Are Bourdieu’s analyses of literature any more than a diversion from his more ‘serious’ sociological research? Unlike his other major studies of social fields, which were written in collaboration with teams of researchers and co-authors, Bourdieu’s work on literature seems to have been a largely solitary affair, suggesting that it was something of a sideline to which he returned when he needed a rest from his ‘hard’ scientific labours. Again, while literature provides an important source of anecdote, illustration, and insight across much of the rest of Bourdieu’s work, it appears most often in the form of epigraphs, footnotes, and annexes, contributing to the impression that literature was somehow marginal, or even ornamental, in his work. Perhaps unsurprisingly, in the vast metadiscourse of Anglophone introductions and general studies on Bourdieu, his work on literature has itself been sidelined, rarely receiving even an entire chapter’s attention.1 And while we have had books on Culture and Power: The Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu (1997), Bourdieu and Education: Acts of Practical Theory (1998), Bourdieu and Culture (1999), Bourdieu and the Journalistic Field (2004), Art Rules: Pierre Bourdieu and the Visual Arts (2006), Bourdieu’s Politics: Problems and Possibilities (2006), Pierre Bourdieu and Literacy Education (2008), and most recently Bourdieu in Algeria (2009), there had yet to be written a single-authored work on Bourdieu and Literature.2
Other facts, however, suggest that literature occupied a far more important position in Bourdieu’s own mind and work than has so far been widely acknowledged. Literature was an early and recurrent theme in Bourdieu’s publications. He first brought literary themes into his argument in ‘Champ intellectuel et projet créateur’ (1966),3 and elaborated his vision of the literary field in ‘Le Marché des biens symboliques’ (1971).4 Subsequently, a substantial fraction of his work centred on cultural production, and included a specific focus on literature. Many of these writings were collected, revised, and re-published in 1992 as Les Règles de l’art. Literature also played an important role in the development of Bourdieu’s theory. His key concept of field was first developed through his studies of literature,5 which determined its initial properties, and oriented its future applications. Finally, Bourdieu frequently expressed a strong sense of personal identification with his literary and artistic heroes, an identification he reiterates on the final page of his final book, Esquisse pour une auto-analyse (2004).
There may be other reasons, then, why Bourdieu’s work on literature has not received the same levels of attention as, say, his ethnographic research on Algerian peasant households, in Esquisse d’une théorie de la pratique (1972) and Le Sens pratique (1980); his study of patterns in European gallery and museum attendance, in L’Amour de l’art: les musées et leur public (1966); his research into French education, in Les Héritiers (1964), La Reproduction (1977), Homo academicus (1988), and La Noblesse d’État (1989); or his survey-analysis of French cultural tastes, in La Distinction (1979), all of which have become classic points of reference in their respective fields. This chapter sets out to outline the principal criticisms and complaints that have been levelled at Bourdieu’s work on literature by scholars in the Anglophone field of reception. It then provides a first notion of the French intellectual space in which Bourdieu’s theory of the literary field was first developed and received. This route is taken partly to test Bourdieu’s theory (which will be discussed in more detail in the next chapter) that in order to form a closer understanding of cultural works, including of his own texts, it is advisable to subject them to what he terms a double historicisation:
Il s’agit pour cela de reconstituer à la fois l’espace des positions possibles (appréhendé à travers les dispositions associées à une certaine position) par rapport auquel s’est élaboré le donné historique (texte, document, image, etc.) à interpréter, et l’espace des possibles par rapport auquel on l’interprète. Ignorer cette double détermination, c’est se condamner à une ‘compréhension’ anachronique et ethnocentrique qui a toutes les chances d’être fictive et qui, dans le meilleur des cas, reste inconsciente de ses propres principes (RA, 505).6
By going through this process, Bourdieu contends, we can control our preconceived ideas regarding the work, and gain a greater comprehension of the author’s understanding of his creative project. Only then can we begin to make an unbiased or ‘objective’ judgment of the work, and perhaps even find points of correspondence and constructive engagement between the author’s position and our own. Let us begin, then, by meeting Bourdieu on his own terms, and applying to his own work on literature the same method he uses to study great literary authors including Flaubert and Baudelaire; that is, by constructing the spaces of ‘positions’ and ‘position-takings’ in the ‘fields’ of production and reception.
Bourdieu anticipated that his work on literature would not be welcomed by scholars in literary studies. Indeed, he seems to have relished the thought of ‘scandalising’ his readers with what he describes grandiosely in the opening pages of Les Règles as ‘la dernière et peut-être la pire des blessures infligées, selon Freud, au narcissisme, après celles que marquent les noms de Copernic, Darwin et Freud lui-même’ (RA, 12).7 Arguably this claim to scandalise is more likely to provoke the ‘resistances’ of his readers than anything in Bourdieu’s actual sociology. Bourdieu’s case, in these opening pages, is that the sociologist dispels the belief in ‘creators’ as unique and gifted individuals by analysing the manifold social and historical determinations that made them and their works what they are. This has however long been the aim of literary histories and biographies. If Bourdieu’s theory differs, it is in the methods he deploys to perform the literary scholar’s traditional tasks more effectively.
A more common accusation is that sociology ‘reduces’ aesthetic works and experiences, most dramatically to numerical statistics, but also to their social uses. This preconception, Bourdieu warned, had been given new life by ‘deconstructionist’ and ‘post-modernist’ critics in the 1980s, who looked to expose the ways in which other people, experiences, or texts, could not be contained in a single ‘totalising’ description or theory. Bourdieu’s strong claim to ‘science’, especially, appears to expose him to such a critique, as it suggests he was aiming to discover some ‘fundamental’ or ‘objective’ (in the positivist sense) truth or reality. Several English-language critiques of Bourdieu’s work on literature have taken this line of attack, perceiving an ‘essentialism’ at the heart of Bourdieu’s sociology.8 This impression cannot be blamed entirely on critics who, influenced by the dominant academic trends of the time, saw in Bourdieu’s work what they expected to find. Bourdieu is prone to making rather sweeping and finalising remarks – which he explains by his desire to ‘twist the stick in the other direction’, and emphasise what his intellectual opponents left unsaid or denied (RA, 304). Yet as I will attempt to show throughout this study, it is more meaningful and productive to take these isolated and sometimes contradictory position-takings as elements in a more complex system under continual development than to dismiss the whole edifice on the basis of partial or incomplete readings (one might only wish that Bourdieu had paid some of his own opponents the same courtesy).
Another consistent concern regards Bourdieu’s writing style. As Bourdieu himself writes in the preface of the English translation of Distinction, his ‘long, complex sentences may offend’, particularly those with literary sensibilities.9 Added to this is an initially intimidating system of concepts and technical terminology, which at best enables him to communicate complex and nuanced points, and at worst makes simple points unnecessarily opaque. These obstacles are compounded in Les Règles de l’art, the book in which Bourdieu’s work on literature is concentrated, and which is arguably his worst (at least, it has been the least well received, and perhaps the least well read). A patchwork of ideas and essays spanning decades, it suffers from inner inconsistencies and poor organisation.10 As a result, the cogency of Bourdieu’s argumentation, and the coherence of his methodology, can become lost, particularly to readers in the field of literary studies, who are unfamiliar with his wider work.
In the view of Toril Moi, ‘the difficulty that Bourdieu represents for literary critics has to do with the fact that he inherits a philosophical tradition that remains poorly understood in U.S. literary criticism’.11 On Moi’s reading, Bourdieu takes his place among the group of twentieth-century thinkers including Freud, Heidegger, Sartre, Beauvoir, Merleau-Ponty, J.L. Austin, and Wittgenstein. This is true, although one might think there is nothing particularly unfamiliar about the names Moi has chosen. More to the point would have been to cite, from the sociological and anthropological tradition, Max Weber, Émile Durkheim, Norbert Elias, Claude Lévi-Strauss, and Marcel Mauss; and from the philosophy of science, Gaston Bachelard, Ernst Cassirer, Georges Canguilhem and Alexandre Koyré, as well as a number of contemporaries, sociologists, and historians less famous than these.12 That said, there is also a surprising number of parallels and crossovers between Bourdieu’s sociology and established literary theories, and even with literature itself – so many, in fact, that he tried for a long time to bury or repress his proximity to literary writers and critics, because he was working in a scientific milieu.
According to John Guillory, ‘what seems to have troubled Bourdieu’s U.S. readers most is the implication that social change cannot be the conscious and intended effect of individual or collective action’. This is particularly true, Guillory argues, in the humanities, where it has become increasingly important for critics and scholars to justify their academic practice in terms of promoting positive social change. ‘Literary and cultural critics’, Guillory writes, ‘would like to believe that vanguard theoretical discourses can lead to transformative struggles, by which the various forms of domination can be brought to an end’.13 Yet Bourdieu held just such beliefs in the emancipatory power of sociological knowledge, as David Swartz has shown. Swartz cites Bourdieu making such hopeful claims as ‘genuine scientific research embodies a threat for the “social order” and inevitably produces a political effect’; or, ‘the sociologist unveils and therefore intervenes in the force relations between groups and classes and he can even contribute to the modification of those relations’.14 As we will see, Bourdieu cherished similar hopes for literature, which he believed can challenge and overturn our most deep-seated prejudices and preconceptions, and give voice and visibility to dominated social groups. To this end, Bourdieu urged greater collaboration between writers, artists, and researchers, whom he encouraged to join their skills and resources to promote progressive causes.
Then again, Bourdieu’s theories and models do appear to present a society in which there is little room for resistance or change. His is a world of ‘reproduction’, where ‘determinations’ and ‘mechanisms’ seem to trap individuals into perpetuating the status quo. This picture is as much at odds with the literary celebration of creativity and liberty, as it is with the popular self-image of cultural producers and consumers as non-conformists, and even revolutionaries. Even more unsettling are his suggestions that, by pursuing their ‘disinterested’ ends, lovers of art and literature are still engaged in games of social distinction and ‘symbolic capital’ accumulation. Cultural tastes and competences are really only transformed (or ‘sublimated’) expressions of class divisions, which they help to consolidate. Yet, Bourdieu’s defence of cultural fields, especially in the later part of his career, will complicate this reading. And when it came to preparing two reports on the future of education at the request of the French government, he turned to emphasise the positive role of cultural education, including as an instrument of social cohesion and as an initiation in critical thinking. As we will argue in Chapter 4, these two positions are not simply contradictory. Indeed, an awareness of how ‘cultural capital’ is distributed and accumulated could assist teachers and policy-makers in extending access to culture to economically and culturally deprived groups.
A final complaint to be examined here is that Bourdieu’s work is ‘too French’: too involved in a specifically French intellectual problematic, and too focused on the particular case of France. This criticism has also been aimed at Bourdieu’s work on literature, which, with its focus on Flaubert and the French nineteenth-century literary field, has raised questions both about the generalisability of Bourdieu’s theory, and its restriction to the national level. In the next chapter, we will discuss recent efforts to extend Bourdieu’s theory of literary fields to the transnational level, and to different national traditions. In the next section, we will provide an overview of the French intellectual field in which Bourdieu’s work on literature was written and his broader intellectual project elaborated: which, as Bourdieu himself insisted, is necessary to understand an author’s intention (which need not always be explicit or even conscious), and the significance of that author’s work in its original context.15
Why was the author of La Reproduction and La Distinction drawn to literary topics? Literature holds a particularly important place in French culture, in comparison with other European states and America.16 Many literary trends have originated in France, and French literature has long been regarded as one of the world’s finest. Paris represents, for many, the capital of the ‘World Republic of Letters’: a hub for writers of all nationalities, and one of the most prestigious sources of literary consecration. Writers are commemorated in the Pantheon in Paris, have given their names to street signs and metro stations, and their faces used to appear on French coins and banknotes. Politicians pay homage to literary writers in public ceremonies, with literary references in their speeches, or by simply expressing their appreciation for the Classics. Several career politicians have even become published authors themselves. There is also a tradition of French writers taking political duties, from Chateaubriand, who worked as foreign secretary during the Restoration, to Victor Hugo, who was a deputy and sat in the Chambre des pairs, and André Malraux, who served as the first minister of culture in the Fifth Republic. Finally, literature receives extensive media coverage in France, with dedicated television programmes and designated review sections in national newspapers. All these are signs of literature’s prestigious place in French society, or, in the terms Bourdieu uses, of its ‘cultural capital’.
During Bourdieu’s formative years, the dominant figure on the French intellectual scene was not, however, a ‘pure’ literary writer, but ‘l’intellectuel total’ Jean-Paul Sartre. For the students of Bourdieu’s generation, Sartre represented a sort of ideal of intellectual accomplishment, as well as the main opposition to overcome. In a prolific career, Sartre combined the roles of philosopher, writer, and engagé intellectual, writing plays, novels, literary criticism, and philosophical treatises, founding his own literary and political review, as well as making frequent interventions in the political arena.17 As a consequence, literary studies became almost an obligatory point of passage for any aspiring French intellectual who wished to follow in his footsteps, or to challenge him on his own ground.
It is little surprise, then, to find that as a youth Bourdieu identified naïvely with Balzac (E, 87), and that for a long time he appeared set on a career as a philosopher, perhaps even the next Sartre, passing, like Sartre before him, the agrégation in philosophy at the prestigious École Normale Supérieure (ENS), in the same year as Jacques Derrida. Yet for reasons he links to his relatively underprivileged social background, Bourdieu always held an ambivalent attitude towards both literature and philosophy. Bourdieu’s trajectory to the apex of French academia was far from typical.18 Born in a village in the Béarn region of southern France, where his father had been a postal worker and his grandfather a sharecropper, Bourdieu was the first in his family to finish high school, and was marked out at the ENS by his thick regional accent amongst his predominantly Parisian colleagues. No doubt, Bourdieu’s social background contributes to explain his bitter critique of the ‘ideology of gifts’, and his thinly-veiled ressentiment19 of conspicuous displays of verbal fluency and cultural prowess. It also explains why he always figured himself as an outsider in the academic community, and sought always to ground his work in ordinary reality. Bourdieu came to see his conversion first to ethnography in the late 1950s and then to sociology, with their measurements, interviews, and observations, as in part a reaction to the bookish culture of the closed, self-referential French academic universe of the 1960s and 1970s which was still dominated by literature and philosophy, and as an attempt to break away from its ‘aestheticising’ and ‘de-realizing’ tendencies (E, 59).
‘Infinitely close, and infinitely distant’, is how Bourdieu describes his feelings about Sartre, in an article first published in 1993.20 Bourdieu’s conversion to the social sciences, which the author of L’Être et le néant held in low esteem; his strong commitment to science, against Sartre’s attempt to be all people and all things; his critique of the ideology of the ‘uncreated creator’, to which Sartre’s existentialism had given new life; and his scepticism of intellectuals who sought too keenly the celebrity status Sartre had acquired, can all be understood as a reaction against everything that the Sartrean enterprise represented in his eyes. Yet in order to challenge Sartre, Bourdieu knew that he must also engage with him, and it was above all in his work on literature that this contact and combat took place. Bourdieu’s first article on literature, ‘Champ intellectuel et projet créateur’, was published in Sartre’s journal Les Temps Modernes, and appears to pay tribute to Sartre’s theory of the ‘projet originel’, but then attempts to find a new way forward. Likewise, Bourdieu’s enduring focus on Flaubert should be understood in the light (or shadow) of Sartre’s final work: his monumental, interminable, and increasingly amphetamine-fuelled biography of the same author, L’Idiot de la famille. 21
It is in Les Règles, however, that Sartre’s presence can be felt most clearly. The section entitled ‘Questions de méthode’ deliberately echoes the first part of Critique de la raison dialectique, 22 in which the existentialist philosopher outlines the method of enquiry he uses in L’Idiot de la famille. This section also contains a re-worked version of Bourdieu’s analysis of the Sartrean project, upon which Anna Boschetti’s full-length study Sartre et ‘Les Temps Modernes’: une entreprise intellectuelle is based (RA, 291-350).23 Bourdieu’s analysis in the prologue and first part of Les Règles of Flaubert’s paradoxical social position and the determinations which weighed upon it is intended explicitly to counter what Bourdieu interprets as Sartre’s vision of Flaubert as an ‘uncreated creator’, who had chosen freely his own destiny (RA, 310). And in the post-script, ‘Pour un Corporatisme de l’Universel’ (RA, 545-58), Bourdieu proposes a course of political action by intellectuals, which promises to overcome the limitations of the Sartrean model of charismatic intervention on every contemporary issue. Published at the peak of Bourdieu’s career, and at the commencement of his more prominent political activism, the appearance of Les Règles (which inevitably drew comparisons with Sartre) can be understood as an attempt to affirm at once his proximity and distance from France’s last great public intellectual, and as a bid for his crown.
Lévi-Strauss and structuralism
Sartre was not the only major player on the French intellectual scene who had a formative influence on Bourdieu. As Bourdieu recalls in the preface to Le Sens pratique, the anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss exerted a tremendous influence over his contemporaries, by offering ‘à toute une génération une nouvelle manière de concevoir l’activité intellectuelle qui s’opposait de façon tout à fait dialectique à la figure de l’intellectuel “total”’ (SP, 7-8).24 Lévi-Stauss gave legitimacy to the social sciences, at a time when they were structurally subordinate in relation to literature and philosophy, but also in relation to the natural sciences (E, 29). Situated in the Faculty of Letters, the social sciences were defined doubly negatively, as neither literary nor scientific, and as applied and empirical rather than pure and theoretical (HA, 160). Indeed, Bourdieu goes so far as to describe sociology in the early 1960s as a ‘discipline pariah’ (E, 52), looked down upon as a refuge for failed philosophers, and considered close, because of its object, to journalism (CD, 15; E, 28). Bourdieu admits that the new prestige Lévi-Strauss brought to ethnology helped him subjectively to make the transition from philosophy, then at its apogee, to ethnography, where his first works were those of a self-confessed ‘structuraliste heureux’ (SP, 22).25
Yet even Lévi-Strauss, who played detached scientist to Sartre’s engagé humanist, was still altogether too ‘literary’ for Bourdieu. In Bourdieu’s view, Lévi-Strauss had never fully ‘rompu avec la tradition du voyage littéraire et le culte artistique de l’exotisme’ (E, 61),26 focusing, in his famous work Tristes Tropiques, 27 on far-away lands, rather than studying more pressing and immediate realities. Lévi-Strauss had also set the trend for ‘literary structuralism’, by switching seamlessly, in an influential essay with Roman Jakobson,28 from the analysis of myths and kinship structures to the study of literature. Lévi-Strauss’s transposition of structuralist principles from the linguistic structuralism of Ferdinand de Saussure to the study of social constellations implied they could be turned towards the study of any other social reality, such as rites, myths, matrimonial strategies, or works of art and literature, which could all be studied as ‘languages’. Bourdieu came to see ‘la propension à étendre presque sans limites la posture du lector, qui a caractérisé certaines formes du structuralisme ethnologique et sémiologique’ (RA, 498-99)29 as the faulty principle behind systematic errors in empirical research, including that of Lévi-Strauss. Firstly, because it introduced a ‘theoretical bias’ that ignored how the theory was played out in practice. Secondly, because it by-passed the dimension of symbolic power, which over-determines any literal signification. Thirdly, because it fixed the sense of words and documents, of which the meaning is often contested in reality (SP, 56-70; CD, 132-43).
Sartre and Lévi-Strauss represented to Bourdieu two sides of a false alternative. The originality of structuralism, Bourdieu argued in his early article ‘Structuralism and Theory of Sociological Knowledge’, was paradoxically to have ‘contributed to wiping out the fictitious originality assigned to anthropological knowledge by the spontaneous theory of such a knowledge’ by applying the ‘relational’ or ‘structuralist’ principles that were used already to discover natural or physical laws to the study of human relations and practices.30 Yet by focusing on structures, structuralism had lost sight of the element of individual agency upon which existentialism placed its emphasis. Existentialism insists on the role of the freely choosing subject, who determines his or her own destiny. Bourdieu’s theory of the ‘dialectical relation’ between habitus and field, according to which our ‘subjective’ ability to interpret and respond to the world is limited by our ‘objective’ conditions of existence (i.e., our position in the social structure or field, and the access to economic and cultural resources it provides) was formulated to overcome this opposition, and the agency/structure problem.31
In the early part of his career, Bourdieu was careful to distance himself from structuralism, especially from its literary ‘formes mondaines’ (CD, 16).32 His only contribution to the structuralist debate, aside from certain critical analyses destined for specialist revues, was the aforementioned ‘Champ intellectuel et projet créateur’ (E, 101). Yet by combining the notion of field, with its structuralist overtones, with that of a ‘projet créateur’, with its echoes of Sartre’s ‘projet originel’ and its emphasis on agency, the article was quite clearly a riposte to both opposing camps. At the same time, he delayed or downplayed the publication of his articles treating literary themes. He postponed the publication of his major article on the ‘Le Champ littéraire’ (written and presented back in 1983) until 1991. He waited until 1994 before publishing a similar article in Raisons pratiques, which he had delivered at a conference back in 1986. And several of the texts Bourdieu later republished in Les Règles with only minor revisions, ‘The Field of Cultural Production, or: The Economic World Reversed’ (1983), ‘The Genesis of the Concepts of Habitus and Field’ (1985), ‘The Historical Genesis of a Pure Aesthetic’ (1987), and ‘Flaubert’s Point of View’ (1988), were first published in British reviews.33
Indeed, in an interview published in 1996, Bourdieu admits he had hidden (enfoui) his proximity to writers and literary critics, because he was working in a ‘scientific’ milieu. Now, he says, ‘je suis arrivé à un point où je suis reconnu et où je peux me permettre, sans me suicider, d’aborder les problèmes que j’avais jusque là étouffés. Bien sûr, des gens diront maintenant: voyez! Bourdieu — nous l’avons toujours dit — ce n’est pas un vrai savant’.34 Bourdieu was concerned to avoid being seen as too ‘literary’, not just in order to distinguish his position from those of existentialism and literary structuralism, but also in case his studies on education and culture were not treated with the ‘seriousness’ they in his view required and deserved, as ‘objective’ works of ‘science’.
By the early 1990s, Bourdieu was both in a position and pressed by changes in the social status and conditions of intellectual culture to publish his work on literature and art more prominently. Traditional ‘humanist’ intellectuals, he warned, were losing their prestigious place in French society, and were increasingly cut off from the public sphere. The shift to new media, radio, and television favoured the least ‘autonomous’ producers, who were willing to play along with the market-driven needs of journalists and television producers. Such ‘journalist-intellectuals’ and ‘journalist-writers’, to use Bourdieu’s polemical terms, were monopolising public access at the expense of writers, intellectuals, and others with greater specific competence in their fields. Meanwhile, more traditional avenues to the public sphere were being closed down, as the concentration of the publishing and bookselling industries reduced the numbers of outlets for specialised and experimental works. Even in their traditional bastion, the education system, the humanities were losing their dominant position to the natural sciences, and other more obviously ‘useful’ (i.e., immediately marketable) disciplines, such as management and engineering. In the midst of all this, intellectuals had interiorised a sense of their own irrelevance, as shown by the strangely self-defeating discourse on ‘the death of intellectuals’, and by rampant anti-intellectualism even in their own ranks.35
Swiftly, Bourdieu repackaged his work on literature and art as offering ‘une vision plus vraie (…) des conquêtes les plus hautes de l’entreprise humaine’ (RA, 16),36 which could provide the basis for an informed defence of the menaced ‘virtues’ and ‘values’ of cultural producers who struggle to make ‘the universal’ progress (RA, 545-58). Concessions were made to the ‘heroism’ of Flaubert and Baudelaire, whose transgressions of the norms imposed by the Church, market, and State, were offered as examples to be emulated (RA, 85-191). And Bourdieu appended an explicitly ‘normative’ post-script, entitled ‘Pour un corporatisme de l’universel’, in which he calls on intellectuals from across the faculties, and from across Europe and beyond, to join forces to protect the social and economic conditions of their ‘autonomy’: to analyse and resist the new forms of patronage and censorship imposed by commerce and the State; to restore the integrity of specific instances of consecration from political and economic influence; to protect independent publishers and bookshops from commercial takeovers and competition; and to struggle against ‘les prophètes du malheur’, ‘philosophes journalistes’, and ‘doxosophes’, who were usurping and eroding confidence in intellectual authority (RA, 557).
Yet despite these revisions, additions, and a normative post-script, the bulk of Les Règles remains predominantly critical, with few ideas for positive action, nor even explanations why ‘autonomous’ literature should be thought to be worth defending. Bourdieu’s discourse on ‘the universal’ can seem confusing, especially as much of his earlier work (for instance, in L’Amour de l’art and La Distinction) was meant to explode the myth of ‘universal’ cultural values. As the main proposal Bourdieu derives from these ‘realistic’ analyses, his project for an ‘international of intellectuals’ seems rather unrealistic, and proved to be so in practice. Several critics have argued that Les Règles does not really repair the damage done by Bourdieu’s own critiques of ‘legitimate’ culture and institutions (museums, schools, the Grandes Écoles), which could themselves have contributed to the pervasive climate of anti-intellectualism.37
By the time of the publication of Les Règles, both existentialist and structuralist moments had passed, and a new intellectual movement was establishing itself. Bourdieu was just as critical of the various forms of ‘post-structuralism’ that were gaining recognition in France, via a detour by America. Bourdieu saw their successes in literature and philosophy departments as a defensive reaction against the rise of the natural sciences, and to the perceived threat from the social sciences, which had both social and epistemological consequences. Derrida and Foucault’s theories, Bourdieu protests, had ‘given new life, throughout the world but especially in the United States, to the old philosophical critique of the social sciences, and fuelled, under the cover of “deconstruction” and the critique of “texts”, a thinly-veiled form of irrationalist nihilism’.38 By opening scientific texts, which were meant to be tested by empirical observation, to the infinite play of signifiers, their results could be absorbed and belittled. By deconstructing the objects of sociological analysis (especially when it came to works of art or literature), any attempt to analyse their structure and meaning could be dismissed as ‘reductive’ (MP, 155). By treating science as one discourse among many, its truth-claims could be placed on the same level as religion, literature, or ideology. The result was a loss of trust in scientific progress, and the rise of an ‘anything goes’ mentality (SSR, 59).
The most extreme position in this cluster of theories, however, was the semi-mystical strain of deconstruction, that can be recognised by frequent references to Derrida, Levinas, Heidegger, Hölderlin, Mallarmé, and Sade, and by mournful meditations on death, transcendence, and the irreducibility of persons and things to any abstract conceptualisation. Modernist literature holds a privileged place in this literary-philosophy, as a discourse that exploits the inherent polysemy of language, and frustrates any effort to impose a unitary meaning. For Blanchot, one of the principal theorists in this loose movement, the truth of literature, and perhaps the truth of truth, is its ambiguity, which outstrips any single reading, particularly in terms of historical context or authorial intent.39 All these theories were extremely popular (especially in literature departments in the 1980s and 1990s) not least because they enabled literary scholars and philosophers to reassert themselves in the face of the rising natural and social sciences, as guardians of a ‘deeper truth’ (even if this was reduced to inter-textuality, relativism, or ambiguity).
The publication of Les Règles offered Bourdieu the opportunity to deliver a riposte on behalf of sociology, to position himself on the side of the scientific community, and to mark his distance from ‘post-structuralists’ and ‘post-modernists’ with whom he was sometimes confused.40 In the avant-propos, Bourdieu launches into a lively tirade against (mostly unnamed) philosophers and literary scholars, whom he accuses of having resigned from the attempt to relate cultural works and producers to their social contexts, and for lapsing instead into repetitive affirmations of literature’s ‘ineffable’ and ‘transcendent’ character. Against what he decries as this too ready capitulation to ‘la défaite du savoir’ (RA, 10),41 Bourdieu cites Goethe and Kant, so inscribing himself in an Enlightenment tradition that had gone recently out of fashion:
A tous ces défenseurs de l’inconnaissable, acharnés à dresser les remparts imprenables de la liberté humaine contre les empiétements de la science, j’opposerai ce mot, très kantien, de Goethe, que tous les spécialistes des sciences naturelles et des sciences sociales pourraient faire leur: ‘Notre opinion est qu’il sied à l’homme de supposer qu’il y a quelque chose d’inconnaissable, mais qu’il ne doit pas mettre de limite à sa recherche’. Et je crois que Kant exprime bien la représentation que les savants se font de leur entreprise lorsqu’il pose que la réconciliation du connaître et de l’être est use sorte de focus imaginarius, de point de fuite imaginaire, sur lequel la science doit se régler sans jamais pouvoir prétendre s’y établir (RA, 12-3).42
As we will discuss in more detail in Chapter 4, Bourdieu saw the task of sociology (like that of any science) as being to build a model, which, while it may never match the complexity of the thing it describes, can always be made more accurate.
Bourdieu’s critique of post-modernism seems to position him on the side of Jürgen Habermas and the Frankfurt School,43 with whom and which he is sometimes associated. In fact, the relationship between Bourdieu’s critique of postmodernism and Habermas’s is more complex than it appears, and is explicitly spelled out by Bourdieu in Méditations pascaliennes, where he talks of distancing himself equally from Habermas and Foucault, and in Science de la science et réflexivité, where he specifies the very limited conditions under which Habermas’s ‘ideal speech situation’ might actually apply. To summarise, Bourdieu reads Habermas as envisaging an intellectual exchange subject to the ‘strength of the best argument’, as opposed to the equation of power and knowledge that is often attributed (with some reason) to Foucault. In other words, while Habermas gives true ideas intrinsic force, Foucault sees knowledge simply as power and imposition.
We might think that these are rather simplistic readings of Habermas’s and Foucault’s respective positions (and we will take issue with this tactic again when we look at Bourdieu’s summary of positions in the field of literary criticism). They do, however, allow Bourdieu to define an evolutionary conception of the historical emergence of scientific fields, in which the progress of reason is tied to social advancement (the accrual of ‘symbolic capital’), and which can be understood as a kind of synthesis of Foucault and Habermas. This bi-dimensionality of the scientific field is expressed clearly in the following quotation from Méditations pascaliennes:
Mais qu’on ne s’y trompe pas: on est aussi loin ici de la vision irénique, évoquée par Habermas, d’un échange intellectuel soumis à la ‘force du meilleur argument’ (ou de la description mertonienne de la ‘communauté scientifique’) que de la représentation darwinienne ou nietzschéenne de la cité savante qui, au nom du slogan ‘power/knowledge’ dans lequel on condense trop souvent l’œuvre de Foucault, réduit brutalement tous les rapports de sens (et de science) à des rapports de force et à des luttes d’intérêt. (…) Les champs scientifiques, ces microcosmes qui, sous un certain rapport, sont des mondes sociaux comme les autres, avec des concentrations de pouvoir et de capital, des monopoles, des rapports de force, des intérêts égoïstes, des conflits, etc., sont aussi, sous un autre rapport, des univers d’exception, un eu miraculeux, où la nécessité de la raison se trouve instituée à des degrés divers dans la réalité des structures et des dispositions (MP, 131).44
Here we can see not only the double-distance Bourdieu keeps from both Foucault and Habermas, but also his ambivalent attitude towards a scientific field that, on one hand, fails to transcend the usual (and sometimes brutal) structures and mechanisms of human interaction, while, on the other hand, producing knowledge and artefacts of which the truth and usefulness cannot be reduced to their social function, nor to an effect of authority. As we will see in the course of this study, the same pattern of ambivalence also defines Bourdieu’s approach to the literary field, which he characterises, in the last lines of the Avant-Propos of Les Règles, as again at once the arena of ‘l’affrontement souvent impitoyable des passions et des intérêts particuliers’45, and as a space in which ‘les conquêtes les plus hautes de l’entreprise humaine’46 are produced (RA, 16).
Appendix: the composition of Les Règles de l’art
As an appendix to this chapter, it is useful to take a closer look at the composition of Les Règles de l’art, Bourdieu’s major work on literature, in order to give a sense of how it relates to Bourdieu’s other texts and articles on literature, and of its internal organisation. This will, it is hoped, help the reader to find inter-texts for particular passages, while also providing some pointers on how to read Les Règles itself – a work that requires a quasi-literary reading and re-reading, passing backwards and forwards between passages, and paying close attention to how passages, concepts, and other elements correspond (to what might once have been called its organic unity). An initial point to make is that the edition of Les Règles this study is using is the 1998 ‘Nouvelle édition revue et corrigée’ in the Seuil ‘Points’ series, in keeping with the academic convention of referring to the final version of any text. Any revisions seem, however, to have been minimal, the major difference being a useful index of names.
Proceeding through the text, the Prologue, ‘Flaubert analyste de Flaubert’, including two of the three annexes, ‘Quatre lectures de L’Éducation sentimentale’ and ‘Le Paris de L’Éducation sentimentale’ (but not ‘Résumé de L’Éducation sentimentale’), first appeared in Bourdieu’s 1975 article ‘L’Invention de la vie d’artiste’,47 published in Bourdieu’s journal Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales. The version in Les Règles has been considerably re-worked, but contains lengthy verbatim passages taken from the original. The most obvious differences are two lengthy citations from L’Éducation sentimentale in the original article, which allow the reader to refer Bourdieu’s analysis more readily to the text, and an entertaining game, ‘Faites vous-même votre L’Éducation sentimentale’, which invites the reader to imagine where modern publishers, businessmen, artists, and journalists would be situated in the structure of the social space represented in L’Éducation sentimentale. 48 Yet between this text and Les Règles Bourdieu’s overall assessment of the value of Flaubert’s work had undergone a complete volte face. In his initial 1975 article, Flaubert is described as being deluded as regards his pretensions to stand above the social world, whereas in Les Règles this pretension is seen as the key to his objectivity. In the 1975 article, Bourdieu concluded that Flaubert was effectively merely reproducing the deluded ideological viewpoint of the French nineteenth century bourgeoisie. As we will see in Chapter 3, Bourdieu’s theory of literary value evolved considerably, along with his notion of autonomy which is not mentioned in ‘L’Invention de la vie d’artiste’.
Part one, ‘Trois états du champ’, contains significant unpublished material, in particular the section in the first chapter ‘Baudelaire nomothète’. This section is complemented by a case study of the same author in Méditations pascaliennes (MP, 101-09). The rest of the first chapter of Les Règles is based on Bourdieu’s analysis of the French nineteenth-century field, first published in English as ‘Flaubert’s Point of View’ (1988). The second chapter, ‘L’émergence d’une structure dualiste’, also contains lengthy passages from an older article, this time ‘The Field of Cultural Production, or: The Economic World Reversed’ (1983), particularly the discussion of Zola. Bourdieu’s analysis is more lengthy and elaborate in Les Règles. The third chapter, ‘Le marché des biens symboliques’, should not be confused for Bourdieu’s earlier article of the same name, first published in 1971. It is, with only minor changes, his 1977 article ‘La Production de la croyance: contribution à une économie des biens symboliques’.49 In this case, it is the previously published article that contains more information and analysis. The 1977 article contains further contemporary examples and exemplifications, including two maps: one showing the geographical groupings of agents and institutions also sharing similar social or institutional characteristics, and the other Parisian theatres and writers’ residences.50
Part two, ‘Fondements d’une science des oeuvres’, provides insight into Bourdieu’s theory and methods, and would have arguably been better placed before the studies in part one. A prior reading of the section on ‘L’espace des points de vue’, in particular, and of the second chapter, ‘Le point de vue de l’auteur’, would allow literary scholars coming to Bourdieu for the first time to situate his theory in relation to more familiar literary theories, and to grasp the fundamentals of his own approach. The first chapter, ‘Questions de méthode’, contains sections from Bourdieu’s article ‘The Genesis of the Concept of Habitus and Field’, and sections from ‘Flaubert’s Point of View’. Versions of this last section also appear in the chapter of Raisons pratiques entitled ‘Pour une science des oeuvres’ (first presented in 1986), as well as in Bourdieu’s 1991 article (written in 1982) ‘Le Champ littéraire’. The version in Les Règles is the most complete, although the version in Raisons pratiques is more structured and concise. The chapter ends with a rather elliptical and enigmatic discussion of reflexivity, entitled ‘Objectiver le sujet d’objectification’, of which we can find a better, less dense and more contextualised, version in Méditations pascaliennes (MP, 141-45). The annex to part two re-works an article on ‘Sartre’ first published in The London Review of Books in 1980. The version in Les Règles treats many of the same themes, but what it gains in nuance and theoretical sophistication it loses in readability. The second chapter, ‘Le point de vue de l’auteur’, re-uses much of the same material published in ‘The Field of Cultural Production, or: The Economic World Reversed’, and again in ‘Le Champ littéraire’. Another annex, ‘Effet de champ et formes de conservatisme’, is a précis of a longer analysis which appears in the main body of ‘Le Champ littéraire’.
Part three begins with ‘La genèse historique de l’esthétique pure’, first published with slight differences as ‘The Historical Genesis of a Pure Aesthetic’ (1987). The version in Les Règles contains a useful analysis of ‘Les conditions de la lecture pure’, and a discussion of ‘La double historicisation’, which do not appear in the original. The next chapter, ‘La genèse sociale de l’oeil’, is probably of less interest to literary scholars. Identifying parallels between art historian Michael Baxandall’s notion of the ‘period eye’ and Bourdieu’s own theory of habitus, it expands on an article written with Yvette Delsaut first published in 1981.51 The final chapter, ‘Une théorie en acte de la lecture’, provides an analysis of William Faulkner’s short story A Rose For Emily. Tucked away towards the very end of the book, and not published elsewhere, this reading has rarely been mentioned by Bourdieu’s commentators – but puts a twist in the tale, after five hundred pages of extolling field analysis, by applying Bourdieu’s theory and concepts to a literary text without a socio-analysis of the author. The ‘da capo’, ‘L’illusion et l’illusio’, re-caps the main themes in the book, and invites the reader to begin again, ‘from the beginning’ (like a work of modernist literature, which needs to be re-read in light of the ending).
The post-script, ‘Pour un corporatisme de l’universel’, closes with a call for writers and intellectuals to join forces to defend the conditions of their autonomy. A first and extended version of this text was delivered in 1989 at a lecture in Turin, and published in the American journal Telos in 1989.52 Versions were also published in French in the journal Politis in 1992, and in German in 1991.53 A version also appears in the collection of Bourdieu’s political writings Interventions: science sociale et action politique 1961-2001, under the title ‘Pour des luttes à l’échelle européenne. Réinventer un intellectuel collectif’ (I, 257-66).
Three articles that did not make it into Les Règles are ‘Champ intellectuel et projet créateur’, ‘Champ du pouvoir, champ intellectuel et habitus de classe’,54 and ‘Le Marché des biens symboliques’. Bourdieu describes the first of these as ‘à la fois essentiel et dépassé’. It provides a back-drop to the genesis of the French literary field which is only hinted at in Les Règles, but Bourdieu admits it contains two errors: ‘il tend à réduire les relations objectives entre les positions aux interactions entre les agents et il omet de situer le champ de production culturelle dans le champ du pouvoir, laissant ainsi échapper le principe réel de certaines de ses propriétés’. ‘Champ du pouvoir, champ intellectuel et habitus de classe’, in contrast, situates the cultural field in a ‘dominated-dominant’ position in the field of power, and takes greater account of the invisible relations between agents, such as the avant-garde and bestselling author, who might never meet – or even avoid each other consciously –, but whose practices remain determined by their opposition to each other. The third article, ‘Le Marché des biens symboliques’ sets out, as Bourdieu says rather abruptly, the principles that guided his analyses in Les Règles (RA, 304 n. 17), which are re-iterated in part two, ‘Fondements d’une science des oeuvres’ and ‘Le point de vue de l’auteur’.55
A companion work, The Field of Cultural Production (1993), contains the original English language translations of ‘The Field of Cultural Production’, ‘Flaubert’s Point of View’, and ‘The Historical Genesis of a Pure Aesthetic’. It also features translations of ‘Le Marché des biens symboliques’ (original version), of ‘La Production de la croyance’, and of an article on Manet, ‘L’Institutionnalisation de l’anomie’.56 ‘Flaubert’s Point of View’ has been abbreviated slightly, mainly to avoid the repetition of passages included already in ‘The Field of Cultural Production’. Most usefully, The Field of Cultural Production contains translations of Bourdieu’s lectures during the Christian Gauss Seminars in Criticism at Princeton University in 1986 (chapters 4-6), which are difficult to access in the original French (chapter six is re-printed in a slightly amended form in Raisons pratiques). These lectures, which are written in the more accessible style of an oral presentation, offer a good starting point for the newcomer to Bourdieu’s work on literature.
Footnotes
1 See e.g. David Swartz, Culture and Power: The Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu (London: University of Chicago Press, 1997); Jeremy Lane, Pierre Bourdieu: A Critical Introduction (London: Pluto, 2000); Bridget Fowler, Pierre Bourdieu and Cultural Theory: Critical Investigations (London: Sage, 1997); Michael Grenfell, Pierre Bourdieu: Agent Provocateur (London: Continuum, 2004); Deborah Reed-Danahay, Locating Bourdieu (Bloomington, ID: Indiana University Press, 2005).
2 Michael Grenfell and David James, with Philip Hodkinson, Diane Reay and Derek Robbins, Bourdieu and Education: Acts of Practical Theory (London: Falmer Press, 1998); Derek Robbins, Bourdieu and Culture (London: Sage, 2000); Rodney D. Benson and Erik Neveu, Bourdieu and the Journalistic Field (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005); Michael Grenfell and Cheryl Hardy, Art Rules: Pierre Bourdieu and the Visual Arts (London: Berg, 2007); Jeremy Lane, Bourdieu’s Politics: Problems and Possibilities (London: Routledge, 2006); James Albright and Allan Luke, eds. Pierre Bourdieu and Literacy Education (New York: Routledge, 2008); Jane E. Goodman and Paul A. Silverstein, eds. Bourdieu in Algeria: Colonial Politics, Ethnographic Practices, Theoretical Developments (Lincoln, NE and London: University of Nebraska Press, 2009).
3 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Champ intellectuel et projet créateur’, Les Temps Modernes, 246 (1966), 865-906.
4 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Le Marché des biens symboliques’, L’Année Sociologique, 22 (1971), 49-126.
5 In Bourdieu, ‘Champ intellectuel et projet créateur’.
6 ‘This requires the reconstruction both of the space of possibles (apprehended through the dispositions associated with a certain position) in relation to which the historical given (text, document, image etc.) to be interpreted is elaborated, and of the space of possibles in relation to which one interprets it. To ignore this double determination is to be condemned to an anachronistic and ethnocentric “understanding” which is likely to be fictive and which, in the best of cases, remains unaware of its own principles’ (Rules, 309).
7 ‘the last and perhaps the worst of those wounds inflicted, according to Freud, upon narcissism, after those going under the names of Copernicus, Darwin and Freud himself’ (Rules, xvii).
8 For example, see Stephen Thompson, ‘The Instance of the Veil: Bourdieu’s Flaubert and the Textuality of Social Science’ in Comparative Literature, 55:4 (2003), 275-92.
9 Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction, A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, trans. Richard Nice (London: Routledge, 1989), p. xiii.
10 As one reviewer put it: ‘It is as if Bourdieu cleaned out his desk and put a staple through everything that involved literature’. Wendy Griswold, ‘Review of The Rules of Art, Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field’, The American Journal of Sociology, 104 (1998), 972-75 (p. 974).
11 Toril Moi, ‘The Challenge of the Particular Case’, Modern Language Quarterly, 58 (1997), 497-508 (p. 498).
12 For a more exhaustive list of Bourdieu’s sources, see Bernard Lahire, ‘Présentation: pour une sociologie à l’état vif’, in Le Travail sociologique de Pierre Bourdieu, ed. Bernard Lahire (Paris: La Découvert, 1999), pp. 5-20 (p. 11).
13 John Guillory, ‘Bourdieu’s Refusal’, in Nicholas Brown and Imre Szeman, eds. Bourdieu: Fieldwork in Culture (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1999), pp. 19-43 (pp. 20-21).
14 David Swartz, Culture and Power: The Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1997), p. 260.
15 See Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Passport to Duke’, in Brown and Szeman, eds. Bourdieu: Fieldwork in Culture, pp. 241-46 (first publ. in International Journal of Contemporary Sociology, 33 (1996), 145-50); and Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Concluding Remarks: For a Sociogenetic Understanding of Intellectual Works’, in Craig Calhoun, Edward LiPuma, and Moishe Postone, eds. Bourdieu: Critical Perspectives (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993), pp. 263-75.
16 In this section, I draw in particular on Priscilla Parkhurst Ferguson, Literary France, The Making of a Culture (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1987), especially pp. 25-29.
17 See Anna Boschetti, Sartre et ‘Les Temps Modernes’: une entreprise intellectuelle (Paris: Éditions de Minuit, 1985).
18 See Scott McLemee, ‘“Not a Fish in Water”: Close Colleague of Bourdieu Reflects on His Influence’, The Chronicle of Higher Education, 25 January 2002.
19 When we condemn in others what we wish for ourselves.
20 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘My Feelings about Sartre’, French Cultural Studies, 4 (1993), 209-11 (p. 210).
21 Jean Paul Sartre, L’Idiot de la famille: Gustave Flaubert de 1821 à 1857, 3 vols (Paris: Gallimard, 1971-1972).
22 Jean-Paul Sartre, Critique de la raison dialectique, 2 vols, vol. 1 (Paris: Gallimard, 1960).
23 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Sartre’, London Review of Books, 22 (1980), 11-12.
24 ‘a whole generation was led to adopt a new way of conceiving intellectual activity that was opposed in a thoroughly dialectical fashion to the figure of the politically committed “total” intellectual represented by Jean-Paul Sartre’ (Logic, 1-2).
25 ‘a blissful structuralist’ (Logic, 9).
26 ‘broken with the tradition of the literary journey and the artist’s cult of exoticism’ (Sketch, 43).
27 Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques (Paris: Plon, 1955).
28 Raymond Jakobson and Claude Lévi-Strauss, ‘“Les Chats” de Charles Baudelaire’, L’Homme, 2 (1962), 5-21.
29 ‘the propensity to extend almost limitlessly the posture of lector, which has characterized certain forms of ethnological and semiological structuralism’ (Rules, 393).
30 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Structuralism and Theory of Sociological Knowledge’, Social Research, 35 (1968), 681-706.
31 See Swartz, Culture and Power, pp. 8-9.
32 ‘merely fashionable forms’ (Other Words, 6).
33 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘The Field of Cultural Production, or: The Economic World Reversed’, Poetics, 12 (1983), 311-56; ‘The Genesis of the Concepts of Habitus and Field’, Sociocriticism, 2 (1985), 11-24; ‘The Historical Genesis of a Pure Aesthetic’, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 46 (1987), 201-10; ‘Flaubert’s Point of View’, Critical Inquiry, 14 (1988), 539-62; Le Champ littéraire’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 89 (1991), 3-46.
34 Isabelle Graw, trans. Véronique Gola, ‘Que Suis-Je? Une Entrevue avec Pierre Bourdieu’ (first publ. as ‘Ein Interview mit Pierre Bourdieu von Isabelle Graw’, The Thing, 1996), http://www.homme-moderne.org/societe/socio/bourdieu/entrevue/quesui.html consulted on 27/08/11. ‘I have come to the point where I am recognised and where I can allow myself, without committing suicide, to address problems which I had until now stiffled. Of course, there are people who will now say: “Look at Bourdieu! We knew it, he’s not a real scholar”’ (trans. J.S.).
35 It is difficult not to see the themes of deconstruction, silence, death, désoeuvrement, and so on, which recurred in this period, as a sort of sublimated expression of the deteriorating social condition of intellectuals (and one that only added, no doubt, to their sense of despondency and demobilisation).
36 ‘a vision more true and, ultimately, more reassuring, because less superhuman, of the highest achievements of the human enterprise’ (Rules, xx).
37 Indeed, according to Fredric Jameson, Bourdieu provides ‘the most complex rationale for anti-intellectualism available today’. Frederic Jameson, ‘How Not To Historicize Theory’, Critical Inquiry, 34 (2008), 564-82.
38 Loïc Wacquant, ‘Towards a Reflexive Sociology: A Workshop with Pierre Bourdieu’, Sociological Theory, 7 (1989), 26-63 (p. 49).
39 Here I am following Simon Critchley, Very Little… Almost Nothing (London: Routledge, 1997), pp. 31-76.
40 See Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Passport to Duke’, pp. 241-42.
41 ‘the defeat of knowledge’ (Rules, xvi).
42 ‘Against all those defenders of the unknowable, bent on manning the impregnable ramparts of human liberty against the encroachments of science, I would oppose this very Kantian thought of Goethe’s, which all natural scientists and social scientists could claim as their own: “Our opinion is that it well becomes man to assume that there is something unknowable, but that he does not have to set any limit to his enquiry”’ (Rules, xvii).
43 See Jürgen Habermas, ‘Modernity Versus Postmodernity’, New German Critique, 22 (1981), 3-14.
44 ‘But we should make no mistake: we are as far here from the irenic vision, evoked by Habermas, of an intellectual exchange subject to the “strength of the best argument” (or from Merton’s description of the “scientific community”) as we are from the Darwinian or Nietzschian representation of the scientific world which, in the name of the slogan “power = knowledge” into which Foucault’s work is too often condensed, summarily reduces all sense relations (and scientific relations) to power relations and to struggles to advance interests. (…) Scientific fields, microcosms which, in a certain respect, are social worlds like others, with concentrations of power and capital, monopolies, power relations, selfish interests, conflicts, etc., are also, in another respect, exceptional, some-what miraculous universes, in which the necessity of reason is instituted to varying degrees in the reality of structures and dispositions’ (Meditations, 109).
45 ‘the merciless clash of passions and selfish interests’ (Rules, xx).
46 ‘the highest achievements of the human enterprise’ (Rules, xx).
47 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘L’Invention de la vie d’artist’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 1 (1975), 67-93.
48 ‘L’Invention de la Vie Artistique’, pp. 79; 84; 93.
49 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘La Production de la croyance: Contribution à une économie des biens symboliques’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 13 (1977), 3-43.
50 ‘La Production de la croyance’, pp. 11; 36.
51 Pierre Bourdieu and Yvette Delsaut, ‘Pour une sociologie de la perception’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 40 (1981), 3-9.
52 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘The Corporatism of the Universal. The Role of Intellectuals in the Modern World’, Telos, 81 (1989), 99-110.
53 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Pour une internationale des intellectuels’, Politis, 1 (1992), 9-15; ‘Der Korporatismus des Universellen: Zur Rolle des Intellektuellen in der modernen Welt’, trans. Jürgen Bolder et al., Die Intellektuellen und die Macht (Hamburg: VSA-Verlag, 1991), pp. 41-65.
54 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘Champ du pouvoir, champ intellectuel et habitus de classe’, Scolies, 1 (1977), 7-26.
55 ‘l owe it to the eventual users of these labours to say that the first of these texts [‘Le Marché des biens symboliques’] seems to me essential and yet outmoded. (…) However, it contains two errors which the second article tries to correct: it tends to reduce the objective relations between positions to interactions between agents, and it omits to situate the field of cultural production within the field of power, so it lets slip the real principle of certain of its properties. As for the third [‘Champ du pouvoir, champ intellectuel et habitus de classe’], it sets out, sometimes in a rather abrupt form, the principles which served as the basis for the work presented here and for a whole body of research conducted by others’ (Rules, 185 n. 17).
56 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘L’Institutionnalisation de l’anomie’, Les Cahiers du Musée national d’art moderne, 19-20 (1987), 6-19.