L’INTELLIGENCE PRATIQUE (fr↑)/ PRACTICAL INTELLIGENCE (en↓)

L’INTELLIGENCE PRATIQUE

« Les choses visibles autour de nous reposent en elles-mêmes, et leur être naturel est si plein qu’il semble envelopper leur être perçu, comme si la perception que nous en avons se faisait en elles » (Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Le visible et l’invisible, Gallimard, 1964, p 163).

Introduction

Nous savons qu’il existe des formes diverses d’intelligences. Une distinction importante parmi d’autres est celle entre intelligence pratique et intelligence théorique. Pour le dire simplement, la première est celle de l’action quotidienne spontanée par laquelle nous faisons preuve d’habileté, la seconde est basée sur l’utilisation de symboles linguistiques ou autres qui nous permettent de penser au monde en réfléchissant à travers des représentations.

Les réflexions sur ces deux formes d’intelligence et la valeur que nous leur accordons ont des dimensions esthétiques, épistémiques et éthiques que nous allons découvrir. Pour cela, je me demanderai comment interagissent ces deux formes d’intelligence et ce que cela implique concernant notre relation à notre environnement social et naturel.

Dans un premier temps, je montrerai donc la différence entre les deux formes d’intelligence pratique et théorique. Puis, j’analyserai l’intelligence pratique et dégagerai ses aspects caractéristiques en utilisant principalement les exemples du surf et de la charpenterie. Enfin, j’essaierai de caractériser le type de rapport social et de modèle politique impliqué par la mise en valeur de l’intelligence pratique.

I. L’interaction des intelligences pratique et théorique

« L’intelligence pratique » désigne le type de pensée qui accompagne l’activité manuelle, par opposition à la pensée abstraite qui caractérise l’intelligence théorique ou discursive. J’entends par « activité manuelle » le travail manuel mais aussi les activités physiques récréatives. L’intelligence pratique intervient dans l’interaction du corps humain avec son environnement sensible, lors du contact objectif direct du corps avec les matériaux qui l’entourent, mais surtout lors d’une immersion subjective de tout notre être dans l’expérience immédiate. A ce moment-là, l’intuition semble prévaloir sur le concept, en tant que le savoir-faire prime sur le savoir théorique. Dans le cas inverse, je peux par exemple savoir théoriquement qu’il faut placer mes membres de telle ou telle façon pour nager, sans nécessairement savoir nager réellement en pratique.

Toutefois, l’intelligence pratique n’est pas radicalement séparée de l’intelligence théorique. D’abord, nous nous engageons dans une activité avec nos présupposés intellectuels, notre culture, nos goûts et nos opinions. Ensuite, nous produisons une théorisation après coup de notre pratique, de façon plus ou moins élaborée. Ainsi, si l’on possède une formation philosophique par exemple, on aura les outils nécessaires à la construction d’un discours sur cette pratique. La question se pose alors de savoir si ce discours reflète une situation réelle ou s’il l’accompagne d’une façon qui lui donne une dimension qui n’aurait pas existé autrement. Il est probable également que différentes parties du discours sur la pratique correspondent à l’une ou l’autre de ces options.

Il y a donc des relations entre l’intelligence pratique et le vécu dans l’action, d’un côté, et ce qu’on en retire en y réfléchissant, ainsi que les connaissances théorique et testimoniales qui constituent notre bagage culturel, de l’autre. L’intelligence pratique, d’un côté, est spontanée et inconsciente, en tant qu’elle assure la maîtrise du geste grâce à l’expérience acquise. Mais, d’un autre côté, cette intelligence pratique s’insère dans une philosophie de vie plus abstraite, une vision du monde.

La pratique du surf, par exemple, est décrite comme une expérience immersive, quasi fusionnelle et empathique avec la vague et plus généralement avec le flux de l’événement (cf. G. Durand, L’esprit du surf, Arkhé, 2026). Il s’agit d’un rapport dynamique et intense au monde, permettant d’en saisir la profondeur ; non pas à travers l’expérience introspective de notre moi (cf. Bergson), mais par un décentrement par lequel on s’intègre au rythme et à la processualité du monde (cf. Whitehead) pour le saisir de l’intérieur. Cette immersion est source de joie et d’enchantement. Mais elle est aussi coûteuse, comme je le montrerai, en efforts et en prises de risque. Cette expérience, nous le verrons également, possède une dimension éthique, en donnant un contenu affectif à la notion de respect de la nature. Nous voyons donc cette expérience enrichie par sa description et sa théorisation ontologique, phénoménologique et éthique.

II. L’analyse de l’intelligence pratique

Je vais approfondir plus spécialement le thème de l’intelligence pratique à travers l’exemple du surf mais aussi celui de la charpenterie (Cf. A. Lochmann, La vie solide, Payot, 2019). Il s’agit donc d’une activité de loisir pour le premier et d’un métier pour le second. Mais cette distinction a peu d’importance au niveau d’analyse où je me situe. L’intelligence pratique existe en deçà de la différence sociologique entre des activités récréatives ou professionnelles, tout comme le fait de cuisiner ou de jouer de la musique existe indépendamment du fait de savoir si c’est à titre personnel ou lucratif.

Un autre point commun important à ces deux exemples est la relation de l’intelligence pratique à l’espace et en particulier aux espaces « naturels » de la mer et de la forêt. Je mets « naturels » entre guillemets, car la mer et la forêt font aussi l’objet d’une exploitation économique, et parce qu’elles renvoient à des représentations sociales variées (espaces de travail pour certains, de loisirs pour d’autres).

On trouve également, entre l’agent et l’espace, les interfaces suivantes : du côté de l’agent, les outils du menuisier et la planche du surfeur ; du côté de l’espace, la matière bois et la vague. En effet, l’interface se dédouble selon que l’on se place du côté de l’agent, avec ses instruments (ou même « à main nue ») ; ou du côté de l’espace, avec la partie physique de l’environnement en contact avec l’agent et qui constitue la surface perçue.

Enfin, il faut noter que les pratiques étudiées ici, le surf et la menuiserie, possèdent un caractère exceptionnel par rapport à la vie ordinaire de la plupart des gens. Le menuisier travaille en hauteur, sur les toits, avec des matériaux et des outils qu’il faut manier prudemment, en faisant attention à ses collègues. Le surfeur doit faire face à toutes sortes de risques liés à l’environnement maritime : force et structure de la vague, dureté des rochers, fatigue physique et contrôle des mouvements, etc.

J’ai dit précédemment que l’intelligence pratique implique un certain décentrement de soi vers le monde, par exemple lorsqu’on fait du surf. L’activité physique en plein air ou le travail de la matière nous permettent de nous oublier nous-mêmes pour explorer notre environnement en profondeur. Mais cela ne signifie pas s’abandonner passivement aux éléments. Bien au contraire, cela a lieu à travers un effort important sur soi. C’est même à l’issue d’un long et laborieux développement de soi dans la maîtrise technique que l’on accède à la perception caractéristique de l’intelligence pratique. La gratification de cette expérience acquise est liée non seulement à la reconnaissance par des pairs mais aussi à l’accès à un niveau inédit de perception de la réalité.

Il ne s’agit pas ici d’élitisme, dans la mesure où il n’est pas question de s’élever dans la hiérarchie sociale, même si la reconnaissance par ses pairs compte, mais de s’épanouir dans un aspect de son humanité. Cela inclut un souci d’authenticité. Le surf véritable se distingue du ski nautique, par exemple, en n’utilisant que l’énergie de la vague. Le surf ne se pratique pas non plus sur des vagues artificielles. De même, le charpentier conserve une grande partie de ses outils artisanaux sans lesquels l’expérience authentique du travail du bois disparaîtrait s’il était remplacé par des processus automatisés en usine.

L’intérêt de l’activité du surfeur ou du menuisier peut en outre venir de la satisfaction d’avoir su braver un certain nombre de difficultés et de dangers, liés aux risques que représentent les environnements de la mer ou du chantier. Cette part de bravoure est d’autant plus précieuse qu’elle est devenue rare dans les parties du monde qui garantissent un certain degré de confort et de sécurité.

Mais la gratification repose aussi en amont sur la persévérance dans le temps long de l’apprentissage, sur l’autodiscipline, la maîtrise de soi, l’acquisition d’habitudes et d’expériences, et le perfectionnement par essais et erreurs. Il en résulte non seulement la précision du geste, le développement de l’habileté et de la compétence, l’élargissement de sa « zone de confort », mais également la capacité de « lire » le réel et d’interpréter les phénomènes de manière fiable ; soit donc l’acquisition d’une disposition, avec une double dimension technique et cognitive.

Ce savoir-faire ne consiste pas simplement à appliquer une méthode, une règle ou une recette. Il s’agit de maîtriser l’inattendu, de savoir saisir le moment opportun, l’instant propice, de surfer sur l’accident, l’imprévu, d’être réactif, tactique, débrouillard et précis. Mais il faut pouvoir également accorder une place à l’imprécision et au vague, quand cela est inévitable.

Je reviens enfin sur le rôle joué par l’interface, déjà évoqué précédemment, dans cette interaction formatrice entre soi et le monde. Nous ne percevons pas qu’à l’œil nu, et ne traversons et ne modifions pas uniquement le monde à mains nues. L’outil bien maîtrisé est un amplificateur de sensations et d’action. Il faut pour cela parvenir à l’intégrer à son propre corps, d’un côté, et à la substance du monde, de l’autre. L’artifice ne s’oppose de manière antagonique au naturel que si l’on en maîtrise mal l’usage. Mais dès lors que le métier est « rentré », que l’outil est contrôlé, il devient comme un nouvel organe, donnant vie à de nouvelle propriétés de l’environnement. L’air ne fut pas fait pour voler avant que les oiseaux n’eussent des ailes. De même, les vagues n’étaient pas destinées au surf et le bois à la charpenterie avant que ne fussent inventés l’un et l’autre.

III. L’enjeu social de la valorisation de l’intelligence pratique

J’ai abordé la question de l’intégration de l’individu au monde physique par l’intermédiaire de l’outil et de l’intelligence pratique. Mais il ne faut pas négliger le monde social. Ici le charpentier, en tant qu’il travaille en équipe, sera plus directement concerné que le surfer. Toutefois, ce dernier, malgré sa solitude, s’inscrit bien dans une culture constituée de techniques, de technologies et de représentations qui encadrent la pratique solitaire. Mais pour en rester au charpentier, il travaille en symbiose et synergie avec l’équipe, en manipulant des outils et des matériaux en hauteur. La solidarité de l’équipe permet d’affronter les risques du métier.

Cette notion d’« équipe » nous rapproche de l’univers sportif. On peut aussi penser au monde musical, avec la notion d’« orchestre ». Le principe reste le même : faire face à l’accident, armés de préstructures et d’expériences acquises, en restant concentrés, pour improviser s’il le faut, et ajuster parfaitement l’action à la contingence des événements. Pour le surfer isolé, la vague peut être métaphoriquement considérée comme un partenaire musical. Ainsi seul ou en équipe, il faut savoir composer avec l’environnement, comme face à un adversaire dans un jeu, pour atteindre la parfaite harmonie et le rythme ajusté. A ces considérations esthétiques s’ajoute les dimensions éthiques de solidarité et de responsabilité dans l’équipe de charpentiers. Au lieu de valeurs abstraites et désincarnées, nous en avons ici une réalisation concrète et spontanée, étant donnés les dangers qu’il faut surmonter.

Ajoutons à cette dimension sociale directe de l’équipe une dimension beaucoup plus large et historique de transmission de savoir-faire, accompagnée d’un narratif qui donne sens à la tradition. Un sport ou un métier, en plus de réclamer un apprentissage pratique, renvoie à certaines positions socio-politiques. La défense de l’intelligence pratique peut se rapporter par exemple à des modèles participatifs de sociétés, comme ceux des coopératives, des ateliers partagés, des fablabs ou des logiciels libres. Ces modèles répondent également aux défis environnementaux, avec la volonté d’articuler le local et le global, les particularismes régionaux et les échanges mondialisés. Il s’agit souvent d’essayer de s’extraire de l’approche unidimensionnelle du monde industriel marchand, en substituant l’ouvrage enrichi des gestes qui l’ont engendré au produit anonyme, ou bien l’expérience physique de l’environnement naturel à la routine du mode de vie urbain.

Mais quel est plus précisément le modèle de société critiqué à travers la défense de l’intelligence pratique ? Je dirais que c’est celui qui est assimilé au règne de la pensée abstraite. Celui par exemple dénoncé par une certaine interprétation, à caractère romantique, du rationalisme cartésien, en tant qu’il se destine à nous rendre « comme maîtres et possesseurs de la nature ». Ou encore contre une certaine compréhension de la physique galiléenne, laquelle est basée sur la mathématisation de la nature. Or, la nature, selon cette critique, au lieu d’être réduite aux lois de la physique et asservie aux projets d’ingénieurie, devrait être au contraire considérée comme une partenaire avec qui collaborer. Les défenseurs de cette perspective aspirent à la protection de l’environnement, à vivre en harmonie avec la nature, et rejettent l’univers marchand, la rationalisation excessive de nos modes de vie et la pollution de notre environnement.

Il faut ajouter à cela la disparition du sens de certaines pratiques, dont le fitness constitue un contre-exemple. Avec lui, un effort physique est fourni pour la transformation esthétique du corps, conformément au canon de notre époque, et non pas afin d’interagir avec le monde physique. La finalité paraît recourbée sur elle-même, comme une consécration du moyen sans fin, d’où l’absence de sens. Cette sorte d’activité répond à la même logique que celle des bullshit jobs (tâches sans intérêt) ou des nombreux gadgets qui encombrent notre quotidien. Supposés nous rendre la vie plus facile, ils la rendent au contraire plus contrainte, si l’on prend un peu de recul. Au lieu de vivre en explorant la nature, dans l’art, l’artisanat et le sport, nous devons nous satisfaire uniquement d’un emploi qui nous permette de consommer et nous distraire. Nous sommes tours à tours salariés et clients et rarement artisans et explorateurs.

Quant aux ressources naturelles, nous les exploitons plus que nous ne les utilisons. Les produits de la mer et de la forêt sont extraits dans des conditions destructrices, au lieu d’être employés de façon durable et économe. Cela découle également, d’après certains, d’une vision du monde « rationaliste » liée au développement de la science moderne. Pour d’autres, la responsabilité serait plutôt celle du système concurrentiel marchand qui favorise la compétition entre Etats et entreprises au détriment d’un équilibre rationnel. Je ne prétends pas réduire toute défense de l’intelligence pratique à une critique du monde moderne ou du capitalisme, ni que les auteurs d’essais de philosophie appliquée liés à ce sujet défendent toutes les idées que je viens d’évoquer. Mais il me semble qu’il existe un lien récurrent entre la critique de la modernité et les positions pragmatistes.

Ceci n’implique pas pour autant un point de vue nostalgique, antimoderne et antiprogressiste. Il serait d’ailleurs simpliste d’opposer frontalement tradition et progrès pour s’opposer à ce dernier. Au contraire, le progrès n’est possible que dans le sillage de la tradition qu’elle améliore, réforme, purifie, en conservant ses vertus et éliminant ses vices. J’opposerais plus volontiers le terme de « progrès » à celui d’« innovation » tel qu’on l’utilise dans le marketing. Le terme « innovation » dans ce cadre indique couramment, non pas un processus civilisationnel, mais une stratégie commerciale qui tente de rendre séduisante la nouveauté pour elle-même, avec comme conséquence la fragilisation des sociétés et de leur environnement.

Conclusion

J’ai donc distingué dans un premier temps l’intelligence pratique et l’intelligence théorique pour montrer leur complémentarité. Puis j’ai développé une analyse de l’intelligence pratique par rapport à l’espace, la matière, les artefacts, et le type d’expérience qui lui correspond. Enfin j’ai montré le genre de relation sociale engagé par l’intelligence pratique et j’ai tenté de dégager un modèle de culture politique qui me semble lui être lié.

Il s’est agi de comprendre les enjeux de la défense récurrente de l’intelligence pratique dans la philosophie contre une certaine forme d’intellectualisme. D’un point de vue épistémique et esthétique, une approche trop intellectualiste nous priverait de saisir en profondeur la nature de notre présence au monde. D’un point de vue éthique et politique, nous appréhenderions mieux la nature de notre relation sociale aux autres par l’intermédiaire de l’intelligence pratique.

Toutefois il faut distinguer deux extrêmes : l’ultra-rationalisme, qui présente effectivement le risque de réduire l’existence à des modèles abstraits, avec des conséquences délétères sur les rapports sociaux et l’environnement ; et l’anti-intellectualisme, qui ne perçoit pas le rôle joué par nos représentations du monde dans nos activités, ni la dialectique entre l’intelligence théorique et l’intelligence pratique.

Il faut donc conclure à l’enchevêtrement des intelligences pratique et théorique, dans la mesure où l’on peut parler d’une pratique de la théorie d’un côté (le savoir-faire et l’expérience acquise du chercheur par exemple) et d’un engagement de la théorie dans la pratique de l’autre (la philosophie plus ou moins spontanée du sportif, de l’artisan ou de l’ouvrier par exemple).

PRACTICAL INTELLIGENCE

“The visible things around us rest within themselves, and their natural being is so full that it seems to envelop their perceived being, as if the perception we have of them took place within them.” (Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Le visible et l’invisible, Gallimard, 1964, p. 163)

Introduction

We know that there exist various forms of intelligence. One important distinction among others is that between practical intelligence and theoretical intelligence. Put simply, the former is the intelligence of spontaneous everyday action through which we display skill, while the latter is based on the use of linguistic or other symbols that allow us to think about the world by reflecting through representations.

Reflections on these two forms of intelligence, and on the value we assign to them, have aesthetic, epistemic, and ethical dimensions that we will explore. To do so, I will ask how these two forms of intelligence interact and what this implies for our relationship to our social and natural environment.

First, I will show the difference between practical and theoretical intelligence. Then, I will analyze practical intelligence and identify its characteristic features, drawing mainly on the examples of surfing and carpentry. Finally, I will attempt to characterize the type of social relations and political model implied by the valorization of practical intelligence.

I. The interaction between practical and theoretical intelligence

“Practical intelligence” refers to the kind of thinking that accompanies manual activity, as opposed to the abstract thinking that characterizes theoretical or discursive intelligence. By “manual activity” I mean manual labor but also recreational physical activities. Practical intelligence operates in the interaction between the human body and its sensory environment, in the direct objective contact of the body with the materials around it, but above all in a subjective immersion of our whole being in immediate experience. At such moments, intuition seems to prevail over concepts, insofar as know-how takes precedence over theoretical knowledge. Conversely, I may theoretically know that I must position my limbs in such and such a way in order to swim, without necessarily knowing how to swim in practice.

However, practical intelligence is not radically separate from theoretical intelligence. First, we engage in an activity with our intellectual presuppositions, our culture, our tastes, and our opinions. Next, we produce an after-the-fact theorization of our practice, in a more or less elaborate way. Thus, if one has philosophical training, for example, one will have the tools needed to construct a discourse about this practice. The question then arises whether this discourse reflects an actual situation or whether it accompanies it in a way that gives it a dimension that would not otherwise have existed. It is also likely that different parts of the discourse on the practice correspond to one or the other of these possibilities.

There are therefore relations between practical intelligence and lived experience in action, on the one hand, and what we derive from reflecting on it, as well as the theoretical and testimonial knowledge that constitutes our cultural background, on the other. Practical intelligence, on the one hand, is spontaneous and unconscious, insofar as it ensures mastery of gesture through acquired experience. But, on the other hand, this practical intelligence is embedded within a more abstract philosophy of life, a worldview.

The practice of surfing, for example, is described as an immersive, almost fusion-like and empathic experience with the wave and, more generally, with the flow of the event (see G. Durand, L’esprit du surf, Arkhé, 2026). It is a dynamic and intense relation to the world, allowing one to grasp its depth—not through the introspective experience of the self (cf. Bergson), but through a decentering by which one integrates oneself into the rhythm and processuality of the world (cf. Whitehead) in order to apprehend it from within. This immersion is a source of joy and enchantment. But it is also demanding, as I will show, in terms of effort and risk-taking. This experience, as we will also see, possesses an ethical dimension, giving affective substance to the notion of respect for nature. We therefore see this experience enriched by its ontological, phenomenological, and ethical description and theorization.

 

II. Analyzing Practical Intelligence

I will now examine the theme of practical intelligence more closely through the example of surfing, but also through that of carpentry (see A. Lochmann, La vie solide, Payot, 2019). The first is a leisure activity, the second a profession. But this distinction matters little at the level of analysis at which I am operating. Practical intelligence exists beneath the sociological difference between recreational and professional activities, just as cooking or playing music exist independently of whether one does so personally or for profit.

Another important point shared by these two examples is the relation between practical intelligence and space, particularly “natural” spaces of sea and forest. I place “natural” in quotation marks because sea and forest are also subject to economic exploitation, and because they correspond to varied social representations (workspaces for some, leisure spaces for others).

We also find, between agent and space, the following interfaces: on agent’s side, the carpenter’s tools and the surfer’s board; on the side of space, wood material and wave. Indeed, interface splits depending on whether one situates it on the side of agent, with their instruments (or even “bare hands”), or on the side of space, with physical part of environment in contact with the agent and constituting the perceived surface.

Finally, it should be noted that the practices examined here—surfing and carpentry—are exceptional compared to ordinary lives of most people. Carpenter works at height, on rooftops, with materials and tools that must be handled carefully, while paying attention to colleagues. Surfer must face all sorts of risks linked to maritime environment: force and structure of wave, hardness of rocks, physical fatigue and control of movement, and so on.

I previously said that practical intelligence involves a certain decentering of the self toward the world, for example when one surfs. Physical outdoor activity or working with material allows us to forget ourselves in order to explore our environment in depth. But this does not mean passively surrendering to the elements. On the contrary, it takes place through significant effort applied to oneself. It is only after a long and laborious process of self‑development in technical mastery that one gains access to the distinctive perception associated with practical intelligence. The gratification of this acquired experience is linked not only to recognition by one’s peers but also to access to a new level of perception of reality.

This is not a matter of elitism, insofar as it is not about rising in the social hierarchy—even if recognition by peers matters—but about flourishing in an aspect of one’s humanity. This includes a concern for authenticity. True surfing differs from water‑skiing, for example, in that it relies solely on the energy of the wave. Surfing is also not practiced on artificial waves. Likewise, the carpenter preserves a large part of his artisanal tools, without which the authentic experience of working with wood would disappear if replaced by automated factory processes.

The appeal of the surfer’s or carpenter’s activity may also come from the satisfaction of having managed to overcome several difficulties and dangers, linked to the risks inherent in the maritime or construction environments. This element of bravery is all the more precious in parts of the world that guarantee a certain degree of comfort and safety.

But gratification also rests upstream on perseverance over the long duration of learning, on self‑discipline, self‑mastery, acquisition of habits and experience, and improvement through trial and error. This results not only in precision of movement, development of skill and competence, and expansion of one’s “comfort zone,” but also in the ability to “read” reality and interpret phenomena reliably—that is, acquisition of a disposition with both technical and cognitive dimensions.

This know‑how does not consist simply in applying a method, a rule, or a recipe. It involves mastering the unexpected, knowing how to seize the opportune moment, the right instant, surfing the accident or the unforeseen, being reactive, tactical, resourceful, and precise. But one must also be able to make room for imprecision and vagueness when they are inevitable.

Finally, I return to the role played by the interface—already mentioned earlier—in this formative interaction between self and world. We do not perceive only with naked eye, nor do we traverse and modify the world solely with bare hands. A well‑mastered tool is an amplifier of sensation and action. To achieve this, one must succeed in integrating it into one’s own body, on the one hand, and into the substance of the world, on the other. Artifice opposes nature only when one does not master its use. But once the craft has “sunk in,” once the tool is controlled, it becomes like a new organ, giving rise to new properties of the environment. Air was not made for flying before birds had wings. Likewise, waves were not destined for surfing, nor wood for carpentry, before the one and the other were invented.

III. The Social Stakes of Valuing Practical Intelligence

I previously addressed the question of how individuals integrate themselves into physical world through tools and practical intelligence. But we must not neglect the social world. Here the carpenter, insofar as he works as part of a team, is more directly concerned than the surfer. Yet the latter, despite his solitude, still belongs to a culture made up of techniques, technologies, and representations that frame solitary practice. But to remain with the carpenter: he works in symbiosis and synergy with the team, handling tools and materials at height. The solidarity of the team makes it possible to confront the risks of the trade.

This notion of a “team” brings us closer to the world of sports. One can also think of the musical world, with the notion of an “orchestra.” The principle remains the same: facing the unexpected, armed with pre‑established structures and acquired experience, staying focused, improvising when necessary, and adjusting action perfectly to the contingency of events. For the solitary surfer, the wave can metaphorically be considered a musical partner. Thus, whether alone or in a team, one must know how to compose with the environment, as with an opponent in a game, in order to achieve perfect harmony and an attuned rhythm. To these aesthetic considerations are added the ethical dimensions of solidarity and responsibility within the team of carpenters. Instead of abstract and disembodied values, we find here a concrete and spontaneous realization of it, given the dangers that must be overcome.

To this direct social dimension of teamwork we may add a much broader and historical dimension of transmitted know‑how, accompanied by a narrative that gives meaning to tradition. A sport or a trade, beyond requiring practical learning, also refers to certain socio‑political positions. The defense of practical intelligence can be connected, for example, to participatory models of society, such as cooperatives, shared workshops, fab labs, or free and open‑source software. These models also respond to environmental challenges, with the aim of articulating the local and the global, regional particularisms and globalized exchanges. They often seek to escape the one‑dimensional approach of the commercial industrial world, replacing anonymous products with enriched works shaped by gestures that produced it with, or substituting physical experience of natural environment for the routine of urban life.

But what is, more precisely, the model of society being criticized through the defense of practical intelligence? I would say it is the one associated with the reign of abstract thought. For example, the model denounced by a certain romantic interpretation of Cartesian rationalism, insofar as it aims to make us “masters and possessors of nature.” Or again, a certain understanding of Galilean physics, which is based on the mathematization of nature. According to this critique, nature—rather than being reduced to physical laws and subordinated to engineering projects—should instead be regarded as a partner with whom we collaborate. Defenders of this perspective aspire to environmental protection, to living in harmony with nature, and reject commercial world, excessive rationalization of our ways of life, and pollution of our environment.

We must add to this the disappearance of meaning in certain practices, of which fitness is a counterexample. In fitness, physical effort is undertaken for aesthetic transformation of body, in accordance with the canon of our era, and not in order to interact with physical world. The goal seems to fold back on itself, as a consecration of means without ends, hence the absence of meaning. This kind of activity follows the same logic as that of “bullshit jobs” (tasks without interest) or the many gadgets that clutter our daily lives. Supposed to make life easier, they in fact make it more constrained, if one takes a step back. Instead of living by exploring nature, through art, craftsmanship, and sport, we must content ourselves with a job that allows us to consume and distract ourselves. We are alternately employees and customers, and rarely artisans and explorers.

As for natural resources, we exploit them more than we use them. Products of sea and forest are extracted under destructive conditions, instead of being used sustainably and sparingly. According to some, this also stems from a “rationalist” worldview linked to the development of modern science. For others, the responsibility lies rather with the competitive commercial system that favors competition between states and companies at the expense of rational balance. I do not claim to reduce every defense of practical intelligence to a critique of modernity or capitalism, nor that the authors of applied‑philosophy essays on this subject defend all the ideas I have just mentioned. But it seems to me that there is a recurring link between the critique of modernity and pragmatist positions.

This does not imply a nostalgic, anti‑modern, or anti‑progressive point of view. It would in fact be simplistic to oppose tradition and progress head‑on in order to reject the latter. On the contrary, progress is only possible in the wake of tradition, which it improves, reforms, and purifies, preserving its virtues and eliminating its vices. I would more readily oppose the term “progress” to that of “innovation” as used in marketing. In that context, “innovation” commonly refers not to a civilizational process but to a commercial strategy that seeks to make novelty appealing for its own sake, with the consequence of weakening societies and their environments.

Conclusion

I first distinguished practical intelligence from theoretical intelligence in order to show their complementarity. I then developed an analysis of practical intelligence in relation to space, matter, artefacts, and the specific type of experience that corresponds to it. Finally, I showed the kind of social relation mobilized by practical intelligence and sketched a model of political culture that seems to be associated with it.

The aim was to understand what is at stake in the recurrent defence of practical intelligence in philosophy against a certain form of intellectualism. From an epistemic and aesthetic point of view, an overly intellectualist approach would prevent us from grasping in depth the nature of our presence in the world. From an ethical and political point of view, we would better apprehend the nature of our social relation to others through the mediation of practical intelligence.

However, two extremes must be distinguished: ultra‑rationalism, which indeed risks reducing existence to abstract models, with harmful consequences for social relations and environment; and anti‑intellectualism, which fails to perceive the role played by our representations of the world in our activities, as well as the dialectic between theoretical and practical intelligence.

We must therefore conclude that practical and theoretical intelligence are interwoven, insofar as one can speak, on the one hand, of a practice of theory (for example, the know‑how and accumulated experience of the researcher), and on the other hand, of an investment of theory in practice (the more or less spontaneous philosophy of athlete, craftsperson, or worker, etc.).

R. EDELMAN NANTES AOUT 2026

         Crédit photo : LI Huanmin - First Steps on the Golden Road - 55 cm×49 cm - Print on paper - 1953 (Collection of the National Art Museum of China)

TYPES ET SENS DE LA PHILOSOPHIE (FR)/TYPES AND MEANINGS OF PHILOSOPHY (EN)

 

« L’anti-relativiste est beaucoup plus proche qu’il ne croit de son adversaire « relativiste », car tous deux partagent au moins ceci qu’ils se donnent également les moyens de s’élever au-dessus de toute description et d’adopter un point de vue des points de vue, qui seul autorise les assertions auxquelles se résume le débat de part et d’autre » (J-P. Cometti, Qu’est-ce que le pragmatisme ?, Gallimard, 2010).

 

La diversité des théories en philosophie est comparable à celle des mouvements artistiques ou des opinions politiques. La science de son côté paraît épargnée et plus sélective. Mais cela peut être discuté. Car les controverses n’y sont pas non plus absentes.

La question qui m’intéresse ici est celle de savoir quelle attitude adopter face à la diversité théorique en philosophie ? A mon avis, le sens que l’on donne à la pratique philosophique dépend de la réponse apportée à cette question de la diversité théorique. Par exemple, on peut en conclure que la philosophie est parfaitement vaine et obsolète comparée à la science. Ou alors on peut lui attribuer un rôle minimal, comme veiller à la clarté des énoncés. Plus rare aujourd’hui sans doute serait de la considérer encore comme la reine des sciences et comme une discipline fondamentale capable d’orienter toutes nos pratiques.

Pour approfondir cette interrogation, je me demanderai : Quels sont les différents types de philosophies ? Comment les distinguer ? Et quel sens donner à la philosophie relativement à cela ? Je précise qu’il s’agit simplement d’une esquisse. Je resterai très général et non exhaustif, sans trop entrer dans les détails ni préciser quels sont les auteurs correspondant aux théories évoquées (ce qui conduirait à des analyses longues, complexes et certainement polémiques).

 

Pour commencer, appelons « épistémologies objectivistes » celles qui soutiennent l’idée que nous pouvons parvenir à une connaissance vraie et universelle du monde, indépendante des perspectives individuelles ou communautaires. Ces épistémologies défendent donc l’idée d’une connaissance identique en tous lieux, de tous temps et pour tout le monde.

Selon elles, la connaissance repose sur des fondations, des principes, des normes ou des critères qui permettent de distinguer le vrai du faux : évidence, certitude, adéquation, validité, convenance, compétence, sérieux, démonstration, preuve, falsification, validation institutionnelle, etc. Plusieurs critères peuvent être associés, pour renforcer la crédibilité d’une croyance et la justifier. Ces critères varient donc en fonction des théories et des époques et reflètent des traditions concurrentes.

De même, les options métaphysiques varient selon les philosophes : monisme, dualisme, pluralisme, tropisme, réalisme, nominalisme, criticisme, vitalisme, panpsychisme, etc. Il y a semble-t-il réciprocité entre métaphysique (en incluant l’ontologie) et épistémologie. Notre conception de la connaissance autorise ou non nos affirmations métaphysiques (e. g. le réaliste s’autorise à définir la nature de l’être, le nominaliste reste agnostique) et notre conception métaphysique détermine notre conception de la connaissance (e. g. le dualiste attribuera une place fondamentale aux conditions subjectives de l’expérience, le moniste physicaliste penchera pour le behaviorisme).

Comment faire face à cette diversité de méthodes et de théories ? On peut chercher à les hiérarchiser, à travers la discussion, en les confrontant aux acquis de la science ; à en éliminer certaines, jugées incohérentes ou obsolètes ; à en conserver d’autres en revisitant leur forme ; ou encore à en élire de nouvelles. Ou bien on peut considérer qu’il s’agit simplement de différentes manières concurrentes de décrire le monde, de différentes représentations subjectives, construites à partir des phénomènes perçus et de notre vocabulaire, en fonction de notre milieu sensible et symbolique. Dans ce cas, si ces modèles ne peuvent rendre compte de la réalité, ils sont destinés à rester des fictions, même s’ils présentent une quelconque utilité heuristique.

Pour éviter un scepticisme trop radical, il faut se rapporter aux applications pratiques. En sciences et techniques, dans l’éducation et la presse ou dans les procédures judiciaires, il n’est pas permis de douter absolument de la vérité. Autrement dit, il y a bien des vérités qui permettent au scientifique de prédire les phénomènes, à l’ingénieur de construire des machines, aux enseignants et aux journalistes de transmettre savoirs et informations et aux juges ou autres responsables de prendre des décisions justifiées.

En méditant sur ce qu’il y a de commun à ces vérités, on peut tenter de définir ce que peut être La Vérité. Ainsi, une conception minimale de la connaissance en général peut être dégagée à partir de la réflexion sur les conditions de possibilité des différentes formes de vérités.

 

Nous venons de voir que certaines méthodes s’efforcent d’assurer l’objectivité et la vérité de nos connaissances. Bien des incertitudes subsistent néanmoins quant à la fiabilité de nos croyances, ainsi que de nombreuses controverses en épistémologie et en métaphysique. Toutefois, un scepticisme radical serait irréaliste, étant donné les faits attestant de l’utilité des connaissances.

Nous allons suivre ce même schéma pour l’appliquer à la philosophie morale (éthique et politique). La morale objectiviste soutient l’idée que nous pouvons parvenir à la connaissance de ce qui est bon ou juste pour guider nos actions. Il y aurait donc des normes morales universelles et identiques pour tous, en tout temps et en tous lieux. Par exemple, la maxime « ne fais pas à autrui ce que tu ne veux pas qu’on te fasse » paraît satisfaire cette exigence. On peut supposer que cette règle d’or traverse toutes les époques et toutes les cultures.

Il existe plusieurs théories qui proposent un fondement à la morale, en se basant soit sur le devoir inconditionnel, soit sur la perfection ou la vertu, soit sur la sécurité ou la stabilité sociale, soit sur l’utilité, soit sur l’intuition morale. Certains critères paraissent incompatibles (devoir vs utilité), d’autres compatibles (devoir et vertu). La relation entre ces notions varie selon leur définition. Par exemple, « devoir » et « vertu » peuvent prendre des sens différents.

Ces principes moraux ont une valeur individuelle pour guider l’action personnelle. Mais on les retrouve à l’échelle collective en politique et économie. Le contrat social et les droits universels correspondent à l’éthique du devoir au sens kantien. L’utilitarisme et l’éthique des vertus peuvent également guider l’action collective, selon une approche moins individualiste. En effet, une minorité peut être sacrifiée au bénéfice de la majorité dans certaines formes d’utilitarismes, et le devoir envers la communauté peut prévaloir sur les droits de la personne dans certaines éthiques de la vertu. Quant à l’éthique du devoir, si elle permet de garantir les droits de l’individu, elle peut aussi amener celui-ci à sacrifier son intérêt propre au nom de la morale.

Mais des approches relativistes, voire sceptiques, de la morale sont également possibles, si on la fait reposer par exemple sur le sentiment. Rien ne garantit alors qu’un sentiment soit le même d’un individu ou d’une culture à l’autre. Qu’est-ce qui garantit l’universalité d’un sentiment, ou bien même sa moralité, comparé au test d’universalisation de nos intentions (déontologisme) ou à un calcul du plaisir (utilitarisme) ? De même, si un jugement moral exprime une règle qui se déclare désintéressée, celle-ci peut-elle réellement valoir pour tous les hommes ou toutes les sociétés ?  

Le scepticisme moral réduit la morale aux différentes coutumes, toutes aussi variables qu’il y a de communautés, toutes aussi légitimes les unes que les autres, assimilables à des faits sociaux remplissant différentes fonctions (cohésion du groupe, partage des taches, distribution des privilèges, etc.). Ce relativisme peut expliquer les dissensus dans nos jugements sur les mœurs, sur les pratiques médicales, économiques, pénales, sur les usages des technologies, etc.

Néanmoins, si les discussions et les délibérations existent, c’est que nous possédons un horizon régulateur, un idéal de consensus, nourrit par la conviction qu’une résolution est possible et que tous les points de vue n’ont pas la même valeur, même si nous ne connaissons pas ou pas encore la position la plus appropriée.

Nous voyons donc que, comme en épistémologie, il y a en éthique différentes manières de concevoir les critères objectifs de la morale et de la meilleure manière d’agir. Les dissensus conduisent à des controverses en vue de trouver une position commune sinon objective. Mais ils peuvent aussi conduire à une conclusion sceptique et relativiste en cas d’échec. Toutefois, comme pour les controverses épistémologiques ou métaphysiques, le scepticisme ne paraît pas tenable absolument, dès lors qu’existe la perspective d’un accord pour motiver la controverse elle-même.

 

Pour finir, abordons la question de la diversité théorique en esthétique, à propos de l’art (et son rapport à la nature, l’artisanat, le design et l’industrie) et des propriétés esthétiques. Une conception objectiviste ou réaliste consiste à considérer que les propriétés esthétiques dépendent fortement des propriétés physiques. L’effet sur nous d’un objet, d’un ouvrage ou d’une œuvre est lié à sa structure et son fonctionnement propres. Dans ce cas, le plaisir esthétique est relié à des propriétés objectives, suscitant comme jugement l’agréable, le bon, l’utile, l’harmonieux, l’instructif, etc. Du fait de l’origine objective de ces jugements, ceux-ci peuvent prétendre à l’universalité.

A cela s’oppose une approche plus relativiste qui fait reposer l’art ou le jugement de goût sur l’émotion personnelle, l’expression d’une vision du monde propre à l’artiste ou à un groupe ; ou encore un jeu symbolique valide uniquement à l’intérieur d’un monde culturel particulier. Une vision purement relativiste consisterait à voir une variété infinie d’expressions humaines, sans points communs, dans l’architecture, la sculpture, la mode, le design, le paysagisme, l’édition, la BD, le cinéma, les séries, le jeu vidéo, la musique, la publicité, l’art décoratif, etc.

Or de même que les nombreuses langues ont en commun de reposer sur les structures universelles du langage étudiées par la linguistique, on doit pouvoir considérer que toutes les expressions artistiques, en tant qu’elles sont des productions humaines reconnues comme artistiques, possèdent un noyau invariant intéressant l’esthétique. On doit pouvoir identifier également chez tous les hommes ce qui les rend sensibles aux effets esthétiques de la nature.

 

Il existe donc plusieurs manières de fonder la vérité et plusieurs théories ontologiques. Néanmoins, il y a une tension vers l’objectivité, une volonté de chercher la vérité, dès lors que ces théories font l’objet de discussions. De même, en morale, en politique ou en esthétique, il y a plusieurs façons de chercher à fonder l’objectivité.

Si l’on s’en tenait à un relativisme strict et au scepticisme, il ne serait plus la peine de confronter les théories, et il n’y aurait pas non plus lieu d’en élaborer. Donc s’il y a un relativisme apparent, il ne peut être considéré en principe que comme provisoire.

Face à la diversité des théories plusieurs attitudes sont possibles : Soit on les rejette toutes en déclarant que la philosophie est chimérique (excepté ce point de vue philosophique sceptique lui-même…). Ou alors on tente au moins de fixer les limites de ce qu’il est raisonnable de traiter, souvent en excluant ce qui outrepasse les limites de la science. La philosophie acquiert alors un rôle auxiliaire d’analyse et de clarification du langage. On peut aussi proposer des combinaisons entre plusieurs théories ou proposer des théories nouvelles qui dépassent les précédentes. On peut encore s’attacher à défendre une théorie existante en particulier, contre toutes les autres, moyennant en général une rénovation des arguments.

Le sens de la philosophie, semble-t-il, dépend de ces différentes attitudes face à la diversité des théories. Un sceptique finira par juger la philosophie inutile et défendra au minimum le pragmatisme scientifique. On pourrait également ne considérer la philosophie que comme un jeu d’esprit stimulant et formateur.

Mais, il faudrait, pour lui accorder plus d’importance que cela, partir du principe que toute activité humaine se déploie sur un arrière-fond philosophique : notre philosophie spontanée. Autrement dit, nous ne pouvons pas nous passer de philosophie, quand bien même nous prétendrions le faire. Il y aurait donc tout intérêt à s’en préoccuper, si l’on veut comprendre et faire évoluer la structure de nos idées, critiquer et transformer nos cadres de pensée, au lieu de les subir.

Enfin, est-ce qu’une théorie peut finir par s’imposer contre toutes les autres ? Cela est envisageable, au moins comme fin idéale sans laquelle il ne serait pas la peine de polémiquer. Et dans ce mouvement, faute de parvenir à un résultat définitif, nous confortons ou récoltons, à travers la recherche collective, différentes vérités partielles intéressantes ou utiles à la vie, à la science, à la morale ou à l’art.

*

TYPES AND MEANINGS OF PHILOSOPHY

“The anti‑relativist is much closer than he thinks to his ‘relativist’ opponent, for both share at least this: they equally grant themselves the means to rise above any description and to adopt a point‑of‑view of points‑of‑view, which alone authorizes the assertions on which the debate on either side ultimately rests.” (J‑P. Cometti, What Is Pragmatism?, Gallimard, 2010).

The diversity of theories in philosophy is comparable to that of artistic movements or political opinions. Science, by contrast, seems spared from such variety and appears more selective. But this can be questioned, for controversies are not absent there either.

The question that interests me here is what attitude one should adopt toward theoretical diversity in philosophy. In my view, the meaning we assign to philosophical practice depends on how we answer this question of theoretical plurality. For example, one might conclude that philosophy is entirely vain and obsolete when compared to science. Or one might grant it only a minimal role, such as ensuring clarity of statements. Rarer today, no doubt, would be to consider it still as the queen of sciences and as a fundamental discipline capable of orienting all our practices.

To explore this question further, I will ask: What are the different types of philosophies? How can they be distinguished? And what meaning should we assign to philosophy considering this? I should specify that this is merely an outline. I will remain very general and non‑exhaustive, without going too far into details or identifying the authors corresponding to the theories mentioned (which would lead to long, complex, and certainly contentious analyses).

 

To begin, let us call “objectivist epistemologies” those that uphold the idea that we can attain true and universal knowledge of the world, independent of individual or communal perspectives. These epistemologies therefore defend the idea of knowledge that is identical everywhere, always, and for everyone.

According to them, knowledge rests on foundations, principles, norms, or criteria that allow us to distinguish truth from falsehood: evidence, certainty, adequation, validity, appropriateness, competence, seriousness, demonstration, proof, falsification, institutional validation, and so on. Several criteria may be combined to reinforce the credibility of a belief and justify it. These criteria thus vary depending on theories and historical periods, and they reflect competing traditions.

Likewise, metaphysical options vary from one philosopher to another: monism, dualism, pluralism, tropism, realism, nominalism, critical philosophy, vitalism, panpsychism, and so on. There appears to be a reciprocity between metaphysics (including ontology) and epistemology. Our conception of knowledge authorizes or forbids certain metaphysical claims (e.g., the realist allows himself to define the nature of being, whereas the nominalist remains agnostic), and our metaphysical conception determines our conception of knowledge (e.g., the dualist will assign a fundamental role to the subjective conditions of experience, while the physicalist monist will lean toward behaviorism).

How should we deal with this diversity of methods and theories? One may try to rank them, through discussion, by confronting them with the achievements of science; to eliminate some, judged incoherent or obsolete; to preserve others by revisiting their form; or even to introduce new ones. Alternatively, one may consider them simply as different competing ways of describing the world, different subjective representations constructed from perceived phenomena and from our vocabulary, depending on our sensory and symbolic environment. In that case, if these models cannot account for reality, they are destined to remain fictions, even if they possess some heuristic usefulness.

To avoid an overly radical skepticism, one must turn to practical applications. In science and technology, in education and press, or in judicial procedures, it is not permissible to doubt truth absolutely. In other words, there are indeed truths that allow scientists to predict phenomena, engineers to build machines, teachers and journalists to transmit knowledge and information, and judges or other officials to make justified decisions.

By reflecting on what these truths have in common, one may attempt to define what Truth itself could be. Thus, a minimal conception of knowledge in general can be drawn from a reflection on the conditions of possibility of the different forms of truth.

 

We have just seen that certain methods strive to secure objectivity and truth of our knowledge. Yet many uncertainties remain regarding the reliability of our beliefs, as well as numerous controversies in epistemology and metaphysics. Nevertheless, a radical skepticism would be unrealistic, given the facts that attest to the usefulness of knowledge.

We will follow the same pattern and apply it to moral philosophy (ethics and politics). Objectivist morality upholds the idea that we can attain knowledge of what is good or just in order to guide our actions. There would therefore be universal moral norms, identical for everyone, always and in all places. For example, the maxim “do not do unto others what you would not want done unto you” seems to satisfy this requirement. One may suppose that this golden rule spans all eras and all cultures.

Several theories propose a foundation for morality, relying either on unconditional duty, or on perfection or virtue, or on security and social stability, or on utility, or on moral intuition. Some criteria appear incompatible (duty vs. utility), others compatible (duty and virtue). The relationship between these notions varies depending on how they are defined. For example, “duty” and “virtue” may take on different meanings.

These moral principles have an individual value for guiding personal action. But they also appear at the collective level in politics and economics. The social contract and universal rights correspond to the ethics of duty in the Kantian sense. Utilitarianism and virtue ethics can likewise guide collective action, according to a less individualistic approach. Indeed, a minority may be sacrificed for the benefit of the majority in certain forms of utilitarianism, and duty toward the community may prevail over individual rights in certain versions of virtue ethics. As for the ethics of duty, while it allows for the protection of individual rights, it may also lead individuals to sacrifice their own interests in the name of morality.

But relativistic, even skeptical, approaches to morality are also possible, especially if one grounds it, for example, in feeling. Nothing then guarantees that a feeling will be the same from one individual or one culture to another. What could ensure the universality of a feeling, or even its moral status, compared with the universalization test of our intentions (deontology) or with a calculation of pleasure (utilitarianism)? Likewise, if a moral judgment expresses a rule that claims to be disinterested, can it truly hold for all human beings or all societies?

Moral skepticism reduces morality to various customs, each as variable as the number of communities, each as legitimate as the others, and comparable to social facts fulfilling different functions (group cohesion, division of tasks, distribution of privileges, etc.). Such relativism can explain disagreements in our judgments about morals, medical practices, economic systems, penal institutions, or the uses of technology.

Nevertheless, if discussions and deliberations exist, it is because we possess a regulative horizon, an ideal of consensus nourished by the conviction that a resolution is possible and that not all points of view have the same value, even if we do not know, or do not yet know, the most appropriate position.

We therefore see that, as in epistemology, ethics contains different ways of conceiving the objective criteria of morality and of determining the best way to act. Disagreements lead to controversies aimed at finding a common, if not objective, position. But they can also lead to a skeptical and relativistic conclusion if these attempts fail. However, as with epistemological or metaphysical controversies, skepticism does not seem absolutely tenable, insofar as the very possibility of agreement exists and motivates the controversy itself.

 

Let us now address the question of theoretical diversity in aesthetics, concerning art (and its relation to nature, craftsmanship, design, and industry) and aesthetic properties. An objectivist or realist conception consists in holding that aesthetic properties depend strongly on physical properties. The effect that an object, a piece of work, or an artwork has on us is tied to its own structure and functioning. In this case, aesthetic pleasure is connected to objective properties, giving rise to judgments such as the pleasant, the good, the useful, the harmonious, the instructive, and so on. Because these judgments have an objective origin, they may claim a certain universality.

Opposed to this is a more relativistic approach, which grounds art or aesthetic judgment in personal emotion, in the expression of a worldview specific to an artist or a group, or in a symbolic game valid only within a particular cultural world. A purely relativistic view would consist in seeing an infinite variety of human expressions, without common points, in architecture, sculpture, fashion, design, landscape architecture, publishing, comics, cinema, television series, video games, music, advertising, decorative arts, and so forth.

Yet just as the many languages of the world share the universal structures of language studied by linguistics, one should be able to consider that all artistic expressions—inasmuch as they are human productions recognized as artistic—possess an invariant core relevant to aesthetics. One should likewise be able to identify, in all human beings, what makes them sensitive to the aesthetic effects of nature.

 

There are therefore several ways of grounding truth and several ontological theories. Nevertheless, there is a certain tension toward objectivity, a will to seek truth, insofar as these theories become the object of discussion. Likewise, in morality, politics, or aesthetics, there are several ways of attempting to ground objectivity.

If one were to adhere strictly to relativism and skepticism, it would no longer be worthwhile to confront theories, nor would there be any reason to elaborate new ones. Thus, if there is apparent relativism, it can only be regarded, in principle, as provisional.

Faced with diversity of theories, several attitudes are possible: one may reject them all, declaring philosophy to be chimerical (except for this skeptical philosophical standpoint itself…). Or one may at least attempt to set the limits of what it is reasonable to address, often by excluding what exceeds the boundaries of science. Philosophy then acquires an auxiliary role of analysis and clarification of language. One may also propose combinations of several theories, or introduce new theories that surpass the previous ones. One may further devote oneself to defending one particular existing theory against all the others, generally by renovating its arguments.

Meaning of philosophy, it seems, depends on these different attitudes toward diversity of theories. A skeptic will end up judging philosophy useless and will defend, at minimum, scientific pragmatism. One might also consider philosophy merely as a stimulating and formative exercise of the mind.

But to grant it greater importance than this, one must begin with the principle that all human activity unfolds over a philosophical background: our spontaneous philosophy. In other words, we cannot do without philosophy, even if we claim to do so. There would therefore be every reason to concern ourselves with it, if we wish to understand and transform the structure of our ideas, to criticize and reshape our frameworks of thought rather than merely undergo them.

Finally, can a single theory eventually prevail over all the others? This is conceivable, at least as an ideal end without which debate would be pointless. And in this movement, even if we fail to reach a definitive result, we consolidate or gather, through collective inquiry, various partial truths that are interesting or useful for life, science, morality or art.

RAPHAEL EDELMAN NANTES JUILLET 2026

Crédit photo : Sidney Lumet, Twelve angry men, 1957

 

HOBBES, OR THE LIMITS OF WISDOM

 

 

 "As Hobbes asserts, the state of nature is a state of injustice and violence, and one must necessarily leave it in order to submit to a legal constraint, which limits our freedom only so as to make it compatible with the freedom of others and, thereby, with the public good. To this freedom there is therefore also attached the freedom to submit one’s thoughts and doubts to the judgment of the public when one cannot clarify them by oneself, without thereby being regarded as a turbulent and dangerous citizen." (I. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, II.1)

 

Introduction

Hobbes, as has often been repeated, offers a pessimistic view of human beings and of society, and proposes an authoritarian and security‑oriented response. One should instead regard human beings as capable of solidarity in order to defend a “democratic” society. Yet even if human beings are indeed capable of mutual aid, they are at the same time embedded in social structures that place them in competition with one another; and even if a “democratic” society is possible, it cannot dispense with regulation and safeguards. In other words, Hobbes is perhaps not absolutely incompatible with a progressive approach to politics.

The purpose of the Leviathan is to defend the State. But it seems to me that Hobbes’s analysis applies equally to other institutions. His central idea is that natural coordination among human beings is insufficient, and that it is necessary to construct an artificial structure in order to guarantee justice. Ultimately, Hobbes contributes to social ontology and to the problem of the binding force that unites individuals. His solution rests on the fear of violence and on each person’s self‑interested calculation.

What is also remarkable in the Leviathan is its systematic dimension. As in Plato’s Republic or Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit, Hobbes attempts to provide a synthesis of the different branches of philosophy, in particular epistemology and political philosophy. Contemporary philosophy has generally turned away from this kind of overarching project, preferring to concentrate on specific issues in epistemology, ethics, or aesthetics. It is indeed legitimate, for the sake of precision, to focus on particular questions. But this does not, in my view, require us to forbid ourselves from zooming out in order to study the articulation of large domains. One can be just as rigorous in cartography at the scale of a world map as at the municipal level, just as one can analyze the anatomy of an animal as well as the structure of a cell.

What may seem particularly timely in Hobbes, on the other hand, is his critique of jargon and of the misuse of language, which evokes the positions of Carnap or Ryle. Hobbes’s nominalist approach leads him to treat cognitive processes in linguistic form, avoiding the inflation of psychological terms that one finds in part of modern philosophy.

The synthesis of the Leviathan we now propose should allow us to recontextualize this work in light of our own areas of interest, as we have just outlined in the introduction. The questions that will arise as we follow the structure of the book will be: How are physicalism, empiricism, and nominalism articulated in the Leviathan? Why does human nature, as Hobbes conceives it, lead us to oppose one another? What exactly is the political solution proposed by Hobbes?

 

I. True Philosophy

Knowledge begins with sensation, which is caused by the object. Sensations are the effects produced by the object upon our senses (“Part. I, Ch. 1, Of sense”). Then this sensation, as an effect on us of the object, persists even when the cause has ceased to act and the object is absent (“Ch. 2, Of imagination”). What remains is an image that represents the object and its properties in its absence. This image is stored and becomes memory. “Imagination and memory are but one thing, which for divers considerations hath divers name.” There is continuity between imagination and memory. These faculties are less independent modules than different ways of considering the processing of sensory data. The distinction thus established between physical object, sensation, and mnemonic image raises the following skeptical problems: To what extent does sensation provide us with valid knowledge of objects? To what extent is the mnemonic image capable of faithfully preserving sensory information?

But Hobbes does not seem to pursue these questions in depth. He deals instead with the relations between representations in what he calls mental discourse (“Ch. 3, Of the consequence or train of imaginations”). The organization of this mental discourse, according to relations of causes and effects, is governed by our desires and our fears. “From desire, ariseth the thought of some means we have seen produce the like of that which we aim at.” The experience we have of things, thus fixed within mental discourse, leads us to improve our conduct: “by how much one man has more experience of things past, than another, by so much also he is more prudent, and his expectations the seldomer fail him.” With experience, we know in advance what will be a source of pleasure or of pain.

The mechanism of the cognitive faculties described so far is common to human beings and other animals. The distinction appears only with verbal discourse as an auxiliary to mental discourse. Language serves to fix representations, to transmit them to others, and to add to them the expression of our will. There are also aesthetic and playful uses intended to produce pleasure. However, abuses are also possible, when one uses incorrect expressions, or lies, or seeks to wound by means of speech (“Ch. 4, Of speech”).

In addition to the functions of language, Hobbes sets out the types of words he uses: proper names, common names, names of material things, of their qualities, of the impressions they produce in us, and names of names or of discourse (e.g. “general,” “universal,” “special,” “equivocal,” “affirmation,” “interrogation,” “command,” “narration,” “syllogism,” “sermon,” “oration”). With this typology, one should be able to detect category mistakes and false problems that arise from misuse of names: “therefore of absurd and false affirmations, in case they be universal, there can be no understanding; though many think they understand them, when they do but repeat the words softly, or con them in their mind.”

A particularly important linguistic function is then presented: calculation, which is carried out on the basis of clear concepts. Here Hobbes takes as a model of scientific knowledge the hypothetico‑deductive model of inference from an axiomatic definition (“Ch. 5, Of Reason and science”). Truth depends on the accuracy of the order of words among themselves. Logical inference seems equivalent to causal determinism (one could translate it as counterfactual dependence, as in “no fire, no smoke”). The question of the relation between language and states of affairs does not seem to be raised. “A man… can by words reduce the consequences he finds to general rules, called theorems, or aphorism; that is, he can reason, or reckon, not only in number, but in all other things, whereof one may be added unto, or subtracted from another.” Logical‑mathematical rigor constitutes the method that allows one to avoid confusions and absurdities. It is disinterested, in that it follows the objective order of things and not that of subjective preferences.

Thus conceived, science belongs to an art, a know‑how through which one masters syntax on the basis of definitions. “The first cause of absurd conclusions I ascribe to the want of method; in that they begin not their ratiocination from definitions; that is, from settled significations of their words; as if they could cast account, without knowing the value of the numeral words, one, two and three.” The elimination of absurdities concerns the regulated use of language. As for the question of error, which Hobbes distinguishes from absurdity, it pertains to experience and is combated by prudence. Non‑human animals, like human beings, commit errors when they act imprudently or lack experience. But only human beings formulate absurdities when they do not master the art of reasoning. One may nevertheless wonder whether the separation is really so clear between the two. Does reasoning not require experience and prudence? And does prudent action not benefit from the art of reasoning?

The distinction between empirical errors and logical absurdities leads Hobbes to separate history, as knowledge of events based on sensation and memory, from science (or philosophy), founded on logical demonstration. Now thanks to science, when we know the dependence of one fact upon another, we are able technically to master phenomena: “when we see how any thing comes about, upon what causes, and by what manner; when the like causes come into our power, we see how to make it produce the like effect.”

In that case, when we say that knowledge of history allows us to avoid repeating the errors of the past, are we mistaken about the domain? If history is not a science, how could it guide our practice? For this to be possible, past events would have to be, at the same time, facts capable of recurring in the manner of uniform natural phenomena—something that does not seem entirely excluded.

Hobbes specifies what can be the object of scientific study through a classification of the sciences. There is first a quantitative philosophy of nature (metaphysics, mathematics, cosmography, and mechanics), then a qualitative one (sciography, astrology, what we would today call “physics”, optics, music, ethics, what we would call “linguistics”), and finally civil philosophy concerning rights and duties.

Hobbes bases science on the generation of the properties of things through reasoning. As we have seen, it possesses a utilitarian dimension. He sees continuity between mathematical reasoning, scientific propositions, and technical applications: “By philosophy is understood ‘the knowledge acquired by reasoning, from the manner of the generation of any thing, to the properties; or from the properties, to some possible way of generation of the same; to the end to be able to produce, as far as matter, and humane force permit, such effects, as humane life requireth’” (“Chap. 46, Of darkness from vain philosophy, and fabulous traditions”).

The starting point of science, as we have also seen, is the mastered use of speech, without which there would be no reasoning. For a correct and rigorous use of reason to be possible, appropriate social conditions are required, Hobbes tells us. Philosophy develops thanks to the leisure time available, which only the State can guarantee. “Leasure is the mother of philosophy; and commonwealth, the mother of peace, and leasure.”

Vain philosophy is that which does not follow the geometrical method and which uses empty words. True philosophy, by contrast, defines its concepts, explains them, and establishes their meaning. Hobbes rejects jargon whose sense is confused, with terms inherited from scholasticism such as “essence,” “substantial form,” or “incorporeal.” For example, the word “being,” which indicates the consequence of a term, is improperly taken as the name of a thing. Likewise, the word “soul” is treated as if it designated something located in a particular place. Other words are incomprehensible, and this unintelligibility conceals the truth or discourages its pursuit. Instead of false and incompetent philosophy, true philosophy must rely on knowledge of physical causes.

II. Knowledge and Action

We have just seen what, for Hobbes, are the principles of knowledge and the origin of errors and absurdities. Let us now turn to the theme of action—that is, to voluntary motions whose origin lies in sensation, imagination, and memory (“Ch. 6, Of the interior beginnings of voluntary motions; commonly called the passions; and the speeches by which they are expressed”). The beginning of an action, which is not yet visible, is effort. “These small beginnings of motion, within the body of man, before they appear in walking, speaking, striking, and other visible actions, are commonly called endeavour. This endeavour, when it is towards something which causes it, is called appetite, or desire… and when the endeavour is fromward something, it is generally called aversion.” The effort directed toward what is desired is caused by something pleasant, whereas the effort in the opposite direction is caused by what is painful and feared.

Hobbes distinguishes two levels of affects: the pleasure and pain of the senses, and the joy and sadness of the mind. He provides a long list of variations of these simple passions and indicates their visible signs: “The best signs of passions present, are either in the countenance, motions of the body, actions, and ends, aims, which we otherwise know the man to have.” He then shows that deliberation designates the hesitation arising from several contradictory passions: “When in the mind of man, appetites, and aversions, hopes, and fears, concerning one and the same thing, arise alternately… the whole sum of desires, aversions, hopes and fears continued till the thing be either done, or thought impossible, is that we call deliberation.” The last appetite or the last aversion that prevails just before action is the will. “Will therefore is the last appetite in deliberating.”

Hobbes compares the will to judgment (or resolution, the final decision in discourse), which is the last opinion in inquiry and reflection. “As the whole chain of appetites alternate, in the question if good, or bad, is called deliberation; so the whole chain of opinions alternate, in the question of true, or false, is called doubt” (“Ch. 7, Of the ends, or resolutions of discourse”). If the opinions in question come from someone’s testimony, one must note in this case that what is credible or doubtful concerns both the person and what he says: “In belief are two opinions; one of the saying of the man; the other his virtue.”

Hobbes then turns to intellectual virtues. Intelligence depends on the liveliness of imagination and on the constant orientation of thought toward a goal. Discernment is the capacity to perceive differences and resemblances (“Ch. 8, Of the virtues commonly called intellectual; and their contrary defects”). As for intellectual vices, they are not necessarily the consequence of passions. On the contrary, intelligence presupposes passion insofar as it is a desire for power. “To have no desire is to be dead: so to have weak passions, is dullness; and to have passions indifferently for everything, giddiness, and distraction; and to have stronger and more vehement passions for anything, than is ordinarily seen in others, is that which men call madness.” It is therefore not passion in general that is harmful to intelligence, but certain passions, when they are inconsistent or too strong.

Hobbes also addresses the question of religious faith. According to him, it arises from fear of the future and of the invisible, and from the search for origins. “When there is nothing to be seen, there is nothing to accuse, either of their good, or evil fortune, but some power, or agent invisible” (“Ch. 12, Of religion”). Divination, in pagan religion, bears witness to this tendency to ward off fear of the future. It is merely the supernatural modality of a natural attitude consisting in wanting to predict the future based on past experience. For Hobbes, institutional religion is above all a factor of peace, altruism, and obedience, rather than discord. As for the ritual dimension of religion, insofar as it makes possible to neglect one’s duties, it values personal responsibility, which discourages blaming others or rebelling.

III. The Complicated Collective

To return more specifically to action, Hobbes is interested in our power, our dispositions, our means of acting in the future within the social field—that is, in our social capital. This includes our intellectual faculties, our financial means, our relationships, our luck, our reputation, our physical appearance, our merit, our titles, our status, our abilities, etc. (“Ch. 10, Of power, worth, dignity, honour, and worthiness”). Individual powers can then aggregate to form a collective power, particularly in the unity of the state: “The greatest of human powers, is that which is compounded of the powers of most men, united by consent, in one person, natural, or civil, that has the use of all their powers depending on his will; such as is the power of a commonwealth.” But Hobbes also identifies a capacity for aggregation at the pre‑state level through manners: “By manners, I mean… those qualities of mankind, that concern their living together in peace, and unity” (“Ch. 11, Of the difference of manners”).

However, the union of human beings is endangered by competition among them for various goods such as wealth, honor, command, and so on. (Let us dispel an ambiguity here. If A desires x and B desires x, A and B desire the same object x. But they do not have the same desire. For A desires x for himself, and B desires x for himself.) The fear of death and of injury (that is, the desire not to die or be wounded) and the pursuit of comfort nevertheless lead human beings to submit to a common power, as we shall see when discussing the State. Moreover, the search for praise and the fear of blame lead individuals to display virtue. Still, human beings have various inclinations that are negative and antisocial passions, such as vanity, ambition, irresolution, ignorance, credulity, and so forth. And one can hardly rely on custom to correct them: “Ignorance of the causes, and original constitution of right, equity, law, and justice, disposeth a man to make custom and example the rule of his action.”

What constitutes the state of nature for Hobbes is the fact that each person, whatever his capacities, represents an equal threat to others. Whatever our strength, we are all equally capable of harming or even killing our neighbor: “The weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest, either by secret machination, or by confederacy with others, that are in the same danger with himself” (“Ch. XIII, Of the natural condition of mankind as concerning their felicity, and misery”).

Discord and rivalry arise, as we have said, from the fact that we desire the same things and do not have the same desires; complementarity among individuals and their cooperation therefore does not come naturally. A superior power will be necessary to contain conflict. War, even if intermittent, remains a perpetual threat (Hobbes compares it to bad weather, and we may also think of illness, which sometimes makes us suffer and at other times seems to disappear). What indicates this mutual distrust is the observation of everyday practices, such as the use of locks or the carrying of weapons when traveling: “What opinion he has of his fellow-subjects, when he rides armed; of his fellow citizens, when he locks his doors; and of his children, and servants, when he locks his chest.

 

IV. Contract and State

The fear of death and the pursuit of comfort therefore lead human beings to seek peace, and we shall see that the means to achieve it is the social contract and its implementation by the sovereign. Hobbes then proposes two distinct notions: natural right, which is the freedom to defend one’s life by any means, and natural law, which is the obligation to maintain peace. These two principles bear an asymmetrical relation. Peace allows each person to preserve his life. But it is impossible if each, in order to defend his life, must attack others. The best means in this case is the mutual renunciation of natural right in order to guarantee respect for natural law: “that a man be willing, when others are so too, as far-forth, as for peace, and defence of himself he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all things; and be contented with so much liberty against other men, as he would allow other men against himself” (“Ch. 14, Of the first and second natural laws, and of contracts”).

This mutual renunciation of natural right is called a “contract.” It consists only of signs and has no force of its own. What can be effective is solely the fear of the consequences of breaking the contract, or the vanity of showing that one can keep one’s commitment. To ensure that two contracting parties honor their commitments, what is needed above all is a power above them capable of enforcing performance: “If there be a common power set over them both, with right and force sufficient to compel performance, it is not void.” For the social contract to be honored, the State must ensure its enforcement, which guarantees the application of justice: “Before the names of just, and unjust can have place, there must be some coercive power, to compel men equally to the performance of their covenants, by the terror of some punishment, greater than the benefit they expect by the breach of their covenant” (“Ch. 15, Of other laws of nature”).

The simplest expression of the law of nature that the State is charged with enforcing is the golden rule: do not do to another what you would not want done to yourself. This natural law is what the social contract expresses as a rational agreement under ideal conditions. The contract represents a stable equilibrium resulting from mutual commitment in a cooperative game. The players have more to gain by alienating their power than by exercising it against one another, just as in the prisoner’s dilemma it is preferable that neither prisoner confess rather than both confess or only one of them.

Let us clarify this comparison between the social contract and the prisoner’s dilemma. According to the latter, two prisoners have an interest in not confessing to having participated in a robbery if they are presented with the following rule: either no one confesses and no one is punished; or both confess and each receives a five‑year prison sentence; or only one confesses and is not punished, while the one who does not confess receives a ten‑year sentence. In the case of the social contract, two contracting parties have an interest in renouncing the use of violence if the rule is as follows: either no one uses violence and each lives in peace; or both use violence and only the stronger survives; or only one uses violence and the one who refuses it perishes.

To define the nature of the State, Hobbes turns to a reflection on the notion of representation, using the theatrical model of the author being represented by the actor (“Ch. 16, Of persons, authors and things personated”). The author delegates his power to the actor (we will not complicate this image here by reflecting on the place of the fictional character embodied by the actor in this relation, though one could say that the fictional character represents certain thoughts of the author, and that the actor represents the character according to his own interpretation).

Hobbes then makes a second comparison between the author and the owner: “That which in speaking of goods and possessions, is called an owner… speaking of actions, is called author.” One may suppose that what would be analogous in this case to the actor would be the user—for example, the captain of a merchant ship who serves a shipowner. But the actor can also represent a multitude, which is the case of the sovereign if he represents the people. “A multitude of men, are made one person, when they are by one man, or one person, represented; so that it be done with the consent of every one of that multitude in particular.” Thus sovereignty is assimilated to a process of representation, of personification of the people. The function of the State will be to realize by this means the citizens’ desire for security and to bring them out of the state of war (“Ch. 17, Of the causes, generation, and definition of a commonwealth”).

The process through which state representation is formed is a commitment, an implicit promise of common alienation to authority: “As if every man should say to every man, ‘I authorize and give up my right of governing myself, to this man, or this assembly of men, on this condition, that thou give up thy right to him, and authorize all his actions in like manner.’” Thus the State, under these conditions, is not an obstacle to freedom, for human beings submit to it voluntarily. What opposes freedom is an external constraint, for example when an obstacle prevents us from moving forward (when the obstacle is internal to the agent, we speak instead of “impotence,” as when one loses one’s voice) (“Ch. 21, Of the liberty of subjects”).

If freedom requires the absence of obstacles, it does not nevertheless require the disappearance of all framework and all context. Lightening a boat that is about to sink, or paying one’s debts out of fear of reprisals, does not mean lacking freedom. In other words, freedom is compatible with necessity. For example, a river flows freely even though the riverbed channels its current. Just as one channels a river, human beings, in order to maintain peace and preserve themselves, have fabricated the artificial creature of the State, whose chains are less shackles than safeguards. “As men, for the attaining of peace, and conservation of themselves thereby, have made an artificial man, which we call a commonwealth, so also have they made artificial chains, called civil laws, which they themselves, by mutual covenants, have fastened at one end, to the lips of that man, or assembly, to whom they have given the sovereign power; and at the other end to their own ears.” As long as the sovereign protects his subjects, they owe him obedience: “the obligation of subjects to sovereign, is understood to last as long, and no longer, than the power lasteth, by which he is able to protect them.” In other words, the State loses its legitimacy if it ceases to protect its subjects.

 

V. The megamachine

Hobbes used the image of the actor to illustrate how the sovereign represents the people. Now it is the image of a mechanical animal that serves to depict the State. “Having spoken of the generation, form, and power of a commonwealth, I am in order to speak next of the parts thereof. And first of systems, which resemble the similar parts, or muscles of a body natural” (“Ch. 22, Of systems subject, political, and private”). Its organs are the administrations with their ministers. Its food is land and raw materials. Its digestion is the technical transformation of nature. Its blood is money. Its children are its colonies. Its head is composed of the counselors and the laws that direct action (“Ch. 25, On counsel”). Good counsel rests on experience, expertise, and argumentative clarity. A good decision rests on the quality of the counsel.

The fundamental law is the natural law commanding one not to do to another what one would not want to suffer oneself (“Ch. 26, Of civil laws”). Beyond this law, the State upholds distributive and penal laws. “Of human positive laws, some are distributive, some penal. Distributive are those that determine the rights of the subjects, declaring to every man what it is, by which he acquireth and holdeth a propriety in lands, or goods, and a right or liberty of action: and these speak to all the subjects. Penal are those which declare which penalty shall be inflicted on those that violate the law.” These positive laws must be interpreted by qualified judges. “For it is not the letter, but the intendment, or meaning, that is to say, the authentic interpretation of the law (which is the sense of the legislator), in which the nature of the law consisteth.”

If right defines the liberties one retains from natural right, civil law is what obliges one to abandon certain aspects of the law of nature. “Nature gave a right to every man to secure himself by his own strength, and to invade a suspected neighbour, by way of prevention: but the civil law takes away that liberty, in all cases where the protection of law may be stayed for.” Penal law establishes the punishments associated with crime in order to prevent the arbitrariness of vengeance. “Neither private revenges, nor injuries of private men, can properly be styled punishment; because they proceed not from public authority” (“Ch. 28, Of punishments and rewards”).

Punishments are defined with regard to future good: “All evil which is inflicted without intention, or possibility of disposing the delinquent, or, by his example, other men, to obey the laws, is not punishment; but an act of hostility.” Salary is a reward as well as a contract. As for a gift, it is a favor granted to someone. “Reward, is either of gift, or by contract. When by contract, it is called salary, and wages; which is benefit due for service performed, or promised. When of gift, it is benefit proceeding from the grace of them that bestow it, to encourage, or enable men to do them service.”

The State is the necessary framework for the application of law. But it is not invincible. The causes of its dissolution are the imperfection of its institutions, the influence of seditious doctrines, the inappropriate imitation of neighboring States, the mixed nature of government (the separation of powers), lack of money, concentration of monopolies, the excessive size of cities, and so on (“Ch. 29, Of those things that weaken, or tend to the dissolution of a commonwealth”).

Nevertheless, the State must maintain itself in order to ensure peace and the security of its subjects. It is the sovereign’s charge to uphold this objective and to meet it through instruction and the application of law (“Ch. 30, Of the office of the sovereign representative”). Finally, if the life of the State rests on culture as the fruit of labor, it also includes worship, which seeks to obtain results through prayer, offerings, and sacrifices (“Ch. 31, Of the kingdom of God by nature”).

 

Conclusion

The first part of this text reconstructs the main lines of Hobbes’s empiricist epistemology in the Leviathan. Sensation is the source of all knowledge. Nevertheless, the use of speech introduces another principle, that of deduction. It seemed to us that the articulation between the empirical and the linguistic is more presupposed than demonstrated by the author (unless a longer and more detailed study could bring out this foundation in his writings). Still, the link does exist, since calculation leads to technical applications. Hobbes insists on the necessity of method to eliminate the absurdities produced by a careless use of language.

Next, Hobbes explains human action through the mechanism of pleasure and pain and of the corresponding desire and fear. He draws a parallel between the chain of passions and that of beliefs, and their respective results: will for action and judgment for knowledge. He then shows the confusion that results from the interaction between individuals and the state of conflict arising from the confrontation of divergent points of view.

This observation ultimately justifies the establishment of arbitration and regulation by a superior authority. The social contract and its application by the sovereign respond to the fear of death and the desire for peace common to human beings. State power, insofar as it represents and realizes the will of the citizens, does not oppose their freedom. Rather, it establishes its framework. Finally, Hobbes describes the State as a giant automaton and details its composition, its functions, and its weaknesses.

What is remarkable in the Leviathan is the attempt to articulate, in a fairly concise manner, knowledge and action, as well as the individual and the collective. Likewise, one sees an attempt to articulate the empirical world and the logical world, even if it seems to us that the connection between the two remains to be defined (a task to which part of contemporary philosophy still devotes itself). The important intuition, present in philosophy from Socrates to the present and particularly explicit in Hobbes’s nominalism, is that reflection on language offers a key to understanding the world (even if this principle is sometimes abandoned in the history of philosophy in favor of speculations on Spirit, Understanding, Reason—entities that can obscure the linguistic stakes). At the empirical level, Hobbes provides a description of psychology that intertwines sensible impulse and voluntary motion. Sensibility acts as the motor of conscious and active behavior. But the detour through language in the human animal allows, notably through calculation, access to a certain objectivity and thus a detachment from one’s individual point of view.

However, human capacities within society hinder one another. The more an individual gains power within the social fabric, the more he enters into competition with other individuals. In other words, human interactions do not directly allow for harmonious cooperation. The elaboration of the political artifact does not constitute a radical rupture with nature, but rather a form of resolution, enabling the passage from nature to morality and then to politics. The agonistic state of nature described by Hobbes corresponds to a pessimistic (others will say “realistic”) conception of society without a State, against which the State constitutes a remedy. It is moreover this natural origin of the political artifice that explains its interested character. The State responds to a consequentialist and functionalist logic: guaranteeing peace. To do so, one must think of society not as a natural community but as the invention of an artificial creature correcting the deficiencies of nature. This correction is carried out through the implementation, via the mechanism of the State, of the legal order. The state machine extends into reality the verbal structure of the law.

 

R. EDELMAN NANTES JUILLET 2026

Crédit photo : Henry Doyle (1868), Massacre of Drogheda (1649), Herodote.net