Pragmatism And Management Inquiry- Insights from the Thought of Charles S. Peirce (2002).pdf

PRAGMATISM ANDMANAGEMENT

INQUIRY:Insights from the Thought

of Charles S. Peirce

JUAN FONTRODONA

QUORUM BOOKS

PRAGMATISM AND

MANAGEMENT INQUIRY

Insights from the Thought ofCharles S. Peirce

JUAN FONTRODONA

QUORUM BOOKS

Westport, Connecitcut • London

Printed in the United States of America

The paper used in this book complies with thePermanent Paper Standard issued by the NationalInformation Standards Organization (Z39.48–1984).

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Fontrodona, Juan, 1963–Pragmatism and management inquiry : insights from the thought of Charles S. Peirce /

Juan Fontrodona.p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references (p.) and index.ISBN 1–56720–515–1 (alk. paper)1. Peirce, Charles S. (Charles Sanders), 1839–1914. 2. Management—Philosophy. I.

Title.B945.P44.F66 2002128′.4′092—dc21 2001048118

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available.

Copyright © 2002 by Juan Fontrodona

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may bereproduced, by any process or technique, without theexpress written consent of the publisher.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001048118ISBN: 1–56720–515–1

First published in 2001

Quorum Books, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc.www.quorumbooks.com

Contents

Foreword by W. Michael Hoffman vii

Prolog to the Spanish Edition by Antonio Argandoña xi

Abbreviations xvii

Introduction 1

PART I Human Action in the Thought of Charles S. Peirce 9

1 Charles S. Peirce: A Life Devoted to Science 11

2 The Triadic Conception of Human Action 41

3 The World in Which Humans Act 55

4 The Task of Knowing and Interpreting the World 73

PART II The Scientific Character of Management 89

5 The Decision-Making Process 91

6 Decision Criteria in Management 115

7 The Synthetical Character of Management 129

8 The Scientific Attitude in Management 141

PART III Three Principles for Management 149

9 Creativity: The Logical Principle of Action 151

10 Community: The Ethical Principle of Action 171

11 Character: The Esthetic Principle of Action 183

12 Epilog for Entrepreneurs: A Challenge for theTwenty-first Century 193

References 199

Index 211

vi Contents

Foreword

There are a number of reasons why I am pleased to write this foreword toJuan Fontrodona’s book Pragmatism and Management Inquiry: Insights fromthe Thought of Charles S. Peirce. First, the insights Fontrodona brings forth inthis work clearly relate to business ethics, a field in which I have worked forthe past twenty-five years. Second, the Center for Business Ethics at BentleyCollege, which I have directed since its founding in 1976, has had as one ofits core objectives the meaningful interaction of theory and practice, ethicalthought and effective action. This integration is at the heart of Fontrodona’smanagement inquiry and his understanding of C.S. Peirce’s pragmatism.Third, and on a more personal note, I had the rewarding experience of get-ting to know Juan during the 2000–2001 academic year, when he spent ayear at the Center as a Research Scholar. In addition to his being a man fullof humanity and sensitivity, he has a first-class mind—exemplified in thewriting of this work, which is of considerable significance to business andthe values that ought to guide it.

Both business and Peirce are concerned with action and decision mak-ing. Undoubtedly this is why Fontrodona finds the writings of Peirce an ap-propriate medium through which to analyze management theory andpractice. But many have reduced both management and Peirce to equatingaction with simply the external results of that which is pursued. Thus,Peirce’s philosophy has frequently been characterized by the phrase that“what is effective is true,” and management success has all too often beenisolated to what can be measured in economic terms or the hitting of finan-

cial targets. But, as Fontrodona convincingly argues, such interpretationsdo a disservice to both.

Fontrodona reveals that truth for Peirce is the process whereby the per-son, through action, reveals and develops him- or herself, which involvesvalues and virtues. To translate this to business, the good manager is notmerely one who is effective, who gets things done, but also one who is ethi-cal, who does the right things. In fact, one way of seeing Fontrodona’s workis through the lens of ethical leadership. For both Peirce and Fontrodona,action is understood and judged, not only through operational techniques,but, more important, through intentions and the moral values that formu-late and drive those intentions. Fontrodona’s book, therefore, is a study ofbusiness ethics theory and managerial moral action and, I might add, a dis-covery of Fontrodona himself as business ethicist.

By using Peirce’s thought, Fontrodona puts forward a paradigm to ex-plain and evaluate human action in organizations. He sees three principlesemerging from this paradigm, which are developed out of what he refers toas the normative sciences that guide human activity: logic, ethics, and es-thetics. First is the principle of creativity, which comes out of the logic of in-dividual human rationality but must transcend the analytic to achieve thevision and imagination necessary for innovation. Second is the principle ofcommunity, born out of the ethical obligations one has to others and takingone beyond mere individuality, while at the same time preserving one’s in-dividuality. In this ethical relationship of the individual and society, there isa dynamic interaction of incorporating others’ perspectives into one’s own,thereby integrating individual creativity into social community. In thebusiness context, we sometimes refer to this principle in terms such as em-powerment, teamwork, partnerships, and shared responsibilities.

However, for Fontrodona, the first two principles remain incompletewithout the third principle of character—a human dimension far too oftenabsent in today’s discussions of good management activities. Without theprinciple of character, individual creativity and social community remaindivided and fail to achieve their full potential and effectiveness. Characterdeals with the ideals of human conduct and carrying out one’s actions ac-cording to appropriate values.

Fontrodona speaks of this principle of character in his epilog, using theconcept of growth. Both he and his view of Peirce are opposed to the pur-suit of quantitative results as the ultimate goal of business activity. Growthis not merely about the accumulation of material wealth, but, more essen-tially about the growth of personal character. It is here that the reciprocitybetween the individual and the community comes together in true fullness,where each completes the other. The good manager is the effective ethicalleader who, through appropriate actions, creates opportunities for peopleto morally lead themselves within productive moral societies.

viii Foreword

Fontrodona has produced a book of immense richness and value. It ex-poses what I think is a fundamental truth of not only management theory,but all of human action—that successful endeavor, which furthers theprogress of business and of civilization generally, is dependent on theproper balance and dynamics of the individual, institutions, and integrity.Fontrodona’s work is not only a book for business and for scholars ofPeirce, but truly a wor

k with wisdom for living life itself.

W. Michael HoffmanProfessor of Philosophy and Executive Director,

Center for Business Ethics, Bentley College

Foreword ix

Prolog to the Spanish Edition

What can a philosopher say about the theory and practice of management?And what does a philosopher, Juan Fontrodona, have to say about what an-other philosopher, Charles S. Peirce, says about management?

There is much to say, of course. I would venture to say that studyingmanagement is vital for understanding human action. Indeed, manage-ment is a paradigm of human action. If we seek to understand how humanbeings act, we will have to talk about purposes and motives, expected con-sequences or effects, rationality. And where can these elements be foundwith greater clearness than in management decisions? The manager hascertain very clear ends in his or her action; he or she moves with a particularrationality, looks for certain results, develops a specific methodology.

If we can understand how the manager decides, we will understandmuch better what decision in general, that is, human action, consists of.This is because the manager acts to achieve an immediate result that, at thesame time, does not compromise his or her future decisions.

Action thus links with behavior—a relation that has an important placein Peirce’s work—such that the manager seeks to create in the company theright conditions so that his or her future actions can continue to be optimal.This is because decision making in the company does not consist of per-forming isolated actions.

Is it therefore necessary to coordinate commercial decisions with strate-gic, production, financial, and human management decisions? Yes it is, andmuch more than that: each action must contribute to the creation of a bodyof knowledge, skills, attitudes, and values, both in the decision maker and

in the men and women with whom he or she interacts, which guaranteesthe fulfillment of the company’s mission, the development of its distinctivecapabilities—which are vital for its strategic success—and the creation,consolidation, and development of certain values, virtues, and attitudesthat facilitate the company’s unity and, by this means, the achievement ofits long-term goals. And this is precisely what the theory of human actionseeks to explain.

In his task, Juan Fontrodona enjoys a head start, being professor at IESEBusiness School, which, for the last forty years, has devoted itself to the ed-ucation and development of business executives. Obviously, he is wellversed in the works of Peirce. But he is also a depository of two importantbackgrounds: one, a philosophical background, received in the classroomsof the University of Navarra’s School of Philosophy, which has given himan excellent foundation for understanding and judging Peirce’s work, andthe other background, received at IESE, where he has been working for sev-eral years on the development of a management theory.

In view of this, one could say that Juan Fontrodona “cheats” when un-derstanding, explaining, and judging Peirce’s work. He is not working in avacuum, but grounded on a body of knowledge and experiences that en-able him to go far beyond what Peirce was trying to say. Of course, that ishow knowledge progresses, and I am sure that Peirce would consider itquite natural and highly positive.

This book will be very useful for people who are interested in human ac-tion in general, and management action in particular. Even if its author hadconfined himself to explaining, ordering, and criticizing Peirce, the bookwould still be a valuable work because Peirce is an author who is perhapslittle known, but profound, suggestive, full of ideas that contrast with thepaucity of thought that we find in many subsequent developments of cor-porate decision theory based on much poorer anthropologies. However,Juan Fontrodona goes further and reconstructs Peirce’s ideas on a richerphilosophical foundation and on all the advances made by managementscience in recent years. Thus, the reader holds two books in one: a magnifi-cent study of Charles S. Peirce and an excellent approximation to corporatedecision theory, on the “cutting edge” of knowledge.

However, to get back to the question we asked at the beginning, whatdoes a North American philosopher who died almost a century ago have tosay about management theory and practice? I have already said that he hasa lot to say. The reader will find here many original and highly useful ideas.It is true that Peirce was not concerned with the figure of the manager. As aphilosopher, he looked for a method for knowing reality. This method wasbased precisely on the knowledge of reality, that is, of the full range of ef-fects of human action: not only the effects on the environment, like somemechanistic and biological theories of management, but all the effects, in-cluding those that operate on the agent him- or herself and on the other

xii Prolog to the Spanish Edition

people with whom he or she interacts: the learning of knowledge, skills, at-titudes, and values and their development.

That is why Peirce’s theory of action surpasses that of many other think-ers. That is why it remains free of many of the criticisms we could make ofcertain later theories. And that is why reading Peirce can help us under-stand how the business decision maker acts. Peirce was not looking for adecision theory for its own sake, but in order to guide action. That is why,even today, it is still useful to read Peirce, as a step beyond many partial the-ories that have ended up doing more harm than good.

But does Peirce have anything to say to modern businesspeople? Hedoes, without doubt, especially when he is read through the philosophicaland practical prism offered by Juan Fontrodona. For example, Peirce saysthat ideas must be discussed because there is no “one” truth on the com-pany, but rather many partial truths, which we must reach by working withothers, because we are limited and need this social learning. Fontrodonahas probably had direct experience of this in the “case method” often usedat IESE, where the experience of some is confronted with the knowledgeand experience of the rest. Is this not something that is truly useful for guid-ing decision making?

Yes, but—the reader may object—does that not lead us to a naïvesociologism? No. Peirce grounds the core of his theory of action on truth.“The rest” are not a guarantee of truth, but turning to others, being recep-tive to criticism, the humble recognition that “two heads are better thanone” and that the contemplation of reality from different angles is a form ofenriching our knowledge, is something that is necessary. And the managerwill find this position easy to understand. Is there pragmatism in Peirce?Yes, but it is pragmatism based on truth. Partial theories may be useful but,if they are taken as final, they lead us to theoretical and practical error, asnot a few modern versions of the theory of action have pitifully shown.

Another example of the relevance of this book: Peirce says that makers ofscience—of decisions—are people. Therefore, the company’s reality is notto be understood from a theoretical approximation to action, but throughpeople. It is therefore a collective task, both in the structuring of the scienceand, above all, in its practical implementation. Peirce—read by JuanFontrodona—appears before us as a humanistic philosopher, who gives usthe key for understanding the manager’s work as a “leader of people for ac-tion, for changing reality, obtaining results” to quote professor Juan Anto-nio Pérez López, a theorist of action whom Fontrodona knew well andquotes very opportunely.

Thus, for us, Peirce views ethics as a component of human action. Butthis is not an ethics imposed from without, as some schools advocate, seek-ing to add the humanistic dimension as if it were a cherry on the deci-sion-making cake, but formulated from within and found in the natureitself of action.

Prolog to the Spanish Edition xiii

“Peirce argues that, in pragmatism, the summum bonum does not consistof action but a process by which the individual, through action, acquirestendencies and habits, that is, progressively develops himself.” This sen-tence by Juan Fontrodona is the key for understanding what Peirce has tosay to modern businesspeople. Managers learn by managing, not simplybecause that is how they acquire the habit of managing, but because theyachieve their development as a person by managing: by managing well,with a moral quality that requires the development of operational skills,virtues, and values.

Science—management science, too—does not advance by the accumu-lation of knowledge but by transcending certain erroneous or limited con-ceptions and creating other, richer, broader, and more explicativeconceptions. Peirce, in effect, “views the progress of knowledge as a pro-cess by which the ideas that appear are incorporated into ideas that alreadyexist, so that the latter become increasingly broader.” Organization sciencewould have saved itself quite a few blind alleys and retracings of its foot-steps if it had taken notice of Peirce. And why did it ignore him? Perhaps itis because it had not found out about his writings, or perhaps becausePeirce’s time had not yet come. Today, we are able to understand betterwhat Peirce brings us, because we are more aware of the failures to whichother schools of thought have led us. Juan Fontrodona’s merit may lie indrawing our attention, precisely now, to the weaknesses of those otherthinkers.

But Peirce is not simply an excuse for this book, but an excellent base forattempting a reconstruction of decision science. Through the pen ofFontrodona, Peirce tells us how we become involved in action and how, by“doing,” action changes us: virtues are, therefore, key elements of action.Through the writings of Fontrodona, Peirce tells that we understand oth-ers, and the nature itself of action, through experience: experience, there-fore, once developed, consolidated, integrated within us as a habit—notjust an intellectual habit, but an operating habit, in the virtues—is essentialfor correct decision making. Through Fontrodona Peirce also teaches usthat action cannot be understood without intention: ethics plays a funda-mental role in this process.

A famous economist, John Maynard Keynes, said in 1936 that “practicalmen, who believe themselves to be completely free of any intellectual influ-ence, are usually slaves to some deceased economist.” Juan Fontrodonasays the same in a more profound way: in their decisions, people “areguided by systematic and complex visions of reality, philosophical concep-tions, of which they are aware to a more or less clear degree but which, inany case, shape their deepest habits and determine the direction of theirjudgements.” Yes, reading this book may help philosophers, organizationtheorists and practical people to find a solid anchoring point, not only for

xiv Prolog to the Spanish Edition

their abstract ideas, but, above all, for their judgments and their deepesthabits, on which they build their actions.

When it comes down to basics—and this is another idea from Peirce thatis masterfully developed by Juan Fontrodona—a well-planned andwell-executed action is not recognized by comparing it with what actiontheory says but by observing what effective, ethical managers do—whatwe call the “profession.” “The ideal of conduct,” Fontrodona tells us, “thusappears as making the world more reasonable, and also making one’s ownlife more reasonable. . . . [T]he ideal of conduct will be to perform our littlefunction in the operation of creation, giving a helping hand, to the extentpermitted by our capabilities, in the task of making the world more reason-able.” Certainly this is a worthy endeavor.

Antonio ArgandoñaProfessor of Economic Analysis for Management

Chair of Economics and EthicsIESE Business School, University of Navarra

Prolog to the Spanish Edition xv

Abbreviations

In the course of this book, the following abbreviations are used to refer-ence various compilations of Peirce’s writings:

CP Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce, ed. C. Hartshorne, P. Weiss and A.W. Burks, 8vols. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1931–1958). The references are quoted byvolume and paragraph number. For example, CP 1.253 corresponds to paragraph 253of the first volume.

HP Historical Perspectives on Peirce’s Logic of Science, ed. C. Eisele, 2 vols. (The Hague: Mou-ton, 1985). The references are quoted by volume and page number. For example, HP1.144 refers to page 144 of the first volume.

MS The Charles S. Peirce Papers, microfilm edition (Cambridge: Harvard University Library,Photographic Service, 1966). The references are quoted using the manuscript number-ing system established by R.S. Robin in his Annotated Catalogue of the Papers of Charles S.Peirce (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1967). The manuscript numbergiven in Robin’s catalogue is quoted, followed by the page number. For example, MS675, 9, indicates page 9 of manuscript 675 in the catalogue.

W Writings of Charles S. Peirce: A Chronological Edition, ed. M.H. Fisch et al., 6 vols. to date(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982–2000). The references are quoted by vol-ume and page number. For example, W 5:144 corresponds to page 144 of the fifth vol-ume.

Introduction

The manager is, above all other things, a person of action, whose interest isnot focused on knowing things and devising increasingly comprehensivetheories about reality, but on doing things and, in particular, on solving prac-tical problems. However, this practical dimension of management does notmean that the manager must dispense with scientific knowledge in his de-cision-making, quite the contrary. Management is an art, but it is an artgrounded in knowledge obtained from a varied range of sciences in whichthe manager must be skilled, wisely combining them in each particular sit-uation.

Neither is it true that the focus on action must necessarily imply beingguided only by the principle of “what is effective is true,”1 thus reducingthe assessment of human action to the obtainment of the external resultsthat are pursued. Or rather, such an assessment of action must be an evalua-tion a priori and not an assessment a posteriori, and it must take into ac-count all of the action’s results and not just those external results that can bemeasured in economic terms.

Although meeting targets is a necessary condition for good manage-ment, it is not a sufficient reason for a positive assessment of such manage-ment. The results do not depend only on the decision but also on otherexogenous factors that are beyond the decision maker’s control; it is impos-sible to take into account all possible circumstances and it is usual for collat-eral effects to occur that have not been originally foreseen. Consequently, itis more important to be correct in the decision-making process than success-ful in action. The good manager is not content with observing a posteriori

the consequences of his or her action but is also able to foresee a priori whatthose consequences may be. Furthermore, within this task of foreseeingpossible outcomes, managers do not confine themselves to merely takinginto account the economic or material results of their actions. They areaware that there are other consequences that do not change the world butrather the subjects themselves and that have value, even though they can-not be quantified in economic terms, nor do they lend themselves to com-mercial transactions.

When it is said that the manager must be pragmatic and this adjective isused to refer solely to economic results, one is doing justice neither to thetrue nature of management nor to the concept of pragmatism itself, at leastin regard to its historical origin. If today it is commonplace in managementand business administration literature to read about the need for a new par-adigm,2 this is so to a great extent because the principle of “what is effectiveis true” has been proven to be ineffective and erroneous. It is not true thatthe manager is only driven by economic efficiency, even though the refer-ence to action continues to be fundamental for business management. Fur-thermore, the attitude of reducing analysis to its results cannot be definedas pragmatic without distorting the meaning given to this term by the fa-ther of North American pragmatism, Charles S. Peirce.

One of Peirce’s great concerns was to formulate a method for ascertain-ing reality that would offer an alternative to the Aristotelian method. In away, Peirce found himself, at the end of modernity, bearing the legacy of theintellectual chiaroscuros of that time. With all the paraphernalia of moder-nity, it was not easy to apply the categories of Aristotelian thought. There-fore, Peirce sought a means for gaining access to reality using categoriesother than those used by Aristotle, whom, however, he had no qualms incalling “the prince of philosophy.” Peirce found this starting point in the“pragmatic maxim,” a term he uses to signify that the definition of an objectis obtained from the sum of all the possible effects that may arise from thatobject. Subsequently, Peirce’s followers misinterpreted this maxim’s for-mulation, giving it a utilitarian bias, which is the one that has prevailed un-til now. As a result, the term pragmatic came to have the pejorative meaningused today to describe the way of proceeding that reduces truth to the effec-tiveness of the results.

However, this is not at all the meaning of pragmatism formulated byPeirce. It is true that the pragmatic maxim sees in action a principle forknowing reality that goes beyond the modern ideals of clarity and distinc-tion. However, the fact that action provides a means for gaining access to re-ality does not mean that reality must be reduced to action. Peirce would notagree with the principle that “What is effective is true.” Indeed, he wouldagree more with the reverse statement, “What is true is effective,” that is,“What is true shows itself to us in its effectiveness.” For Peirce, the prag-matic maxim is only a gnoseological principle for knowing reality, and not

2 Pragmatism and Management Inquiry

an ontological principle that provides the rationale for the nature of things.For Peirce, this utilitarian view of pragmatism was so distant from histhinking that he invented a new term, pragmaticism, to differentiate himselffrom those who had changed the original meaning of this thought, eventhough they had contributed to popularizing it. Thus, if Peirce was able toavoid the confusion about the meaning of pragmatism, if he was the first torealize that a utilitarian view of the pragmatic maxim could lead away fromthe true path and was able to correct the direction it was taking, his ideasmay help us—in spite of the time that has passed—in our attempt to formu-late a theory of management that brings to the fore the true nature of hu-man action, freeing it from the reductionist view of those who only seekeffectiveness and results.

This is not only a book about the history of thought. In recent years, therehas been a new surge of appreciation for Peirce’s contributions, which havereceived abundant praise from leading figures in contemporary philoso-phy. Karl Popper has said that he is “one of the greatest philosophers of alltime”;3 Umberto Eco has classed him as “the greatest American thinker”4;Karl-Otto Apel called him “the Kant of American philosophy”5; and HilaryPutnam rated him as “an outstanding giant among American philoso-phers”6. Max Fisch, one of the most eminent experts on Peirce, went furtherthan Putnam and said that Peirce is the most versatile mind that has everexisted in America, based on his contributions in a broad spectrum of scien-tific disciplines.7 Habermas has said that Peirce has the key for solving theproblem of modernity.8 And, in the same vein, Guy Debrock has suggestedthat Peirce may be an invaluable help in addressing some of the most per-sistent problems of contemporary philosophy.9

Above all else, this book seeks to be a book about management, but abook about management with a clear theoretical basis, because I am con-vinced that the manager’s first need is to understand the nature and ratio-nale of his or her own activity. Management cannot rest on techniquesalone—no matter how sophisticated they may be—but also requires an ad-equate theoretical basis. I believe that the aphorism that “there is nothing aspractical as a good theory” continues to be true; the manager cannot relysolely on “one-minute” recipes but also needs a theoretical backgroundable to provide a sense of perspective and increase his other awareness ofthe nature of the work and the responsibility it implies.

From its inception, this book has deliberately sought an interdisciplin-ary approach. The dialog between businesspeople and philosophers is noteasy—to a great extent, because of the different languages they use—but itis enormously productive when achieved. This I have seen for myself, first,since my involvement in the early work of what is today known as theInstituto Empresa y Humanismo—an entity created by the University ofNavarre and a number of Spanish companies whose purpose is to reflect onthe human and ethical dimension of management—and, later, in my teach-

Introduction 3

ing work at IESE Business School, the University of Navarre’s InternationalGraduate School of Management. With this book, I would like to contributeto this dialog. To develop a line of argument that, in its essence and form, isacceptable to both philosophers and managers has not been an easy task. Imust admit that the final text has more in common with philosophical dis-course than with the type of language that managers are more accustomedto. However, it is my hope that those who work in areas related with thebusiness world—whether in the university or in a company—and wish tomake the effort to explore with me the issues that are discussed here willfind in Peirce’s thought ideas that will help them in their own professionalactivity.

The book’s working hypothesis is that Peirce’s thought may provide avalid reference point for developing the new paradigm of action that orga-nizational theory demand. Although the subject of human action was notstudied systematically by Peirce, the concept of action, given the nature ofthe pragmatic maxim, is present throughout his work. The first part of thebook proposes a definition of the concept of action based on the main linesof Peirce’s thought. The first chapter provides a biographical sketch ofPeirce, deriving from it a series of considerations about the ideas that aredeveloped in the rest of this book. The remaining three chapters in this firstpart are concerned with three fundamental aspects of Peircean thought: thephenomenological categories, the cosmological view, and semiotic theory.With these three aspects, we have sufficient material to develop a descrip-tion of the nature of human action. The second part is focused on decision.The process of inquiry that enables us to progress from doubt to belief, themethods for fixing beliefs, the fact that the person of action can adopt a sci-entific attitude in his or her decisions, depending on the different actionsthat must be performed, and the classification of sciences to determinethose on which the decision is grounded are the basic aspects of Peirceanthought that can be used to describe a decision theory that is scientific in itsattitude and nature without losing its focus on practice. In the third part,three principles are proposed for management—creativity, community, andcharacter—which are derived from the characteristics of the three norma-tive sciences. These, as will be explained at the end of the second part, arethe three sciences that guide and direct human action.

Finally, I must make two caveats about the book’s content. First, it is astudy of the thought of a North American author viewed in an eminentlyEuropean light. Far from diminishing the validity of the inquiry, I think thatthis fact gives it an added value. Nowadays, immersed as we are in global-ization and the elimination of frontiers—not only geographical but alsocultural and ideological—this sort of distinction is not very meaningful,and even less so to deny the possibility of dialog between different tradi-tions. On the contrary, this cross-cultural backdrop will enable us to relatethe North American pragmatic tradition with the Aristotelian tradition


and offer management literature a vision that has not always been suffi-ciently appreciated and that can be of enormous help in understanding thereality of business management.

My second caveat is that this book does not seek to be the conclusion ordemonstration of any theory. It should rather be seen as a proposal, a hy-pothesis to stimulate further thought. It is not an ending point, but rather astarting point. Peirce thought that scientific inquiry should always be opento future progress and that the most important thing was to avoid blockingthe road of inquiry. Therefore, without sacrificing the rigor demanded ofany inquiry, this book seeks to raise many questions, propose a number ofhighly varied subjects for reflection, and challenge many assumptions thathave been accepted noncritically. The reader should not expect to find easyanswers or final conclusions because the subject matter does not allow it,nor would it be acceptable to a mature audience such as that which thisbook has been written for.

As a subject for scientific inquiry, management is relatively young andhas still a long distance to travel. This book seeks nothing more than to en-able one more step to be taken along the road of management inquiry. Some-times, in order to advance it is necessary to retrace one’s steps and take a newdirection. To go back to Peirce may help us recover the original meaning ofpragmatism and advance in the study and practice of management.10

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Peirce assigned an important role to the scientific community in the ad-vancement of knowledge. I can say that this book has been enormously fa-vored by the scientific communities with which I have been involvedduring these years.

First of all, the Faculty of the School of Philosophy of the University ofNavarre taught me not only the contents of philosophy, but also the philo-sophical attitude of love for wisdom. From Alejandro Llano, I learned thatthe philosophical analysis is not at odds with the concern for the real andliving problems of our society. From Angel Luis González, I always re-ceived very good advice.

The Peircean Studies Group (Grupo de Estudios Peirceanos), at the Uni-versity of Navarre, under the direction of Jaime Nubiola, has become a ref-erence for Peirce’s research in Spain and abroad. Jaime spurred me to beginthis book, gave me advice during its redaction, and helped me to find themoment to bring it to an end. I hardly can think of a better place to study,and to become familiar with, Peirce.

My first steps in business ethics coincided with the starting of the Insti-tute Enterprise and Humanism (Instituto Empresa y Humanismo). To lis-ten to Rafael Alvira and Leonardo Polo, among others, think aboutbusiness has been one of the most intellectually fruitful experiences in my

Introduction 5

life. I am also thankful for the support of the institute in having made theSpanish edition of this book possible.

During these years, IESE Business School has been the place where Ihave developed my professional activity. Its faculty and my students havegiven me the opportunity to challenge my own ideas. Domenec Mele hasbeen my mentor in business ethics. I hope to count on his example and sup-port for many years. Pere Agell taught me much more than decision analy-sis and Bayesian statistics. Among the pieces of advice I give to mystudents, the good ones are those he gave me when I was his student.Carlos Sánchez-Runde, my classmate in the M.B.A. program, is a colleaguenow, but above all is a good friend. It is always good to listen to his opin-ions, and I will be glad if he can say the same thing about me.

The editing process of this book coincided with my stay as a visitingscholar at the Center for Business Ethics at Bentley College. I can hardlyimagine a better place to study business ethics. The launching of the center,twenty-five years ago, is, without any doubt, a milestone in the history ofbusiness ethics, and W. Michael Hoffman, its executive director, is a neces-sary reference in the field and most of all, a mentor and a friend during thisyear; I hope to keep developing new projects with him for the advancementof business ethics. I almost did not miss home thanks to the hospitality ofMike, Mary Chiasson, Patricia Aucoin, Aaron Sato and the scholarship stu-dents of the center. Jacob Rendtorff and Mollie Painter-Morland visited thecenter at this time also, and it was nice to know them.

In my research, I have had the fortune to link my name to other peoplemuch better than I am. I have worked with Alfredo Rodríguez Sedano,Manuel Guillén, Francisco Roa, José Luis Fernández, and JavierGorosquieta (recently deceased), and I am currently working with AlejoSison, Iñaki Velaz and Miguel Angel Ariño. I feel very proud to have hadthe opportunity to learn from them.

While I have had the chance to count on such good people in my profes-sional life, it has been the same in my personal life. First of all, I thank myfamily: although physically far away sometimes, they have always beenvery near to my heart and my mind. Then I thank my many friends and ac-quaintances, from whom I have received more than I have given to themand to whom I feel greatly indebted, inasmuch as there is no human way topay them back. Finally, during my stay in the United States, the residentsand friends of Elmbrook Center gave me the welcome and warmth thatmake one feel always at home.

NOTES

1. For a good criticism of this principle from the management viewpoint, seeJ. Le Mouël, Critique de l’efficacité (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1991).

2. A few years ago, Jeffrey Pfeffer wondered about the difficulty experiencedby organizational theorists in finding common principles upon which to build aparadigm matched to the nature of organizations. Pfeffer’s article sparked an in-


teresting debate in North American academic circles. See J. Pfeffer, “Barriers to theAdvance of Organizational Science: Paradigm Development as a Dependent Vari-able,” Academy of Management Review 18 (1993): 599–620, and the reactions of C.Perrow, “Pfeffer Slips!” Academy of Management Review 19 (1994): 191–194, andA.A. Cannella and R.L. Paetzold, “Pfeffer’s Barrier to the Advance of Organiza-tional Science: A Rejoinder,” Academy of Management Review 19 (1994): 331–341.

3. K. Popper, Objective Knowledge: An Evolutionary Approach (Oxford, U.K.;Clarendon Press, 1972), 212.

4. U. Eco, “Charles S. Peirce. Professione: Genio/nazionalità: Americana,”L’Espresso, 11 June 1976, 52–58; see also his Introduction in C.K. Ogden and I.A.Richards, The Meaning of Meaning, 4th ed. (San Diego: Harcourt, 1989).

5. K.O. Apel, Transformation der Philosophie (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1973);quoted from the Spanish version, La transformación de la filosofía (Madrid: Taurus,1985), 155.

6. H. Putnam, Realism with a Human Face (Cambridge: Harvard UniversityPress, 1990), 252.

7. M.H. Fisch, “The Range of Peirce’s Relevance,” The Monist 63 (1980):269–276; The Monist 65 (1982): 123–141. It is compiled in M.H. Fisch, Peirce,Semeiotic and Pragmatism, ed. K.L. Ketner and C.J.W. Kloesel (Bloomington: Indi-ana University Press, 1986), 422–446.

8. Quoted by J.P. Diggins, The Promise of Pragmatism (Chicago: University ofChicago Press, 1994), 161.

9. G. Debrock, “Peirce, a Philosopher for the 21st Century,” Transactions of theC.S. Peirce Society 28 (1992): 1.

10. To date, Peirce’s thought has received little attention from management lit-erature. A highly interesting proposal is that of F. Byron Nahser, Learning to Readthe Signs: Reclaiming Pragmatism in Business (Woburn, Mass.: Butterworth-Heinemann, 1997). Using Peirce’s ideas, Ron Nahser has formulated a pragmaticmethod for corporate inquiry, discovery, interpretation and action. It has been anenormous satisfaction for me—and a reaffirmation of my hypotheses—to see thatsomeone with the corporate sense of Ron Nahser has reached the same conclu-sions from practical application as I have reached from theoretical inquiry.

Introduction 7

PART I

Human Action in theThought of Charles S. Peirce

This first part will be concerned primarily with the definition of human ac-tion using the main concepts of Peircean thought. It cannot be said thatPeirce’s writings contain a systematic study of action. However, given thenature of pragmatism, references to action are present throughout histhinking.

The first chapter is a biographical overview, with the purpose of makingthe reader familiar with the life and work of Peirce. At the same time, it pro-vides a first approach to action, not from the realm of ideas, but from actionitself in life. To know how Peirce acted may help us understand what hethought about action.

The other chapters develop different aspects of Peirce’s thought. Thesecond chapter addresses action from the triadic system of the categories,which is one of the pillars of his thought and his way of escaping from thedualisms of modernity. The category of thirdness is a key point for endow-ing human action with a rational character that is irreducible to the meresuccession of forces. The third chapter presents Peirce’s metaphysicalthought and provides insights into how human action takes place in an en-vironment dominated by spontaneity and chance, going beyond both themechanistic hypotheses and Darwinian evolutionism, which was verypopular at that time. In the fourth chapter, human action is related with theenvironment through the study of certain concepts of Peircean semiotictheory.

CHAPTER 1

Charles S. Peirce: A LifeDevoted to Science

“Who is the most original and the most versatile intellect that the Americashave so far produced?” Max Fisch asked this question in the early 1960sand immediately said that the answer, “Charles S. Peirce,” wasuncontestable because any other would be so far behind as not be worthnominating.1 It therefore seems justified to devote the first chapter of thisbook to a brief biography of Charles S. Peirce. Perhaps in other studies ofbetter known authors, this chapter can be dispensed with, but, in this case,given the fact that most people know very little about the life and works ofPeirce, it seems indispensable to us to include this chapter.

However, the purpose of this first chapter is not merely to offer a bio-graphical portrait of Peirce, but to see how in his own life, Peirce was able toreconcile his scientific interests with the needs and demands of day-to-daylife. This analysis will also enable us to qualify certain remarks that are of-ten made about the apparent inconsistencies between what Peirce said andhow he lived.

A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Max Fisch,2 one of the most widely acknowledged scholars of Peirceanthought, distinguishes three periods in the life of Peirce: the Cambridge pe-riod (1851–1870); the cosmopolitan period (1870–1887); and the Arisbe pe-riod (1887–1914).

The Cambridge Period (1851–1870)

Charles Sanders Peirce was born on September 10, 1839, in Cambridge,Massachusetts.3 His father, Benjamin Peirce, was a professor of mathemat-ics and astronomy at Harvard University, who was considered to be one ofthe leading North American scientists of his time. He was one of the found-ers of the Smithsonian Institution and the Harvard Observatory, an activemember of various associations that sought to improve education in Amer-ica, president of the American Association for the Advancement of Scienceduring the academic year 1853–1854, and cofounder of the National Acad-emy of Sciences in 1863. He was also superintendent of the United StatesCoast and Geodetic Survey—Coast Survey—from 1867 to 1874. In additionwas also a member of several clubs in Harvard that brought together emi-nent figures from the scientific community. These clubs sometimes met atPeirce’s house, which enabled Charles to see firsthand the importance ofdiscussion between colleagues to advance in the knowledge of science, inspite of the diversity of opinions that, no doubt, was heard in these meet-ings. Charles had the fortune to be able to grow in a family atmosphere per-meated with interest in science, literature, and the theater. Louis Agassiz,for example, lived very close to the Peirce home and was a frequent visitor.Benjamin Peirce sought to convey to his five children his interest in philoso-phy and science, although he devoted particular attention to Charles, de-veloping the boy’s mathematical and scientific talents from a very youngage, not only by reading books on philosophy and mathematics but alsothrough chess problems, crosswords, number games, and similar pastimes.

Peirce was a pupil at Cambridge High School from 1849 to 1854. Accus-tomed to the family atmosphere, he did not adapt well either to the ambi-ence of the school or to the teaching method, which led him to appearunruly and to not reflect in his work the brilliance and originality that couldhave been expected from him. However, he continued to pursue his preoc-cupations and his scientific training on his own. As a boy just over twelve,he read a book on logic—Richard Whately’s Elements of Logic—which his el-der brother was using as a textbook in his studies. At the age of thirteen, hewas already reading the classic treatises on logic of his time and had hisown chemistry laboratory, which he had inherited from his uncle. His fa-ther gave him Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason to study when he had justturned sixteen. From then on, Kant’s influence would always be present inhis thinking.

In 1855, after working on mathematics with his father and following aprivate preparatory course for the university, he entered Harvard College.He continued his education there, more on his own initiative than throughthe classes. His grades during those years were always among the lowest ofhis class. The lack of interest in the rigid system of teaching—which con-trasted with the considerable freedom of thought that he had experiencedat home—was aggravated by his unruly behavior and his illnesses. An in-


terest in philosophy continued to occupy a prominent position in Peirce’sintellectual work. It was during this period that he read, among others,Friedrich Schiller’s book Aesthetiche Briefe, and he would organize and fre-quent various discussion groups with his fellow students. However, at thesame time, he avoided the “official” meeting forums. With his timid, eva-sive character, he found it difficult to integrate himself in the scientific soci-ety around him and he would show a certain air of intellectual arroganceand indifference toward the formal requirements of official education anda rejection of any authority other than his father’s. He graduated in 1859with very unexceptional grades.

Although it seemed obvious that Peirce would continue his studies inchemistry, he wished to work for one year before returning to the univer-sity, in part because of his health problems and in part because he wanted tostart to earn a living. He got a job at the Coast Survey through that institu-tion’s superintendent and a friend of his father, Alexander D. Bache, whooffered him a position in a field survey that he was going to carry out inMaine in fall 1859 and on the Mississippi in the following months of thewinter and spring. During that second expedition, Peirce wrote a letter tohis brother James, dated December 18, searching his counsel. “Aman’s firstbusiness is to earn a living for himself—and for his family if he has any. Sci-entific research is for such leisure as that may leave him; society cannot beexpected to pay for what it may have for nothing” (W 1:xix). From thewording of the letter, it seems that Peirce was concerned about how to makethe need to work to earn a living compatible with having enough free timeto devote himself to scientific investigations. A few days later, his brotheranswered him by saying that society pays for science if the scientist is ableto discover the practical side of his profession; and if a person has a strongleaning for science, he will never be content in any other occupation. Uponhis return from the expeditions to the Mississippi, Peirce worked for a fewmonths as a tutor at Harvard College and studied classification methodswith Agassiz. A few months earlier, Darwin’s Origin of Species had ap-peared and Agassiz had published his Essay on Classification. Biology andchemistry were thus presented as classificatory sciences.

In summer 1861, Peirce had obtained stable employment as a scientificresearcher with the Coast Survey. He would be professionally linked withthis institution for more than thirty years, which would give him the oppor-tunity to perform a very varied range of investigations and to become inter-nationally known for his pendular measurements of gravity and thebrilliance of stars. That same year, he entered the Lawrence ScientificSchool where, two years later, he would be awarded his B.Sc. in chemistrywith the highest possible grade. The study method used during that pe-riod, based on laboratory work rather than lectures, was instrumental inenabling Peirce to obtain a grade that no student at the LawrenceSchool—which started teaching in 1847—had obtained until then.

A Life Devoted to Science 13

In 1862, Peirce married Harriet Melusina Fay. With his job at the CoastSurvey, he earned $35 a month, and consequently, to make ends meet, theyneeded financial assistance from Charles’s parents. Zina was much morepractical minded than her husband, became renowned for her advocacy ofwomen’s rights. She played an active role in the creation of the CambridgeCo-operative Housekeeping Society, which sought to lighten women’s do-mestic work; she was an active member of the Women’s Parliament andchaired this movement’s first convention in 1869; and she promoted highereducation among women through the Women’s Education Association ofBoston. Zina accompanied her husband on some of the scientific expedi-tions that he made in subsequent years.

The financial straits did not prevent the following years from being ex-traordinarily fertile, with an intellectual output that encompassed veryvaried fields of knowledge: chemistry, astronomy, geodesy, metrology,spectroscopy, and also literature and rhetoric. However, the discipline thatwould receive most attention from Peirce during these early years of intel-lectual activity was logic. At that time, chemistry offered the best access tothe experimental sciences and was the best field in which to carry out post-graduate studies. Chemical engineering was also the most promising sci-ence for earning a living with science. However, Peirce never had theintention—judging by subsequent events—of working solely in chemistry.It is true that his first publication, in 1863, was a chemical study, The Chemi-cal Theory of Interpenetration, and in 1869, he published a table of elementsalong the lines of the table that Dmitri Mendeleev would publish a fewmonths later. However, during those years, the idea began to take form inPeirce that logic was the science that gives unity to all the different scientificdisciplines. Any scientist who is not a scholar of logic—just as with any lo-gician who is not a scientist—will be unfit to analyze scientific reasoning.Logic is also a classificatory science—like biology and chemistry—and,thus, one of his early writings on logic would be given the title On a NaturalClassification of Arguments.

The interest in logic was also evident in his academic activity. During theacademic year 1864–1865, he taught Philosophy of Science at Harvard. Inspring 1865, he gave a series of twelve lectures at Harvard on the logic ofscience; during fall 1866, he gave another series of lectures at the Lowell In-stitute with the generic title “The Logic of Science and Induction.” Duringthe academic year 1869–1870, he gave a second series of lectures at Har-vard, on the British logicians. In the course of his life, he would give severalsuch series of lectures: some, particularly during the early years, would bedue to his prestige among the academic community; others, particularly to-ward the end of his life, would be a way of earning a little money. Peircewould often astonish his audience with the clarity and brilliance of his ar-gument, and on occasion, he would even lecture without notes.


The term hypothesis, which would have a major role in the scientificmethod of inquiry, appears for the first time in the lectures Peirce gave atthe Lowell Institute in 1866. Using as his starting point Kant’s distinctionbetween analytic judgments and synthetic judgments, Peirce proposed adistinction between explicative arguments—which belonged to the logic ofdeduction—and ampliative arguments, which, in turn, were divided intoinduction and hypothesis. It was a commonplace to assume that the logic ofmathematics was the logic of deduction and that the logic of experimentalscience was the logic of induction, but it was not so customary to assumethat, given that the advancement of the empirical and experimental sci-ences depends on the formation and verification of hypotheses, theseshould be understood as a different class of inference.

The year 1867 was an important one in the life of Charles Peirce. He waspromoted in his job at the Coast Survey—where his father now held the po-sition of superintendent—and he also started to work from the astronomi-cal observatory at Harvard. The observation of solar eclipses would take uppart of his scientific work, together with geodesic studies on the pendulumand the law of gravity. During that same year, he became a member of theAmerican Academy of Arts and Sciences, where he presented five essayson formal logic and the doctrine of categories. The essay titled “On a NewList of Categories” reflects his interest during those years in Kant’s andHegel’s formulations of the categories of knowledge. The theory of catego-ries, which Peirce would start to develop during this period, would be oneof the keys to interpreting Peircean thought. Another of these essays was ti-tled “On an Improvement in Boole’s Calculus of Logic.” Peirce had alreadystated clearly his interest in Boole in the 1865 series of lectures at Harvard,in which Peirce said that Boole’s book, Investigation of the Laws of Thought,would mark a major epoch in logic. In 1870, he returned to these subjects in“Description of a Notation for the Logic of Relatives, resulting from an Am-plification of the Conceptions of Boole’s Calculus of Logic,” which can beconsidered as one of the most important works of the history of modernlogic for its attempt to extend Boole’s class algebra to the logic of relatives.During the same year, he would present a refined version of Augustus DeMorgan’s notation. Peirce identified himself with the mathematical tradi-tion of algebraic logic, which differed from the mathematical logic ofGottlob Frege, Alfred North Whitehead, or Bertrand Russell. It is in this sec-ond school that the logistic project was developed. Peirce applied mathe-matics to logic, whereas logical positivism applies logic to mathematics.4

By way of a curious anecdote—which also shows how Peirce was able toput his scientific knowledge to practical use—in 1867 he was involved indetermining a legacy. He was asked to study whether the signature appear-ing on a will was valid. If it was, the will would be less favorable to the heir-ess. Peirce analyzed the signature and concluded, together with his father,that the probability of the signatures matching was very small. The judge


ruled against the validity of the will, although it is not clear whether thejudgment was based on Peirce’s arguments.

At about the same time, he started to write original contributions and re-views of scientific books for journals such as Atlantic Almanac and The Na-tion. Between 1868 and 1869, he published a series of three articles in theJournal of Speculative Philosophy on intuitive knowledge, in which he put for-ward his arguments against Cartesian thought.5 These articles, togetherwith “On a New List of Categories” and the review of the new edition ofBerkeley’s works, which he would publish in October 1871 in the NorthAmerican Review, were the starting point for the modern study of semiotics.They also show the evolution of Peirce’s thought during these years, froman open—although qualified—nominalism to a scholastic realism based onDuns Scotus’s ideas.6

In 1869, Charles W. Eliot was elected president of Harvard University.One of his goals was to give added weight to postgraduate studies and,consequently, he thought of making the lectures that were customarilygiven at the university part of these studies. For the academic year1869–1870, several series of lectures in modern literature and philosophywere scheduled. Among the professors commissioned to give the series onphilosophy was Peirce, who, between December and January, gave a seriesof fifteen lectures on the history of logic in Great Britain, from John DunsScotus to John Stuart Mill. One of the students who attended these lectureswas William James, who would be a major influence in the future in Peirce’slife and thought. Peirce’s interest in logic had led him to purchase numer-ous books on the history of logic and to even make a “Catalog of MedievalLogic Books Available at Cambridge.”

In August 1869, the first of two solar eclipses that would occur in a veryshort space of time took place. The report written by Peirce’s observationteam, like those of other teams, contributed new theories on the composi-tion of the sun, which were received with some skepticism by European sci-entists. The second of the eclipses, which occurred in December 1870, waspresented as an opportunity to confirm these theories, in what could beproof of North American scientists’ “coming of age” vis-à-vis their Euro-pean colleagues. In order to observe this eclipse, Peirce made his first trip toEurope, during which he would have the opportunity to discuss his ideason Boolean logic with various European logicians and mathematicianssuch as Augustus De Morgan and William Jevons.

These early years of professional life denote in Peirce a tendency towardexperimental research in broad fields of scientific knowledge. His initial in-terest in chemistry was extended to many other sciences. His work at theCoast Survey enabled him to combine research with remunerated employ-ment. However, science took preference over practice. If his primary inter-est had been to live from science, he would have done much better to devotehimself to chemistry, but it seems that Peirce chose to live for science, which


led him to explore other sciences. Even in these early years, logic was al-ready starting to occupy a primordial position and his investigations, evenif they had specific goals, were always referenced to logic.

The Cosmopolitan Period (1870–1887)

The second period corresponds to the time of public recognition of thefigure of Peirce. During this period, he performed numerous geodesic andastronomical investigations as part of his work at the Coast Survey, and forwhich he achieved international recognition. Moreover, he visited Europeon five occasions between 1870 and 1883. Although the reasons for thesevisits were related to his work at the Coast Survey, he also had the opportu-nity to exchange opinions with well-known mathematicians and scientistsof the time, either in person or by correspondence.

Peirce started his first trip to Europe in 1870. The purpose of this first tripwas to study the best locations for observing the solar eclipse forecast forDecember 22 that same year. In the course of this trip, Peirce visited Spain.7

In London, he had the opportunity to talk with De Morgan, who would diea few months later and to whom he was able to give a copy of his writingson Boolean logic. This was the first time that Peirce was able to see the im-portance of the scientific community in the evaluation and validation of hy-potheses. The favorable criticism his writings received may haveinfluenced the role that Peirce would attribute to the scientific communityin his thinking.

When he returned from his first trip to Europe, Peirce, together withother individuals, created the Cambridge Metaphysical Club. This club’smeetings—which took place between winter 1871 and the end of 1872—areusually pointed out as one of the times that mark the birth of pragmatism.8

Years later, William James, who was also a member of the club, would iden-tify Peirce as the father of pragmatism (CP 8.253), whereas Peirce, in turn,would refer to Nicholas St. John Green as the movement’s “grandfather”because of his insistence in applying Alexander Bain’s definition of beliefas “that upon which a man is prepared to act” (CP 5.12). The followingyears would show the influence that this notion of belief was to have on thedevelopment of Peircean thought.

Through the text of several letters, we know that, at least after 1871,Peirce was interested in subjects related with economics.9 Two of his favor-ite authors were David Ricardo and Antoine Cournot. When, some yearslater, in 1883, Peirce taught at Johns Hopkins University, he includedRicardo in the list of his study on “Great Men,” placing him above AdamSmith. In a letter addressed to Simon Newcomb, dated December 17, 1871,and referring to a conversation they had had a few hours earlier, he dis-cussed the law of supply and demand and made a reference to Cournot.10

In a letter to his wife, Zina, written on the same day, he referred to the visit


by Simon Newcomb and the nights he had spent studying political econ-omy.11 On December 28, a meeting was held at Benjamin Peirce’s home, atwhich Benjamin addressed the application of mathematics to certain polit-ical economy issues. Charles prepared some diagrams for his father forthis meeting. In a letter written to his father on December 19, he explainedthat there was a point at which he had reached a result that differed fromthat found by Cournot,which led him to doubt the truth of the maximiza-tion of profit as a principle for economic activity.12 This provides evidenceof Peirce’s interest in finding new mathematical approaches to the re-search of economic theory, which he would publish some years later, in1877, in his Notes on the Theory of the Economy of Research.

The years between 1872 and 1878 can be considered Peirce’s years ofmost intense scientific activity. During this period, he neither taught norgave lectures; instead, he devoted himself entirely to his scientific work atthe Coast Survey, where his workload steadily increased. Until then, hiswork there had been focused on astronomical investigations but, from nowon, his responsibilities would revolve around geodesic investigations.From 1871 onward, he was assigned a project to more accurately calculatethe earth’s ellipse, and the following year, he was put in charge of the inves-tigations on the pendulum. In the course of these investigations, he contrib-uted to the theory of the pendulum’s oscillations as a method formeasuring the force of gravity. The need to perform accurate measure-ments of the transversal movements of the pendulum led him, in turn, tocarry out the first determinations of the length of the meter in terms of thewavelength of certain light patterns. In 1872, he was put in charge of theCoast Survey’s office in Washington, D.C., and of the weights and measuresoffice attached to the former office. All these new occupations would takeup a large part of Peirce’s work, and he found himself forced to stop hiswork at the Harvard College Observatory and move to Washington withhis wife. Between 1873 and 1874, he continued his investigations on thependulum, together with his photometric research, whose results he wouldnot publish until 1878 in the book Photometric Researches. The book dealswith a more accurate determination of the shape of the Milky Way, in whichhe would include a new edition of Ptolemy’s catalog of stars.

In 1874, Peirce’s father left his post as director of the Coast Survey. Thenew director sent Peirce to Europe again with the purpose of collecting a re-versible pendulum that Peirce had ordered in 1872 and to study thegravimetric research techniques that were being applied there. The tripstarted in April 1875 and would continue for one year. In the report of histrip, Peirce would say that geodesy is the science whose success dependstotally on international solidarity. During this trip, he met the editor of Pop-ular Science Monthly, who commissioned from him a series of articles,which would be considered the first written texts on pragmatism. Theywould be published under the generic name Illustrations of the Logic of Sci-


ence. Peirce put forward his first formulations of pragmatism—eventhough the term does not appear explicitly—in the first two essays, “TheFixation of Belief” and “How to Make Our Ideas Clear.”

While in Europe, in addition to meeting a large number of scientists withwhom he had the opportunity to contrast his own ideas, he also visited in-strumentation manufacturers and took part in several scientific meetings.He attended the meeting of the International Geodetic Association’s Stand-ing Committee, presided over at that time by the Spaniard General CarlosIbáñez e Ibáñez de Ibero,13 and he reported on his progress at the SpecialCommittee on the Pendulum. He became one of the few Americans of histime to take part directly in the deliberations of an international scientificassociation. From the scientific viewpoint, and for public recognition ofPeirce’s worth and the work of the Coast Survey, this trip can be consideredas the most fruitful of the five he made. Peirce came to enjoy better consid-eration among the international scientific community than among his com-patriots, who, with the exception of William James and Josiah Royce, wereunable to perceive the originality and value of Peirce’s thought and weremore influenced by his sometimes eccentric, unpredictable and unsociablecharacter.

There are two events in this trip that are particularly interesting. Peircecould not be considered a good administrator. Together with his personalextravagances, which led him to be considered a dandy in certain circles, hewould spare no expense in carrying out his investigations. Peirce reached apoint at which he did not have a penny left and suffered a nervous break-down. He finally recovered and was able to embark on the trip back home.The second event is that, during this trip, while in Paris, his wife, Zina, lefthim. On his return to America in 1876, Charles filed a formal separationfrom his wife.

The activity carried out by Peirce during these years shows him to be notonly a philosopher or logician with scientific knowledge, but also a profes-sional scientist who incorporated his philosophical and logical preoccupa-tions in his work. Thus, for example, when he wrote his Illustrations of theLogic of Science, he had already made significant professional contributionsto the issues of statistics and probability, which he would discuss in his arti-cles. The closing years of the decade would be years of intense scientificwork. In 1877 and 1878, he continued with his experiments on the pendu-lum and the measurement of the meter, using a spectrometer that he hadmade himself. In 1877, he was elected a member of the National Academyof Sciences. He returned to Europe that same year to present the results ofhis investigations at the Congress of the International Geodetic Associationin Stuttgart, which he attended on that occasion as official representative ofthe Coast Survey. This was the first time that an official North Americanrepresentative attended an international scientific meeting.


In 1878, Peirce asked for a salary increase from $2,870 to $3,500 dollars,threatening to leave his job if it was not approved. This request led to an ex-change of letters between the directors of the Coast Survey and the Depart-ment of the Treasury. The reports sent by the Coast Survey emphasized theconsiderable scientific value of Peirce’s work and how it had contributed toputting the Coast Survey’s work and North American science on a par withthe world’s best. In the end, he was not given the raise, but by then, Peircehad accepted a position as professor at Johns Hopkins University, and hethought that, considering the controversy that his request had caused, theCoast Survey would not have any objections to him combining the twojobs.

Indeed, in June 1879, he had accepted a position as a part-time professorat the recently created Johns Hopkins University. His relations with thisuniversity dated back to several years earlier. In 1875, William James hadrecommended Peirce for the position of professor of logic, and later, his fa-ther had also recommended him as professor of physics. In 1878, JohnsHopkins had offered him a position as a part-time professor of logic, but inthe end, he did not accept it. Peirce wrote to Daniel Gilman, the university’spresident, telling him that his main difficulty in accepting the offer was thatthe job would take up all his energy and that it would not be sufficient to de-vote half of his time to it. Peirce accepted the job the following year, follow-ing the controversy that had been stirred up by his request for a salaryincrease at the Coast Survey, after making sure that the position was goingto be part time and he would only give logic classes. Thus, Peirce was nowworking in two of North America’s most renowned institutions of the time:as a scientist, in the U.S. government’s most prestigious agency; as a profes-sor, in America’s most advanced university. The demands of the two jobswould mean that he would have to travel continually between Baltimoreand Washington and this would severely affect his always delicate health.His writings of the time would clearly reflect this dual career: his scientificwork would show through in his academic work, and vice versa.

Johns Hopkins University had been created in 1876 by a group ofwealthy men in the city of Baltimore who wished to make the university aleading center in research and postgraduate training. During the years hewas at the university, in addition to giving his classes, Peirce also took partin many other activities. He created a new Metaphysical Club and also tookpart in some of the sessions of the Mathematical Seminary and the ScientificAssociation. Peirce was highly respected by his students, who consideredhis classes to be particularly interesting even though sometimes difficult tofollow.

During his years at Johns Hopkins, Peirce devoted himself with all theenergy he had to his teaching and research work in logic. In the opening lec-ture of his logic course, in the academic year 1882–1883, he presented hisideas on the value of studying this science. In the text of that lecture, he re-


ferred to the importance of adapting one science’s knowledge to anotherand that asserted in the future, interdisciplinary research would havegreater scientific importance than highly specialized investigations (CP7.66). Peirce was starting to see that his task was to apply the methods oflogic—particularly induction and hypothesis—to philosophy and science.In the following months, he would reflect on the statistical method—whichDarwin had used to good effect—and would pay attention to chance as anactive element in the evolution of the universe and its laws. His first ideason semiotics, or sign theory, also dated from those years. In 1883, Studies ofLogic was published. This book contained a number of papers written byPeirce and his students on mathematical logic. This was his main contribu-tion to logic and helped pave the way for the development of symboliclogic in the twentieth century. However, Studies of Logic was, above all, aconcrete manifestation of Peirce’s conception of university education. Al-though Peirce was the book’s editor, his name does not appear on the titlepage, where there is only a reference to “Members of the Johns HopkinsUniversity.” This was the spirit of Johns Hopkins in its early years andPeirce’s ideal of university work: students and teachers working togetherin the search for truth.14

From 1879 to 1884, Peirce was in charge of a half-dozen pendulum obser-vation projects located in various parts of the country. At the same time, hecontinued with his work in Washington and his metric investigations. Hisscientific activity during those years generated a considerable volume ofpublications. Of these, two can be mentioned as being most directly relatedto this research. The first is a document that Peirce presented at the Ameri-can Academy of Arts and Sciences, and which he subsequently publishedin the American Journal of Mathematics, with the title “On the Projections ofthe Sphere Which Preserve the Angles.” In this paper, he offered a way ofprojecting the terrestrial globe onto a map, which was used during WorldWar II to plot international air routes, a proposal that illustrates the practi-cal implications of the scientific inquiries performed by Peirce. The secondpaper is entitled “Note on the Theory of the Economy of Research” and waspublished in the 1876 Coast Survey Report (W 4:72–78). The theory presentedin this writing sought to provide a guide for scientific investigators in theirefforts to balance the benefits of progress in scientific knowledge with thecost of the inquiry. The problem raised by Peirce is how—given a certainquantity of money, time and energy—to obtain the best value-added to in-crease our knowledge.

As can be seen, Peirce’s interest for the economy also influenced the de-velopment of his epistemological theory. For Peirce, scientific inquiryreaches the truth after a prolonged effort, in an indefinite future, and bymeans of a careful, select use of means. Consequently, it is necessary to de-velop techniques that enable the process to be shortened: economics canhelp the investigator to profitably use the scarce resources available. The art


of discovering the truth—for the analysis both of problems in general andof historical, logical, philosophical, and scientific issues—thus becomes anissue of economy. Over the years, Peirce would come back to these ques-tions.

In April 1880, he traveled for the fourth time to Europe, although thistrip was cut short by the illness of his father, who would die in October ofthe same year. In August 1881, Paterson, the Coast Survey’s superinten-dent, also died. Thus, two of Peirce’s main supports in the scientific com-munity disappeared from his life. Afflicted by these two deaths, Peirceseems to have wandered rather aimlessly in his scientific interests. He be-came interested in mathematics and busied himself with annotating andpreparing the publication of a book by his father titled Linear Associative Al-gebra. In the early months of 1881, he concentrated on the construction offour pendulums, which he himself invented to work on the effects of vis-cosity. He also performed field studies in different parts of the country. In1882, he was contracted by the editor of the Century Dictionary to write thedictionary’s terms corresponding to logic and philosophy, mathematics,mechanics, astronomy, and weights and measures, as well as those refer-ring to the university. Such diversity in his work affected his performance,bringing him problems at the Coast Survey. The new director, JuliusHilgard, warned him that he would be less understanding than this prede-cessor with the delays in the reports Peirce had to submit and with hismethods which, in his search for maximum precision, consumed dispro-portionate amounts of time and effort. The fact is that, during those years,the productivity of his scientific work was not affected by juggling the de-mands of his two jobs at the Coast Survey and Johns Hopkins. However,the reports he had to regularly submit on the status of the investigations hewas conducting did suffer from his divided time.

In one of his trips to Canada to direct the experiments on the pendulum,he was accompanied by a young French woman, Juliette Pourtalai, whichdid not go unnoticed to the survey’s new director and other university col-leagues. Peirce obtained his divorce from Zina in April 1883, and two dayslater, he married Juliette. He then embarked on a fifth trip to Europe withthe purpose of performing new investigations related to his studies of thependulum. On his return, he resumed his occupations at the university andthe Coast Survey as well as writing the definitions for the Century Dictio-nary. As if this was not enough, he added a new course on philosophical ter-minology.

In the fall 1883 semester, Peirce invited a group of students to work on astudy of the great men of history. It was an ambitious study, which soughtto ascertain these men’s biographies, obtain specific data from them, drawup lists, and process the data statistically. Peirce wanted to show that statis-tical analysis can be useful even when it is applied to those situations inwhich one starts from mere impressions. Although this study was never


completed, in 1901 he wrote an article on “The Century’s Great Men of Sci-ence” in which he used part of the work performed during those years. Atthe beginning of 1884, he was informed that his contract with JohnsHopkins would not be renewed. The reasons for his dismissal are not clear,although everything seems to indicate that it was because of his relation-ship with Juliette and certain personal differences with his colleagues, suchas Simon Newcomb, who taught political economy at Johns Hopkins.

The episodes of Peirce’s private life, exacerbated by his personality andhis total disinterest in financial affairs, led him to be ostracized in the socialcircles he frequented. Particularly important was the figure of Simon New-comb, who showed a strong antagonism for Peirce in both personal and sci-entific life, sometimes fueled by Peirce’s criticisms—not always doneconsciously—of Newcomb’s ideas. Newcomb had been a protégé andfriend of Peirce’s father and the relationship with Charles would last al-most to the end of the latter’s life. In Peirce’s correspondence with New-comb, it seems as if Peirce was not aware of the role played by Newcomb insome of the most dramatic episodes of his career, just as he was not awareeither of the harshness of the criticisms he sometimes made of his col-league’s work. But the truth is that Newcomb played a significant role, bothin his dismissal as professor at Johns Hopkins University in 1884 and in hisdismissal from the Coast Survey years later. Thus, in a letter addressed toGilman and dated December 22, 1883, Newcomb refered to a recent conver-sation the two men had had, in which names had been mentioned of peoplewhose only error had been their “lack of prudence,” although he reaffirmedthe veracity of the information discussed in that conversation. The letter re-ferred without doubt to Peirce, and the events recounted in that conversa-tion could be Peirce’s relationship with Juliette.15

Peirce’s exit from Johns Hopkins was to have profound effects. Al-though he never totally relinquished the idea of continuing to work inteaching, he would never regain the intense, fruitful relationship he hadachieved with his logic students in that university. Peirce now had time fora more solitary speculation, which would lead him to organize his grandarchitectonic structures of the 1880s and 1890s. The most notable sign ofthis new period was the paper he presented at one of his last attendances ofthe Johns Hopkins Metaphysical Club, which he entitled “Design andChance.” In this text, for the first time we find the reference to chance as atruly operative element in the universe, including in its laws. Peirce was in-terested in the controversy that had been stirred up by Darwinism and sawin evolution a theory that could be generalized to develop a first-order cos-mological principle, insofar as it provided space for the individual’s free-dom within a rigorous scientific logic.16

In October 1884, Peirce was made head of the Weights and Measures Of-fice in Washington. This new position forced him to travel frequently and tomeet with machinery manufacturers in order to implement the metric stan-


dards established at the U.S. Electrical Conference. At a meeting of theAmerican Metrological Society, he presented a paper on the determinationof gravity and played an active part in the discussions on the harmoniza-tion of the U.S. weights and measures standards, giving detailed informa-tion on some of the shortcomings of the current system. As a result of hispresentation, a motion was approved to ask for the formation of a commit-tee to advise the Congress and the secretary of the treasury on the need tocreate a national standards office that would be effective. In November1884, he published an article entitled “The Numerical Measure of the Suc-cess of Predictions in Science,” which showed his continued interest inquantifying the evaluative elements of scientific work, as he had alreadyshown in his previous writings on the “Economy of Research.” Two letterssent to the editor of The Nation, in December 1884 and January 1885 (on theoccasion of the signing of the reciprocity treaty between United States andSpain), discussing how the signing of this treaty could affect the price of thesugar imported from the Spanish colonies, highlight his interest in eco-nomic issues (W 5:144–148).17

The arrival at the White House of President Grover Cleveland was notwell viewed by the scientific community, as his party, the Democratic Party,was clearly antiscientific in its sentiments and was prepared to investigateand cut back on government spending on scientific research and to mea-sure the work’s value by its immediate economic benefits. Peirce was notexempted from this new scrutiny. The Coast Survey was one of the firstagencies to be investigated. In 1885, Hilgard was fired and Peirce was ac-cused of carrying out his experiments on the pendulum without imposingany restriction or limitation on spending, with the value of his work clearlysurpassed by its cost. It is surprising that, in the accusations made againstPeirce, the same arguments were used that, years before, he himself had putforward in “The Economy of Research.” Peirce refused to accept these accu-sations and published an answer in which he expressed his surprise thatmen unrelated to the scientific world could express their opinions withsuch certainty about the value of the investigations carried out by the CoastSurvey; he further announced that he would resign if these accusationswere supported by his superiors. Peirce received the support of the entirescientific community, including his own colleagues at the Coast Survey. Al-though the accusations against Peirce were eventually softened, the scan-dal this caused, together with his dismissal from Johns Hopkins University,severely tarnished his reputation, and from then on, he would never againfind stable employment.

Peirce tried to forget all these vexations by immersing himself in field re-search, although he very likely received instructions from the Coast Sur-vey’s new managers to limit the time spent on the experiments on thependulum and concentrate on completing the studies on gravitation,which had been left for a long while in an incomplete state. If he did not re-


sign at that time, it was for financial reasons: without the salary from theUniversity, his income had fallen drastically; Juliette’s health was delicateand needed medical attention; and there was also the work with the Cen-tury Dictionary, which he had to finish. In 1885, while the inquiry into theCoast Survey’s activities was in progress, Peirce worked on a new formal-ization of logic, in which he applied his theory of signs to algebraic logic.Peirce tried to get his results published in the American Journal of Mathemat-ics, but the journal’s editor at that time, Simon Newcomb, imposed as a con-dition for publication that Peirce say that the article was not about logic butabout mathematics. Peirce did not accept this condition and, in the end, thearticle was not published. In another manuscript on “qualitative logic,”Peirce seemed to insist on his new formulation of algebraic logic. Thismanuscript is interesting for our study because in it, Peirce distinguishedbetween those actions of daily life that seem to be performed uncon-sciously, those others whose importance requires that they be performedthrough a critical reflection, and, finally, the actions in between that areperformed through habits that have been acquired by means of a critical re-flection. This distinction would again come under study in the “Lectures onPragmatism” that he would give at Harvard in 1903.

Whether it was the scandal about the Coast Survey, which disillusionedhim about his scientific work; Newcomb’s refusal to publish his article onlogic; his decision to return to the university (he had written to WilliamJames in June inquiring about the possibility of giving a course at Harvardof twelve lectures on advanced logic and another letter to his brother Jem inwhich he said that teaching was the life he wished); or the publication ofJosiah Royce’s book, Religious Aspects of Philosophy, for which Peirce wrote areview, which, although in the end it was not published, led him to workagain on his sign theory; the fact is that in summer 1885, Peirce radicallychanged his interests and devoted himself to philosophy. All his ideaswhich were latent in “Design and Chance” would find their articulation in“A Guess at the Riddle,” which Peirce wrote between 1887 and 1888, andwhich, like so many other writings, would never be published. Althoughthe general thesis of an evolving universe subject to the original influenceof an absolute chance was crucial in his theory, it was not sufficient by itself.Only after revising his theory of categories (which he had not thoughtabout since 1867), having been stimulated by Royce’s book, could Peirceformulate his theory of the universe. He also felt drawn by the need to con-struct a philosophical system akin to the Kantian architectonic. Peircethought that by combining his evolutionary speculations with his revisedtheory of categories, he was moving toward something very big.

One event of that time is illustrative of the breadth of Peirce’s interests. Ina letter to a former pupil of his, Allan Marquand, Peirce referred to a ma-chine that Marquand was working on. Peirce referred in his letter to the po-tential of electricity for facilitating mathematical calculation and drew


circuit diagrams that could be considered as a precursor of the computer.18

In any case, Peirce did not pursue his exploration of what can only be con-sidered initial intuitions, to a great extent because he was fairly skepticalabout the possibilities of using computers for inductive reasoning, whichwas, in his opinion, the foundation of human intelligence.

To summarize, the mid-1880s were, for Peirce, a period of great personaland intellectual change—he lost his job at the university and had problemswith his work at the Coast Survey—but, at the same time, they are yearswhen ideas matured that had originated many years before and other ideaswere born that would set the direction of his intellectual work for the com-ing years. Above all, they are years when Peirce brought to a close his life asa scientist and began the development of his mature philosophical thought.Peirce would not ignore the problems of ordinary life and the means to givea decent standard of living to Juliette, who was accustomed to living insome luxury. Peirce was torn between serving “humanity” and doing hisbest for his wife. The question Peirce asked himself was whether it wouldnot be possible to earn a living with what he knew best, logic. With the pass-ing of the years, the question he asked his brother during his period as anundergraduate took on a new meaning.

The next event shows to what extent Peirce was convinced that his pro-fessional future lay in logic. In 1887, he considered the possibility of orga-nizing correspondence courses in logic. He thought of inserting onehundred thousand circulars in journals as a means of ascertaining howmany circulars must be sent in order to obtain one pupil. His hypothesiswas that one thousand circulars would be needed to obtain one reply.Peirce confided his project to his cousin Henry Cabot Lodge in the hopethat he would lend him the money he needed to start the business. How-ever, he did not succeed in convincing his cousin. One of the paradoxes ofPeirce is the fact that, having written about the economic conditions inwhich scientific inquiry must be performed, he did not seem to apply hisideas when it came to his own investigations or projects for earning a living.In future years, Peirce tried to make his way in all sorts of business ven-tures, but always with the same result. He dreamed of becoming a million-aire through projects, most of which, if the criteria of his economy ofresearch were to be applied to them, could only be called completely off thewall.

In 1887, Charles and Juliette moved to Milford, Pennsylvania. A fewmonths later, with money inherited from Peirce’s mother and aunt—whodied in October 1887 and March 1888, respectively—and a little money thatJuliette had, they bought a property and started to rebuild the house that al-ready stood on it, which they would call “Arisbe” and which would betheir home for the rest of their lives.


The Arisbe Period (1887–1914)

The reasons for the move to Milford are not clear. Brent speculates that itwas to obtain the patronage of the new affluent society that was living inthat area, improving his financial situation by becoming a consultant inpractical scientific matters, chemistry, and an extensive variety of subjects;or to take Juliette to an area that was better for her health; or to convertArisbe into a summer school for teaching logic; or, last, to have more time towrite his philosophical works.19

In 1889, the superintendent of the Coast Survey resigned and was re-placed by a former pupil of Newcomb’s who had spent several years re-searching and teaching in Japan. Although Peirce initially felt optimisticabout this appointment, the new director soon showed himself to be morepreoccupied with the administrative aspects than the practice of science.By the end of the year, Peirce had submitted a large part of the study ongravitation that was pending and which had been the cause of his disputeswith the previous director. Although the report presented by Peirce washarshly criticized by Newcomb, the Coast Survey’s new director sup-ported Pierce before the Congress, assuring it that the report would shortlybe fully completed. However, this did not happen, and Peirce was removedfrom his post in the Coast Survey on December 31, 1891. Peirce had been ex-pecting this to happen for the last six years. However, after thirty yearsworking for the institution, his dismissal was no less painful.

From then on, Peirce worked for himself in Arisbe. Although they nowhad virtually no income, the Peirces continued spending at the same highrate. They continued to keep their apartment in New York, to which theytraveled frequently. The loss of a steady job, together with some bad luck incertain investments (aggravated by the 1893 depression), the chaotic man-agement of the domestic economy, the extravagant lifestyle, and the medi-cal expenses to care for the delicate health of Juliette and, sometimes, ofCharles himself, led to a very difficult financial situation, to the point thatthey sometimes lacked money for food. Peirce had lots of projects for be-coming rich, but they flopped, one after the other. He was also interested inpublishing and disseminating his system of thought and his discoveries inlogic and mathematics, but he found virtually no support. Althoughmoney came to Arisbe, the debts steadily mounted. On occasions, Peircewas sought by the police to pay his debts or answer accusations of theft.

During those years, many of Peirce’s writings were done simply to earnmoney: book reviews for journals and newspapers, translations or philoso-phy articles commissioned by his editors. But they were also years of greatintellectual maturity, in which Peirce was able to give unity to his entire sys-tem of thought. The Nation and a new journal that requested his contribu-tions, The Monist, started to publish his writings regularly. The first issue ofThe Monist, which appeared in 1891, published the first of a series of five ar-ticles in which Peirce would present his cosmological ideas. These articles


did not receive the acceptance that Peirce expected among the scientificcommunity, who interpreted them as further proof of the eccentricities of amind in decline.

Peirce sought support to find a steady job in university circles, but with-out success. In 1893, through an old friend at Harvard, he was invited togive the Lowell Lectures on the “History of Science.” He started to be suedfor unpaid debts, to the point that his brother Jem had to come to his aid tosave his library, which was going to be to seized to pay part of the debts. An-other friend of his, the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, commis-sioned several translations from him, paying a price above that which wasusual. He also worked for George Morrison, a well-known civil engineer,performing mathematical calculations for the construction of a bridge thatwas to cross the Hudson River to join New York and New Jersey. Today, thisbridge is known as the George Washington Bridge.

In 1895, Juliette’s health worsened and they had to move to New YorkCity. There, Peirce tried to start up businesses with well-off friends. Henever lost the hope that one day he would make his fortune with one or an-other of his inventions, which were devised as a result of his practicalknowledge of chemistry and physics. The first of these business ventureswas the development in 1892 of a washing apparatus using electrolysis. Hewas sure that he could manufacture millions of these devices. However, inspite of seeking the support of well-known businessmen, his project nevercame to fruition. Peirce found himself immersed in a world that, in the1880s and 1890s, was full of entrepreneurs who were looking for a way toget rich with brilliant ideas and elegant manners. Peirce referred to them inthe last of the series of articles published in The Monist, “EvolutionaryLove,” in which he opposed greed to the commandment of love (CP 6.292).

Later on, Peirce tried to venture into the construction of acetylene gasgenerators. He involved several acquaintances of his in the project, menwho could provide capital, contacts, or organization skills. The enterprisefinally became a hydroelectric power plant whose location was discoveredby Peirce and which was called the St. Lawrence Power Company. Due tohis financial situation and a certain lack of experience in interacting withthe business world, he was not able to buy shares in the new company andhad to settle for being the company’s consultant chemical engineer. He con-tinued to work intensely on his ideas on acetylene. To earn money and keepout of the clutches of poverty, he worked on the translation of a book andcontinued to write for journals. He even tried to be appointed Paris corre-spondent for the New York Tribune. However, his financial situation did notimprove, and this, together with the idea that he could have been a million-aire if he had only found someone to lend him money to buy shares in thenew company, plunged him into a state of depression that even took him tothe point of contemplating suicide. Indeed, the hydroelectric company


proved to be a fabulous business; not so the acetylene lamp business,which, once again, ended in failure.

In 1897, Juliette’s health improved and they were able to return toArisbe. They rented out some of the rooms in the house and leased some ofthe land for pasturing, which enabled them to earn a little more money. InMarch 1898, William James managed to have Peirce commissioned to give aseries of eight lectures in Cambridge, with the title, “Reasoning and theLogic of Things,” although he was not allowed to give the lectures at Har-vard University.

In May 1898, with war raging between Spain and the United States, heoffered to develop a device for sending and reading coded messages. Thefollowing year, he applied for a job as standards inspector for the weightsand measures office. In spite of his experience and some lobbying by hisbrother in his favor—and a further intervention from Newcomb, who ex-cused himself from writing a letter of recommendation for the job—he wasnot chosen. There were also other attempts by his friends to get him variousjobs, in a library or as editor of the scientific section of an encyclopedia. Theonly job he was accepted for was as an encyclopedia salesman. With thestart of the new century, his hopes in his inventions as a means for gettingout of his financial straits and maintaining himself and his wife graduallywere whittled away. Peirce looked for a way to sell Arisbe so that the couplecould move to New York in search of a good climate for Juliette and a job forhimself but he could find no interested buyers. The group of friends whowere loyal to Peirce—James, Garrison, Langley, the Pinchots (neighbors ofhis in Milford), his brother James, and a few more—got him all the sporadicjobs they could and tried by various means to find him a steady job. How-ever, invariably, Peirce’s personality and the events of his past life proved tobe insurmountable obstacles.

Peirce continued to write and publish in journals such as the AmericanJournal of Psychology, Science, and Popular Science Monthly. In 1901, he pub-lished—thanks to the help of Garrison, editor of The Nation—the study ongreat men, which would be reedited as “The Century’s Great Men of Sci-ence” and published in the Annual Report of the President of the Smithso-nian Institution. That year, he also received an offer from James Baldwin,editor of the Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology, to provide the defini-tions of logic. He would accept the offer although, seeing himself very lim-ited for doing all the work alone, he would request the assistance of aformer pupil, Christine Ladd-Franklin. It was with this commission thatthe exchange of letters took place with James with respect to the origin ofthe term pragmatism, in which the latter would clarify that it was Peirce whoused the term for the first time. This dictionary would also contain termsdefined by Newcomb, some of which would cause angry protests by Peirceto the editor of the dictionary for the lack of scientific rigor with which they


were written. Once again, Peirce preferred scientific truth above other,more practical considerations.

In 1902, Peirce applied for a grant from the Carnegie Institution. ForPeirce, this grant would have meant having enough money to dedicatehimself entirely to writing and publishing his philosophical works. How-ever, previous acquaintances of his, such as Gilman, who was president ofJohns Hopkins University at the time when Peirce was hired and dismissedfrom that university and current president of the Carnegie Institution, andSimon Newcomb, were members of the committee responsible for award-ing the grants. This committee considered that, considering Peirce’s per-sonality and track record, there were not sufficient guarantees that hewould actually finish the work, and therefore it decided to not award himthe grant. The report Peirce submitted to the Carnegie Institution containeda section on the “Economy of Research.” At the beginning of this section, hementioned political economy as an effective example of the logicalmethod.20

Over the last few years, Peirce had given his attention to this subject on atleast a couple of occasions. In the projected book on the history of science,the last lesson was going to discuss the “economy of research.” He con-cluded there that it was not worthwhile in any state of science to take the in-vestigation beyond a certain point of precision (CP 1.122–125): the productof dividing the likely profits by the likely costs would give, any given time,the urgency for preferring one investigation or another. The second occa-sion is in “On the Logic of Drawing History from Ancient Documents,”dated about 1901. On this occasion, he referred to the criteria that should betaken into account when formulating and choosing hypotheses, as the truehypothesis is one among an innumerable multitude of false hypotheses. Healso referred in this text to the natural instinct that guides us toward the truehypothesis and the preference for hypotheses that are simple to human ap-prehension (CP 7.164–255).21

In 1903, William James obtained a further series of lectures for Peirce. Al-though this time Peirce was able to give them at Harvard University, theuniversity’s directors did not offer any remuneration, which James had tofind by other routes. In total, there were seven lectures. Peirce tried to pub-lish them but James persuaded him not to, as they were obscure and unin-telligible. At these lectures, Peirce returned to the subjects that he haddiscussed in a draft of a book in 1892, which he titled The Law of Mind.Among the ideas presented at the lectures is the formulation of the hypo-thetical inference, or abduction, as mediating between perceptions, and theperceptional judgment that enables knowledge by experience. That sameyear, he gave a further series of lectures at the Lowell Institute, which he ti-tled “Some Topics of Logic Bearing on Questions Now Vexed.” At aboutthis time, he started to outline his final description of the classification ofsciences and, in particular, the role played by the normative sciences in the


scientific architectonic. Also at this time, he started to correspond on vari-ous philosophical issues with Victoria Lady Welby, an English aristocratwho had written a book on the theory of meaning. Peirce continued to lookfor ways to make ends meet and explored all possible avenues: he evenconsidered the possibility of being appointed consul in Ceylon, using hisbrother Herbert’s position in the North American foreign service; in 1906,he would try to be appointed secretary of the Smithsonian Institution.

In 1905, he published a further series of articles in The Monist, in which hepresented pragmaticism as a way of setting himself apart from the direc-tion taken by pragmatism, especially through the ideas of William Jamesand Ferdinand Schiller. He only published three of the five articles initiallyplanned. Peirce, who had always been in favor of an ethics of terminology,which led him to use terms with caution to avoid confusion, on this occa-sion decided to put into practice his own ideas and to coin a new term,pragmaticism, in order to avoid confusion with those who had popularizedpragmatism, giving it a meaning that he did not share. His desire to dis-tance himself from the nominalistic and individualistic ideas of James andothers is basically due to the transformation of the entire Peircean architec-tonic, which had been gradually evolving since the turn of the century. Theoriginal conception of a logic of normative and methodological inquiry,which appeared with the formulation of the pragmatic maxim in his writ-ings of 1877–1878, was transformed, in pragmaticism, into a metaphysicalconception justified by a critical commonsensism and a realistic theory of uni-versals. In a text that takes on a high emotive tone, Peirce announces thebirth of pragmaticism, a name, he says, that is ugly enough to be safe fromkidnappers (CP 5.414). From then on, Peirce would have to be called apragmaticist.

In 1906, Garrison left his position as editor of The Nation, and with that,Peirce lost almost his only source of income. His financial situation was soserious that he had to sell part of his library. William James and some neigh-bors, the Pinchots, helped him in his needs. William James created an en-dowment fund in 1907 to help Peirce. Peirce would be very grateful toWilliam James for his support, to the point of taking Santiago as his thirdforename in tribute to James and writing a will in which he indicated that, ifJuliette should die before him, all his belongings would pass to WilliamJames’s eldest son. He never desisted in his attempts to earn money and re-turn the money that had been lent to him.22 In 1909, he was still makingplans to rent out parts of the house or sell pieces of land so that he could payhis debts.

In 1907, Newcomb gave a heated reply to a review by Peirce of the com-plete works of the mathematician George William Hill, to which Peirce re-sponded with unusual force. In 1908, Peirce published in Hibbert’s Journalan article entitled “A Neglected Argument of the Reality of God,” in whichhe explained his idea of musement as that activity that arises naturally and


spontaneously from the formulation of hypotheses. In the final years of hislife, Peirce felt drawn toward an empirical justification of religion, whichhe himself called “theism.” That same year, he started the publication of aseries of articles on card games in The Monist, with the idea of presenting hislogical system to a more popular audience. These would be his last pub-lished writings.

William James died in August 1910, and Lady Welby, in 1912. Peirce nowonly had the company of Juliette, the friendship of the Pinchots and the en-dowment fund created by James, which he left prepared so that it wouldcontinue functioning without him. Ill with cancer and deeply saddened bythese events, Peirce died on April 19, 1914, totally forgotten by the coun-try’s academic circles. Such an end cannot but be dramatic for a man whohad placed his ideal of research in cooperative work within the scientificcommunity. With the help of Josiah Royce—perhaps Peirce’s most faithfuldisciple—Juliette sold Peirce’s manuscripts (which numbered severalthousand) and books to Harvard’s Philosophy Department for a few hun-dred dollars. Juliette continued to live at Arisbe until her death in October1934.

LIMITS AND PARADOXES OF A LIFE DEVOTED TO THESEARCH FOR TRUTH

The interpretation of Peirce’s thought, and its evolution from his firstwritings in 1865 to his death, has given rise to significant discrepanciesamong Peirce scholars. The same can be said about his life. It is true that nei-ther his personality nor the circumstances of his life are easy to consider,but, for the same reason, one must be careful with conclusions that havesometimes been drawn in which Peirce is portrayed as a contradictory per-son in his actions. Taking a more positive reading of Peirce’s life, one shouldperhaps dwell on three points that may be useful for the purposes of thisbook, while also enabling some of these interpretations to be qualified: therelation between scientific interests and vital necessities, the role of the sci-entific community, and the progression from pragmatism to pragmaticism.

Scientific Attitude and Practical Interests

It cannot be said that there is an opposition between science and practicein Peirce’s life. From the time he was young, Peirce asked himself how hecould combine professional work with his scientific interests. While he wasworking at the Coast Survey, he acted as a scientist who incorporates hisphilosophical and logical preoccupations in his work. After he left JohnsHopkins University, he asked himself how he could earn a living with whathe knew best, logic. He was also able to utilize the practical implications ofhis scientific investigations while, at the same time, being able to avoid un-


interesting research activities. If he did not obtain better results, it was be-cause of circumstances unrelated to his scientific work. Peirce cultivated abroad and varied range of sciences: in some of them he was innovative, andin all of them he worked with scientific rigor. He was interested in chemis-try, physics, astronomy, geodesy, metrology, cartography, psychology,philology, history of science, mathematics, logic, metaphysics, semiotics,and also in practical applications in engineering, photometry, economics,and many other sciences.

However, although science and the vital world were complementary,Peirce always gave preference to science. If he had not, he would haveworked in chemistry, which offered better professional openings thanlogic. He spared no expense in his investigations. His interests led him toresearch in very varied subjects, skipping from one to another. Peirce’s sci-entific mentality was not prepared to apply rigid bureaucratic systems tohis scientific interests. His interest was not in writing reports or in conclud-ing inquiries that had lost interest for him, simply to comply with certainadministrative procedures. Although he found pleasure in the universityworld, he thought of the university as a place where everyone—studentsand teachers—went to learn, rather than a place where some taught andothers learned.

On many occasions, Peirce was able to see for himself how practical oc-cupations interfere with scientific life. On such occasions, science canreadily become an instrument at the mercy of other interests. This was notthe attitude taken by Peirce, but he experienced how scientific interestsmay be limited by the occupations of life. Peirce would have liked to devotehimself entirely to his work at Johns Hopkins, but he had to limit it to apart-time occupation because of his work at the Coast Survey. He had tospend time writing reports on investigations that no longer interested himand, when he did not do this, he was dismissed. He had to write book re-views and perform other scientific activities in order to earn a living and,while it cannot be said that they were lacking in the expected scientific qual-ity, they did limit the time he could devote to his writings on logic and theformalization of the architectonic of the sciences.

Finally, although the difficulties he encountered in his life are to be at-tributed to many factors—such as his health and his personality—one can-not help but think that they would have been a lot less if he had applied tohis own life the scientific criteria that he postulated in his work. In the1890s, we see Peirce immersed in the business activity of Wall Street andfailing in one business venture after another. In part, the causes were hislack of familiarity with the business world, but a large part of the blame is toplaced on the precise fact that he was unable to approach these businessventures with a scientific mentality, and he did not analyze them with thecriteria of the economy of research that he himself had developed. Thesame thing can be said of his work at the Coast Survey. No doubt, there


were undercover interests, personal animosities, and other causes out ofPeirce’s control that played a role in his dismissal from the Coast Survey,but the objective facts that Peirce spared no expense in his investiga-tions—which he then left uncompleted to start new ones—and his totallack of concern for the order of his own financial affairs are unquestionable.If he had been more cautious in some of his business undertakings—if hehad been a better administrator of his own finances, or more careful in hiscriticisms and behavior—perhaps his life would have followed anotherpath.

In short, science and practice are complementary. Within thiscomplementariness, Peirce gave priority to science over his practical inter-ests. The relation between science and practice leads us to think, first, thatpractice may sometimes constrain scientific interests—although this neednot prevent one from continuing to maintain a scientific attitude—and, sec-ond, that it may be very advisable to apply scientific criteria to practical de-cisions.

Scientific Community and the Search for Truth

A point that is often made is the contradiction between Peirce’s insis-tence on the value of the scientific community for reaching the truth and theanimosity that most of his country’s scientific community felt for him. Thisfact contrasts with the recognition he gained among the international scien-tific community. What is the reason for this difference? The latter only knewPeirce the researcher, who took part in scientific meetings; the former knewthe fellow faculty member, neighbor, commentator, and book critic. AndPeirce, as I have already pointed out, was not an easy person to get alongwith.

An illustrative point is the different attitudes he had toward Newcomband William James. The reason could be sought in the help he received fromJames, which induced him to be more respectful with the latter, but, fromthe strictly scientific viewpoint, there are also important differences. Peirce,an unwavering champion of scientific fallibilism, was not concerned ifsomeone came to an erroneous result in his scientific investigations be-cause, if his reasoning had been rigorous, he would nonetheless contributein some way to the progress of science; this was the case with James. How-ever, the lack of a true scientific attitude could only lead to the impoverish-ment of science; this was the case with Newcomb.

In the scientific community—which must not be understood solely in aphysical sense of a group of people, but, above all, in a normativesense—there is a place even for those who are wrong. After all, science pro-gresses when it is realized that hypotheses that, at one time, were believedto be true are, in fact, wrong. But those who do not have any place in the sci-entific community are those who subordinate science to other interests, use


it for their own prestige or to win academic posts, restrict science to admin-istrative procedures or make its validity dependent upon short-term re-sults, or adopt dogmatic attitudes, clinging to their own ideas against allthe evidence. If Peirce fell out with those people, he did not fall out with thescientific community. If ideas are what binds the scientific community to-gether, Peirce continued to be a member of that community, even thoughhe was alone and isolated in Arisbe.

It seems as if Peirce made a distinction, when considering science, be-tween people and ideas: in science, ideas must undergo an exhaustive criti-cal analysis, irrespective of the people who formulated them. In hisopinion, science progresses in the discussion of ideas, and that is whatunites the scientific community, rather than good relations between scien-tists. Peirce did not seem to realize that whereas the first part of the state-ment is true, the second part is not: science is made by people, and,therefore, they must be taken into account. Although, in laboratory experi-ments, we separate out those variables that we do not want to investigate,in daily life it is not possible to proceed in the same manner, and even less soif these variables are the individuals performing the actions (even thoughthe activity in question is scientific research, whose nature is different frompractical activity). It is not possible to work with ideas in the belief that thepeople who thought these ideas are variables that can be isolated. This is amistake that Peirce made, and its consequences were very tangible.

In the last chapter of the biography Charles S. Peirce: A Life (1993), J. Brenttried to make a conceptual interpretation of Peirce’s life by applying thePeircean theory of categories. He wrote that Peirce could be viewed as adandy, that is, as someone who is as he is, without worrying about anythingelse; someone who, up to a point, is irresponsible, indifferent to the conse-quences, impulsive, original. Just as the dandy encounters resistance in theoutside world, so Peirce encountered the resistance of the society of histime, with respect to some of his ideas but, above all, with respect to his be-havior. It was in the experience of this resistance that Peirce had to face con-tinual failures. Pierce was aware—he talked about it—that in ordinary lifethere are certain social customs, a morality that one must live by and thatcannot be changed overnight. He must have been aware, therefore, that hisactions would be censured by that society, and yet it not only seemed thathe did not care, he did not even seem to reckon the practical consequencesthat they could have for him.

Peirce believed in a science conducted by a community of investigatorswho, through the use of a suitable method, can, in the long term, come in-creasingly closer to truth. However, he did not see the danger of isolatingscientific activity from people’s social and moral life until the closing yearsof his life, when he stated that logic, which marks the normative characterof scientific activity, is governed by the principles of ethics and esthetics(the names Peirce gave to the sciences that inquired about the normative


character of human action and the definition of the ultimate good, respec-tively). It could be said that in the closing years of his life, Peirce realizedthat his dandyism—first category—clashed with the society aroundhim—second category—because he was unable to follow a conduct thatcould mediate between himself and his environment—third category—aconduct that would make him act, not only as a scientist but, above all, as amoral being. Peirce “the pragmaticist” finally understood what Peirce “thepragmatist” had been unable to understand: that the scientific method isnot sufficient. After many years, he understood the individual as a moralagent who must be guided in action both by his or her own personal devel-opment and by the enrichment of the community of investigators.23

Pragmatism and Pragmaticism

The meetings of the Cambridge Metaphysical Club between 1871 and1872 were an ambivalent period in Peirce’s thought, during which the ideasof a critical realism that had guided his first steps in philosophy (due to theinfluence, particularly, of Kant and Duns Scotus and, to a lesser extent, ofHegel, Royce, and Schelling) coexisted with an empirical-nominalistic tra-dition espoused by some of the men who took part in these meetings, suchas Chauncey Wright, who defended positivistic positions and was an ad-mirer of Darwin’s doctrines, and Nicholas St. John Green, the spokesmanfor Alexander Bain’s psychology. However, as Karl Otto Apel pointedout,24 although the influence of these nominalistic tendencies would bemore visible in William James—who was also a member of the Metaphysi-cal Club—Peirce’s encounter with these ideas would only serve to reaffirmhis own way of thinking, as would become apparent after the publicationby William James in 1898 of his book Pragmatism, which would bring sud-den fame for Peirce, but at the same time the need to clarify his own ideas.

Peirce wished to free philosophy from tautological metaphysical propo-sitions that were bereft of meaning and bring it as close as possible to themethods of the natural sciences (CP 5.423, 5.6). His interest in finding amaxim that would provide clearness of apprehension (CP 5.2) led him toformulate the pragmatic maxim in the following terms: if one can define ac-curately all the conceivable experimental phenomena that the affirmationor denial of a concept could imply, one will have therein a complete defini-tion of the concept (CP 5.412).

Peirce makes clear that pragmatism does not seek to be a Weltanschauung(a vision of the world), but rather a method of reflection whose sole pur-pose is to give clarity to ideas (CP 5.13, n. 1). Pragmatism, understood as theconception of a normative and methodological logic of scientific inquiry, ismuch more concrete and limited than the interpretation developed byJames and Schiller (CP 8.258). These authors did, in fact, view it as a Weltan-schauung, and this was the characterization of pragmatism that was popu-


larized. Even so, his was an ambitious project. Peirce declared his interestin making a philosophy like that of Aristotle, a philosophy so comprehen-sive that, for a long time to come, it would continue to be present in all thefields of knowledge (CP 1.1). This also explains his increased interest in thefinal part of his life in completing an architectonic of sciences that wouldclearly show the relation between the different sciences and the need to un-derstand logic within the context of the other sciences. The lectures he gavein Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1898, together with the material preparedfor the Carnegie Institution, are his most resolute attempt to compile a sum-mary of his ideas.

The critics of pragmatism usually say that this current of thought is a glo-rification of action, an American idealization of business life and the largemultinational corporations, an exaltation of the supremacy of results.However, a careful study of the ideas that gave rise to pragmatism by nomeans leads to this conclusion, at least as far as Peirce is concerned.25 Al-though action has an important place in Peircean thought, it has an inter-mediary character. In order to able to give a meaning to concepts, one mustbe able to apply them to existence, as there is an order of clearness that is notattained until one has determined the practical consequences of stating acertain truth about an object. Therefore, it is through action that the con-cept’s meaning can be properly defined: through the modification of exis-tence that is produced as a result of performing a specific action. However,this does not mean considering action as the ultimate end. Even thoughPeircean thought may use the practical results to judge human actions,such actions are not its sole preoccupation.26 Peirce argues that, in pragma-tism, the summum bonum does not consist of action but rather is a processby which the individual, through action, acquires tendencies and habits,that is, progressively develops him- or herself.

By placing action in its appropriate place in the body of Peirce’s thought,it follows as a corollary that, on the one hand, Peirce is contrary to placingthought at the service of any interest, whether monetary or otherwise.27 Onthe other hand, it is not correct either to associate pragmatism with the ide-alization of the large industrial corporations,28 which have nothing more incommon with pragmatism than the fact that both phenomena originated inAmerica.

NOTES

1. M.H. Fisch, “Introductory Note,” in T.A. Sebeok, The Play of Musement(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1981), 17.

2. M.H. Fisch, “Peirce’s Arisbe: The Greek Influence in His Later Philoso-phy,” in M.H. Fisch, Peirce, Semeiotic and Pragmatism, ed. K.L. Kettner and C.J.W.Kloesel (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 227.

3. The most extensive biography published to date is that of J. Brent, Charles S.Peirce: A Life (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), although it has not


been received favorably by all Peircean scholars. The Introductions to the volumesof the Writings of Charles S. Peirce: A Chronological Edition, ed. M.H. Fisch et al., 6vols. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982–2000), also provide an excel-lent point of reference. These are the two main sources used in this chapter.

4. J. Nubiola, “C.S. Peirce: Pragmatismo y logicismo,” Philosophica 17 (1994):215–216.

5. In the 1860s, Peirce’s friendship with Chauncey Wright and Frank Abbotled him to consider Descartes as the thinker who had led modern philosophyalong the path to skepticism. See J.P. Murphy, Pragmatism: From Peirce to Davidson(Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1990), 8.

6. M.H. Fisch, “Peirce’s Progress from Nominalism towards Realism,” inFisch, Peirce, Semeiotic and Pragmatism, 184–187.

7. For bibliographical references regarding Peirce’s stay in Spain, see the fol-lowing articles by J. Nubiola, “Peirce en España y España en Peirce,” Signa 1(1992): 225–231, and “Peirce y España: Hacia una mejor comprensión,” in Semióticay Modernidad. Investigaciones semióticas V, ed. J.M. Paz Gago (La Corunna, Spain:Publications Service, University of La Corunna, 1994), 183–191. In a letter writtento his mother on November 16, 1870, he tells her that during his travels he hasheard eighteen different languages, seventeen of which (including Basque) werebeing spoken in their regions of origin.

8. M.H. Fisch, “Was There a Metaphysical Club in Cambridge?” in Studies inthe Philosophy of Charles Sanders Peirce, ed. E.C. Moore and R.S. Robin, Second Se-ries (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1964), 3–32; and H.H. Fisch,“Was There a Metaphysical Club in Cambridge?—A Postscript,” Transactions ofthe Charles S. Peirce Society 17 (1981): 128–130.

9. For a study of Peirce’s references to economics, see the introduction to vol-ume 3 of The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce, ed. C. Eisele, 4 vols.(The Hague: Mouton, 1976), and the article by M.H. Fisch, “The Decisive Year andIts Early Consequences,” in W 2:xxxv–xxxvi.

10. The letter was published by C. Eisele, “The Charles S. Peirce–Simon New-comb Correspondence,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 101(1957): 409–433. This reference to Cournot has led to Peirce being considered oneof the forerunners of Mathematical Economics. See W.J. Baumol and S.M. Gold-field, Precursors in Mathematical Economics: An Anthology (London: London Schoolof Economics, 1968), quoted in C. Eisele, Studies in the Scientific and MathematicalPhilosophy of Charles S. Peirce, ed. R.M. Martin (The Hague: Mouton, 1979), 253.

11. The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce, v. 3:xxviii–xxxiv.12. The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce, v. 3:xxiii–xxvii.13. Historical Perspectives on Peirce’s Logic of Science, ed. C. Eisele, v. 2 (The

Hague: Mouton, 1985), 2:597.14. For a study of those years, see M.H. Fisch, “Peirce at the Johns Hopkins

University,” in Fisch, Peirce, Semeiotic and Pragmatism, 35–78. Peirce’s studentsduring those years included John Dewey, Joseph Jastrow, Christine Ladd Frank-lin, and Thorstein Veblen. The professors with whom Peirce worked at JohnsHopkins included James Joseph Sylvester, Simon Newcomb and Charles D. Mor-ris.

15. Brent, Charles S. Peirce: A Life, 150–151.


16. P.P. Wiener, “Peirce’s Evolutionary Interpretations of the History of Sci-ence,” in Studies in the Philosophy of Charles Sanders Peirce, ed. P.P. Wiener and F.H.Young (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952), 143–152. See also Fisch,“Peirce at the Johns Hopkins University,” 35–78.

17. C.J.W. Kloesel, “Charles Peirce and Honoré de Clairefont,” Versus:Quaderni de studi semiotici 1988:15–16.

18. K.L. Ketner, “The Early History of Computer Design,” Princeton UniversityLibrary Chronicle 45 (1984): 187–224. Fisch also refers to this event: “At a time in1970 when IBM’s great ‘Computer Perspective’ exhibit was in preparation, Pres-ton Tuttle was examining the Allan Marquand papers at Princeton University. Hecame upon a letter from Peirce dated ‘1886 Dec. 30’ containing the first known de-sign for an electric switching circuit machine for performing logical and mathe-matical operations. The letter became a feature of the exhibit and was published inthe book that grew out of it.” See Fisch, “The Range of Peirce’s Relevance,” 425.

19. Brent, Charles S. Peirce: A Life, 185–187. See also E.T. Oakes, “Discoveringthe American Aristotle,” in First Things 38 (December 1993): 26.

20. Eisele, Studies in the Scientific and Mathematical Philosophy of Charles S. Peirce,251.

21. Eisele, Studies in the Scientific and Mathematical Philosophy of Charles S. Peirce,254.

22. Kloesel, “Charles Peirce and Honoré de Clairefont,” 14. See also Brent,Charles S. Peirce: A Life, 313.

23. Brent, Charles S. Peirce: A Life, 340–341. See also J.W. Dauben, “Searching forthe Glassy Essence: Recent Studies on Charles Sanders Peirce,” Isis 86 (1995): 297n. 14.

24. K.O. Apel, Charles S. Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism (Amherst:University of Massachusetts Press, 1981), 15.

25. H.S. Thayer, Pragmatism: The Classic Writings (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1987),25.

26. H.S. Thayer, Meaning and Action (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1984), 6.27. Thayer, Pragmatism: The Classic Writings, 25.28. Thayer, Pragmatism: The Classic Writings, 12.


CHAPTER 2

The Triadic Conception ofHuman Action

Any exploration of Charles S. Peirce’s thought brings one into contact witha triadic scheme of thought that permeates all levels and all the subjectsstudied. From time to time, Peirce refers to this insistence of his in conceiv-ing all aspects of reality from a triadic viewpoint and points out that it is notdue to any cabalistic reasons but rather to his intent to go beyond thedualistic conceptions of modernity (CP 1.355). This is one of the keys to in-terpreting Peircean thought. For Peirce, modernity is characterized bydyadic schemes of thought, which account for reality by means of thecontraposition of ideas, starting with the Cartesian opposition between rescogitans and res extensa. However, for Peirce, these dualistic interpretationsare insufficient to fully account for reality and, therefore, it is necessary togo beyond them by means of a triadic scheme of categories.1 In this chapter,we will first study the three categories proposed by Peirce, followed by apresentation of a definition of human action based on the three categories.

THE THREE ELEMENTS COMPRISING REALITY

The study of the three categories forms part of the science of phenomen-ology or phaneroscopy, which is the science that investigates and describesthe phaneron. The term phaneron is understood by Peirce as being that whichis manifest, that which appears. Refuting the Kantian distinction betweenphenomenon and noumenon, Peirce argues that there is nothing that isincognizable, that everything is cognizable because everything is repre-sentable (MS 908, 5).

External reality is not a phaneron because it is not totally open to obser-vation; in any observation, there are always aspects of reality that are notknown at the time of observing. Neither is the phaneron restricted to whatappears to our senses. All that is required from the phaneron is that it“seem,” not that it appear (CP 2.197). Peirce distinguishes between appear-ing and seeming because the former has a narrower extension the latter. Wemay doubt that something appears, but we cannot doubt that it seems toappear. Seeming is sufficient for Peirce: “what it seems to me to be” is suffi-cient as a starting point for scientific inquiry, although it is never sufficientas an ending point. Thus, Peirce overcomes Cartesian doubt, because I can-not doubt what seems to me to be. However, whereas for Descartes theproblem was how to overcome doubt, for Peirce the key point was how tofound truth based on what only seems to be.

The phaneron is not something that reveals itself in a process that takesplace independently of the mind, because the light by which it is made toappear does not come from outside but rather from the very subject con-templating it. However, at the same time, as there is no distance betweenthe phaneron and the mind that knows it, the phaneron is not an object thatthe mind can manipulate as it wishes, because there is no distance thatwould make such manipulation possible. Thus, the phaneron is open tomental observation, the most important feature of which is immediacy:nothing mediates between the phaneron and the mind.

The basic elements comprising the phenomenon can be attained bymeans of a subtle analysis, which can be likened to chemical analysis, withwhich Peirce was well acquainted through his university studies. Throughthis analysis, we reach the conclusion that that all phanerons contain threecategories of simple, undecomposable elements (CP 1.299) that are univer-sally present, although one or other may predominate in any given situa-tion. The three universal categories that emerge from phenomenologicalinquiry and which he finds no reason to doubt (MS 1228, 26) are the ideas offirstness, secondness, and thirdness. If he gives them this name, it is toavoid—in accordance with the “ethics of terminology”—any term thatmay have been used previously and may cause confusion with respect tothe nature of these ideas. These three categories are to be found in any as-pect of reality that one cares to analyze. However, at the same time, they arenot separate in experience (CP 1.249), nor is it possible to find in experiencea fourth category that is different from these three (CP 1.292). All reality iscomposed of these three categories of elements—always, and only, thesethree.

Such is the importance of categories for understanding Peirce’s thoughtthat in a letter he wrote to William James in late 1902, he points out that “thetrue nature of pragmatism cannot be understood without them” (CP 8.256),and, three years later, in a letter addressed to Calderoni, he says that theconcept has been his one contribution to philosophy (CP 8.213). The catego-


ries appear time and time again in all of Peirce’s writings, which may be adrawback when trying to give a succinct description of them. A particu-larly useful reference is the text of the Lectures on Pragmatism which he gavein Harvard in 1903. The third lecture is devoted especially to the catego-ries.2

The category of firstness is the idea of the phenomenon that appears as itis, independently of any other thing. The difficulty in understanding thisfirst category is obvious, as it contains within it the paradox that as soon assomeone attempts to describe it, it ceases to be firstness—it ceases to be in-dependent—and becomes related with the subject describing it. To try toget a rough idea of what Peirce understands by firstness, we can think oflooking at something as a whole, completely ignoring the parts of which itis composed. Firstness has a sense of quality, but understood not so much asa quality in itself but as a condition of quality that is indeterminate, await-ing determination. It is pure possibility, independent of time and any rela-tion (CP 1.25, 1.420–422, 8.267). It cannot be understood as an abstraction,because that implies a relation with something, nor can it be understood assomething individual because individuality implies a contrast. It is morelike a certain vagueness, something that is not yet in a condition to be ana-lyzed and is awaiting future determinations. Firstness can also be under-stood from its presentness (CP 5.44). Viewed from the category of firstness,the phaneron is that which becomes present and immediate to the mind.3 Infirstness, the ideas of life, freedom, and freshness are predominant (CP1.302).

The category of secondness is the idea of the phenomenon insofar as it hasa relation of dependence with another, to which it is connected without themediation of a third (CP 5.66). The category of secondness reveals the de-pendence of all things on each other. The “cause-and-effect” relationshipmay be the most illustrative example of this category (CP 1.322–325). An-other aspect of the universe in which secondness becomes apparent is in thesubject’s relationship with the outside world. When one expects somethingto happen and something else happens instead, such a situation is experi-enced as a double awareness, that of the expected idea and that of the unex-pected event. This duality is characteristic of secondness (CP 5.53).Therefore, the idea of secondness is expressed in the ideas of resistance andstruggle, of effort and reaction. Its essence is the experience’s hereness andnowness (CP 8.266). Secondness may be viewed as the category of actuality.Its mode of being is the actual fact (CP 1.23–24). It is the mode by whichfirstness finds its fit with the world, enabling it to be related with somethingmore than itself.

Finally, the category of thirdness refers to the phenomenon insofar as itimplies a mediation between a second and a first (CP 8.268, 5.104, 1.530).Thirdness is the phenomenon’s intelligible aspect. As such, it is character-ized by thought and law. Things are not significant or intelligible simply be-

The Triadic Conception of Human Action 43

cause they are associated with each other; they must form part of a system.The interdependence that is established within the system requires some-thing more than the interrelated elements. For actions to be meaningful,certain relationships are implied that go beyond the mere dyadic relation-ship between the elements involved. Following the example given byPeirce, if A gives B to C, there is a relationship that goes beyond the meredyadic relationship between A, B and C: the action of “giving” does notmean that A lays down B and C picks B up, as if they were two isolated, un-related actions. By stating that thirdness implies a relationship that goes be-yond the component elements, one is saying that thirdness has a generality,that is, that it is possible to find general rules (CP 1.353).4 Thus, the categoryof thirdness, through the general rules that exist in reality, enables predic-tions to be made about future events. If firstness finds in secondness themeans to become present in the world of facts, secondness finds inthirdness the means to endure in time and give continuity to events that fol-low each other historically (CP 1.26). Thirdness is, therefore, the categorythat not only accounts for the mediation and intelligibility of things, but isalso that which manifests continuity and future (CP 1.343).

The three categories are, in themselves, simple: firstness denotes possi-bility; secondness denotes existence; and thirdness denotes rationality. Intheir simplicity, the categories of secondness and thirdness contain a cer-tain degree of complexity. They are categories of complexity even thoughthey are not complex categories. Secondness expresses the complexity oftwo objects’ action and reaction; thirdness, for its part, expresses the com-plexity of the mediation of a third subject with respect to two others. How-ever, the fact that they are categories entailing a certain degree ofcomplexity does not mean that they are complex, that is, that secondnesscan be divided into two firstnesses or that thirdness is the sum of twosecondnesses (CP 1.526, 5.83, 5.89, 1.343–345). From the temporal view-point, firstness is present; secondness is past; and thirdness is future.Firstness is originality; secondness is experience, or brute force; thirdness ismediation, or meaning. Firstness refers to what is possible; secondness re-fers to what is fact; thirdness refers to the general rules governing futureevents.

According to Potter, thirdness has three features.5 First, it is mediation: itis a medium between firstness and secondness; that is, it mediates betweenpure possibility and actual fact. However, in order to be able to act as a me-dium, it must be general, that is, it cannot be either of the two extremes but,at the same time, it must have features of both. Finally, due to its generalcharacter, it must refer to the future.

To analyze these three features, Potter mentions an example given byPeirce—the case of the cook who wants to make an apple pie for her master(CP 1.341–342). The apple pie she wants to make is not any particular applepie but simply one that matches a general description: it is neither raw nor


burned; it is neither too sweet nor too sour. The cook has an idea of the kindof pie she wants to make, which in itself is a pure possibility. For this idea tobecome a reality, she must follow a series of steps, such as selecting certainapples or preparing the pastry. Between the idea she has and the baked pieis “the desire to bake a pie for her master,” which will act as a mediation.The same thing happens when she selects the apples to make the pie. Thecook does not want any particular apples but rather apples that are goodfor making pie. However, in fact, she does select particular apples. Betweenthe apples she wants and the apples she selects is, again, “the desire to takegood apples so that the pie will be tasty.” This is the way in which thirdnessmediates between firstness and secondness; the law mediates betweenpure possibility and actual fact.

Thirdness also implies a generalization. The cook wants to make a pieand, in all her actions, she follows certain general rules of conduct, whichdo not determine which specific apples she must choose nor how manyminutes the pie should be in the oven, except in general terms. Thirdness, inits character of mediation, is essentially indeterminate. Peirce describestwo classes of indetermination: vagueness and generality (CP 5.447–449,5.505–506).6 A concept is general if the subject is given the capability ofcompleting its definition; it is vague if its determination is completed by an-other concept. In the statement, “Humanity is mortal,” the term “human-ity” is general because the subject can replace it with any specific individualand the sentence will continue to be correct. However, in the sentence “Thismonth, a great event will take place,” the “event” that will take place doesnot depend on the subject. When a concept is predicated of a particular sub-ject, even if the relation between that subject and that concept is determi-nate, two modes of indetermination are maintained as possible, namely, anindetermination due to the subject’s vagueness; and an indeterminationcaused by the concept’s general character with respect to being predicatedof other subjects. In the example of the apple pie, the indetermination isgiven by the general character of the rules followed by the cook with re-spect to the pie she wants to make and the specific actions she must performto make it.

Generality is an indispensable element of reality because mere individ-ual existence—the individual actually existing, without any regularity initself—is a pure nullity (CP 5.431, 8.331). The third category makes the phe-nomenon intelligible, that is, subject to a law, capable of being representedby a general sign. However, the idea of representation implies the idea ofinfinity, because a representation, by its very nature, can always be inter-preted by another representation, so that a process is begun that can go oninfinitely. From the ontological viewpoint, this process ad infinitum pointsto a certain continuity between all things (CP 8.268). Now, given that theconcept of continuity implies an absence of discretionality—such as thepoints forming a line—one could be led to think that there is only one


phaneron.7 This statement is not so wild if one considers that Peirce himselfreferred to the phaneron as the sum total of appearances, the collection ofall the things that appear together before our consciousness, or the totalityof what the subject has in mind (MS 908, 4). For the purposes of intelligibil-ity, the phaneron is one (MS 338, 2; CP 8.301). It is a means for arriving at acertain harmony of the universe, a cosmic order through which the uni-verse takes on meaning. Viewed from this light, the phenomenon appearsas something open and nondefinable, which never quite takes on its fullform.

Finally, thirdness refers to the future. Indeed, Peirce defines thirdness as“the mode of being which consists in the fact that future facts of secondnesswill take on a determinate general character” (CP 1.26). Thirdness presentsthe phaneron with respect to what it is with regard to future reactions. Peo-ple have an ability to predict what will happen. People are open to the fu-ture but the future is not encompassable by people, it always remains out oftheir reach. Peirce formulates this ontological consideration ingnoseological terms: the meaning of things—which includes in a generalformulation what these things may be in the future—is inexhaustible.

The categories are never experienced in their pure state. All three are al-ways present in the experience. If we distinguish them, it is only by a pro-cess of abstraction, which Peirce calls prescission (CP 1.353). They areirreducible elements, from which it is possible to analyze experience, butthey are inseparable. Thus, no term that describes our experience can cap-ture only one of the categories, as our experience always carries with it thepresence of all three. This will at least be true of any experience that we ex-amine consciously. When we examine it, we know it; and when we know it,we judge it and interpret it. Thus, we only experience qualities—firstness—as they exist in an object—secondness—and we can determinequalities that are common to certain objects because we experience them asinseparably bound to such qualities thanks to the generalizing capability ofthirdness. Everything that we know, insofar as we know it, has an elementof thirdness, even though thirdness is logically dependent on firstness andsecondness.

Peirce ascribes the generality of thirdness to its connection with the po-tential world. Things have, in reality, paths of conduct, that is, real potenti-alities, real capabilities, that are not real only when they are actualized.Peirce criticizes those who say that a red object does not have the quality ofred in the dark or that a piece of iron is not hard unless it withstands an ex-ternal force. These qualities are actualized when there is an interac-tion—secondness—but before that interaction, the thing has that quality asa real power. One must not make the mistake of confusing what is real withwhat is existing or actual: all that is actual is real, but what is real is not lim-ited to what is actual. Peirce insists that whereas the past is the sum of real-ized—fully particularized—events, the future can only be conceived in


more or less general terms (CP 2.86, 5.458–461). The past is what happened;the future is what may happen within certain limits of probability. There-fore, there is a third relation between events, in addition to simple inde-pendence and simple dependence, and this third relation is the realpossibility, probability, or law.

Thirdness is the category of law, which makes us capable of predictingthings and events from the trends observed in phenomena. Future events,in their full particularity, are truly unpredictable and subject to chance, butthe approximate types or classes of such events are predictable and deter-minate.8 The repeatable aspects are those that make it possible to character-ize things.9 The future is indeterminate, whereas the past is irrevocable.Although the past is determinate and it is the origin of experiences andstimuli, the future is not determined by the past, as future events are alwaysopen to the novelty of presentness, the indetermination of the real potentiali-ties or capabilities assumed by firstness—prescinded from secondness—and favored by the capability for generalization of thirdness. In order to un-derstand things, one must grasp the possibilities that these things containwithin them. The thirdness of phenomena invites prediction, even thoughthe prediction may not be attained completely in the present situation.Thirdness is the phenomenon’s hypothetical—albeit repeatable—aspect.Because it is hypothetical, it is open to determinations other than those thathave happened in the past; because it is repeatable, in its generality, itmakes the world intelligible.10

To summarize, we have tried to explain the main characteristics of thethree categories comprising reality. Firstness is the category of monadic re-lations. It is the category of qualitative, independent presence—of possibil-ity. Because it is a condition of what may be, it is the category of freedomand spontaneity. Secondness is the category of dyadic, dynamic rela-tions—of causal connections between two terms—whether these be twoobjects in the outside world or an object versus the individual. It is the cate-gory of otherness, of struggle. It is present where there is factuality and ex-istence—where there is pure action—whether this be in the world or in theconsciousness. It is the category of actuality. Finally, thirdness is the cate-gory of intelligible meaning. It is present in all phenomena insofar as allphenomena, being intelligible, imply mediation. Thirdness is the manifes-tation of continuity, of anticipation of future consequences and, therefore,of our sense of prediction. It is the category of law; it does not refer to a finitecollection of events but rather to the rule that allows the possibility of futureevents having a particular character.

SECONDNESS AND THIRDNESS IN HUMAN ACTION

Our intent is now to try to define human action using the three catego-ries. Whenever Peirce refers to action, he presents it as an element ofsecondness (CP 1.337). However, we would be misunderstanding Peircean


thought if we were to think that human action is second. All three catego-ries are present in each aspect of reality. It cannot be truthfully said thatthere are secondnesses or thirdnesses in a pure state in reality. What can besaid is that there are aspects of reality that carry out the function ofsecondness or thirdness in relation to a broader reality. Therefore, ratherthan treat action as a secondness, we should ask how the three categoriesmanifest themselves in human action. The categories of secondness andthirdness deserve particular attention because the distinction betweenthese two categories is an important aspect for understanding human ac-tion from a Peircean viewpoint.

Because of the circumstances of life—in which we are continually strug-gling and striving to do things, achieve goals, perform projects—the cate-gory of secondness is the most familiar of the three to us (CP 1.325, 8.266).We struggle continually; we expect one thing and something else happens.Our effort is opposed by a resistance from outside, as when we try to open adoor by pushing on it with our shoulder. We are aware of these two reali-ties: the action produced by our effort and the perception of the other’s resis-tance. By our own action, we are aware of the changes we bring about onother things; by perception, on the other hand, we are aware of the effectthat things outside us have on us. In action, we perform the role of agents; inperception, on the other hand, we act as patients (CP 1.321–325).

When viewed from secondness, human action can be defined as a pro-cess of interaction between the individual and the environment. The indi-vidual performs an action on the environment, which reacts with anotheraction on the individual. This environment may be a physical or materialenvironment, or it may be another person. In this case, the two subjects tak-ing part in the action will be called—to use a particular nomenclature—theactive agent and reactive agent.11 From the point of view of the active agent,the interaction consists of the action on the reactive agent, on the one hand,and the perception of the reactive agent’s action as a reaction to one’s ownaction, on the other hand.

Peirce distinguishes between an external world of fact and an internalworld of “fancy,” of which the individual believes he or she is the absolutemaster, when in fact this is not so, since the external world can influence theinternal world, the world of personal ideas and rules of action. Life is a con-tinual succession of experiences, of actions and reactions, of efforts andresistances, of action plans executed and of changes made to the rules of ac-tion because things usually do not turn out as expected. Experience has animpact on the subject, even though he or she has ways of protecting him- orherself from the influence of the external world; if the individual could notcontrol this influence by developing certain reaction habits, his or her inter-nal world would be continually disturbed by the impact of ideas from with-out (CP 1.321). To talk of experience is precisely to be aware of the changes toone’s way of thinking brought about by influences from the external world.


However, although secondness may be predominant in action, it is notsufficient to account for action in terms of secondness, because then actionwould appear as the experience of an effort, but without the category ofthirdness, which gives action its meaningful and rational character. In 1908,Peirce started to publish in The Monist a series of articles whose generic titlecan be taken from that of the first article, “Some Amazing Mazes.” Themanuscript of the last article in the series refers to the distinction betweendyadic action and triadic action, stating that the nineteenth century haddiscredited any type of action that is not caused by mechanical force, that is,pure force without any element of rationality. In his opinion, a logical anal-ysis of action leads to the affirmation that such a stance is a superficial viewof action, a materialistic view that is not tenable because action is alwaysgoverned by law. The dyadic character of action is the instantaneous im-pulse that occurs, but this dyadic view is not sufficient to fully account foraction because it is triadic (CP 6.329–332).

Peirce gives the following example. A man throws a stone into the air,and when it falls back to the ground, it strikes a child and kills her. It cannotbe said that there is thirdness in this action because there is no relation be-tween the person throwing the stone, the stone thrown, and the child hit bythe stone. They are two secondnesses, that is, two isolated events (CP1.366). The example shows that it cannot be said that the man throwing thestone sought with his action to kill the child. Consequently, the event thathas happened, even though it can be said from a factual viewpoint—that is,from the viewpoint of secondness—that it is “the death of a child,” it cannotbe meant as a “murder” but rather is an “accident.” Basically, what is beingtalked about here is the distinction between physical events and their moralqualification. The definition of the moral object includes physical eventsbut is not limited to them alone. When viewed from the Peircean categories,the ethical systems that seek to reduce the moral object to physical facts andthen establish a moral analysis based solely on the action’s consequencesare meaningless. This would mean remaining on the plane of secondnessand, on this plane, it is not possible to give any moral judgment.

Let us consider another event that may help us understand the meaningof thirdness when it refers to human action. Take the case of two peopletraveling on a bus.12 Each one is traveling for a specific reason but, as a re-sult of a series of circumstances, it turns out that they are traveling together.The action can be analyzed from two distinct viewpoints: one, from the in-teraction generated by the fact that both people are traveling on the sameroute; and two, focusing on each individual’s action, in the context of his orher personal history. In the first case, we would be viewing action from or-ganization theory. It cannot be said that the relationship between these twopeople is equivalent to an organization. However, one could start talkingabout organizations if both people had left the bus and decided to share ataxi to make the trip. They would have to “organize” the trip: agree on a


minimum number of necessary aspects and perform a series of actionsaimed at achieving their goal. Even in the case of such an ephemeral organi-zation as the one we have just described, the essential components requiredof an organization are already present: a group of people, certain actionsthat these people perform, a way of coordinating them, a common purpose,and certain motives—which may be very different for each partici-pant—that lead them to cooperate in achieving this purpose. From the or-ganizational viewpoint, thirdness, that which gives meaning to the body ofactions performed, is the common purpose sought. In the example given, itis to reach the destination. From the viewpoint of the individuals formingpart of the organization, thirdness is apparent in the reason that has givenrise to the necessity to make the trip.

However, it must not be forgotten that thirdness is characterized by con-tinuity and, in the case of human action, by continuity in actions. Althoughthis is clear when viewed from an organizational viewpoint (as there is noorganization if there is not a means of coordinating a series of actions to-ward a purpose), this could be forgotten when viewed from an individualviewpoint. To insist on continuity as a characteristic of thirdness impliesthat human actions have no meaning when examined in isolation fromeach other. To become meaningful, they must be taken in the context of apersonal history of the individual performing them. That is why Peirce dis-tinguished between action and conduct. Conduct is a succession of actions.Action is performed for motives; conduct is performed for ideals (CP1.574). Action is secondness; conduct is thirdness (CP 1.337). To say that ac-tions are secondnesses with respect to a conduct, which is thirdness, is away of saying that in the individual’s different actions there is an elementthat may be generalized, which is the ideal of conduct, and which enablesus to foresee—because of thirdness’s condition of futurity—what that per-son’s future actions may be.

The description of human action given so far highlights a series of con-cepts that share a certain degree of similarity: the intent in action, the idealin conduct, and the purpose in organization all refer to a teleological charac-ter of human action. Thus, the reference to categories leads, with respect tohuman action, to a discussion on the relationship between efficiency and fi-nality.

EFFICIENCY AND FINALITY IN HUMAN ACTION

Peirce takes from Aristotle the distinction between final cause and effi-cient cause (CP 1.211, 6.66). By final cause, he means a general descriptionof events that does not specify the exact way in which they take place. Finalcause does not determine specifically how an event happens, but only thatit will correspond to a certain general character. Efficient cause, on the otherhand, is a certain compulsion determined by a particular condition of


things (CP 1.211–212). Finality possesses the typical characteristics ofthirdness, whereas efficiency is within the order of secondness. The formercorresponds to the concept of law; the latter, to that of force. The former issubject to a generalizing process that is independent from the here andnow; the latter corresponds to the hereness and nowness of events.

According to the processes of “prescission,” which establish the rela-tionships between categories, the thirdness of action cannot be prescindedfrom secondness because the purpose can only be achieved by means of aneffort, and the reference to an intentional action always implies an idea ofsecondness that is manifested in the effort-resistance relationship.Secondness can be prescinded from thirdness but, in so doing, it loses therational, meaningful character of reality. It can therefore be said that dyadicaction does not account for the totality of human action because human ac-tion is not exhausted in the interaction, in the same way that efficiency doesnot account for the totality of causality. The efficient cause separated fromthe final cause has no efficiency. It can explain the post hoc, but it cannot ac-count for the propter hoc because that implies a potential regularity andthere is no regularity without law nor potentiality without ideas (CP 1.213).A broad, comprehensive study of nature requires consideration of the finalcause, but that cannot be treated as a force in a material sense. When Peircesays that thirdness cannot be prescinded from secondness, he is say-ing—with respect to human action—that finality cannot be achieved with-out efficiency; in other words, the purpose or goal pursued is achieved bymeans of the operation of efficiency. The essence of rationality lies in thefact that the rational being acts in order to attain certain ends. He or she canattain them in different ways—given the general character ofthirdness—but his or her action is always directed toward the ends. Ratio-nality is governed by the final cause (CP 2.66, 7.366).

Peirce refers to efficiency and finality in terms of physical causes andpsychical causes. All events have a physical—efficient—aspect and a psy-chic—teleological—aspect. Its physical aspect, as a mere motion, is duesolely to physical causes (CP 1.265). Although physical causes—physicalmotions—can be detected by perception, the same is not true of the psychicor finalistic aspects: the intention cannot be perceived (CP 1.253). This pointis particularly important when analyzing a human action in which the reac-tive agent is another human being. This means that we cannot perceive thatagent’s intention, but only his or her reaction. Therefore, understanding themeaning of the other’s action—which implies knowing his or her inten-tion—will require a cognitive process of greater complexity than mere per-ception. Although we know the intention with which we perform ouractions, it is not so easy to know the intention of the reactive agent becauseit is always hidden behind the action’s actuality. And yet, it will be neces-sary to know the intention if we are to know the meaning that that actionhad for the person performing it.


The teleological character of human action is a point of the theory thatPeirce had difficulties in determining. Thus, for example, in 1893 he wrotethat science should confine itself to the study of efficient causes (CP 6.434).And one year before, in The Law of the Mind, he had said that if a person’sends are already explicit prior to the action, there is no place for develop-ment and, therefore, the action becomes a mechanical action (CP 6.160).However, some years later, the teleological character of human action wasto take on a new meaning for Peirce, because human purposes act as finalcauses, through efficiency, but without determining the specific manner inwhich human action takes place. Thus, he was able to write in 1901 that, inorder to determine the individual’s logic, it is first necessary to consider hisor her purpose (CP 7.185–186); and, a few years later, he would say that in-tention affects the physical motions of actions (CP 1.213, 2.149). What is thereason for this change? Peirce had attained a complete vision of the classifi-cation of sciences—which he had been working on for years—and, in par-ticular, he had seen the role played by the normative sciences in the wholescientific architectonic. This enabled him to consider the role of ethics—as ascience concerned with controlled conduct in order to make it conform toan ideal—and esthetics—as a science that studies the ideals of con-duct—with respect to logic, as a science of deliberate thought. Logic doesnot need to take into account the action’s ends or purposes, but any goodlogical deliberation requires a prior consideration of these ideals.

Finality—as an expression of thirdness—is to be found in all orders of re-ality. Thus, finality is not identified solely with the purpose, because there isalso a finality in the natural order that acts without it being the purpose ofany mind. However, the fact is that the action’s purpose is the most familiarway in which finality becomes apparent to our experience (CP 1.204–216).The mind has its universal mode of action in final causation, that is, in pur-pose (CP 1.269), so that there is an idea of thirdness in any action governedby reason, whereas purely mechanical actions are lacking this idea; there isno final causality in them (CP 6.80, 2.86). It is precisely action according tofinal causes that distinguishes a mental action from a mechanical action.And, Peirce continued, the general formula adopted by such action is to re-move a stimulus. That is, the most general way of expressing final causalityin human action is the subject’s intent to ease a state of things that keepshim or her uneasy (CP 1.392), for example, the “desire to make an applepie.” Although action and reaction—effort and resistance—can be consid-ered the chief parts of action, it is the purpose that gives unity to the action(CP 5.424).

Finality affects action from the future due to the intentional character ofhuman action, which makes the first in intention the last in execution. Thefuture is the temporal correlate of finality, whereas the past is the temporalcorrelate of efficiency. Thus, the future affects the present, although in a dif-ferent way from the way in which the past affects the present (CP 2.86,


7.369). The past influences the present in a dualistic, direct way. However,the future influences the present through purposes, in a way that is not de-terministic and mechanical, like the past, but in an open way, which allowsthe mind the ability to be creative. A human action that only looks to thepast is constrained by what has already happened; it loses the capability forinnovation and the creativity that enables it to skip what has happened un-til now and innovate. Experience is important in human action. It is neces-sary to take into account what has happened, but it cannot be determinant;if it were, it would mean reducing rationality to a mechanical rationality,which would only be moved by a continuation from what has happened sofar. It would mean reducing human action to what Polo has called“ceremonialisms,” that is, addressing new problems using old proceduresof proven success, which cannot help us in addressing novelty.13

Having reached this point, two inseparable aspects have been consid-ered in human action. On the one hand, human action is defined as a pro-cess of interaction between the subject and an environment, a process bywhich the subject acts on that environment and the environment reacts, inturn, with an action on the subject, which that subject perceives. It is as-sumed that this process can continue indefinitely so that human life wouldbe—viewed from this outlook—a continual succession of actions and reac-tions with the environment. However, at the same time, the other aspectthat must be considered is the intention, or purpose, with which people per-form a certain action. It is that intention that gives human action its rational,deliberate character. In very general terms, this purpose can be defined asthe desire to calm a restlessness or satisfy a need.

After this, two questions remain to be answered. On the one hand, wehave just explained that mechanical rationality is not appropriate for a tele-ological conception of human action that allows for the appearance of nov-elty in action. This means that the world must be configured in such amanner that it allows the appearance of such novelties. On the other hand,this environment reacts and the active agent perceives this reaction and isaffected by it, which raises the question of how the subject perceives the en-vironment. In the next chapter, using Peirce’s cosmological ideas, we willdiscuss the nature of that world on which people act, and in the followingchapter, we will use the study of his epistemological and semiotic ideas toanalyze how the subject knows that world.

NOTES

1. In formulating his theory of categories, Peirce acknowledges the influenceof Aristotle (CP 2.384, 2.445 n. 1, 5.43), Kant (CP 1.300), and Hegel (CP 1.368, 5.43,5.436).

2. There are at least two versions of this lecture: version “a,” “The CategoriesContinued” (CP 5.71 n. 1, CP 5.82–87); version “b,” “The Categories Defended”(CP 5.66–81, CP 5.88–92).


3. A. De Tienne, “Peirce’s Definitions of the Phaneron,” in Charles S. Peirce andthe Philosophy of Science, ed. E.C. Moore (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press,1993), 282.

4. Hausman points out that these general guidelines form part of Peirce’s re-alism and that, in this sense, thirdness is a foundational category because it is thecategory that provides the essential constituents of his realism. See C.R. Hausman,Charles S. Peirce’s Evolutionary Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge UniversityPress, 1993), 10, 133.

5. V.G. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals (Worcester: University ofMassachusetts Press, 1967), 87.

6. For a discussion of the analysis of vagueness, see the articles by C.Engel-Tiercelin, “C.S. Peirce et le projet d’une ‘logique du vague,’ ” Archives dePhilosophie 52 (1989): 553–579, and “Le vague est-il réel? Sur le réalisme de Peirce,”Philosophie 10 (1986): 69–96; see also the article by M. Nadin, “Peirce’s Logic ofVagueness and the Category of Synechism,” The Monist 63 (1980): 351–363.

7. A. De Tienne, “Peirce’s Definitions of the Phaneron,” 285.8. C. Hartshorne, La creatividad en la filosofía estadounidense (Mexico City:

Edamex, 1987), 108–109.9. Hausman, Charles Peirce’s Evolutionary Philosophy, 10–11.

10. Hausman, Charles Peirce’s Evolutionary Philosophy, 11–12.11. Here we are following the terms used by J.A. Pérez López in the formula-

tion of his theory of human action and the application of this theory to organiza-tions.

12. This example was taken from J.A. Pérez López, Fundamentos de la direcciónde empresas (Madrid: Rialp, 1995), 14–15.

13. L. Polo, ¿Quién es el hombre? Un espíritu en el mundo (Madrid: Rialp, 1991),24–25.


CHAPTER 3

The World in WhichHumans Act

Human action contains within itself the germ of novelty. The past offersclues for venturing ideas about what the future actions may be, but in nocase does it determine the action’s concrete specificity. When the interac-tion takes place with another human being, the character of novelty is notonly in the active agent performing the action but also in the reactive agentreceiving the action’s effect and reacting to it. So our question now is, whatcharacteristics do these agents possess so that their actions can always havethis character of novelty?

Our reference point for exploring this question is the series of articlespublished by Peirce in The Monist between 1891 and 1893 in which he setout his metaphysical theory and his cosmological vision. We will analyzesuccessively his criticism of necessitarianism and determinism, his theoryof evolution, and the principle of continuity or synechism. Using Peirce’sideas, we will present a summary of organization theories and concludewith a critical analysis that will enable us to apply what has been said to thecase of human action.

THEORIES THAT EXPLAIN THE LAWS OF NATURE

Peirce maintains that the regularities observed in the universe must beexplained. He does not accept the position of those who take such unifor-mities for granted and only stop to take notice of the exceptions. Accordingto Peirce, what should really surprise us, and what we should seek to ex-plain, is the fact that there exist in the universe events and objects that fol-

low certain regular norms. It should not surprise us that trees grow withoutany order in a forest. However, if we see that the trees in a forest follow aparticular alignment, we should ask the reason why such regularity exists.If we pitch a coin and it turns up sometimes heads and sometimes tails, itshould not seem anything out of the ordinary to us. However, we shouldfind it strange if it shows heads every time (CP 6.12).

When explaining the regularity observed in the universe, Peirce rejectsmechanistic explanations, which were very popular in his time. The argu-ments against mechanism are to be found, particularly, in the second of theseries of articles published in The Monist, “The Doctrine of Necessity Exam-ined” (CP 6.35–65). As described by Peirce, the mechanistic view is basedon the assumption that the state of affairs prevailing at a certain time, to-gether with certain immutable laws, fully determines the state of affairs atanother, later time. In other words, starting with the state of the universe atits origin, the laws of mechanics allow one to deduce any subsequent stateof the universe.

In Peirce’s opinion, the principle of mechanism cannot be sustained ei-ther as a postulate of scientific inquiry or from the observation of Nature; itis an a priori. It is difficult to maintain it as a postulate when the very con-clusions of science seek no more than to be probable and under no circum-stances is it argued that the conclusions reached are true without exception(CP 6.39–42). The observation of nature does not support the validity of themechanistic principle either, as, although we observe elements of regular-ity in it, it does not follow from our observations that this regularity is exactor universal. In fact, it usually happens that the more precise our observa-tions are, the more certain we are of the irregularities that exist (CP 6.43–46,1.407). Therefore, for Peirce, the principle of mechanism is nothing morethan an a priori that its proponents seek to justify using certain empirical ar-guments lacking any solid basis. Against them, Peirce brings to bear hisown arguments (CP 6.57–65). He points out that there is an observable in-crease in complexity in all fields of science and that this complexity cannotbe explained by mechanism; that a theory that takes into account this ele-ment of spontaneity is logically superior to mechanistic explanations; andthat mechanism is at a loss when it must account both for the irregularitiesof the universe and certain realities that are outside the material scope of re-ality, such as consciousness.

Peirce does not deny the existence of regularities in the universe. Whathe does see is that the regularity is not sufficient in itself to account for otherobserved phenomena that have to do with spontaneity, irregularity or nov-elty (CP 6.30). The difference is that for mechanism, the arbitrary specifica-tions of the universe were established once and for all at the beginning,whereas for Peirce there is a continual process of diversification and specifi-cation. For mechanism, the laws remain unchangeable and it is the circum-stances that bring about variety in the form of concrete events. For Peirce,


the laws—somehow or other—change or, at least, they must contain withinthemselves the reason for the appearance of novelties and exceptions. Hav-ing refuted mechanism, Peirce argues that the only way to account for thelaws of nature is to assume that they are the product of evolution, so that,having understood this to be so, it is not necessary to consider them abso-lute or obey them exactly. By appealing to evolution, he allows for the pres-ence of an element of indeterminacy or spontaneity that is explained not byerrors of observation but by the imperfect character of the law (CP 6.13).

Peirce distinguishes several modes of evolution, which he terms tychasm(evolution by fortuitous variation), anancasm (evolution by mechanical ne-cessity), and agapasm (evolution by creative love) (CP 6.302).1 The first typeof evolution—tychasm—is understood by Peirce as being an occurrence ofmutations or variations by chance, without any reason: chance or the “for-tuitous events” beget order (CP 6.297). Chance is not linked to any directionor end. The principle that best illustrates this type of evolutionism is theDarwinian principle of the “struggle for existence,” which explains whysome organisms survive while others become extinct. This principle alsohas its applications in the social order, where the affirmation that action ismoved by self-interest and selfishness has been espoused by many. The sec-ond type of evolution—anancasm—is deterministic (CP 6.298). The authorsclassed in this second type explain evolution in terms of mechanistic princi-ples, without leaving any room for chance. The law of energy conservation,which is tantamount to saying that the operations governed by mechanicallaws are reversible, would come under this interpretation. We have alreadyseen Peirce’s criticism of this stance: that it cannot account for the growthprocesses observed in the universe. The third type of evolution—agapasm—affirms the presence of a form of love in the evolutionary process.This third type—for which Peirce cites Jean Baptiste Lamarck as one of itsbest proponents—maintains that evolution takes place in small changesbrought about by efforts toward an end and assumes that the developmentof the species has taken place in the course of a series of imperceptiblechanges that have occurred during the individuals’ lives, as a consequenceof endeavor and exercise. Whereas Darwin explains evolution in terms ofchance, Lamarck explains it as an effect of habit and endeavor. Growthtakes place during exercise and implies an acquisition of habits (CP6.299–300). Growth due to exercise follows a very different law than thatfollowed by the mechanical law of the deterministic theories. This view iscloser to Peirce who, although he wishes to preserve a space for spontaneityand chance, does not seek to reduce the entire explanation of the universe tochance. Therefore, Peirce’s cosmological explanation aligns itself with anevolution that conceives the world as subject to a growth process broughtabout by small, continually occurring changes, which are generated as aconsequence of the endeavor and exercise carried out by agents pursuingan end.

The World in Which Humans Act 57

Anancasm and tychasm are two degenerated versions of agapasm.Tychasm is missing an element of order; anancasm is missing an element ofchance. In agapasm, these two elements appear together, so that the ele-ment of spontaneity brought by tychasm prevents agapasm from degener-ating into a kind of necessitarianism. Agapasm, as a third theory proposedby Peirce, somehow includes in it the other two. Evolution—as inanancasm—takes place in stages and with a tendency toward perfection,although its changes—as in tychasm—originate from variations that haveno precedent or are not necessary. Agapasm is an evolution that includeschance and necessity, although it cannot be reduced to any one of them in-dividually nor to the sum of both, because it adds a new element—whichacts in the order of thirdness—and which can be explained as an increase insympathy between the elements of the universe or a tendency toward an ex-panding continuity (CP 6.305).

Reality is characterized by a harmonious disorder or disordered har-mony—depending on how you look it at—whose unity is given by the“evolutionary love” of agapasm. “Love” is the great evolutionary agencyof the universe (CP 6.287), Peirce writes at the beginning of the last article ofthe series we have been discussing, which he entitles “Evolutionary Love.”The movement of love is circular: with the same impulse, it projects objectstoward independency and draws them into harmony (CP 6.288). Evolu-tionary love does not startle with sudden changes; it does not progress byrevolutions but by small, imperceptible changes—and in this it resemblestychasm—although these changes do not happen by chance but for a rea-son that explains them—and in this it resembles anancasm—although thisreason is not a mechanical reason but answers to a purpose, which distin-guishes it from anancasm (CP 6.312). The concept of agapé offers a means ofcontrolling action that allows space for spontaneity and, at the same time,provides the continuity of the mind when faced with the appearance ofnew ideas.2 Thus, evolutionary love leads to continuous, unstridentchanges moved by a purpose.

Peirce observes the presence in reality of certain processes that tend to-ward an end, even though it is not an intentional end; they are due to exter-nal causes, and it can be said that they follow a necessary development,even though these processes are not aimed toward an end. This type of pro-cess comes under anancasm, which is necessary, but purposeless, develop-ment. We can say in such cases that action has a conclusion but not an end.On the other hand, there are processes that have an intentional character,depend on internal conditions, and are directed toward a purpose. Theseare the processes corresponding to agapasm. Only these allow for a certainspontaneity, which is because the finality’s order does not determine theway in which it happens. Human action is to be included in this secondtype of process.


OBJECTIVE IDEALISM AND SYNECHISM

It may be difficult to conceive how this type of action refers to the mate-rial world. One possible explanation of why Peirce takes this stance couldbe his desire to move away from Cartesian dualism. In his argumentsagainst this dualism, Peirce asks what class of “monism” can give a unitaryexplanation of the universe. Peirce lists three views that explain the relationbetween the laws of res cogitans and res extensa, of mind and matter. Theseviews are neutralism, which considers laws to be independent; materialism,which gives primacy to the physical laws and views the psychic world asderived from the former; and, finally, idealism, which gives primacy to thelaws of the psychic world and takes the physical laws as derived from theformer. Having rejected materialism, Peirce also rejects neutralism by ap-pealing to Ockham’s principle of not multiplying entities without reason.Consequently, for Peirce, the only intelligible theory of the universe is thatof objective idealism (CP 6.24, 6.264ff., 4.551). In his attempt to give a unitaryexplanation of the universe, Peirce gives priority to the mental,cognoscitive plane over the physical or material aspect, to the point that forPeirce, matter is “effete mind”; that is, the physical laws are inveterate men-tal habits (CP 6.25). Thus, the laws that explain the universe must be ex-plained in the manner of human cognoscitive laws or processes.

For Peirce, the primary and fundamental law of mental action consists ofa tendency toward generalization. This tendency is the law of the growth ofthe mind. How does he define this law of the mind? The mind grows bymeans of a process of progressive generalization of ideas. Each new ideaappears in the consciousness as a modification of a more or less generalidea that is already present in the mind. The bond between the idea that hasyet to be formed and the idea that has already been, which allows the for-mer to become present in the consciousness, is what he calls habit (CP6.141–142). Therefore, the general law of the mind, which is the law of habit,views the progress of knowledge as a process by which the ideas that ap-pear are added to the ideas that already exist so that they become increas-ingly extensive; that is, although their power to affect other ideas isreduced, their power to bring other ideas with them increases (CP6.135–136, 6.145, 6.268). They lose in intensity but gain in generality.

Applying the objective idealism proposed by Peirce as an alternative toCartesian dualism, just as in the internal world ideas affect each other bymeans of a continual connection between them, so also in the externalworld—the material universe—objects are related with each other in a har-monious unity. Matter is not completely inanimate but, like the mind, issustained by habits, so that “what we call matter is not completely dead,but is merely mind hidebound with habits. It still retains the element of di-versification; and in that diversification there is life” (CP 6.158). This givesrise to another of the key concepts of Peircean thought: the principle of con-tinuity or synechism (CP 6.202, 6.103).


The principle of continuity enables a law to be formulated that is not nec-essary or invariable in its character. General ideas have a certain characterof regularity, because when faced with a certain sensation, it is foreseeablethat the mind will act in the future in the same way as it has acted until now.However, this is not necessarily absolute, as there is always an element ofuncertainty, which does not imply a defect for the habit but, on the contrary,its essence. In spite of their similarities, the laws of mind are not so subjectto law as are the laws of matter. The laws of matter learn from the laws ofmind that the forces that are experienced are only indications that it is morelikely that things will happen as they have happened until now than thatthey will happen in a different way, although there is always room for spon-taneity and for changing the direction of action. If this were not so, lifewould become stratified and lose all its richness (CP 6.148, 6.23).

With the principle of continuity, Peirce manages to find a middle pathbetween absolute chance and complete determinism. He questions the ex-pression “chance begets order,” which he says is one of the cornerstones ofmodern physics and which has become fashionable with the growing pop-ularity of Darwin’s writings (CP 6.297). Peirce does conceive this expres-sion in a Darwinian sense, as a chaotic happening of events, but in thecontext of a theory of probability that accounts for the regularity permeat-ing the essence of events (CP 6.113, 6.125). Chance is an essential element ofthe universe inasmuch as it manifests the “diversity and variety of thingsand events which law does not prevent” (CP 6.612). The hypothesis ofchance thus becomes a specific instance of the hypothesis that everythingin the universe is explainable, although not in an absolute, rigid way, with-out even the smallest chink for exception, but in a general way (W 4:549).This chance must be absolute, that is, not derivable from law—as if a deter-ministic law could account for the phenomena of chance—but, at the sametime, it is not completely lacking in law but at least shows the regularity ofthe absence of a deterministic law. This is the only regularity it can show,thanks to which it can be studied statistically and can allow the develop-ment of certain laws by means of the law of habits (CP 6.606).

Peirce would not accept a theory of probability that assigns an initialprobability to the experiment, irrespective of the specific events of that ex-periment, because that would be tantamount to saying that past experiencedoes not count and that, therefore, all events are independent and, by thesame argument, completely fortuitous. For Peirce, the past does influencethe present. There is a law behind the action of throwing dice, but that lawdoes not tell us what will happen in each throw. Also, the probability that asix will be thrown changes with each throw. In the long run, if the die is notfixed, it will be one-sixth, but this is not so from the start of the experiment:the law changes. It is in this sense that Peirce is against mechanism. Formechanism, chance is only a way of giving a name to a cause that is un-known to us. However, for Peirce, chance is not merely a manifestation of


our ignorance but a real element of the universe (CP 6.54, 6.612) whichgives meaning to the irregularities observed in it. As Potter points out, itcan be objected that Peirce is not able to escape from giving an absolutecharacter to law, as the tendency to acquire habits itself appears as a law.However, although this tendency may have the character of law, it does notappear as a law in the mechanistic sense of an inviolable, deterministic lawbut in the sense of a mental law, which includes in its own essence the factof being changed such that, if this were not so, it would cease to exist.3

Due to the reality of chance and the partial openness of the future, noevent necessarily follows from its predecessors, which are “first” in respectto all future events. However, there exists a positive relationship of an eventwith the most intensive class of its possible successors. Although an eventdoes not necessarily have specific successors, it does have to have succes-sors, and some of these successors’ general features are established before-hand. The independence of events with respect to their successors does notmean that any type of event can follow a certain event. Afirst does not havea defined future “second,” but it is bound to be “seconded.” There are notfuture seconds that will definitely be; what will be is that the “indetermi-nate” future will be progressively replaced by additional constituents of apartially renewed past, which, being a past, will be determinate and “irre-vocable.”4 The future, therefore, is neither pure dependence nor pure inde-pendence; it is a nondependence with respect to definite details and adependence with respect to more or less general lines. Futurity, or real pos-sibility, contrasts equally with necessity and pure possibility. Events are notrequired, but rather implied, by their predecessors, because events requiretheir prior conditions. The past is “the sum of realized events”; the future isthe body of real or limited possibilities that may be realized in the future, asearch that is subject to further determination. Peirce would have consid-ered inconceivable a world in which the future was completely unpredict-able and bereft of approximate, or even probabilistic, laws.

Although chance plays an important role in Peircean thought, its role issubsidiary to that of the law of continuity, which is the law that acts asthirdness (CP 6.202). Chance is a necessary condition for the creative evolu-tion that Peirce perceives in the universe, but it is continuity that acts as thelaw of that evolution and maintains it. Chance finds its place within theprinciple of continuity or synechism. As spontaneity is a real ingredient ofthe universe—and not just the absence of necessity, regularity or order, or asimple condition of arbitrariness—it is inseparable from the growth of law,as explained by the law of habits (CP 6.58–60).5 Wherever diversity in-creases, chance starts to operate; wherever uniformity increases, habitstarts to operate.

The criticism of mechanism and the principle of synechism can serve astwo reference points for analyzing the development of organizational theo-ries from their early formulations to the present day. Although it will not be


possible to enter into a detailed discussion of the main theories that havebeen proposed, a brief sketch of the principle features will be sufficient to il-lustrate the points at which Peirce’s ideas may provide an interpretationalbasis for assessing these theories.

ORGANIZATIONAL THEORIES

Human action takes its meaningfulness from the indeterminate charac-ter of the universe, which is open to an indefinite number of alternatives. Ifthis were not so, in other words, if the explanatory model was a mechanis-tic, deterministic model—human action would have no further meaningthan that of being one more element of the system.

This is the model on which the first contemporary formulations of orga-nizational theory were based in the early twentieth century.6 In 1911, Taylorpublished The Principles of Scientific Management,7 which is considered to bethe first contemporary study of organizations. Taylor defended the appli-cation of scientific method to job design, separating the design task fromthe implementation and execution task. Thus, management is responsiblefor designing the job and the methods for performing the task, whereas theworkers confine themselves to carrying out the task as instructed. The in-fluence of the “Taylorian” scheme is still felt today in what has come to becalled the classic theory of management. One example of this theory is the bu-reaucratic model identified by Max Weber in The Theory of Social and Eco-nomic Organization.8 In this work, Weber describes an ideal organizationbased on the following features: a well-defined hierarchy, division of laborby functional specialties; a system of rules that defines the rights and dutiesof managers and subordinates; a system of procedures and methods forcarrying out the tasks; impersonal relations that clearly separate the indi-vidual’s private life from his or her work in the organization; and recruit-ment and promotion mechanisms based on merit and skill. In short,bureaucracy is depicted as the organizational form par excellence for ob-taining efficient results: it is a highly developed, well-oiled machinery thatadvances tirelessly toward the achievement of the collective well-being.One should not deny the significant contribution made by these early for-mulations on the nature of organizations and labor in introducing an ele-ment of rationality in production work, in an environment in which workconditions can often be subhuman. However, in spite of this positive as-sessment, it is also true that these different formulations described a limitedmodel of humanity, which did not take into account the individual’s cre-ativity and capacity for initiative.

The successive organizational theories that have been formulated havebeen attempts to enrich and go beyond the mechanistic model, comple-menting the variables it has introduced with others that help give a morecomplete idea of the individual and human action. As a result of Elton


Mayo’s experiments in Hawthorne, a significant proportion of the princi-ples defined by the classic theory began to be questioned. Reacting to theprinciples of the classic school, the human relations school,9 which wasformed as a result of these experiments, stressed the importance of individ-ual needs, individual motivation, attitudes and values, and informalgroups. Theory Y, proposed by McGregor,10 in contraposition to what hecalled Theory X—and which embraces the principles of the classicschool—is typical of this current. Another line that seeks to go beyond theclassic theory is the institutional school, whose most emblematic exponent isP. Selznick,11 who centered his objections on bureaucracy. According toSelznick, bureaucracy tends to generate its own goals, which do not alwaysmatch those of its members, and to pursue achievement of the former to thedetriment of the latter.

One of the most influential criticisms of the bureaucratic model hascome from decision theory. Herbert Simon highlighted the limited rational-ity of the individuals who make decisions in organizations and the need todefine the premises in which decision making takes place.12 The concept oflimited rationality introduced by Simon is one of the most significant criti-cisms that have been put forward of the mechanistic model, as it shows theimperfect character of the information available for making decisions and,consequently, the limitations of the scientific model when applied in thecontext of human action. Although Simon is a step forward from the classictheory, the model on which he based his arguments is still basically thesame: the idea of limited rationality does not imply any qualitative changein the conception of the individual, but rather confines itself to showing therestrictions imposed by the environment on rational economic calculation,on which both the classic model and Simon based their decisions.13

Since the 1960s, organizational theories have tended toward viewpointsthat emphasize, above all, the contingent, singular aspects of managementaction. Instead of trying to find a model that accounts for the general as-pects of the organization—adopting an outlook similar to the ideals ofmodern scientific method—organizational theorists have placed more em-phasis on the differences than on the identities, to the point of insisting, notso much on each situation’s common characteristics, as on its peculiarities.One of the major contributing factors to this state of affairs has been achange in the basic sciences underlying organizational theories. While thestudies carried out at the turn of the century seemed to give more weight toengineering and the “hard sciences,” in recent decades the social scienceshave become increasingly important in research. One example of these newtendencies is to be found in the contingency theories. These theories groundtheir conceptual developments on the need to adapt the organization toeach context, defined as the organization’s environment, strategy, and his-tory, such that there is no single organization form that is superior to theothers, but rather the organization form must be contingent. Consequently,


in order to assess or design an organization, we first need to understand itscontext, which is basically summarized in its strategy, and then organize itsactivities, determining those units to be differentiated or segmented andestablishing the necessary integration mechanisms to ensure the attain-ment of the organization’s goals.14 Through the ordered application ofthese principles, it is possible to define a harmonious structural frameworkfor implementation of the strategy. On the contrary, a mismatch betweenstructure and strategy will lead to financial underperformance by the orga-nization. Other studies published during the 1980s developed different as-pects of this basic conceptual framework: for example, R. Nelson and S.Winter’s studies, based on the evolutionary theory,15 the organizational ecol-ogy represented by M.T. Hannan and J.H. Freeman,16 and H. Mintzberg’sorganizational configurations,17 among others, enrich the basic model byhighlighting different aspects such as evolution, structural inertia, internalconsistency of configurations, or the economic relationships between com-ponent parts.

There have also been several attempts made from the field of economicsto account for the nature and functioning of organizations, following a his-torical and conceptual path similar to what I have just described. The earlystudies, based on the neoclassical school, defined the firm as a black boxcharacterized by a series of technological opportunities and a “rational” be-havior of maximizing financial profit, without exploring the internal pro-cesses that give rise to these behaviors. With the passage of time, variousformulations have contributed significantly to our understanding of theeconomic relationships that take place within organizations. R.H. Coase’sThe Nature of the Firm was perhaps the trigger that brought to light the dif-ferences in the functioning of the markets and the nature of the firm.18 Sincethen, two schools of thought have had a more significant impact: the agencytheory19 and the transaction costs theory.20

To summarize, the various approaches have been moving progressivelyaway from the person-machine concept of classic Taylorian theory, tendingto paint a more human picture of work in organizations. The theories thathave sought to go beyond the classical model have all moved within anorganistic conception of the individual and organizations. However, thepsycho-sociological paradigm21 in which all these currents have developedis unable to give a complete configuration of the individual. The theoreticaldevelopments currently in progress are using ethics and information the-ory as their underlying sciences. The insufficiency of the models proposedto date has been one of the determining factors—together with other, morecircumstantial factors—in the growing popularity of business ethics bothin management teaching and in management practice itself. By focusing onknowledge and the development of organizational values and personalvirtues, the new approaches seem to be laying the foundations for an an-


thropological model capable of giving a complete answer to who we areand how we act.

A highly valid alternative to the mechanistic and organistic models isalso to be found in the ideas of Peirce. His rejection of mechanism did notlead him to seek refuge in a psychological vision of human action. On thecontrary, he was equally critical of those models that sought to reduce hu-man action to the influence of psychical laws (CP 5.85, 5.157). John StuartMill was criticized just as much by Peirce as Descartes was, and, if Des-cartes forms the core of the mechanistic model, Mill forms the core of thevarious psychosociological conceptions. Peirce’s view of the mechanisticmodel has been fully discussed at the beginning of this chapter. In regard tothe psychosociological conceptions, Peirce’s ideas on the acquisition ofhabits, the reference to purposes and ideals of conduct, and his interest inseparating logic from psychology point to a more complete image of hu-manity than that sketched by these models.

Although it is obvious—and important—that the historical develop-ment of organizational theory shows a continual endeavor to advance to-ward a more complete image of people and organizations, there is also alatent danger that must not be overlooked. In the current tendency to stressthe differences and the complexity in the functioning of organizations, wemay lose sight of the common characteristics and the ability to draw gen-eral conclusions. Some of the approaches reflect this tendency to desist inthe attempt to give a rational, scientific explanation of human action in or-ganizations.22 Peirce also warns against this danger. Just as chance is ex-plained within synechism, the element of novelty contained in any actionfinds its meaning within the context of an explanation of action whose keyelement is the law of continuity. Being aware of novelty does not mean hav-ing to waive any explanation of regularity in the universe.

Thus, Peirce’s ideas help guide the analysis of certain models of organi-zation theory, enabling us to affirm the insufficiency of certain approaches,while at the same time calling attention to the need for an explanatorymodel that goes beyond the limitations of these other models. Faced withthe complexity of the problem, it would not be a satisfactory solution togive up in the attempt to find a suitable paradigm to account for human ac-tion in organizations. Although some of the current approaches wouldseem to indicate this, other proposals currently being formulated seem tobe pointing in the right direction. In the closing chapters of this book, I pro-pose a few principles that may help to define this new paradigm. But beforethat, and to conclude this chapter, I must return to the ideas of Peirce andmake a few comments about what has been said so far.

THE THEORY OF HABITS AND HUMAN ACTION

Peirce finds he must deal with the experience of a world that is not ho-mogenous and unchanging, but plural and differentiated, open to further


modifications and never fully determined, where order never fully eradi-cates disorder. To account for the novelties appearing in the universe,Peirce postulates that the physical laws are not determinate but ratherevolve in accordance with the law of habits. This postulate’s rationale is tobe found in the monism proposed by Peirce, in contraposition to Cartesiandualism. In essence, Peirce adopts the principle—the “hypothesis”—thatthe only way to go beyond Cartesian dualism is through monism.

Although the statement that the physical laws change may explain whythe world is not determinate, we can find other affirmations that answer thesame question. Although the debate between determinism andindeterminism is typically modern, determination and indeterminationare also to be found in Aristotelian thought, thus providing an answer dif-ferent from that proposed by Peirce.

The Aristotelian distinction between being per se and coincidental beingallows us to infer that, in the world of experience—in the body of finitethings—not everything is necessary or contingent. Strictly speaking,warned Alejandro Llano, in this world of ours, nothing is so necessary thatit does not have some trace of accidentality, nor so contingent that it doesnot carry with it some degree of necessity.23 There are truly ens per accidens.If this were not so, everything would be by necessity, and the truth is thatnot everything happens necessarily. If everything were necessary, therewould be no contingent futures, as each event would be determinedunivocally by another one, and so on. In such a context, the present momentwould contain all the elements that would determine the future, and, inturn, the explanation of what is happening now could be referred retroac-tively to the course of the past. For Aristotle, matter is the cause of the exis-tence of accidents. However, to say that matter is the cause of the accident isthe same as saying that there is no determinate cause of the accident, asmatter is a principle of indetermination. Its cause will therefore be chance,and chance is indeterminate. So for Aristotle, too, chance must exist as thecause of that which, strictly speaking, has no cause.

At this point, there arises a difference between Aristotle and Peirce thatshould be pointed out. For Aristotle, the ens per accidens does not take partin teleological processes, it is outside the final causality established for eachbeing by its own nature and for each free action by the purpose guiding it.Indetermination takes place due to a coincidence that is not related to theaction’s end or with the present state of affairs, but physical laws do notchange. On the other hand, for Peirce, physical laws do change as a result ofthe occurrence of phenomena that bypass these laws. Aristotle resolves thedilemma of determination and indetermination by appealing to differentorders of necessity: necessity de facto and necessity de dicto. It is necessarythat the ens per accidens exists. In other words, it is necessary—with a neces-sity de dicto—to say that there are things that in reality are not necessary. It isin the corresponding judicative synthesis—expressed in a proposi-


tion—where what is per accidens, which in reality is only a coincidence, be-comes an entity.24 Here, we are moving on a logical-semantic level. On theother hand, in Peirce, the logical-semantic and ontological levels seem tomerge.

It is difficult to see the sense of Peirce’s position with respect to the the-ory of habits applied to the physical world,25 except as a consequence ofmonism versus Cartesian dualism. However, it is easier to understand it inhuman action, in which a certain physical indeterminism is also required asa necessary condition of human freedom. Again, the comparison with Aris-totelian philosophy may be helpful.

Human affairs—argues Aristotle—originate in deliberation and action.However, if everything happened by necessity, it would not be necessary todeliberate but only to execute. In discussing these ideas, Llano concludesthat human affairs are not lacking a cause, but that such cause lies preciselyin our free action, such that free will introduces in nature a causal serieswhose connection with the preceding situations and with the material orsocial context is not per se but per accidens, that is, indeterminate. Human ac-tion in the material world is a source of accidentalities.26 As Geach pointedout, the presence of contingency in the physical world is a necessary condi-tion for the existence of human freedom. 27 A person is not free unless cer-tain observable movements of his or her body are decidable by him or her; aperson would not be free, therefore, if his or her movements could be pre-dicted from a series of simple factors, without any need to take into accounthis or her decisions. However, freedom is not a cause of the ens per accidensin the same sense as matter. Matter contributes a factor of indetermination,whereas freedom or, more precisely, free deliberation contributes an intelli-gible and voluntary determination that is irreducible to any physical deter-mination.28 In this sense, Peircean agapasm would be closer to theintelligible determination originated in human freedom than to theindetermination of matter.

Therefore, one might disagree with Peirce on the opportuneness of argu-ing that physical laws change with the occurrence of events and attributehis stance—to use the same arguments that he himself uses—to the “a pri-ori” of wishing to distance himself from Cartesian assumptions rather thanto an observation of natural phenomena, for which there would be other,equally valid explanations. However, when analyzing human action,agapasm and the theory of habits provide a reasonable explanation of whatis shown by experience itself. This is because, in effect, human beings seemto follow in their action a series of laws and norms of conduct that are notfixed or determinate, which guide them in this “limitedly indeterminate”world in which they act and which, in turn, change themselves with humanaction. Human habit and, in particular, virtues seem to fit in those charac-teristics that Peirce indicates as defining agapasm.


Consequently, the conclusion that can be drawn is the following: the lawof habits has its natural place in human action. For Peirce, habits are laws ofaction (CP 2.148) and, as such, distinguish a deliberate conduct from a merespontaneous force. Habits are in the category of thirdness and have thecharacteristics of that category: mediation, generality, orientation towardthe future. Habit, as it is understood by Peirce, “plays a double part; itserves to establish the new features, and also to bring them into harmonywith the general morphology” (CP 6.300) that already exists. Thus, it is de-fined with the same characteristics that had been previously attributed tothe concept of agapé. On the one hand, they are dispositions to act. It can bestated that a person who has a certain habit will act in a certain way in thepresence of certain circumstances (CP 2.148), without forgetting that the el-ement of novelty introduced by the action’s singularity or the subject’s con-trol over the habits themselves may induce a change in conduct in a certainsituation. As Apel remarked, habit should not be conceived in a consequentsense, from the practical consequences following from the action, but in anantecedent sense, from the logical consequences of the rule in question, act-ing as a normative guide for the action and already anticipated by the sub-ject, who will act in accordance with it.29

On the other hand, because of their dispositional character, habits shapethe individual’s character,30 even though human nature is more compli-cated and, therefore, it may be more difficult to define a person’s characterthan to define certain laws of nature, such as, for example, the law that de-termines the probability of a six coming up when a die is thrown (CP 2.664).People’s deliberate actions take place in accordance with a certain regular-ity. In human consciousness, this regularity is present as a general idea thatis continued, with the appropriate modifications, in the actions that succes-sively take place. Human action is an infinitesimal moment within the con-tinuum of human life, but a moment of which the subject is aware andwhich is colored by the subject’s personality and character. Personality ex-erts a causality on human action. My personality is the cause of my own ac-tions, but my actions also influence my personality, just as each new idea isassimilated in the general idea and changes it. After each action, eventhough I continue to be the same—because the personality’s continuitypersists throughout the infinitesimal moments in which it manifests it-self—I am also slightly different (CP 6.155–157). Obviously, there will be ac-tions that change a person more and others that change a person less; therewill be actions that introduce more elements of novelty than others.

In attempting to describe how Peirce’s cosmological conception has anunquestioned reference point in human action, in addition to consideringthe presence of the theory of habits in people, we should also consider an-other aspect of agapasm: evolutionary love, whose most common formula-tion is the so-called Golden Rule, which Pierce enunciates as follows:“Sacrifice your own perfection to the perfectionment of your neighbor” (CP


6.288). People are not aloof from that universal harmony that unfolds un-der the guidance of evolutionary love, and we find our realization in our re-lation with others. Love is not directed to abstractions, but to people; andnot to unknown people or depersonalized masses, but to the people whoare closest to us—our family or our neighbors. Thus, the formula ofevolutionism, as understood by Peirce, teaches us that growth only comesfrom love and that love is not merely self-sacrifice, but, above all, an ardentimpulse to fulfill another’s highest aspirations (CP 6.288–289). The individ-ual cannot be understood in isolation: the isolated individual is not any-thing at all. The principle of continuity means that a person is open toothers. To a certain extent, he or she is the other, because there is a continu-ity with them. Even people who have a special affinity for general ideasmay work together better (CP 6.271). In the world of the organization, thishas an influence on the pursuit of the common purpose (which is one of theelements defining the organization), even though each person may havedifferent motives for working toward the attainment of this purpose.

The thread running through this chapter has been the question of how tounderstand the world from the Peircean perspective. We have analyzedPeirce’s rejection of the forms of necessitarianism and his stance in favor ofa form of evolutionism based on the exercise and acquisition of habits, thelaw of continuity, the tendency toward the acquisition of habits, and “evo-lutionary love.” This has enabled us to make a number of remarks about or-ganization theory. The vision offered by Peirce is that of an open,continuously evolving, endless universe, in which irreducible contingency,chance, and novelty exist. In such a universe, there is no place for the doc-trines of mechanical determinism. The individual is not at the mercy of nec-essary, deterministic laws, and neither is he or she a passive toy, determinedby forces outside his or her control. Quite the contrary, with the adequatecultivation of habits, acquired and developed by endeavor and experience,people can influence their own destiny. The law by which they must act isthe law of love, which moves them to include their fellow man in their deci-sions, as the law of love moves them to seek that which may improve theirfellow man and make whatever sacrifices may be necessary to attain it.

At the end of the previous chapter, two questions were raised: one on thenature of the environment on which we act, which was discussed in thischapter, and another on our perception of that environment, which will bethe subject of the next chapter. Following the conclusions reached in thischapter, the question about the perception of the environment becomeseven more pressing. The law of evolutionary love moves people to considerother people’s needs in their own actions. However, a necessary prerequi-site for this is the possession of knowledge about others; inasmuch as it ispossible to foresee their reactions, it will be possible to determine one’s ownactions better, even though, as pointed out in the previous chapter, the ac-


tive agent can only know the reactive agent’s intention through the percep-tion of the latter’s reaction.

NOTES

1. C.R. Hausman, Charles S. Peirce’s Evolutionary Philosophy (Cambridge: Cam-bridge University Press, 1993), 173.

2. D.R. Anderson, Creativity and the Philosophy of C.S. Peirce (The Hague:Martinus Nijhoff, 1987), 134.


4. C. Hartshorne, La creatividad en la filosofía estadounidense (Mexico City:Edamex, 1987), 109–114.

5. Hausman, Charles S. Peirce’s Evolutionary Philosophy, 176–177.6. The reference point for the following pages is taken from J.E. Ricart, “El

desarrollo personal en las nuevas formas organizativas,” in Etica en el gobierno de laempresa, ed. D. Melé (Pamplona: Eunsa, 1996), 158–164. J.A. Pérez López also sum-marizes the main theories, grouping them under three conceptual models, whichare the same as those that will be followed in this discussion. See J.A. Pérez López,Fundamentos de la dirección de empresas (Madrid: Rialp, 1995), chaps. 2 and 3. For amore detailed discussion, see, for example, W.R. Scott, Organizations: Rational,Natural and Open Systems (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1981).

7. F.W. Taylor, The Principles of Scientific Management (New York: Harper,1911).

8. M. Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization (Glencoe, Ill.: FreePress, 1947).

9. E. Mayo, The Human Problems of an Industrial Civilization (New York:Macmillan, 1933), and E. Mayo, The Social Problems of an Industrial Civilization(Boston: Harvard University, Graduate School of Business Administration, 1945);F.J. Roethlisberger and W.J. Dickson, Management and the Worker (Cambridge: Har-vard University Press, 1939).

10. D. McGregor, The Human Side of the Enterprise (New York: McGraw-Hill,1960). See also R. Likert, New Patterns of Management (New York: McGraw-Hill,1961), and R. Likert, The Human Organization (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1967),which were adapted more recently by A.C. Hax and N.S. Majluf, Strategic Manage-ment: An Integrative Perspective (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1984).

11. P. Selznick, TVA and the Grass Roots (Berkeley: University of CaliforniaPress, 1949). Other critics of the bureaucratic model were R.K. Merton, Social The-ory and Social Structure (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1957), and A.W. Gouldner, Pat-terns of Industrial Bureaucracy (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1954).

12. J.G. March and H.A. Simon, Organizations (New York: John Willey, 1958),and H.A. Simon, “Rational Decision Making in Business Organizations,” AmericanEconomic Review 69 (1979): 493–513.

13. Pérez López, Fundamentos de la dirección de empresas, 24.14. P.R. Lawrence and J.W. Lorsch, Organization and Environment (Homewood,

Ill.: Richard D. Irwin, 1967); J.W. Lorsch and S. Allen, Managing Diversity and Inter-dependence (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973); J. Galbraith, DesigningComplex Organizations (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley, 1973); and A.D. Chan-


dler, Strategy and Structure: Chapters in the History of the American Industrial Enter-prise (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1962).

15. R. Nelson and S. Winter, An Evolutionary Theory of Economic Change (Cam-bridge: Harvard University Press, 1982).

16. M.T. Hannan and J.H. Freeman, Organizational Ecology (Cambridge: Har-vard University Press, 1989).

17. H. Mintzberg, The Structure of Organizations (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.:Prentice-Hall, 1979); D. Miller and P.H. Friesen, Organizations: A Quantum Ap-proach (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1984); and D. Miller, The Icarus Para-dox (New York: HarperBusiness, 1990).

18. R.H. Coase, “The Nature of the Firm,” Economica 4 (1937): 386–405. Ouchiproposed an organizational model halfway between the market and the hierarchy,which he calls Clan or Type Z, in reference to McGregor’s Theory Y. See W.G.Ouchi, Theory Z (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley, 1981).

19. B. Holmstrom, “Moral Hazard and Observability,” Bell Journal of Economics10 (1979): 74–91. For a study of this theory, see J.E. Ricart, “Una Introducción a losModelos de Agencia,” Revista Española de Economía 4 (1987): 43–61.

20. O. Williamson, Markets and Hierarchies (New York: Free Press, 1975), and O.Williamson, The Economic Institutions of Capitalism (New York: Free Press, 1985).

21. I am using here Juan Antonio Pérez López’s terminology, which distin-guishes among three organizational models: mechanistic, psychosociological, andanthropological. For an explanation of these models, see Pérez López,Fundamentos de la dirección de empresas. P. Koslowski, “Mechanistiche undorganistiche Analogien in der Wirtschaftswissenschaft—eine verfehlte Alterna-tive,” Kiklos 36 (1983): 308–312, has effectively shown the inadequacy of these two“analogies,” the mechanistic and the organistic, for understanding human activityin the firm.

22. Some are content with presenting images of organizations, such as G. Mor-gan, Images of Organizations (Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sage Publications, 1986); othersconfine themselves to listing the variables involved in action, but without explain-ing the dynamic relationships between them, such as M.D. Cohen, J.G. March andJ. Olsen, “A Garbage Can Model of Organizational Choice,” Administrative ScienceQuarterly 17 (1972): 1–25. N. Brunsson, The Irrational Organization (Chichester,U.K.: John Wiley and Sons, 1985), and N. Brunsson, The Organization of Hypocrisy(Chichester, U.K.: John Wiley and Sons, 1989) are also illustrative and focus partic-ularly on the irrational aspects of decisions. For a serious study of methodologicalfoundations in management, see E.M. Hartman, Conceptual Foundations of Organi-zation Theory (Cambridge, Mass.: Ballinger, 1988).

23. A. Llano, Metafísica y Lenguaje (Pamplona, Spain: Eunsa, 1984), 168. Thereasoning presented in the following pages is drawn to a considerable extent fromLlano’s discussion in this work.

24. Llano, Metafísica y Lenguaje, 157–159.25. J.W. Garrison, “The Logic, Ethics and Aesthetics of Geometrical Construc-

tion,” in Peirce and Value Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret(Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1994), 239.

26. Llano, Metafísica y Lenguaje, 171. Leonardo Polo has pointed it out verygraphically by showing that human nature does not tell us how or what to eat,rather this is something we must invent for ourselves. Freedom lies in the very act


of satisfying needs. See L. Polo, Introducción a la Filosofía (Pamplona: Eunsa, 1995),223.

27. P. Geach, Providence and Evil (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,1977), 119.

28. Llano, Metafísica y Lenguaje, 171.29. K.O. Apel, Charles S. Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism (Amherst:

University of Massachusetts Press, 1981), 72.30. J.A.K. Kegley, “Peirce and Royce on Person—New Directions for Ethical

Theory,” in Peirce and Value Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret(Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1994), 28.


CHAPTER 4

The Task of Knowing andInterpreting the World

In the previous chapter, our discussion centered on Peirce’s conceptionof the universe. On the one hand, this has enabled us to become ac-quainted with his metaphysical thought: the criticism of determinism,the principle of continuity and synechism, evolutionary love and the ac-quisition of habits are all necessary concepts for anyone wishing to ex-plore the—sometimes disordered—Peircean world. On the other hand,these ideas have provided a basis for describing the environment inwhich we act and for performing a critical appraisal of organizationaltheories.

It is now time to take another step forward toward our goal of defininghuman action and asking how we know the world in which we find our-selves and in which we carry out our action, as before action there must beknowledge, at least when we are talking about human action. To find theanswer to this question, we must look at Peirce’s semiotic theory. Again,Peirce stands out here for his originality and the significance of his contri-bution. Although Peirce was a pioneer in many fields of knowledge, nodoubt he was particularly a pioneer in the field of semiotics. Peirce is con-sidered to be the originator of semiotics, and his contributions are highlyvalued by the most renowned contemporary semioticians.1

In the first part of this chapter, we will present the main features ofPeircean semiotics, followed by an analysis of the implications that the for-mulated notions hold for defining human action.

THE MAIN FEATURES OF PEIRCEAN SEMIOTICS

From a strictly empiricist viewpoint, reality cannot be conceived byPeirce as something separate from its representations—from the “mentalphenomena”—so that any analysis must, necesssarily, start with them.However, although reality cannot be conceived separately from the mentalrepresentations, this cannot be used as an excuse for making a “mentalist”interpretation of reality, following the example of other empiricists, such asJohn Locke. The solution for avoiding mentalism lay in logic. It was thislogical interpretation of pragmatism that freed him from the nominalismand psychologism espoused by other pragmatic thinkers, such as WilliamJames.2 For Peirce, logic has a semiotic side to it, and, when viewed fromthis side, the phenomenological problem can be defined in the followingterms: all our mental contents are signs because, without the medium ofsigns, we would be unable to think; therefore, mental processes are pro-cesses of semiosis.

Although Peirce’s interest in signs was already apparent in his writingsfrom the late 1870s, it would not be until a paper dated 1907, which the au-thors of the Collected Papers published under the title “A Survey ofPragmaticism” (CP 5.464–496), that Peirce established the significance ofsemiotics for pragmaticism. In this paper, he presents as one of the keys ofpragmaticism the affirmation that all thoughts are signs and that this—farfrom being a nominalist stance—is a realist stance.

Peirce was interested in a certain type of object—signs—whose identify-ing feature was their ability to go beyond themselves, provided that theywere interpreted by a mind. Peirce does not say that all signs are thoughtsbecause there are signs in nature, too: for example, when the bullet actsagainst the wall, it creates a hole, which is the sign of the bullet. However, itis not until a third element is introduced in the relationship—somethingthat performs the function of mediating between sign and object—that itcan be said that a sign functions. Pierce does not accept a dyadic relation-ship between sign and object, as if the former were in place of the latter, butrather believes that the sign and the object are mediated by a third element,which Peirce calls the interpretant (CP 8.177). An experience or an object innature that only exists in a dyadic relationship does not operate as a truesign. If an object or experience is to be intelligible, it must be interpreted orinterpretable, and, hence, it must be triadic.

It should be pointed out at this point that when Peirce refers to interpre-tation, he is doing so in a very different way than how we are used to usingthe term interpretation in colloquial language. Normally, interpretation isopposed to the description of the facts. To describe a fact is to describe whatis perceived, as it is perceived. However, interpreting facts implies adding apersonal appraisal to the description of physical, perceptible phenomena,taking them as signs of something that is not seen. Not infrequently, the in-terpretation of the facts, if understood in this sense, tells us more about the


person making the interpretation than about the facts actually being inter-preted. If interpretation is understood to have this meaning, it is being con-sidered as an opinion or conjecture about events. However, this is not themeaning that Peirce gives to the word.

Sign theory, therefore, always implies a triadic relation, with three termsrelated in a specific manner. These three elements are the sign, the object,and the sign’s interpretant (CP 5.484). Furthermore, the relations estab-lished between them cannot be reduced to dyadic relations, in the sameway that the category of thirdness does not imply a group of dyadic rela-tions. The sign is firstness; the object is secondness, insofar as it is relatedwith the sign representing it; the interpretant is thirdness, mediating be-tween the sign and the object. The sign’s relation with the object is not directbut mediated by the interpretant, which is the effect produced by the sign inthe mind (CP 2.228). A sign is always representative, because it refers to anobject that is different from itself. It is not necessary that the sign be similarto, or connected with, the object that it is a sign of, as it is assumed that theinterpreter is familiar with the object or class of objects that the sign refersto. The significant factors in the interpretation process are past experienceand the interpreter’s knowledge (CP 8.181), such that the interpretant—asan effect produced in the mind by the sign—is formed, not only from thedata perceived by the subject, but also from other contents that are equallyreal for him or her, such as past experience and the learning obtained fromthat experience, personal preferences, or convictions.

For Peirce, the sign is something perceptible or imaginable (CP 2.230,2.232) which becomes a sign precisely because it represents something else,which is its object. The sign is said to represent its object in the sense that it isin place of that object or in such a relation with it that, for certain purposes,it is treated by certain minds as if it were the object itself. However, an objectthat becomes a sign for another object may have numerous characteristicsor properties, but it only becomes a sign by virtue of one of them. This as-pect or property by which something becomes a sign is the ground. For ex-ample, if someone wants to buy paint having a certain color, he can show asample of the color to the sales attendant at the store. This sample is a sign ofthe paint he wishes to buy. This sample may have very varied shapes or bemade of different materials, but none of these properties is relevant to thepresent situation: the only thing that serves to make the sample a sign of thepaint is its color. In the case, the color is the sign’s ground.3

Peirce distinguishes between immediate object and dynamical object.The former is the object as it is represented by the sign, such that, in part, it isdependent on this representation. The dynamical, or “mediate,” object isthe object “outside of the sign,” the reality that goes beyond a concretesemiotic relation and, in some way, determines the sign (CP 8.343). The ob-ject—in this second acceptance—imposes a resistance, a dynamical condi-tion, in our interpretations. In the actual interpretation process, the mind is

The Task of Knowing and Interpreting the World 75

determined by the sign, insofar as it is the sign that produces the effect inthe mind. However, in turn, the sign is determined by its object, which, as asecondness, determines the sign in a reference to the “here and now.”Therefore, the object determines the interpreter’s thought mediately—asthe sign does immediately—and has a certain degree of influence on the in-terpretation process. This point is particularly important for interpretationtheory, because it helps us avoid the mistaken notion that an interpretationis the mere superposition of a subjective appraisal from outside on a seriesof data. Although interpretation is not a mere copying of data, it does notfollow that the data should play no part in determining their correct inter-pretation. In contraposition to a subjectivistic view, in which the restric-tions are imposed solely from the individual, Peirce says that the object tooimposes conditions on the cognoscitive process (CP 5.534).4

The dynamical object is excluded from a specific act of semiosis, but notfrom the general semiosis, that is, from all the possible acts of semiosistaken together. The specific semiotic act is a product of previous semioticevents—as occurs in any act of knowledge—in which a series of as-pects—immediate objects—has been obtained from a single real or dynam-ical object. The constitution of an object is not a closed event but an openprocess, in which new aspects can be acquired in successive semioticevents. In other words, in the final analysis, there is no object—and, there-fore, no reality—without semiosis. For Peirce, we can only think throughthe medium of signs, so that any consideration of reality is already a repre-sentation in itself. Perceptive experience consists precisely of integratingempirical knowledge in the semiotic network comprising the structure ofthought. However, reality lies above what is arbitrary and accidental ineach subject’s individual thinking, as thought is determined by reality. Thefact that thought is determined by reality is what enables reality to be dis-tinguished from fiction and allows us to come to agreements on what weperceive as real.5

The definitory character par excellence of any semiotic action is the factthat it is a triadic relation and, therefore, irreducible to a relation betweenpairs of relates. The third element involved in this relation is theinterpretant. The fact that it forms part of a triadic relation makes it a “medi-ating representation” between the sign and its object (CP 1.553), and, assuch, the category corresponding to the interpretant is that of thirdness, inwhich it may have the nature of a law or rule of interpretation. It is correct toview the interpretant as a mental effect, but its nature is broader than that,as it is not necessary that it have a mental nature. The soldiers’ execution ofan order given by an officer or the performance of a piece of music may beconsidered interpretants (CP 5.473). Thus, as Castañares has very rightlypointed out, Peirce’s interpretant creates the basis for formulating asemiotics of passions, applicable, not only to works of art, but also to daily


life, or a semiotics of action, in which what is said is just as important as whatis done.6

Just as Peirce distinguishes between various types of object, so also doeshe distinguish between various types of interpretant. Thus, he distin-guishes among immediate, dynamical and final interpretants (CP 4.536).The immediate interpretant is the total effect, unanalyzed, which it is calcu-lated that the sign must produce or is expected to produce. In actual fact, itcannot go beyond mere possibility, as it corresponds to the firstphaneroscopic category: it is the quality of being interpretable before an in-terpreter assigns it a particular interpretant; as yet, it is nothing more thanan “impression” or something “sensed,” produced in a first moment,which has not yet reached the category of being meditated or volitional.The dynamical interpretant is—from the receiver’s viewpoint—the effectactually produced; if it is considered from the issuer’s viewpoint, it is the ef-fect that it is intended to produce through the medium of the sign. As it issomething real and unique in each case, it can be distinguished in each indi-vidual, so that a given effect expected by the issuer may give rise to highlydifferent interpretants in the different receivers. Finally, the finalinterpretant is defined as the effect that the sign would have on any mind inwhich the circumstances allow the sign to exert its full effect.

From another viewpoint, the interpretant can be classed as emotional,energetic, or logical (CP 5.475 ff.). The emotional interpretant is a sign’s firsteffect, that is, a “feeling” or an “emotion.” This feeling is the proof that thesign’s intrinsic effect is understood. Sometimes, it is the only effect pro-duced by a sign, such as when a piece of music is played that does not com-municate any idea that the composer has not wished to communicateintentionally; on other occasions, it will be followed by anotherinterpretant. For its part, the energetic interpretant implies a certain effort,whether physical or mental. Thus, for example, when soldiers obey the or-der shouted by an officer to “Ground arms!” they perform a muscular effortthat is an energetic interpretant, as is also the mental effort we have to maketo understand or imagine something. Hence, the character of thisinterpretant is real, concrete, and different in each individual and each case.Peirce asks himself about the nature corresponding to the logicalinterpretant and concludes that it can only be understood as a habit (CP5.486). Thus, if the interpretant is the effect produced by the sign in themind, it is now concluded that this effect has the characteristic of a habit,and that the effect produced can be understood as the change of a habit, thatis, the modification of a person’s tendency toward action (CP 5.476, 8.315).

As Umberto Eco has pointed out,7 the process of interpretation extendsto infinity because reality appears before us as a continuum where there areno absolute individual beings, as the principle of synechism indicates.Thus, the interpretant always has the possibility of referring to another sub-sequent interpretant, thereby becoming a sign for the latter. However, this


gives rise to a succession of infinite possibilities which converts thesemiotic process into a process ad infinitum. Obviously, it is always possi-ble to terminate an interpretation process, for example, when, in the courseof a deliberation, a decision is made or when it is decided that, for certainspecific purposes, the degree of clarity attained in an analysis of a certain is-sue is sufficient. However, terminating an interpretation process is not thesame as considering that the process is complete. Quite the contrary; giventhe nature of the sign and the interpretant, this process is open, by its verynature, to an indefinite process (CP 2.303).

This indefinite character of the interpretation process gives rise to anumber of consequences. On the one hand, reality is a continuum thatswims in indeterminacy and, as such, the possibility of error is ever-present(CP 1.171). On the other hand, whatever is stated of a subject does not ex-haust all the possible determinations of that subject, and there is alwaysroom for future determinations. Finally, the succession of interpretant signsmay give rise to highly different interpretations from a single object. As aresult, the specific interpretant chosen becomes extremely significant be-cause it will give rise to other interpretants. Thus, for example, aninterpretant for the sign “Granada” could be “capital of Andalusia,” “cityof Lorca,” or “city of the Alhambra.” If the interpretant chosen is “city of theAlhambra,” it may give rise to new interpretants such as “the last Moslemkingdom in Spain” or “city of Boabdil.”8

In addition to the agent’s decision, which could be understood as an ele-ment that interrupts the interpretation process from without, there areother elements existing within the process itself that help put a limit on thisunlimited character, preventing it from adopting positions such as JacquesDerrida’s deconstructionism, which only considers valid the textual inter-pretation, or Richard Rorty’s pragmatism, which appeals to the interpret-ers’ free will.9 First of all, we have the object. Semiosis is a necessarily triadicrelation and if, at any time, the object were to be missing from the sign, thiscondition would not be met. The fact that semiosis is a triadic reality pre-vents any consideration of a vicious circle in the interpretation process. Ifsemiosis were to be a relation composed of two elements considered identi-cal, one could talk of a vicious circleness. However, this is not the case whenthree elements that are different functions are involved and when the thirdelement is precisely that which establishes the criterion from which it ispossible to judge the existence of any similarity.10

The reference to objects solves, at least in part, the objection that has beenmade to Peircean theory about the unlimitedness of semiosis: if semiosis istruly unlimited, communication is not possible because it is diluted in thatinfinite process. Although semiosis is unlimited from the point of view ofits possibilities, it is limited in regard to specific, real acts. This limitation ofsemiotic processes can be explained from the limitation of each individ-ual’s world. Our world—which consists of the real objects, their represen-


tations, and the representations of nonreal objects—is limited, and the factthat the sign must necessarily refer to it prevents real semiosis from beingunlimited, while at the same time enabling communication. To summarize,given that both our knowledge of the world and the semiotic systems thatenable a sign to be “translated” into an interpretant are limited, semiosis it-self is limited. However, when viewed from the stance that a community ofsubjects in which such processes may be prolonged indefinitely is conceiv-able, then semiosis can be understood as a process ad infinitum.11

Any reference by a sign to an object is mediated by the interpretant pro-duced by that sign. For a sign to be interpreted, first the object must beknown. From both the epistemological and semiotic viewpoints, first thereis an object and then the sign that represents it. This is why Peirce can saythat it is the object that determines the sign and not the other way round (CP5.473). When this principle is applied to a communication process—as aspecial type of interaction—a possible objection appears. It seems clear thatthe issuer must know the object first: only if this is so will he or she be able tocommunicate something about the object through the sign. However whatis perhaps not so clear is that this principle is also applicable to the receiver.But Peirce insists that any sign presupposes knowledge of the object, asonly if this is so will it be possible to convey that additional informationabout it that constitutes any interpretant (CP 2.231). If the interpreter has noprior knowledge of the object—no matter how vague this may be—the signwill not be able to give rise to an interpretant. At the heart of this issue is anepistemological assumption that is extremely important for Peirce: all ourknowledge is derived from previous knowledge. When viewed in thislight, our knowledge is always inferential: an absolutely original act—inthe sense that it is possible to form a piece of knowledge that is completelyunrelated to something known previously—is not possible. All knowledgeis derived from the transformation or refinement of previous knowledge.12

This is also relevant for human action, as it brings to light a conditionthat is necessary for the interaction’s rationality but that may sometimes beoverlooked. The agent must not only have an idea of the action which he orshe is presently performing or is going to perform—which nobody wouldquestion as a necessary condition—but must also have an idea of what willbe the other agent’s reaction. This means that the deliberation of the actionmust also include an a priori appraisal of the reactive agent’s action. Obvi-ously, as we are talking about future events—and, therefore, aboutthirdness—the a priori evaluation, both of the action and of the reaction,will have a generic, indeterminate character, and the appraisal will have tobe carried out on the basis of the possible consequences and circumstances.

Between 1867 and 1868, Peirce published in the Journal of Speculative Phi-losophy a series of articles known as the “anti-Cartesian essays” or“anti-intuitionist essays,” in which he refutes the intuitive knowledge pro-posed by Cartesian rationalism (CP 5.213–357).13 In place of intuition—un-


derstood as a “direct and immediate knowledge of the object”—Peirceproposes a knowledge inferred from prior knowledge (CP 5.213). Inferen-tial knowledge, that is, knowledge from signs, is the alternative to intuitiveknowledge. Peirce views intuitionism, understood as immediate, infallibleknowledge of reality, as an obstacle to a scientific philosophy, in which theonly criterion for determining the validity of an item of knowledge is ex-perimental verification. According to Peirce, intuitionism leads to the char-acteristic nominalism of the empiricist tradition, on the one hand, and theunattainable, noumenal world of the Kantian tradition, on the other hand.However, in Peircean realism, even though it is external and more or lessopaque, reality is always graspable: there is nothing that is completelyincognizable.

Although Peirce states that it is the object that determines the sign andnot the other way round, this does not mean that the representation is in-variably determined by something real. Asign may be produced either by areal object or by a fictitious object. Thus, signs can be used both to tell thetruth and to lie. The question is, therefore, what we do or are prepared to dowith the representations.14 We can infer three limiting elements from this.The first is habit, which, as a disposition to act (CP 2.170) stops—even if it bemomentarily—the unlimited interpretation process. The ultimate logicalinterpretant is habit. As it is not a sign, it does not require any further deter-mination. Habit is an interpretant that, even if it changes, contains thechanges within itself, without any need to refer to an external referent (CP5.476). This leads us to a conception of habit that shares much in com-mon—from a semiotic viewpoint—with the Aristotelian notion of habit.The second limiting element is purpose (CP 5.166).15 Peirce says that the wayin which the interpreter focuses the inquiry will depend to a great extent onhis or her interests, and, consequently, until these are clear, it will not bepossible to define what may be the action’s logical consequences (CP 5.489).At this point, Peirce accepts the ideas of Ferdinand C.S. Schiller, from whomhe will differ, however, in his definition of pragmatism. Peirce agrees withSchiller’s definition that all meaning depends on the purpose (CP 5.494).As the general character of the interpretation is not lost, it can be said that,rather than direct the interpretation toward a certain aspect, the purposedelimits those possible interpretations that are outside of the interpreter’srelevant criteria, acting as a negative norm with respect to the logical inter-pretation. In this context, one can understand Peirce’s statement that,rather than solve real problems, pragmaticism shows that certain supposedproblems are not real problems (CP 8.259). Finally, another limiting factor isthe scientific community, which ensures that, above and beyond any individ-ual intention on the part of the interpreter, the process of interpretation fol-lows the norms of a scientific inquiry, avoiding both a naïve realism and asterile intuitionism.


On a plane above these factors is the principle of fallibilism, which per-meates all Peircean epistemological conception. Under this princi-ple—which states that our knowledge is never absolute, but rather that it isalways floating on a continuum of uncertainty and indeterminacy—anysolution to the problem of knowing reality becomes purely tentative, andthe final solution is deferred to some time in the future. However, agree-ment is inevitable because, sooner or later, the reality that is independent ofthought will finally prevail. The community of scientists may err—even forprolonged periods—but their error will finally disappear if the inquiry iscontinued for long enough. This is why Peirce thinks that the truth has al-ready been attained in many questions (CP 8.43). Peirce is fully aware of thefallibility of human knowledge, but, at the same time, he is sure that, finally,all that which is investigatable will be known if the necessary time and ef-fort is devoted to it.16

In short, Peirce’s unlimited semiosis does not entail an unlimited free-dom for the interpreter, who will find him- or herself constrained, either bythe social group or by reality itself, to certain limits and the need to come toagreement on the content of the representations being interpreted. Peirce’spragmatistic realism is based on two basic assumptions of his philosophy:the existence of a reality that determines thought—which leads to a rejec-tion of the Kantian noumenon—and the social principle of the final agree-ment of the community of scientists as a criterion for the truth of individualrepresentations. These two references place bounds on individuals’ inter-pretative activities, as they may find them disqualified, by either the tenta-tive agreement of the experts or the stubborn persistence of a reality thatmust finally prevail.17

THE SEMIOTICS OF HUMAN ACTION

Having analyzed semiotic theory and its chief components, we will nowconsider how this theory can help us in our comprehension of human ac-tion. We will look at two issues. From the viewpoint of the agent who acts,we will analyze the concept of “center of intention,” proposed by Smith, anauthor who moves within the pragmatic tradition. From the viewpoint ofthe interaction, we will refer to the definition of action problems and theclassification of the types of systems, as presented by Pérez López in his or-ganizational theory.

Each individual understands those with whom he or she relates, primar-ily in terms of his or her own experience. By means of the process of inter-pretation, we come to know, gradually and with effort, what the otherperson means in our own terms and, as a result, to what extent his own ex-perience is valid in terms of the other’s experience. Ultimately, the goal isnot only to discover how each person experiences the others, but how theothers experience themselves, even though this is achieved in terms of our


own experience.18 This task is, without doubt, fraught with difficulties and,as Peirce points out, requires “the highest power of reasoning” (CP 8.181).

When two people relate in an interaction, neither of them is for the othera simple perception of a quality or an object that is apprehensible by meansof a conceptual knowledge. In any perception, there is always an interpre-tation present (CP 5.183). Each person constitutes a unity that goes beyondwhat is perceived or conceived by the other, even though he or she mani-fests him- or herself in that which is perceived, insofar as action is the ener-getic interpretant of the subject’s habit and purpose (CP 5.491).Consequently, the individual may be subject to an interpretation that is notidentified with what is perceived or conceived of that person—eventhough it is dependent on this—but instead reaches to the deepest core ofpersonal reality. The person is understood as a dynamic, organic system ofhabits, feelings, desires, tendencies, and thoughts, unified through plansand purposes, which are modeled and projected by what can be called thecenter of intention.19

When two people meet, their primary encounter is as living bodies,through which they express meanings, purposes, and intentions. Each oneis, for the other, a series of signs, words or gestures, actions or omissions,that must be interpreted. However, these signs do not appear as isolatedphenomena that are capable of being understood by themselves. When theother asks me a question, I ask myself to identify the deepest and most com-plex intention to have given rise to the question. In other words, I assumethat this question is a sign of an objective that has not been fully expressedin the question that has been asked; I assume that the subject has a purposethat is not exhausted in the question. It is on the basis of the supposition ofthis objective that I interpret the question. Thus, a question about what theweather will be like today may be interpreted—and answered—in very dif-ferent ways depending on who is asking the question (a tourist, a farmer) orwho is answering it (a hotel receptionist, a meteorologist). However, it willnot always be necessary to trace the intention back to the ultimate purposethat gives meaning to all life. There will be actions in which such a questionwill not be relevant: it is a supposition that implies a great deal of effort, andtherefore, there may be situations in which the expected result does notcompensate the effort required.

The process described here does not start from specific events, assumingthat they are evidence of the existence of the individual and of the “center ofintention,” but rather works the other way round: unless the unity of objec-tives in the other person’s actions is assumed, it will never be possible totake such actions as signs to be interpreted. To interpret the other is to takehis or her actions as signs of a deeper reality: to view him or her as a personwhom we are attempting to know and penetrate his or her “center of inten-tion.” The interpretation process implied in any interaction process carrieswith it the opportunity of forming a community of knowledge between the


individuals involved. This community is not understood in the sense of theparticipants agreeing on all the points with respect to their opinions or ap-praisals, but rather in the sense of coming to know what each participant isdoing or saying and, in short, what is the objective that gives unity to eachindividual’s life.

Each action is viewed in an interpretative context that also includes a se-ries of past events, experiences, and actions, within which the action findsits meaning. Both past and present events are understood in the context ofan intentionality that, from the future, gives meaning to specific ideas.When viewed from actuality—secondness—the events that punctuate ourlives have structures that can be repeated and described in generic, objec-tive terms. The specific actions performed by the person, inasmuch as theyare performed by a specific individual, acquire a condition of individualityand uniqueness in history. To take the example used by Peirce, the actionsperformed by Napoleon, in their actuality, could be performed by anyone,but they are combined in Napoleon in such a manner that makes themunique (CP 4.611). And what can be said about Napoleon can be said aboutany other people. Consequently, people are not interchangeable, becauseeach person has his or her own uniqueness. Using the category ofsecondness, one understands that they are that person’s actions; using thecategory of thirdness, these actions have a meaning for the particular that isdifferent from the meaning that they would have if performed by someoneelse. What makes us one in the course of the history of our lives is the pur-pose through which we organize and harmonize the other, lower desires.We can view a person’s life as a hierarchization of means and ends, until anultimate end is attained which gives meaning and unity to life, and in rela-tion to which we can interpret all the person’s expressive signs.

Given the difficulty implied in the process of knowing the reactive agentthat takes part in the subject’s interaction, it may be useful to attempt toclassify the types of agents with which the individual may interact. We canuse as a reference for our classification the types of agent proposed by JuanAntonio Pérez López, because it is based on a concept that also appears inPeircean thought, although not always explicitly.

For Peirce, the agent’s habits undergo changes as a result of the interac-tion processes. Habits act as rules of action which, on the one hand, specifythe action to be performed by the active agent—and, at the same time, per-form an a priori appraisal of the reactive agent’s reaction—and, on theother hand, undergo changes when they experience the interaction. Thesechanges that take place in habits are what Pérez López calls learning, andthey may occur in both agents involved in the action. Thus, Pérez López de-fines a structured action problem as that in which there are an active agentand a reactive agent, who may interact an indefinite number of times; an in-teraction that is instrumental for solving the problem; and a learningbrought about by the experiences derived from the interaction.20 On the ba-


sis of the learning brought about in the subjects by the experience of the in-teraction, Pérez López distinguishes three types of agent: stable systems,which are those agents that cannot learn from experience; ultrastable sys-tems, which are those agents that always learn positively; and free systems,which are those agents which have the possibility of learning negatively.To help understand this classification, one can think of a machine as an ex-ample of a stable system; an animal would be an example of an ultrastablesystem; and a human being would be an example of a free system.

There are two aspects of this classification that deserve particular atten-tion. The first is the reference to negative learning by free systems, which isprobably Pérez López’s most significant contribution to the theory of hu-man action in organizations.21 Negative learning is defined as that situationin which, even though the pursued results are achieved, the conditions nec-essary to continue achieving them are destroyed. The clearest situation isthat in which the objectives’ result is achieved by decreasing the reactiveagent’s availability to continue in the interaction, such that, as the reactiveagent’s reaction is a necessary condition for the interaction to take placeand, therefore, obtaining the desired result, the results are achieved but theconditions for continuing to obtain them are destroyed. This is the case ofthe manager who meets the company’s goals at the cost of increasing pro-duction standards and causing worker discontent. In the extreme case, wewould have an agent for whom any action plan capable of motivating himor her is no longer viable because either there is no environment to interactwith or, should the environment exist, the agent has become incapable ofperceiving it as such.22

The second point worth remarking on is the choice of the underlyingsystems for devising theories. Pérez López warns that any theory devisedon the assumption of a system that is simpler than the reality to which thatsystem refers is an incomplete abstraction, which renders it impossible toobserve those variables whose state is precisely that which most deter-mines the behavior it is wished to observe.23 To some extent, this was al-ready shown in the analysis of organizational theories in the previouschapter. The danger of viewing human action in organizations using stableor ultrastable systems is that one may lose sight of elements that are essen-tial for correctly interpreting human action. An organizational model ableto account for all the variables required to understand interaction processesmust start from the consideration that the systems involved in these pro-cesses are free and that any other paradigm—mechanistic or organisticmodels—may give suboptimal solutions by leaving outside the scope oftheir analysis elements that are important for the decision.

If one had to comment on Peirce’s stance with respect to the systems hetakes as his basis for interpreting action, one would have to say that it is nota question, in his case, of taking into consideration models that are morelimited than those required by the reality being interpreted, quite the con-


trary. As was observed when describing the theory of habits, it may be dif-ficult to conceive that theory in the order of physical nature, but it isappropriate in the order of human reality. Therefore, the comment onecould make about Peirce is that he uses models that are too complex for thereality he wants to explain. In any case, this drawback is less serious than ifthe opposite were to be the case. When more complex models are used,they may require an effort that would not be necessary if more appropriatemodels were used, but at least one is sure that no aspects of reality will beleft out of the analysis. As Pérez López pointedly remarks, using complexmodels to explain simpler realities may seem comical (applying the modelof a free system to explain the behavior of an animal or a machine), but theconsequences of the opposite situation—explaining human action usingstable or ultrastable systems—may be tragic.24

So far, it has been seen that human action, in addition to being defined bythe interaction between a subject and an environment, must include an ele-ment of intentionality in the action that gives unity and meaning to the ac-tion and, also, to the succession of actions performed by the individual, sothat one can, in fact, talk of a human conduct. It has also been seen that inthe relationship with that environment, there is always room for spontane-ity; the action is not predetermined but, rather, the intentional element in-fluences the action, from the future, leaving us free to determine the way inwhich the action is performed. Thus, due to the existence of human free-dom, in each situation an element of novelty is added with respect to theprevious situation.

Each action takes us either outward, to know the other person, or inwardto know our own selves. The difficulty in knowing the other person lies inthe fact that this knowledge will always be obtained through our interpre-tation of his or her actions, which will be a sign of his or her intentions. Thisdifficulty does not exist in the case of our own actions. However, both wheninterpreting the actions of the environment—particularly if that environ-ment is another human being—and in explaining one’s own actions, thereare different interests and motives as a result of which actions that, from thepoint of view of their actuality—secondness—appear to be equal, look verydifferent from the point of view of their meaning—thirdness. This explainsthe importance of adequately focusing the interpretation of human ac-tion—both in the a priori appraisal and in the perception of the action andreaction—using decision criteria that help obtain a complete meaning of re-ality. In the same way as, when formulating judgments on reality, we needleading principles—as Peirce would say—that ensure the correct formula-tion of the judgment, so also, when interpreting human action, we requirecertain criteria that facilitate this task of appraisal.

The determination of these criteria will be the subject of the second partof this book. Instead of considering the action, our discussion will now fo-cus on analyzing the decision, centering on the agent who assesses the real-


ity and perceives the results of the interaction, to try and see in whatmanner he or she decides, in what circumstances, and with what criteria.This question will lead us to consider Peircean thought from a differentperspective than that used in the first part. The thread running through thesecond part will be Peirce’s concept of science and the relationship betweenscience and practice, as viewed from different viewpoints. The questionthat will guide the discussion in the second part is whether managementaction can be governed by a scientific attitude or whether, as a practical ac-tivity, it must be separate from any relationship with science.

NOTES

1. U. Eco, “Introduction,” in C.K. Ogden and I.A. Richards, The Meaning ofMeaning, 4th ed. (San Diego: Harcourt, 1989). See also M.H. Fisch, “The Range ofPeirce’s Relevance,” in M.H. Fisch, Peirce, Semeiotic and Pragmatism, ed. K.L.Kettner and C.J.W. Kloesel (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986).

2. W. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura (Madrid: Iberediciones, 1994),124. This work will be a point of obligatory reference throughout this chapter.

3. The example is taken from Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura,131–132.

4. C.R. Hausman, Charles S. Peirce’s Evolutionary Philosophy (Cambridge: Cam-bridge University Press, 1993), 223.

5. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 133.6. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 156–157.7. U. Eco, “Unlimited Semeiosis and Drift: Pragmaticism vs. Pragmatism,” in

Peirce and Contemporary Thought, ed. K.L. Ketner (New York: Fordham UniversityPress, 1995), 216.

8. The example is taken from Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 136.9. Eco, “Unlimited Semeiosis and Drift: Pragmaticism vs. Pragmatism,”

212–213.10. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 147–160.11. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 160–161. For the relationship be-

tween semiotics and communication theory, see G. Debrock, “La información y elestatuto metafísico de los signos,” Comunicación y sociedad 4 (1991): 53–64.

12. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 161–162.13. M.G. Murphey, The Development of Peirce’s Philosophy (Cambridge: Harvard

University Press, 1961), 108–109, points out that Peirce’s criticism of intuitionismtargets both Descartes and English empiricism.

14. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 314.15. This idea of purpose is natural to pragmaticism, although it may upset

other pragmatic authors such as Rorty. See Eco, “Unlimited Semeiosis and Drift:Pragmaticism vs. Pragmatism,” 212.

16. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 217.17. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 216–217.18. J.E. Smith, America’s Philosophical Vision (Chicago: University of Chicago

Press, 1992), 181–182.19. Smith, America’s Philosophical Vision, 183.


20. J.A. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones. La acciónpersonal (Madrid: Rialp, 1991), 40.

21. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones, 50–73.22. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones, 56. N. Chin-

chilla, Rotación de directivos (Barcelona: Eada Gestión, 1996), investigated thecauses of management turnover as a practical application of Pérez López’s theory.

23. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones, 46.24. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones, 47–48.


PART II

The Scientific Character ofManagement

The analysis of human action, which has taken up the first part of this book,has led to the question of how we make decisions. This should not come asany surprise. If human action is to be distinguished by its intentional anddeliberate character, it must be preceded by a deliberation on the possibleactions and the choice of an action plan. Juan Antonio Pérez López, in theopening pages of his book on organizational theory, says that the startingpoint for developing an “organizational theory” must be a “decision the-ory,” which he justifies by arguing that the functioning of human organiza-tions can only be analyzed scientifically through the explanation of thespecific actions performed by the people who make up these organizationsand that these actions must be explained with respect to the decision madeby that person.1

Human action is not a synonym of decision, because if we were to acceptthis equivalence, we would be disregarding that part of human action thatcorresponds to execution. However, without reducing action to decision, itis true that decision plays a significant role in action. To paraphrase Leo-nardo Polo, we could say that we distinguish ourselves from the animals byour ability to stop our action to think and that, as a result of this ability tothink, we can act later with greater force and judgment, while in animals,the cognitive processes are simply moments during the action.2 To act, it isnecessary to stop and think. This need to stop and think is a particularly ap-propriate consideration for the business manager, imbued as he or she iswith action and the urgency to achieve results.

Therefore, the discussion in this second part will focus on decision. First,the decision-making process will be analyzed to ascertain the role playedby scientific knowledge in the practical character of human action. The fol-lowing chapter will be concerned specifically with the notion of pragmaticmaxim and, in it, we will consider how its application in human action en-ables maxims of conduct to be established. The next chapter will addressthe classification of sciences, highlighting the synthetic character of man-agement action. In the last chapter, I will discuss some of the characteristicsof scientific activity and how these characteristics can become present inhuman action.

NOTES

1. J.A. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones: La acción per-sonal (Madrid: Rialp, 1991), 19.

2. L. Polo and C. Llano, Antropología de la acción directiva (Madrid: Unión Edito-rial, 1997).


CHAPTER 5

The Decision-Making Process

INSTINCT AND REASON IN HUMAN ACTION

In 1898, Peirce gave a series of lectures known as the “Cambridge Lectures.”The text of these lectures suggests a certain irony regarding human ability tocope with daily problems from a scientific mentality. Peirce’s answer—atleast, at first sight—could not be more negative: “Two masters, theory andpractice, you cannot serve” (CP 1.642), he was to say, to indicate that we actdifferently depending on whether we are dealing with vital topics or science.The first of these lectures will seek to establish a clear separation betweenthese two aspects of human action. On the one hand, Peirce sets out to showthat instinct and customs are more important than reason in the practicalmatters of moral conduct while, on the other hand, he argues that in order toensure the successful progress of philosophy and science, the practical as-pects must remain out of the investigator’s interests (CP 1.640).

The term vitally important topics refers to the decisions that we take in ourdaily actions. Peirce argues that in these actions, it is better to forget aboutlogic and philosophy and follow the dictates of common sense and the wis-dom accumulated over the centuries: theoretical reason is very unreliable,whereas instinct is infallible in practical terms (CP 1.661).1 However, a per-son who is immersed in the search for truth is not in a hurry to find it,whereas the decisions that we must make in our daily life require prompt, sureanswers. Theoretical matters are important; practical matters are urgent.

In the practical conduct of life, Peirce distinguishes between two situa-tions: great decisions, or great crises, and everyday decisions (CP 1.623).

Both belong to the sphere of action and, as such, differ from scientific in-quiry, which moves on the plane of thought. Therefore, it is possible to clas-sify the actions that we perform in order of greater to lesser practicalimportance, as follows: critical decisions, which are those that refer to eventsthat will have a great influence on our future and, for the same reason, mustbe few; everyday decisions, which are those that we make constantly on aroutine basis and that must have little impact on our future; and nonvital ortheoretical matters, which are those that do not have a direct influence on hu-man action and refer to our ability to search for the truth.

In an analogous manner to the difference established by Peirce, CarlosLlano distinguished between managerial work and operational work in afirm. In managerial work, action follows no fixed rules and its outcome isuncertain. In operational work, known rules are followed and the out-come, if the rules are followed, is—at least statistically—certain. The rulesof managerial action have not been fixed; however, the rules of operationalaction are clearly determined.2 Operational work can be likened to every-day decisions, whereas managerial work would correspond to critical de-cisions.

Science cannot be a guide for conduct because it is concerned with whatis probable or tentative, whereas human conduct desires the security pro-vided by certainty and regularity. When people act, they assume a certaindegree of stability in reality; however, scientific knowledge reacts to what isunusual and new. There are difficulties, therefore, in reconciling the vitalworld and the scientific world. The former is unable to offer a rational com-prehension of reality, whereas the latter is unable to formulate a body ofopinions stable enough to support practical action. Diggins has shownhow, at this point, Peirce found himself immersed in a characteristic di-lemma of modern thought: the difficulty of reconciling the scientific realityto which the modern ideal leads with a reality that often, and in aspects thatare important for its intelligibility, eludes our grasp.3 At first sight, it couldseem that Peirce was unable to overcome this dilemma and, in this sense, hecould be classed as a thinker who has the characteristics typical of modernthought. However, the radicalness with which Peirce usually makes hisstatements should warn us not to take his words at their face value but to goon to the ideas behind them. We will then see that Peirce tried to overcomethis dilemma, thus perhaps becoming the first postmodern thinker.

Peirce confines scientific inquiry to matters of a theoretical nature; sci-ence has nothing to say concerning practical matters (CP 1.637). Ascientificinquiry is, in itself, a useless inquiry, that is, it has no immediate effects ondaily life; and if anything useful should be discovered in it, it should be ig-nored while the inquiry is in progress (CP 1.668) because scientific inquiryrequires a perfect attention, which may be lost if human desires interfere,no matter how worthy they may be (CP 1.619–620). Genuine scientific curi-osity must be devoid of any other interest that may barricade the road of


science (CP 1.642, 1.645). Therefore, rather than focusing on the distinctionwith respect to the object of the action, Peirce emphasizes the distinctionwith respect to the intention with which the subject acts.

The true sphere of reasoning is science, because there are no vital urgen-cies that require a quick, sure decision. However, reason is, by its very na-ture, egotistical (CP 1.631). This means that in the sphere of scientificinquiry, the individual does not need any relationship with anything out-side the inquiry. Through his or her work, the scientist comes into contactwith the other discoveries made by the scientific community, from whichemerges the final opinion that expresses the truth. However, working withthe scientific community is on no account a necessary condition. The grandideals of science make up, by themselves, for the shortsightedness of ego-tistical reason.

To a certain extent, everyday decisions are equivalent to the sphere ofscience and reason may obtain good results in such decisions (CP 1.652), re-lying on rules of action generated by the action itself. However, when facedwith crucial problems or critical decisions, reason does not provide a solidfoundation (CP 1.623). The ideals of science may make vitally important is-sues appear as having little value. From the viewpoint of reason, when aproposition becomes vitally important, it is sunk to the condition of a mereutensil at the same time as it ceases to be scientific, because reasoning is notrelevant to vitally important topics (CP 1.671, 1.56). For reason, the vitallyimportant facts are the most insignificant truths, because reason onlyknows how to conjugate the first person, whereupon its sole concern is myinterest, my occupation, my duty. If vitally important topics are examinedunder the light of reason, Peirce says, there are only two possible outcomes:Americanism and monasticism. The former is typical of the business world,where reason predominates and takes charge of these matters; in monasti-cism, reason scorns them and turns in upon itself, looking only to the eter-nal truths (CP 1.673). However, if we look at ourselves as we are, we willdiscover that even in the little tasks that we must perform, we must givethem all our powers, meaning not only our reason but also those others thatmake up the true substance of the human soul: instinct, our sentiment (CP1.628, 1.646–647, 1.655).

For Peirce, philosophical rationalism is a farce. Rather than rationalism,Peirce prefers philosophical sentimentalism. It is true that there may be asentimentalism that is egotistical, such as that which prevailed in theFrench Revolution. However, true sentimentalism is not egotistical butrather is open to all humanity. Instinct—as opposed to reason—is moreconcerned with the species than with the individual’s own benefit andmakes the individual consider his or her life as a matter of trifling impor-tance. If one takes a conservative sentimentalism and places reason in a me-diocre second place, which is the place that fits it best, one sees that there is ahigher occupation and a higher responsibility than mine: a generalized con-

The Decision-Making Process 93

ception of duty that, by virtue of the continuity principle, encompassesmore than self-interest (CP 1.673). We are not talking of acts of extraordi-nary virtuosity but rather something that is characteristic of each individ-ual man or woman (CP 1.639).

Humanity often deceives itself with respect to the power of reason. In itsvanity, it prides itself on its ability to reason (CP 1.658), when it is veryclear—Peirce would say—that the “lower animals” do not reason, but nei-ther do they make mistakes, whereas people, often because they reason toomuch, do make mistakes: they squander enormous amounts of energy ondeliberating and making a decision that, in the final analysis, they wouldalso have reached by simply throwing a die (CP 1.626, 1.649). In addition,when people start to rationalize their own conduct, they end up giving fullfreedom to their passions and justifying immoral acts with false reasoning(CP 1.57). The power of reason is a gift that, like the talent for music, is notreceived by everyone, and even those who do receive it only do so in smallquantities. It is true that certain individuals who triumph reason deeplyabout things, but most people who can be considered to have achieved suc-cess in their professions have some deficiency in their reasoning power (CP1.657).

One could wonder whether reason still has some role to play in practicalactivity, since, so far, it seems that the process has only led us to increasinglyseparate the two spheres until they have become irreconcilable. MaryannAyim has studied the role played by reason and instinct in scientific inquiryand practical decisions and has concluded—unlike the interpretationgiven by most scholars of Peirce—that science is not totally separated frompractical matters. She argues that theory is not related to practice only ifpractice is viewed in the strict sense of technical action, in which case actionwould be better governed by the rules generated unconsciously by the ac-tion itself (logica utens). However, when practice, viewed in a broad sense,requires new discoveries to be made, the close bond between theory andpractice is fruitful. In this case, the value of scientific knowledge lies in itsability to provide rules which give satisfactory results when deliberate ac-tions are performed using them (logica docens).4

The principle of conservatism, which Pierce enounces as “refusing topush any practical principle to its extreme limits” (CP 1.633), must also beapplied to sentimentalism itself. Thus, it cannot be accepted that only senti-ments play a role in human action, without a place for reason, if one wishesto avoid any deterioration in the ability to think; something which, inciden-tally, is perceived from one generation to the next (CP 1.58). Peirce admits toa certain relationship between practical matters and theoretical reason, butwith caution. Above all, one must avoid the precipitate abandonment ofthose practical maxims and rules of conduct that have been formed overyears of experience simply because a theoretical speculation has cast ashadow of doubt on them, precisely because reason is notoriously fallible.


Patience and prudence are required when one is considering convertingtheoretical opinions into practical rules of action. Our search for truth—fol-lowing the canons of honest reason and with a spirit of humility—can be,and in fact is, one of nature’s most powerful means for bringing truth to thefore. However, experience and nature are the masters and ultimatecorrectors of theory: honest reason requires respect for the facts of experi-ence while, at the same time, reason itself is a fact of experience that must betaken into account. If the practical principles of action are true, no theoreti-cal explanation can change them; however, if they are false, experience,sooner or later, will destroy them.5

In most situations, we adapt to our inclinations in the same way that abee or an ant does, as our rationality is little different from theirs. We dothings without much reflection and with no necessity to go back to the firstprinciples: this is only done by the odd exceptional being or when we findourselves in some exceptional situation (CP 2.176). Our instinctive ways ofthinking have adapted to practical ordinary life, in the same way that ourphysiology adapts to the environment. Thus, reason itself gives us this ad-vice: “Invariably follow the dictates of Instinct in preference to those of Rea-son when such conduct will answer your purpose.” And it continues: “Donot harbor any expectation that the study of logic can improve your judg-ment in matters of business, family, or other departments of ordinary life”(CP 2.177). However, at the same time, Peirce acknowledges that humannature is not as simple as that of a bee or an ant. They are content to followtheir instincts, but this is not the case with human beings. We do not have asufficient stock of instincts to survive; we cannot settle for following in-stincts but rather must venture to reason. Therefore, the best action plan isthe following: to base our conduct as much as possible on instinct, butwhen we do reason, to reason with severely scientific logic (CP 2.178). Wis-dom consists of discriminating the occasions for reasoning and the occa-sions for going by instinct, while remembering that it is more important to“feel right” than to reason deeply (CP 7.606).

Even though by reason we may verify whether instincts align with expe-rience and be prepared to repudiate them if they do not work, the principleof conservatism states that one should not rush to change something thatworks simply because reason tells us that it must be changed. The supremecommandment of reason proclaims the subordination of reason to senti-ment (CP 1.634) but, at the same time, the supreme commandment of senti-ment drives us to join the “universal continuum”—which is the matter oftrue reason—where the discontinuities of will disappear, thus avoidingfalling prey to a blind will in the hands of an egotistical reason (CP 1.673).

To correctly understand the relation between reason and instinct in hu-man action, we might do well to distinguish, as does Ayim, between natu-ral—inherited—instinct, which would be instinct in its pure sense, andsocial—non-inherited—instinct, which is the sentiment.6 Thus, sentiments,


like instincts, have a character of habit or disposition but their origin andevolution are different. Consequently, when Peirce says that we are lesswell equipped than animals to act instinctively, he is referring to the orderof natural instinct. It is at this point that reason must intervene. However, inthe order of reason, sentiments have a role to play. When we find ourselvesfaced with a new situation, we can act from natural instinct—with the limi-tations this has in the case of human beings—or we can act with reason. Inthis case, the decision process formulates a rule of action that, when it is ex-ecuted and receives the reaction from the environment, may undergo mod-ifications in successive iterations. With the repetition of actions, weinternalize this rule of action to the point that it becomes integrated in theindividual’s instinctive part; in other words, it no longer needs the inter-vention of reason. However, in this case, we are talking of social instinct orsentiments. Let us take the example of someone who learns to drive a car.The first few times he changes the car’s gears, he will need to devote all hisattention to following the necessary steps. However, with time, the processbecomes—to use the customary expression—“instinctive”: the decisionrule has been integrated in the instinctive part of our nature and has be-come a habit. As opposed to the greater rigidity of natural instinct, the in-stinct that has been mediated by reason—sentiment—can becomeinfinitely plastic.

Therefore, there are two alternatives for solving vitally important prob-lems: one, allow the individual to solve the problem by him- or herself, us-ing natural instinct, with the limitation that the individual is less wellequipped than animals to act when guided solely by instinct; two, transferthe problem to the domain of reason, while ensuring that the individual’snatural egotistical tendency is kept under control (CP 1.638).7 If the deci-sion requires a logical analysis, because instinct is not sufficient to guideour action, then sentiments must be kept out of the way and we must pro-ceed in accordance with the appropriate scientific method. However, senti-ments always have the last word in the decision because the conclusions oftheory are always tentative and are not a guarantee of having proceededcorrectly. Thus, a space is kept for the individual’s free decision (CP 1.644).The results of theory do not determine our action. Any norms that may beestablished always have a generic character, which imposes no positiveform of conduct. The positive orientation of conduct therefore has a mana-gerial character.8

Technical action seeks homogenous procedures and rules that can be re-iterated; to a certain extent, it can be said that it is practical. However, eventhough managerial action is practical, it does not move on the plane of tech-nical action because it goes beyond the reiteration of predetermined rules.It can be said that the technician solves operational problems—everydaydecisions—in which the sequence of operations to be performed to solvethe problem is known. On the other hand, when faced with nonoperational


problems, technical action is inadequate. Prudential knowledge is thatwhich addresses nonoperational problems to make them operational. Intechnical problems, the chief concern is to apply the rules of action; in man-agement problems, the key point is to define the problem. Peirce says thesame thing when he points out that in those observations where precisionis paramount, it is the experiment that is important. However, in those ob-servations where precision is not essential, it is the observation that is im-portant (CP 7.256). The former are technical observations; the latter aremanagement observations. However, any human action is initially anon-operational problem; because the agent performing it is a person, hisor her action always contains a degree of novelty with respect to past ac-tions. We must always first answer the question as to whether we are facinga new, non-operational problem or the repetition of an operational prob-lem. Once we have answered that question, the deliberation can continue.By their very nature, human problems are management problems; hence,to a certain extent, it is a redundancy to talk of “human” management in or-ganizations as management can only occur where there are humans.

Therefore, even though a preliminary analysis may give the impressionof a clear separation between science and practice, a more detailed study ofthe types of action and the role played by reason and instinct in each typehas led us to conclude that, in the case of the type of action in which there isan element of novelty that prevents us from following predetermined rulesof conduct, reason must be present in the deliberation process. This is thecase of human action, in which there is always a factor of novelty.

THE ARTIST, THE PRACTICAL MAN AND THE SCIENTIST

In 1883, Peirce commenced a study on the great men of the history of hu-manity (W 5:26–106; CP 7.256–266). His interest in this study was method-ological: his purpose was to teach his students at Johns Hopkins Universityhow to carry out an inductive investigation, and he thought that if he tookas his basis for study a subject that was not susceptible to exact observation,it would enable him to show more clearly the importance of a mathematicaltreatment of this type of investigation (CP 7.256). However, even thoughthe study of great men was not the direct interest of the investigation andthe study was never even completed, Peirce established a kind of classifica-tion. When, in about 1896, he started writing a book entitled Lessons of theHistory of Science, he took up that classification again and identified threeclasses of people: the artist, the practical man, and the scientist. This is howhe describes each one:

The first consists of those for whom the chief thing is the qualities of feelings. Thesemen create art. The second consists of the practical men, who carry on the businessof the world. They respect nothing but power, and respect power only so far as it isexercised. The third class consists of men to whom nothing seems great but reason.


If force interests them, it is not in its exertion, but in that it has a reason and a law. Formen of the first class, nature is a picture; for men of the second class, it is an opportu-nity; for men of the third class, it is a cosmos, so admirable, that to penetrate to itsways seems to them the only thing that makes life worth living. These are the menwhom we see possessed by a passion to learn, just as other men have a passion toteach and to disseminate their influence. If they do not give themselves over com-pletely to their passion to learn, it is because they exercise self-control. Those are thenatural scientific men; and they are the only men that have any real success in scien-tific research. (CP 1.43)

In a manuscript corresponding to some lectures given at the AdirondackSummer School in 1905, he refers again to these three types of people (MS1334).9 Human beings—he said on that occasion—can be divided into threegrand groups, whose members understand each other in general terms,even though they cannot understand, viewed from their way of life, theothers’ objectives and purposes. The first group corresponds to those whodevote themselves to amusement, seeking the best way for themselves andtheir companions to have a good time; this is the most numerous and mostnecessary class. The second class scorns such a way of life: for them, theirnotion of life is to achieve results. They set grand goals, they devote them-selves to politics to wield the forces of the state, and put into motion allmanner of reforms. This group is that which builds civilizations. The peo-ple comprising the third group, who are comparatively few, cannot con-ceive of either a life of amusement or a life of action. Their purpose is toworship God in the development of ideas and the pursuit of truth. Theseare the scientists (MS 1334).

One could ask whether Peirce intended to classify all people into thesethree types. Having reached this point in our dialog with Peirce, it becomesdifficult to accept an interpretation of the three types of people in the senseof a mutually exclusive and collectively exhaustive classification. How-ever, it would be more reasonable to view it as a categorical structure of thetype that characterizes all Peircean thought. Thus, rather than talk of typesof people, one should talk of different attitudes held by people. All three atti-tudes—following the characteristics of the categories—would be present ineach person, although each one’s relative weight would vary, not only ineach person, but also in each specific interaction and decision.

The question that Peirce customarily asks is whether the scientific per-son can be moved by other interests that would be more typical of the per-son of action. However, it is not this question that is the center of interest inthis discussion. The crucial question here concerns the opposite situation:whether the person of action can have a scientific attitude in his or her ac-tion. Applying the conceptual framework provided by a categorical inter-pretation of the three types of people, one could answer this question in theaffirmative. Although the category of secondness and the practical type ofperson will have particular importance in the person of action, this does not


mean that the other two types are excluded and that management action,apart from a fundamentally practical dimension, has no place for a scien-tific attitude or an artistic attitude. Management is eminently practical, in-asmuch as it requires a clearly defined purpose and the adoption of aconsistent plan for achieving that purpose. However, at the same time, be-ing a practice that is not limited to the merely technical, it requires the pres-ence of the scientific attitude, which is necessary in those actions in whichthe novelty factor is relevant, as is the case—to a greater or less ex-tent—with human actions. Finally, the observation power required by the apriori appraisal of the possible action problems indicates an artistic atti-tude because—as Peirce states—the artist is a much finer and more accu-rate observer than the scientist (CP 1.315).

The conceptual framework contributed by Peirce is clearer and more ex-planatory than some of the classifications that have been suggested to con-ceptualize managerial action. One of the most widely acceptedclassifications distinguishes between leaders and managers: the former arethe people who set the company’s strategy, who innovate, who alwayskeep ahead, who have a vision of the company and its goals, whereas themanagers are those who specialize in administrative tasks, performing thedetailed analytic work that enables the organizational framework to func-tion properly. According to the wordplay used by Bennis and Nanus,“managers are those who do things right and leaders are those who do theright things.”10 In Peircean terms, the leader would be an artist whereas themanager would be halfway between the practical person and the scientist.However, business reality shows the unsatisfactoriness of this division,which is not matched to the nature of true management work. Others havedistinguished between “task-oriented” managers and “people-oriented”managers.11 However, we are faced once again with a dualism that does notmatch reality, as not only is it inappropriate to distinguish between themanagement of things and the management of people, but also a correct in-terpretation of management leads to the conclusion that these aspects areinseparable.12

Amore all-embracing approach was proposed by Pérez López, who dis-tinguished three dimensions of management: the strategic dimension,which seeks to discover opportunities; the executive dimension, which isconcerned with aspects of the organization’s structure; and the leadershipdimension, which is concerned with the development of the people whomake up the organization and, therefore, with satisfying their real needs.13

This distinction by Pérez López, which is more complete than those men-tioned previously, can be considered complementary to Peirce’s, as it cen-ters on tasks, whereas Peirce’s distinction is concerned with the attitudesthe manager must have in each of these dimensions. In other words, onecould analyze the artistic, practical, and scientific aspects in each of the di-mensions proposed by Pérez López. Carlos Llano, in his distinction be-


tween operational work and managerial work, warns that, even thoughthese two actions have different characters and signs, this does not meanthat it is considered desirable that they be carried out by different people.To separate these two essential aspects of action, which is like splitting aperson, entails not only what one could call utilitarian costs for the com-pany, but, above all, an anthropological cost. Consequently, it is desirable tofoster a tendency, which already exists, in which the inevitable separationbetween management and operation does not necessarily imply a separa-tion between people, but merely a distinction of domains or spheres in eachtype of activity.14

Just as viewing the three types of people from the perspective of the cate-gories theory helps us understand that these two dimensions of action can-not be taken separately, it also makes clear that, even if they are present inthe same person, they should not be fused in a disorganized fashion. Mana-gerial work seeks to determine the rule; operational work is bound to besubject to the rule. At the levels of greater responsibility in the company,managerial work will prevail over operational work. However, even atthese levels there must be operational work, as there are actions at these lev-els that cannot be exempt from rules. At the levels of lesser responsibility,on the other hand, operational work will prevail over managerial work,but, no matter how many rules it must follow, there will always be a spacefor managing one’s work.

The division of jobs, which is necessary for the effective functioning ofsociety, should not be taken as sanctioning the division of labor. The man-agement of work is an expression of personal autonomy in one’s work, a re-flection of the rationality that, under no circumstances, should be takenaway from people. According to Carlos Llano, our work becomes manage-rial in three ways: by setting the rules ourselves, by deciding them jointlywith others, or by accepting as our own the rules set by others. The manage-rial dimension of work does not require that it be entirely one’s own. In-deed, it does not matter whether the instructions that the individual mustfollow have been devised by him- or herself alone, together with others, oronly by others. The important point about these instructions, rules, or ac-tion criteria is not who gives them or the result they imply, but the fact thatwe accept the rules under which we work. There are many intelligent peo-ple who do not accept their own ideas because they realize that the merefact that they are their ideas is not sufficient; and there are many pru-dent—or, at least, cautious—people who doubt their own ideas and placethem before other people for rectification or ratification. An intelligent,prudent person will accept the rules given by another person if their ratio-nality or technical goodness is sufficient. However, the acceptance of rulesis also dependent on a certain personal accord with the rules that are to beapplied, and, in such cases, the applicable principles are anthropologicalrather than technological. Organizations do not focus only on the search


for, and implementation of, adequate operating systems for their growth,but also on developing people’s intelligence and prudence so that they arecapable of taking full ownership of these systems.15

To summarize, both regarding action and the individual who acts, theopposition between theory and practice is more apparent than real. By itsvery nature, human action requires the mediation of reason and, therefore,a certain degree of scientific method. However, people cannot ignore the ar-tistic, practical, and scientific dimensions of their actions: if reasoning is re-quired, it must be done with a rigorous scientific logic. Therefore, the studyof the scientific process of inquiry may help explain the scientific aspects ofdecision making in practical action.

THE DECISION PROCESS: FROM DOUBT TO BELIEF

The manager is basically interested in action. His or her relation with theenvironment is not only, or primarily, a contemplative relation, but rather atransformative relation. Using production and distribution processes, themanager seeks to produce and offer goods and services that satisfy theneeds of the society that he or she wishes to serve. Thus, the threshold ofmanagement decision always has these two extremes: at the beginning, aseries of needs; at the end, a series of goods and services that satisfy thoseneeds. Covering the distance between one extreme and the other is the deci-sion-making process: the manager defines what those needs are, generatesthe alternatives by which the needs can be satisfied, chooses one of themthrough the application of certain criteria, and establishes an action plan.

Peirce, too, places the process of scientific inquiry between two thresh-olds. If, instead of talking of “need,” one talks of doubt, and if “satisfactionof needs” is replaced by belief, the managerial decision process will thencorrespond to the process of inquiry as characterized by Peirce. The actionof thinking always starts with a doubt and ends when one attains a belief,so that one could say that the sole function of thought is to produce a belief(CP 5.394, 5.371). Peirce uses the concepts of doubt and belief to express, re-spectively, the starting and ending point of any question, regardless of itstranscendence or lack thereof. Doubt stimulates the mind to an activity thatmay be slight or energetic, calm or turbulent, but that, in any case, causes astruggle to attain a state of belief; the term Peirce gives to this struggle is in-quiry (CP 5.374–375). Images pass rapidly through the consciousness, oneincessantly melting into another, until at last, when all is over—it may be ina fraction of a second, in an hour, or after many years—we find ourselvesdecided as to how we should act under such circumstances (CP 5.394). Withdoubt, therefore, the struggle—the inquiry—begins, and with the cessationof doubt, it ends, by means of the statement of the belief (CP 5.375).

Doubt and belief are two states of mind that are distinguished by the fol-lowing characteristics. First, they produce different sensations; this is clear


when one compares asking a question with pronouncing a judgment. Sec-ond, the belief indicates the existence of a habit that will determine our ac-tions. Finally, doubt is associated with an unsatisfactory state, which doesnot provide any guideline for action, so that our struggle is to free ourselvesof this state and acquire habits of action (CP 5.370–373, 7.313).16 In spite oftheir differences, doubt and belief have positive effects on us. Although be-lief does not make us act, it puts us in a condition that enables us to act in acertain way when the occasion arises; doubt, for its part, stimulates us to in-quiry (CP 5.373).

Although Peirce uses the term doubt to refer to that situation that startsinquiry, on other occasions he talks of curiosity as the motive of all inquiry(CP 7.58) or of a state of hesitancy prior to a certain action (CP 5.394). Thestate of doubt has the following characteristics: first, it is a sensation of notknowing something; second, it is a desire to know it; and, third, it is an ef-fort to calm that sensation (CP 5.584). The first condition for learning is toknow that we are ignorant; only after having acknowledged this—whichbrings to mind Socratic reminiscences—can inquiry start (CP 7.322). Thedesire to know is also important. Peirce establishes as the first rule of reasonthat, in order to learn, one must desire to learn, and that this desire mustlead to a feeling of dissatisfaction with what one already knows. This rule ofreason has a methodological corollary that—Peirce says—deserves to beinscribed on every wall of the city of philosophy: “Do not block the way ofinquiry” (CP 1.135). The process of inquiry should be open to new, futureinquiries and cannot be barricaded with statements or assumptions thatimpede its advance (CP 1.136–140).

The two extremes between which inquiry moves—and into which itmust avoid falling—are that which doubts everything and that which baseseverything on certain first principles or ultimate facts that are beyonddoubt. Peirce does not deny the existence of necessary reasoning—whichforms part of mathematics—but, whereas mathematical reasoning is basedon certain hypothetical conditions that support the conclusions withoutthere being any need to look for a reference in the existential order, thechemist’s experiments, to give another example, even though they, too, arebased on hypothetical conditions, are always open to doubt as to whetherthere may exist unknown conditions that affect the experiment (CP 5.8).Thus, Peirce is not so much against the presence of certain first principleson which reasoning is based as the fact that these first principles are main-tained even when experience shows them to be untrue. Thus, those whoadopt a skeptical position—and who find in Peirce a well-founded criti-cism, in spite of his apparent simplicity—will find it difficult to agree withPeirce’s stance. On the other hand, it may be acceptable for those who arguein favor of the existence of certain first principles, inasmuch as they may beunderstood as beliefs that are sufficiently confirmed by experience as to notdoubt them without sufficient motive.17


The doubt causing the inquiry must be real and living, that is, the prob-lems raised must be real and not pseudoproblems. Thus, it is not the task ofinquiry to discuss what is already clear; if the doubt is settled, the mentalprocess is complete, and trying to prolong it without any purpose wouldnot bring any further progress (CP 5.376). Neither is it acceptable to doubtsomething that is known by daily experience or those beliefs in which wehave always held: we cannot doubt in our conscience what we do not doubtin our heart (CP 5.265, 2.75, 7.322). The doubt must be spontaneous and notforced,18 which requires an external origin that causes in the individual thesurprise that puts into motion the inquiry process. It is impossible for us tocreate in ourselves a genuine doubt simply by an act of will if there is nooutside reference on which it is founded (CP 5.443), and neither is it possi-ble to consider any question as a subject of inquiry if it lacks sufficient inter-est and is incapable of giving rise to a genuine process of inquiry.19

Adoubt that is real and living will normally be related to a decision prob-lem and will come about as a consequence of an indecision in our action.This indecision may sometimes be due to a real need, and, on other occa-sions, it may be forced by us, by an intellectual curiosity or because we havenothing better to do (CP 5.394). Whatever the case, it causes a stimulus tothe mind which drives us to decide how we would act in a situation such asthat which has given rise to the doubt. Thus, any hesitancy can be ap-proached as a process of inquiry, and all inquiries end in a belief, which canbe interpreted as a rule of action and a decision on how to act. A deci-sion—after all—is distinguished from a random process because it followsa process of deliberation, which is a kind of inquiry.20

Belief has a character of habit and, as such, rather than leading us to act, itdisposes us to act. It is a habit of intelligence by which the subject will act ina certain way when the occasion arises. This definition of belief is meant forthose situations in which—as is the case with scientific inquiry—the prob-lems are not raised with the urgency of the here and now. But this does notmean that it is not useful for those other circumstances in which decisionsare made in a very specific “hereness and nowness,” although such circum-stances would require certain qualifications to be made to Peirce’s ideas.

A belief is characterized primarily by being deliberately prepared toadopt the formula believed in as a guide to action, so that the belief can bedescribed as a habit of conduct and the proposition by which it is ex-pressed, as a maxim of conduct (CP 5.27, 5.539). In previous pages I pre-sented the characteristics of doubt, and I will now list the followingcharacteristics of belief. First, it is the result of deliberate thinking and,therefore, the subject is aware of it; second, it appeases the situation ofdoubt that has given rise to the inquiry; finally, it has the nature of a habitand implies the establishment of a rule of action (CP 5.397).

Habits corresponding to beliefs are intellectual habits formed in theimagination. It is not necessary to act to form such habits; the individual


has simply to imagine the situation to determine how he or she wouldact—decision rule—if such a situation were to actually occur (CP 5.440,5.394, 5.538). This is the process that takes place in the “a priori appraisal”performed by the active agent with respect to the possible interactions. Thisexplains the importance of imagination for management action and, in par-ticular, of that function of imagination—the cogitative function, in classicterms—that is concerned with planning and appraising future action.However, just as the habit corresponding to a belief has a deliberate charac-ter—that is, it is mediated by reason—so, too, must imagination be gov-erned by the intelligence of the ends (CP 5.538) and avoid the two extremesof either being left to the mercy of emotional impulses or submitted to tech-nical reason. As Alejandro Llano pointed out, imagination, when given thismeaning, “is closer to thought than sensitivity: it is the ability to see a newopportunity for action where previously there only seemed to be a prob-lem.”21

Even though beliefs may be formed in the imagination, it still remainstrue that experience plays a role in their formation and development, be-cause—in accord with the principle of continuity and the law of habit for-mation—they should not be understood as something that is obtained atonce and for ever, but rather as something that evolves and develops overtime. When habit is put into practice and verified in action, it is easier to ex-ercise it the next time (CP 5.538) because the abstract knowledge obtainedfrom a rule of action that is assumed to work on a given occasion is differentfrom the knowledge that has been found by experience to work. Further-more, the practical application of the rule of action will bring to light differ-ences between the expected effects determined by the a priori appraisal ofthe rule of action and the effects actually caused during its application (CP7.87; MS 329, 3),22 which, in turn, will cause new doubts to appear and anew process of inquiry to begin.23 Thus, two processes take place simulta-neously in the development of the belief-defining habit: on the one hand,the creation of new habits originated by new experiences, which, in thecourse of a generalization process, are added harmoniously to the body ofrules of action that the subject has defined to date; and, on the other hand,the modification of old beliefs when they are confronted with experience(CP 3.161, 7.346) by means of a controlled process, which is that given by thecharacter of reasoning (CP 1.606, 5.130, 5.533–534).

All our beliefs are fallible; our processes of inquiry are built on founda-tions that are not firm, and the best way to stay standing is to keep on walk-ing because as soon as we stop, we fall. When a belief is accepted, it isaccepted with the conviction that surprise will readily reappear in the nextexperience and a new inquiry will begin. In this process, we may think thatwe are drawing ever closer to truth. There is a faith that lies at the origin ofall logical arguments that induces one to think that if the process of inquiryis continued, one will reach a series of conclusions that will be the same for


all people. It is this faith that supports the progress and advancement of sci-entific knowledge, and the acceptance of beliefs, as the historical develop-ment of science itself has shown (CP 3.161). However, we cannot be surethat the community will attain a stable opinion or that any question can besolved by inquiry. We can only harbor a sort of hope that the conclusionwill be attained (CP 6.610; W 3:44). There is no guarantee, but there is atleast hope. When truth will be attained is something that is totally uncer-tain. The only thing we can say is that sooner or later it will be attained, pro-vided favorable conditions exist for inquiry (CP 5.407).24 Guided by thenatural logic of the human mind (logica utens) and corrected with experi-ence, inquiry will reach the same result for everyone, albeit requiring agreat expenditure of resources (CP 2.162). This will render necessary an ad-equate logical theory capable of shortening the time that must elapse untilthe predestined result is obtained (CP 7.78).25

The image that one should have of this process is not that of certain prop-ositions that, as they are confirmed, are placed one on top of another, as ifthey were bricks forming the building of scientific truth. Rather, it shouldbe understood as a succession of doubts that force us to continue investigat-ing until we reach another state of belief that temporarily proves to be resis-tant to doubt, until the next experience renders it necessary to reformulatethe belief. Peirce compares the process of inquiry with a musical composi-tion. The score is divided into cadences. Each of these cadences is a belief,which brings a moment of rest in the playing of the melody (CP 5.397).However, each cadence implies the beginning of a new series of notes andsounds, which is the process of inquiry. It is this succession of notes and si-lences that constitutes music, just as the succession of doubts, beliefs, andprocesses of inquiry shapes intellectual life and the succession of problems,deliberations, and actions configures our practical life. Doubt initiates aprocess of thought, which terminates with a belief, which in turn implies arule of action. Thought is calmed and action begins; a new state of doubt isgenerated, which puts thought into motion again to attain a new belief anda new rule of action. The belief or disposition to act remains tempo-rary—and, therefore, mixed with doubt—by the very nature of the experi-ence from which doubt, belief and knowledge flow.26

For Peirce, the idea generation process implied by the process of inquiryis an art not yet reduced to rules (CP 5.410). On asking himself whether onecan talk of a method in Peircean thought, Putnam says that the process ofinquiry cannot be reduced to an algorithmic process but that this does notmean that we cannot know how to conduct our inquiries;27 it means that,for Peirce, human reasoning is not a Cartesian search for fundamentals, butan activity of cooperative, fallible investigation, which does not need suchfundamentals.28 Kevelson also pointed out the similarity of the process ofinquiry to art, in that the former does not rest on observed facts but ratheron value judgments that are interpretants of shared beliefs that the mem-


bers of a community have reached freely, openly, and in a manner agree-able to reason.29

METHODS FOR FIXING BELIEFS: THE SCIENTIFICMETHOD

Given that the purpose of the inquiry is to settle a belief, one must askwhat resources are available to reach that stable belief on which action isfounded. For Peirce, it does not make much sense to talk of “true beliefs,”as, in his opinion, as soon as a belief is reached, we are satisfied with it (W3:248; CP 6.498), and that, by itself, is sufficient. Peirce does not mean thatthat which is not doubted is truth by itself, but he does say that that which isnot doubted must be held to be true (CP 4.416; W 2:471). At the same time,he says—and this is an important qualification—that the attitude to changethe belief must always be present, as the process of inquiry—and, therefore,the possibility of changing beliefs—is a lifelong matter.

Peirce considers four possible methods for establishing a belief (CP5.377–387). The criterion for assessing each of these methods—tenacity, au-thority, a priori, and scientific—is fundamentally methodological (CP7.49),30 that is, he asks how they respond to the characteristics defining theprocess of inquiry. What leads him to prefer one method over another is notso much the body of affirmations reached as the procedure used, or, to put itanother way, its affirmations are accepted through the mediation of the pro-cess used. Peirce concluded that the scientific method is the only one thatmeets the requirements for acceptance as a method of inquiry. Peirce thenanalyzed the different methods in a logical sequence that also enables thecharacteristics that should characterize the scientific method to be definedby default.

The first method considered by Peirce is the method of tenacity. As theobject of inquiry is a stable belief and not necessarily a true belief, it mayseem more simple and economic to decide to believe in something that is al-ready believed in and reiterate that belief constantly to oneself, rejectingany thought that might threaten the security of the position that has beentaken. It is a simple and direct method, which is chosen by many people.The method may seem irrational, but this is not a sufficient criterion for re-jecting it because if the aim is to achieve stable beliefs, nothing assures us apriori that a rational method will be more effective than an irrational one.However, this method can only be held if we live in isolation from otherpeople. Consequently, taking into account our social condition, the methodbecomes practically untenable: we will always be encountering other peo-ple who hold opinions that are different from ours, which will lead us toquestion our own beliefs, as the process of fixing beliefs takes place, notonly in the individual, but also in the community. This method is also chal-lenged by the force of one’s individual experience. Peirce graphically


points out the disadvantages that may be encountered by a person who in-sists on thinking that fire does not burn while holding his or her hand in theflames (CP 5.377, 7.325).

The second method, that of authority, takes into consideration the socialcharacter of the process of inquiry. This method consists of allowing au-thority to legislate all beliefs, carry out a process of indoctrination, keep thepopulation in a state of ignorance with respect to the possible consequencesof a doubt, and punish all those who profess another belief (CP 5.379). Sucha method may be more effective than tenacity and, in fact—Peirce says—ithas been maintained throughout the course of history, with evident suc-cess. Suffice to think of Ancient Egypt or the societies of medieval Europe tobe able to say that this method—which appears whenever there is an aris-tocracy or guild that imposes its opinion on others—has given civiliza-tion’s most majestic results and is the most appropriate for governing thelarge mass of humanity that is content with being the intellectual slaves of aruling minority (CP 5.380).

Peirce does not repudiate the method of authority as completely ineffec-tive. He gives the example of medieval thought, in which reason and au-thority seemed to be two coordinate methods for attaining truth, eventhough priority was given to authority (CP 1.30). At another time, he saysthat a minimum of social recognition is also good for the scientist andquotes the example of Aristotle, who was able to reconcile social recogni-tion with scientific inquiry (CP 4.46). He does not repudiate authority somuch as a certain mode of exercising it that can lead to vanity and a lack ofcritical sense (CP 2.168), the inability to recognize the divergence of opin-ions and insistence in affirming one’s own opinion (CP 1.30–32), or the at-tempt to enclose knowledge in lists of unchangeable codes or norms (CP3.404). As Misak pointed out, in this case, too, the establishment of the be-lief is founded on an evidence, only it is not that of reality, but of the author-ity of the person from whom the affirmation about the belief originates.31

This authority is based, not on the capability of the person making the affir-mation, but on the trust placed in that person as a result of his or her per-sonal actions.

This second method helps us qualify the social dimension of the estab-lishment of beliefs; thus, the fact that the belief must be fixed in the contextof the community does not mean that it must be fixed by imposition by ahigher entity which completely annuls the individual’s ability to think (CP5.379), as that person then finds him- or herself under the rule of an increas-ingly powerful organization. However, the method of authority is accept-able when it implies the recognition by a decision maker of the fact thatanother decision maker already knows something that the former has yetto learn and that this other decision maker is willing to use this greaterknowledge to help him or her.


The third method, called a priori, consists of believing in that which isagreeable to reason. Those who follow this method believe in that which isplausible and reasonable but do not verify it against experience to ascertainwhether their beliefs are in line with the facts. This is the method, saysPeirce, that has been followed by most philosophers and has brought aboutthe human mind’s most important creations. However, in regard to estab-lishing beliefs, this method only allows beliefs to follow one after the other,like fashions, but does not pursue the ultimate agreement that character-izes the process of inquiry (CP 5.383).32 Without doubt, it is the most intel-lectual and respectable of the three methods analyzed so far, inasmuch as itis the expression of instinct. However, by making belief dependent on indi-viduals’ opinion, it makes inquiry something akin to a question of taste andfashion.

The third method, when viewed in this light, has similarities with themethod of authority, only instead of assigning to authority the task of fixingthe principles governing social life, it is left to the opinion of the majority orthe consensus of the parties concerned. Thus, just as there may have beenspecific ways of exercising authority that could be called into question, so,too, it can be said with respect to the a priori method that dialog by itself of-fers no guarantee regarding the conclusions that may be reached: a beliefcannot be established only from the consensus of the individuals takingpart in the discussion. On the contrary, our beliefs must be fixed by refer-ence to something external, something on which our thought has no effectbut that our thought affects and that, in addition, will affect any person.Thus, the consideration of the a priori method highlights the need for themethod of inquiry to be referenced, not to a simple spontaneous impulse bythe individual in a particular situation but rather to something that is real(CP 5.384).

We have thus come to the scientific method, whose essential hypothesiscan be stated as follows:

There are Real things, whose characters are entirely independent of our opinionsabout them; those Reals affect our senses according to regular laws, and, though oursensations are as different as are our relations to the objects, yet, by taking advan-tage of the laws of perception, we can ascertain by reasoning how things really andtruly are; and any man, if he have sufficient experience and he reason enough aboutit, will be led to the one True conclusion. (CP 5.384)

The characteristic distinguishing the scientific method from the otherthree methods is the reference to reality (CP 5.384, 5.351, 5.405). Changes ofopinion are possible and necessary, but the scientific method recommends,above all, listening attentively to nature and adapting one’s personal opin-ion to the position that it indicates (CP 5.384 n. 1). In this, the scientificmethod differs from the tenacity and a priori methods, although withoutneglecting the community character of knowledge, as truth must be some-


thing that all people can reach, provided they devote sufficient time and ef-fort. These characteristics are those that Misak highlights when he says thatthe scientific method is that which best protects against doubt and leads toagreement: first, because the observations made by it are such that investi-gators tend to agree on its results; and, second, because by testing the con-sistency of our beliefs against experience, we arrive at beliefs that areresistant to doubt.33

Rescher, for his part, pointed out two characteristics that make the scien-tific method superior to the other three methods: its iterative character and,as a result, its capacity for self-correction.34 The scientific method guaran-tees that, if it can be reiterated, it will lead to a result that can be approxi-mated to the truth (CP 2.781). If the true belief is that which will be reachedby the scientific community after a process of inquiry not subject to limita-tions of time or endeavor, the scientific method, by its constant reference toexperience in the search for verification, is the most adequate for freeingoneself of error and approaching the boundary of reality. Thanks to this ca-pacity for reiteration, the scientific method is self-correcting, as the pro-cesses followed to reach the beliefs can be revised on the basis of theirperformance. These characteristics can be confirmed by reference to his-tory, in which it can be verified how different procedures have been usedwhen they have become more suitable for explaining reality, but above all,by logical arguments or arguments arising from the very nature of the sci-entific method: the self-correction is a consequence of the desire to learnthat characterizes the first rule of reason, which induces the individual—nomatter how mistaken he or she may be—to correct his or her method orfindings so as not to lose direction in the search for truth (CP 5.582).

It is true that the other methods have certain advantages over the scien-tific method. Thus, the a priori method stands out for the ease with whichconclusions are reached from spontaneous inclinations, at least until realityawakens us from our dreams. The method of authority stands out for thepeace it achieves, at least among the mass of humanity that wishes to be led.The method of tenacity is characterized, above all, by its simplicity, direct-ness, and forcefulness. The people who follow this method stand out fortheir decisive character: they do not waste time trying to put their mind inorder with respect to what they want but rather, throwing themselves uponthe first alternative they find, they start out from it toward theirgoal—whatever that may be—without a moment’s uncertainty.

The three methods also make some positive contribution to manage-ment action. The manager may often feel tempted to let him- or herself becarried along by spontaneous impulses—as in the a priori method—but wehave already seen why it is desirable that vitally important decisions beguided by reason and not by instinct. For its part, the method of authorityhighlights the characteristics that must be taken into account in the exerciseof command in the organization, at the same time as it points to the argu-


ments that provide the rationale for the company’s delegation and partici-pation processes. Finally, the method of tenacity warns that, in certaincircumstances, the person with management responsibilities may have tomake a quick decision, as the ineffectiveness caused by doubt may be justas harmful as irresponsible and disproportionate activism.35

However, all these advantages should not make us lose sight of the factthat what characterizes the scientific method and makes it superior to allthe others is its capacity for matching reality, which is something that noneof the other three methods can guarantee. This is a prerogative of the scien-tific method. Of course, choosing the scientific method may come with aprice and it may cause an encounter with a reluctance to change old beliefsthat have ceased to be valid; that is the effort that is asked from someonewho wishes to manage from a scientific mentality. The advantage of the sci-entific method over the others is that it enables what is correct to be distin-guished from what is erroneous, which is something that is not possiblewith the other methods. In the method of tenacity, nothing is allowed thatgoes against the assumptions; in the method of authority, one is bound bywhatever may be established by authority; finally, in the a priori method, itis one’s natural inclination that leads the way. However, with the scientificmethod, it is the application of the method itself, and not an immediate ref-erence to my feelings or purposes, that confirms to me that I am proceedingin accordance with an adequate process of inquiry (CP 5.385). Logicalgoodness demands actions that are different and sometimes contrary to thenatural desires of the acting agent. Only the “affectio iustiti”—the desire forwhat is correct—as opposed to the “affectio commodi”—the natural ten-dency toward happiness—can serve as a basis for a free, rational, orself-controlled choice.36

To summarize, we believe what science tells us, first because science isthe best means we have for fixing beliefs, inasmuch as it puts these beliefsinto relation with experience and this ensures a good result; and second, be-cause by following this process, we will reach the truth, whereas the errorthat we may encounter for the moment is the price we have to pay to gainaccess to the truth in the future.

In closing this chapter, it is perhaps a good idea to recapitulate what hasbeen said so far and briefly introduce the contents of the next chapters. Theprocess of scientific inquiry may help define the characteristics required bythe decision-making process in management. In spite of the separationmade by Peirce between theory and practice, vitally important ac-tions—and managerial actions, insofar as they have same features as theformer—require the presence of reason. Thus, in human action, in additionto a practical attitude that is necessary for executing action plans, we alsoneed a scientific attitude to help us analyze reality and an artistic attitude tofacilitate the power of observation. These three attitudes must always bepresent. The person of action needs firm beliefs on which to act, and these


beliefs are attained through a deliberation process that is similar to the pro-cess of scientific inquiry described by Peirce. Just as the appropriatemethod for the process of inquiry is the scientific method—even though theother methods may also have their advantages—so, too, can decision mak-ing in human action be governed by the scientific method. Thus, through-out this chapter, we have seen how the practical character of managementaction is not incompatible with a scientific dimension of the decision butrather, quite the contrary, demands it.

For Peirce, the concept of science is a very broad one, which can be ap-proached from different perspectives. It can be conceived as a reference tothe reasoning processes that take place in the inquiry; it can also refer to aclassification of the different fields of knowledge; and, finally and most im-portant, it can refer to a way of life. Taking each of these three consider-ations of science in turn as their starting point, the next three chapters willexplore different aspects of practical action.

NOTES

1. V.G. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals (Worcester: University ofMassachusetts Press, 1967), 124 n. 10. These “vitally important topics” are, in ac-tual fact, not so important or, to put it another way, they may be important fordaily life but that is not the culmination of human life. The most important topicfor us, because it is what is most human, is the search for truth, which is only at-tained through reason and theoretical inquiry.

2. C. Llano, “El trabajo directivo y el trabajo operativo en la empresa,” in C.Llano et al., La vertiente humana del trabajo en la empresa (Madrid: Rialp, 1990),19–20.

3. J.P. Diggins, The Promise of Pragmatism (Chicago: University of ChicagoPress, 1994), 203–204.

4. M. Ayim, Peirce’s View of the Roles of Reason and Instinct in Scientific Inquiry(Meerut, India: Anu Prakashan, 1982), 41–44.

5. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 124–125.6. Ayim, Peirce’s View of the Roles of Reason and Instinct in Scientific Inquiry, 19.7. Ayim, Peirce’s View of the Roles of Reason and Instinct in Scientific Inquiry, 23.8. Llano, “El trabajo directivo y el trabajo operativo en la empresa,” 21–22.9. The text of the manuscript is published in J. Stuhr, Classical American Philos-

ophy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 46–48.10. W.G. Bennis and B. Nanus, Leaders: The Strategies for Taking Charge (New

York: Harper & Row, 1985), 21. Another author who has proposed the division be-tween leaders and managers is Zaleznik, for whom managers are concerned withgetting things done whereas leaders are concerned with the meaning that thingshave for people. See A. Zaleznik, “Managers and Leaders: Are They Different?”Harvard Business Review 55 (1977): 67–79. For a study of leadership, see the book byG.A. Yukl, Leadership Organizations, 3rd ed. (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall,1994).

11. J.S. Mouton and R.R. Blake, The Managerial Grid (Houston, Tex.: Gulf, 1964);P. Hersey and K.H. Blanchard, Management of Organizational Behavior: Utilizing


Human Resources (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1977), Rodríguez Porrashas pointed out that although both distinguish between task-driven styles and re-lationship-driven styles, they differ in that while Mouton and Blake maintain thatthere exists an optimal style of command, Hersey and Blanchard think that thestyle of command depends on the situation in which it is being exercised. See J.M.Rodríguez Porras, El factor humano en la empresa (Bilbao, Spain: Deusto, 1988), 123.

12. L. Polo and C. Llano, Antropología de la acción directiva (Madrid: Union Edi-torial, 1997), 116–120.

13. J.A. Pérez López, Fundamentos de la dirección de empresas (Madrid: Rialp,1995), 129–141.

14. Llano, “El trabajo directivo y el trabajo operativo en la empresa.” Other au-thors who prefer to distinguish between processes rather than types of people in-clude C.F. Hickman, Mind of a Manager, Soul of a Leader (New York: John Wiley,1990), and J.P. Kotter, The Leadership Factor (New York: Free Press, 1988).

15. Llano, “El trabajo directivo y el trabajo operativo en la empresa,” 28–30.16. J.P. Murphy, Pragmatism: From Peirce to Davidson (Boulder, Colo.: Westview

Press, 1990), 22.17. C.F. Delaney, “Peirce on the Reliability of Science: A Response to Rescher,”

in Peirce and Contemporary Thought, ed. K. Ketner (New York: Fordham UniversityPress, 1995), 118.

18. E. Saporiti, “Peircean Triads in the Work of J. Lacan: Desire and the Ethicsof the Sign,” in Peirce and Value Theory. On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H.Parret (Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1994), 80–81.

19. C.J. Misak, Truth and the End of Inquiry: A Peircean Account of Truth (Oxford,U.K.: Clarendon Press, 1991), 148–149.

20. M.C. Miller, “The Principle of Continuity in C.S. Peirce and ContemporaryDecision Support Technology,” in Frontiers in American Philosophy, ed. R.W. Burch,vol. 1 (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1992), 138–139.

21. A. Llano, La nueva sensibilidad (Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1988), 129. For suchsubjects, the book by J.A. Marina, Teoría de la inteligencia creadora, 7th ed. (Barce-lona: Anagrama, 1995) is also interesting.

22. Misak shows that experience acts negatively on belief: the universe affects ourbeliefs not so much to confirm them as to provide surprising experiences that alterthe expectations produced by the belief. See Misak, Truth and the End of Inquiry, 83.

23. Murphy, Pragmatism: From Peirce to Davidson, 25; M.B. Mahowald, “Collab-oration and Casuistry: A Peircean Pragmatic for the Clinical Setting,” in Peirce andValue Theory. On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: JohnBenjamins, 1994), 67.

24. W. Gavin, “Peirce and ‘The Will to Believe,’ ” The Monist 63 (1980): 344–345.25. W.C. Stewart, “Social and Economic Aspects of Peirce’s Conception of Sci-

ence,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society 27 (1991): 501–526.26. Mahowald, “Collaboration and Casuistry: A Peircean Pragmatic for the

Clinical Setting,” 66.27. H. Putnam, Pragmatism: An Open Question (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1995),

68–71.28. J. Nubiola, “C.S. Peirce: Pragmatismo y logicismo,” Philosophica 17 (1994):

215; N. Rescher, Peirce’s Philosophy of Science (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of No-tre Dame Press, 1978), 8.


29. R. Kevelson, “The Mediating Role of ‘Esthetics’ in Charles S. Peirce’sSemiotics: Configurations and Space Relations,” in Peirce and Value Theory: OnPeircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1994),216.

30. N. Rescher, “Peirce on the Validation of Science,” in Peirce and Contempo-rary Thought, ed. K.L. Ketner (New York: Fordham University Press, 1995), 104; P.Skagestad, Road of Inquiry: Charles S. Peirce’s Pragmatic Realism (New York: Colum-bia University Press, 1981), 32–35.

31. Misak, Truth and the End of Inquiry, 60.32. Skagestad, Road of Inquiry: Charles S. Peirce’s Pragmatic Realism, 35.33. C.J. Misak, “A Peircean Account of Moral Judgments,” in Peirce and Value

Theory. On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: JohnBenjamins, 1994), 43.

34. Rescher, “Peirce on the Validation of Science,” 108; Delaney, “Peirce on theReliability of Science: A Response to Rescher,” 115.

35. A. Langley, “Between ‘Paralysis by Analysis’ and ‘Extinction by Instinct’,”Sloan Management Review, Spring 1995, 63–76.

36. R. Smyth, “What Logic Can Learn from Ethics,” in Peirce and Value Theory:On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: John Benjamins,1994), 50–51.


CHAPTER 6

Decision Criteria inManagement

In this chapter, we will study a first meaning of science as a methodologicalprocedure for determining the characteristics of a correct line of rational ar-gument. Our attention will be focused on the formulation of the pragmaticmaxim. First, we will study the meaning of the pragmatic maxim inPeircean thought. On looking at how the pragmatic maxim helps definemaxims of conduct for human action, we will see that it is necessary to for-mulate certain decision criteria that help define the maxim.

THE PRAGMATIC MAXIM

Peirce believed that the way to put an end to the philosophers’ lengthydisputes was to provide philosophy with a method of observation that wassimilar to that of the empirical sciences (CP 5.6, 5.423). This meant establish-ing a grade of clarity that would be superior to the concepts of clear and dis-tinct ideas that had provided the framework for philosophical discussionsince Descartes and that would enable a more perfect clarity of thought tobe attained than that which had been used until then by the logicians (CP5.390, 5.394). He found this third grade of clarity in the definition of thepragmatic maxim. Thus, pragmatism originally appeared as a method forverifying the meaning of intellectual conceptions which related the con-cepts’ meaning with their practical consequences.

Peirce devised a number of formulations for the pragmatic maxim. It ap-peared for the first time in January 1878 in “How to Make Our Ideas Clear,”the second of a series of articles published by Peirce in Popular Science

Monthly, with the following statement: “Consider what effects, that mightconceivably have practical bearings, we conceive the object of our concep-tion to have. Then, our conception of these effects is the whole of our con-ception of the object” (CP 5.402, 5.2).

Opinions differ among scholars of Peirce as to whether the meaning ofthe pragmatic maxim underwent changes in its different formulations.Beverly Kent argued that, from its first formulation in 1878, the pragmaticmaxim has related meaning with concepts, and not with action.1 On theother hand, Potter argued that in his 1878 definition, Peirce seemed to iden-tify meaning with the action-reaction dyad, and that it was not until the1905 formulation, in “Issues of Pragmaticism,” that his conception of thepragmatic maxim changed, with the introduction of the rational characterof action (CP 5.438).2 Peirce himself said on the matter, in the manuscript ofa draft for a book on logic dated about 1902, that his opinion remained sub-stantially the same but, with the passing of the years, he was now able togive a more accurate definition of the pragmatic maxim so as to close thedoor against those who would push it open further than he had ever in-tended (CP 2.99).

In a footnote added to the formulation of the pragmatic maxim pub-lished in “How to Make Our Ideas Clear,” Peirce gave a few clues to help in-terpret it correctly. First, he says that it is not a skeptical, materialisticprinciple, but the application of the gospel principle, “Ye may know themby their fruits”; he then says that it must not be understood in individualis-tic terms but rather in the context of the interaction and cooperation of thecommunity of investigators who, even though they initially use differentmethods or obtain different results, gradually converge until they arrive atthe same opinion; third, he relates it with the principle of continuity; and, fi-nally, he warns that saying that thought is applied to action is not the sameas saying that action is the ultimate purpose of thinking (CP 5.402 nn. 1–3).

Olshewsky pointed out three characteristics of the pragmatic maxim: (a)it is a maxim, (b) on concepts, (c) that is enounced in subjunctive terms.3

The first point to make is that the pragmatic maxim forms part of a broadertheory of knowledge,4 which encompasses the process of inquiry in logicand, ultimately, is to be integrated in a systematic, comprehensive systemof philosophy.5 The function of thought is to produce habits of action, and,in this sense, the pragmatic maxim is the means available to thought for set-tling doubts.6 It is not, therefore, an ontological principle—as interpretedby William James or Ferdinand Schiller—but only a methodological princi-ple that can be used to gain access to reality and a decision algorithm thathelps to determine the action plan.

Thus characterized, the pragmatic maxim may act as a test to determinewhether our concepts have a reference in experience or are part of a mereplay of language; whether they are related to intellectual discussions withno bearing on action or have a clear effect on reality.7 Without forgetting


that we are always in a scientific attitude whose center of interest is thesearch for truth, it is important to stress that Peirce invokes a philosophythat is active, and not purely contemplative.8 The meaning of each conceptor proposition is the expression of a belief, which can only exist by virtue ofits reference to a possible context of action. Guy Debrock points out that, bymeans of this singular reconciliation between thought and action, Peircesought to break free from the dichotomy between theory and practice thathas dominated Western thinking since ancient Greece.9

As the process of inquiry is situated between two thresholds referencedto experience—the exercise of a deliberate action and the perception of thereaction—it can be said that the pragmatic maxim is empirical from start tofinish (CP 5.412). However, it is not empirical in the sense of British empiri-cism or logical positivism, which limit knowledge to that which is per-ceived by the senses.10 For Peirce, experience is not composed solely offactual elements but also of subjective appreciations, appraisals, and incli-nations that give meaning to reality. Thus, it differs from logical positivism,for whom the propositions’ pragmatic character only has a situational rele-vance.11 In organizational theory, it was Herbert Simon who applied theprinciples of logical positivism to management.12 Simon took the distinc-tion between value judgments and fact judgments and stated that only thelatter are relevant in decision making, whereas the former belong to the pri-vate sphere of the values in which each individual believes. The reconcilia-tion between thought and action suggested by Peirce’s proposal indicatesthat one possible way for overcoming this dualism is through action. Onlythe dynamism introduced by human action can bridge the gap betweenfacts and values.

For Peirce, there is no distinction of meaning so fine as that which con-sists of a possible difference of practice. He therefore proposes focusing onthe practical consequences as a method for determining the real meaning ofany sign, whether this be a concept, a word, a proposition, or a doctrine (CP5.400).13 For Peirce, it is indisputable that certain actions cause express re-sults, and this observation—that certain lines of conduct entail certainclasses of experience—is what he calls “practical consequences” (CP 5.9,8.191). In each case, there are certain perceptible effects that act as a criterionfor determining whether something can be defined in the way it had beendefined until then. Thus, effects act as prescriptions for an experiment andpredictions of what will happen if a certain action is performed.14

One point that should be made about the pragmatic maxim’s predictivecharacter is that the effects are predicted before the action is performed.That is, we do not define an action a posteriori, by the effects that have al-ready happened, but a priori, by the effects that we think may happen. ForPeirce, what has already happened holds no interest, except for confirmingwhat percentage of a hypothesis was correct and what percentage was notand then modifying it for future action. Therefore, the definition is not

Decision Criteria in Management 117

made after, based on past effects, but before, based on possible future effects.Insofar as this is so, any definition always contains certain expectations.

With respect to the pragmatic maxim’s predictive character and its refer-ence to possible future effects, a few remarks are called for. First is the needto establish some kind of delimiting criterion to avoid the analysis of thepossible effects from being prolonged indefinitely, as these are innumera-ble. Second, being possible effects, the formulation of the propositions de-fining the concept will have a conditional form. Third, the possible effectsmust be considered by the individual within his or her intelligence, usingimagination to predict how the action may be in its concrete actuality, andconcluding in the formation of a habit, which is expressed in a subjunctivestatement (CP 5.491) indicating that, in certain conditions, the individualwill act in a certain way to obtain a desired result.

This links up with the prescriptive character of the pragmatic maxim.Applying the maxim enables us to describe those alternatives that may ob-tain the desired results and those rules of action that, once executed, wouldsatisfy the needs that originated the inquiry. The prescriptive character isgiven by the fact that, in the context of action to which the pragmatic maximbelongs, an experiment is being defined based on the supposition that if theexperiment is performed, an experience will take place such as the one thathas been described. However, a possible conflict may arise when reconcil-ing the prescriptive and predictive aspects of the pragmatic maxim. On theone hand, it is said that the experiment is not necessary for it to be valid inpractice. However, on the other hand, the rule of action must be tested. Wil-lard Quine points to a certain lack of definition of the pragmatic maxim inthis aspect, which, on occasion, leads it to be interpreted in terms of de-scriptions for action and, on other occasions, in terms of confirmatory expe-riences.15 We are not dealing here with a formulation of the verificationistcriterion but rather with a conception of the scientific method that is op-posed to verificationism.16 Peirce characterizes the pragmatic maxim as theattempt to produce a disposition in the interpreter so that the practical con-sequences, rather than direct or indirect effects on our senses, are conse-quences for action or thought (CP 5.13, 8.191). We are not interested inverifying past events but rather in obtaining information on what may hap-pen in a possible future, provided a series of conditions is met (CP 5.427).Thus, once again, Peirce differs from verificationism by his reference to thefuture and the subjunctive character of the maxim’s formulation, which isthe third aspect identified by Olshewsky and to which we would like toturn our attention now.

Peirce remarks on the number of times he uses words having the rootconcipere in the definition of the pragmatic maxim. His intention in this is tomake it clear that the meanings given by the application of the pragmaticmaxim translate into dispositions to act—habits—and not into effective be-haviors (CP 5.402 n. 3), and that anything that has no practical repercussion


is irrelevant for meaning. However, this does not imply that we live purelyfor action or that action is the ultimate goal of life.17 If the goal of thoughtwere to establish a belief, a habit, but heeding only that which happens, po-tentiality would be reduced to actuality; we would only take into accountindividual events, from which, by themselves, it would not be possible todraw any idea. However, the appropriate question for the pragmaticmaxim is not what happened but what action would be appropriate if theinquiry were carried far enough. Consequently, action must be understoodin terms of purpose and, in the acknowldgement of this purpose, of the roleof the end in action, the pragmatic maxim becomes a logical maxim of ac-tion in the context of a normative character expressed in “carrying the in-quiry far enough.”

When Peirce chose the term pragmaticism in 1905, the main point of dis-agreement with the other pragmatic thinkers lay in the difference betweenconceivable action and effective action.18 That same year, he reformulated thepragmatic maxim and insisted on the rational character of action, statingthat identifying the meaning with the action would be tantamount to con-tradicting his categorical vision of the world and knowledge. Action issecondness—and therefore individual—whereas meaning is thirdness,law. If pragmaticism proclaimed whole action to be the essence and aim oflife, it would cause its own death (CP 5.429). When Peirce uses the expres-sion “might conceivably” in his formulation of the pragmatic maxim, he issuggesting a criterion that does not require the concept to have an actual orpractical relevance. Meaning is not concerned with what is happening butwith what would happen in the inquiry (CP 5.453). Meaning moves in thesphere of the would be, which establishes models that are followed by the ac-tions’ results and the relevant consequences of the idea in question. Mean-ing appears in conditions of disposition, in habits, by which the conceptarticulating the meaning would be exemplified if it were tested.19 It is not aquestion of determining the meaning of reality by reducing facts to futurefacts but, on the contrary, of determining and specifying the correct under-standing of the meaning of reality as it exists here and now.20 Neither is it aquestion of reducing a concept’s meaning to its present verification but,rather, of confronting actual effects with the would-be conditionals estab-lished before performing the experiment (CP 5.403, 5.408, 5.438). Hereagain we see the open character of reality and that vital symphony to whichwe are taken by the process of inquiry. We define a concept by the conceiv-able practical consequences, which, when they are confronted with the ac-tual consequences, give rise to a new process leading to a new definition.

THE CONCEPT AS A MAXIM OF ACTION

According to the definition proposed by Peirce, belief consists primarilyof being deliberately—that is, rationally—prepared to adopt the formulabelieved in as a guide to action. If this is so, the concept can be considered as


a maxim of action and the proposition in which that concept is expressed,as a rule of action. Thus, Peirce argues that a theoretical proposition that isrelevant for pragmatism can be converted from its formulation in the indic-ative mood to a “practical maxim expressible as a conditional sentence hav-ing its apodosis in the imperative mood” (CP 5.18). Given this capability onthe part of the concept to become a practical maxim, Peirce states that prag-matism offers a palpable advantage in practical matters and that in its prac-tice, the genus of efficient people is distinguished from that of those whoare not (CP 5.25–26).

Depending on the sphere of experience in which the inquiry takes place,the contents of the hypotheses and of the practical consequences will differ.Thus, mathematical hypotheses do not need to be tested in a scientific ex-periment. However, if they are hypotheses that belong to the physicalworld, they must have an empirical content and the practical consequencesmust also be empirical (CP 3.516).21 If the hypotheses refer to human action,they also have certain special characteristics with respect to the hypothesesof the empirical sciences. They will share with them the experimentablecharacter of the consequences but will differ from them in that there can beno laboratory experiments in human action, that is, each human action is anassertion, negation, or modification of the original hypothesis. Two conse-quences follow from this singularity of human action. The first is that in hu-man action, it is not possible to repeat the same experiment several times todraw conclusions nor is it possible to isolate variables or classes of effectson which to perform experiments. Consequently, it is very important tomake sure that all the relevant aspects of the action have been taken into ac-count in order to prevent incomplete appraisals. It is not possible to per-form trial runs in human action. The second consequence following fromthe special character of human action is that, although the experiments donot necessarily have to affect the subject performing them in the experi-mental sciences, in human action, both the active agent and the reactiveagent are modified in each action. In one of the last formulations of thepragmatic maxim, written in about 1907, Peirce indicates the modificationof the subject’s habits and capabilities as one of the practical effects of action(MS 322, 11–12).

When the process of inquiry refers to an action problem, the pragmaticmaxim can help us determine what alternatives may satisfy the needs thathave given rise to the decision process. Peirce proposes a clear criterion fordistinguishing between alternatives: two alternatives will be the same ifthey have the same possible effects. Just as Peirce states that a concept is de-fined by the sum of all the possible effects, in an action problem, each alter-native is defined by all the possible effects. And just as two apparentlydifferent concepts are in reality the same if both have the same possible ef-fects, so also will two apparently different alternatives in reality be thesame alternative if their effects are the same.


However, if the criterion for discerning between alternatives is writtenby switching terms, a very important aspect for the proper functioning ofthe decision making process is revealed. If two apparently different alterna-tives are in reality the same, it is also true that two alternatives that are appar-ently the same can in reality be very different. To begin with, they can beperceived and interpreted differently by two different individuals, but,above all, they may have very different effects. Let us take the example of achief executive of a company who thinks that the manager of one of hisplants is not able to effectively perform her work and therefore decides thatthe best thing to do is to transfer her to a smaller plant. Although the deci-sion may be fully warranted, depending on how the transfer is presented tothe plant manager, very different things can happen: the plant managermay interpret the transfer as a lack of trust, the workers’ committee mayprotest at the change of manager, and the new manager may find a hostileatmosphere among the plant’s workforce; or, on the contrary, the plantmanager may accept the reasons, the change may seem fair to her and shewill cooperate in facilitating the entry of the new manager.

As the possible effects that may follow from an action are innumerable,when analyzing the possible alternatives, it is more important to avoidleaving out any effect that may be important for the decision than to drawup an exhaustive list of all the possible effects, which, in any case, will neverbe fully exhaustive. Consequently, it is important to establish criteria thatwill help the decision maker be sure that the alternatives will be analyzedby taking into account the necessary aspects and it will not happen that twoalternatives may look the same because aspects of the action that were rele-vant for distinguishing between them were not taken into account. In theprevious example, if the chief executive thinks that it is not relevant for thedecision to explain the reasons to the plant manager and that it would bejust as effective to tell her a “white lie,” the unforeseen secondary effectsmay cause him serious headaches. In addition to the definition of the crite-ria, there is also the individual’s responsibility in the decision that wasmade and in the effects following the action. Athird aspect to consider—to-gether with the definition of the criteria and the responsibility in the deci-sion—will be the need to decide and act in spite of the uncertainty that isalways associated with a decision. These three points will be discussed inthe following pages in reverse order.

Human action always takes place in an environment of uncertainty,which is caused by the nature itself of the environment in which the indi-vidual acts. However, the uncertainty is caused not only because the inter-action is always open to elements of novelty, but also because of theimpossibility of taking into consideration all the possible effects that mayfollow from the action. In any decision problem, in addition to the actionsthat depend on the agent, one must also consider the events whose occur-rence does not depend on the agent and the consequences that may follow


from these events.22 Especially when one is dealing with vital matters orunstructured problems, there is always an element of uncertainty and riskin the decision. However, this cannot lead to not deciding: uncertainty can-not lead to indecision because it is an essential element of human decision.

Therefore, the manager finds himself between two extremes, both ofwhich he must try to avoid: on the one hand, resorting to arbitrary deci-sions that are not the result of any systematic or thoughtful study; on theother hand, taking to an extreme the obsession for numbers, analyses andobservations, which may also end up paralyzing the decision.23 On thispoint, Peirce is optimistic, because he assumes that, above and beyond in-dividual opinions—which may sometimes have an arbitrary charac-ter—the universal opinion tends in the long term toward a definite form, sothat scientific progress is understood as an approximation to an image ofthe universe that, ultimately, will match what the universe really is.24 How-ever, the question that one could raise is what should we do in the mean-time, until this truth is attained. On the one hand, one could think that it isnot possible to act with a truth that is not shared by the scientific commu-nity; from another viewpoint, it could be understood that all the presentopinions are equally valid and that each individual should act in accor-dance with what he or she thinks; others, finally, may advocate followingthe opinion of the majority, as an imperfect form of the ultimate opinion. Wehave already seen that Peirce’s stance does not correspond to an approachbased solely on consensus, as truth does not depend on the opinion of oneor many and because the concept of scientific community should not be un-derstood within a space-time continuum.25 We have also mentioned thecriticism that can be made of relativism using Peirce’s arguments. AsPutnam pointed out when referring to pragmatism in general—although itcan also be applied validly to Peircean thought—his most important find-ing was to realize that it is possible to be fallibilist and anti-skeptic at the sametime: it is not a question of doubting everything, but of being prepared todoubt anything.26

In a letter to William James written in 1897, Peirce says that faith is usefulin practical matters but that useful faith is that which, at the same time thatit allows us to act from a certain hypothesis, also allows us to be open to anypossible evidence that might make us change the belief (CP 8.251). Thisleads to the conclusion that each person must act in accordance with his orher present belief. However, as we have seen when distinguishing betweenthe a priori method and the scientific method, the present belief must be theresult of a deliberate process, that is, mediated by reason, and not throughconsidering solely whatever is most agreeable to the decision maker. Themediation of reason and the ideal of the scientific community introduce anormative character in the decision. In short, Peirce is appealing to con-science as a close norm of morality. However, not any conscience will do,but only that which is well formed.


The need to act from one’s own belief creates the relation between the de-cision and the decision maker’s responsibility. The individual is responsi-ble for the consequences of his or her action, and, therefore is responsiblefor foreseeing them adequately. Here, too, two extreme positions must beavoided: the minimalist position, which reduces responsibility to the di-rect, intentional consequences of one’s acts, and the maximalist position,which burdens the individual’s shoulders with the succession of all the ef-fects that may follow from a specific action. Between the two extremes,there is the attitude of the individual who does not arbitrarily and subjec-tively circumscribe the space corresponding to his or her social responsibil-ity and who accepts liability for the unintended and, perhaps, notimmediate secondary effects of his or her action (CP 5.543, 5.29, 5.546–547).The attitude taken toward the secondary effects (which are secondary in or-der of intention, causation, or attainment, but not necessarily in order of im-portance) provides a good indication for determining the individual’sdegree of responsibility toward the consequences of his action. CarlosLlano judiciously pointed out that, just as we in our limited intelligencecannot reach the ultimate rationale of moral law, that same limitation alsoprevents us from elucidating the ultimate consequences of our acts. Theconsequences never correspond entirely to the subject, as they are also in-fluenced by the acts of other, unrelated beings and derive from other factorsthat do not originate from oneself.27 Faced with a consequential responsi-bility—which would only take into account the consequences—and an an-tecedent responsibility—which would focus on the observance of certainpreestablished principles or duties—Carlos Llano talks of a transcendent re-sponsibility, which takes what is good from each of these positions: acceptresponsibility for the action’s consequences from the first; havewell-founded, consistent reasons for acting from the second. Transcendentresponsibility makes each individual aware of the need to do his or herduty—the personal path to which each is called—so that each individual’scircumstances will determine the consequences that are relevant for eachdecision, in concentric rings that begin with the consequences that the ac-tion has in oneself and gradually expand outward according to a proximitycriterion that, in Peircean terms, can be considered a corollary of the conti-nuity principle.

We have now reached a point at which it is necessary to supplement thepragmatic maxim, on the one hand, with a deeper examination of the deci-sion criteria that help distinguish which practical effects must be taken intoaccount to discern the third grade of clarity pursued by the pragmaticmaxim; and, on the other hand, with a referent that is external to the prag-matic maxim and relates rational action with our ideal of conduct, whichwas discussed in the first part of the book and which transcendent respon-sibility has once again brought to the fore.


Although Peirce never specified the possible decision criteria thatwould help determine the choice of alternatives, we can obtain these prin-ciples from the definition of human action. The decision criteria proposedby Pérez López in his theory of human action match the elements of thePeircean definition of action. Remember that human action was defined asa process of interaction between two subjects, by which, in addition to satis-fying a need that was the cause of the interaction, certain learning processestake place in the two agents as a consequence of the performance of the ac-tion and the reaction. It follows from this description that, in order to in-clude all the consequences generated by the performance of an action bythe active agent, we must consider at least three types of consequences orresults of that action: the extrinsic results, which are the results produced bythe interaction in the agent, and aimed at satisfying the need originating theaction; the internal results, or the learning—change in the decisionrule—that takes place in the active agent as a consequence of performingthe interaction; and the external results, which is the learning that takesplace in the reactive agent as a consequence of the interaction.28 Three crite-ria can be formulated to analyze these three types of results. Following theterminology used by Pérez López, these criteria will be called effectiveness,efficiency and consistency. The effectiveness criterion is a value that ex-presses the satisfaction achieved by the active agent when the action plan isimplemented. It is a static appraisal of the action that does not take into ac-count the learning. The dynamic appraisal is brought in with the other twocriteria: the efficiency criterion, which refers to the changes brought aboutby the action in the active agent and will determine the agent’s satisfactionin the next application of the decision rule on the same reactive agent; andconsistency, which refers to the changes brought about by the action in thereactive agent, which will determine his or her future reaction.29 The deter-mination of these three criteria may help decide whether the alternativesbeing considered are different from each other. It may happen, for example,that it is concluded that two alternatives have the same grade of effective-ness with respect to the satisfaction of the need. If the decision maker stopsthe analysis at that point, he or she may consider two alternatives to beequal when, in actual fact, it will be found that they are not equal when theother two criteria are included in the analysis. The importance of includingthese criteria becomes clear when one realizes that, in reality, all three typesof result will be obtained in each action, whether or not they have beentaken into account in the action’s a priori appraisal. By proposing thesethree criteria for analyzing action alternatives, the decision maker is beingoffered a surer way of performing a rational analysis than that which relieson considering all the possible effects and an alternative form to theconsequentialist calculation, which, in spite of its apparent simplicity, con-tains, not only serious conceptual incoherences, but also insoluble opera-tional difficulties.30


Although a detailed discussion of a theory of human action based onthese three criteria would be beyond the scope of this book, some of the con-siderations that have been made so far may give an idea of the path that thistheory would have to follow and that, to a great extent, has already beentraveled by Pérez López. On the one hand, given the singularity of humanaction, which does not allow laboratory experimentation, rather than seekmaximums, the goal is to assure minimums, that is, to avoid the occurrenceof “negative learning,” or the satisfaction of immediate needs at the cost ofreducing the number of possible future actions. On the other hand, as theagents’ learning is the action’s primary consequence, the consistency andefficiency criteria will have preference over the effectiveness criterion, as-suming that the alternatives cannot be appraised by a commensurability ofcriteria—which belong to different orders—but by a hierarchization of cri-teria; finally, the normative character of the pragmatic maxim, which is ex-pressed in its subjunctive formulation, will lead to a distinction between aspontaneous appraisal of the action, based on memories of perceptions andperceptional satisfactions of past actions, and a rational appraisal, derivedfrom the action’s deliberate, a priori assessment to determine, from a ratio-nal viewpoint, a purpose for the action and the ideals of conduct that havebeen established.

The final point that remains to be defined is the need for a referent that isexternal to the pragmatic maxim and that accounts for the relation betweenthe formulation of the maxim of action and the ideal of conduct. Apelpointed out that, in the closing years of his life, Peirce considered the needfor a fourth grade of clarity, which would be beyond the third grade, whichestablishes the pragmatic maxim. In Apel’s opinion, when Peirce trans-lated the affirmations into conditional propositions to clarify the concept’smeaning, he became aware of the existence of certain objectives of actionthat are always assumed and which are based on the general way in whichthese actions contribute to the development of reasonability, which is thehighest objective of all actions. This relationship between the objectives ofaction and the development of reasonability was the fourth grade of clarityfor which he was looking.

Apel maintains that Peirce was not fully aware of the difference createdby this fourth grade between the rules of behavior that transform theknowledge of a law into technical skills and those dispositions to act thatshape our choice of morally and politically relevant objectives. Without thissecond order of principles, there exists a risk of falling into what Apel calledthe “ideology of the social engineer,” who thinks that technical solutionsare sufficient in themselves to attain the “concrete reasonability” that seemsto be the ultimate ideal of action.31 If one remains on the plan of instrumen-tal pragmatism—which moves in the order of technical rules—the processof going from doubt to belief could only be interpreted as the attempt to re-store the habits of belief that have been disrupted by the interaction. Using


this interpretation, Apel concluded, it would be impossible to argue for hu-man responsibility in the objective of developing our nature. However, wediffer from animals in our work and in technology, which leads us to be lessconcerned with adapting ourselves to nature—which would be the case ofthe “adaptive systems”—than with adapting nature to our needs. Thismeans that we are concerned with completing the laws of nature with hab-its that are not merely instrumental but also teleologically relevant. Inshort, we are talking about the difference between instrumental habits andmoral habits. Moral habits not only relate means with ends, in the mannerof technical instructions, but also implicitly relate the ultimate moral objec-tive of all actions to the particular conditions of their execution in a givensituation, in the manner of the habits that make up a social lifestyle.

Beverly Kent pointed out that the references to a fourth grade of clarityare found in texts written between 1901 and 1903. After that, Peirce seemedto be content with an appropriate definition of the third grade. It is duringthe same years that Peirce stated that “the only moral evil is not to have anultimate aim” (CP 5.133), and also that he started to think about the roleplayed by the normative sciences in his scientific architectonic. The concernabout a fourth grade of clarity voiced by Peirce and discussed by Apelpoints to the possibility of an ethics behind the logic of inquiry and showsthe need to take a step beyond the pragmatic maxim, which, after all, hadbeen perfectly delimited in its methodological role since its first formula-tions. However, the fact that Peirce should steer his intellectual endeavorstoward the normative sciences instead of continuing on the line of a fourthdegree of clarity leads one to think that the classification of sciences maygive the answer to the concern that he expressed. In the next chapter, wewill study the classification of sciences and the synthetic character that thisclassification confers upon human action.

NOTES

1. B.E. Kent, Charles S. Peirce: Logic and the Classification of the Sciences (Mon-treal: McGill–Queen’s University Press, 1987).


3. T.M. Olshewsky, “Peirce’s Pragmatic Maxim,” Transactions of the Charles S.Peirce Society 19 (1983): 200.

4. A. Fumagalli, Il reale nel linguaggio (Milan: Vita e pensiero, 1995), 121.5. K.O. Apel, Charles S. Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism (Amherst:

University of Massachusetts Press, 1981), 160.6. Olshewsky, “Peirce’s Pragmatic Maxim,” 199; M.B. Mahowald “Collabora-

tion and Casuistry: A Peircean Pragmatic for the Clinical Setting,” in Peirce andValue Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: JohnBenjamins, 1994), 66.


7. N. Houser, “C.S. Peirce, American Backwoodsman,” in Frontiers in Ameri-can Philosophy, ed. R. W. Burch, vol. 1 (College Station: Texas A&M UniversityPress, 1992), 292.

8. Apel has highlighted the relationship among pragmatism, Marxism, andexistentialism as three conceptions that invoke a primacy of action over contem-plation, although the concept of action is different in each one. See Apel, Charles S.Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism, 1.

9. G. Debrock, “Peirce, a Philosopher for the 21st Century,” Transactions of theCharles S. Peirce Society 28 (1992): 11–12.

10. Fumagalli has pointed out that although Peirce’s attitude cannot be calledempiricist, it is decidedly “phenomenologistic.” See Fumagalli, Il reale nellinguaggio, 123.

11. D. Gruender, “Pragmatism, Science and Metaphysics,” The Monist 65(1982): 200–201.

12. H.A. Simon, Administrative Behavior, 3rd ed. (New York: Free Press, 1975).See, particularly, Chapter 3, “Fact and Value in Decision Making,” 45–60.

13. Potter argues that the pragmatic maxim is similar to the scholastic maximof agere sequitur esse. See Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 117.

14. J.P. Murphy, Pragmatism: From Peirce to Davidson (Boulder, Colo.: WestviewPress, 1990), 28–29.

15. W. Quine, “The Pragmatists’ Place in Empiricism,” in Pragmatism: ItsSources and Prospects, ed. R. Mulvaney and P. Zeltner (Columbia: University ofSouth Carolina Press, 1981), 32.

16. Gruender, “Pragmatism, Science and Metaphysics,” 193.17. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 54–55.18. Olshewsky, “Peirce’s Pragmatic Maxim,” 203–204.19. C.R. Hausman, Charles S. Peirce’s Evolutionary Philosophy (Cambridge: Cam-

bridge University Press, 1993), 6–7.20. Apel, Charles S. Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism, 141.21. C.J. Misak, Truth and the End of Inquiry: A Peircean Account of Truth (Oxford,

U.K.: Clarendon Press, 1991), 26–28.22. M. Bastons, “Los elementos de las decisiones directivas,” Harvard-Deusto

Business Review 67 (1995): 26–33; Gruender, “Pragmatism, Science andMetaphysics,” 207.

23. A. Langley, “Between ‘Paralysis by Analysis’ and ‘Extinction by Instinct,’ ”Sloan Management Review, Spring 1995, 63–76.

24. W.C. Stewart, “Social and Economic Aspects of Peirce’s Conception of Sci-ence,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society 27 (1991): 501–526. See also N.Rescher, Peirce’s Philosophy of Science (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre DamePress, 1978), 22.

25. Haskell mistakenly understands the scientific community in a physicalsense and this leads him to decide in favor of accepting the opinion of the major-ity. See T.L. Haskell, “Professionalism versus Capitalism; R.M. Tawney, EmileDurkheim, and C.S. Peirce on the Disinterestedness of Professional Commu-nities,” in The Authority of Experts. Studies in History and Theory, ed. T.L. Haskell(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 180–225.

26. H. Putnam, Pragmatism: An Open Question (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1995), 21.


27. C. Llano, “Implicaciones actuales de la responsabilidad,” in C. Llano, Elempresario ante la motivación y la responsabilidad (Mexico: McGraw-Hill, 1991), 116.

28. J.A. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones. La acciónpersonal (Madrid: Rialp, 1991), 28.

29. Pérez López, Teoría de la acción humana en las organizaciones, 31–36.Gruender, too, has seen the need to identify certain criteria, which, in his opinion,will be determined by our needs and inclinations, which, ultimately, are what in-duces us to classify, categorize and interpret our experiences. See Gruender,“Pragmatism, Science and Metaphysics,” 204–205.

30. J. Fontrodona, El utilitarismo en la empresa, Cuadernos de Empresa yHumanismo, no. 12 (Pamplona, Spain: Cuadernos de Empresay Humanismo,1989).

31. Apel, Charles S. Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism, 90.


CHAPTER 7

The Synthetical Character ofManagement

THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES

One of Peirce’s main interests was to draw up a classification of the sciencesthat would help him integrate the different fields of knowledge in a singleconceptual framework. He thought that focusing on the architectonic char-acter of knowledge could assist the progress of science. The image of archi-tecture was extensively used by Peirce to refer to the work of the person ofscience. In the image of the cathedral builders, Peirce saw a similarity, bothwith respect to the cooperative character of scientific inquiry and with theneed for an ordering and classification of the fields of knowledge thatwould facilitate the organized and systematic knowledge of reality (CP 5.5,1.294, 5.27, 5.469).

Peirce had taken the idea of the scientific architectonic from his readingsof the works of Kant. In fact, in Chapter 3 of the “Transcendental Doctrine ofthe Method”—which forms the second part of the Critique of Pure Rea-son—Kant refers to the Architectonic of Pure Reason. “By an architectonic,”Kant says at the beginning of the chapter, “I understand the art of construct-ing systems.” And he continues, “As systematic unity is what first raises or-dinary knowledge to the rank of science, that is, makes a system out of amere aggregate of knowledge, architectonic is the doctrine of the scientificin our knowledge, and therefore necessarily forms part of the doctrine ofthe method.”1 These ideas of Kant’s—which for Peirce were no more than amodification of the ancient definition of science as the knowledge of thingsby their causes—would be taken up years later by Samuel Coleridge to for-

mulate his definition of science, which would have a considerable influ-ence in scientific circles in the nineteenth century (CP 7.54).2

The scientific character of our knowledge is not only reflected in the in-ferential reasoning processes with which we construct our judgments us-ing the pragmatic maxim, it is also expressed in the need to establish anordered relationship between our areas of knowledge, in a similar way tothat in which new beliefs are harmoniously integrated in the body of estab-lished beliefs. Kant, too, refers to this point when he says, following the pre-viously quoted text, “In accordance with reason’s legislative prescriptions,our diverse modes of knowledge must not be permitted to be a mere rhap-sody, but must form a system. Only so can they further the essential ends ofreason.”3 Kant refers to the architectonic unity of the sciences, as opposed tothe technical unity. This unity originates by virtue of the similarity of the di-verse or accidental use of concrete knowledge for a certain external end, butit cannot be called science as such. Architectonic unity, on the other hand,has its origin by virtue of the relationship between the different areas ofknowledge and as a result of a single, supreme, internal end. Thus, the clas-sification of science must consist of the representation and division of thewhole into its members, which in turn are articulated internally betweeneach other, in accordance with an idea that confers unity on the parts, andnot as a mere external, accidental addition.4

The lectures given by Peirce in 1903 in Cambridge and at the Lowell In-stitute gave him the opportunity to complete the classification of the sci-ences, for which he had offered different formulations until then. In theLowell Institute lectures, he proposed a system of classification that hewould use from then on in all his logical writings (CP 1.180–202). Yearslater, he would refer to this system, calling it “sufficiently satisfactory” (MS675, 9–12). Peirce proposed a classification of the sciences based on a suc-cession of triadic divisions akin to the three categories. At each level, the di-vision is established in the light of a differential idea. Thus, the first divisionthat creates the three great groups of sciences is established from the motivesfor which the individuals included in each of the groups act. Thus, there ap-pear three great groups of sciences. First are the heuretic sciences (1)5—or sci-ences of discovery—which only seek to learn new truths and whose solepreoccupation is the discovery of truth for its own sake. Second are the sci-ences of review (2), which seek to render comprehensible the findings of thesciences of discovery: they order the results of the heuretic sciences, subjectthe results to a critical examination from a broader viewpoint than thatwhich is possible for the specialists in the heuretic sciences, and completethose results when necessary. Their results are usually compiled in text-books or manuals, such as Comte’s Philosophie positive or Herbert Spencer’sSynthetic Philosophy. Third are the practical sciences (3), which seek to satisfyhuman desires: their starting point is the result of the heuretic sciences;they complement them if necessary and make them usable for application


to areas where they may have some utility. Peirce devoted the major part ofhis investigations to the first group of sciences, which is, in fact, the groupto which the character of science truly corresponds if we consider it as thatmode of life that seeks truth for its own sake. The other two groups—asPeirce himself admits—received little attention from him (CP 1.202), whichmakes it difficult to give a full interpretation of the nature of the various sci-ences.

In the case of the heuretic sciences (1), observation is the common charac-ter that confers on them the status of firsts with respect to the other two sci-ences. Each discovery has its origin in observation (CP 1.239–242).However, within the heuretic sciences, it is possible to perform a further di-vision among three sciences, which will be distinguished by the relationeach one has with observed phenomena, or with the affirmations made as a re-sult of reasoning on these observations. The three heuretic sciences aremathematics, philosophy, and the special sciences. The observations ofmathematics (1.1) are creations of the imagination. Mathematics does not de-pend on any other science, and, as such, it has a character of firstness withinthe heuretic sciences. It studies what may be true or not in the hypotheses,without asking whether what these hypotheses describe actually happensin reality. For its part, philosophy (1.2), or coenoscopia, seeks universal truthsfrom common experience, using the principles of mathematics. Its observa-tions correspond to phenomena that are common to everyone. Finally, theobservations of the special sciences (1.3), or idioscopia, correspond to phe-nomena that were previously unknown. By means of a special training,special instruments, or special circumstances, these sciences investigate theoccurrences of experience and infer truths that are held to be plausible butare verifiable. They are grounded on the propositions of mathematics andphilosophy. They are classed in the physical and psychic sciences, depend-ing on whether the phenomena observed originate from the physical worldor the mind.

If we turn our attention now to philosophy (1.2), we can make a furthertriadic distinction. Each of the resulting sciences will study the phenomenaof ordinary experience, each one differing from the other by the mode of be-ing of the phenomena they study. The three sciences into which philosophyis divided are phenomenology, the normative sciences, and metaphysics(CP 1.273–282, 5.120–128). Phenomenology (1.2.1) studies the phenome-non—phaneron—as it appears immediately, without considering in anyway whether it actually matches reality. It provides the base on which therest of philosophy will be built by determining the universal elements ofwhich reality is composed: the categories. The normative sciences (1.2.2)study the phenomenon insofar as we can act on it and it on us. They studythe general way in which the mind—if it must act deliberately and underself-control—can respond to experience. They move on the plane of themust be, determining the conditions by which it can be said that a phenom-

The Synthetical Character of Management 131

enon is adequate in relation to an end, irrespective of whether a given ob-ject has these qualities. For its part, metaphysics (1.2.3) investigates what isreal, starting from what we can affirm from ordinary experience.

If, in previous chapters, the emphasis was on the deliberate character ofhuman action, now we examine Peirce’s view of the normative sciences asthose whose purpose is the study of the conditions in which such delibera-tion takes place. Therefore, the study of the normative sciences seems to berelevant for determining the rational character of action. However, at thesame time, because they form part of the heuretic sciences, the normativesciences also seek to learn truths, and their purpose is not action. Conse-quently, we will have to see how the connection is made between truthsabout action and action itself.

THE NORMATIVE SCIENCES

The normative sciences (1.2.2) are divided in turn into three sciences,whose relationship to each other is one of firstness, secondness, andthirdness. To differentiate among the three sciences, we look at the object ofinquiry of each one. These three sciences are ethics, esthetics and logic (CP1.573–574). Esthetics (1.2.2.1) investigates the deliberate formation of habitsof feeling, which are consistent with the esthetic ideal. Ethics (1.2.2.2) investi-gates the formation of habits of action, which are consistent with the deliber-ately chosen objective. Logic (1.2.2.3) studies the deliberate formation ofhabits of thought, which are consistent with the logical end. The normativesciences are also defined as the sciences of the laws of conformity of thingsto ends (CP 5.129), and in this conformity lies the secondness that distin-guishes them from the other two sciences of philosophy. The normative sci-ences do not try to distinguish between what is good and bad, what is trueand false, what we like and what we do not like, but rather between the con-ditions of truth or falseness of judgments, the conditions of goodness orbadness of conducts, and the conditions of attractiveness of ideas (CP 5.551,1.575).

However, the determination of the conditions necessarily points towardthe end with respect to which these conditions are determined. Therefore,the normative sciences address not only the conditions of conformity, butalso the determination of the ideal with respect to which these conditionsare established (CP 2.46, 1.281; W 4:152). And what is this ideal? Peircepoints out three types of goodness, one for each normative science: estheticgoodness, or expressiveness; moral goodness, or veracity; logical good-ness, or truth (CP 5.129–150). Although they are not concerned with the isbut rather with the must be, the normative sciences are positive sciences,that is, they start from an inquiry of reality and therefore show that whatthey call good comes from experience and is expressed in positive, categor-ical propositions (CP 4.40–41, 2.328, 2.710): right reason, right effort, and


right being derive their character from positive, categorical facts (CP 5.39).It can be said that the normative sciences are the sciences of excellence. Theydetermine what is excellent—on the plane of must be—in each of the threeorders of the normative sciences.

Together with the consideration of the ideal and the conditions of con-formity with it, another function of these sciences is to investigate the prin-ciples that govern the production of ideals. Thus, a further division couldbe made in each normative science, distinguishing three sciences that ad-dress the different aspects of the inquiry: a physiology, which would investi-gate the ideal; a classification, which would investigate the conditions ofconformity with the ideal; and a methodology, which would investigate theprinciples that govern the production of ideals.

Kent makes an interesting remark about the relation between the norma-tive sciences and the categories. Although Peirce analyzes the normativesciences in terms of categories, it would be wrong to consider esthetics asfirstness, ethics as secondness and logic as thirdness per se, simply becauseesthetics is concerned with feelings, ethics studies actions, and logic dealswith thoughts. On the contrary, each one has aspects of all three categories,depending on which point of view they are considered from: all three aresciences—and, therefore, in the sphere of thirdness, of rationality—whichseek truth for its own sake—because they form part of the heuretic sciences(1)—from experiences that can be attained by anyone—because they formpart of philosophy (1.2)—insofar as we can act on that experience and it onus—as normative sciences (1.2.2).6 The normative sciences are not onlyconcerned with the arts (of reasoning, the conduct of life, or the productionof objects), nor is their purpose the production of certain skills. If this wereso, they would be practical sciences. However, the normative sciences areheuretic sciences, which seek knowledge for its own sake: their value is the-oretical (CP 5.125).7 Thus, the normative sciences are not interested in ac-tion as it occurs but, more exactly, in action as it should occur. By virtue oftheir very normative character, the normative sciences contain a condi-tional character, which leads actions to be considered invariably in relationto a conditional purpose, namely, in relation to their ends, to ideals.

To understand the meaning of the normative sciences, we must first con-sider their relationship with each other and with the practical sciences. InPeirce’s opinion, two sciences are related with each other in three differentways. The first is by the material content of the sciences; the second is by thedynamic action of certain sciences on others, for example, when one scienceturns to another to solve a problem; the third is by rational government,when one science gives principles to another (CP 7.52). With all the neces-sary precautions—because if science is understood, above all, as a way oflife—as a specific activity of a social group—it is difficult to classify it in oneof these three relations. Peirce prefers the relation of dependence by princi-ples, which allows a clearer and easier hierarchical classification of the sci-


ences, something that the first type cannot provide and the second can onlydo so in a confused, changing way. On the other hand, if the classification isperformed using a hierarchical principle of dependence between the differ-ent sciences, it is given an internal unity, which gives cohesion to the entireinquiry, as, in this case, it is an intrinsic relation of dependence that is beingapplied and not a mere additive relation, as if one were to mix in aglass—this is the example given by Peirce—milk, water, and sugar (CP8.255).

Peirce did not think it possible that two sciences could have a mutual de-pendence with respect to principles. In specific cases, members of one sci-ence may consult about their problems with members of another and viceversa, but these consultations will never affect the order of principles.Peirce argues that each science uses, without questioning them, principlesdiscovered by another science, while the latter may turn to the former insearch of data, problems, or fields of application. Thus, in the relation of de-pendence, it is found that the lower sciences turn to the higher sciences insearch of principles while the higher sciences find data and fields of appli-cation for their principles in the lower sciences: the higher science providesthe principles with which the facts observed by the lower science can be in-terpreted. Scientific progress consists of the gradual solution of increas-ingly complex and interrelated problems. The interrelation is now nolonger just between beliefs but also—by virtue of the continuity princi-ple—of the different sciences with each other.

In the classification of the sciences, each finds regulatory principles inother sciences that are superior to it in abstraction, while it finds data for itsinductions in those sciences that are inferior to it (CP 3.247), so that there is adirect relation of dependence of each science with respect to those that areclosest to it. Thus, a clear explanation is provided for the relation of the nor-mative sciences with each other. It would not be an exaggeration to say that,for Peirce, the realization of this principle was one of the most significantevents in the development of his thought, in that it helped him order theconceptual framework and see, in its full integrity, the value of the prag-matic ideal. In a letter he wrote to William James in November 1902, Peircerecognized that, until then, he had not realized the relation existing be-tween the normative sciences and that even when he gave a series of lec-tures in Cambridge, Massachusetts, he had still not discovered the unity ofthe whole picture. Around the turn of the century, he obtained the proofthat logic must be founded on ethics, and even then he was unable to seethat ethics rested in the same manner on esthetics (CP 8.255).

Being the science of how one should think, logic is an application of thescience concerned with what we should choose to do (CP 5.130, 5.35). ForPeirce, thinking is a concrete action which, as such, has the characteristics ofhuman action in general, so that the science concerned with correct reason-ing—logic—receives the general principles from the science concerned


with correct acting—ethics. Thus, logic is understood as a special case ofethics and reasoning, as a special case of controlled action: it is not possibleto be rationally logical except upon an ethical basis (CP 2.198).8 For manyyears, Peirce had thought that ethics was a practical science, without appre-ciating its role as a theory and its connection with logic (CP 2.198). On re-considering the place of ethics in the architectonic of the sciences, Peirceunderstood that the role of ethics is not to pronounce judgment on thegoodness or badness of a certain action but rather to evaluate the condi-tions that determine whether something is good or bad. In this process, itspoints of reference are norms and ideals. Ethics is the science of the ends to-ward which the action is directed and, as such, it is the normative sciencepar excellence. In turn, ethics must address that ideal that presents itself asgood, which takes us to esthetics (CP 5.35, 5.111, 5.130). The role of estheticsis to ask about what is beautiful, about the ideal state of things and thatwhich must be admired per se. Therefore, the normative sciences have a re-lationship of dependence between each other, by which esthetics is thefoundation of ethics and ethics is the foundation of logic. Esthetics studiesthe ideal in itself; ethics studies the relation of conduct with the ideal; andlogic studies the relation of thought with the approved conduct.9

Thus, the three questions on which the normative sciences are foundedare the questions about what is beautiful, what is good, and what is true.These are the three types of goods, the three ideals. In the articulation ofknowledge, it is no longer sufficient to only say that each science must takeinto account its own ideal, the conditions of conformity with respect to thatidea, and the principles guiding its achievement. The sciences, too, are ar-ticulated, so that in order to ask about what is true, one must have definedbeforehand what is good, and for that, one must have clarified at the begin-ning what is beautiful. This takes us to the heart of the pragmatic ideal: thepragmatic maxim, which tries to define what is logically good and, in theprocess, through the articulation of knowledge, addresses what is morallyand esthetically good (CP 5.130). Thus, when it seeks to regulate conduct,pragmatism refers to an ethical ideal and an esthetic ideal (CP 5.535), inwhich the latter is also the ultimate ideal that governs and guides humanaction (CP 5.113).

Oakes has pointed out the similarity between Peirce’s ideas and thethinking of John Henry Newman and Hans Urs Von Balthasar.10 Peirce, likeNewman, believed in the intrinsic relation between good moral conductand correct reasoning and, like Von Balthasar, placed beauty above good-ness and truth. Thus, Newman, in the first of his Sermons before the Univer-sity of Oxford, referred to the “scientific disposition instilled first by theGospels” and argued that “some of the habits of the soul which we are toldin the Bible are the only ones that are pleasing to God are precisely the hab-its that are necessary for success in scientific research.”11 For his part, in the“Introduction” of Glory: ATheological Esthetics, Von Balthasar wrote that in a


world without beauty, “goodness has lost in itself its attractive force, theevidence of its realized must-be; man is perplexed in its presence and askswhy he must do good and not bad. . . . in a world that no longer believes it-self able to affirm beauty, the demonstrative arguments of truth too havelost their weight and their force of logical conclusion.”12

Just as the normative sciences are related to each other through a relationof dependence based on principles, the normative sciences and the practi-cal sciences, in turn, are related by a dynamic action, in which the practicalsciences present problems to the theoretical sciences so that the latter maycontribute solutions (CP 7.52, 5.125). This relation is necessary and desir-able, and its absence may have negative consequences for day-to-day af-fairs, for the action of the practical person. This is what Peirce says whenreferring to the role of ethics which, as a normative science par excellence, isthe science most directly concerned with the practical sciences. Peirce ana-lyzes the presence of ethics in some of them and points out that, just as it hasbeen useful in some, such as jurisprudence or sociology, so its absence hasbeen harmful in others, such as economics and diplomacy. Last, Peircestates his hope that ethics be present in the decisions of daily life, becausethen it will be possible to discern people’s true desires from those that, intheir spontaneity, may only be apparent (CP 1.251).

The task of the practical sciences is to discover the truth for certain de-fined human needs. This is the group of sciences that attracts most scholars.Although they may make their own observations and compile their owndata—and accumulate a large number of facts that have not been observedpreviously—the practical sciences are quite dependent on the heuretic sci-ences.13 Peirce did not perform a detailed description of the practical sci-ences (in spite of having devoted considerable effort to classifying thepractical sciences, he considered the results he obtained to be a failure), buta list of some of them is to be found in the manuscript of Minute Logic. Thelist includes a broad spectrum of sciences, in which Peirce includespedagogics, horology, telegraphy, papermaking, and librarianship, amongothers (CP 1.243). Although Peirce does not include business managementin this list, from the examples he gives, it can be safely assumed that hewould include it here. For instance, just as Peirce defined the practical sci-ences as those sciences that seek useful activities for life and seek to satisfyhuman desires, business activity has been defined—in general terms—asthe production and distribution of goods and services that satisfy people’sneeds.

The practical sciences are therefore necessary in ordinary life to give ascientific approach to day-to-day problems and decisions. Obviously, wecan be moved by other, nonscientific criteria, and even common sense canoften be sufficient, although it is, without doubt, too generic and can oftenbe incorrect. Even if we must always momentarily stop the decision processin order to try one of the alternatives—always leaving a space for indeter-


minacy—the analysis must be performed with the impartiality, objective-ness, and independence of the person of science. The practical sciences aresciences for action. And the point of reference for the scientific develop-ment of these practical sciences is the normative sciences. If it is to be cor-rectly formulated, practical thought, albeit centered on the hereness andnowness of the specific situation, must have a solid foundation in the mustbe—in certain principles and certain clearly set goals. These principles areprovided by the normative sciences. The study of esthetics, ethics, andlogic should provide us with the action guidelines for our daily decisions.

MANAGEMENT: A FUNCTION OF SYNTHESIS

The fact that the science that studies human action in the management oforganizations is considered a practical science is an indication of the “polit-ical” character that has been conferred on the practical sciences in Westerntradition since the times of Ancient Greece. The managerial character of po-litical knowledge, as understood by Aristotle in Nicomachean Ethics, ismade apparent to highlight the synthetical, interdisciplinary character cor-responding to management.14 Management harmoniously and syntheti-cally brings together knowledge from a very varied range of scientificfields. To facilitate our discussion, we can group them in economic, socio-logical, and ethical aspects. These three areas of knowledge must be presentin management. However, the way in which these three types of knowl-edge interrelate is not readily elucidated. In recent years, this problem hasbecome even more acute due to the growing popularity of business ethicsand the need to integrate ethical criteria in management. At the very best,these three types of knowledge have been combined in decision making,with an attempt to reconcile their respective goals and nature. Thus, ethicshas entered the field of management with a certain minimalistic, ac-tion-limiting connotation, finding itself reduced to a utilitarian calculationof the consequences, the formulation of certain norms that limit the scopeof action, or a strange symbiosis of both ideas, which is usually the coursetaken by theories on business ethics in North American academic circles.15

In his study of the classification of the sciences, Peirce says that the truerelation between the sciences is that which arises, not from a mere juxtapo-sition, but from the internal relation that demands the dependence of cer-tain sciences’ principles on others. The synthesis that is necessary tointegrate the different sciences must arise from the establishment of a hier-archical relation of dependence, in which the relation of subordination ofcertain sciences to others is clearly defined. The fact that a science is subor-dinated to another does not detract from its importance but rather it givesgreater emphasis to its position and, by clarifying its place in the body ofsciences, highlights the role it must play in action in general.


When management is required to reconcile the technical and humanisticaspects of its action, it is being asked not to choose some over others, nor toconfine itself to placing them side by side, but to reach a synthesis betweenthe two, which requires seeing the relation of subordination between cer-tain aspects and others. The idea is not to think that business managementis achieved solely through improved effectiveness in the use of technicalmeans, as if an effective technical management could take the place of anadequate ethical conception of the company, nor that corporate manage-ment is a purely humanistic task. As Carlos Llano said, “to succeed in hav-ing the person treated as a person, but within an established rationalsystem, or to establish a rational system without displacing or devaluingpeople’s unique character is precisely the synthetical function that corre-sponds to business management today.”16 However, it is not possible toperform this task of synthesis from a technical viewpoint but rather it re-quires a human orientation.

To give an example of how this synthetical attitude should be oriented,Carlos Llano referred to the university world. The example is very apt be-cause the university was also a frequent subject of reflection for Peirce. Ac-cording to Carlos Llano, university studies may be oriented toward fourdifferent aspects. On the one hand, they may take a subjective, personal ori-entation, in which human beings are the subject of attention, or an objec-tive, external orientation, which focuses on the world. On the other hand,they can be studies with a practical or theoretical dimension. Thus, we seestudies that are oriented toward what we make of ourselves (per-sonal-practical dimension); others consider what we make of our world(objective-practical); and a third group is concerned with what we thinkand say about ourselves (theoretical-personal); last, there are those who re-flect on what we think and say about our world (theoretical-objective).These four spheres of knowledge correspond, in the same order, to ethics,technology, the humanities, and science.

In his reflections, Carlos Llano argued that the contemporary univer-sity is more inclined toward the objective dimension than the personal di-mension and pays greater attention to technology and science. Faced withsuch a hierarchy, which would place technology as the first interestamong university activities, it is necessary to retrieve the personal dimen-sion so that we can know ourselves and the demands of our na-ture—which would correspond to anthropology, as a personal-theoreticaldimension—and know what we must do with ourselves—which is thepersonal-practical dimension of ethics. Thus, by affirming the primacy ofpeople over things and theoretical knowledge over practical knowledge,the four groups of studies should observe the following sequence: first,anthropology, which studies what people think and say about themselves;second, ethics, which studies what people do with themselves; third, thepositive sciences, which study what people think and say about their world;


and, finally, technology, which studies what people do with their world.17

One can readily see the similarity between this hierarchical order and theclassification established by Peirce: esthetics, ethics, logic, and practicalsciences.

Thus, we find ourselves before a broad field for reflection and action, re-quiring the involvement, not only of corporate executives, but also of thosewho are responsible for their academic training. A good starting pointwould be the shared conviction by both parties that the manager’s first ethi-cal responsibility is to be effective and that ethical problems are not solvedwith technical answers, because behind a good technical solution, there isalways an anthropological and ethical philosophy that guides and directs it.

In the first part of this book, human action was defined as a deliberate ac-tion that cannot be reduced to a mere succession of physical reactions butrather is imprinted by an intentional purpose that guides the action towardits end, without determining the specific way in which this action actuallyoccurs. In this second part, we have discussed how one can talk of a scien-tific character of action and have seen that the scientific character can mani-fest in practical action through the decision process, which is the process ofinquiry by which the subject establishes the belief that will be his or hermaxim of conduct. Thus, management can also lend itself to scientific in-quiry and be studied by a science, in this case, by a practical science, which,as such, should be oriented by the three normative sciences. Esthetics, eth-ics, and logic are the three sciences that help specify the scientific characterof human action in organizations. These three sciences are governed by arelation of dependence. Logic depends on ethics, and ethics depends on es-thetics. This grade of dependence is also found in human action. The eco-nomic, sociological, and ethical aspects are not related as equals in humanaction but rather are bound by a relation of subordination. Through thestudy of the three sciences, it will be possible to define three principles thatwill help us in our understanding of human action. However, before start-ing that study, which will form the last part of this book, we must look at thethird and last meaning that Peirce gives to science, that of a mode of life, toenable us to draw some conclusions regarding the type of scientific attitudethat should be developed by the practical person.

NOTES

1. I. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, trans. N.K. Smith (London: Macmillan,1963), A 832, B 860.

2. S.T. Coleridge, “The Science and System of Logic,” in The Collected Works ofSamuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. H.J. Jackson and J.R. de J. Jackson, Vol. 11: ShorterWorks and Fragments, II (Princeton: Routledge & Princeton University Press,1985), 1009.

3. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A 832, B 860.4. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, A 833, B 861.


5. Each science is marked with a numeric series in brackets to make it easier tosee the path it follows within the classification. This numbering system is used byKent in her book on the classification of the sciences. See B.E. Kent, Charles S.Peirce: Logic and the Classification of the Sciences (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s Univer-sity Press, 1987), 148.

6. Kent, Charles S. Peirce: Logic and the Classification of the Sciences, 148.7. Kent, Charles S. Peirce: Logic and the Classification of the Sciences, 140.8. V.G. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals (Worcester: University of

Massachusetts Press, 1967), 19–20.9. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 40.

10. E.T. Oakes, “Discovering the American Aristotle,” First Things 38 (Decem-ber 1993): 27.

11. J.H. Newman, Fifteen Sermons Preached before the University of Oxford betweenA.D. 1826 and 1843 (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997).

12. H.U. Von Balthasar, The Glory of the Lord: A Theological Aesthetics. Vol I:Seeing the Form (San Francisco, Calif.: Ignatius Press and Crossroad Publications,1983–1991).

13. Kent, Charles S. Peirce: Logic and the Classification of the Sciences, 188.14. A. Valero and J.L. Lucas, Política de empresa. El gobierno de la empresa de

negocios (Pamplona, Spain: Eunsa, 1991).15. For an attempt to justify this symbiosis, see A. Etzioni, The Moral Dimension:

Towards a New Economics (New York: Free Press, 1988). These ideas are to be foundin any manual on business ethics. See, for example, R.T. de George, Business Ethics,3rd ed. (New York: Macmillan, 1990); and M. Velasquez, Business Ethics: Conceptsand Cases, 3rd ed. (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1992). For an attempt togo beyond these approaches, see J.M. Elegido, Fundamentals of Business Ethics(Ibadan, Nigeria: Spectrum Books, 1996).

16. C. Llano, El postmodernismo en la empresa (Mexico: McGraw-Hill, 1994), 107.The discussion contained in the following pages is based on the ideas expressedby Llano in Chapter 5, “Universidad adversus postmodernismo.” The same au-thor, in chapter 2 of Análisis de la acción directiva (Mexico: Limusa, 1979), specifiesthe different functional and structural aspects of the company in which the man-ager performs this synthetical function.

17. Llano, El postmodernismo en la empresa, 93–96.


CHAPTER 8

The Scientific Attitude inManagement

The two meanings of science that have provided the starting points for thetwo previous chapters give a static view of science. Therefore, Peirce pro-poses a third meaning, by which science is understood as a mode of life, fol-lowing the ideal of science that he finds in the writings of Francis Bacon (CP7.54; MS 1269). According to this third meaning, science is the occupation ofa group of people who have been moved by an impulse to penetrate intothe reason of things (CP 1.44).

In the introduction to the History of Science—which in the end was neverpublished—Peirce says that lexicographers and non-scientists may viewscience as an “organized body of knowledge,” but the true scientist sees itas a “mode of life” (MS 1269; CP 7.54–55). Science is the goal of the personwho is motivated by the pure love of knowledge. In his opinion, the scien-tist is inspired by the search for truth alone. In this, Peirce disagrees withothers, such as Karl Pearson, who propose a utilitarian vision of science andstate that science is for action (CP 8.136). Science is not determined by theresults obtained, but by the search for an aspect of truth, using for the taskthe best means available (MS 1334).

Science is a mode of life, it is a mode of inquiry; above all, it is a vital atti-tude—the scientific attitude—which, together with other attitudes, mustbe present in all people. It is not something associated with a certain pointin time, a moment of inspiration in which one begins to conceive new ideas,but a struggle that lasts all one’s life, and even longer, as inquiry continuesbeyond the scientist’s lifetime. Just as the discoveries made centuries agowere a step from which to continue advancing—and which, although they

were valid in their time, have since been superseded—so may also the dis-coveries made by present scientists prove to be false in the future becausescientific certainties are fallible (CP 7.108, 2.142), but they will have contrib-uted to the progress of science, and that, in the final analysis, is what mat-ters.

When Peirce talks about science in general or about a science in particu-lar, he is talking about a community of investigators that works together forsome time with a unity of purpose and method enabling a result to be ob-tained that is greater than the sum of the individual contributions.1 Scienceis not the investigation of a single person but rather of the community of in-vestigators; it is the collective effort of a group of people who, being more orless interconnected, help and encourage each other to understand a partic-ular group of studies that cannot be understood by others outside thegroup (MS 1334). However, it is not a necessary condition that people whoform a group of scientists be working on the same problem, nor that they befully up-to-date on what the others are doing or need. However, it is a nec-essary condition that their studies be so closely related that any one ofthem, after a period of months of preparation, could take over the work onanother’s problem and all of them can understand what the problem thatthe other one is working on consists of. In particular, one thing they share isthe same skill in the use of tools and working methods, which those who donot belong to that science do not have (MS 1334). On the basis of this defini-tion, Delaney says that “science” means for Peirce the life of a social groupof investigators, who are united by a particular research strategy andmoved by the desire to learn the truth.2

In an analogous manner to what happens with the classification of thesciences, the individuals working in a particular science turn to the individ-uals working in a more abstract science, seeking information on principleswith which the latter are more knowledgeable and that the individuals inthe more concrete science need to apply. At the same time, the individualsin the first group are more skilled than the individuals in the second groupin the concrete application of these principles. The experts in the abstractscience have greater knowledge about the principles; the experts in the con-crete science apply them better. Thus, one group—the concrete sciencegroup—is in a relationship of dependence with the other group—the ab-stract science group—although the latter is not operational by itself, butthrough the practical application given to its principles by the concrete sci-ence (MS 1334). When this relationship between sciences is applied to eth-ics, it can be concluded that ethical problems cannot be reduced to technicalproblems, even if they need technical applications for their solution.

Upon studying the conditions of the possibility of science, Delaney re-marks that the continuity of the scientific method and the validity of its re-sults depend, not only on the characteristics of the universe that guaranteeits objective validity, but also on the qualities that investigators and institu-


tions must possess in order to sustain the process.3 The continuity of the sci-entific method depends on the continued existence of certain interrelatedsocial practices—replicability of the experiment, intersubjectivity, and dis-cussion between the members of the scientific community—which, in turn,depend on certain virtues held by the individuals forming the community.These moral aspects—which Delaney lists as the sense of trust, the sense ofcommunity, and the love of truth—are the most important for the function-ing of the scientific method (CP 7.87).

Peirce refers directly to the qualities that must be held by the scientificperson: the search for truth, a natural gift for critical reasoning, and a spe-cific training for that branch of science to which he or she is devoted (CP7.605–607). The last two qualities have already been considered in previouschapters—when discussing the role of reason in human action and the syn-thetical character of management—so this chapter will specifically addressthe search for truth as a unique characteristic of the scientific attitude, aswell as certain corollaries that follow from this.

Drawing from texts written by Peirce, Susan Haack has rightly pointedout that the desire to learn, even though it be the first rule of reason (CP1.135), is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for attaining truth.4 Itis not a sufficient condition because truth may not be attained, either be-cause the scientist encounters various difficulties that hamper the inquiryor because other conditions are required, such as a natural gift for criticalthinking or a more adequate method. On the other hand, it is not a neces-sary condition either, because truth may be attained by other methods, aswe have seen when discussing the four methods for fixing beliefs.

However, centering on this first rule of reason—in order to learn, theremust first be the desire to learn—Haack points out that this rule requires onthe part of the investigator a certain disposition, which Peirce returns totime and again in his writings and which can be characterized as the atti-tude of the “pure search for truth.” This disposition sets the scientist apartfrom other individuals who normally do not have this attitude. Peirce usu-ally refers to teachers, theologians, and, to a lesser extent, businesspeople.According to Haack, Peirce holds that these individuals differ from the sci-entist in two characteristics. On the one hand, businesspeople are alwayslooking for opportunities, for usefulness, whereas science is “the study ofuseless things” (CP 1.76). In other words, the practical application of scien-tific findings is irrelevant for science (CP 1.45). Furthermore, the practicalperson needs firm beliefs for action, whereas the scientist works with con-jectures and propositions (CP 1.635). Teachers are different from scientistsin this second aspect, as the task of teaching requires them to be thoroughlyconvinced of the truth of what they are teaching. For their part, the theolo-gians have already decided beforehand on the truths they want to reach, sothat their entire discourse is concerned with defending the propositions towhich they have committed themselves from the outset; this attitude is

The Scientific Attitude in Management 143

contrary to the scientific attitude, which does not know how the inquirywill conclude (CP 6.3). In addition, the theologians seek in their inquiry toachieve ends other than the search for truth, even if they are such com-mendable ends as saving souls. Peirce is not trying to say that science mustmark our entire life; he only wants to make clear the role corresponding inthat life to the scientist or, rather, to the scientific attitude. In this sense, itcannot be said that Peirce is an advocate of scientism, because he is able torecognize the limits of science in human life.5

By comparing the scientist with those engaged in other activities, it ispossible to identify a number of characteristics of the scientific attitude: (1)it is moved by the search for truth, without taking into account the practicalapplications; (2) it does not require firm beliefs, only conjectures, with thedisposition to change them whenever necessary; (3) it does not start frompreconceived ideas; and (4) it has no other interest outside of truth. The sci-entific person is not characterized by what he or she knows but by the de-sire to learn.

In the interest of penetrating into the reason of things, the scientist ismoved by a diligent inquiry. It is an active stance—and closer, therefore, tothat of practical person rather than the artist—which is not content withcontemplating things but rather seeks to penetrate into their reason (CP1.44, 5.589). The scientist does not claim to have an all-embracing explana-tory theory—as is the case with the philosopher—but rather he is alwaysready to learn from the reality with which he or she relates, comparing hisor her ideas with experimental results in order to modify the ideas if neces-sary (CP 1.44). It is this open attitude to reality that, in Peirce’s opinion, ac-counts for the success of modern science. Peirce points out three conditionsthat this attitude imposes on the scientific method. First, scientists havebeen successful in their investigations because, far from shutting them-selves in museums and libraries, they have spent their time in laboratoriesand in the experimental field, verifying their ideas. Second, they have notadopted an attitude of passive perception of reality but have ob-served—that is, perceived, but with the help of analysis—reality and testedtheir theories. Last, the reason why they have carried out their inquiries hasbeen a craving to know how things really were; a craving that acts as acounterweight to all the individual’s prejudices, vanities, and passions,over which prevails the interest in verifying whether general propositionscontinue to be valid (CP 1.34).

These three characteristics are important for management. They indicatethat we must maintain an active position with respect to reality. This activeposition does not imply manipulating the environment, because the ulti-mate attitude is to know things as they really are and let them be as they re-ally are. Management cannot be confused with technology, becausemanagement is concerned with modifying people and not inert objects, but


neither can it be confused with dialog, because what is really sought is amodification in the people being managed.6

When people have a burning desire to know the truth, their first effortmust be to imagine what that truth can be (CP 1.47–48). Although the scien-tific attitude is related to the practical attitude in that it is not content withcontemplating things, it also has a similarity with the artistic attitude,which demands from the scientist a certain creativity. Just as the artist cre-ates a fiction that is not arbitrary, so does the geometer draw a diagram bywhich to show a series of relations between elements that before seemed tohave no necessary connection. The genius of the mind takes an active posi-tion, collects the data, makes them precise, adds what he or she believes tobe necessary, and shows them in an intelligible form in space and time (CP1.383). We may stand before phenomena, but in the absence of imagination,we cannot connect them in any rational way (CP 1.46). Peirce says that thetrue form of synthetical consciousness consists of introducing an idea thatis not contained in the data and that creates connections that would other-wise not have existed (CP 1.383). Thus, the originality brought by imagina-tion does not lie in the subject being studied but in how that subject is givenshape and how the various parts are joined together (CP 4.611). Arguingagainst nominalism, Peirce points out with respect to the scientific charac-ter that it is not a question of abstaining from hypostatization, but of doingit intelligently; arguing against Hegel, he points out that when somethingbecomes present to the mind, its “presentness,” or immediacy, appears.This is not something abstract—as Hegel said—but rather, what is present,is positively as it is. Intuition is the regarding of the abstract in a concreteform, by the realistic hypostatization of relations. This is the sole method ofvaluable thought (CP 1.383).

Prior to desire to learn, we must be aware of our limitations, in particu-lar, of the possibility of error and of ignorance.7 Because we are aware of thepossibility of error, we will never be satisfied with what we already think(CP 1.135) and, while avoiding a sterile relativism, we will reject dogmaticpositions that block the progress of inquiry. And because we are aware ofour ignorance, we will trust in the communicative character of inquiry andview the attainment of truth, not as the work of a human’s lifetime, but asthe work of generations.

By discerning between these different attitudes, it is possible to identifythree qualities of the scientific attitude—persistence, breadth, and hon-esty—which, following Haack, I define as follows. With persistence, the in-vestigator does not stop until the inquiry achieves those results that can betaken as relevant; it implies taking into account all of the action’s resultsand not merely the immediate, extrinsic results. With breadth, the investiga-tor does not ignore issues that may be important for the inquiry, even at firstsight they may have no practical relevance. It implies considering all thedecision criteria, particularly those that may be least obvious but that, if


they are not taken into account, may cause dramatic results for the action,as is the case of the consistency criterion.8 Finally, with honesty, the investi-gator prefers truth to his or her own satisfaction, which translates into a“commitment” to truth above personal interests, favors the attitude of co-operation that facilitates the progress of knowledge, and warns of the ne-cessity to go beyond perceptible satisfaction when analyzing the differenthypotheses. When these three qualities are related with practical action, thescientific attitude manifests at three decisive moments: the perception ofthe results, the assessment of the criteria, and the deliberation of the motives.

If people act with this attitude, it does not particularly matter whetherthe inquiry obtains results or even if it leads to an error. It is not the resultsobtained that bring people together around the same science, but the desireto know. The intentions or the attitudes are more important than the results.After all, the latter refer to operational problems, in the order of efficientcausality. Once all the conditions have been met and the experiment has be-gun, certain results are obtained that, normally, will not be those expected.However, what really matters are the intentions and attitudes with whichthe subject begins the inquiry, as these determine whether it will be a scien-tific inquiry (a necessary but insufficient condition for reaching the truth)or a pseudoinquiry, which appears to obtain results but blocks the furtherprogress of science. It is more important to apply the correct method even if,in the end, the truth is not reached than to try to reach the truth by any othermethod. If the correct method is applied, even the errors that may ensuewill be highly useful for scientific progress (CP 1.644) because the scientistwill not ignore them, but, on the contrary, will apply the lessons learnedfrom these weaknesses to continue the inquiry.

As a mode of life, science is the desire to learn. However, it may happenthat this desire to learn does not exist in a pure state but is mixed with otherdesires. This will normally be the case of the person of action who wishes tohave a scientific attitude in his or her actions, something that is also neces-sary in management. In this case, strictly speaking, it cannot be said that theperson who acts in this manner is scientific, but neither can we completelydeny him or her a scientific attitude (CP 1.235). Susan Haack analyzed threestates in which inquiry is guided by interests other than the sole search fortruth: the person who seeks truth in good faith but a faith which is useful tohim or her, that is, that has practical applications; the person who investi-gates in bad faith, trying to find reasons that confirm his or her precon-ceived ideas; and, lastly, the person who investigates with the desire to earnworldly fame (CP 1.58–59).9 With respect to the first state, she admits thatan inquiry driven by practical results may be considered short-sighted be-cause it may leave to one side lines of research that would be useful forreaching the truth but are not relevant for the practical utility sought; evenso, if the inquiry is guided by good faith, the inquiry should not be cen-sured, particularly considering—as Peirce himself acknowledged—that it


is difficult to say when the results reached by science will or will not havepractical results and that scientific breakthroughs have also been shown tohave major practical applications without this detracting from their impor-tance from the scientific viewpoint. It does not seem, therefore, that practi-cal utility should be, in principle, an insurmountable obstacle for scientificadvancement, provided that the shortcomings, from the scientific view-point arise from closing paths and not placing from obstacles, to take theimage used by Peirce. Thus, if the investigation confines itself to closingpaths, it may not choose the straightest path for reaching the truth but, inspite of this, the scientific community will eventually reach the truth.

A different state of affairs is that of the person who uses the inquiry tojustify pre-established beliefs. In this case, the inquiry is blocked by deceit.However, even here a distinction must be made: if such a method is usedknowingly and without trying to find a better one, it cannot be said of thatperson that he or she is a scientist; if the person using it does not have abetter alternative and it is the best available at that time, although he or shecannot be considered a scientist, he or she at least has a place in the “vesti-bule of science” (CP 1.642).

Finally, Haack considers the case of the person who is driven by vanity toseek in the inquiry a means of self-promotion and enhancing his or her ownreputation (CP 1.34). This, too, is a pseudoinquiry because the person per-forming it is more concerned with him- or herself than with the search fortruth. If one is full of oneself, one is unlikely to be able to direct one’s soul to-ward the desire to reach the truth.10 This search for truth may also be ad-versely affected by a markedly hostile environment (CP 1.645): on the onehand, scientific work may become very expensive and, consequently, abusiness factor may enter into it, thus forcing scientists to becomebusinesspeople and, sometimes, compromise the honesty required by sci-entific activity to exaggerate the results and obtain funds to continue theirresearch; on the other hand, scientific work may take on an air of profes-sionalism (CP 1.51) and the scientist may become an individual preoccu-pied with reputation, prestige, and income (CP 8.142). There is only onething worse than a rich scientist, and that is a bureaucratic scientist. All ofthese circumstances may lead to a deterioration in the intellectual vigor ofthe scientific person.

Therefore, the practical application of scientific results or the interest inthe usefulness they may have does not have a directly detrimental effect onscientific inquiry. The people of action pursue truth, albeit useful truth. If itis done in good faith, it need not necessarily be bad. Obviously, there is apractical motive, which means that one cannot talk of a pure scientific atti-tude, but this does not strip the person of action of the right to be called ascientist. The person of action must be aware of the limited character of thataction (CP 1.642, 1.75–76) as compared to scientific inquiry. However, at thesame time, he or she must acknowledge that it is highly desirable that his or


her action be mediated by a scientific attitude that enables his or her reason-ing to avoid being preoccupied with selfish interests and opens it, the uni-versality of a world that, with his or her action, he or she models, interprets,and gives meaning to.

With the conclusion of this chapter, and of this second part, I have out-lined the relation between science and practice in management. The personof action must possess a scientific attitude, which is required by the very na-ture of his or her actions which, given their continual novelty, cannot be leftto the mercy of instinct but rather must be constantly mediated by reason.Therefore, the decision process can draw from the process of scientific in-quiry; the scientific method and the pragmatic maxim may facilitate deci-sion making and the defining of action plans; the classification of thesciences indicates the synthetical and unitary character of the differentfields of knowledge; and, last, the scientific attitude, whose purpose is thesearch for truth, illuminates the attitude with which the manager must fo-cus his or her action.

The normative sciences were mentioned at the end of the previous chap-ter as the points of reference for articulating managerial action. In the thirdand last part of this book, we will take these sciences as a starting point foran attempt to define three principles of action, which, taken from Peirceanthought, may provide a reference framework for management.

NOTES

1. C.F. Delaney, Science, Knowledge and Mind: A Study in the Philosophy ofCharles S. Peirce (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993), 77.

2. C.F. Delaney, “Peirce on the Conditions of the Possibility of Science,” inCharles S. Peirce and the Philosophy of Science, ed. E.C. Moore (Tuscaloosa: Univer-sity of Alabama Press, 1993), 18.

3. Delaney, “Peirce on the Conditions of the Possibility of Science,” 20–23.4. S. Haack, “The First Rule of Reason,” in The Rule of Reason, ed. J. Brunning

and P. Forster (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 241–261.5. N. Rescher, “Peirce on the Validation of Science,” in Peirce and Contempo-

rary Thought, ed. K. Ketner (New York: Fordham University Press, 1995), 109–112.6. C. Llano, Análisis de la acción directiva (Mexico: Limusa, 1979), 14.7. Haack, “The First Rule of Reason,” 241–261.8. The consequences of ignoring this criterion in management decisions was

discussed by J.A. Pérez López, El sentido de los conflictos éticos originados por elentorno en el que opera la empresa (Cuadernos de Empresa y Humanismo, no. 4).(Pamplona, Spain: Cuadernos de Empresa y Humanismo, 1987).

9. S. Haack, “Preposterism and its consequences,” in Manifesto of a PassionateModerate (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 188–208.

10. The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce, ed. C. Eisele, vol. 4 (TheHague: Mouton, 1976), 977.


PART III

Three Principles forManagement

The last part of this book takes the three normative sciences as its reference.In the first part, I defined human action in terms of the most importantPeircean concepts, stressing action’s intentional character. This teleologicalreference has led us to analyze, in the second part, the decision-making pro-cess because the rational character of human action appears very clearly inthe decision. In our study of this process, our reference to the Peircean sci-entific method proved a very useful way to highlight the desirability of ap-plying a scientific attitude in human action. Within the classification of thesciences, the normative sciences were defined as those sciences that guidehuman activity. Therefore, the reference to the normative sciences is pre-sented as the last step in this inquiry.

Human action is reasoned action, that is, it is founded on a deliberate,controlled process; this implies an intentional character of action, which isgoverned by ends. However, these ends, in turn, are also the consequenceof a deliberate, rational choice, which requires a reference to an ultimateend having the consideration of admirable in itself, as the ultimate end can-not be chosen. Consequently, logic is concerned with right reasoning, thatis, the correct use of the means; ethics analyzes the ends toward which thesemeans should be directed, such that its interest is directed toward the con-ditions in which the action can be considered correct; finally, esthetics de-fines the end in itself—that which deserves to be considered admirable anddesirable, irrespective of the circumstances that may arise or the other con-siderations that may apply.

It would be beyond the scope of this book to perform a detailed study ofeach of the normative sciences. As in previous chapters, we will consideronly those aspects that refer most directly to the definition of human action.Through the consideration of the three normative sciences, we will be ableto draw a principle from each one which will be useful for orienting humanaction. The three principles for action—which will be called creativity, com-munity, and character—will be the theme of discussion in each of the nextthree chapters. These three principles have been considered in one way oranother in the literature on business management, but the synthetical char-acter provided by the classification of the sciences may help us understandtheir nature and interrelation.


CHAPTER 9

Creativity: The LogicalPrinciple of Action

ABDUCTION, DEDUCTION AND INDUCTION

The question of the forms of inference and their validity was a recurrenttheme in Peirce’s writings, although a change in the way these subjects isapproached is observed in the course of the historic evolution of histhinking. In his early writings, Peirce refers to three types of argumentsor inferences—deduction, induction and abduction1—as three separateways of reasoning. However, in his later writings, the three types of ar-gument are conceived as three steps in a single process of scientific in-quiry.

In his paper written in 1878, “Deduction, Induction and Hypothesis”(CP 2.619–644), he studies the three types of argument. Using the system ofthe syllogism, he states that there are three classes of inference by which it ispossible to draw a conclusion from certain given premises (CP 2.620–623).The first inference is deduction, which consists of applying a rule to a case, ascorresponds to the syllogism of the first figure. Deduction will be formu-lated as follows:

Rule: All the beans from this bag are white.

Case: These beans are from this bag.

Result: These beans are white.

In the second, induction, the starting point is the case, and from there it isinferred that what is true for one or several cases is also true for the whole towhich these cases belong. It is formulated as follows:




Last, abduction assumes that it is possible to infer the case from the ruleand the result. Its formulation is as follows:




Deductive reasoning is analytic or explicative, it enables our knowledgeto be explained, but the conclusion does not add anything that is not al-ready contained in the premises. On the other hand, induction and abduc-tion are ampliative or synthetic inferences because in this case, theconclusion adds a novelty with respect to the content of the premises (CP2.623). Deductive inferences are logically necessary, whereas induction andabduction move within what is plausible or likely.2 In induction, there is aresemblance among individuals, and the conclusion generalizes the com-mon aspect to all the members of the class. For its part, in abduction, there isa resemblance among characteristics; the conclusion surmises that this re-semblance goes beyond the characteristic observed and gives a possible ex-planation for itself. In abduction, the consideration of the facts suggests anexplicative hypothesis. In induction, one looks for the facts that confirm thehypothesis that is suggested (CP 7.218). Induction is based on a compara-tive process: it is a comparison between homogenous facts, from whichtheir general properties can be enounced. On the contrary, abduction isbased on a singular fact, which sometimes appears as an enigma, some-thing inexplicable, for which the observer postulates a hypothesis.3 Abduc-tions, like inductions, do not contain in themselves their own logicalvalidity and must be confirmed in the outside world: they are conjecturesabout reality that must be confirmed by means of an experimental test.4

Admittedly, the conclusive jump of the hypothesis is less sure than thatof induction, but it is also more fertile. These two characteristics are in-versely related to the three types of inference. Deduction leads to surer con-clusions because it is a necessary inference, but it is also the least fertilebecause it simply makes explicit something that was already said. Abduc-tion, for its part, is the least sure but, on the other hand, its fertility is high, asit proposes an explanation for the observed facts. Finally, induction occu-pies a position in between; the novelty it contributes is that of classifyingnonobserved facts under a general law on the basis of their resemblance toobserved facts (CP 2.640).

In 1901, in Peirce’s “The Logic of Drawing History from Ancient Docu-ments,” all three types of argument are integrated as successive steps in the


process of inquiry of the scientific method (CP 7.161–255) and reappear inthe same form in the “Lectures on Pragmatism” given at Harvard in 1903(CP 5.171). With abduction, an explanatory hypothesis is formulated of theobserved facts; with deduction, the experimentable consequences thatshould be observed if the hypotheses are fulfilled are stated; finally, withinduction, the hypothesis is verified experimentally through the occur-rence of the effects determined a priori. By observing the function that eachof these steps performs in the process of inquiry as a whole, it is possible toestablish a relationship among the three categories: “Deduction proves thatsomething must be; Induction shows that something actually is operative;Abduction merely suggests that something may be” (CP 5.171). Thus, de-duction refers to thirdness and moves on the plane of necessity; induction isrelated with secondness and has the characteristic of actuality; and abduc-tion, as firstness, refers to the possibility.

Delaney distinguishes between two moments in the process of scientificinquiry: the discovery phase, which corresponds to abduction, and the con-firmation phase, which corresponds to induction. In turn, in abduction hedistinguishes between the discovery as such, which corresponds to thegeneration of explicative hypotheses for the phenomenon under consider-ation, and the selection of those hypotheses that are worth verifying in in-duction.5 The moment of hypothesis generation is dependent on the“natural instinct to choose correctly”; the moment of selection is dependenton methodological criteria, which may be grouped in the “economy of re-search”; finally, the inductive confirmation is dependent on the iterative,self-correcting character of the scientific method.

With Peirce’s proposal, the hypothesis generation process is given a sci-entific character that other authors have denied it. In his study on abduc-tion, Brown pointed out that renowned authors such as John Stuart Mill,Whewell, and Popper have considered the moment of discovery to be out-side of the boundaries of science. Peirce, on the contrary, argues that it ispossible to give a scientific treatment to the logic of discovery. Thus, the sig-nificance of his contribution lies in showing the importance of the initialmoment and giving it a scientific treatment that it has not received fromother authors.6

The first moment of abduction, according to Delaney’s division, consistsof the generation of hypotheses.7 Peirce believes that this phase rests on aparticular faculty or instinct that we possess and that gives us a certain in-sight into the internal structure of nature. By means of the continuity princi-ple, there exists a certain fit between the subject who knows and the knownphenomenon, which science is continually unraveling. Consequently,there must exist a faculty that accounts for this correlation. This faculty,which Peirce likens to Galileo’s lume naturale, is what allows us to “chooseright” on the laws of nature.

Creativity: The Logical Principle of Action 153

In “ANeglected Argument for the Reality of God,” published in Septem-ber 1908 in the Hibbert Journal, Peirce referred to this faculty for hypothesisformulation, which he calls musement. “Musement” is “pure play” of thescientific spirit preoccupied solely with the search for truth. Thus, any sci-entific progress—which may only be provided by abduction—is suggestedfirst by the spontaneous conjectures of instinctive reason (CP 6.475). It is agame, but one that does not have rules; even so, it is controlled, but by acontrol that always leaves room for the spontaneous growth of ideas, ac-cording to the order of evolutionary love, where spontaneity evolves in aframework of rationality. It is a free exercise of reason, but not an exercise freeof reason. In this respect, Nubiola pointed out that human creations havetheir origin in spontaneity, in the free action of human beings who, on thebasis of experience, introduce into the world a significance that is irreduc-ible to physical determinations. For Peirce, spontaneity is the essence of in-tellectual activity; it provides the discontinuity between past and future inwhich something new can arise.8

In his study of the theory of abduction, Fann argued that the fundamen-tal problem of abduction is to find the criteria for choosing the best hypoth-esis.9 Peirce identified three criteria: the hypothesis that is selected must becapable of being subjected to experimental testing, must explain the facts,and it must take into account the economy of research (CP 7.220). First, a hy-pothesis must be capable of being subjected to experimental testing. In thisrespect, abduction has a close relationship with pragmatism because, if ab-duction is the hypothesis formulation process, the pragmatic maxim estab-lishes that the only acceptable hypothesis is that which can be verifiedexperimentally, because the various hypotheses are distinguished by thepractical consequences. Thus, the pragmatic maxim is the logic of abduc-tion (CP 5.196). Second, it must explain the facts of experience that havecaused the surprise and motivated the inquiry. This is the reason causingthe scientific inquiry. Thus, abduction lies at the very heart of the scientificinquiry, as it seeks to give an explanation for the event that has motivatedthe inquiry. It requires an optimistic attitude, which leads us, first, to as-sume that there are no absolutely inexplicable facts and, second, to trust inman’s ability to find correct hypotheses. Peirce disagrees with thepositivistic positions with respect to the nature of hypotheses. For Peirce,science’s function is explicative, that is, it seeks to formulate laws that ex-plain observed events, whereas positivism is descriptive and only acceptsthose laws that can be observed directly.10 Peirce was familiar with thethinking of Ernst Mach, to whom he dedicated words of praise for his phi-losophy of science (MS 332).11 However, for Peirce, Mach’s error was to ex-clude from scientific explanations all that which was beyond the level ofperceptible experience, whereas for Peirce, the interest of science was notconfined to capturing the regularities of nature, but, above all, sought tofind an explanation for why those regularities exist (CP 6.12).


There may be many hypotheses that are able to meet the first two condi-tions—experimental control and ability to explain reality—and verifyingthem all may be very expensive. Consequently, it is necessary to decidewhich of them must be verified first. This is the purpose of the third princi-ple, which Peirce calls economy of research (CP 5.600). By defining this princi-ple, Peirce takes into account the relation between a particular line ofinquiry’s usefulness or value and its cost. Usefulness is considered on thebasis of the hypothesis’s intrinsic value—the expectations that it may betrue—and its effect on other processes of inquiry.

The hypothesis’s intrinsic value addresses, first of all, its simplicity ornaturalness. As a suitable maxim for science, Peirce refers to Ockham’sprinciple of not multiplying entities unnecessarily, which leads him to de-fine the following guideline: “Before you try a complicated hypothesis, youshould make quite sure that no simplification of it will explain the factsequally well” (CP 5.60, 4.35, 6.535). Fann points to an evolution in the con-cept of simplicity used by Peirce. If, in his first writings, he understood bysimplest hypothesis that which added least to what was observed, in his re-flections near the end of his life he referred to that hypothesis that is easiestand most natural, that which the instinct suggests should be preferred.12

Among the reasons given to support the simplicity hypothesis are the factthat, if the hypothesis were to be proved false, it can be eliminated withgreater speed and less expense (CP 1.120, 6.532) and that a simple hypothe-sis is closer to the natural affinity that, in Peirce’s opinion, should exist be-tween the mind and nature (CP 6.476).

In addition to simplicity, it is also necessary to consider the hypothesis’srational character, that is, the different subjective and objective “signals”that indicate its truth. Especial attention must be given to the weighting ofthe supreme commandments of reason and instinct, by which we endeavorto fit the hypothesis harmoniously in the body of previously establishedideas, but without forgetting that it is experience that must guide the in-quiry. If there are positive facts that make a certain hypothesis likely, thathypothesis must be tested first (CP 7.220). However, if there are not, theeconomy of research advises testing first the hypothesis that concurs withthe rules of action that have already been tested and internalized by thesubject. The plausibility principle of a hypothesis is related with the princi-ple of conservatism that characterizes the scientific method and, as such,shows his reluctance to accept any hypothesis that requires an expansion ofthe conceptual framework used by the individual until now.13 However, incontrast, on another occasion, he suggested that the hypotheses that varysignificantly from preconceived ideas deserve to be considered first,provided that they can be tested efficiently and without too much expense(CP 7.83).

The second criterion of the hypothesis’s usefulness analyzes its effect onother inquiries. The importance of this factor lies in the fact that a hypothe-


sis will rarely be totally satisfactory. Consequently, one can consider whichaspects of the hypothesis may be used to explain other problems when it isrefuted. Peirce refers to three considerations: “caution,” “breadth,” and“incomplexity” (CP 7.220–221). Under the consideration of caution, the hy-pothesis is analyzed in its most elementary logical components, with thepurpose of experimenting with those that enable the greatest possiblenumber of hypotheses to be eliminated at once. Under the consideration ofbreadth, all other things being equal, the hypotheses chosen are those thatare as broad as possible, because the more general they are, the more theywill be able to illuminate other fields of experience, thereby avoiding un-necessary repetition. Finally, the preference for incomplexity is to be ex-plained by the fact that simpler hypotheses are more suggestive for thehypotheses that follow than more complex hypotheses.

In addition to the hypothesis’s usefulness, its cost must also be studied.If a hypothesis can be tested with little expense—in terms of money, time,energy, or effort—or if the means are available for testing it, this hypothesisshould be examined first, even if apparently it has less possibilities of beingverified (CP 6.533, 7.220, 5.598). By combining the estimated usefulness of aline of inquiry with its total cost, a simple strategy is obtained for directingthe application of resources. The “economic urgency” of a certain project isrepresented by the ratio between usefulness and cost.

Using this indicator, Peirce lists a number of decision criteria, which al-ways have a generic character and which it is sometimes difficult to recon-cile. For example, he says that one must begin with that line of inquirywhose urgency is greatest and, at the same time, one must seek to equalizethe ratios of all the inquiries in progress. He indicates his preference forthose inquiries that pursue a profound knowledge of a very specific field ofscience, although, at the same time, he points out the importance ofinterdisciplinarity and the application of principles from one science to an-other, and he investigates hypotheses that are similar to established ideas.However, he says that a piece of research work that is sufficiently divergentfrom established opinions should, as a general rule, be observed with atten-tion (CP 1.32). He affirms that inquiries in which resources have alreadybeen invested should be continued as long as the conditions that renderedthe investment advisable prevail but adds that new resources should be al-located to new fields of inquiry because they will probably make the in-quiry more fruitful.14 In general terms, resources should be allocated tothose areas in which researchers are in a position to achieve greater ad-vances.15 Faced with this diversity of criteria for choosing hypotheses, it isclear that the scientific attitude and, by extension, human action are notsubject to fixed, automatic procedures and, no matter how many variablescan be enumerated, they can never take the place of the individual’s pru-dential deliberation.


Although, in principle, the economy of research refers to abduction, eco-nomic considerations are no less important in induction (CP 7.90). Whendiscussing the hypothesis verification process, a major issue of practicalrelevance is raised: the cost of information. As knowledge increases, themarginal growth of usefulness decreases while the cost required to obtainan incremental gain in this knowledge increases considerably. Therefore,there may come a time when it no longer pays to take the inquiry further(CP 1.122). For each line of inquiry, there is an optimal point of certainty andexactitude that it is pointless to try to exceed but unsatisfactory to not attain(CP 1.85).

The inability to obtain all the accessible information for a given decisionled, in organizational theory, to the formulation of the principle of limitedrationality, which challenges maximization strategies on the grounds thatthey require information that the decision maker often does not have.16 De-pending on whether the decision is founded on an optimization criterion,that is, on choosing the alternative that is valued better than the others, oron a satisfaction criterion, that is, one settles for any alternative that is con-sidered satisfactory, the rules for stopping the inquiry will be very differ-ent.17 On the one hand, it does not seem to be a rational position to choosean alternative that is satisfactory and, at the same time, acknowledge thatthere is another, better alternative. However, on the other hand, given thathuman action takes place in a dynamic context, it seems to be preferable toestablish a time limit for making a decision with the information availableat that time rather than prolong indefinitely the evaluation of the alterna-tives. The clearer the knowledge held of the alternatives, the easier it is toidentify that which appears as optimal. However, the clearer the goals, themore reason there is to settle for an alternative that is satisfactory. Just as, ona global level—that is, from the perspective of the ultimate end towardwhich all people aspire—one seeks an optimum that can be called happi-ness but is defined in a series of values that sometimes may come into con-flict, the decision in favor of satisfaction is not taken as an alternative tooptimization as a model of rationality but as an alternative to the decisionsthat the subject makes continually as a strategy to achieve happiness. Thus,the decision rule leads us to conclude that, if the goals are clear, it is suffi-cient to choose that alternative that appears as satisfactory and, in the eventthat there are several alternatives that are satisfactory, to choose the best ofthem. If this reflection is applied to the moments of abduction, it is under-stood that such moments need not occur in a linear succession, so that firstall the alternatives are formulated and then the best of them is chosen. Toview Peircean thought in this light is to overformalize it and lose the spon-taneity that characterizes it. Generation and selection are fused in a deci-sion strategy that is better matched to the criterion of satisfaction than tothat of optimization.


It is not necessary either that the hypothesis be defined in all its detailsbefore it is verified. It is sufficient that it have a certain generic character,centered on those aspects that are important for the inquiry to continue.The principle of total evidence—formulated, among others, by RudolphCarnap—may be valid for applications on a very small scale. However, inpractice it is usually impossible to consider or record all the informationthat is potentially relevant. At times, there have been attempts to liken thisstance to the Bayesian probability theories. However, this implies a veryrigid interpretation of the Bayesian theorems. When one says, as ThomasBayes does, that when the probability of a certain event is formulated, thereexists a prior distribution of probability determined by the informationheld by the subject, this does not necessarily imply that all the informationmust be effectively held. It would be just as senseless to want to have all theinformation for making a decision as to reject any previous informationthat one may have. In this, Peirce would be closer to Bayesian theory thanmost authors have thought. After all, both would agree that all our knowl-edge is based on observed facts, but that the observation of the facts is alsoinfluenced by the subject’s prior experience and personal situation.18 BothPeirce and Bayes would accept a reformulation of the principle of total evi-dence that says that we must take into account all the knowledge we have,whether it be much or little, and, in each case, when new evidence appearsit may refute conclusions that until then were accepted.

Although Peirce states clearly that the economy of research rests on theassumption that the purpose of the research is the search for truth and thatit is not real research when the investigator has other interests (CP 7.157),insofar as a scientific attitude may exist in human action, so the principlesof the economy of research can also be applied in human action. However,insofar as human action may be affected by other criteria limiting the re-search, these principles should be applied with certain qualifications. Inany case, in his formulation of the economy of research, Peirce laid thefoundations of a first formulation of cost-benefit analysis, which is nowuniversally applied in the formalization of the business decision makingprocess.19 The lesson to be drawn from Peirce’s discussion is the insuffi-ciency of instrumental-technical rationality for directing the decision mak-ing process. No matter how exactly it is possible to define quantifiable,economic criteria, in the end, the final decision will depend on the criteriaheld by the subject at any given time and how he weighs the importance ofthe decision criteria. Even if this process has a rational character, this ratio-nality has a nature that is different from the rationality moved by quantita-tive criteria.

Abduction offers criteria for pointing to a good hypothesis but not for as-suring its truthfulness. It grants the subject a maximum of freedom to give aplausible explanation for what is inexplicable but does not commit to any-thing (CP 5.602).20 Therefore, abduction is an inference that needs verifica-


tion and, hence, deduction and induction. Just as abduction is the first stepof scientific reasoning, so induction is the last step; if abduction looks for atheory, induction looks for facts that confirm that theory (CP 7.217–218).The essential characteristic of induction is its capacity for self-correction,that is, it allows new experiments to be performed to improve the hypothe-ses that have been formulated. Thus, the justification of induction lies in itsultimately infallible methodology. The various moments of verificationcannot be understood as routines or automated procedures, as the individ-ual’s prior experience is also an important factor.21

This aspect was highlighted by Popper in his critique of the Vienna Cir-cle’s neopositivism. In Popper’s interpretation of scientific work, the accentis a parte subiecti. The hypothesis comes before the observation; eventhough they comprise centers of resistance able to reject an arbitrary formu-lation of a hypothesis, facts are not those univocal, atomic entities on whichthe positivistic tradition relied. In Objective Knowledge, Popper makes thecomparison between the bucket and the searchlight.22 The positivistic tra-dition views the human mind as a receptacle in which the data of experi-ence are collected. However, for Popper, the human mind would act as asearchlight that selects and illuminates the data of experience, in otherwords, any observation is always preceded by a hypothesis. As Jaaka andMerrill Hintikka pointed out, an observation is always an answer to a ques-tion.23

Although Peirce and Popper agree in conferring on knowledge a sign oftemporality, there are certain differences between the two. First, if the scien-tist were to be guided only by the criterion of falsibility—like Popper—heor she would have to examine an infinite number of hypotheses, no matterhow wild they might seem. However, if other criteria are considered in ad-dition to falsibility, such as the simplicity or plausibility of hypothe-ses—like Peirce—it is not necessary to examine all the alternatives. Second,for Popper, the scientific method concludes in conjectures, while for Peirce,conjecture—hypothesis—is not the end but the beginning of the scientificmethod, which, through deduction and induction, can reach firmly estab-lished opinions.

CREATIVITY IN HUMAN ACTION

Abductive processes are very useful for facilitating comprehension ofthe procedures of the scientific method—and, by analogy, of human ac-tion—that require a large dose of creativity. Hypothesis generation is notjust a question of wishful thinking. It is, above all, reasoning, and as such, ithas all the characteristics of any rational process: it is deliberate, voluntary,critical, and controlled (CP 2.182). However, abduction generates arecomposition of the premises’ semantic content and, therefore, withoutlosing its character of inference, it is synthetical and innovative, and as such,


contains an element of risk, as the conclusion’s value of truth is not deter-mined by the validity of the premises. Abductive reasoning’s potential forinvention or discovery, or creativity, does not lie in inference, but in the in-terpretation of the data or “result,” which is conceived as a particular occur-rence of a general law or principle.24

Abduction is a creative argument that does not confine itself to giving anexplanation of the premises’ contents but also interprets the data or resultas a case of a general law that is proposed hypothetically. Abduction’s cre-ative character arises from the middle term chosen to relate the antecedentwith the consequent. This novelty introduced by the explicative hypothesisleads Peirce to consider abduction as the only argument that gives rise tothe effective progress of knowledge.25 If the hypotheses are not acceptedand the knowledge is confined to stating what has already been verified,eventually everything becomes reduced to the fact, whereupon thelaws—the generalization, the possibility of predicting, the meaning as apredictably conceivable effect of a concept—are lost, and the entire logicaland cosmological building is reduced to the actuality of secondness.26 Theimportance of abduction led him to say in the “Lectures on Pragmatism”that the question of pragmatism is the question of abduction.

The middle term is what activates the entire process. The definition ofabduction as the inference of the case from a rule and a result can be formu-lated more expressively because the real problem is not in first finding thecase or the rule, but in how to obtain the rule and the case at the same time.When viewed in this light, the process of abduction takes place between theresult and the rule and concludes with the postulation of a hypothesis,which, it is hoped, will be satisfactory.27 The brilliant idea consists, there-fore, of inventing a good middle term.28 Creativity consists of introducingthe right supplementary premise by formulating the right question.29 In theexample of the beans, Peirce could have decided that the crucial elementwas not where those beans came from, but, for example, who had broughtthem. Therefore, the hypothesis determines the semiotic status of the ob-served fact.30 In the logic of abduction, the right question performs thesame role as that performed by the “ground” in semiotic theory.

The subject thus finds him- or herself in the presence of a surprising factor an anomaly that requires a rule that enables its explanation as a result ofthe application of a rule to a case that would otherwise be inexplicable. Theinnovation brought by abduction will depend, in each case, on two factors:the subject’s creativity and the degree of necessity between premise andconclusion. With regard to the subject’s creativity, the processes by whichwe make suppositions about the world depend, in Peirce’s opinion, on per-ceptive judgments that contain general elements that enable universalpropositions to be deduced from them (MS 692).31 The different elements ofa hypothesis are in our mind before we are aware of them, “but it is the ideaof putting together what we had never before dreamed of putting together


which flashes the new suggestion before our contemplation” (CP 5.181,4.611). In essence, creativity arises from the way in which the subject relatesthe elements that are available. Two subjects may use the same elements toform different hypotheses. Thus, as Polo pointed out, what distinguishesthe business manager is the ability to turn problems into opportunities:32

faced with the same reality, where others see problems, the manager seesopportunities.

In his commentary of the encyclical Centesimus Annus, Michael Novakproposed two moral ideals for business activity: creativity and community.The creative character—discovery, invention, surprise—lies at the heart ofbusiness activity. Entrepreneurial activity is the inclination to realize, thehabit of discerning, the tendency to discover what others have not yet seen,and the resulting ability to act from this to give concrete form to things thathave not yet been seen.33 Novak quotes John Paul II’s text: “The role of dis-ciplined, creative human work and that of the abilities of initiative and en-trepreneurship is becoming increasingly clear as an essential part of workitself.”34 Robert Reich, in The Work of Nations, pointed out three forms ofwork in contemporary society: production, services, and sym-bolic-analytic. In his opinion, this third group will become increasingly im-portant in forthcoming years. In the future, Reich says, what will matter isnot possessing a certain body of knowledge, but having the ability to usethis knowledge effectively and creatively. Specialized, technical skills willgive way to a practical, multifaceted intelligence that is trained to be skepti-cal, curious and creative.35

The second factor that accounts for the innovation introduced by abduc-tion indicates that the creativity required by an induction is inversely pro-portional to the degree of necessity between the premises and theconclusion. In other words, the more remote and unusual the relation be-tween the rule and the observed fact, the greater will be the creativity re-quired, and also, the more original will be the explanation.36 There may besituations in which the rule is so obvious that the middle term suggests it-self immediately. In the case of the bags of beans, if there are white beans ona table and a bag beside it, the identification of “from that bag” is quite easy.However, even in those cases where the rule is obvious, it is still only a hy-pothesis.37

Umberto Eco distinguished three types of abduction, with three gradesof originality and creativity: hypercoded hypothesis or abduction, in whichthe law that mediates between the case and result is given automatically orsemiautomatically; hypocoded abduction, in which the rule is chosen froman encyclopedia of equally provable rules that are available to the subject;and creative abduction, which is the law that must be invented ex novo. It isin this third type that true guessing takes place.38 In his comments on the ar-ticles published in The Sign of Three, Robinson suggests that if abduction isunderstood in the context of a problem-solving process, it is possible to


clarify its meaning, as then the attention is not centered so much on thestructure of the syllogism contained in the abduction as on the origin of thehypothesis. It then becomes apparent that there are two modes of choosing.In one case, the rule already exists; in the other, it is chosen from among anindefinite number of possibilities that appear simultaneously. The lattercase occurs when the law is created ex novo. Between one case and theother, there is a gradual continuum. If the rule is clear or obvious, the ab-duction is almost automatic; if there are many rules, it will resemble morethe choice of a law ex novo.39 When viewed from the process of inquiry, be-liefs, like rules of action, can be generated ex novo or they may be modifica-tions of previous rules, due to the learning process that occurs when theyare put into practice in the interaction; when viewed from human action,there is always an element of novelty, and, as such, abduction is present.However, this novelty may vary depending on whether they are vital ac-tions or ordinary actions, which have a more pronounced repetitive ele-ment. In the case of routine actions, we are closer to the first mode; in thecase of vital actions, we are closer to the second mode.

The certainty offered by abduction does not preclude the fallibilism thatdominates any scientific inquiry, “for fallibilism is the doctrine that ourknowledge is never absolute but always swims, as it were, in a continuumof uncertainty and of indeterminacy” (CP 1.171). As the hypothesis is notsure, it must be verified by examining the hypotheses and revising all thetypes of conditional experimental consequences that would follow from itstruth. However, in daily life, we are forced to make abductions at every mo-ment and we often do not have time to wait for subsequent proof or verifi-cation. Indeed, in human action, there is no room for experimentalverification, because the experiment is the action itself and the applicationof the rule of action. Aware of this difficulty, Eco proposes a fourth type ofabduction, which he calls meta-abduction, and which consists of decidingwhether the possible universe delineated by our first-level abductions isthe same as the universe of our experience.40 In human action, each deci-sion would be a certain meta-abduction because it implies choosing a hy-pothesis without having experimented with it. On the basis of Eco’sanalysis, it can be said that the true difference between abductions fromfacts to laws—which are characteristic of scientific inquiry—and the ab-ductions from facts to facts—which are characteristic of human ac-tions—lies in meta-abductive flexibility, that is, in the audacity ofchallenging without subsequent verification the fundamental fallibilismgoverning humans.41 It can therefore be said that human decisions are theriskiest abductions that exist.

For Peirce, conjectures are valid forms of inference, insofar as they aregrounded on prior observations. The subject is required to have a specificscientific knowledge, acquired through prior observations and an acute ob-servational power, together with broad knowledge. On occasions, the


abductive process has been compared—including by Peirce—with the pro-cedure followed by the characters of detective novels.42 To resolve anenigma, the detective requires acute observational powers and an encyclo-pedic knowledge. After that, he will also need training in logical calculus,impartiality and patience to compare and select hypotheses until the inter-pretation is found that offers the only solution that fits all the clues.43 Thereasoning process must avoid that knowledge that is not functional for thepurposes of the inquiry; it must also stay away from passions as, althoughthey may be acceptable for observation, they have pernicious effects on rea-soning. Feelings and passions are only objects of knowledge; they cannever be its subject. The logical purity of reasoning, the logos, cannot be dis-turbed by the pathos of feelings.

The basis for the logic of abduction is to found in the natural,deep-rooted inclination that has accumulated biologically in man in thecourse of evolution, the lume naturale, remodeled continuously—and to anincreasing degree—by the influence of the laws of nature and by the acqui-sition of habits, and, therefore, increasingly able to spontaneously re-flect—by a secret affinity—the systems of reality. When people have to tryto guess, they are guided by systematic, complex visions of reality—philo-sophical conceptions—of which they are aware to a more or less clear de-gree but which, in any case, shape their deepest habits and determine thepath of judgments.

In his book Teoría de la inteligencia creadora, Marina questioned the com-monplace that a creator is a person able to solve problems correctly withless information than the others. Marina says that the creator is the one whois able to see many more possibilities in a given reality than another person.To have many possibilities, says Marina—using terms that could be usedby Peirce—means being very rich in operations.44 Glossing Marina’s ideas,Alejandro Llano said that the basis of creativity is the mastery of a tradeand, particularly, the possession of a genuine practical wisdom. “The dif-ference between a creative person and a dreamer,” Llano added,

is that the former is able to materialize his ideas, to make his projects operational.And this is achieved by a kind of inherent knowledge. The beating of his ownknowledge vibrates with the same rhythm as the beating of reality. Whoever mas-ters a trade has a kind of empathy with the reality on which he works. This enableshim to distinguish immediately what is essential from what is accidental andquickly ascertain the quid of the question.45

As Peirce would say, the creative person knows how to ask the right ques-tions so that the data of experience are correctly ordered. Nowadays, peo-ple talk a lot about the concept of vision in the company. However, even ifcreativity and imagination are encouraged, any vision that does not rest ona firm foundation will end up becoming a mere fantasy that is unlikely toactively promote an organization’s unity.46


To make good hypotheses, it is important to have good observational pow-ers. In this respect, Peirce said that when it is necessary to make observa-tions that are extremely precise, little training is required in observation.Little observational learning is required, as the conditions themselves ofthe experiment facilitate the reliable obtainment of results; all the effortgoes into designing and controlling the experiment. However, in those ob-servations where precision is never attained, the experimental conditionsbecome less important and the priorities are now the learning factors andthe level of training held; more training in observation and more logicalcaution are required. Thus, for example, the ability to distinguish betweenvarious musical notes is facilitated by musical training. In other words, themore practical the object of inquiry, the more necessary observationalpower becomes. For this reason, observational power is of great value inlife (CP 7.256), and it is here where the audacious hypotheses are formu-lated. On the other hand, Peirce did not mention observational power asone of the general characteristics of the person of science. The deeper onegoes below the surface of nature toward its deepest reason, the less instinctprovides sure answers. Likewise, when general explanations are continuedin increasingly concrete and quantifiable inquiries, instinct, too, progres-sively gives way to a more analytic reasoning. This instinctive power, in-trinsic with reality, is related with the category of firstness, and thus, ismore characteristic of the artist than the scientific person. The artist is amuch finer and more accurate observer than the scientific person (CP1.315), who is far below the artist in the faculty of being aware of his or herown sensations (CP 5.42).

In his way, Peirce points at the distinction between the conditions of atechnical knowledge and those of an artistic knowledge. In the former, it isthe conditions of the experiment that are important. In technical knowl-edge, what matters is the object, and the more homogenous it is, the better.However, in art, the subject’s faculties are more important, as the condi-tions of the environment are always subject to a high proportion of variabil-ity. Management is more artistic than technical. The nature of the problemsit addresses, singular problems of vital importance, requires a greater em-phasis on the subject’s faculties for facing these problems than on a meth-odology that limits itself to formalizing the conditions. The emphasis onthe individual’s observational power and on the faculties that give him orher this ability is of great value for life, for vital matters. However, it shouldnot be understood in a simple spontaneity, but rather it must include an as-pect of rationality, and, with it, a scientific vision of practical action. The ca-pacity for observation has a characteristic of spontaneity that belongs to thecategory of firstness, but this does not mean that human deliberation,which moves in the order of rationality, which corresponds to thirdness,should be left to the mercy of artistic spontaneity. If this were to happen, hu-man action would become limited by two extremes that are foreign to it: it


neither lends itself to the formality of rational analysis, which correspondsto those sciences where there is no place for observation but only for experi-mentation, nor to the spontaneity free of any type of rationality. Rather, itlends itself to a practical rationality, which is the rationality of that whichcan exist in other forms.

Just as Peirce says that there are degenerated forms of the categories ofsecondness and thirdness, so it could be said that a degenerated form of the “so-ciety of knowledge” that is being designed in recent years would be thereduction of knowledge to technology. The society of knowledge is not thesociety of technology. It would be pointless for the company to move fromthe area of technology to the area of culture—Alejandro Llano warned—ifknowledge ends up being reduced to information. The new com-puter-based technologies allow people to select the relevant aspects of thecomplicated horizon on which they move to enable them to make correctdecisions; however, facilitating is not the same as replacing.47 As Nubiolapointed out, quoting a paper by Boden, the most recent developments in ar-tificial intelligence also reveal the insufficiency of the explanations that useas their main source of analogy the functioning of computers to account forthe actions we consider to be most typically human, that is, the creative ac-tions.48

Solomon showed that the innovative character of management cannotbe adequately supported on intellectual faculties that are reduced to aplane of analytical calculation and which, on the contrary, appeal to thesense of Aristotelian “phronesis.” Solomon rejected a mechanical decisionprocedure for solving the problems that arise in business activity. Theseproblems require a special skill that takes into account the relevant aspectsfor the decision in each situation. Although it is possible to design differentmodels that help formalize this process, such models are never sufficient bythemselves, nor can they replace the individual’s rational deliberation.49

Solomon pointed out that this process is not the result of an innate skill but,rather, requires a certain amount of learning.

Pérez López, too, has dwelled at length on the concept of learning inmanagement. In what may perhaps be his last written text, he pointed outthat skill in solving nonoperational problems is something that a good pro-fessional acquires through practice; it is a skill that includes addressingeach particular case by taking into account the situation’s particular cir-cumstances, without incurring in undue generalizations; it requires a cer-tain sensitivity for appreciating fine differences in symptoms that may besigns of major differences in the problem’s causes; it is also a skill that wecould call “mental openness,” to appreciate new symptoms or facts that arenot normally included among those that are considered symptoms of theproblem. If one had to synthesize the essential difference between the abili-ties required to solve operational and nonoperational problems, one wouldhave to say that, whereas the professional who solves operational problems


needs a “technical skill,” the professional who solves nonoperational prob-lems also needs “wisdom.”50

For his part, Robert Bellah indicated the need for practical rationality tobe given again a prominent role in education in order to prevent the even-tual impoverishment of science when it is separated from the moral dimen-sion:

We must recover an enlarged paradigm of knowledge, which recognizes the valueof science but acknowledges that other ways of knowing have equal dignity. Practi-cal reason, in its classical sense of moral reason, must regain its importance in oureducational life. We must give more than a token bow to art and literature as merevessels of expressive values, for they can often give us deep moral insight. Ethos isthe very subject matter of the humanities and social sciences; ethics cannot possiblybe merely one more speciality or a set of procedures that can simply be sprinkled onwherever needed. We must critically recover the project of the classic American phi-losophers, following them in their willingness to see science as a social process thatcannot be divorced from moral learning and imagination without the impoverish-ment of every field.51

In conclusion, the normative science of logic highlights creativity as adifferential characteristic of human reasoning. Any study of the conditionsthat favor creativity points to the importance of the subject’s ethicality.Thus, as I said in the discussion of the classification of sciences, logic de-pends on the other two sciences, ethics and esthetics.

NOTES

1. He will also give other names to abduction: retroduction, hypothesis, pre-sumption.

2. W. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura (Madrid: Iberediciones, 1994),146–147.

3. G.P. Carettini, “Peirce, Holmes, Popper,” in El signo de los tres, ed. U. Ecoand T.A. Sebeok (Barcelona: Lumen, 1989; original edition: The Sign of Three,Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983). The contributions in this book willbe quoted from the Spanish translation.

4. M. Truzzi, “Sherlock Holmes: Experto en psicología social aplicada,” in Elsigno de los tres, ed. U. Eco and T.A. Sebeok (Barcelona: Lumen, 1989), 101.

5. C.F. Delaney, “Peirce on the Conditions of the Possibility of Science,” inCharles S. Peirce and the Philosophy of Science, ed. E.C. Moore (Tuscaloosa: Univer-sity of Alabama Press, 1993), 24–25; W.C. Stewart, “Social and Economic Aspectsof Peirce’s Conception of Science,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society 27(1991): 514.

6. W.M. Brown, “The Economy of Peirce’s Abduction,” Transactions of theCharles S. Peirce Society 19 (1983): 397–398. See also K. Popper, The Logic of ScientificDiscovery (New York: Basic Books, 1959), 31, and J.S. Mill, A System of Logic Ratioci-native and Inductive, ed. J.M. Robson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1973),285.


7. T. Shanahan, “The First Moment of Scientific Inquiry: C.S. Peirce on theLogic of Abduction,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society 22 (1986): 449–466.

8. J. Nubiola, “Realidad, ficción y creatividad en Peirce,” in Mundos de ficción:Actas del VI Congreso Internacional de la Asociación Española de Semiótica, ed. J.M.Pozuelo and F. Vicente, vol. 2 (Murcia, Spain: University of Murcia, PublicationsService, 1996), 1142.

9. K.T. Fann, Peirce’s Theory of Abduction (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1970), 43.10. Fann, Peirce’s Theory of Abduction, 45; Brown, “The Economy of Peirce’s Ab-

duction,” 400.11. Stewart, “Social and Economic Aspects of Peirce’s Conception of Science,”

505–508.12. Fann, Peirce’s Theory of Abduction, 49.13. Brown, “The Economy of Peirce’s Abduction,” 407–409.14. The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce, ed. C. Eisele, vol. 4 (The

Hague: Mouton, 1976), 29.15. The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce, 1: 242, 4: 26.16. H.A. Simon, “A Behavioral Theory of Rational Choice,” Quarterly Journal of

Economics 69 (1954): 99–118.17. D. Schmidtz, “Rationality within Reason,” Journal of Philosophy 89 (1992):

445–466. This author’s ideas will provide the basis for the discussion that follows.18. H.J. Kyburg, Jr., “Peirce and Statistics,” in Charles S. Peirce and the Philosophy

of Science, ed. E.C. Moore (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1993),130–138.

19. W.E. Cushen, “C.S. Peirce on Benefit-Cost Analysis of Scientific Activity,”Operations Research 14 (1967): 641. See also J.R. Wible, “Charles Sanders Peirce’sEconomy of Research,” Journal of Economic Methodology 1 (1994): 135–160.

20. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 153–154.21. D.G. Mayo, “The Test of Experiment: C.S. Peirce and E.S. Pearson,” in

Charles S. Peirce and the Philosophy of Science, ed. E.C. Moore (Tuscaloosa: Univer-sity of Alabama Press, 1993), 161–174.

22. K. Popper, “The Bucket and the Search Light,” in Objective Knowledge: AnEvolutionary Approach (Oxford, U.K.: Clarendon Press, 1972), 341–361.

23. J. Hintikka and M.B. Hintikka, “Sherlock Holmes y la lógica moderna:Hacia una teoría de la búsqueda de información a través de la formulación depreguntas,” in El signo de los tres, ed. U. Eco and T.A. Sebeok (Barcelona, Spain: Lu-men, 1989), 221.

24. M.A. Bonfantini and G. Proni, “To Guess or Not to Guess?” in El signo de lostres, ed. U. Eco and T.A. Sebeok (Barcelona, Spain: Lumen, 1989), 181–183.

25. Bonfantini and Proni, “To Guess or Not to Guess?” 171.26. A. Fumagalli, Il reale nel linguaggio (Milan, Italy: Vita e Pensiero, 1995), 274.27. N. Harrowitz, “El modelo policíaco: Charles S. Peirce y Edgar Allan Poe,”

in El signo de los tres, ed. U. Eco and T.A. Sebeok (Barcelona, Spain: Lumen, 1989),246. He proposes the following diagram, which is more precise than Peirce’s:

These beans are white. Result (observed fact)

______________________ (The abductive process starts here.)

All the beans from this bag are white. Rule

These beans are from this bag. Case (result of the abduction)


28. U. Eco, “Cuernos, cascos, zapatos: Algunas hipótesis sobre tres tipos deabducción,” in El signo de los tres, ed. U. Eco and T.A. Sebeok (Barcelona, Spain: Lu-men, 1989), 272.

29. J. Hintikka, “Sherlock Holmes formalizado,” in El signo de los tres, ed. U.Eco and T.A. Sebeok (Barcelona, Spain: Lumen, 1989), 237.

30. Carettini, “Peirce, Holmes, Popper,” 188.31. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 151.32. L. Polo, ¿Quién es el hombre? Un espíritu en el mundo (Madrid: Rialp, 1991),

55. Keeney has proposed focusing decision-making problems on values instead ofon problems. This means that situations should not be taken as problems to besolved but rather as opportunities to be turned to advantage. See R.L. Keeney,“Creativity in Decision Making with Value-Focused Thinking,” Sloan ManagementReview, Summer 1994, 33–41.

33. M. Novak, “Two Moral Ideals for Business,” Economic Affairs 13, no. 5(1993): 6–14. See also M. Novak, “The Creative Person,” Journal of Business Ethics12 (1993): 975–979.

34. John Paul II, Centesimus Annus (Madrid: Palabra, 1991), n. 32.35. R.B. Reich, The Work of Nations: Preparing Ourselves for 21st-Century Capital-

ism (New York: Knopf, 1991).36. Castañares, De la interpretación a la lectura, 148–149.37. Eco, “Cuernos, cascos, zapatos,” 272–273.38. Eco, “Cuernos, cascos, zapatos,” 275; Bonfantini and Proni, “To Guess or

Not to Guess?” 183.39. P. Robinson, “Peirce on Problem Solving,” in Charles S. Peirce and the Philos-

ophy of Science, ed. E.C. Moore (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1993),209–210.

40. Eco, “Cuernos, cascos, zapatos,” 277.41. Eco, “Cuernos, cascos, zapatos,” 293.42. The book by U. Eco and T. Sebeok, The Sign of Three, to which extensive ref-

erence has been made in this chapter (in the Spanish translation, El signo de lostres), is a compilation of the main articles that have addressed this relationship.

43. Bonfantini and Proni, “To Guess or Not to Guess?” 175.44. J.A. Marina, Teoría de la inteligencia creadora, 7th ed. (Barcelona, Spain:

Anagrama, 1995), 52.45. A. Llano, Organizaciones inteligentes en la sociedad del conocimiento,

Cuadernos de Empresa y Humanismo, no. 61 (Pamplona, Spain: Cuadernos deEmpresa y Humanismo, 1996), 20.

46. G. Hamel and C.K. Prahalad, “Competing for the Future,” Harvard BusinessReview 4 (1994): 122–128; and H. Marlow, “Intuition and Forecasting—A HolisticApproach,” Long Range Planning 27 (1994): 58–68, in which the author argues in fa-vor of the concept of “anticipation” as a combination of induction and abduction.

47. A. Llano, La nueva sensibilidad (Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1988), 132–135.48. M.A. Boden, “What Is Creativity?” in Dimensions of Creativity, ed. M.A.

Boden (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1994), 75–117, quoted in Nubiola, “Realidad,ficción y creatividad en Peirce,” 1143.

49. R.C. Solomon, Ethics and Excellence: Cooperation and Integrity in Business(New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 174–177.


50. J.A. Pérez López, “Métodos pedagógicos en la formación para la dirección”(unpublished manuscript, 1996).

51. R.N. Bellah et al., The Good Society, 3rd ed. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf,1992), 177.


CHAPTER 10

Community: The EthicalPrinciple of Action

The scientific attitude in human action calls for the presence of reason in thedeliberation process. Without reason, human conduct would be confinedto instinctive conduct, which has a purely adaptive relation with the envi-ronment. However, human action is not adaptive, because we have theability to take the initiative in the interaction, modifying our habits of con-duct with respect to a future action. Therefore, our conduct is deliberate ac-tion. The science that studies deliberate action is ethics, which thereforedeserves to be considered the normative science par excellence, because,for pragmatism, deliberateness is essential for action and reason, which is aspecial type of action (CP 5.442).

The deliberate character of action is analyzed by Peirce under the con-cept of self-control. Self-control enables the presence of a space for the“ought-to-be” of conduct and thought (CP 4.540), without which actionwould always be regulated by existing habits. Thus, through self-control, itis possible to embark on a course of action other than that which would nor-mally happen; in other words, it is possible to change the rules of action toadapt them to the novelty of human action.

DELIBERATE ACTION

Ed Petry published a study of the evolution of the concept of self-controlthroughout Peirce’s life.1 In an early stage, the concept of self-control wasinfluenced by Friedrich Schiller’s thinking. For Schiller, people had to havethe ability to conceive a subjective unity throughout all the temporary

changes in their lives. Peirce took two ideas from Schiller that were impor-tant in his conception of self-control. The first is the role played by the ideaof beauty in the unity of human nature and the influence it will have on thesystem of the normative sciences and the role of esthetics. The second isthat the concept of self-control can be likened to the attitude of the man whothinks about something other than himself and his immediate occupations,and sees things beyond their temporary urgency. Thus, from the outset,two important points appear for understanding Peirce’s thought, agapé,which will be the subject of study of esthetics, and community, which will beaddressed by ethics.

In a second phase—corresponding to the last two decades of the nine-teenth century—the concept of self-control is related with the question ofthe nature of ethics. Although he did not yet have a clear idea of the place ofethics in the body of the sciences, Peirce understood it to be that sciencethat asks what is good or bad, and he identified self-control with moralityand a dualistic character of ethics. At that time, he associated self-controlwith the category of secondness and conceived it as a type of volition,which implies an internal struggle. Although Peirce modified his vision ofethics over time, these years influenced the character of secondness thatcharacterized ethics and self-control. The character of secondness ofself-control is always present, Petry said, because we are temporary. Insofaras we are destined to model our future—sometimes breaking with ourpast—and look toward the future to determine the meaning of our con-cepts, self-control always implies a character of secondness. In routine mat-ters, self-control may perhaps not be necessary, but in those actions thatcarry out grand purposes, a critical reflection is essential (CP 7.448–449).Furthermore, the surprises and mismatches that characterize the fallibilismof scientific inquiry are also associated with secondness.2 In the early yearsof the twentieth century, Peirce rejected the dualistic interpretation of ethicsand, consequently, the vision of self-control as an internal conflict withinthe individual over moral dualisms. Peirce reaffirmed his opinion that nomental process can be given the category of reasoning unless it is amenableto self-control and, consequently, as logical reasoning is subject to control aswith any other activity, he confirmed his view that logic rests on ethics (CP8.158).3

With self-control, there is continuity between the present and the future,and, therefore, it is not necessary to wait for the future to gain a reasonableconception of it. It is here that Peirce differed from other pragmatist au-thors, for whom truth seems to depend on action. However, if we can con-trol ourselves, we will be able to foresee the conduct that will follow fromour present thoughts. Therefore, self-control enables us to consider andforesee the possible effects that will follow from our action, which is what isexpressed by the pragmatic maxim (CP 5.442). Through self-control, our ac-tions can follow a course that is outside what would be the normal course,


because through its operations, self-control is able to modify habits and therules of action (CP 1.348, 5.418). However, at the same time, it assures theexistence of a continuity between our different actions, inasmuch as wemake them conform to such ends as we are deliberately prepared to adoptas ultimate (CP 5.130).

It might appear that pragmaticism does not provide any way for distin-guishing between one ideal of conduct and another, except in terms of con-tinuity. However, if this were so, nothing would prevent a person frombeing a thief, liar, or murderer provided he or she maintained a persistentand consistent attitude in his or her actions. Continuity, by itself, only as-sures that our conduct is authentic, but it does not seem to contribute anyassessment of that conduct’s quality. Charles Taylor pointed out the valueof authenticity in modern society and also showed how this concept can de-teriorate when it is interpreted as a synonym for a neutral liberalism, amoral subjectivism, or mere sociological judgment.4 Taylor sought to op-pose a notion of self-realization that slips toward a bland relativism thatstates that things are not meaningful in their own right but only becausepeople believe they are. He sought to show that the forms that opt forself-realization, without considering the demands of our bonds with othersor any other type of demand that emanates from something that is beyondor outside of human desires or aspirations, are self-defeating and destroythe conditions for realizing authenticity itself.5 Following lines that arevery similar to the “center of intention” proposed by Smith, he argued thatthings become important if they refer to a background of intelligibility thatis given, and, therefore, if the existence of something is accepted that, inde-pendently of one’s own will, is noble, valorous, and, consequently, mean-ingful in the configuration of one’s own life.6 Thus, Taylor concluded,

I can define my identity only against the background of things that matter. But tobracket out history, nature, society, the demands of solidarity, everything but what Ifind in myself, would be to eliminate all candidates for what matters. Only if I existin a world in which history, or the demands of nature, or the needs of my fellow hu-man beings, or the duties of citizenship, or the call of God, or something else of thisorder matters crucially can I define an identity for myself that is not trivial. Authen-ticity is not the enemy of demands that emanate from beyond the self; it supposessuch demands.7

In his book Peirce’s Approach to the Self, Colapietro studied the concepts ofself-control and self-awareness and remarked on how the idea ofself-control became increasingly important in the closing years of Peirce’slife.8 Colapietro explained how Peirce resolves the apparent opposition be-tween the subject’s personal, inner world and his relations with others.Peirce did not deny that each individual has certain characteristic feelings,thoughts and actions and that these are founded on habits that define his orher personality. However, given the semiotic character of all reality, includ-

Community: The Ethical Principle of Action 173

ing human reality, it is observed that the process by which the individualtakes on, changes and redirects these habits implies a relationship with oth-ers, and, therefore, that our life is essentially public or, to put it anotherway, social. It is not possible to separate what is public and what is private;we cannot have a double language to be used separately in our public andprivate lives because our inner world is completely impregnated with thesocial character of our nature.

THE CONCEPT OF COMMUNITY

The concept of community appears in relation to the process of scientificinquiry. The scientific community plays a key role in Peircean thought intruth theory. Although reality is not a matter that is decided arbitrarily bythe scientific community, the agreement reached by the scientific commu-nity is a clear sign that that belief matches reality. Smith defined the com-munity of investigators as “the willingness of each individual member tosacrifice what is personal and private to him alone to follow the dictates ofan interpersonal method that involves free exchange of views and re-sults.”9

Although the scientific community has a clear influence on the inquiryprocess, it cannot be said that the scientific community’s sole relevance ismethodological. Rolando Panesa has reflected on the discussion betweenPeircean scholars on the nature and scope of the scientific community.10 Formost scholars, the importance of the scientific community is purelyepistemological. Without questioning the role played by the scientific com-munity in truth theory, other authors have pointed out that its importancecannot be reduced to a question of epistemology. Thus, Joseph De Marcosays that, although in his early writings Peirce referred to the scientific com-munity as an epistemological ideal, as he advances in the formulation of histhought, Peirce attributed to the community a role that is more in tune withthe nature of the normative sciences, relating it with ethics and esthetics.11

In short, if the community is the referent for the definition of truth, this isbecause it possesses suitable features that correspond to the nature of ethicsand esthetics. Logic, Peirce said, is rooted in the social principle (CP 2.654,5.354).

The pragmatic-communicative dimension begun with the notion of sci-entific community has been widely accepted in contemporary philosophy.Apel has taken Peirce’s ideas, together with Wittgenstein’s concept of lin-guistic game, to propose an unlimited community of communication, in anattempt to bridge the gap between analytic and hermeneutic philosophy.12

Apel asks whether the parallelism with scientific intersubjectivity is suffi-cient to resolve ethical intersubjectivity and concludes that, while scientifichypotheses may be governed by the law of survival, ethical theories do notdepend on success or their fruitfulness, but rather that the “good life” has a


value for and in itself, such that intersubjectivity is not sufficient to accountfor ethical values.13

In relation with the same ideas, Jürgen Habermas referred to a free com-munity of knowledge, which is achieved through the participants’ consen-sus to reach an agreement. The pragmatic dimension of language and thequestion of consensus are associated with the attempt to return to a practi-cal rationality which opposes communicative action with strategic action.14

In communicative interactions, the participants coordinate their actionplans by common agreement, and the consensus attained in each case ismeasured by the intersubjective acknowledgement of the discourse’sclaims to validity. In strategic action, on the other hand, one actor influ-ences the other by various empirical means (for example, by threats orpromises) in order to obtain the desired interaction; in such types of action,therefore, there is no necessity to justify universal claims to validity.15 By es-tablishing a parallelism with the methods for fixing beliefs formulated byPeirce, it can be said that only the scientific method corresponds to a com-municative action, while the other three would be forms of a strategic ac-tion.

For Habermas, the notion of communicative action has its conceptualcorrelate in that of Lebenswelt or “vital world,” just as the notion of strategicaction has its conceptual correlate in that of “systemic integration.”16 ForHabermas, a general theory of society must integrate both aspects, al-though the notion of the “vital world” will always have preference. Havingdetermined a basic ethical standard—namely, that reason is practical, thatis, responsible for human action—the specific norms will require justifica-tion by means of the dialogic attainment of consensus, as corresponds tothe rationality of communicative action.17

Without detracting from the value of the concept of consensus as a basisfor social coexistence, its limitations as a normative principle for an ethicalrationale must be pointed out. In response to all these attempts, Peirceclearly said that although truth and community may be understood as thetwo sides of the same coin, and although the best opinion held by the scien-tific community at any given moment may be the best approximation towhat can be understood as the ultimate opinion, truth takes precedenceover community, which means that one cannot seek to maintain social or-der at all costs, or found social order on consensus. For Peirce, agreement isa consequence of reaching the truth, it is a sign that we are on the right track.On the other hand, in the ethics of consensus or dialog, which stem fromHabermas’s thought, agreement is a foundational cause of truth. This is avery significant difference and delimits unequivocally the limits and insuf-ficiencies of dialogic ethics.

Alejandro Llano has rightly pointed out that if one loses sight of the sig-nified reality, the persuasive discourse becomes empty and banal, and rhet-oric—which is the art of making what is true plausible—becomes


sophistry—which is the art of making what is false plausible. The rehabili-tation of rhetoric or pragmatics—in which these considerations haveplayed a major role—cannot be carried out at the cost of losing the semanticdimension. When the syntactic and pragmatic dimensions of communica-tion are divorced from their semantic foundations, reason loses its rootsand becomes self-referential.18

Kenneth Stikkers has studied the relation between community andknowledge in Peirce. This author asserts that if the search for truth is a col-lective effort, the rupture or fragmentation of society is the external mani-festation of the loss of the sight of or desire for truth among that society’smembers. Truth is lost when society lacks unity and stability, and, recipro-cally, harmony disappears when no one seeks the truth: truth is correlativewith social stability and unity (CP 1.59).19 Social stability is essential for sci-entific investigation and progress. And as communication is fundamentalfor community, it is also an essential requirement for reaching the truth. It isfor this reason that logic is essentially social; it is founded on the social prin-ciple. Stikkers points out, however, that it must not be forgotten that realityis more fundamental than society, and that science must not be subjugatedto the interests of society. Likewise, Peirce would not accept that loyalty tothe community must be above truth. Although they are interdependentconcepts, they are not equally important nor do they have the same founda-tional value for scientific inquiry (CP 5.406).

The social principle is not that of individualism. To be logical, Peircesays, people cannot be selfish (CP 2.654). On the contrary, they must iden-tify with the interests of the community (CP 5.356).20 Logic and love for thecommunity are interdependent. Peirce says that the nineteenth centurywas marked by the domination of political economy. Although he recog-nized this science’s value in having used principles originating in other sci-ences, showing an interdisciplinary attitude that Peirce appreciated andencouraged, he criticizes the fact that it has been dissociated from ethics.And while the social dimension is present in scientific research, its absencein the principles that have governed the organization of the means of pro-duction have led economic activity to a situation that is totally opposed tothat which could be called scientific. In “Evolutionary Love,” the last of theseries of articles in which he discussed his metaphysical and cosmologicalideas, he referred extensively to this situation. In this article, he said that po-litical economy has its own formula of redemption, namely, intelligence inthe service of greed. This ensures the justest prices, the fairest contracts, andthe most enlightened conduct and leads to the ultimate ideal to which weaspire (CP 6.290).

Peirce gave free rein to his criticisms of the principle of individual ego-tism that governs society’s economic activity, and which uses hypocrisyand fraud—and the odd concession to virtue—as its means of action. Theonly activity that this principle favors, he said, is that which provides an


immediate reward and which must be kept in secret. As examples—takenfrom among the activities of his time—he mentioned the fabric-dyeing andperfume industries (CP 1.75).21 Peirce’s criticism is still just as valid todayfor those activities whose principle of action is based on speculation andthat give rise to attitudes such as those described by Peirce with respect tothe use of insider information, the safekeeping of confidential information,or the maintenance of professional secrecy.

For Peirce, neither the community nor science can flourish under selfishindividualism. To say that economic activity is separate from science is likesaying that it lacks the rationality that characterizes human action. Conse-quently, Peirce predicts the disappearance of this way of conceiving eco-nomic activity. With a flash and quick peal, said Peirce, the economists willbe shaken out of their complacency, and “the twentieth century, in its latterhalf, shall surely see the deluge-tempest burst upon the social order—toclear upon a world as deep in ruin as that greed-philosophy has longplunged it into guilt” (CP 6.292). To a great extent, Peirce’s predictions havealready come true. It would be debatable to affirm that, today, the principleof greed, as it is described by Peirce, has been totally banished from eco-nomic activity. The struggle between the “Gospel of Christ,” to use Peirce’swords, which measures progress in the attitude of the individual whomerges his or her individuality in sympathy with his or her neighbors, andthe “Gospel of Greed,” in which each one is concerned solely with his or herown interests (CP 6.294), continues today. And although it cannot be saidthat we have reached the situation described by Peirce—the “Gospel ofChrist” is still absent in many attitudes and in many spheres of social andeconomic life—it is also true that the “Gospel of Greed” has lost the stand-ing it had in Peirce’s lifetime. Perhaps there has been no tempest, as Peircehoped, but at least there has been a good cloudburst that has left the sky alittle clearer than the one he saw.

Thomas Haskell has studied Peirce’s thought and has related it with thatof another two authors, Richard Tawney—economic historian and memberof the Fabian Society between 1906 and 1933—and the French sociologistEmile Durkheim.22 All three authors expressed their repudiation of certainlibertarian excesses that they believed to be inherent to the culture of capi-talism, although, in Haskell’s opinion, while the latter two would see a cor-rective element of capitalism’s excesses in the growth of professionalism,Peirce never conceived it as a remedy for greed. Thus, for Tawney, the vi-sion of professionalism would share with socialism an interest in contain-ing economic individualism and preventing industrial society fromcollapsing into a state of moral bankruptcy. In Tawney’s opinion, capital-ism would create a divorce between rights and functions, considering thelatter to be the ultimate reality from which any other aspect of society is de-rived. This division would lead to an affluent society in which individualswould be driven solely by material happiness.23 Likewise, Durkheim ob-


served that moral rules can only emerge as a natural expression of thegroup’s integration, and, in the absence of such a social environment, thereonly remains the individual’s self-interest.24

Although he says that Peirce was the author who positioned himselfmost clearly in favor of the communitarian character of scientific progress,in his discussion of Peircean thought, Haskell reduces the role of the scien-tific community to a purely epistemological character. For Peirce, the indi-vidual person, in his or her individual existence, is only a negation and ismanifested only by ignorance and error (CP 5.317), whereas the commu-nity of investigators provides a fertile soil for trust. However, according toHaskell, this community’s function is epistemological and not moral. Theinvestigator’s egotism is incompatible with the possibility of making logi-cal inferences, whose only true place is in the scientific method, which is es-sentially communitarian.25 Haskell’s criticism of Peirce is focused on thefact that, in his opinion, the concept of community implies a reference tocommunication between individuals, in terms similar to those used byApel, in which, although there may be an attitude of attention between thecommunity’s members, there is never an attitude of appreciation. Haskellgoes on to point out that whereas no one in the Peircean scientific commu-nity needs to be benevolent, on the other hand, a critical, belligerent atti-tude is very necessary, to the point of causing the community’s division.Thus, although there is no place for a money-centered selfish attitude, thereis room for other types of selfish interests, such as the pursuit of fame orprestige.26

Although Haskell’s criticism seems out of proportion to the nature andfunction of the scientific community, it does bring to light a true aspect thatshould be underscored: the scientific community or the inclusion within aprofessional environment does not necessarily guarantee the moral con-duct of specific individuals. This consideration raises the need to go onestep further in the argument and look for a justification in the order of ends,and not just in the order of means, which is the level on which the discus-sion on the scientific community moves. A professional community canend up becoming a miniature market, depending on the interests that moti-vate its members. Replacing a monetary interest by other interests, such asfame or prestige, does not imply any change in the underlying motivationalmodel, which continues to consider as its end the acquisition of purely ex-ternal results. If individuals are to open themselves to other interests thatgo beyond their own self-interest, a social or community environment is re-quired. However, there may exist a community environment, at least in ap-pearance, in which its members continue to be guided by their selfishinterests. Thus, the community is a necessary but insufficient condition foradequate moral behavior on the part of the individual, and, consequently,for correct logical reasoning.


William Sullivan, in Work and Integrity, has performed a very searchinganalysis of the role of professionalism in the shaping of society.27 Accordingto this author, the scholars of professionalism are divided between thosewho have adopted a utilitarian tendency and those who conceive society ascomposed of certain ethical ends. Sullivan proposes a revision of the con-cept of profession that would enable it to be understood as a “civic art”—asa social value and not as an ideology. From the nature of his discussion,Sullivan is to be included among those who conceive the community from amoral dimension, and not just from an epistemological dimension.Sullivan proposes going back to the idea of a practical rationality. For him,technical rationality—which is characteristic of positivism—is insufficientand, instead, he proposes—from pragmatism—a model of practical reflec-tion that shows that intellectual reflection should take place within a frame-work of action, thereby overcoming the dualism between theory andpractice. In this process, Sullivan says, particular attention should be paidto the moral dimension of action and the social and humanistic disciplines,which are the disciplines that provide the integrative character required bythe new rationality.28 Thus, genuine professionalism requires a commit-ment to moral and social purposes, as well as to technical means. The unionof the moral and technical aspects requires skills that are different fromthose characterizing technical-analytic thinking. The holistic vision charac-terizing this way of thinking requires a reference to the character of the hu-man agents, whose motivational framework is not merely confined tosatisfying individual preferences but also integrates a social commitmentto the development of the capabilities of the other members of society.29

Mediating between the tendency toward differentiation of the individ-ual and the tendency toward integration in the society of which the individ-ual is a member, there must exist a third characteristic, which Sullivan callsthe “civic dimension of professional life,” namely, the need for contexts oftrust that enable individuals to understand each other better by being ableto view their own actions from the perspective of others. Thus, the exis-tence of an environment of trust is a necessary requirement for the properfunctioning of the social order. When the level of trust and cooperation ishigh, professional organizations can play a leadership role in society; how-ever, when the level of trust is weak or sporadic, it becomes difficult to me-diate between individual goals and social needs and easy for conducts toappear that denote a lack of integrity in professional life.30

The same point was made by Francis Fukuyama in his book Trust, whosesubtitle, The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity, highlights the factthat a society’s well-being depends on the level of trust existing in that soci-ety.31 For Fukuyama, trust is not a consequence of a rational calculation but,rather, the opposite process is the case, as any rational calculation must takeinto account the “externalities,” that is, those elements that, like trust, loy-alty, or veracity, are goods that contribute to the system’s efficiency but that


are not subject to any commercial transaction.32 All communities require acultural environment that contains not so much explicit rules or regula-tions as a series of reciprocal habits and moral obligations that have beeninternalized by the community’s members, so that decisions are not basedsolely on individual interest.33 A society possessing these habits will bebetter prepared, according to Fukuyama, to adapt to the structural and or-ganizational changes that may be required at any given time by economicactivity, as these habits give a greater flexibility that is lacking in other com-munities that, given the lack of social cohesion, must be much more regu-larized to be able to exist. Thus, with the latest organizational trends thatare tending to configure corporate structures in networks, Fukuyama doesnot hesitate to say that the societies with a high level of trust are better posi-tioned to adapt to these organizational forms.34 In any case, with these newforms of organization, it is wise to start the reflection from the other endand say that these organizational forms require societies in which social co-hesion is given by a high degree of trust. Otherwise, the decentralizationprocesses associated with these organizational forms may lead to the entryin organizations of operational modes that are more characteristic of thelaws of the market and that do not correspond to the nature of organiza-tions, with the inevitable appearance of perverse effects in their function-ing.

To conclude, the concept of self-control has led us to reflect on the limitsof the continuity principle in accounting for human action, and this hasbeen illustrated with the possibility of misunderstanding the concept of au-thenticity. The ideal of authenticity refers to certain values outside the indi-vidual, which delimit the horizon of intelligibility in his or her life.Likewise, the notion of community has enabled two aspects to be clarified.On the one hand, the concept of community does not reduce to an ethics ofdialog or consensus, because, in Peirce, the agreement of the scientific com-munity is not foundational of truth but—in the intrepretative context of thepragmatic maxim—a practical effect that shows the truth of the definitionexpressed in this agreement. On the other hand, it is not a purelyepistemological concept, as some authors have argued, but, on the con-trary, it has a significant moral content. Thus, Peirce appears as a precursorof various lines of thought which, in modern times, have insisted on theneed for a moral basis for society. Consequently, both the concept ofself-control and that of community refer to an external referent that doesnot merely account for the realization of the conduct ideal by the individualbut also for the very nature of that ideal. Ethics must be founded on esthetics.

NOTES

1. E.S. Petry, “The Origin and Development of Peirce’s Concept ofSelf-Control,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society 28 (1992): 667–690.


2. Petry, “Peirce’s Concept of Self-Control,” 679–680.3. B. Kent, Charles S. Peirce, Logic and the Classification of the Sciences (Montreal:

McGill–Queen’s University Press, 1987), 111.4. C. Taylor, The Ethics of Authenticity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,

1991).5. Taylor, The Ethics of Authenticity, 35.6. Taylor, The Ethics of Authenticity, 36–39.7. Taylor, The Ethics of Authenticity, 40–41.8. V. Colapietro, Peirce’s Approach to the Self (Albany: State University of New

York Press, 1989).9. J.E. Smith, “Community and Reality,” in Perspectives on Peirce, ed. R.

Bernstein (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1965), 110.10. R. Panesa, “Science and Religion in C.S. Peirce” (Ph.D. diss., University of

Navarra, 1996), 315–317.11. J. De Marco, “Peirce’s Concept of Community: Its Development and

Change,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society 7 (1971): 24–36. For the viewthat interprets the community as exclusively methodological, see M. Mahowald,“Peirce’s Concept of Community: Another Interpretation,” Transactions of theCharles S. Peirce Society 9 (1973): 175–186.

12. K.O. Apel, Transformation der Philosophie (Frankfurt, Germany: Suhrkamp,1973; Spanish version, La transformación de la filosofía, Madrid: Taurus, 1985). See,by the same author, “Transcendental Semiotics and Truth: the Relevance of aPeircean Consensus-Theory of Truth in the Present Debate about Truth-Theories,”in Peirce in Italia, ed. M.A. Bonfantini and A. Martone (Naples, Italy: Liguori, 1993),191–208.

13. K.O. Apel, Estudios estéticos (Barcelona, Spain: Alfa, 1986), 130. See J. RubioCarracedo, “La razón ética: Insuficiencia del enfoque empírico-logicista y lospresupuestos de la pragmática universal,” Themata 6 (1989): 164.

14. J. Habermas, Erkenntnis und Interese (Frankfurt, Germany: SuhrkampVerlag, 1973). See also the study of Habermas’s thought by D. Innerarity, Praxis eintersubjetividad (Pamplona, Spain: Eunsa, 1985).

15. Rubio Carracedo, “La razón ética,” 162–163. See also J.P. Diggins, The Prom-ise of Pragmatism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 420.

16. J. Habermas, Theorie des kommunicativen Handelns, vol. 2 (Frankfurt, Ger-many: Suhrkamp, 1981), chap. 6.

17. Rubio Carracedo, “La razón ética,” 166.18. A. Llano, La nueva sensibilidad (Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1988), 137–138.19. K.W. Stikkers, “Peirce’s Sociology of Knowledge,” in Frontiers in American

Philosophy, ed. R.W. Burch, vol. 1 (College Station: Texas A&M University Press,1992), 184.

20. N. Houser, “Charles S. Peirce: American Backwoodsman,” in Frontiers inAmerican Philosophy, ed. R.W. Burch, vol. 1 (College Station: Texas A&M Univer-sity Press, 1992), 290.

21. Adam Smith, too, alludes to the dyeing industry as an industry that isdriven by trade secrets and generates “extraordinary profits” for the producer. SeeA. Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, ed. E.Cannan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976), book 1, 68–69.


22. T.L. Haskell, “Professionalism versus Capitalism: R.M. Tawney, EmileDurkheim, and C.S. Peirce on the Disinterestedness of Professional Commu-nities,” in The Authority of Experts: Studies in History and Theory, ed. T.L. Haskell(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 180–225.

23. Haskell, “Professionalism versus Capitalism,” 186–189.24. Haskell, “Professionalism versus Capitalism,” 197.25. Haskell, “Professionalism versus Capitalism,” 204–205. For a position simi-

lar to Haskell’s, see W.E. Schlaretzki, “Scientific Reasoning and the SummumBonum,” Philosophy of Science 27 (1960): 48–57.

26. Haskell, “Professionalism versus Capitalism,” 211–212. See also A.O.Hirschman, The Passions and the Interests: Political Arguments for Capitalism before ItsTriumph (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1981), where he describeshow the passion for glory that characterized aristocratic societies was replaced bya desire for material benefits that accompanied industrial society.

27. W.M. Sullivan, Work and Integrity: The Crisis and Promise of Professionalism inAmerica (New York: HarperBusiness, 1995).

28. Sullivan, Work and Integrity, 171–175.29. Sullivan, Work and Integrity, 185. Sandre Rosenthal and Rogene Buchholz

expressed the same arguments in an interesting article that seeks to found the con-cept of business leadership on pragmatic philosophy. See S.B. Rosenthal and R.A.Buchholz, “Leadership: Toward New Philosophical Foundations,” Business andProfessional Ethics Journal 14, no. 3 (1996): 25–41.

30. Sullivan, Work and Integrity, 221–222. Taylor, too, referred to the danger offragmentation in those societies that are unable to set common goals for them-selves. See Taylor, The Ethics of Authenticity, 138.

31. F.Fukuyama, Trust: The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity (London:Hamish Hamilton, 1995).

32. Fukuyama, Trust, 151–152.33. Fukuyama, Trust, 8–9.34. Fukuyama, Trust, 411–412.


CHAPTER 11

Character: The EstheticPrinciple of Action

THE ESTHETIC IDEAL

The question to be answered by esthetics is what humanity can deliberatelyaccept as its ultimate end (CP 7.185). If the three normative sciences are un-derstood as seconds of philosophy, it can be assumed, Kent said, that logic,as a science of deliberate thought, is a special case of ethics, as a science ofdeliberate action, is a special case of esthetics, and the science which inves-tigates the summum bonum, or ultimate end.1 From the practical view-point, as each of the normative sciences corresponds to a particular aspectof the general idea, each one will continually rectify and add content to theothers and, by this means, will increase our understanding of the generalidea. This suggests that the normative sciences will continually evolve, dueto the relationship among them in terms of principles and data, such thatthe meaning of the ideal of conduct may be subject to continual reappraisalby the relationship among the three sciences.2

In his “Lectures on Pragmatism,” Peirce said that the only moral evil isnot to have an ultimate aim and that the problem of ethics is to ascertainwhat end is possible. In other words, it is a question of asking what ultimateaim is capable of being pursued in an indefinitely prolonged course of ac-tion (CP 5.133–136). Thus, esthetics determines the ultimate end in generalterms, whereas ethics is concerned with determining whether the ultimateend that was defined can be obtained by the subject in his or her specific cir-cumstances. It is assumed that there is an ideal state of things and that es-thetics rests on a doctrine that ideally divides possible states of things into

two classes: that which is admirable and that which is not. The task is to de-termine by analysis what one must deliberately admire per se, irrespectiveof where it takes one or its relationship with human conduct. Until estheticshas determined what is excellent and what are the conditions that some-thing must fulfill to be classed as excellent, ethics will not be able to ap-prove a certain action, nor will logic be able to approve a certain reasoning.

Apel says that Peirce understands the esthetic ideal as the firstness ofthirdness, and this enables him to accept it as summum bonum while at thesame time keeping it separate from hedonism. That is, he conceives it as thequalitatively unified and intuitively perceptible expression of universality,continuity and order, or, in other words, of the concrete reasonableness ofthe future universe.3 Kent, too, understood the esthetic ideal as that whichis admirable in itself (CP 1.191, 1.611, 5.130). In its character of firstness, ofwhat is admirable without any other reason, it has to do with possibility.4 Inits character of thirdness, it is understood as a principle regulating humanaction in order to guarantee that the laws shaping the universe take on theircompleted definition.5 As a consequence of the intentionality that charac-terizes human action, the esthetic ideal acts as the principle of action and isthe end toward which action is directed; ethics, for its part, is the orderingof the sequence of medial ends with respect to the ultimate end.

When he asked which conceptions can account for the esthetic ideal,Peirce stated that neither selfishness nor hedonism can provide any an-swers (CP 5.382). To be moved by pleasure or selfish interests is incompati-ble with the possibility of making logical inferences. The criticism of selfishindividualism was discussed in the previous chapter; with respect to hedo-nism, Peirce is reluctant to think that we act solely in response to pleasure.Conduct is determined by what comes before it in time, whereas pleasurealways comes after action. Thus, the feeling of pleasure cannot determineconduct, nor does it have any real power in itself to produce any effectwhatsoever (CP 1.601–605). The error of the hedonists is to confuse what isadmirable in itself with what is perfectly self-satisfied.

Peirce proposes that the esthetic ideal consists of the growth of reason-ableness (CP 1.612–615).6 The generation of this ideal requires the involve-ment of action, as it is through action and the replication of self-control thatthe ideal grows. Although action is not the ultimate end, the growth of con-crete reasonableness in the world of existents takes place through action.7

Peirce points out certain characteristics that the esthetic ideal must have.First, it should accord with the free development of the agent’s own estheticquality. Second, it should not be disturbed by the outside world’s reactionson the agent; it should have a certain degree of independence with respectto the environment’s reaction (CP 5.136),8 and should not be affected by ourcontinual deliberation.9

In the final years of his life, Peirce became interested in theological issuesand this led him to relate the esthetic ideal with God. The true ideal, he says,


is a living power, it has a mode of being which must be called “living” (CP8.262). Thus, the rationality development process is the process by whichwe, with all our miserable littlenesses, becomes gradually more and moreimbued with the spirit of God (CP 5.402, n. 2). With the succession of delib-erate actions, God allows the individual to take part in the work of creation.In some way, the ability of self-control makes us able to take part in God’screative work, seeing things as God sees them (CP 5.402, 6.479). However,we cannot see that everything is good because we do not possess God’s vi-sion. The problem is that we in our finiteness cannot sustain an exclusivelyagapastic viewpoint, but rather our creativity is always infected by the“eros,” such that sometimes we allow ourselves to be influenced more byour immediate, spontaneous preferences than by the very purpose of ouraction. Thus, we may attain a satisfactory situation, but it will not match theneeds of our action that would have been established in a rational delibera-tion characteristic of the scientific attitude. Therefore, in our action, we seekto free ourselves of these immediate tendencies so that our motivation isguided solely by evolutionary love, that is, to be like God.10 The end for hu-man beings would, ultimately, coincide with the end for the divine being(CP 5.119, 8.211–212); and the rational deliberation of the people who thinkas the scientific community would think will lead them to seek to identifytheir actions and their life with God.

In the lectures he gave during the academic year 1892–1893 in the LowellInstitute on the history of science, Peirce asked what could be the questionthat most interested the scientific world and his answer was the question ofhow things grow (CP 7.267, n. 8). Peirce rejected an esthetic ideal that has astatic character. The esthetic ideal must evolve, and, what is more, it cannotbe something simple. Peirce insisted that the growth of reason takes placethrough moments of spontaneity, which introduce elements of novelty inevolution. This is so because of “agapé,” evolutionary love, which is thepower that allows creatures to be free under a loving direction. This direc-tion requires a vision of harmony, which is more than regularity and order.11

The movement of love is circular, Peirce said. It simultaneously projects cre-ations into independence and draws them into harmony. Peirce found theformulation of this love in the “Golden Rule,” which leads one to sacrificeone’s own perfection for the perfection of one’s neighbor. Peirce said thatthis rule is not to be confounded with the utilitarian principle of seeking thegreatest good of the greatest number, as love cannot be directed to abstrac-tions but only to concrete persons (CP 6.288–289, 5.158). The criterion ofgenerality, which would be characteristic of a utilitarian conception, givesway to a criterion of proximity, or influence, not only of physical proxim-ity—although this, too, must be taken into account—but of influence on theperson, so that goodness is better if it influences the person more deeply.12

Growth, Peirce will say, comes from love, which is not self-sacrifice but anardent impulse to fulfill another’s highest aspirations (CP 6.289).13

Character: The Esthetic Principle of Action 185

The ideal of conduct thus appears to be making the world more reason-able (CP 1.615) and also making one’s own life more reasonable (CP 1.602).As reason—which consists of the government of individual events—issuch that it can never be considered completed but is in a state of continualgrowth, the ideal of conduct will be to perform our little function in the op-eration of creation, giving a helping hand, to the extent permitted by our ca-pabilities, in the task of making the world more reasonable. Each of us findsa task that is ready for us to perform. That we perform it and feel that we aredoing what God had planned for us to do is the way in which we developour esthetic ideal. Only when we acknowledge or accept the ultimate enddo we act reasonably and freely. For Peirce, freedom is the possibility ofmaking one’s life more reasonable.14 If there is no reasonableness, there isno freedom. That is why the only moral evil is not to have an ultimate end.

THE CHARACTER OF MAN, THE ULTIMATE ENDOF ACTION

As evolution progresses, human intelligence plays a greater role in thisdevelopment through the power of self-control. There is an interaction be-tween human rationality and the evolutionary process.15 But, for Peirce,this becomes saturated; there comes a time when reasonableness is so greatthat self-control disappears, because, Peirce thinks, all possible effects arenow encompassed by law, there is no longer anything that can surprise it,and, therefore, self-control ceases to have any purpose. This line of argu-ment—which is understood in the case of theory of truth, whereself-controlled thinking tends to attain a stable belief which stops reason-ing—leads to a paradoxical situation in the case of human action, as it is dif-ficult to conceive that the iterative process of self-control can ultimatelymake self-control itself unnecessary and that we, as we approach our per-fection, end in a state of immobility.

This paradox can be overcome if one turns to the classic interpretation ofvirtue as a habit that has an unlimited capacity for perfecting itself.Growing in virtue is endless and, therefore, far from being limited bygrowth in habit, self-control is actually enhanced by it. The greater thegrowth of habit, the greater the growth of control of conduct. Polo said thatwe are beings capable of unlimited growth, beings that never stop growing.There are certain types of growth—such as that associated with physiologi-cal processes—that stop upon reaching a certain point, but human beingsas such are capable of growing without limit. That is why for humanity, lifeis radically and fundamentally a process of growth, and it is a sign of the ex-tent to which we are ethical.16 We are intrinsically perfectible, and the equi-librium that is best for us is dynamic, tendentious, not static. As we realizeour ethicalness, our tendencies become increasingly stronger and, in theirgrowing strength, they become increasingly harmonized.17 We improve in-


sofar as our acts are good, which depends on the growth of the dispositionsfor such acts, that is, of moral virtues. Virtue is, then, the guarantee of theunlimited character of human improvement.18 Therefore, if we abandonmorality, we cease to grow. Growing is much more than self-realization,because self-realization is to put the absolute in the end but growing is to gobeyond the end. To think of the absolute as something separate fromgrowth is to understand it as a result, but growth is to be more able. Tothink in terms of growth is to clear the hurdle of the result, of the end:19 wedo not end because virtue is growth in the order of ability and, even thoughPeirce thought otherwise, the more virtue grows, far from becoming satu-rated, the more able it becomes to keep on growing.

Polo pointed out that we improve in several directions. Human growthis not univocal, and it can be fruitfully studied from more than one view-point. Peirce, too, said that there are innumerable varieties of esthetic quali-ties but no purely esthetic grade of excellence (CP 5.132). Anderson askedwhether this is an inconsistency in Peirce or whether this statement leads toa type of relativism.20 Relativism is excluded from Peircean thoughtthrough the reference to reality and the scientific community. However, it istrue that, in each individual, the habits of sentiment may be many andvarying. Virtues do not have a definite form. It can be said that there are asmany modes of esthetic quality as there are individuals. This means thatgood can manifest in many ways, or that there are many ways of doinggood. Virtue can be lived in many ways. There is no one way of being virtu-ous. There is a plurality of styles and choosing one or another is, to a greatextent, an esthetic criterion. This style imparts a personal stamp on actionswithout becoming subjectivism.21

On the other hand, insofar as virtue consists of strengthening humantendencies, it would be a mistake to consider each virtue separately fromthe rest. The moral virtues must form, in turn, a system. We use the term vir-tues in the plural because we would do well to take into account the plural-ity of tendencies, but the analytic consideration of virtue is insufficient. Thevirtues are interconnected. If this were not so, the intensification of humantendentiousness would be lacking in consistency, one group of inclinationswould be clashing with others, and true growth would be impossible. Byvirtue of the unlimitedness of our perfectibility, we are not a closed systemthat ends in a state of equilibrium or that aspires to that state and, oncethere, only reacts when the situation is changed. This, apart from settlingfor very little, is a mistake. Human development is harmonic and systemicand, consequently, the notion of equilibrium is excessively static.22 Peircesaid that, to be esthetically good, an object must have a multitude of partsso related to one another as to impart a positive, simple, immediate qualityto their totality (CP 5.132, 1.613). This explains the fact that esthetic judg-ment inquires rather about the form that is the relation between the parts.23

A quantitative treatment of the esthetic ideal would mean that it could be


studied in discrete parts. However, the esthetic ideal is closer to the princi-ple of continuity; that is why it does not accept grades. Although within it-self, it encloses a complex relation, as an ideal, it is an undifferentiatedquality.24

In thinking of a name to refer to the esthetic ideal, Peirce finally chose theGreek term kalos, because it expresses generality and includes within it thenonbeautiful (CP 2.199), and also because it avoids the impression of a sub-jective reaction.25 When discussing beauty, Llano distinguished between“glow” and “gleam.” Glow is something that wells from within and de-pends on the person, whereas gleam originates from circumstances that areexternal to the individual.26 Polo, for his part, said that beauty is not orna-mental but central, and added that “beauty is nothing less than this: theability to bring together.”27 Pearce’s esthetic ideal would no doubt concurwith this definition of glow.

When discussing the systemic character of ethics, Polo said that three in-terrelated dimensions are involved in ethics: the improvement of the hu-man being, the virtues; its normative value, which cannot be confoundedwith any other type of norm; and, third, its relation with the end, withgoods. An ethic is not complete if it only addresses one of these three di-mensions; all three must be present and all three must interact with eachother. Without virtues, goods become too immediate and another type ofnormativeness (whether legal or of another type) appears that is not ethics;without goods, a virtue is useless; and, without norms, it has no practicalapplication. Ethics is a problem of integrity, that is, of norms in relation togoods and virtues.28 Potter, for his part, saw the systemic character of ethicsin the relation between the various elements involved in action (ends,means, intentions, circumstances), likening it to the scholastic maxim:“bonum ex integra causa; malum ex quodcumque defectu.”29

We must see beyond the prejudice that believes that leading a moral lifeconsists of mechanically and impersonally observing an enormous multi-tude of moral norms, laws and rules, and understand that, quite the con-trary, a moral life is life in its fullness, and, therefore, the highest expressionof individual personality.30 If this is so, the creative component of practicalreason—which could also be called the artistic component of the logic of ac-tion—and the role corresponding in moral life to concepts such as creativ-ity, originality, expression of subjectivity, and style are now clearly seen.31

As the esthetic ideal is the growth in reasonableness, and this, in turn, isthe development of habits, it follows that the perception of the world will de-pend on the habits held by the individual,32 such that, to a great extent, it isour own degree of growth that identifies the goodness we perceive. Thus, theconclusion is reached that good is what appears as attractive to the suffi-ciently matured agent (CP 5.552). In this, Peirce’s thought is closely relatedwith Thomas Aquinas’s thought on moral knowledge. For Thomas Aquinas,the affinity between known good and will is a certain harmony or propor-


tionality between the two. The establishment of the affinity depends on thenature of the two extremes of the relation, so that what specifies will is, not somuch good simpliciter, as what appears as good to each one, precisely by vir-tue of that proportionality between the faculty and the good. Thus, this har-mony depends on the habits that have already been acquired, on thedispositions of will. The affinity between will and good is the reason whythose who do not live by reason are incapable of knowing true good and ex-periencing true pleasure. The virtuous person determines correctly thethings that belong to virtue; and, as good is the end and the end is the princi-ple of action, virtue preserves the principle of action. In turn, this affinity iswhat enables the virtuous person to find pleasure in the exercise of the virtu-ous act.33 If knowledge of good depends on the habits that have already beenacquired—although not absolutely so—the virtuous people immediatelybecome a criterion for goodness, in the same manner as the community ofscientists is a normative criterion for human action. He who behaves as thegood person is, him- or herself, good; what pleases the good person is good.

Good moral action is not just a replica of an external measure; it is funda-mentally an expression of one’s own subjectivity. Inasmuch as decisionsshape a character, deciding is not so much deciding on something as decid-ing on oneself.34 “By taking a vital decision,” Llano said, “I am not decidingon something, on an object, but I decide myself. And that decision on meleaves a mark in me which is not a mechanical mark but a vital increment, asteady progress towards myself.”35

Seen in this light, the esthetic ideal does not appear as something that isobtained at the end of a process, but rather it becomes present during theentire action and during the entire human life, thereby giving continuity tothe individual’s conduct and personal history. “The good that ethics talksabout,” says Illanes,

is not a good that is beyond actions and to which actions are subordinated, such thatour actions would be valuable solely by relation to that subsequent end, but rather ittalks of a good which forms part of action and, consequently, manifests in acting it-self. There is no conflict here between means and ends, as the end is present in theaction; whoever performs ethical good enters into communion with it in the very in-stant he performs it, identifies with it, grows with it; whoever lives generosity, jus-tice, industriousness or any other virtue, edifies himself, he becomes better as aperson, by virtue of that very experience. True enough, the friendship offered maynot be returned, the justice sought may be thwarted by the contrary action of an-other person or by the confluence of adverse circumstances, but whoever has trulyand sincerely sought and lived it has grown with it, has become more human andmore righteous, and consequently, more able to effectively do good.36

In The New Sensibility, Alejandro Llano put forward his ideas about aclassical theory of action that is very much in line with Peirce’s ideas.37 Un-like production, moral action—that is, strictly human action—is not valued


for the immediate perfection of the work performed. Virtue cannot betaken as a typified, materially identifiable work. For example, the valiantperson is not characterized by the fact that he or she never retreats or al-ways attacks. Aristotle describes valor in such a manner that he does not as-cribe to it any specific goal. The end of each action, Aristotle says, is what itis by reference to the habit. This is like saying that an action’s moral good-ness is not dependent only on good intention or on the circumstances thatmake it opportune or congruent. It has to do with our practical being, withsomething we could call temper. Valiant is the action performed by the val-iant man and what makes the man valiant. Praxis—human action—is notrelated with the perfection of an external work, but with the plenitude ofthe agent’s life.

Viewed in isolation, each of the valiant person’s acts could be taken as re-alizations of other habits: pride, rashness, even cowardice. Therefore, theactions that deserve to be called “valiant” are part of a virtuous lifestyle, anethos that is a certain totality of meaning, a structure of the vital world. Thistotality cannot be characterized solely by the acts encompassed by a certainvirtue, as a given virtue is only a virtue when connected to all the other vir-tues: only the person who is good performs good actions. And the goodperson is the person who acts in accordance with the human end.

The conclusion to be drawn from all that has been said is that human ac-tion can only be fully understood when viewed from a human’s ultimateend. The very concept of human action refers us to the end of a human be-ing as such. Obviously, this does not take us to a simplistic, automatic sepa-ration of people into good and bad, precisely because this “human end” isnot something that some people have and others do not. This is because thecorrect perception of what is good, in each specific circumstance, dependson the individual’s ethical temper. However, this capacity never becomescomplete or exclusive in anyone. The various capacities of moral percep-tion complement each other and converge through coexistence and dialog.Thus, a moral conception that, instead of being factualist or emotivist, wereto be teleological could give rise to more open and tolerant social frame-works, in which political pluralism is not confounded with the moral rela-tivism which, in the short term, constitutes a breeding ground forintolerance and violence. The rational consensus is more demanding andcreates more space for freedom than effective consensus, which is based onthe equilibrium of forces.

The general theory of action, Llano concludes, cannot be deployed on apre-evaluative level, prior to ethics, but must be radically ethical. This is be-cause, starting from its conceptual beginnings, it must address an end thatencompasses all human actions. The unquestionable sociological fact that,today, we do not all agree on what that human end is should not lead us tofound the criteria for coexistence on a presumed pre-ethical, communi-tarian level. On the contrary, it renders even more urgent the task of culti-


vating a knowledge that contributes to resolving social conflicts from anethical viewpoint. The ability to perceive moral good—ethical sensitiv-ity—can be increased through the cultivation of practical knowledge.

NOTES

1. B.E. Kent, “Peirce’s Esthetics: A New Look,” Transactions of the Charles S.Peirce Society 12 (1976): 267. Before viewing esthetics as a scientific discipline, hisrepudiation of the hedonist argument—which assumes that what is morally con-sidered good or bad is a question of pleasure—prevented Peirce from acceptingany dependence of the logic on ethics. With time, as he came to understand the im-portance of ethics over logic, he thought that it was sufficient to disregard esthet-ics, as ethics could not be viewed as a special determination thereof (because thatmeant making it dependent on an esthetic sentiment). In 1901, he referred to es-thetics as “pure ethics,” viewing it sometimes as a part of ethics and sometimes asa prenormative science (CP 7.201, 1.575). In 1903, he concluded that arguing thatethics is based on esthetics does not support hedonism (CP 5.111). However, hisideas on the role of esthetics within the classification of the sciences did not taketheir final form until at least 1910.

2. Kent, “Peirce’s Esthetics: A New Look,” 280.3. According to Apel, a change is to be observed in Peirce. Initially, the esthe-

tic ideal is thirdness of firstness, that is, it corresponds to an unconscious rationality(CP 5.219–223, 5.291–292). However, later on, he conceived it as firstness ofthirdness, that is, it is understood that any reasoning turns upon the perception ofgenerality and continuity (CP 5.150).

4. P. Salabert, “Aesthetic Experience in Charles S. Peirce: The Threshold,” inPeirce and Value Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadel-phia: John Benjamins, 1994), 196.

5. K.O. Apel, Charles S. Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism (Amherst:University of Massachusetts Press, 1981), 96.


7. H. Parret, “Peircean Fragments on the Aesthetic Experience,” in Peirce andValue Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: JohnBenjamins, 1994), 187.

8. Krois adds that it has an absolute character, which it should be possible topursue under any circumstance and cannot be questioned by future experiences.See J.M. Krois, “C.S. Peirce and Philosophical Ethics,” in Peirce and Value Theory:On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: John Benjamins,1994), 30.

9. Kent, “Peirce’s Esthetics: A New Look,” 273–274.10. D.R. Anderson, Creativity and the Philosophy of C.S. Peirce (The Hague:

Martinus Nijhoff, 1987), 135.11. C.R. Hausman, “Value and the Peircean Categories,” Transactions of the

Charles S. Peirce Society 15 (1979): 215.12. C. Llano, El postmodernismo en la empresa (Mexico: McGraw-Hill, 1994), 77–78.13. S.B. Rosenthal and R.A. Buchholz, “Leadership: Toward New Philosophi-

cal Foundations,” Business and Professional Ethics Journal 14 (1996): 37.14. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 49 n. 15.


15. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 64–65.16. L. Polo, ¿Quién es el hombre? Un espíritu en el mundo (Madrid: Rialp, 1991),

110–111. Kotter has also pointed out that one of the new rules of management isthe determination to never stop growing. See J.P. Kotter, The New Rules: How toSucceed in Today’s Post-corporate World (New York: Free Press, 1995).

17. Polo, ¿Quién es el hombre? 116–117.18. Polo, ¿Quién es el hombre? 125.19. L. Polo, Presente y futuro del hombre (Madrid: Rialp, 1993), 200.20. Anderson, Creativity and the Philosophy of C.S. Peirce, 82. Misak argues that

Peirce defined the summum bonum as a way of limiting a possible relativism. SeeC.J. Misak, “A Peircean Account of Moral Judgments,” in Peirce and Value Theory:On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: John Benjamins,1994), 47. Rosenthal, on the other hand, favors an interpretation of Peirce that al-lows for a certain degree of plurality in defining the esthetic ideal, without goingto the extent of relativism. See S.B. Rosenthal, Charles Peirce’s Pragmatic Pluralism(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994).

21. J. Vicente Arregui, “El papel de la estética en la ética,” Pensamiento 176(1988): 439–453. In this article, the term esthetics has a different meaning from es-thetics as a normative science.

22. Polo, ¿Quién es el hombre?, 125.23. J.W. Garrison, “The Logic, Ethics and Aesthetics of Geometrical Construc-

tion,” in Peirce and Value Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed. H. Parret(Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1994), 234.

24. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 29.25. J. Barnouw, “The Place of Peirce’s Esthetic in His Thought and in the Tra-

dition of Aesthetics,” in Peirce and Value Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics,ed. H. Parret (Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1994), 169–170.

26. A. Llano, La nueva sensibilidad (Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1988), 165.27. L. Polo, La persona humana y su crecimiento (Pamplona, Spain: Eunsa, 1996).28. L. Polo, Ética: Hacia una visión moderna de los temas clásicos (Madrid: Unión

Editorial, 1996), 112–127.29. Potter, Charles S. Peirce on Norms and Ideals, 29.30. Nowadays, ethics is seen as an issue of positive norms and people lose

sight of the inner improvement. There is a connection between hedonism and ethi-cal normativism: the function performed by positive norms is to enable the indi-vidual to be successful in life, and the purpose of the norm is, therefore, to makehuman life pleasant. See Polo, Ética, 123.

31. Vicente Arregui, “El papel de la estética en la ética,” 440.32. I. Portis-Winner, “Peirce, Saussure and Jakobson’s Aesthetic Function. To-

wards a Synthetic,” in Peirce and Value Theory: On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics, ed.H. Parret (Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1994), 140.

33. J. Vicente Arregui, “El carácter práctico del conocimiento moral segúnSanto Tomás,” Anuario Filosófico 13 (1980): 120.

34. Vicente Arregui, “El papel de la estética en la ética,” 449.35. Llano, La nueva sensibilidad, 210.36. J.L. Illanes, “El mercado: ética y eficiencia,” in Ética, mercado y negocios, ed.

D. Melé (Pamplona, Spain: Eunsa, 1992), 32.37. Llano, La nueva sensibilidad, 209–211.


CHAPTER 12

Epilog for Entrepreneurs: AChallenge for the Twenty-firstCentury

At the beginning of this book, we formulated the hypothesis that Peirce’sthought could provide a starting point for devising a new paradigm to ac-count for human action in organizations. Up to this point—following theline of logical argument proposed by Peirce—we have formulated the hy-pothesis: we have observed the reality of human action, we have analyzedvarious aspects of Peirce’s thought, and related the different elements in anew form that has enabled the working hypothesis to be accepted as plausi-ble. It could even be said that we have entered the deduction stage: as a re-sult of our analysis of human action, three principles have been formulatedthat may help us verify the hypothesis in reality. However, there still re-mains the third part of the inquiry process: the verification of the hypothe-sis. This is not something that can be done on a theoretical level, as in thisbook, but must be carried out in reality, in day-to-day managerial work,seeing how these three principles are met in specific action and how theyinfluence human and organizational activity.

However, there are a number of indications that enable us to perform apreliminary evaluation of the possible verification of the hypothesis. Aquick glance at the current literature on business management shows thatthe principles of creativity and community appear frequently. However,this is not the case with the principle of character, whose appearance—ex-cept for rare exceptions which have been quoted in the different chapters ofthis book—is fairly sporadic and, often, with a merely decorative function.This initial impression should be qualified, in any case, upon studying eachof these principles in a little more detail, as we would then see that creativ-

ity and community are usually defined in quite different terms than thoseused by Peirce. Without the principle of character as the ultimate referent ofaction, the other two principles may adopt pseudoformulations that do notmatch the true reality that they signify.

For Peirce, the principle of creativity implies a change in the manner inwhich human rationality is conceived. The logic of abduction is logical, it isan inferential process that shows the limitations of analytic rationalitywhile increasing the possibilities of synthetic thinking, the ability to relate,and initiative supported on observational power.1 The “logical–nonlogi-cal” dualism cannot account for creative human thought. However, manyof the references to creativity continue to assume that it belongs to anonrational sphere. Creativity thus moves—outside human rational-ity—between emotivity and the use of technological tools that assist inno-vation. However, within this framework, it continues to be assumed thathuman rationality is analytic rationality.

For its part, the concept of community, for Peirce, is the act of going be-yond individualism. Pragmaticism opposes the atomistic view of the indi-vidual and seeks a new understanding of the relationship between theindividual and society. In this relationship, the individual, without losinghis or her own reference, seeks to incorporate other people’s perspectives inhis or her own perspectives, in a dynamic interaction between his or hercreativity and the observance of the norms and standards of the socialgroup with which he or she relates. The individual is neither an isolated ele-ment nor a part of the machinery: he or she is a person, the creative polewithin the community.2 Again, when people talk about empowerment,teamwork, or strategic alliances—to quote a few concrete forms that thisprinciple takes in business activity—this significance of the individual, inwhich others are included in the subject’s assessments and decision crite-ria, is not always clear, rather, the relationship continues to be an extrinsicone, guided by social agreements or rules of good conduct. Here, too, thereis a high potential for moving between emotivity and pure normative coor-dination, and it is a sign that the principle of individualism continues topredominate in social relations.

Basically, ever since Herbert Simon chose logical positivism as the modelof thought on which to found his organizational theory,3 we have borne onour shoulders the heavy burden of the facts-values dualism proposed bythis current of thought. This dualism appears, explicitly or implicitly, notonly in management literature; it has taken such deep root in society that itis at the base of the arguments customarily used in corporate decision mak-ing. When, in the course of discussing a specific problem, one reaches thelevel of the ethical appraisal of a particular alternative, it is common to heararguments such as “It seems to me like this,” “That’s what I think,” or“That’s what people usually do.” Peirce would say that these argumentsmay enable ideas to be fixed—as the methods of tenacity, a priori, or au-


thority do—but cannot be considered as part of the scientific method. It islike holding one’s hand in a flame and saying, in spite of the evidence to thecontrary, that flames do not burn. Having enclosed values on a subjective,prerational level, it is assumed that the scientific content of managementproblems—and the content that can be discussed—consists of the correct-ness of the means used to achieve the end that is pursued. The subject of theinquiry is not the actual decision to take certain measures to achieve a goal,but only the fact that if these measures are taken, then the expected effectwill occur. Peirce made it very clear that the pragmatic maxim was onlypart of the scientific method and that the scientific method was to be under-stood within the context of a broader philosophical conception. By insist-ing on reducing the discussion to the level of the means, preference iseventually given to what is effective over what is true and to a utilitarian in-terpretation of pragmatic thought.

The “myth of the amorality of business” is unlikely to find much publicsupport today—at least in academic circles—although it continues to bepresent in the actions of many managers. However, it can easily appear dis-guised in more subtle formulations. Thus, for example, when the need israised to evaluate management problems from ethical criteria, it is not un-common to hear the argument that “ethical problems do not exist because,in the final analysis, it all boils down to using good techniques.” Behind thisargument there is a great truth and also a great lie. It is true that ethics can-not be operative by itself and that it needs the mediation of techniques andhuman activity to materialize itself in human reality, in a similar manner tothe way in which thirdness cannot do without secondness. But the lie thatmust also be pointed out is that technique by itself cannot solve technicalproblems because it cannot confer upon itself the character of goodness orbadness. Just as it is possible to ignore thirdness when studyingsecondness, but at the expense, in this case, of not giving a full explanationof reality, so, also, the technical explanations in themselves cannot accountfor the solution of nonoperational problems. Ethical problems can besolved by technique, but only insofar as technique is guided by ethical cri-teria, and it is these criteria that decide whether a technique is good or bad.

In order to overcome the positivist dualism, we need a suitable theory ofhuman action. Perhaps for this we would need to go back to Peirce, in a sim-ilar manner to the way in which some have called for the return to Aristotle.In Peirce, facts and values are intrinsically related in semiotic theory, as allinterpretations are made from the individual’s past experience as well asfrom his or her personal preferences and convictions. However, Peirce alsounequivocally said that ethics has a scientific character and that, as such, itmust be present in the sphere of rational, public discussion. The fallibilistawareness—as Bernstein has pointed out in his discussion of “The Resur-gence of Pragmatism”—does not imply lapsing into another form of dual-ism that condemns universality, identity, and totality and praises

Epilog for Entrepreneurs 195

particularity, difference, and fragmentation. The goal is to learn to live withan irreducible contingency and ambiguity, not to ignore it or become lost init.4 Fallibilism does not mean skepticism. Quite the contrary, it tells us to beresponsible for our beliefs—but also to be humble and change them whennecessary, to search together for the truth and to search for it above all in thereality of things and of our own lives.

In the same text, Bernstein echoes a growing sentiment that argues that itis not possible to disregard ethical-political issues. Not only must we learnto live without absolutes and with an indefinable ambiguity—with contin-gencies and blind alleys—but we must be willing to take, defend, and com-mit ourselves to responsible positions. Although we can abandon anypretense to infallible rationality, we cannot abandon the necessity of mak-ing reasonable discriminations. This requires articulating and defending,honestly and imaginatively, the ideals that form the basis of criticism. Thegesture of totalizing criticism that seeks to expose and mock all norms andstandards is self-deceptive. As our statements do not rest on fixed founda-tions and are not gratuitous “decisions,” it is essential that they be articu-lated, debated, and publicly discussed.5

Finally, Peirce says that the debate on ethical issues must take placewithin a suitable classification of the sciences, in which ethics and estheticsappear as sciences that direct the experimental sciences and technology.This point is particularly important in manager training tasks. Manage-ment training cannot confine itself to the technical aspects; it cannot be re-duced to imparting a series of techniques. This may be sufficient to dealwith operational problems but, when it comes to nonoperational problems,the skills required to address them are very different from technical skillsand are more closely related to the development of the virtue of pru-dence—starting with an adequate definition of the problem and taking intoaccount the situation’s particular circumstances, without incurring in un-due generalizations. However, in addition to the development of pruden-tial judgment—which would correspond to Peircean ethics—such trainingmust also include a suitable conception of the human person—whichwould correspond to Peircean esthetics. With our action, we introduce anovelty in the world, imbuing it with a new meaning: we humanize it. Thatis why it is fundamental to have an adequate knowledge of human beings.Only by understanding ourselves can we act on the world; only by know-ing what we are and how we act can we think about the world and act in it.Human work thus needs an anthropological and ethical foundation.

This is the Peircean proposal, whose verification, at the end of this book,now falls to the people of action. Today, the absence of the principle of char-acter, which is, after all, the anthropological foundation of human action,has meant that the principles of creativity and continuity are lacking intheir full meaning and do not attain the full effectiveness they potentiallyhave. The Peircean principle of character is opposed to the pursuit of re-


sults as the end of business activity. Financial results may be one of the mo-tives for action, but they do not answer the characteristics of the ideal ofconduct. Growth cannot be understood as mere accumulation or materialgrowth. Personal growth is the reintegration of difficult situations onbroader horizons corresponding to the subject him- or herself, the commu-nity, and the relation between the two. That is, it is understood as a growthof the esthetic-moral richness of experience, so that the manager—in his orher leadership dimension—is concerned above all with the organization’svalues, commitments and aspirations, and not only with its physical re-sources.6

It is illustrative that it should be the founder of pragmatism himself whoshould warn against the danger of making action the ultimate end of life.Thus, although we should not look back to times past, as Bernstein warned,because the pragmatic attitude is rather to look to the future than to yearnfor the past,7 Peirce’s thought on the future that has yet to be built may bevitally helpful in understanding human action in its true sense, in guidingcorporate management, and in understanding the human being. The prag-matist legacy offers richness, diversity, vitality, and the power to addressthe theoretical and practical problems currently facing us,8 among whichhuman action in organizations no doubt occupies a leading position.

NOTES

1. From the business viewpoint, the criticism of analytic rationality made byHenry Mintzberg in his book The Rise and Fall of Strategic Planning (EnglewoodCliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1994) is interesting.

2. S.B. Rosenthal and R.A. Buchholz, “Leadership: Toward New PhilosophicalFoundations,” Business and Professional Ethics Journal 14 (1996): 30.

3. H.A. Simon, Administrative Behavior, 3rd ed. (New York: Free Press, 1975),45.

4. R.J. Bernstein, “El resurgir del pragmatismo,” El Giro Postmoderno,Philosophica Malacitana, Suppl. 1 (1993): 28–29.

5. Bernstein, “El resurgir del pragmatismo,” 29–30.6. Rosenthal and Buchholz, “Leadership: Toward New Philosophical Founda-

tions,” 37.7. Bernstein, “El resurgir del pragmatismo,” 30.8. Bernstein, “El resurgir del pragmatismo,” 25.

Epilog for Entrepreneurs 197

References

This reference list is confined to an ordered list of the books and articlesthat have been mentioned in the course of this book. The first sectioncontains the sources used for C.S. Peirce’s writings, listed in chronolog-ical order. The secondary bibliography has been divided into twogroups: the anthologies of collected articles and works, followed by ageneral list of the monographs and articles consulted, in alphabeticalorder. The anthologies from which only one article is quoted are indi-cated in the reference to the article quoted.

C.S. PEIRCE’S WRITINGS

Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce. Edited by C. Hartshorne, P. Weiss, andA.W. Burks. 8 vols. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1931–1958.

Selected Writings: Values in a Universe of Change. Edited by P. Wiener. New York:Dover, 1958.

The Charles S. Peirce Papers. Microfilm edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Li-brary, Photographic Service, 1966.

Annotated Catalogue of the Papers of Charles S. Peirce. Edited by R.S. Robin. Amherst:University of Massachusetts Press, 1967.

The New Elements of Mathematics by Charles S. Peirce. Edited by C. Eisele. 4 vols. TheHague: Mouton, 1976.

Writings of Charles S. Peirce: A Chronological Edition. Edited by M.H. Fisch et al. 6vols. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982–2000.

Historical Perspectives on Peirce’s Logic of Science. Edited by C. Eisele. 2 vols. TheHague: Mouton, 1985.

A Comprehensive Bibliography of the Published Works of Charles Sanders Peirce with aBibliography of Secondary Studies. Edited by K.L. Ketner. Bowling Green,Ohio: Bowling Green State University, Philosophy Documentation Cen-ter, 1986.

The Essential Peirce. Edited by N. Houser and C.J.W. Kloesel. Vol. 1. Bloomington:Indiana University Press, 1992.

Reasoning and the Logic of Things: The Cambridge Conference Lectures of 1898. Editedby K.L. Ketner. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992.

Un argumento olvidado a favor de la realidad de Dios. Introduction, translation, andnotes by Sara F. Barrena. Cuadernos de Anuario Filosófico, SerieUniversitaria, no 34. Pamplona, Spain: Cuadernos de Anuario Filosófico,1996.

ANTHOLOGIES

Burch, R.W., ed. Frontiers in American Philosophy. Vol. 1. College Station: TexasA&M University Press, 1992.

Eco, U., and T.A. Sebeok, eds. El signo de los tres. Barcelona, Spain: Lumen, 1989.Original edition: The Sign of Three. Bloomington: Indiana UniversityPress, 1983.

Fisch, M.H. Peirce, Semeiotic and Pragmatism. Edited by K.L. Kettner and C.J.W.Kloesel. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986.

Ketner, K., ed. Peirce and Contemporary Thought. New York: Fordham UniversityPress, 1995.

Moore, E.C., ed. Charles S. Peirce and the Philosophy of Science. Tuscaloosa: Univer-sity of Alabama Press, 1993.

Moore, E.C. and R.S. Robin, eds. Studies in the Philosophy of Charles Sanders Peirce.2nd Series. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1964.

Parret, H., ed. Peirce and Value Theory. On Peircean Ethics and Aesthetics. Philadel-phia: John Benjamins, 1994.

GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY

Anderson, D.R. Creativity and the Philosophy of C.S. Peirce. The Hague: MartinusNijhoff, 1987.

Apel, K.O. Charles S. Peirce: From Pragmatism to Pragmaticism. Amherst: Universityof Massachusetts Press, 1981.

——— . Estudios estéticos. Barcelona: Alfa, 1986.——— . “Transcendental Studies and Truth: the Relevance of a Peircean Consen -

sus-Theory of Truth in the Present Debate about Truth-Theories.” InPeirce in Italia, ed. M.A. Bonfantini and A. Martone. Naples: Liguori,1993, 191–208.

——— . Transformation der Philosophie. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1973. Spanish trans-lation: La transformación de la filosofía. Madrid: Taurus, 1985.

Ayim, M. Peirce’s View of the Roles of Reason and Instinct in Scientific Inquiry. Meerut,India: Anu Prakashan, 1982.

Barnouw, J. “The Place of Peirce’s Esthetic in His Thought and in the Tradition ofAesthetics.” In H. Parret, ed., Peirce and Value Theory, 155–178.

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Index

A priori, method for fixing beliefs,106, 108

Abduction, 30, 152–53, 158, 194; cre-ative character, 159–60; as first stepof scientific reasoning, 159; phaseof discovery, 153; its place in scien-tific inquiry, 154. See also Hypothe-sis

Agapasm, 57–58, 68; applied to hu-man action, 58, 67

Agents, 48, 51, 79, 84; as “center of in-tention,” 82, 173

Americanism, 93Anancasm, 57, 58Apel, Karl-Otto, 3, 36, 68, 125–26, 174,

183Arguments: abduction, 30, 152–54,

158–60, 194; deduction, 151, 152; in-duction, 151–53; as steps of the in-quiry process, 153; three types, 151;three types, differences amongthem, 152

Aristotle, 50, 66, 137, 165, 190, 195Authority, method for fixing beliefs,

106–7Ayim, Maryann, 94–95

Bayesian theories, 158Belief, 101, 104; character of habit, 103;

fallible character, 104; maxim of ac-tion, 119; methods for fixing,106–11, 175; as rule of action, 103

Bernstein, Richard, 195

Castañares, Wenceslao, 76Categories: and classes of persons, 98;

in the classification of sciences, 133;and esthetic ideal, 184; experienceof, 46; firstness, 42, 43; in humanaction, 48–50; secondness, 42, 42,48, 49; in self-control, 172; insemiotics, 75; theory of, 41–42, 61;thirdness, 42–47, 49–50, 68, 81

Chance, 60, 61Clarity: fourth grade of, 126; third

grade of, 115Classification of sciences, 30, 52,

129–30; and categories, 133Cogitative, 104Colapietro, Vincent, 173Community, 175, 194; epistemological

character, 178; vs. individualism,176; moral character, 178, 180; rela-

tion with knowledge, 176; scien-tific, 80, 93, 142, 174–75, 189

Concept, as maxim of action, 119Conduct, ideal of, 125, 186; as

thirdness, 50Conscience, 122Conservatism, principle of, 94Continuity, principle of, 59, 153, 173;

in human action, 69; synechism,59–60; as thirdness, 61

Cost-benefit analysis, 158Creativity, 158, 194; formulating the

right questions, 160–63; free exer-cise of reason, 154; in solving prob-lems, 163

Criteria: for action, 121; for decision,123

Darwin, Charles, 57, 60, 67Debrock, Guy, 3, 117Decisions, 103; everyday, 96Deduction, 151, 152Descartes, 42, 59, 66, 79Desire to learn, 143; in people of ac-

tion, 146Determinism: necessitarianism, 58;

necessity, 66, 67Doubt, 101–3, 105Dualism, 59, 67, 117

Eco, Umberto, 3; types of abduction,77, 161, 162

Economy of research, 21, 24, 30,155–56; applied to human action,158

Efficient cause, 50–52Egoism: Gospel of Greed, 177; indi-

vidualism, 176, 184Esthetical ideal, 186, 188; and theory

of categories, 184Esthetics, 132; its place in the classifi-

cation of sciences, 135Ethics, 132, 188, 190; its place in the

classification of sciences, 135; rela-tion with techniques, 195

Evolution, 57–58; agapasm, 57–58, 67,68

Evolutionary love, 58, 68, 185

Fallibilism, 81, 104, 122, 162, 196

Fay, Harriet Melusina (Zina), 14, 17,19, 41

Final cause, 51–52Finality, as thirdness, 51, 52Firstness, 42, 43Fisch, Max, 3, 11Fukuyama, Francis, 179

Golden rule, 185Gospel of Greed, 177Great men, 97Growth, 187, 189, 197; as esthetic

ideal, 185–86

Haack, Susan, 143, 145–46Habermas, Jurgen, 175Habit: and belief, 103; in human ac-

tion, 65, 67–68, 116; law of, 59, 68;as limiting element of interpreta-tion, 80; in the physical world, 67;as rule of action, 83; as thirdness,68

Haskell, Thomas, 177–78Human action: agents, 48, 51, 79, 82,

84, 173; artistic component, 188;and categories, 48, 119; conceiv-able, 119; criteria to interpret, 85; asdeliberative process, 79, 82; effi-cient cause, 50–52; final cause,51–52; and habit, 65–68, 116; inten-tion, 51, 85; interpretative context,83; mechanistic approach, 49, 52; asmeta-abduction, 162; andsecondness, 48–49; semiotics of, 81;and sentiments, 93; and reason, 95;teleological character, 50, 52–53, 85,119, 190; and thirdness, 49–50

Hypothesis, 15, 152–53, 160, 162; crite-ria to choose the best one, 154; ob-servational powers, 164

Illanes, José Luis, 189Imagination, 145Individualism, 194; economic, 177;

egoistic, 176, 184Induction, 151–52; phase of confirma-

tion, 153Inquiry, 42, 102, 105–6, 117, 195; is not

algorithmic, 105; arguments assteps of the process, 153; guided by

212 Index

other interests than the search fortruth, 146–47; in human action, 120;and managerial decision, 101

Instinct, 93, 95–96Intention, 51, 85Interpretant, 75, 78–79; as thirdness,

74; types, 77Interpretation: indefinite character, 78;

limiting elements, 80Intuitionism, 80

James, William, 16–17, 19–20, 29–32,34, 36, 42, 73, 122, 134

Kant, Emmanuel, 12, 80, 129–30Kent, Beverly, 116, 126, 133, 183Knowledge: society of, 165; spheres

of, 138; technical and artistic, 164

Lamarck, Jean Baptiste, 57Learning, 83, 96; negative, 84, 125Limited rationality, principle of, 157Llano, Alejandro, 66–67, 163, 165, 175,

189Llano, Carlos: responsibility, 123;

spheres of knowledge, 138; syn-thetical character of management,138; work, 92, 99–100

Logic, 132. See also Abduction; Hy-pothesis

Logica docens, 94Logica utens, 94, 105Logical positivism, 117, 194Lumen naturale, 153, 163

Management: as an art, 164; dimen-sions, 99; as practical, 99; as practi-cal science, 137; primacy of ethicsin, 139; as scientific attitude, 99

Managerial action, 92, 96. See also Hu-man action

Maximization, 157Mechanicism, as an a priori, 56Methods for fixing beliefs, 106–11,

175. See also Scientific methodMusement, 154

Necessitarianism, 58Necessity, 66, 67

Negative learning, 84, 125; learning,83, 96

Newcomb, Simon, 17, 23, 25, 27, 29, 34Normative sciences, 30, 35, 52, 132; es-

thetics, 132, 135; ideal of, 132, 135;logic, 132; relation of dependenceamong them, 134; relation withpractical sciences, 133, 136; theirplace in the classification of sci-ences, 131. See also Ethics

Nubiola, Jaime, 154, 165

Object, 79, 80; dynamical or mediate,75, 76; immediate, 75

Objective idealism, 59Organizational theories: historical de-

velopment, 62–65; rejection ofmechanistic and organistic models,65

Peirce, Benjamin, 12, 18Peirce, Charles Sanders: broad knowl-

edge, 14, 33; business projects, 25,27–29, 33; Cambridge Metaphysi-cal Club, 17, 36; Harriet MelusinaFay (first wife), 14, 17, 19, 41; finan-cial difficulties, 29; first years,12–13; lectures, 14, 16, 25, 28, 30,43, 91, 98, 130, 134, 185; live atArisbe, 26, 27–32; Juliette Pourtalai,22, 25, 27–29; studying at HarvardUnviersity, 12–13; teaching at Har-vard, 14; teaching at JohnsHopkins University, 17, 20, 23–24,32–33, 97; trips to Europe, 17–19,22; working at Harvard Observa-tory, 18; working at U.S. Coast andGeodesic Survey (Coast Survey),13, 15–20, 22–24, 27, 33; working atthe Weights and Measures Office atWashington, 23; writings, 14–16,21–23, 27–29, 31–32, 52, 55–56, 58,73, 79, 97, 115, 144, 151–52, 154,160, 176, 183

Pérez López, Juan Antonio: criteria fordecision, 124; dimensions of man-agement, 99; learning and negativelearning, 83–84, 185; types ofagents, 81, 83–84, 126

Index 213

Person: as “center of intention,” 82;theory of categories and classes of,98; three classes, 97, 98

Petry, Ed, 171–72Phaneron, 41–42, 131Phaneroscopy, 41Polo, Leonardo, 89, 161, 186–88Popper, Karl, 3; differences with

Peirce’s ideas, 159Potter, Vincent, 44, 61, 116, 188Pourtalai, Juliette, 22, 25, 27–29Practical rationality, 165, 179, 188, 191Practical sciences, 130, 136; manage-

ment as, 136Pragmatic maxim, 2, 115, 172; formu-

lation, 116, 118; and habits, 118; isthe logic of abduction, 154; asmethodological principle, 116; pre-dictive character, 117; prescriptivecharacter, 118; and rational charac-ter of action, 119

Pragmaticism, 3, 31, 36, 119, 173, 194Pragmatism, 3, 18, 42Prescission, 46; applied to human ac-

tion, 51Problems, operational and

non-operational, 97, 196Professionalism, 177–79Purpose, 119; intention, 51, 85; as lim-

iting element of interpretation, 80Putnam, Hilary, 3, 105, 122

Reason, 94–96; first principles of, 102;first rule of, 143; in human action,95; rules of, 102

Regularity: of general ideas, 60; in theuniverse, 56

Rescher, Nicolas, 109Responsibility, 123

Schiller, Friedrich, 171Science: architectonical character,

129–30; and conduct, 92; as method(see Scientific method); as a modeof life, 141–42; as an organizedbody of knowledge, 129; and prac-tical matters, 92–93; subordination

of, 137. See also Scientific commu-nity

Scientific attitude: in management,144; qualities, 143–45

Scientific community, 93, 142, 174–75,189; as limiting element of interpre-tation, 80

Scientific method, 106, 108; differenceswith the other three methods, 108;importance of moral aspects, 143;in management, 195; reference toreality, 108, 110; self-correctivecharacter, 109

Secondness, 42, 43; in human action,48, 49

Self-control, 171, 186; and categories,172; evolution of the concept inPeirce’s thought, 171, 173

Self-realization, 173Semiotics, 73; in human action, 81Sentimentalism, 93Sentiments, 95–96; their role in human

action, 94Sign, 74, 76, 79–80; and theory of cate-

gories, 75Simon, Herbert, 63, 117, 194Smith, John E., 81, 173Stikkers, Kenneth, 176Sullivan, William, 179Summun bonum, 183Synechism, 59–60. See also Continuity,

principle of

Taylor, Charles, 173Tenacity, method for fixing beliefs, 106Thirdness, 42–43, 47; as future, 46; as

generalization, 45–46; in human ac-tion, 49–50, 68; as mediation, 44; insemiotics, 81

Tychasm, 57–58

Uncertainty, 121

Virtue, 186–87, 189–90Vitally important topics, 91, 93, 96

214 Index

About the Author

JUAN FONTRODONA is Assistant Professor of Business Ethics at IESEBusiness School, Barcelona. He holds an MBA and a doctorate in philoso-phy and has had visiting professorships, fellowships, and scholarships atHarvard Business School and the Center for Business Ethics, Bentley Col-lege. In his research and various publications, Fontrodona combines thestudy of the theoretical foundations of management with the ethical impli-cations of the daily conduct of business and has explored these and othertopics in his various books and journal articles.

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