcel Duchamp, and architects such as Peter Behren. The central theme here is the idea that industrial-technological developments caused significant cultural change in Europe and America. Hughes's examples are mostly drawn from "high" culture; but historians of popular culture too have focused on the impact of technologies such as the railroad, the automobile, or the cigarette on American popular culture. See Deborah Clarke's Driving Women: Fiction and Automobile Culture in Twentieth-Century America for a discussion of the effect of automotive culture. And Pam Pennock's examination of the effects of alcohol and tobacco advertising on American culture in Advertising Sin And Sickness: The Politics of Alcohol And Tobacco Marketing, 1950-1990 is also relevant.

Hughes doesn't consider here the other line of influence that is possible between culture and technology: how prevailing aesthetic and cultural preferences influence the development of a technology. This has been an important theme in the line of interpretation referred to as the "social construction of technology" (SCOT). Wiebe Bijker makes the case for the social construction of mundane technologies such as bicycles in Of Bicycles, Bakelites, and Bulbs: Toward a Theory of Sociotechnical Change. And automobile historian Gijs Moms argues in The Electric Vehicle: Technology and Expectations in the Automobile Age that the choice between electric and internal combustion vehicles in the early twentieth century turned on aesthetic and lifestyle preferences rather than technical or economic efficiency. (Here is a nice short discussion of SCOT.) This too is a more disaggregated approach to the question. It proceeds on the idea that we can learn a great deal by examining the "micro" processes in culture and society that influence the development of a technology.

It seems to me that the conceptual framework of "assemblages theory" would be useful in discussing the history of technology. (See Manuel DeLanda's A New Philosophy of Society: Assemblage Theory And Social Complexity for a review of the theory, and Nick Srnicek's blog at accursedshare, which makes frequent use of the framework.) The framework is useful here because technology is a social phenomenon that extends from one's own kitchen and household to the cities of Chicago or Berlin, to the global internet and the international system of manufacturing and design. And similar processes of shaping and conditioning occur at the micro, meso, and macro levels. In other words -- perhaps we can understand "technology" at the molar level, as a complex composition of activities and processes at many levels closer to the socially constructed individual. And the value-added provided by the sociology and history of technology is precisely this: to shed light on the mechanisms at work at all levels that have an influence on the aggregate direction and shape of the resulting technology.

Since we're thinking about "technology and culture" -- it's worth noting that Technology and Culture is the world's leading journal for the history of technology, emanating from the Society for the History of Technology (SHOT, established in 1958). The journal has played a significant role in the definition of the discipline over the past thirty years or so and is an outstanding source for anyone interested in the questions posed here.

Technology and culture

Photo: Charles Sheeler, "Power, wheels", 1939; MFA, Boston

Technology is sometimes thought of as a domain with a logic of its own -- an inevitable trend towards the development of the most efficient artifacts, given the potential represented by a novel scientific or technical insight. The most important shift that has occurred in the ways in which historians conceptualize the history of technology in the past thirty years is the clear recognition that technology is a social product, all the way down. And, as a corollary, historians of technology have increasingly come to recognize the deep contingency that characterizes the development of specific instances or families of technologies.

Thomas Hughes is one of the most important and prolific historians of technology of his generation. His most recent book, Human-Built World: How to Think about Technology and Culture, is well worth reading. It looks at "technology" from a very broad perspective and asks how this dimension of civilization has affected our cultures in the past two centuries. The twentieth-century city, for example, could not have existed without the inventions of electricity, steel buildings, elevators, railroads, and modern waste-treatment technologies. So technology "created" the modern city. But it is also clear that life in the twentieth-century city was transformative for the several generations of rural people who migrated to them. And the literature, art, values, and social consciousness of people in the twentieth century have surely been affected by these new technology systems.

This level of analysis stands at the most generic perspective: how does technology influence culture? (And perhaps, how does culture influence technology?) What Hughes has demonstrated in so much of his work, though, is the fact that the most interesting questions about the "technology-society" interface can be framed at a much more disaggregated level. Consider some of the connections he suggests in his earlier book on the history of electric power (Networks of Power: Electrification in Western Society, 1880-1930):

• Invention (by individuals with a very specific educational and cultural background)
• Concrete development of the artifacts within a laboratory (involving specific social relationships among various experts and workers)
• "Selling" the innovation to municipal authorities (for lighting and traction) and to industrial capitalists (for power)
• Finding investors and sources of finance for large capital investments in electricity
  
• Building out the infrastructure for delivery of electric power
  
• Government regulation of industry practices
• Development of an extended research capability addressing technology problems
  

Each part of this complex story involves processes that are highly contingent and highly intertwined with social, economic, and political relationships. And the ultimate shape of the technology is the result of decisions and pressures exerted throughout the web of relationships through which the technology took shape. But here is an important point: there is no moment in this story where it is possible to put "technology" on one side and "social context" on the other. Instead, the technology and the society develop together.

Hughes also explores some of the ways in which the culture of the machine has influenced architecture, art, and literature. He discusses photography by Charles Sheeler (whose famous series on the Rouge plant defined an industrial aesthetic), artists Carl Grossberg and Marcel Duchamp, and architects such as Peter Behren. The central theme here is the idea that industrial-technological developments caused significant cultural change in Europe and America. Hughes's examples are mostly drawn from "high" culture; but historians of popular culture too have focused on the impact of technologies such as the railroad, the automobile, or the cigarette on American popular culture. See Deborah Clarke's Driving Women: Fiction and Automobile Culture in Twentieth-Century America for a discussion of the effect of automotive culture. And Pam Pennock's examination of the effects of alcohol and tobacco advertising on American culture in Advertising Sin And Sickness: The Politics of Alcohol And Tobacco Marketing, 1950-1990 is also relevant.

Hughes doesn't consider here the other line of influence that is possible between culture and technology: how prevailing aesthetic and cultural preferences influence the development of a technology. This has been an important theme in the line of interpretation referred to as the "social construction of technology" (SCOT). Wiebe Bijker makes the case for the social construction of mundane technologies such as bicycles in Of Bicycles, Bakelites, and Bulbs: Toward a Theory of Sociotechnical Change. And automobile historian Gijs Moms argues in The Electric Vehicle: Technology and Expectations in the Automobile Age that the choice between electric and internal combustion vehicles in the early twentieth century turned on aesthetic and lifestyle preferences rather than technical or economic efficiency. (Here is a nice short discussion of SCOT.) This too is a more disaggregated approach to the question. It proceeds on the idea that we can learn a great deal by examining the "micro" processes in culture and society that influence the development of a technology.

It seems to me that the conceptual framework of "assemblages theory" would be useful in discussing the history of technology. (See Manuel DeLanda's A New Philosophy of Society: Assemblage Theory And Social Complexity for a review of the theory, and Nick Srnicek's blog at accursedshare, which makes frequent use of the framework.) The framework is useful here because technology is a social phenomenon that extends from one's own kitchen and household to the cities of Chicago or Berlin, to the global internet and the international system of manufacturing and design. And similar processes of shaping and conditioning occur at the micro, meso, and macro levels. In other words -- perhaps we can understand "technology" at the molar level, as a complex composition of activities and processes at many levels closer to the socially constructed individual. And the value-added provided by the sociology and history of technology is precisely this: to shed light on the mechanisms at work at all levels that have an influence on the aggregate direction and shape of the resulting technology.

Since we're thinking about "technology and culture" -- it's worth noting that Technology and Culture is the world's leading journal for the history of technology, emanating from the Society for the History of Technology (SHOT, established in 1958). The journal has played a significant role in the definition of the discipline over the past thirty years or so and is an outstanding source for anyone interested in the questions posed here.

Applied philosophy of history

The philosophy of history is difficult to classify. Should we think of it in analogy with the philosophy of physics or economics -- essentially a careful analysis of the modes of research and inference used within an empirical discipline? Or should we think of it in analogy with the philosophy of nature or the philosophy of technology -- essentially an effort to use constructive philosophical methods to attempt to discover important features of the object of study (nature or technology)? The former approach makes the philosophical study a sort of high-level methodology critique, while the latter makes it more of an effort at old-fashioned metaphysics. Hegel's philosophy of history falls in the latter category, while twentieth-century analytic treatments of historical explanation fall in the former category (Hempel, Danto).

In the case of history the distinction also parallels the ambiguity between two meanings of "history": an organized body of knowledge about the past versus the totality of events and processes that have unfolded over time -- history as knowledge versus history as substantive happenings.

So we might say that there are two divergent starting points for a philosophy of history: How do we know and explain the past? And what are the nature and dynamics of historical reality? And philosophers interested in one of these questions are unlikely to be interested in the other. The analytic philosopher who pursues the epistemological questions is likely to believe that philosophy simply and categorically lacks a basis for discovering apriori truths about the external world; substantive metaphysics is not possible. And the philosopher like Hegel or Ricoeur who believes the important questions about history are the substantive ones, is likely to be impatient with a purely analytic and epistemic approach.

It is time for philosophers to take a fresh look at the issues raised by history in all its facets. We need some new approaches to the philosophy of history. And this suggests that we need to get beyond the dichotomy between analytic and substantive approaches to the problems. Fortunately, there seems to be ample intellectual space for us to do so. And many of the challenging "new" questions for the philosophy of history cross over the distinction between epistemology and metaphysics.

Take for example the problem of providing a more adequate treatment of concepts that are often taken for granted in historical discourse: e.g. structure, mentality, class, event, or revolution. Each of these concepts raises problems that philosophers can help to address. The twin problems of disaggregation and reification arise in each instance. What is a historical structure such as "the fiscal system of the ancien regime" composed of? What errors are we led to by asserting things like "the Revolution in the west was less about economic interests and more about local political competition"? What do we need to provide as foundation if we want to refer to the "artisanal mentality of Parisian workers"? In each instance there is a productive space in which the philosopher and the working historian can arrive at a deeper and more adequate conceptual scheme in terms of which to analyze the historical reality under consideration. And it is worth noticing that this work is not purely analytical; it is also substantive, in the sense that it is shedding new light on real historical phenomena. We might describe this work as falling in the domain of substantive historical ontology.

Or think about the potential value of a philosopher's reflections on the range of ways in which talented historians frame their results: Albert Soboul's methodical exposition of the meso-level class identities and interests of the groups contending in 1789 (A Short History of the French Revolution, 1789-1799), Simon Schama's discontinuous exposition of elements of European history around the theme of landscapes (Landscape And Memory), Philip Kuhn's exposition of the cultural-emotional climate of late Imperial China through the lens of a witchcraft scare (Soulstealers: The Chinese Sorcery Scare of 1768). To what extent do these choices about exposition and framework inflect upon the substantive historical findings? How does Peter Perdue's shift of focus from Ming-Qing China to the shifting power relationships in central Asia between Russia, China, and the Mongol empire change our perspective on Chinese diplomacy and warcraft (China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia)? The philosophical work to be done here is analytical; but it is also illuminating and progressive, in the sense that it lays the basis for a better understanding of the relationship between the historian and the historical domain under scrutiny.

These examples suggest a third possible starting point for the new philosophy of history: what are some of the core historical concepts that enter into good examples of historical writing and thinking, and what kinds of puzzles and presuppositions do these concepts bring with them? And what can we discover about historical explanation and knowledge by carefully observing the work of talented, innovative historians?

One thing seems clear from this last formulation: the philosopher needs to formulate topics and problems in close proximity to the historical research of talented historians. In this respect it seems right to regard the philosophy of history as an "applied" field. In this way the philosopher avoids the hazard of a uselessly apriori approach to the philosophical study of history. And it suggests yet another way of bridging the divide between analytic and substantive knowledge-building in the philosophy of history: by establishing close and mutually insightful partnerships between philosophers and historians.

Applied philosophy of history

The philosophy of history is difficult to classify. Should we think of it in analogy with the philosophy of physics or economics -- essentially a careful analysis of the modes of research and inference used within an empirical discipline? Or should we think of it in analogy with the philosophy of nature or the philosophy of technology -- essentially an effort to use constructive philosophical methods to attempt to discover important features of the object of study (nature or technology)? The former approach makes the philosophical study a sort of high-level methodology critique, while the latter makes it more of an effort at old-fashioned metaphysics. Hegel's philosophy of history falls in the latter category, while twentieth-century analytic treatments of historical explanation fall in the former category (Hempel, Danto).

In the case of history the distinction also parallels the ambiguity between two meanings of "history": an organized body of knowledge about the past versus the totality of events and processes that have unfolded over time -- history as knowledge versus history as substantive happenings.

So we might say that there are two divergent starting points for a philosophy of history: How do we know and explain the past? And what are the nature and dynamics of historical reality? And philosophers interested in one of these questions are unlikely to be interested in the other. The analytic philosopher who pursues the epistemological questions is likely to believe that philosophy simply and categorically lacks a basis for discovering apriori truths about the external world; substantive metaphysics is not possible. And the philosopher like Hegel or Ricoeur who believes the important questions about history are the substantive ones, is likely to be impatient with a purely analytic and epistemic approach.

It is time for philosophers to take a fresh look at the issues raised by history in all its facets. We need some new approaches to the philosophy of history. And this suggests that we need to get beyond the dichotomy between analytic and substantive approaches to the problems. Fortunately, there seems to be ample intellectual space for us to do so. And many of the challenging "new" questions for the philosophy of history cross over the distinction between epistemology and metaphysics.

Take for example the problem of providing a more adequate treatment of concepts that are often taken for granted in historical discourse: e.g. structure, mentality, class, event, or revolution. Each of these concepts raises problems that philosophers can help to address. The twin problems of disaggregation and reification arise in each instance. What is a historical structure such as "the fiscal system of the ancien regime" composed of? What errors are we led to by asserting things like "the Revolution in the west was less about economic interests and more about local political competition"? What do we need to provide as foundation if we want to refer to the "artisanal mentality of Parisian workers"? In each instance there is a productive space in which the philosopher and the working historian can arrive at a deeper and more adequate conceptual scheme in terms of which to analyze the historical reality under consideration. And it is worth noticing that this work is not purely analytical; it is also substantive, in the sense that it is shedding new light on real historical phenomena. We might describe this work as falling in the domain of substantive historical ontology.

Or think about the potential value of a philosopher's reflections on the range of ways in which talented historians frame their results: Albert Soboul's methodical exposition of the meso-level class identities and interests of the groups contending in 1789 (A Short History of the French Revolution, 1789-1799), Simon Schama's discontinuous exposition of elements of European history around the theme of landscapes (Landscape And Memory), Philip Kuhn's exposition of the cultural-emotional climate of late Imperial China through the lens of a witchcraft scare (Soulstealers: The Chinese Sorcery Scare of 1768). To what extent do these choices about exposition and framework inflect upon the substantive historical findings? How does Peter Perdue's shift of focus from Ming-Qing China to the shifting power relationships in central Asia between Russia, China, and the Mongol empire change our perspective on Chinese diplomacy and warcraft (China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia)? The philosophical work to be done here is analytical; but it is also illuminating and progressive, in the sense that it lays the basis for a better understanding of the relationship between the historian and the historical domain under scrutiny.

These examples suggest a third possible starting point for the new philosophy of history: what are some of the core historical concepts that enter into good examples of historical writing and thinking, and what kinds of puzzles and presuppositions do these concepts bring with them? And what can we discover about historical explanation and knowledge by carefully observing the work of talented, innovative historians?

One thing seems clear from this last formulation: the philosopher needs to formulate topics and problems in close proximity to the historical research of talented historians. In this respect it seems right to regard the philosophy of history as an "applied" field. In this way the philosopher avoids the hazard of a uselessly apriori approach to the philosophical study of history. And it suggests yet another way of bridging the divide between analytic and substantive knowledge-building in the philosophy of history: by establishing close and mutually insightful partnerships between philosophers and historians.

Applied philosophy of history

The philosophy of history is difficult to classify. Should we think of it in analogy with the philosophy of physics or economics -- essentially a careful analysis of the modes of research and inference used within an empirical discipline? Or should we think of it in analogy with the philosophy of nature or the philosophy of technology -- essentially an effort to use constructive philosophical methods to attempt to discover important features of the object of study (nature or technology)? The former approach makes the philosophical study a sort of high-level methodology critique, while the latter makes it more of an effort at old-fashioned metaphysics. Hegel's philosophy of history falls in the latter category, while twentieth-century analytic treatments of historical explanation fall in the former category (Hempel, Danto).

In the case of history the distinction also parallels the ambiguity between two meanings of "history": an organized body of knowledge about the past versus the totality of events and processes that have unfolded over time -- history as knowledge versus history as substantive happenings.

So we might say that there are two divergent starting points for a philosophy of history: How do we know and explain the past? And what are the nature and dynamics of historical reality? And philosophers interested in one of these questions are unlikely to be interested in the other. The analytic philosopher who pursues the epistemological questions is likely to believe that philosophy simply and categorically lacks a basis for discovering apriori truths about the external world; substantive metaphysics is not possible. And the philosopher like Hegel or Ricoeur who believes the important questions about history are the substantive ones, is likely to be impatient with a purely analytic and epistemic approach.

It is time for philosophers to take a fresh look at the issues raised by history in all its facets. We need some new approaches to the philosophy of history. And this suggests that we need to get beyond the dichotomy between analytic and substantive approaches to the problems. Fortunately, there seems to be ample intellectual space for us to do so. And many of the challenging "new" questions for the philosophy of history cross over the distinction between epistemology and metaphysics.

Take for example the problem of providing a more adequate treatment of concepts that are often taken for granted in historical discourse: e.g. structure, mentality, class, event, or revolution. Each of these concepts raises problems that philosophers can help to address. The twin problems of disaggregation and reification arise in each instance. What is a historical structure such as "the fiscal system of the ancien regime" composed of? What errors are we led to by asserting things like "the Revolution in the west was less about economic interests and more about local political competition"? What do we need to provide as foundation if we want to refer to the "artisanal mentality of Parisian workers"? In each instance there is a productive space in which the philosopher and the working historian can arrive at a deeper and more adequate conceptual scheme in terms of which to analyze the historical reality under consideration. And it is worth noticing that this work is not purely analytical; it is also substantive, in the sense that it is shedding new light on real historical phenomena. We might describe this work as falling in the domain of substantive historical ontology.

Or think about the potential value of a philosopher's reflections on the range of ways in which talented historians frame their results: Albert Soboul's methodical exposition of the meso-level class identities and interests of the groups contending in 1789 (A Short History of the French Revolution, 1789-1799), Simon Schama's discontinuous exposition of elements of European history around the theme of landscapes (Landscape And Memory), Philip Kuhn's exposition of the cultural-emotional climate of late Imperial China through the lens of a witchcraft scare (Soulstealers: The Chinese Sorcery Scare of 1768). To what extent do these choices about exposition and framework inflect upon the substantive historical findings? How does Peter Perdue's shift of focus from Ming-Qing China to the shifting power relationships in central Asia between Russia, China, and the Mongol empire change our perspective on Chinese diplomacy and warcraft (China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia)? The philosophical work to be done here is analytical; but it is also illuminating and progressive, in the sense that it lays the basis for a better understanding of the relationship between the historian and the historical domain under scrutiny.

These examples suggest a third possible starting point for the new philosophy of history: what are some of the core historical concepts that enter into good examples of historical writing and thinking, and what kinds of puzzles and presuppositions do these concepts bring with them? And what can we discover about historical explanation and knowledge by carefully observing the work of talented, innovative historians?

One thing seems clear from this last formulation: the philosopher needs to formulate topics and problems in close proximity to the historical research of talented historians. In this respect it seems right to regard the philosophy of history as an "applied" field. In this way the philosopher avoids the hazard of a uselessly apriori approach to the philosophical study of history. And it suggests yet another way of bridging the divide between analytic and substantive knowledge-building in the philosophy of history: by establishing close and mutually insightful partnerships between philosophers and historians.

Philosophy of X?

When philosophers do their thinking within a field called "the philosophy of X", there is always a natural question that arises: how will philosophical reflection about X be helpful or constructive for the practitioners of X? For example, how might the philosophy of science be helpful for working scientists? How can the philosophy of biology or economics be helpful to biologists or economists? And, for that matter -- why isn't there a philosophy of plumbing or long-distance bus driving?

As for the last question, there seem to be two separate reasons for this gap in the spectrum -- a dearth of difficult conceptual problems and a lack of potentially useful consequences. First, philosophy finds traction when it deals with subject matter that raises difficult conceptual or inferential issues. Philosophers are particularly good at untangling unclear concepts; they are experienced at the task of formulating problems clearly and logically; they are ready to unmask the hidden presuppositions underlying a particular formulation. This is the kind of work Wittgenstein describes as "letting the fly out of the fly bottle"; it is what J. L. Austin does so well in "Three ways of spilling ink" (link). Drawing distinctions and formulating ideas clearly -- these are core intellectual tools, and they lie at the root of philosophy.

Another core intellectual tool is the commitment to providing justification for the things we believe, and raising reflective questions about the nature of rational justification. What is the evidence that supports a given belief? What degree of warrant does this evidence create? Why do statements like these make it more likely that P is true? Questions like these too are foundational for philosophy -- from Plato to Locke to Quine. And philosophers have a developed and nuanced set of frameworks and vocabularies in terms of which to interrogate them.

Both these types of intellectual work are doubly cognitive. They represent cognitive effort directed at examples of cognitive effort -- efforts to explain the workings of nature, the behavior of other people, or the workings of social institutions. Putting the point very simply -- philosophers are good at helping us think clearly about thinking. And, at their best, they can help us think more clearly and coherently.

So now we have part of an answer for why there is no philosophy of plumbing: plumbing is a routine activity with few conceptual puzzles and a secure base of practical knowledge. There just isn't any room for philosophical analysis in this realm. And, second, there is the pragmatic point: it is very hard to see how the plumbers might benefit from philosophical analysis. If Deleuze were to write a treatise on plumbing, how could that possibly enhance the practical discipline of plumbing? The plumbers' effective ability to control the water and waste systems of our buildings would not be enhanced by conceptual or epistemic analysis. Their conceptual and theoretical problems are well-mapped; all that remains is to discover the source of the leak. And this does not require philosophy.

Why, then, do we need other philosophies of X's? What is it about economics, evolution, or the mind that makes it intellectually and practically valuable to have a philosophy of economics, biology, or psychology? The answer proceeds along the lines sketched here. All these disciplines confront huge problems of concept formation, theory construction, and inference and justification. The most basic questions remain unsettled: does capitalism exist? How are theories and models related to the empirical world? Is there such a thing as group selection? How do emotions intersect with reasoning? What is consciousness? And in all these fields, there is the problem of inference and method -- again, unresolved. So there is ample room for philosophical thinking in these fields.

But more importantly, philosophy can help to improve the intellectual practices of the cognitive-empirical disciplines. By working productively in tandem with creative scientific researchers, with a focus on the conceptual and methodological problems that matter the most, philosophers can help contribute to real progress in the disciplines. This requires the philosopher to engage with the discipline in depth. But the fruits of this sort of synergy can be highly productive. It is sometimes complained that philosophy brings only "logic chopping" and dry conceptual analysis. But this is a caricature; the conceptual issues faced by the special sciences are deeply challenging, and sustained dialogue with philosophers can potentially lead to meaningful progress in the science. And reciprocally, quite a few traditional concerns of philosophy --in ontology, epistemology, and the theory of the mind, for example -- can be significantly deepened through close engagement with current scientific work. There need not be a sharp line of demarcation between philosophy and empirical research.