Simon Susen, Patrick Baert-The Sociology of Intellectuals - After 'The Existentialist Moment'-Palgrave Macmillan (2017)

OF INTELLECTUALS
After
‘The Existentialist Moment’
Simon Susen and

Patrick Baert
The Sociology of Intellectuals
‘It takes about two full intellectual generations (that is, two-thirds of a century)
to establish who has an enduring reputation. Patrick Baert’s The Existentialist
Moment displays the insight that comes with sufficient distance from the factions
of the time and their immediate followers downstream. Jean-Paul Sartre can now
be seen as the “public intellectual” par excellence—a concept that did not exist
when Sartre broke out of a narrow Parisian circle into world-wide prominence at
the end of the Second World War. This high-level debate between Simon Susen
and Patrick Baert deepens the significance of social discontinuities in generating
public intellectuals and, in addition, casts in perspective the conditions fostering
the repudiation of public intellectuals today.’
—Randall Collins, Professor of Sociology Emeritus, University of Pennsylvania, USA
‘Focused on the theoretical model deployed in Patrick Baert’s superb book on

Jean-Paul Sartre, this splendid little volume opens up crucial issues for the lively
and growing field of the sociology of intellectual production and reception.
Together with Baert’s very substantial work on intellectual life in the UK, Japan
and elsewhere, and Simon Susen’s masterly studies of Jürgen Habermas, Pierre
Bourdieu, Luc Boltanski and postmodernism, it constitutes a major contribution
to the field.’
—William Outhwaite, Emeritus Professor of Sociology, Newcastle University, UK
Simon Susen · Patrick Baert
The Sociology of
Intellectuals
After ‘The Existentialist Moment’
Simon Susen Patrick Baert
Department of Sociology Department of Sociology
City, University of London University of Cambridge
London, UK Cambridge, UK
ISBN 978-3-319-61209-6 ISBN 978-3-319-61210-2 (eBook)

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-61210-2
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Contents
Introduction: Key Issues in the Sociology of Intellectuals vii

Simon Susen and Patrick Baert
1 Reflections on Patrick Baert’s The Existentialist Moment:

The Rise of Sartre as a Public Intellectual 1
Simon Susen
2 The Existentialist Moment Defended:

A Reply to Simon Susen 123
Patrick Baert
Index of Names 147
Index of Subjects 155
v
Introduction:
Key Issues
in the Sociology of Intellectuals
Simon Susen and Patrick Baert
Abstract This chapter offers some preliminary reflections on Simon

Susen and Patrick Baert’s The Sociology of Intellectuals: After ‘The
Existentialist Moment’ (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017). The
chapter emphasizes three principal objectives of this book: first, to
explore a new set of conceptual and methodological tools for the
sociology of intellectuals (theoretical level); second, to assess how the
phenomenon of the public intellectual has altered since the beginning
of the twentieth century (historical level); and, third, to examine the
extent to which intellectuals can play a constructive role in influencing
social and political developments in the modern era (normative level).
The chapter goes on to give a brief overview of both the structure and
the contents of the book. Finally, the chapter explains why, in light of
recent social and political transformations, the challenge of providing
a theoretical framework for the sociological study of intellectuals has
become particularly pressing.
Keywords Baert · Intellectuals · Public intellectuals · Sartre · Sociology of

intellectuals · Susen
This book seeks to provide a cutting-edge account of key issues in the

sociology of intellectuals. To this end, it centres on Patrick Baert’s
latest contribution to this field of inquiry: The Existentialist Moment:

vii
viii S. SUSEN AND P. BAERT
The Rise of Sartre as a Public Intellectual (Cambridge: Polity Press,

2015). As shall be illustrated in the following critical exchange between
two contemporary social theorists, The Existentialist Moment has broken
new ground and yielded hitherto barely explored avenues for the socio-
logical study of intellectuals.
Broadly speaking, this book has three principal objectives:
• at the theoretical level, to explore a new set of conceptual and meth-

odological tools for the sociology of intellectuals;
• at the historical level, to assess how the phenomenon of the public
intellectual has altered since the beginning of the twentieth century;
• at the normative level, to examine the extent to which intellectuals
can play a constructive role in influencing social and political devel-
opments in the modern era.
With the aim of shedding light on these three levels of investigation,

the book is divided into two chapters:
In Chap. 1, Simon Susen provides an in-depth review of The
Existentialist Moment, focusing on the theoretical dimensions underpin-
ning the analysis developed in this book. In the first part, Susen gives
a detailed, and largely sympathetic, overview of Baert’s approach, draw-
ing attention to its main conceptual and methodological contributions
to the sociological study of intellectuals. In the second part, Susen grap-
ples with the limitations and shortcomings of Baert’s approach, espe-
cially with respect to its plea for a paradigm shift from a ‘vocabulary of
intentions’ to a ‘vocabulary of effects’ in the sociology of intellectuals.
The chapter concludes with a brief reflection on the role that intellectuals
may play in shaping the development of society.
In Chap. 2, Baert offers a detailed reply to Susen’s review of The
Existentialist Moment. More specifically, Baert defends his proposal for a
positioning theory, arguing that it equips us with a powerful explanatory
framework for the sociological study of intellectuals. Even if the label ‘posi-
tioning theory’ may suggest otherwise, Baert’s version of this approach
constitutes a comprehensive research programme, rather than a merely theo-
retical endeavour. As such, it can be regarded as a way of conducting research
that pays close attention to the relationship between intellectual interventions
and the meanings that these interventions acquire within socio-political con-
texts. This type of inquiry, then, requires an in-depth understanding not only
of intellectuals but also of the broader milieu in which intellectuals operate.
INTRODUCTION: KEY ISSUES IN THE SOCIOLOGY OF INTELLECTUALS ix
The challenge of providing a theoretical framework for the sociologi-

cal study of intellectuals has become particularly pressing in light of con-
temporary social developments, two of which are crucial:
1. There are signs of an increasing polarization between ‘intellectu-

als’ and ‘non-intellectuals’. Here, ‘intellectuals’ are conceived of
as persons who, on a day-to-day basis, engage in different forms
of critical thinking, reflection, and analysis—and who do so in a
sustained, systematic, and habitualized fashion. Of course, the
category ‘intellectual’ is far from uncontroversial. It is commonly
assumed, however, that it includes academics and experts (nota-
bly, those working in the humanities and social sciences) as well
as writers, journalists, columnists, critics, and literati. Recent vot-
ing patterns and reactions to voting results in Europe and North
America (epitomized in two major political events, namely the
2016 UK referendum on EU membership and the 2016 US presi-
dential election) indicate the presence of a widening gulf—not
only between those who have benefited from higher education and
those who have not, but also between those who possess high-level
forms of epistemic expertise and those who do not. Differential
voting patterns seem to reveal a growing gap in aspirations, opin-
ions, and values, which are embedded in profound social divisions.
Among large parts of the population in ‘Western’ societies, there
has been mounting dissatisfaction with, and suspicion towards,
experts in general and expert-based knowledge claims in particular.
In the current socio-political climate, these are often discredited
as ‘partisan’, ‘biased’, ‘ideologically motivated’, and/or ‘discon-
nected from reality’.
2. Taking into account the polarization process between those who
operate in the intellectual realm and those who do not, the book
stresses the significance of a further trend: the new communica-
tion technologies available in the ‘digital age’ have made it possible
for many individuals to intervene in intellectual debates without
having to go through, let alone to rely upon, traditional gatekeep-
ers. This phenomenon—which manifests itself in numerous ways,
from self-publishing to blogging—has substantially eroded the
boundaries between ‘intellectual’ and ‘non-intellectual’ spheres.
At first glance, it appears that this trend—owing to its democratic,
x S. SUSEN AND P. BAERT
or at least democratizing, potential—contradicts the previous

point concerning the intensifying polarization between ‘intellectu-
als’ and ‘non-intellectuals’. As posited in this book, however, the
two aforementioned developments, while they are tension-laden,
are intimately interconnected: the new media generate discursive
echo chambers in which likeminded people reinforce, rather than
undermine, each other’s views. These echo chambers, together
with the widespread animosity and distrust towards experts, have
contributed to the rapid diffusion of dubious—or, in many cases,
blatantly false—assertions, which are now commonly captured
under the heading ‘post-truth’ and expressed in the provocative
contention that, in the early twenty-first century, we have entered
a ‘post-truth era’.
In addition to developing a sociological theory for studying intellectuals,
Baert’s The Existentialist Moment explores ‘the Sartre p
henomenon’—that is,
the sudden rise to prominence of Jean-Paul Sartre, arguably the twentieth-
century public intellectual par excellence. Sartre emerged as a public intellec-
tual in the mid-1940s. The set of social, cultural, and political constellations
in which Sartre rose to fame might appear alien to the current situation, as
depicted above. It is possible, however, to identify several noteworthy simi-
larities between these two historical settings.
At the end of the Second World War, there was a similar gulf
between ‘intellectuals’ and ‘non-intellectuals’: the differences in edu-
cational opportunities and resources were considerable. Comparable
to the current context, with this juxtaposition came opposing aspira-
tions, opinions, and values. It was only in the course of the 1950s and
1960s that the French higher education sector expanded and became
socially more inclusive (although, to be clear, it continued to be based
on powerful exclusionary mechanisms, reflecting the stratified con-
stitution of the society in which it was embedded). Moreover, in the
mid-1940s, the French intellectual establishment had lost its position
of incontestable symbolic authority, and new writers managed to gain
power vis-à-vis their publishers. (Both phenomena are explained in The
Existentialist Moment.) In sum, Sartre’s rise took place during a period
that was marked by a high degree of discontinuity and rapid social
transformation.
INTRODUCTION: KEY ISSUES IN THE SOCIOLOGY OF INTELLECTUALS xi
The following critical exchange between Baert and Susen focuses on

the development of positioning theory in relation to the sociological
study of intellectuals. The starting point of this conversation (and, for
that matter, of The Existentialist Moment) is the assumption that large
parts of the already existing literature on intellectuals suffer from an
under-theorization syndrome—that is, from the failure to contribute to a
sociological understanding of intellectuals that is not only methodologi-
cally rigorous and empirically substantiated, but also conceptually sophis-
ticated. Indeed, as elucidated in subsequent chapters as well as in Baert’s
book on Sartre, some intellectual historians and intellectual biographers
are openly hostile to the idea of employing theoretical frameworks for
the study of intellectuals, let alone for the explanation of their status and
role in society. Baert and Susen share the conviction that, in the area of
investigation concerned with intellectuals, this relative lack of engage-
ment with theoretical analysis needs to be rectified. More specifically,
both of them believe (albeit, admittedly, with varying degrees of enthusi-
asm) that positioning theory may offer a way forward on this front. If, as
maintained by Baert and Susen, both the status and the role of intellec-
tuals have changed considerably in recent decades, it is the task of critical
sociologists to provide explanatory frameworks capable of accounting for
the chief causes underlying this shift. This book is an attempt to take on
this challenging task.
CHAPTER 1
Reflections on Patrick Baert’s

The Existentialist Moment:
The Rise of Sartre as a Public Intellectual
Simon Susen
Abstract  In this chapter, Simon Susen provides an in-depth review of

Patrick Baert’s The Existentialist Moment: The Rise of Sartre as a Public
Intellectual (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2015), focusing on the theoretical
dimensions underpinning the analysis developed in this book. The chap-
ter is divided into two parts. In the first part, Susen gives a detailed, and
largely sympathetic, overview of Baert’s approach, drawing attention to
its main conceptual and methodological contributions to the sociological
study of intellectuals. In the second part, Susen grapples with the limita-
tions and shortcomings of Baert’s approach, especially with respect to its
plea for a paradigm shift from a ‘vocabulary of intentions’ to a ‘vocabu-
lary of effects’ in the sociology of intellectuals. The chapter concludes
with a brief reflection on the role that intellectuals may play in shaping
the development of society.
Keywords  Baert · Effects · Intellectuals · Intentions · Public

intellectuals · Sartre · Sociology of intellectuals
An abridged version of this chapter was presented on 19th June 2015 at the
14th Annual Conference of the International Social Theory Consortium (on
Reconstructing Social Theory, History and Practice), which took place between
17th and 19th June 2015 at the University of Cambridge, UK.
© The Author(s) 2017 1

S. Susen and P. Baert, The Sociology of Intellectuals,
DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-61210-2_1
2 S. SUSEN
Patrick Baert’s The Existentialist Moment: The Rise of Sartre as a Public

Intellectual1 can be regarded as a highly original, and also much-needed,
contribution to contemporary sociological thought. It provides an unprece-
dented account of the socio-historical conditions permitting Jean-Paul Sartre
to become one of the most influential public intellectuals in modern history.
The book is divided into seven chapters. Chapter 1 explores the
extraordinary historical constellations that emerged within ‘the unusual
context of the occupation of France, from mid-1940 until mid-1944’2,
illustrating the extent to which it impacted upon the cultural field and
intensified ‘already existing divisions within the intellectual community’3.
Chapter 2 examines ‘the purge of French collaborationist intellectuals’4,
notably in the period 1944–1945, focusing on the politico-ideological
controversies sparked by the prosecutions of those accused of collabora-
tion with the Nazis. Chapter 3 sheds light on ‘the intellectual shifts that
took place in France’5 as a result of the purge, paying particular atten-
tion to Sartre’s journalistic interventions published between 1944 and
1945. Chapter 4 grapples with ‘the sudden rise of existentialism in the
autumn of 1945’6, to which Simone de Beauvoir famously referred as
the ‘existentialist offensive’7. Chapter 5 aims to explain how Sartre suc-
ceeded in establishing himself as ‘a committed intellectual’8 between
1946 and 1947. Chapter 6 offers ‘a multi-levelled account for the rise of
Sartre’9, in addition to scrutinizing the main reasons behind the gradual
decline of existentialism in French intellectual life ‘from the early 1960s
onwards’10. Chapter 7 elucidates the theoretical framework underly-
ing this study, sketching out and defending ‘a performative perspec-
tive for conceptualizing intellectual interventions’11, developments, and
transformations. It is the purpose of the following sections to discuss,
above all, the theoretical dimensions underpinning Baert’s analysis in The
Existentialist Moment.
First Part: Baert’s Argument
I. Sartre: Public Intellectual and Public Celebrity

As his fiercest critics will be forced to concede, ‘Jean-Paul Sartre achieved
an astonishingly high public profile during his heyday’12, which some
commentators may characterize as ‘unrivalled’13 in terms of the media
attention he received as well as the wider political influence he enjoyed
both in France and in other ‘Western’ countries. Baert’s book is a
1 REFLECTIONS ON PATRICK BAERT’S THE EXISTENTIALIST MOMENT … 3
conceptually sophisticated, methodologically rigorous, and empirically

substantiated attempt to grasp the multiple factors leading to the emer-
gence of ‘this extraordinary case of public celebrity’14. One of the fas-
cinating aspects of this case is that it was in a remarkably brief timespan
that Sartre managed to rise ‘from relative obscurity to public promi-
nence’15, occupying a central place in the political and philosophical
imagination of intellectuals, initially in France and eventually across the
world.
Baert wishes to challenge the commonly held assumption that the rise
of both Sartre in particular and existentialism in general are intimately
interrelated with the political turbulence of the late 1960s. Contrary to
this supposition, he makes a strong case for the view that, in the afore-
mentioned period, the status, credibility, and influence of Sartre’s philos-
ophy were already in decline. In fact, upon closer inspection, it becomes
clear that it was between 1944 and 1947—‘especially in the autumn of
1945’16—that Sartre gained an exceptional amount of public promi-
nence. Before then, his writings—including his masterpiece L’être et le
néant [Being and Nothingness]17—were hardly known beyond a special-
ist circle of expert philosophers. It should take Sartre barely more than
three years, however, to convert himself into a high-profile figure on the
international scene of intellectual discourse.
Throughout his study, Baert aims to respond to two fundamental
questions. The first question concerns the historical context in which
Sartre and his philosophical movement gained popularity: why did the
rise of Sartrean existentialism occur between 1944 and 1947, rather
than before or after this period? The second question relates to the role
that the intellectual specificity of Sartre and his philosophical movement
played in contributing to their sudden and extensive popularity: why did
Sartrean existentialism become highly influential on a global intellectual
stage, despite the somewhat opaque and impenetrable nature of its key
scholarly outputs, which were inspired by the writings of the German
philosopher Martin Heidegger, whose complicity with and involvement
in the Nazi regime were a well-known fact?18
Seeking to address these questions, Baert points out that two chief
factors deserve particular attention. First, ‘between 1940 and 1945,
French intellectuals became involved in intense power struggles in which
those seen to be associated with the Resistance were ultimately victori-
ous’19. In this context, ‘the purge (épuration) of collaborationist intel-
lectuals’20 gained prominence in the shared effort to create a progressive
4 S. SUSEN
political climate in France. Second, during and after its occupation by

the Nazis, France went through a national cultural trauma, that is, ‘a
widespread sense that certain events—in this case, Vichy and the occu-
pation—caused collective distress and irredeemable damage, potentially
threatening the social fabric of society’21. In this respect, the challenge,
faced not only by intellectuals but also by ordinary citizens, consisted in
grappling with and contributing to ‘the remaking of French nationhood’22
within a historical period that was still overshadowed by individual and
collective attempts to come to terms with ‘the trauma of the war’23.
II. Two Scholarly ‘Explanations’: Bourdieu and Collins

As Baert spells out, despite there being ‘a wide body of academic lit-
erature on existentialism’24, there is little in the way of a systematic, let
alone conclusive, commentary ‘on why existentialism gained such promi-
nence when it did’25. The two only noteworthy exceptions in the socio-
logical literature are Pierre Bourdieu’s field theory and Randall Collins’s
network approach. Given their relevance in relation to the thematic focus
of this book, it is worth considering them in some detail.
1.
Bourdieu’s field-theoretic framework lies at the heart of Anna
Boschetti’s Sartre et « Les Temps Modernes ». Une entreprise intellectuelle
[The Intellectual Enterprise. Sartre and ‘Les Temps Modernes’]26. As high-
lighted in Bourdieu’s writings on socially stratified forms of cultural pro-
duction27, one of the most distinctive features of the cultural field in
modern France is that it is ‘exceptionally unified, centralized and hierar-
chical’28, marked by ‘a fierce struggle over symbolic recognition’29. In the
cultural field, just as in other social fields, different agents are equipped
with different types and volumes of capital and, thus, with different forms
and amounts of material and symbolic resources, enabling them to compete
with one another within a vertically structured realm of objectively exter-
nalized positions and subjectively internalized dispositions.30 The historical
specificity of the French cultural arena in the nineteenth century was due
to its internal division between the literary world and the academic world,
which may be conceived of as two different fields, ‘each with its own
logic’31. In fact, ‘[i]t is only in the course of the twentieth century that the
two fields started to intersect, and few people managed to combine the
requirements to excel in both fields’32. Sartre was one of the few intellec-
tual figures who succeeded in deciphering, and benefiting from, the codes
of accomplishment within these two domains, putting him in an excep-
tionally strong position to occupy a triumphant—and, ultimately, hegem-
onic—place in the French intellectual field in the mid-1940s.
It appears, then, that it was, to a large extent, due to Sartre’s ‘ability
to stand out in those two genres’33—which he used ‘as complementary
channels’34 for the circulation of his ideas, claims, and convictions—
that he could embrace the opportunity to establish himself as one of the
most influential European intellectuals of all time. Owing to his capac-
ity to immerse himself and to function within different realms of high
culture, he managed to overcome the ‘sharp division between novelists
and professors’35: the former tended to be self-funded, emerging from
relatively privileged backgrounds; the latter tended to pass through the
elitist channels of the École normale superieure. Sartre mastered—to use
a Bourdieusian metaphor—‘the rules of the game’36 within both spheres
of cultural expression. Indeed, ‘journalism would allow him to add
another string to his bow’37 of manifold scholarly engagements, convert-
ing him into the epitome of the ‘total intellectual’38.
Undoubtedly, Sartre was able to count with the logistical, emotional,
and ideological support of leading intellectuals ‘occupying editorial posi-
tions in literary journals and in newspapers’39 and, hence, ensuring the
largely favourable reception of his work in influential circles. The deci-
sive function of this professional network of sympathetic peers was illus-
trated—perhaps, most significantly—in the formative role of the journal
Les Temps Modernes, founded in 1945, which turned out to serve as ‘a
hegemonic power base’40 of discursive influence for Sartre and his fol-
lowers for many years to come.
One of the strongest points of Boschetti’s analysis lies in its capac-
ity to shed light on ‘the inner logic of the French field of intellectual
production’41, notably in terms of its reliance on ‘distinctive elite insti-
tutions’42 sufficiently powerful to advance Sartre’s ‘career and public
profile’43 in France, thereby paving the way for his successive influence
on a global scale. One of the weakest points of her approach, however,
is its ‘tendency to treat the intellectual sphere as a relatively autono-
mous unity’44, thereby overlooking the wider socio-political conditions
impacting upon the development of the intellectual field. From such a
narrow perspective, it is difficult ‘to explain why the rise of Sartre and
6 S. SUSEN
existentialism occurred during this particular period—not before, not

after’45. Just as it would be erroneous to reduce a paradigmatic rise to
a field-specific logic, it would be mistaken to account for it in terms of
an ‘individualistic logic’46, which is motivated by the personality-focused
conviction that it was mainly Sartre’s ‘unique and multiple qualities’47,
including ‘his genius or unrivalled charisma’48, that equipped him with
a decisive competitive advantage over his peers in the French intellec-
tual field in the mid-twentieth century. Although, according to Baert,
Boschetti’s inquiry succeeds in elucidating both the ideological trends
and the ‘broader societal developments that impinged on the cultural
sphere’49 in mid-twentieth century France, it fails to take into consid-
eration ‘the specific conditions at the end of the war and their dramatic
repercussions for the intellectual field’50, particularly with regard to their
power to favour the rise of some philosophical currents, while obstruct-
ing the consolidation of others.
2.
Randall Collins’s network approach is forcefully articulated in
his ground-breaking The Sociology of Philosophies. A Global Theory of
Intellectual Change51. As indicated in the title, this study is moti-
vated by the ambitious venture to provide ‘a general theory of
intellectual change’52, highlighting the structural and ideological
transformations that have taken place within the prestigious disci-
pline of philosophy over the past three centuries at an international
level. Given his emphasis on the macro-social embeddedness of all
cultural—including intellectual—developments, Collins is suspicious of
non-sociological—that is, idealistic, personalistic, and individualistic—
interpretations of the production of symbolic forms. Rather than
conceiving of culture as ‘autonomous of society’53, as if it were
reducible to a self-sufficient force of an untouchable superstructure,
and instead of endeavouring to write ‘the type of intellectual history
that attempts to show, through a detailed investigation of arguments
and counterarguments, how one set of ideas brings about another’54,
Collins proposes to explore the social conditions of production in
which symbolically mediated actions take place. On this view, it is
misleading to endorse an ‘intellectual history that glorifies the indi-
vidual and his or her creative output’55, to the degree that such a
personality-focused approach fails to account for the sociological var-
iables that shape human practices.
According to Collins’s ‘general theory of interaction rituals’56 (or—

if one prefers—his ‘wider theory of interaction ritual chains’57), two
concepts are crucial for the sociological analysis of the intellectual field:
(a) emotional energy and (b) cultural capital. The former constitutes ‘a
motivating force’58 by which imaginative entities are driven when con-
verting the symbolic goods that they produce into meaning-bearing
vehicles of self-realization. The latter ‘helps to direct creative output
effectively’59, equipping purposive beings with the collectively transmit-
ted and individually assimilated resources that need to be mobilized in
the pursuit of social recognition. The belief in intellectual originality
strikes a chord with those obsessed with the construction of culturally
codified—and, hence, not universally accessible—currencies. On this
account, it is both an ontological delusion and a methodological error
‘to conceive of ideas as rooted in individuals or individual minds’60, since
they are ‘anchored in networks and motivated to a considerable extent by
rivalries between individuals and between groups of individuals’61.
To be sure, for Collins, the creation and reproduction of academic
networks are far from arbitrary. According to the ‘law of small num-
bers’62, ‘only three to six successful creative schools can exist at one
time’63: less than three are highly improbable, owing to the dynamic
and competitive constitution of the intellectual field; more than
six are hardly viable, due to ‘the survival of the fittest’ logic perme-
ating the evolution of the intellectual field. In other words, some
intellectual schools survive, whereas others will be extinguished. In
the chapter ‘Writers’ Markets and Academic Networks: The French
Connection’64, Collins examines the development and influence of
existentialism, which he regards as an intellectual current that has
reached the paradigmatic status of belonging to the circle of ‘one of
those competitive creative schools’65. Scrutinizing the personal, insti-
tutional, and cultural connections between influential French schol-
ars (such as Simone de Beauvoir, Paul Nizan, Georges Canguilhem,
Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Raymond Aron, and Jean-Paul Sartre),
Collins draws attention to the vital role of social networks in deter-
mining the effectiveness of both emotional energy and cultural capital,
when scholars—as emerging or established figures—seek to position
themselves within a ‘highly selective, competitive and hierarchical’66
field of intellectuals. In this respect, it is striking that a largely French
network of existentialists, such as Sartre and his followers, arose
out of a German network of phenomenologists, such as Edmund
8 S. SUSEN
Husserl and Martin Heidegger. It would be inaccurate, however, to

overlook the fact that existentialism was also profoundly shaped by
Francophone scholars, such as Alexandre Koyré and Alexandre Kojève,
whose philosophical projects were based upon central ideas developed
in Germanophone circles of intellectual thought.67
In addition to benefiting from an exceptionally high amount of cul-
tural capital (derived from his privileged access to valuable social, educa-
tional, linguistic, and symbolic resources), Sartre took advantage of his
close connections with the publisher Gallimard, which became a ‘net-
work centre’68 for up-and-coming French intellectuals, permitting them
to distribute their works in the form of affordable paperback editions,
which suited hybridized approaches such as existentialism, whose intellec-
tual outlook cut across the disciplinary boundaries separating literature
and philosophy.69
One of the strongest points of Collins’s analysis is its capacity to
account for the confluence of multiple factors in the emergence of intel-
lectual fields. Social networks are contingent upon the connections
established between polycentrically positioned agents, whose embod-
ied practices are performed in multidimensionally structured—and, on
numerous levels, overlapping—realms of action and interaction: private
and public, personal and professional, ephemeral and institutional, cul-
tural and political, ideological and logistical, material and symbolic.70
One of the weakest points of his approach, however, is reflected in its
incapacity to flesh out the specificity of the existentialist movement—
notably, in terms of its competitive advantages over rival philosophical
currents, which could have exploited (or, in some cases, did exploit) the
various transformations taking place in the intellectual field to a similar
extent, but which did not enjoy the same degree of success in the mid-
1940s, at least not in France. This explanatory deficit is reinforced by
the erroneous tendency to treat the intellectual field as ‘relatively auton-
omous from other societal developments’71, thereby shifting the ana-
lytical focus away from macro-historical trends to ‘the inner struggle
for attention in the intellectual space’72. This methodological strategy
is barely appropriate, however, for ‘explaining why, at a particular point,
some intellectuals, and indeed some intellectual currents, have a broader
appeal’73 than others. Thus, Collins’s framework falls short of providing
satisfying answers to fundamental questions such as ‘Why Sartre?’, ‘Why
existentialism?’, and ‘Why both Sartre and existentialism in the mid-
1940s?’. In response to these matters, Baert affirms that it is crucial to
take ‘the broader cultural climate of the mid-1940s’74 into consideration.

The question of why some intellectual scholars and schools are successful
(and others are not) is, as we shall see, essential to understanding both
the constitution and the evolution of knowledge production in modern
societies.
III. Four Alternative ‘Explanations’

With the exception of Boschetti’s and Collins’s respective accounts, as
well as Ingrid Galster’s edited collection La naissance du phénomène
Sartre. Raisons d’un succès, 1938–194575, one finds little in the way of
sociological research attempting to explain the rise of Sartre and existen-
tialism in the contemporary literature. Unsurprisingly, there are numer-
ous secondary sources on Sartre, formulating a variety of hypotheses
concerning his achievements and success as a major public intellectual.76
As Baert spells out, four perspectives are particularly influential in this
regard.
First, one may seek to explain Sartre’s success in terms of his ‘indi-
vidual qualities’77. On this view, ‘his intellect, his charisma, charm,
adaptability, opportunism or simply his determination, ambition and
work ethic’78 were so outstanding that—irrespective of the social circum-
stances that might have benefitted his rise—Sartre (the person) was fated
to become ‘Sartre’ (the label). This narrative implies that he managed to
enter the kingdom of classics in philosophy owing to the perfect com-
bination of ‘natural aptitude and hard work’79. Undoubtedly, Sartre’s
talents and industry played a vital role in his success story. Given that
many other intellectuals were equipped with these attributes, however, it
is problematic to consider them in isolation from other factors.
Second, one may wish to explain Sartre’s success in terms of ‘the
autumn of 1945’80, also known as ‘the “existentialist offensive” ’ 81. On
this interpretation, Sartre’s public lecture L’existentialisme est un human-
isme82, delivered on 29th October 1945, played a pivotal role in grant-
ing Sartre ‘celebrity status’83—initially in France and eventually across
the world. The main shortcoming of this reading, however, is that, while
remaining largely ‘descriptive’84, it tends to disregard ‘the broader his-
torical context’85 in which the rise of Sartre and existentialism occurred.
To the extent that historical analysis focuses on a snapshot taken in rela-
tion to the autumn of 1945, it fails to account for the importance of
the developments that took place in preceding, as well as in succeeding,
10 S. SUSEN
years—not only in France, but also in other ‘Western’ countries.

Collective efforts to come to terms with the multiple traumatic experi-
ences of the Second World War—which, in the French case, amounted
to a curious mixture of conflicting sentiments such as ‘guilt, pride and
shame’86—posed a tangible challenge to the intellectual landscape on all
sides of the political spectrum. A snapshot view, however, falls short of
doing justice to the complexity of diverse—and, at several levels, inter-
related—historical dynamics.
Third, one may elect to explain Sartre’s success in terms of ‘the relax-
ing of morals’87 as a collectively desired ‘antidote to the repressive years
of Vichy’88. On this understanding, Sartre—not least because of his
fierce opposition to the Vichy regime—epitomized the values, principles,
and practices of those supporting the Résistance against the conserva-
tive values of the morally oppressive and politically opportunistic sectors
of French society. This interpretation is problematic, however, to the
degree that it is based on the misleading assumption that existentialism,
due to its alleged emphasis on the radical freedom pervading the course
of human agency, ‘hardly imposed any burden on the individual’89, and
even less so on the collective conscience of society. Yet, as Baert remarks,
‘[t]o suggest that Sartre’s existentialism was experienced as a licence
for unbridled freedom ignores his strong moral vocabulary at the time
and the centrality of the notion of responsibility’90. Contrary to com-
mon misconceptions, our freedom to make choices means that we—as
rational subjects capable of morally guided behaviour—are responsible for
our actions. Hence, far from making a case for the relaxation, let alone
the rejection, of morals, Sartre’s existentialist philosophy is a systematic
attempt to demonstrate that human beings are accountable for their
decisions and actions.
Fourth, one may prefer to explain Sartre’s success in terms of ‘the
power of generational shifts’91. The underlying supposition of this stance
is the—seemingly plausible—notion that different generations experience
particular socio-political events and trends in a variety of forms. On this
perspective, ‘shared experiences’92 generate ‘similar sensitivities’93—that
is, a sort of common habitus of a Schicksalsgemeinschaft, which may be
defined as a group of individuals united by the collective experience of
the same, or a similar, fate. Surely, the use of the word ‘generation’ as an
‘explanatory concept’94 appears useful, in the sense that it permits us to
account for the dispositional formation of ‘likes and dislikes’95 in terms
of one of the most powerful stratifying variables of social structure: age.
Yet, the ways in which individuals relate to, make sense of, and act upon
the world is shaped by multiple sociological variables—such as class, eth-
nicity, gender, ‘ability’, and age.96 Thus, ‘the notion of generation is too
blunt an instrument to capture the complex relationship between experi-
ence and intellectual sensitivities’97, especially to the extent that it fails
to unearth the intersectional constitution of the human immersion in
the world, which is irreducible to the preponderance of one sociological
determinant. To be clear, this is not to deny the significance, let alone
the existence, of generational shifts; this is to recognize, however, that
it would be reductive to portray the rise of Sartre and existentialism as a
mere expression of a mood change, expressed in the emergence of a new
‘collective psyche’98 in post-war France.
The point, then, is to accept that, while the aforementioned consider-
ations capture significant aspects of a complex constellation of conditions
and circumstances, the analysis of the combination of these elements,
rather than of their ostensibly isolated role, is necessary for a comprehen-
sive understanding of the key factors that contributed to the rise of Sartre
and existentialism.
IV. Baert’s Theoretical Orientation

Baert proposes to distinguish between intellectuals and critics. The for-
mer concept refers to creative individuals who ‘tend to produce relatively
innovative intellectual goods, like plays, novels or philosophical trea-
tises’99. The latter concept designates discursively equipped agents who
‘tend to paraphrase and [to] comment on those products in journals or
newspapers with a relatively wide circulation’100. Far from being reduc-
ible to merely passive or reactive analysts or pundits, critics can take on
the powerful ‘role of gatekeeper[s]’101, capable of either facilitating or
obstructing the distribution of intellectual contributions, depending on
whether they are sympathetically disposed towards or negatively preju-
diced against them.
It would be misleading to associate intellectuals with the realm of
imaginative transcendence and critics with the realm of mind-numbing
immanence, as if they constituted two entirely separate groups of peo-
ple with diametrically opposed tasks and interests. Instead, it is crucial to
recognize that—while they fulfil complementary functions—the distinc-
tion between them is, in practice, somewhat blurred. Indeed, although
Sartre and his followers acted, above all, as intellectuals, they frequently
12 S. SUSEN
adopted the role of critics, especially when commenting on each other’s

contentions and contributions. This tacit role switch works both ways:
critics sporadically generate intellectual outputs for which they claim full
and legitimate authorship, just as intellectuals regularly comment on the
writings of fellow intellectuals—notably in magazines, journals, books,
and serials, but also in public debates, lectures, workshops, and confer-
ences.102
Furthermore, Baert proposes to distinguish between intra-intellectual
arena and public intellectual arena. The former concept describes a rela-
tionally constructed sphere in which ‘professional intellectuals address
mainly other professional intellectuals’103. As such, it delineates a dis-
cursive domain that is, to a large degree, ‘governed by the intellectuals
themselves’104. The latter concept, by contrast, designates a relatively
open realm of exchanges of opinion requiring ‘a degree of validation by
the “consumers” of knowledge as well as the producers’105. By defini-
tion, public intellectuals seek to reach a broad audience of both experts
and laypersons; the success of their ‘output[s] is determined not solely
by intellectuals, but also by the media—professional journalists and com-
mentators—and publishers’106. Consequently, they depend on mecha-
nisms of approval, recognition, appreciation, and legitimation, whose
underlying ideological and logistical parameters lie not only outside their
comfort zone but also, to a significant degree, beyond their control.
In relation to the previous distinction, Baert offers the following
points of clarification:
1. ‘The self-regulatory principle of the intra-intellectual world is epit-

omised by the Humboldtian notion of the university according to
which the academic world is largely managed by the academic pro-
ducers themselves’107. From this perspective, academic life needs to
assert a healthy degree of autonomy in order to avoid being partly
or totally absorbed and colonized by the systemic imperatives of
market-driven and state-administered societies.108 To be sure, both
the commodification and the bureaucratization of almost every
interactional sphere in highly differentiated societies tend to under-
mine the emancipatory resources inherent in the human quest for
individual and collective forms of self-realization based on auton-
omy and sovereignty. In practice, ‘increasing government interfer-
ence, a rising audit culture and budget cuts have meant the gradual
erosion of the Humboldtian vision’109, reinforcing the suspicion of
the systemic colonization of people’s lifeworlds110, including those

spheres—such as the intellectual, scientific, artistic, and academic
fields—which are bastions of human freedom, imagination, and
creativity. One of the remarkable facts about Sartre is that—despite
the precious cultural, educational, and intellectual capital that he
obtained as a student within the academic field and notwithstand-
ing the massive influence that he had upon the development of the
academic field—he ‘never held an academic position’111. One may
speculate whether it was because of or in spite of Sartre’s ‘academic
non-academic profile’ that he did not succeed in reaching ‘a wider
public until the end of the war’112. What is clear, however, is that
he eventually established himself as one of the most prominent
public intellectuals in the history of ‘Western’ civilization.
Baert’s distinction between intra-intellectual arena and public
2.
intellectual arena displays a striking resemblance to Bourdieu’s
conceptual differentiation between ‘the field of restricted cultural
production’ and ‘the field of generalized cultural production’.113
Within the former, ‘producers address other producers and defy an
economic logic’114. In this sphere, what is produced is, to a large
extent, aimed at producers themselves and, hence, at those who
find themselves in the privileged position of being able to make
sense of the normative parameters that are projected upon symbol-
ically codified creations by an exclusivist group of specialists and
gatekeepers. Within the latter, ‘producers address a broader public
and embrace a business model’115. In this sphere, what is produced
is, to a large degree, aimed at non-producers and, thus, at those
who belong to the wider community of ordinary people, who are,
above all, destined to consume cultural goods whose enjoyment—
because it defies complexity—is not hindered by protectionist
codes of snobbish elitism.
3. The intra-intellectual arena has been ‘the subject of extensive
sociological analyses’116, to a larger extent than the public intel-
lectual arena. This far-reaching sociological interest in spheres
of scholarly productions and exchanges is, to a considerable
degree, due to the fact that intellectuals have a tendency to be
obsessed with themselves, thereby breeding the kind of collective
narcissism that is needed to make themselves believe that their
behavioural and ideological modes of functioning are cognitively,
14 S. SUSEN
morally, and aesthetically superior to those produced and repro-

duced by ordinary human beings. The ‘broader underlying ques-
tion’117, however, is ‘under which conditions ideas are likely to
spread from the intra- to the public intellectual arena’118.
In order to uncover the reasons behind the transition from ‘intra-intel-

lectual’ to ‘extra-intellectual’ in the realm of ideas, Baert proposes a shift
in emphasis from ‘text-based’119 methods, which tend to be concerned
with endless exegesis and interpretation for the sake of interpretation,
and personalistic accounts, which tend to be ‘preoccupied with motives
and strategies of individual thinkers’120, as well as idealistic frameworks,
which ‘tend to treat the intellectual field as in relative isolation from
external factors’121, towards a genuinely sociological approach, which
seeks to do justice to the significance of the social conditions of produc-
tion that undergird both the constitution and the evolution of knowl-
edge and belief systems. Such an investigative project, then, endeavours
to study ‘the diffusion of a set of ideas from the intra- to the public intel-
lectual domain’122. It aims to accomplish this not simply in hermeneu-
ticist, personalistic, or idealistic terms, but, rather, by putting forward a
research model that is conceptually, methodologically, and empirically
‘sensitive to the broader institutional and cultural dimensions that have
bearing on the intellectual field’123. By definition, a sociologically reflex-
ive undertaking needs to be open, non-dogmatic, and multifactorial, in
the sense that it ‘avoids imposing too rigid a theoretical framework from
the outset’124 and, furthermore, makes both a conscious and an explicit
‘effort not to exclude a priori any factors that might have been constitu-
tive of the making’125 of the social, political, ideological, or intellectual
movement under scrutiny.
In essence, this posture leads us to Baert’s plea for a theory of position-
ing. The twofold assumption underlying this perspective is that ‘through
their work writers position themselves intellectually’126 and that, moreo-
ver, ‘this positioning affects whether their ideas are taken up by others and,
if successful, how they are adopted’127. To be exact, such a ‘positionist’
approach is based on the following three presuppositions:
1.
Thinkers, researchers, and paradigm-inventers increase the pros-
pect of disseminating their contributions, not only in the intra-
intellectual but also in the public intellectual domain, if their
ideas ‘are “packaged” in terms of a coherent intellectual doctrine
and “labelled”’128. Intellectual ideas—which are mediated by the

dynamic circle of affirmation and negation, proposition and con-
tradiction, construction and deconstruction, private background
preparation and public foreground presentation—appear to stand a
greater chance of capturing, if not colonizing, the public imagina-
tion if they are delivered ‘in a unified fashion and as part of a coher-
ent doctrine’129.
2.
The relative success, consolidation, and spread of an intellec-
tual doctrine depends on the logistical, ideological, institutional,
and—in numerous cases—charismatic capacity of those endorsing
it to establish an efficient, vibrant, and resourceful relationship
‘vis-à-vis the intellectual establishment, the publishing industry
and the critics’130.
3. An intellectual doctrine can enter the public intellectual domain,
and thereby capture significant parts of the Zeitgeist prominent in a
given society, on condition that ‘it manages to resonate with recent
socio-political experiences’131 of particular sectors of the population
and only to the extent that it achieves this in a more convincing,
pioneering, and inspiring fashion than ‘older, established ideas’132.
V. Baert’s Five Central Hypotheses

On the basis of the aforementioned presuppositions, Baert formulates
five central hypotheses, which shall be considered in this section.
1. Ideas spread more rapidly if those who endorse them succeed in

developing ‘intricate connections within the world of critics’133. In
most cases, this requires their advocates to establish ‘a good rap-
port with the journalistic world’134, in whose discursive spaces of
argumentation they seek approval and recognition.
2. Ideas spread more rapidly if hitherto widely accepted—or even
hegemonic—knowledge and belief systems undergo a validity cri-
sis within society, either because they ‘no longer resonate with a
larger public’135 or because their advocates ‘have lost legitimacy or
have diminished authority’136 in terms of their capacity to set the
agenda by determining cognitive parameters of objectivity, norma-
tivity, and perceptibility.
16 S. SUSEN
3. Ideas spread more rapidly, and also more effectively, if they are sys-
tematically promoted and widely disseminated by key players of the
publishing industry, capable of tapping into a dynamic and adapt-
able supply-demand chain of ‘a “high-brow” mass market’137: the
stronger an intellectual’s connections to dominant agents within
the publishing industry, the better his or her chances of establish-
ing him- or herself as a prominent public figure with paradigmatic
influence within the academic field in particular and within society
in general.
4. Ideas spread more rapidly if those who subscribe to them are pre-
pared to make use of supplementary communication and dissemi-
nation channels, such as ‘public lectures and radio or television
appearances’138 as well as, in the ‘digital age’139, social and alterna-
tive media.
5. Ideas spread more rapidly if ‘they resonate with the broader cul-
tural climate among the educated classes’140 and permit large sec-
tions of the cultural elite and/or of the wider population to
identify with them, insofar as they reflect their own concerns, pre-
occupations, and experiences. Irrespective of how sophisticated,
original, insightful, and pertinent a specific set of ideas may be, if
it fails ‘to connect with the recent and present experiences of the
people involved’141 in a particular cultural sphere, it will not man-
age to penetrate, let alone to hegemonize, the collective imagina-
tion of the public intellectual arena, and even less so of the rest of
the population.
Baert is keen to avoid any misunderstandings arising from a misread-

ing of his plea for a positionist approach to the study of Sartre’s suc-
cess story. Drawing attention to the ground-breaking influence of Henri
Bergson’s L’évolution créatrice142, Baert spells out that he is ‘not argu-
ing that Sartre was the first French philosopher to gain public promi-
nence’143. Yet, the rise of Sartre and existentialism in the mid-1940s is
a case in point, since it demonstrates the various challenges attached to
the sociological task of exploring ‘the emergence of the modern notion of the
intellectual’144.
In this context, the Dreyfus affair145—which unfolded in the 1890s
and which, to a significant degree, both triggered and expressed deep
ideological divisions in France between 1894 and 1906—is of paramount
importance, illustrating the centrality of two diametrically opposed concep-

tions of what it means to be an intellectual:
– On the one hand, the so-called Dreyfusards used the term ‘intel-
lectual’ in a positive and affirmative manner. For them, intellectuals
could be conceived of as ‘principled defenders of true French values
of justice and truth’146. On this account, one could and should refer
to them ‘with pride’147, recognizing that they had made, and would
continue to make, invaluable contributions to the development
of knowledge in particular and of human civilization in general.
Following this line of thought, the term ‘intellectual’ took on the
role of ‘a self-congratulatory concept’148, whose empowering con-
notations were confiscated by and mobilized for those who were in
need of scholarly self-justification—namely, intellectuals themselves.
– On the other hand, the so-called anti-Dreyfusards employed the
term ‘intellectual’ in a negative and suspicious manner. Insofar
as they used this label ‘pejoratively and invariably with a sarcastic
undertone’149, they sought to make fun of what they perceived as
‘the intellectualism of intellectuals’150—that is, of a self-sufficient
attitude based on a toxic mixture of vanity, narcissism, and elitism.
In their eyes, intellectuals were socially awkward and self-deceiving
individuals, who—while, as de facto ‘outsiders’151, existing on the
margins of the national community—‘drew on abstract thinking’152,
spoke a private language, and remained caught up in self-sufficient
thought experiments, ‘out of touch with the historical roots’153
of everyday culture shared by ordinary people. According to the
anti-Dreyfusards, most intellectuals were little more than ‘pretend-
ers’154—that is, ‘would-be cultured people’155 specializing in the
art of image management and self-promotion. There was a strong
nationalistic—if not, purist and racist—undercurrent in this mode
of thought, insofar as anti-Dreyfusards assumed that a large number
of prominent intellectuals were ‘of foreign extraction’156, aiming to
cover up the fact that, in reality, they were ‘unable to match the
cultural and aesthetic attributes of those with a long French ances-
try’157.
Eventually, Dreyfusards were triumphant and, consequently, succeeded in

ensuring that the affirmative, rather than the pejorative, conception of ‘the
intellectual’ established itself as a predominant and positive reference point
18 S. SUSEN
in the imaginary of twentieth-century discourses in the humanities and

social sciences, but also, at least to some extent, outside academic circles.
In relation to the aforementioned distinction, Baert makes two addi-
tional observations.
1. When examining the ‘Manifesto of the Intellectuals’158, it is strik-

ing that their professional status appeared to endow them with the
privilege of exerting ‘authority over the wider public’159, implying
that, more generally, they would find themselves in an epistemically
superior position.
2. On both sides of the argument, the intellectual was portrayed as
a discursive as well as an embodied entity, ‘actively engaged in the
world, in particular involved in the politics of the day’160.
Owing to their concern with the ideals of liberté, égalité, and fraternité,
most intellectuals are unambiguously ‘situated on the left of the politi-
cal spectrum’161. Due to their subversive tendencies—expressed in their
commitment to challenging the status quo as well as to questioning estab-
lished behavioural, ideological, and institutional patterns of existence—
,they are ‘anti-conformists who distrust le pouvoir’162. Given their shared
belief in the values of the Enlightenment—epitomized in the Kantian
defence of the emancipatory potential that is presumably inherent in the
civilizational triad of Verstand, Vernunft, and Urteilskraft163—, ‘they
present themselves as the voice of reason against government forces’164,
especially where these amount to arbitrary forms of authoritarian state
power. The notion that intellectuals subscribe to normative agendas moti-
vated by a ‘progressive political commitment’165 has become a common-
place assumption—not only in France, but also in other national contexts.
Indeed, ‘by the mid-1940s the idea of political engagement had become
the new orthodoxy’166, suggesting that intellectuals were expected to
position themselves in relation to current affairs and issues of contention.
The ‘era of the intellectuel engagé’167 had begun.
VI. Baert’s Project:

Overcoming the Deficiencies of Existing Accounts
Baert’s project, pursued in this book, is an ambitious one: it consists,
as he puts it, in ‘explaining intellectuals’168. Thus, the task that he sets
himself is not simply to describe, to analyse, to interpret, or to assess
intellectuals but, in a more fundamental sense, to explain their existence

and, hence, the socio-historical conditions underlying their coming-into-
being. To be exact, he seeks to provide a ‘multi-level explanation’169—
that is, a multifactorial approach that takes into account numerous
aspects that are of constitutive importance in the development of intellec-
tual fields and of their protagonists. Such a ‘broader sociological theory
of intellectuals’170 places particular emphasis on the role of ‘position-
ing’171, as well as on the role of ‘networks and conflict[s]’172, in shaping
not only the creation, evolution, dissemination, and reception of ideas
but also the historical settings within which they can become influential.
As Baert elucidates with admirable clarity and eloquence, the epis-
temic validity of dominant narratives concerning both the constitution
and the function of intellectuals in modern societies suffers from a num-
ber of significant limitations and shortcomings. In this regard, the fol-
lowing five issues are particularly important.
1. The empiricist bias refers to the problem that some studies of intel-
lectuals are insufficiently theoretical. Just as theoreticist accounts
of social agents, structures, and phenomena fall short of engaging
with the empirical dimensions of intellectual fields, their empiricist
counterparts fail to provide conceptually sophisticated frameworks
capable of challenging naïve, stereotypical, and common-sense
understandings of reality. According to Baert, scholars concerned
with the writing of ‘intellectual history’173, rather than with the pur-
suit of a critical ‘sociology of intellectuals’174, are often guilty of this
empiricist bias, especially if they are obsessed with ‘deciphering the
context and depicting the intellectual moves within it’175, instead of
aiming to articulate ‘broader theoretical considerations’176 contrib-
uting to the social-scientific comprehension of significant patterns,
trends, and lines of development. As Baert remarks, however, ‘even
more sociologically inclined authors do not always elaborate on their
theoretical stance’177, shying away from the laborious task of embed-
ding their empirical findings within a solid conceptual architecture.
2. The motivational bias refers to the problems arising from the fact
that some research programmes ‘attempt systematically to uncover
the motivations or intentions behind intellectual interventions’178.
In fact, such a methodological strategy reflects an epistemologi-
cal framework of presuppositions, which is (a) motivationalist,
20 S. SUSEN
in the sense that it seeks to shed light on an intellectual impetus,

(b) intentionalist, in the sense that it aims to expose an intellectual
purpose, and (c) voluntarist, in the sense that it strives to unearth
an intellectual will or desire. In Baert’s eyes, an illustrative example
of this kind of approach can be found in the Cambridge School
of Intellectual History179, which—owing to its ‘emphasis on ‘the
“linguistic” or “ideological context” in which intellectual inter-
ventions take place’180—fails to take into consideration, let alone
to explain, the role of ‘the cultural landscape’181 and of the wider
socio-historical setting within which intellectual ideas, currents,
and paradigms emerge and develop. It is not enough, then, to
study the ‘intellectual milieu’182 within which ideas gain, or fail to
gain, referential currency; it is just as important to scrutinize the
wider societal situation in which an intellectual field is situated.
A crucial analytical mistake consists in taking ‘the meaning of an
intellectual intervention within a given context to be synonymous
with the intent behind it’183, as if its seemingly obvious teleologi-
cal function could be taken at face value. For the sake of epistemic
clarity, it is vital to draw a distinction between, on the one hand,
the impetus, purpose, and desire behind an intellectual interven-
tion and, on the other hand, the effect—or, indeed, the multiple
effects—of an intellectual intervention.184 What matters, from a
pragmatist perspective, are the consequences of an intellectual inter-
vention, rather than the motivations, intentions, or will behind it.

So rather than speculating on what certain intellectuals through
their interventions intend to achieve, we shall see that positioning
theory provides the conceptual tools to investigate how they and
their products might acquire institutional or symbolic (dis)advan-
tages within the cultural and political arenas in which they find
themselves or in which those texts or ideas are appropriated. […]
[T]he theory suggested here opens up conceptual space for the
exploration of the social mechanisms through which some intellectu-
als come to prominence and others do not and, related, certain texts
acquire classical status and others do not.185
Thus, such a positionist account highlights that, whereas it is dif-

ficult, if not futile, ‘to speculate about the motivations behind intel-
lectual choices’186, it is sociologically illuminating to focus on the
effects of intellectual performances, which—unlike hidden inten-

tions or desires—can be empirically studied, if not measured.
3. The structural bias refers to the problems resulting from reductive
‘attempts to explain individual decisions by sociological determi-
nants’187. The ‘soft’ version of this bias is illustrated in the con-
tention that individual decisions are shaped by structural forces,
whereas the ‘hard’ version of this bias is reflected in the claim that
individual decisions are determined by structural forces. To be sure,
one may seek to uncover a variety of structural forces: social, cul-
tural, economic, demographic, political, ideological, or linguistic—
to mention only a few. While, following the Durkheimian tradition
of sociological analysis, social facts can, and should, be examined
in relation to other social facts, this does not mean that—despite
their influence by social forces—individual motivations, intentions,
or desires can be reduced to social facts.188 The importance of this
difference lies at the heart of the Durkheimian distinction between
‘social facts’ and ‘individual instances’.189 It would be erroneous,
then, to explain an intellectual’s philosophical or ideological orien-
tation exclusively in terms of their social background.190 In short,
what needs to be avoided is ‘conflating sociological and individual
explanations’191, that is, providing merely structural explanations
of individual beliefs or behaviours.
4. The authenticity bias refers to the problems attached to the flawed
assumption that ‘intellectuals have a clear sense of their identity
and values, with these self-notions guiding their work and the
choices they make’192. It is tempting to take what intellectuals have
to say about themselves at face value, especially if one sympathizes
with them or finds their work fascinating. Yet, as critical sociolo-
gists, we need to resist the temptation to idealize intellectuals, by
glorifying their works, romanticizing their public and/or private
lives, and hypostatizing their capacity to develop—and to project—
a sense of truthfulness, uniqueness, and genius-like matchlessness.
[T]he authenticity bias is integral to a particular genre of intellec-

tual biography that attributes particular significance to the author’s
self-description as a guide for understanding the various intellectual
moves that he or she made.193
22 S. SUSEN
It is true that most intellectuals construct narratives about them-

selves, which they present both to themselves and to others; one
may even gather evidence to support the suspicion that these narra-
tives ‘shape their creative output’194. This does not mean, however,
that intellectuals constitute entirely self-conscious, as well as behav-
iourally and ideologically coherent, entities, whose endeavours are
expressions of their ‘authenticity’, in the sense that they are totally
in sync with their identities, convictions, values, and worldviews—
let alone, with their everyday behaviour. In order to avoid falling
into the trap of interpretive idealism or romanticism, based on the
naïve belief that intellectuals are the epitome of human authentic-
ity derived from their pursuit of higher meanings through the quest
for enlightenment and creativity, we need to account for the fact
that the intellectual field—similar to other social fields—is a realm of
struggle between asymmetrically positioned agents.

Whether within the academy or outside it, intellectuals operate
within competitive arenas, struggling over symbolic and institutional
recognition and scarce financial resources. It makes a lot of sense
[…] to recognize the extent to which their interventions—whether
through books, articles or speeches—are an integral part of this
power struggle rather than an expression of some deeper self.195
The intellectual field is marked by a permanent struggle for recogni-

tion—no less than other social fields that are shaped by power-laden
dynamics of ranking, competition, and status-acquisition.196 If there
is one defining characteristic of the existence of intellectuals, it is
their immersion in power struggles, that is, in conflicts over access
to symbolic—as well as, increasingly, material and institutional—
resources. From a positionist perspective, it is crucial to estab-
lish, and to defend, ‘a critical distance vis-à-vis the way in which
most intellectuals portray themselves to their audience’197. Such
an approach permits us to question the validity of the potentially
deceiving signals sent by intellectuals’ foreground performances,
focusing instead on the unspoken language of truth that manifests
itself in the—often hidden—background of their ordinary practices.
To the extent that ‘[i]ntellectuals have a tendency to depict their
own intellectual trajectory as untainted by […] material, symbolic

and institutional constraints’198, it is the task of critical sociologists
to demystify the quest for purity and transcendentality by shedding
light on the reified nature of scholastic claims to authenticity.199
5. The stability bias refers to the problems generated by the misleading
presupposition that ‘early formation makes for fixity of somebody’s
subsequent intellectual trajectory’200. This assumption is reflected
in ‘notions of self-concept and habitus’201, endorsed by Neil Gross
and Pierre Bourdieu respectively.202 On this view, there is always a
substantial level of ‘fixity within the project and output of an intel-
lectual’203, which has a tendency to perpetuate itself, thereby dic-
tating the parameters of what is possible, and what is impossible,
within a specific horizon of options. Yet, we must resist the desire
to attribute a sense of all-encompassing and eternal consistency to
intellectual trajectories, based on how a scholar presents and ‘sees
him- or herself’204 and the—in many cases, mystifying—ways in
which ‘he or she wants to be seen and remembered’205 when seek-
ing to acquire the status of a ‘classic’. As Baert insists, ‘it is rare for
intellectuals to stick to a single self-concept or coherent project through-
out their lives’206. Just like ordinary agents, intellectuals have to
invent and to reinvent themselves, not only because they may get
bored if they remain caught up in the same mode of thinking, but
also because, to the degree that they claim to be in touch with the
different Zeitgeister of the present, they need to adjust to the con-
stantly changing challenges by which they are surrounded. Hence,
most intellectuals have a tendency to ‘reinvent themselves, articu-
lating new outlooks and taking on new positions’207 within their
field of expertise in particular and within the wider arena of society
in general. It is no accident, then, that it is common to distinguish
between an ‘early’ and a ‘late’ phase when trying to make sense of
the contributions made by a particular thinker (famous examples,
in this respect, are Karl Marx and Ludwig Wittgenstein). Being an
intellectual requires immersion in a horizon of constantly shifting
relations, expectations, and positions. Indeed, it is Baert’s convic-
tion that one of the key advantages of positioning theory is that it is
‘able to capture shifts of this kind’208.
24 S. SUSEN
VII. Performative Positioning and Positional Performance

Drawing upon speech act theory, positionist approaches focus on the
extent to which words, ideas, and discourses—rather than simply ‘rep-
resenting or mirroring the external world’209—‘accomplish things’210.
Far from serving a merely constative, affirmative, or mimetic function,
linguistic expressions fulfil a performative role. Utterances are performa-
tive, in the sense that they ‘do something’211, have an impact upon the
world, and construct reality in one way or another. Over the past century,
‘fewer and fewer philosophers thought it fruitful to conceive of language
as copying the external world’212, insisting that ‘language is an act which,
like any act, does something’213. In light of this paradigmatic transition in
the second half of the twentieth century, there has been a shift away from
representationalist accounts of knowledge and correspondence theories
of truth towards constructivist and interpretivist epistemologies.214
It is in this spirit that Baert proposes to undertake a ‘performative
turn for the theorizing of intellectuals’215. In accordance with this endeav-
our, the performative logic that permeates the functioning of language
pervades, in a similar fashion, the unfolding of intellectual interventions.
On this account, it is crucial to examine ‘what intellectual interventions
do and achieve rather than what they represent’216. As Baert points out,
such a performativist conception of intellectuals may, at first glance,
appear counterintuitive, in the sense that ‘we tend to think of intellectual
tracts as somehow representational’217—that is, we are inclined to ‘see
them as reflecting on the world (or reflecting on the representations of
others) rather than acting on it’218.
In short, Baert makes a case for a theoretical stance that may be char-
acterized as—simultaneously—pragmatist, performativist, and positionist:
1. It is pragmatist, in the sense that it centres on intellectual practices,

that is, on what intellectuals do and how their interventions impact
upon reality.
2. It is performativist, in the sense that it focuses on intellectual
performances, that is, on the roles that intellectuals take on and
through which they act in particular ways.
3. It is positionist, in the sense that it is concerned with intellectual
positioning, that is, with the ways in which intellectuals situate
themselves in relation to others, as well as with the ways in which

they are situated—on the basis of processes of recognition, legiti-
mation, and social ranking—by others.
For instance, an academic journal article—irrespective of how abstract,

specialist, impenetrable, or esoteric it may appear—‘does a wide range of
things’219, and it does so on various levels and, potentially, in relation to
different agents directly or indirectly involved: ‘for the author, for the
authors cited, for the discipline’220, for the readership, for the language
in which it is written, for the development of knowledge, for the aca-
demic field—in short, for the world.
The previous reflection leads us from the pragmatist and performa-
tivist aspects to the positionist dimensions of Baert’s analysis. The term
positioning, as it is employed here, ‘indicates the process by which cer-
tain features are attributed to an individual or a group or some other
entity’221. As such, it designates a course of action that involves the assig-
nation of meaning performed by an individual or a collective subject
capable of judgement and recognition in relation to others. Positioning
is an act of placing: within a particular field of the social universe, agents
seek to place themselves, while being placed by other agents. Acts of
positioning can be performed consciously or unconsciously, deliberately
or unintentionally, calculatedly or inadvertently. Thus, human agents are
equipped with the capacity ‘to alter how they represent themselves and
how they locate others’222. Acts of positioning, however, are often car-
ried out by intuitively guided performers, who are—to a large extent—
‘unaware of the illocutionary force’223 that undergirds their practices.
For Baert, positioning theory is inconceivable without a paradigmatic
shift in emphasis from the structuralist concern with stability, constancy,
and determinacy to the action-focused interest in fluidity, irregularity,
and indeterminacy:
Whereas explanations in terms of rules and roles denote stability, position-

ing theory acknowledges fluidity—the ongoing changes in how people
identify themselves and position others.224
Positioning theory has been applied—extensively—to the study of per-

sonality formation (at the micro-level), face-to-face interactions (at the
meso-level), and international relations and politics (at the macro-level).
26 S. SUSEN
Yet, the literature, one finds only a few examples in which it has been
systematically employed for the sociological exploration of the intellec-
tual realm. In order to avoid falling into the trap of the ‘individualistic
bias’225, however, it is vital to examine the dynamic of positioning in
relation to the ‘social setting’226 in which it takes place, thereby account-
ing for the fact that—on several levels—it constitutes ‘a collective
endeavour’227—that is, a collective practice, performance, and projection.
VIII. Positioning:
The Dialectics of a Tension-Laden Process
Baert’s starting point is a simple one: all intellectual interventions—
irrespective of whether they are articulated by means of writing, speaking, or
artistic expression, such as music or painting—‘involve positioning’228. For
Baert, the concept of intellectual intervention refers to ‘any contribution to
the intellectual realm, whether it is in the form of a book, an article, a blog,
a speech or indeed part of any of these (say, a passage or a sentence)’229.
Notwithstanding whether or not they are aware of the situatedness underly-
ing their contribution, ‘such intervention locates the author(s) or speaker(s)
within the intellectual field or within a broader socio-political or artistic
arena’230. In other words, positioning constitutes an integral component of
intellectual interventions. According to Baert, intellectual statements bring
about two types of effects: (1) the positioning itself and (2) the dissemination
of ideas, which may reinforce or undermine an agent’s career and his or her
chances of obtaining ‘symbolic and institutional recognition’231.
Positioning, then, needs to be understood in terms of both endoge-
nous and exogenous agency: on the one hand, there is ‘an “agent” , mak-
ing the intervention and doing the positioning’232; on the other hand,
there is ‘a “positional party”, being attributed certain features’233.
Regardless of whether we are dealing with an individual subject or with a
collective subject, all carriers of intellectual interventions depend on both
endogenous and exogenous forms of agency. In cases of self-position-
ing234, ‘the agent and positioned party coincide’235, giving him or her
the opportunity to choose where exactly he or she wishes to be placed
within an intellectual field. Yet, self-positioning cannot be dissociated
from the positioning of other agents.236
One of the most effective forms of positioning is anti-positioning. In
fact, taking a position in opposition to another position—which may be
associated with a particular intellectual current, paradigm, or set of assump-

tions—can be a source of strength. Thus, ‘it is often in relation to a posi-
tioned party other than oneself—for instance, by contrasting one’s own
position with those of other individual(s) or a group—that self-positioning
is at its most effective’237. In intellectual circles, the willingness to challenge
another epistemic position, or various other epistemic positions, forms a
central element of the creation of a presuppositional stance.
Positioning can be achieved both subtly and overtly:
• Subtle forms of positioning are essential to intellectual practices that

are directly or indirectly constrained by repressive external political
forces—as, for instance, in absolutist, authoritarian, or dictatorial
regimes. In addition, they can be vital to intellectual interventions
whose authors wish to remain anonymous or do not wish to be
brought into connection with what they may perceive as the cogni-
tive straitjacket of one specific viewpoint or mode of thought.
• Overt forms of positioning are particularly common in introductory,
as well as concluding, sections of articles, books, and speeches, in
which intellectuals are given the opportunity to situate themselves
and their interventions in relation to other scholars.238
The invention of intellectual labels is tantamount to the creation of schol-

arly brands:
Intellectuals often use labels to flag their own position. These labels tend
to capture the core idea in a succinct fashion. […] Of course, intellectu-
als use labels not just to refer to themselves but also [to refer] to others,
sometimes with the aim of criticizing or ridiculing their work. […] The
introduction of a label can facilitate the dissemination of ideas, but the clar-
ity of its meaning and its distinctiveness might be undermined once others
start subscribing to the same label.239
In Baert’s view, two forms of positioning are particularly important:
1. intellectual positioning, which locates the agent within the intellec-

tual field; and
2. politico-ethical positioning, which requires the agent to take ‘a
broader political or ethical stance’240, going beyond the narrow
limits of the intellectual sphere.
28 S. SUSEN
To the extent that this conceptual distinction is based on two ideal-types,

however, it is important to point out that, ‘[i]n practice, intellectual
positioning and political-ethical positioning tend to be intertwined’241.
Furthermore, these two forms of positioning may overlap with other
forms of positioning (such as artistic positioning, aesthetic position-
ing, ethnic positioning, cultural positioning, etc.). As Baert perceptively
remarks, ‘a politically charged climate can lead to the blurring of the dif-
ference between politico-ethical and intellectual positioning’242. In such
an atmosphere, thinkers and commentators may feel obliged to take a
stance in relation to key issues, thereby illustrating that the seemingly
most disinterested, neutral, and unbiased pursuit of scholarly activity can-
not be divorced from the ideological presuppositions to which its pro-
tagonists consciously or unconsciously subscribe.
IX. Positioning: Performative

Tools, Narratives, and Argumentation
1. Performative Tools
Performative tools can be defined as ‘material and symbolic means that
enable an effective intervention’243. From a sociological point of view,
it is crucial to conceive of intellectual products as performative, in order
to account for the multiple ‘material and symbolic props and devices that
help to bring about effectively the intervention or positioning’244. In
order for a publication of a book or a journal article to have an impact
on the field of intellectual productions, for example, it is essential that
the publishers develop and employ marketing strategies. The influence
of an intellectual output depends not only on the symbolic power of its
author but also, to a large extent, on the prestige of the publisher. In the
case of Sartre, this is obvious, given his personal connections with lead-
ing editors at Gallimard.
Metaphorically speaking, ‘vitamin C’—that is, ‘vitamin connection’—
constitutes a vital element in the career of an intellectual. Sartre’s abil-
ity to capitalize on his connections in multiple fields—above all, in the
fields of philosophy, literature, theatre, journalism, and politics—permit-
ted him to carve a niche for himself as a transdisciplinary public intellec-
tual. The unequal distribution of performative tools is embedded in the
establishment of formal and informal hierarchies that involve the explicit
or implicit ‘ranking of research institutions, publishers and journals’245

as well as of the languages in which their outputs are written. If a textual
contribution is made and published in one of the hegemonic languages
of the contemporary humanities and social sciences (that is, in English,
French, or German), it is more likely to be read and taken seriously by an
audience of legitimizing agents than if it is produced in a non-hegemonic
language (such as Basque, Catalan, Finish, Araucano, or Mapudungun—
to mention but a few).
2. Narratives
Narratives, as they are developed in the intellectual field, can be con-
ceived of as ‘relatively coherent stories that accompany and make pos-
sible effective positioning’246. Intellectuals, similar to other agents, can
produce both small narratives and grand narratives: the former refer to
context-dependent stories, emphasizing the particularity and irreducibil-
ity of local developments in a given society; the latter stand for context-
transcendent stories, making a claim to universality and generalizability
of developments in relation to the course of human history.247 The inti-
mate relationship between the construction of narratives and processes
of positioning permeates people’s symbolically mediated involvement in
reality:
Positioning depends not just on what the narrative explicitly states, but
also on what it implies and, crucially, what it leaves out. Narratives often
involve recollections and reconstructions of the past, ranging from an indi-
vidual’s trajectories to societal pasts.248
Within the intellectual field, narratives that emerge out of dynamics of

positioning can make reference both to the past (for instance, by making
‘claims about “cultural trauma”’249) and to the future (for example, by
proclaiming ‘a new beginning […], a new life or a more just society’250).
Hence, a choice has to be made between what is included in and what is
excluded from the story that is being told.
3. Argumentation
Argumentation constitutes a discursive process oriented towards the
presentation and elaboration of reasons invoked in order to justify a
30 S. SUSEN
stance, belief, conviction, opinion, or narrative. Within the intellectual

field, the construction of narratives hinges on carefully crafted forms
of argumentation, comparable to those one encounters in the judicial,
political, and journalistic fields:
Positioning and narratives draw on argumentation, especially in the intel-

lectual field. It is through arguments that intellectuals differentiate them-
selves from others or associate themselves with them. In contrast with other
forms of positioning in which visuals and unconscious associations play
a significant role (e.g. advertising of a product) , intellectual positioning
stands or falls with explicit arguments. […] Particularly prevalent in intel-
lectual positioning are meta-arguments.251
In essence, meta-arguments are arguments about arguments. Given the

existential significance attached to the role of developing, articulating, and
exchanging arguments, intellectuals—notably those with pronounced nar-
cissistic tendencies—may seek to acquire a quasi-religious status, providing
them with the opportunity to set the agenda in their respective interac-
tional fields in particular and in society in general, even if—and, often,
especially when—they claim to be ‘secular intellectuals’252. The remark-
able discursive influence of prominent ‘preaching’ intellectuals can have
proselytizing effects, to the degree that they seek to ‘lecture’ different
members of society about the vital ingredients of ‘the good life’.
X. Positioning: A Relational Affair

By definition, positioning constitutes a relational affair. Consequently,
an intellectual intervention involves a specific form of positioning to the
extent that it takes place within a field of social agents, who may, or may
not, take note of, reflect upon, and respond to it. According to Baert,
three aspects underlying this relational logic are particularly important:253
The individual254: The effects that an intellectual intervention may,

1.
or may not, have are contingent upon the status and symbolic power
of the individual responsible for it. If, for instance, two agents carry
out very similar, or even identical, intellectual interventions, these
may be perceived differently and trigger uneven effects, depending
on how and where they are positioned—in terms of status, power,
capital, resources, connections, influence, standpoint, trajectory, and
reputation—in the social space. Put differently, validity claims are
legitimacy claims.255 The epistemic validity attached to an intellectual

statement by a readership or an audience is subject to the degree of
social legitimacy attributed to it on various levels: ‘Who?’ (author), ‘To
whom?’ (addressee), ‘When and where?’ (spatiotemporal context), as
well as ‘How?’ (medium). To the extent that these variables differ, an
intellectual intervention will have an impact in one form or another.
2. Other individuals256: The effects that an intellectual intervention
may, or may not, have are shaped by the role of ‘other individuals
at play within the same field’257. For this reason, rather than con-
ceiving of intellectuals as atomized agents, we need to acknowledge
that they are interdependent: ‘[s]hifts in the positioning of other indi-
viduals affect our positioning and self-positioning’258. In the case of
Sartre, it is impossible to understand his shifting positions within the
intellectual field without taking into account his relation to other
‘key players’—such as Karl Marx (1818–1883), Friedrich Nietzsche
(1844–1900), Ferdinand de Saussure (1857–1913), Émile Durkheim
(1858–1917), Martin Heidegger (1889–1976), Maurice Merleau-
Ponty (1908–1961), Simone de Beauvoir (1908–1986), Claude
Lévi-Strauss (1908–2009), and Michel Foucault (1926–1984).
Context259: The effects that an intellectual intervention may, or
3.
may not, have hinge on ‘the specific intellectual or socio-political
context’260 in which it takes place. The ‘historically rooted sensi-
tivities’261 shared by particular groups of agents are embedded
within spatiotemporally contingent settings. Thus, the aforemen-
tioned relationship between an individual and other individuals is
always context-dependent. This is reflected in the fact that ‘the same
intellectual intervention might generate different positioning when
transposed to different contexts’262. The context-dependence of
intellectual interventions is indicative of the relativity permeat-
ing all claims to epistemic validity. Noteworthy, in this respect, is
the fact that how intellectuals are perceived, and how their works are
received, is largely beyond their control. The most refined techniques
of image- and impression-management cannot do away with the
contingency that pervades not only the contents but also, crucially,
the effects of intellectual outputs. Hence, ‘even when intellectuals
are involved in carefully constructed or calculated positioning and
self-positioning, not all effects of their intellectual interventions
are within their control’263. Depending on what kind of audiences
32 S. SUSEN
they reach, ‘intellectual interventions can amount to very different

forms of positioning and self-positioning’264. Posthumous assess-
ments of scholarly contributions are a striking example of the fact
that the works of an intellectual can be interpreted and reinter-
preted in accordance with the normative agendas pursued by other
intellectuals in diverging spatiotemporal contexts.265 In some cases,
intellectuals—similar to many artists—are given the credit they
deserve only after their death; frequently, this happens on the basis
of posthumously published works.266 To be sure, retrospective
assessments can lead to harsh judgements concerning the contribu-
tions made by intellectuals who, because they are no longer alive,
are deprived of the opportunity to defend themselves.267
XI. Positioning: Cooperation and Individualization

As stressed by Baert, in most cases, a cumulative effort of numerous
attempts is required in order for a scholarly contribution to have a tangi-
ble impact on the intellectual field or, possibly, on other social fields.
It is rare for a single intellectual intervention to bring about the desired

effect. In most cases several interventions—often repeating the same posi-
tion—are necessary to get a message across.268
Of course, one may think of various exceptions. Each ‘big thinker’ tends
to be associated with a magnum opus, which may represent the main—
and, in some instances, ground-breaking—work that paved the way for
a successful career and, in cases of distinction, for a place among the
‘classics’ and ‘game changers’ in a particular discipline. From a relation-
alist perspective, however, it appears that not even repeated intellectual
interventions—either on one topic or on multiple topics—will suffice for
a scholar to establish him- or herself, because his or her position in the
field ‘depends on so many other agents’269 and, indeed, on several addi-
tional variables, two of which are especially significant:
1.
Intellectual positioning is inconceivable without intellectual
networks. Similar to other webs of social relations, intellectual
networks—since they are generated and sustained by various
agents—are in a constant state of flux and potentially complex.
The networks of an intellectual comprise a large number of agents, who

engage with him or her and confirm his or her positioning, even if they
disagree or are overtly hostile. […] The status and recognition of intel-
lectuals are dependent partly on where they are acknowledged (in which
journals or book series), and who precisely acknowledges them (what is
their positioning and status).270
An intellectual’s position within a network of fellow intellectuals,
then, is the product of his or her immersion in struggles for status
and recognition.
2. Intellectual positioning is inconceivable without intellectual teams.
Intellectual teams are more confined than intellectual networks,
in the sense that their members ‘actively cooperate in positioning
themselves, for instance, by grouping around a school or research
programme, often using a label which makes their work and
agenda immediately recognizable’271. Hence, in line with Michael
Farrell’s concept of ‘collaborative circles’272, teams of this kind can
be described as ‘intense, small groups of innovative artistic and
intellectual endeavour’273, whose members are united by a shared
set of ideas, principles, and practices as well as, in some cases, by
a common institutional basis. Within the intellectual field, team
membership is a double-edged sword:
– On the one hand, it can strengthen one’s position in the field,
especially if one occupies a dominant position within an influ-
ential current or school of thought.
– On the other hand, it can weaken one’s position in the field,
particularly if one occupies a marginal position within a periph-
eral current or school of thought.
In any case, positioning within a team through a field and position-
ing within a field through a team can be regarded as indispensable
components of intellectual life, constituting ‘an ongoing achieve-
ment’274, in the sense that a participant’s place in the intellectual
universe has to be constantly affirmed and reaffirmed in order to
obtain any normative currency.275
Yet, just as intellectuals rely on processes of collaboration, they depend

on processes of individualization:
34 S. SUSEN
Teams capture the cooperative side of intellectual life, but what we call
‘individualization’ is equally intrinsic to the realm of intellectuals. By
intellectual individualization, we refer to the process by which intellectuals
distinguish themselves from others, making themselves look different from
them and possibly unique. Individualization is achieved through care-
ful self-positioning and positioning, differentiating oneself from others. It
may involve conflict because the act of differentiating tends to take place
through criticisms of others. This is not to say that individualization and
teamwork are necessarily mutually exclusive: intellectuals might collaborate
with other team members to emphasize their distinct stance and to elabo-
rate on how this stance differs from that of others.276
In short, collaborative and individuative practices represent two com-

plementary dynamics in intellectual life. A peculiar phenomenon in this
respect, which highlights the power-ladenness of the intellectual field, is
that, ‘[i]n general, the more secure and established one’s position, the less
one needs to rely on teamwork and the more likely one will press for intellec-
tual individualization’277. This performative imbalance is due to the fact
that socially recognized and institutionally protected intellectuals tend
to enjoy a greater degree of material and symbolic autonomy than those
who are only just ‘entering the game’ or those who have been ‘playing
the game’—or, rather, ‘trying to play the game’—for a while but without
much success and who, hence, find themselves in highly volatile, depend-
ent, and potentially precarious situations.
In light of the previous reflections, we can conclude that at least five
main parties are involved in the positioning process: (1) the intellectual
him- or herself as an individual; (2) team members; (3) field or network
members; (4) members of other social fields, notably of the political and
journalistic fields; (5) members of the general public and, in an even larger
sense, of society as a whole.
XII. Baert’s ‘Paradigm Shift’
1. The Hermeneutics of Positioning

As Baert spells out, we face a number of serious philosophical and meth-
odological issues278 when reflecting upon what we may describe as ‘the
hermeneutics of positioning’. Particularly important in this regard
are intellectual forms of ‘intentional positioning’279, which reveal the
‘premeditated nature of intellectual interventions’280. Conscious and
explicit modes of positioning are vital to the differential unfolding of

intellectual life in the modern era:
Almost every formal presentation of new intellectual work begins with a

‘position statement’ identifying the work on which it builds, the work that
complements and supports it, and the work by other authors that it con-
tradicts or supersedes.281
In essence, position statements express the intellectual’s need to take a

stance and place him- or herself within a field of expertise and in relation
to other scholars. Indeed, when providing a credible justification for the
relevance and originality of a piece of research submitted for peer review,
position statements—which are usually included in the introductory and
concluding sections of a manuscript—are a precondition for publication.
Conscious and explicit positioning is ‘built into the modern scientific
and social-scientific paper’282, whose authors are expected not only to
spell out how it relates to other—already published—studies but also to
explain the extent to which it challenges and goes beyond contributions
previously made within the field of expertise in which it is placed.283
Wary of any attempts to overstate the role of motives behind intel-
lectual interventions, Baert suggests that ‘the solution lies in abandoning
a vocabulary of intentions for a vocabulary of effects’284. Notwithstanding
the various sociological implications of this consequentialist perspec-
tive, Baert’s ‘hermeneutics of positioning’ places a strong emphasis on
the interpretive and meaning-laden dimensions permeating the ways in
which intellectual works are produced as well as received:
[…] the study of an author’s positioning needs to be accompanied by a her-

meneutic understanding of the experiences, concerns, and hopes of the audi-
ence within the socio-political context at the time.285
Given their spatiotemporally contingent constitution, ‘intellectual inter-

ventions “travel” from one context to another’286 and trigger different
reactions in different places and at different times. Two methodological
remarks are crucial when trying to make sense of Baert’s proposed para-
digm shift from a ‘vocabulary of intentions’ to a ‘vocabulary of effects’287:
a. Stability: Positioning theory seeks to provide a convincing expla-

nation for the relative stability that appears to pervade most
36 S. SUSEN
intellectual careers and trajectories. To be clear, positioning theory

aims to avoid the aforementioned ‘stability bias’, which—argu-
ably—weakens the quality of Gross’s and Bourdieu’s respective
interpretations of the intellectual field. It endeavours to accomplish
this by accounting ‘for a certain element of fluidity in how intel-
lectuals project themselves and how they locate others’288. It would
be erroneous, however, to assume that there is endless room for
developmental flexibility. In fact, it is ‘rare for intellectuals to rein-
vent themselves on a regular basis’289—partly, because they would
lose credibility if, every few years, they sought to shift from one
paradigm to another, making them appear unstable and volatile;
and, partly, because it usually takes a substantial amount of time
to develop a solid set of ideas and principles within a given field,
making it hard to create, and to subscribe to, numerous intellectual
approaches in a single lifespan, especially if they are diametrically
opposed to one another.
b. Evolution: Positioning theory seeks to provide a convincing expla-
nation for the ‘evolutionary logic’290 permeating the intellectual
field.291 In this sense, positioning theory constitutes a research
programme that ‘explores the selective advantages or disadvantages
for the agents and for the intellectual interventions’292. Similar
to many other social fields, within the intellectual field, agents
relate to one another in terms of a contradictory dialectics of col-
laboration and competition. Irrespective of whether one favours
Darwinian or Lamarckian (or any other) accounts of evolution293
when examining social interactions, it is difficult to overlook the
fact that, within the intellectual field, an agent’s fate is decided, to
a large extent, by an underlying logic that may be described as ‘the
survival of the fittest’. The constant struggle for access to mate-
rial and symbolic resources shapes the value-, interest-, and power-
laden ways in which agents relate to one another in the intellectual
field. One of the most interesting issues in this regard remains the
question of ‘why some intellectual interventions are rewarded and
diffused and others are not’294 and, thus, why some intellectuals
are more influential than others.
As Baert points out, processes of positioning and repositioning involve

both costs and risks. To the extent that ‘positioning is not a one-off
event, but an ongoing achievement’295, which can, from time to time,

require a significant degree of repositioning, it may turn out to be costly
for those undertaking it. To the extent that ‘repositioning might be
noticed by other intellectuals who might demand justification’296, those
seeking to accomplish it might be obliged to take serious reputational
risks. Indeed, according to Baert, ‘radical repositioning is rarely attained
without loss of credibility’297, as it may appear hardly justifiable, espe-
cially if an intellectual decides to shift towards a position that is, at least
on the face of it, diametrically opposed to the position that he or she pre-
viously endorsed.
The more the intellectual is known, the more likely the repositioning will
have to be accounted for. In sum, repositioning entails reputational risks.
Both factors—the costs and the reputational risks—explain why repositioning
tends to be found among either firmly established intellectuals, such as ten-
ured academics, or those who are just starting off and have not yet publicly
cemented their position.298
In other words, repositioning constitutes a process that may be under-

taken either by established scholars or by newcomers; it may have mul-
tiple consequences, depending on where an agent is positioned in the
intellectual field (and, for that matter, in other social fields) when initiat-
ing the process of redefining his or her objective, normative, and/or sub-
jective place in the universe.
2. A Tripartite Typology of Intellectuals

Baert aims to scrutinize the conditions underlying the ‘transformation
of the public intellectual’299. Faced with this challenge, he makes it clear
that, in his view, the analytical emphasis needs to be placed on effects,
rather than on intentions:
There is no need to resort to arguments about intentional positioning. The

effects speak louder than words: regardless of Sartre’s intentions, his intellec-
tual interventions gave him symbolic recognition and helped the diffusion
of his ideas.300
The effects > intentions formula underpins Baert’s entire study. On his
account, it is because of the effects that a thinker’s presence may have
38 S. SUSEN
on the intellectual field in particular and on the public sphere in gen-

eral that some varieties of being a ‘public intellectual’ are viable in one
context but not viable in another; an intellectual’s intentions are largely
irrelevant to his or her field-specific positioning. In order to understand
both the rise and the demise of Sartre and existentialism, then, it is nec-
essary to take into consideration the fact that he ‘was a particular type
of public intellectual’301 and, more specifically, to concede that the kind
of public engagement for which he stood during the time of his success
‘is no longer quite as viable today as it was back then’302. With the aim
of illustrating this in further detail, Baert proposes to distinguish three
modes of positioning, which are—ultimately—epitomized in three types
of intellectuals: (a) authoritative public intellectuals, (b) expert public
intellectuals, and (c) embedded or dialogical public intellectuals.
a. Authoritative public intellectuals rely on, as well as represent, ‘high

cultural capital’303. They tend to be trained in, to build upon,
and to contribute to high-profile disciplines, such as philosophy,
thereby—consciously or unconsciously—perpetuating the ‘inside-
outside divide’304 sustained by paradigm-driven gatekeepers and
protagonists of particular academic fields and subfields. Typically,
they find themselves in the advantageous position of being able
to draw upon the material and symbolic resources to which they
have access due to their ‘very privileged background’305. Given
their prominent and privileged position within society, authorita-
tive public intellectuals ‘can oppose the establishment without ever
substantially losing status or authority’306. Since they usually grap-
ple with a wide range of issues, some of which are characterized by
a profoundly inter- or transdisciplinary nature, they are inclined to
address a large variety of topics and questions ‘without being experts
as such’307—mainly, because the scope of the subjects they cover
is, in many cases, extraordinarily vast. In terms of their positioning
within hierarchically structured fields and subfields, they have a ten-
dency to ‘speak from above—at, rather than with, their audience’308.
Thus, they appear to have a somewhat condescending attitude—not
only towards ordinary members of society, but also towards fellow
intellectuals. For the right or the wrong reasons, they are thought of
as possessing ‘a strong moral voice’309, making judgements and rec-
ommendations about the normative parameters underlying defensi-
ble ideological, behavioural, and institutional patterns.
Authoritative public intellectuals tend to be particularly success-

ful in societies in which intellectual contributions are significantly
valued and, hence, have currency beyond the sphere of specialists in
the humanities and social sciences. Another precondition for their
triumph, however, is reflected in the existence of socio-protectionist
mechanisms that guarantee that ‘cultural and intellectual capital is
concentrated within a small elite’310, permitting its select members
to ‘thrive in a hierarchical educational context’311. Educational hier-
archies manifest themselves in multiple oppositions: elite universi-
ties versus average universities, public institutions versus private
institutions, high-status disciplines versus low-status disciplines—
to mention only a few.312 The competitive advantage that most
authoritative public intellectuals have is that, unlike other intellectu-
als, they can exist ‘independently of academic appointments because of
independent resources’313, which they can mobilize not simply to get
by but, crucially, to enhance their careers.
Traditionally, authoritative public intellectuals have been attributed
sufficient amounts of symbolic power, enabling them to express their
opinion on ‘a wide range of social and political issues without being
criticized for dilettantism’314—not only because their privileged back-
grounds tend to equip them with plenty of self-confidence, embed-
ded in a habitus whose raison d’être is based on entitlement, but also
because, in many cases, they are assigned the role of the charismatic
leader by other members of society. The intimate link between epis-
temic validity and social legitimacy is epitomized in the emergence of
high-profile intellectuals, who enjoy sufficient symbolic authority to
express their opinion on almost any subject and are granted significant
levels of credibility even in relation to topics on which they possess no
expert knowledge, let alone a formal degree or certified competency.
The early part of the twentieth century, especially in parts of Europe, fits
this ideal type remarkably well. It was the era of the philosopher as a pub-
lic intellectual.315
Therefore, the question that poses itself is to what extent the socio-
historical conditions facilitating the rise of the authoritative public
intellectual have changed in recent decades. Seeking to respond to
this question, Baert draws attention to a number of key develop-
ments, which shall be considered in subsequent sections.
40 S. SUSEN
b. Expert public intellectuals are driven by the mission to gener-

ate ‘professional knowledge’316. Their task consists in developing
codified epistemic frameworks that can be understood, first and
foremost, by specialists who are equipped with the conceptual,
methodological, and—in some cases—empirical tools that are nec-
essary to comprehend, and to contribute to, the quasi-private lan-
guage games of experts. To be clear, expert public intellectuals are
not necessarily disconnected from the tangible dimensions of social
reality. In order to elucidate this point, Baert refers to three influ-
ential social and political thinkers.
i. In the 1970s, Michel Foucault—while grappling with the
multifaceted constitution of power relations in human societies—
conceived of himself as a ‘specific intellectual’317, who was, by
definition, committed to a ‘focused and expert-driven engage-
ment’318 with reality.
ii. In the 1990s, Pierre Bourdieu—while launching a political
attack on neoliberalism—proposed to use the power of social
science to shed light on both the causes and the consequences
of marginalization, discrimination, and pauperization.
Throughout his career, especially over the past few decades,
iii.
Noam Chomsky—while converting himself into ‘a public fig-
ure as an expert on and critic of American foreign policy’319—
crossed the bridge between linguistics and politics, taking
radical and provocative positions, albeit for different reasons, in
both disciplines.
What these examples illustrate is that intellectuals can be world-
renowned experts in a particular field and, at the same time,
exhibit a genuine commitment to contributing to the progressive
transformation of social reality. Authoritative public intellectuals
found themselves in the privileged position of being able to ‘exert
influence outside their specialist subject entirely through demon-
strated intellect and educational prowess’320 as well as, in many
cases, through a sense of entitlement and symbolic power. By con-
trast, expert public intellectuals rely, almost exclusively, on special-
ist ‘intellect and acquired knowledge’321 when seeking to mobilize
their material and symbolic resources in the pursuit of a wider
normative project, aimed at having a progressive-transformative

impact upon society.
c.
Dialogical public intellectuals ‘do not assume a superior stance
towards their publics’322, since, in principle, they stand on an equal
footing with everyone else. This does not mean that they cannot
possess a significant amount of (i) authority on or (ii) expertise in a
particular domain of knowledge. This implies, however, that they
place the emphasis on (iii) dialogue with different members of the
wider public. Instead of ‘dictating an ideological agenda or impos-
ing a political direction’323 on society, they seek to engage in non-
dogmatic forms of reciprocal communication with citizens and
non-citizens from all walks of life. Arguably, in the contemporary
age, there has been a decisive move away from (i) authoritative and
(ii) expert towards (iii) dialogical public intellectuals.
Today, increasingly, intellectuals engage with their publics in a more

interactive fashion, partly because of the technologies which make
this dialogical format now possible and to a certain extent blur the
distinction between public intellectuals and their publics; and partly
because, with higher educational levels, the publics are no longer will-
ing to accept entrenched hierarchies as they once did.324
This dialogical approach is exemplified in Michael Burawoy’s conception

of a ‘public sociology’325, which is founded on an unambiguous com-
mitment to a ‘critical engagement with the non-academic world’326. On
this account, the challenge consists in establishing ‘an intellectual and
social partnership between the sociological researchers and the communi-
ties they serve, whereby both parties are willing to learn from each other
and [to] collaborate, while striving for a common political goal’327. If this
endeavour is taken seriously, then the relationship between intellectual
and non-intellectual members of the public is conceived of not in terms
of an insurmountable gulf between ‘epistemic superiority’ and ‘epistemic
inferiority’ but, rather, in terms of a mutually empowering project based
on trust, reciprocity, and solidarity—and, therefore, on openness towards
the possibility of learning from one another by overcoming discrepancies
of understanding derived from narrow-mindedness, complacency, and
self-referentiality.
42 S. SUSEN
3. Paradigmatic Changes
a. Developments within and outside Philosophy

The first set of changes concerns major developments both within and
outside philosophy. The most remarkable shift in the balance of discipli-
nary power, in this respect, is the fact that ‘philosophy has lost to a cer-
tain extent its previous intellectual dominance’328. In other words, the
assumption that philosophy constitutes ‘the queen of knowledge’ and,
hence, a master discipline that stands above all other forms of inquiry
has come under attack and is, arguably, no longer tenable.329 In fact, it is
due to significant developments not only outside philosophy—in particu-
lar, the spread and professionalization of both the natural sciences and
the social sciences—but also within philosophy—notably, the influence of
postmodern and neopragmatist approaches—that its hitherto hegemonic
position has been severely undermined.330 The increasing influence of
the social sciences, however, appears to be the crucial factor challenging
the erstwhile preponderant position of philosophy in the intellectual field
in particular and in the wider domain of systematic knowledge produc-
tion in general. Baert puts this eloquently as follows:
The social sciences have emerged as a significant force and have professional-
ized, making it more difficult for philosophers or others without appropriate
training and expertise in the social sciences to make authoritative claims
about the nature of the social and political world without being challenged.
The massive expansion of the ranks of professional social scientists means there
are now lifelong specialists in the areas that public intellectuals used to
comment on who are better placed to contest such ‘generalist’ interven-
tions as uninformed and superficial.331
One may add to this consideration that, reflecting upon the status of phi-
losophy as a discipline, we are confronted with a curious paradox:
– On the one hand, philosophy represents a ‘timeless’ discipline, to

the extent that it makes intellectual contributions that claim to pos-
sess transcendental validity.
– On the other hand, philosophy constitutes a ‘time-laden’ discipline,
to the extent that large parts of its intellectual contributions possess,
at best, a degree of spatiotemporally contingent legitimacy.
Insofar as all forms of knowledge production are context-laden, value-

laden, meaning-laden, perspective-laden, interest-laden, and power-
laden332, the dream of epistemic transcendentality amounts to little
more than a pretentious, but ultimately untenable, ambition of scho-
lastic philosophy. In an age whose social, political, and environmental
developments are increasingly shaped by the tangible impact of empirical
research in the natural and social sciences, such a dream constitutes an
illusory narrative of the past.
b. The Blurring of the Boundaries between Experts and Laypersons

The second set of changes concerns the epistemic relationship between
experts and laypersons. Traditionally, it has been assumed that there is a
profound gap between, on the one hand, the specialized knowledge pro-
duced by scholars, academics, and professional researchers and, on the
other hand, the common-sense knowledge employed by ordinary people.
Yet, in light of the rising ‘high educational levels for larger sections of
society, the erstwhile distinction between an intellectual elite and the
rest no longer holds to quite the same extent’333. In postindustrial soci-
eties, in which—arguably—knowledge, information, and science play a
greater role than ever before in human history, the disparity between ‘the
enlighteners’ and ‘the to-be-enlightened’ is less and less pronounced.
With higher education also comes a growing scepticism towards epistemic

and moral authority, an increasing recognition of the fallibility of knowledge
and of the existence of alternative perspectives. Speaking from above and
at their audience, as authoritative public intellectuals do, is no longer as
acceptable as it used to be.334
The rise of social and alternative media is experienced as an individu-

ally and collectively empowering phenomenon by those who do not shy
away from challenging traditional sources and channels of cognitive, nor-
mative, and aesthetic authority. To insist on the fact that, in principle,
every ordinary agent capable of speech and self-justification is equipped
with purposive reason (Verstand), normative reason (Vernunft), and
critical reason (Urteilskraft) means to advocate a universalist—that is,
intersubjectivized—conception of epistemic faculties. While ‘the dialogi-
cal and democratic potential of the new social media’335 should not be
overestimated, let alone idealized or fetishized, there is no doubt that the
rise of ‘glocalized’ grassroots forms of communication has significantly
44 S. SUSEN
contributed to the ‘“democratization” of public intellectual interven-

tions’336, thereby challenging the legitimacy of traditional—and, to a
large degree, institutionally consolidated—epistemic hierarchies.
c. The Waning Influence of ‘Philosophical Systems’

The third set of changes concerns the fact that ‘there has since been a
growing disquiet about “philosophical systems” such as Marxism in whose
name numerous authoritarian regimes have been established and legiti-
mized’337. Arguably, the rise of postmodernism in the 1990s can be con-
ceived of as an immediate expression of the crisis of Marxism, which—as
even its fiercest critics have to admit—constitutes one of the most influ-
ential metanarratives of modernity.338 In Baert’s view, free-market ide-
ologies have been ‘equally fanatical about the desirability of its utopian
vision and equally adamant that an inevitable march of history would
sweep across the globe’339. Irrespective of what one makes of Francis
Fukuyama’s announcement of ‘the end of history’340, and regardless of
how one assesses the failures and contributions, as well as the norma-
tive defensibility, of major political ideologies of the modern age, one
does not have to be a postmodernist to concede that, although metanar-
ratives have far from disappeared, they play a less foundational—and, at
the same time, a more hybridized—role in most contemporary ‘Western’
societies than they used to in the past.341 As a consequence, in ‘the era
of micronarratives’342, public intellectuals are less likely to take mono-
ideological positions than they were in ‘the age of extremes’343.
Second Part:
Critical Reflections on
Baert’s Account of Intellectuals
The above reflections should make clear that Baert has produced an
impressively methodical, insightful, and enlightening account of the vari-
ous conditions shaping both the constitution and the development of the
intellectual field in the modern era. His proposal for ‘explaining intellec-
tuals’344 is of unprecedented quality and of considerable originality, espe-
cially with the regard to his plea for a paradigm shift from a ‘vocabulary
of intentions’ to a ‘vocabulary of effects’345. It is equally important, how-
ever, to grapple with the limitations and shortcomings of Baert’s analysis.
It is the purpose of the following sections to attend to this critical task.
I. Intersectionality
One striking shortcoming of Baert’s approach is that it does not include
a systematic consideration of the ways in which intellectual life is substan-
tially shaped by the intersection of central sociological determinants—
such as class, status, education, social networks, ethnicity, nationality,
‘race’, language, gender, sexual orientation, age, and ‘ability’. Not all but
most influential intellectuals of the twentieth and early twenty-first cen-
turies fall into the following categories:
– class: middle or upper class

(average or high amount of dominant economic capital)
→ classism
– status: privileged

(high amount of dominant symbolic capital)
→ protectionism
– education: well-educated and well-trained

(high amount of dominant educational capital)
→ elitism
– social networks: well-connected

(high amount of dominant social capital)
→ nepotism / favouritism
– ethnicity: ‘Western’, predominantly European or North American

(high amount of dominant ethnic capital)
→ ethnocentrism / Eurocentrism
– nationality: British, Canadian, US-American, German, French,

Spanish, or Italian
(high amount of dominant national capital)
→ methodological nationalism / national chauvinism
– ‘race’: white

46 S. SUSEN
(high amount of dominant ‘racial’ capital)

→ cultural / institutional racism
– language: Anglophone, Germanophone, Francophone, Hispanophone,

or Italianophone (or a combination of these)
(high amount of dominant linguistic capital)
→ linguistic chauvinism
– gender: male / malestream

(high amount of dominant gender capital)
→ cultural / institutional sexism
– sexual orientation: heterosexual

(high amount of dominant sexual capital)
→ heteronormativism
– age: middle-aged or old-aged

(high amount of dominant generational capital)
→ ageism
– ability: predominantly ‘able’ / ‘abled’

(high amount of dominant performative capital)
→ ableism
Given the far-reaching significance of the aforementioned sociologi-

cal variables, it is crucial not only to examine the role of each of these
dimensions in shaping the intellectual field, but also to shed light on the
extent to which their intersectional constitution contributes to the devel-
opment—that is, success or failure—of intellectual careers.
II. (in-) Commensurability

Throughout his book, Baert seeks to argue for the uniqueness of
the case of Sartre—notably, in terms of his legacy and his mas-
sive impact within and beyond the intellectual field. Yet, to claim that
‘[t]he amount of sustained media attention and his political influence in

France and abroad has been unrivalled’346 is questionable. The names
of prominent twentieth-century intellectuals spring to mind: Simone de
Beauvoir (1908–1986), Michel Foucault (1926–1984), Noam Chomsky
(1928–), Jürgen Habermas (1929–), Pierre Bourdieu (1930–2002),
Jacques Derrida (1930–2004), Ulrich Beck (1944–2015), Nancy Fraser
(1947–), Slavoj Žižek (1949–), and Judith Butler (1956–)—to mention
only a few. Similar to Sartre, they can be regarded as high-ranking and
world-renowned public intellectuals whose works have had, and con-
tinue to have, a considerable impact on contemporary social and political
debates, especially in ‘Western’ societies.
III. Interpenetrability
To conceive of ‘the field’ as ‘any system of social relations that has its
own logic’347 means to miss out on its power-laden dimensions. From
a Bourdieusian perspective, ‘the field’ constitutes a relationally struc-
tured realm in which agents—who occupy objectively externalized posi-
tions and acquire subjectively internalized dispositions—are immersed
in a constant struggle for access to material and symbolic resources. The
idiosyncratic logic underlying the reproduction of a field is vital to its
capacity to distinguish itself from other interactional microcosms within
the societal macrocosm. Yet, the power-ladenness of a field—that is, the
extent to which the interactions taking place within it are asymmetrically
structured and, thus, shaped by unequal access to resources for action—
is central to the multifaceted ways in which social struggles continue to
play a pivotal role in the development of human—including intellec-
tual—affairs.348
Baert gives a highly differentiated account of the complex historical
relationship between the ‘literary field’ and the ‘academic field’. More
specifically, he argues that, in nineteenth-century France, the cultural
arena was divided between these two fields.349 One problem with this
contention is that it portrays both the literary field and the academic field
as the two principal sub-fields of the cultural field. Natural scientists—but
also numerous social scientists, as well as scholars working in the human-
ities, including philosophers—will find it difficult to subscribe to the
assertion that they are conducting research in the cultural field. While
Baert is right to state that the literary field and the academic field can be
interpreted as ‘separate fields, each with its own logic’350, his twin claims
48 S. SUSEN
that ‘[i]t is only in the course of the twentieth century that the two fields
started to intersect, and [that] few people managed to combine the
requirements to excel in both fields’351, are problematic.
In fact, the literary field and the academic field began to intersect in the
early modern period—if not, long before then. There are manifold exam-
ples of intellectuals who were—albeit, admittedly, to varying degrees—
well equipped, and creatively immersed, in both fields:
René Descartes (1596–1650), Blaise Pascal (1623–1662), Gottfried

Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716), François-Marie Voltaire (1694–1778),
Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1978), Immanuel Kant (1724–1804),
Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803), Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(1749–1832), Henri de Saint-Simon (1760–1825), Johann Gottlieb
Fichte (1762–1814), Alexander von Humboldt (1769–1859), Georg W.
F. Hegel (1770–1831), Karl Marx (1818–1883), and Friedrich Nietzsche
(1844–1900).
Arguably, this also applies to the aforementioned twentieth-century intel-

lectuals:
Simone de Beauvoir (1908–1986), Michel Foucault (1926–1984), Noam

Chomsky (1928–), Jürgen Habermas (1929–), Pierre Bourdieu (1930–
2002), Jacques Derrida (1930–2004), Ulrich Beck (1944–2015), Nancy
Fraser (1947–), Slavoj Žižek (1949–), and Judith Butler (1956–).
In various disciplines in the humanities and social sciences (above all, in

the ‘discursive’ ones, such as literature, philosophy, historiography, soci-
ology, anthropology, cultural studies, and political science), influential
scholars need to demonstrate that they are able to draw upon both the
‘literary field’ and the ‘academic field’, by combining and cross-fertilizing
the conceptual and methodological tools available in each of them.
A related conceptual problem arises from the fact that in some sec-
tions Baert insists upon Sartre’s ability to master the rules of both the
‘literary field’ and the ‘academic field’352, whereas in other sections he
draws attention to Sartre’s skilfulness in thriving in both the ‘literary
field’ and the ‘philosophical field’353. This conceptual inconsistency, how-
ever, is not insignificant, since the terms ‘academic field’ and ‘philosophi-
cal field’—insofar as they refer to two different states of affairs—should
not be used interchangeably. Not every academic is a philosopher, and

not every philosopher is an academic.
This conceptual inconsistency put to one side, rather than affirming
that ‘Sartre’s popularity can be explained mainly by his unprecedented
ability to stand out in those two genres, using them as complementary
channels for his ideas, as he managed to compete successfully in both the
literary and [the] philosophical fields’354, we need to recognize that there
are numerous examples of intellectuals who have built their careers by
relying on their capacity to shine in both of these areas, as well as in both
academic and non-academic spheres of life.
IV. Diversity
Overall, one gets the impression that, in Baert’s analytical framework,
there is little—if any—place for intellectuals from ‘non-traditional’—
notably, humble or socially deprived—backgrounds. Indeed, on his account,
it appears almost impossible that people with limited (or at least initially
limited) material and symbolic resources, especially those from marginal-
ized sectors of society, stand any realistic chance of converting themselves
into intellectuals, let alone into prominent public intellectuals.
For instance, when examining the ‘sharp division between novelists
and professors’355, Baert contends that ‘[t]he former were often self-
funded and invariably came from privileged backgrounds, whereas the
latter went through the meritocratic channels of the École normale’356.
The Darwinist sense of ‘meritocracy’ underlying the French education
system is, of course, highly problematic to the degree that, in practice,
it perpetuates the logic of social privilege and entitlement, even though
its official rhetoric—which centres around notions of liberté, égalité,
and fraternité, based on a canonical belief in the universal rights of all
members of humanity—suggests otherwise.357 Irrespective of how one
assesses the relative merits and failures of the French educational system
(and, for that matter, of other educational systems), the sociologically
challenging question that poses itself in the context of this inquiry con-
cerns the extent to which—against all odds—some individuals from non-
privileged backgrounds are able to gain access to sufficient volume of
capital (such as cultural, symbolic, and social capital) permitting them to
convert themselves into serious—and, in exceptional cases, into influen-
tial public—intellectuals. The fine-grained complexity of Baert’s account
indicates that he does not deny this possibility.358 Yet, there is little in the
50 S. SUSEN
way of conceptual and empirical room for the rise of successful intellectu-
als from non-traditional—that is, non-privileged—backgrounds in Baert’s
theoretical framework.
More specifically, the issue that needs to be explored, in this respect,
concerns the question of the degree to which individuals from relatively
or completely disempowered social groups can convert themselves into
low- or high-profile intellectuals. What needs to be studied, then, is the
extent to which it is possible for agents who—at least initially—score low
on crucial forms of capital (such as economic, symbolic, educational,
social, ethnic, national, ‘racial’, linguistic, gender-specific, sexual, gen-
erational, and performative capital) to transform themselves into low-
or high-profile intellectuals. As critical sociologists, we need to face up
to the fact that intellectuals who can be described in terms of one (or a
combination) of the following characteristics are in the minority:
– ‘member of the working class’;

– ‘member of a lower-status group’;
– ‘receiver of basic formal education, acquired in a low-income insti-
tution’;
– ‘citizen without access to privileged social networks’;
– ‘member of a non-hegemonic ethnic group’;
– ‘citizen—or former citizen—of a non-“Western” and developing
country’;
– ‘non-white’;
– ‘speaking and writing in a non-European language’;
– ‘female’;
– ‘LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and/or transgender)’;
– ‘young adult’;
– ‘mentally and/or physically disabled’.
There is no point in taking this reflection too far. It poses a sociologically

relevant problem, however, in the sense that it obliges us to scrutinize the
role that social backgrounds play in the lives and careers of intellectuals.
V. (Socio-) Historicity
Baert posits that one of the principal problems with Boschetti’s approach
is that it tends ‘to ignore the wider socio-political context’359 in which
intellectuals either manage or fail to thrive. This omission, he maintains,
‘makes it difficult for her to explain why the rise of Sartre and existen-
tialism occurred during this particular period—not before, not after’360.
Hence, rather than treating ‘the intellectual sphere as a relatively autono-
mous unity’361, it is vital to examine the ways in which it is shaped by
multiple ‘socio-political factors outside’362 itself. It would be a methodo-
logical mistake, then, to follow an ‘individualistic logic’363, which pre-
vents the critical researcher from accounting for the ‘broader societal
developments that impinged on the cultural sphere’364 in general and on
the intellectual sphere in particular.
Baert may be right to accuse Boschetti of falling short of paying ade-
quate attention to the idiosyncratic socio-historical conditions in post-
war France, including their far-reaching implications for the development
of the intellectual field in the same country. He appears to overlook,
however, that one of the main objectives of Bourdieusian studies of intel-
lectuals is to shed light on the socio-historical conditions of production
under which they operate.365 In fact, Bourdieusian approaches tend to
be suspicious of scholastic frameworks of analysis366, rejecting them for
failing to conceive of social actions and social structures in terms of field-
specific dynamics, let alone in terms of wider historical developments
and trends. Baert announces that his own approach aims to ‘explain the
relative solidity of positioning more sociologically’367. It gets hardly any
more sociological, however, than in Bourdieu’s writings and the accounts
offered by those who have followed in his footsteps (such as Anna
Boschetti, Neil Gross, and Randall Collins).368
VI. Narrativity
Baert provides a comprehensive and systematic overview of ‘four of
the most recurrent narratives’369 explaining the rise of Sartre. While the
points he makes in this section are remarkably compelling, it is not evi-
dent which authors actually advocate these four perspectives. In addition
to failing to spell this out, Baert does not provide any bibliographical refer-
ences that would permit the reader to locate the textual sources in which
these positions are being methodically defended. Baert states that ‘there
are plenty of secondary sources on Sartre that drop tentative hypothe-
ses as to his success without elaborating or properly defending them’370.
What remains unclear, however, is not only which particular secondary
sources make insufficiently substantiated claims concerning Sartre’s influ-
ence, but also how exactly they fall into the ‘four of the most recurrent
52 S. SUSEN
narratives’371 identified by Baert. Given the centrality of these four

interpretations of Sartre for the construction of Baert’s own theoreti-
cal framework, this shortcoming is not insignificant. Even those who are
sympathetic to Baert’s approach may legitimately object that, in this sec-
tion, he is dealing with four nameless straw men.
VII. Autonomy
Baert asserts that ‘[t]he self-regulatory principle of the intra-intellectual
world is epitomised by the Humboldtian notion of the university accord-
ing to which the academic world is largely managed by the academic
producers themselves’372. Yet, this reflects a misrepresentation of the
Humboldtian conception of the university. Instead of implicitly por-
traying Humboldt as a Luhmannian systems theorist373, we need to
acknowledge that, on his account, universities—far from constituting
autopoietic systems—fulfil a wider societal function, which consists in
forming cognitively competent, morally conscientious, and aesthetically
appreciative individuals, who are capable of contributing to the construc-
tion of ‘the good society’ on the basis of their purposive, normative, and
evaluative resources, acquired within a humanistic education system. Of
course, for Humboldt, the ideal of academic autonomy is crucial to an
educational apparatus that is not entirely colonized by the administra-
tive logic of the state and the commodifying logic of the market. Yet, in
Humboldt’s eyes, educational institutions—at all levels—should be con-
ceived of as interconnected organs of the collective body called ‘society’.
Put differently, from a Humboldtian perspective, there is no Bildung
des Individuums (education of the individual) without the Bildung der
Gesellschaft (education of society), and vice versa.374
VIII. Heterogeneity
On the face of it, Baert is right to suggest that ‘ideas are more likely to
spread from the intra- to the public intellectual domain if they are “pack-
aged” in terms of a coherent intellectual doctrine and “labelled” ’375. Thus,
in principle, anything that helps to present a set of ideas ‘in a unified
fashion and as part of a coherent doctrine’376 will contribute to promot-
ing them in terms of an overarching intellectual programme. We must
not lose sight of the fact, however, that some currents of thought have
been extraordinarily successful although—or, perhaps, because—they are
amorphous and contradictory as well as, to a considerable extent, inter-

nally fragmented.
– One may examine the ‘major’ political ideologies of modernity:

anarchism, communism/socialism, liberalism, conservatism, and
fascism. Arguably, all of them have been significantly shaped by
intellectual thought, even if we admit that some of their variants—
especially in the case of right-wing ideologies—tend to be anti-intel-
lectualist. Moreover, one may scrutinize the ‘sub-major’ political
ideologies of modernity: for instance, nationalism, feminism, and
environmentalism. Again, all of them have been profoundly influ-
enced by intellectual thought. All of these ‘major’ and ‘sub-major’
ideologies, however, are internally fragmented.377
– In order to comprehend the tangible impact of intellectual ideas
upon the development of modern societies, one may distinguish five
main types of metanarrative: (1) political metanarratives, (2) philo-
sophical metanarratives, (3) religious metanarratives, (4) economic
metanarratives, and (5) cultural metanarratives. All of these types of
metanarrative are internally fragmented.378
– One may find several examples in the humanities and social sciences
that highlight their fragmented nature. An obvious paradigm illus-
trating this point is ‘postmodernism’, a label with which numerous
researchers—notably philosophers, social methodologists, sociolo-
gists, historians, and political scientists—of the late twentieth cen-
tury are associated, in many cases against their will and as ‘reluctant
participants’.379 One may consider other intellectual currents within
the humanities and social sciences: structuralism and poststructural-
ism, idealism and materialism, constructivism and realism, interpre-
tivism and positivism—to mention only a few. These traditions of
thought are internally fragmented, creating manifold ‘sub-schools’
and ‘sub-canons’.380
What Baert’s study does not explore are the implications of the follow-
ing—counterintuitive—insight: paradoxically, the absence of unambigu-
ous forms of packaging and branding of intellectual ideas may contribute to
their rise and success, rather than to their demise or failure. Granted, in the
vast majority of cases, the art of packaging and branding determines the
54 S. SUSEN
survival or extinction of intellectual ideas. Some intellectual ideas are even

more fascinating and often even more influential, however, when it is dif-
ficult to pigeonhole them.
IX. Imaginary
For Baert, in order for a doctrine ‘to enter the public intellectual
domain’381, it needs ‘to resonate with recent socio-political experi-
ences’382. This assumption is problematic insofar as the term ‘reso-
nate’ can mean different things to different agents in different contexts.
Furthermore, we may turn Baert’s contention upside down: in some
cases, the success of a paradigm—in terms of its capacity to occupy
an influential discursive place in the public intellectual domain—may
depend on its capacity not to resonate with recent socio-political experi-
ences. For instance, postmodernism has not simply echoed but also dis-
torted major socio-political experiences made by individual and collective
agents in the late twentieth century, by portraying the confluence of con-
sumer capitalism and neoliberalism—owing to the massive post-1989
legitimacy crisis of Marxism—as ‘the only game in town’.383
As Baert himself concedes, the important aspects of a narrative are to
be found not simply in what is being said, but, crucially, in what is not
being said.384 Thus, a critical reading of intellectual paradigms needs to
expose their misconceptions, misperceptions, misrepresentations, mis-
constructions, and misinterpretations as much as the numerous points
in which they get it right. It is often because of their distortive func-
tions, rather than because of their capacity to provide objective accounts
of reality, that intellectual paradigms can become prominent, especially
when taking their audience and readership further away from, rather
than closer to, what genuinely matters in terms of their day-to-day
immersion in reality. The distortive functions of intellectual paradigms
can be just as vital to their capacity to capture their followers’ imagi-
nation as their purposive, normative, and evaluative potential. In brief,
intellectual paradigms, and those inventing or propagating them, must
be, at least partly, distortive in order to be successful, praising their own
achievements and playing down those of other—above all, rival—cur-
rents of thought.
X. Intellectuality
Baert formulates five hypotheses on the conditions under which ‘ideas
spread more rapidly’385. One fundamental problem with these hypoth-
eses, however, derives from the fact that Baert fails to specify what kind
of ideas he has in mind. Although it should be clear from the textual
context in which these hypotheses are articulated that he is referring to
intellectual ideas, his five central statements are, in the current wording,
ambiguous. To be precise, the formulations ‘ideas spread more rapidly
if’386 (1st and 2nd hypothesis), ‘ideas spread more effectively if’387 (3rd
hypothesis), ‘ideas are more likely to spread if’388 (4th hypothesis), and
‘ideas will disseminate more effectively if’389 (5th hypothesis) should
state explicitly that they are intended to claim validity with respect to
‘intellectual ideas’. The point is not to be pedantic about the exact phras-
ing of these hypotheses; rather, the point is to recognize that, without
this conceptual specification, the five hypotheses formulated by Baert
are untenable, since they apply mainly—if not, exclusively—to intel-
lectual ideas, that is, they do not apply to other types of ideas (such as
ideas based on common sense, on dogmas and traditions of everyday
life, on religious belief systems, and so forth). Put differently, Baert’s five
hypotheses, far from being applicable to any kind of ideas, can be empiri-
cally verified in relation to intellectual ideas only. Given the significance
of this terminological imprecision, the difference between ‘intellectual
ideas’ and ‘non-intellectual ideas’ needs to be spelled out.
XI. Ideology
Baert is right to suggest that, typically, l’intellectuel is ‘situated on the
left of the political spectrum’390 and that there is a legitimate tendency
to regard intellectuals as ‘anti-conformists who distrust le pouvoir’391.
Even if we share this view, however, we need to acknowledge the fact
that there are numerous right-wing intellectuals in the public sphere in
general and in the academic field in particular. Unsurprisingly, they come
in different forms and emerge in different realms. In principle, they can
be found in all academic disciplines, although in some disciplines (such
as sociology, anthropology, and social work) they tend to be more mar-
ginalized than in others (such as political science, business studies, and
management studies).
56 S. SUSEN
The fact that there is hardly any place for right-wing intellectuals in
Baert’s study makes the explanatory scope of his account more limited
than it otherwise could have been. The analytical challenges arising from
this issue can be summarized as follows:
1. How do we explain the striking imbalance between, on the one hand,

the abundance of left-wing—or, at least, left-leaning—intellectuals
(broadly conceived of as ‘progressive’ or, in their radical variants, as
‘revolutionary’) and, on the other hand, the scarcity of right-wing—or,
at least, right-leaning—intellectuals (broadly conceived of as ‘conserv-
ative’ or, in their radical variants, as ‘reactionary’)?
2. Following on from the previous question, is there an inherent ten-
dency in the intellectual field both to attract and to produce left-wing
or left-leaning individuals? If so, is this the case because most intellec-
tuals aim (a) to reflect critically on the constitution of the social world,
(b) to reject categorically any arbitrary systems of domination, and (c)
to contribute universally to the betterment of the human condition?
3. How do we explain, on a case-by-case basis, that some academic
disciplines are more likely, and others less likely, to attract—or to
produce—either left-wing / left-leaning or right-wing / right-lean-
ing intellectuals? In other words, what is it about the ‘epistemic
spirit’ that appears to make them prone to drawing in thinkers with
particular sets of ideological credentials? More specifically, it is pos-
sible to make—seriously tenable—universal claims about tenden-
cies of ideological preponderance in relation to particular academic
disciplines? Or, are ideological trends within a discipline, in the
long run, volatile and unpredictable?
4. How do we explain, on a case-by-case basis, that some political
ideologies are more likely, and others less likely, to attract—and,
indeed, to be theoretically and practically developed by—intellec-
tuals? What is it about the ‘normative spirit’ that appears to make
them prone to being founded on a more or less complex intellec-
tual architecture? More specifically, it is possible to make tenable
universal claims about tendencies of intellectual preponderance in
relation to particular ideologies?
– Typically, left-wing major political ideologies (such as anarchism
and communism/socialism) tend to be considered ‘intellectual’
or even ‘intellectualist’, whereas right-wing major political ide-

ologies (such as conservatism and fascism) tend to be regarded
as ‘anti-intellectual’ or even ‘anti-intellectualist’. Centre-ground
major political ideologies (such as liberalism) tend to be con-
ceived of as ‘intellectually inspired’ without being ‘intellectualist’.
– The picture gets more complex if one includes ‘sub-major’ political
ideologies (such as nationalism, feminism, and environmentalism).
Arguably, all of them possess a strong intellectual component, while
also comprising a pronounced anti-intellectual outlook insofar as
they express scepticism towards overly theoreticist (that is, abstract
and disconnected) ways of relating to, and making sense of, social life.
The main questions that we face in light of these complexities
can be synthesized as follows: Are these stereotypical ways of
conceptualizing the link between political ideologies and intel-
lectual thought, to a significant extent, justified? If so, how can
these differences be explained?
5. Where do we draw the line between ‘intellectual’ and ‘non-intellec-
tual’ thoughts, ideas, and principles? The answer to this query is
crucial, as it will determine how we respond to the preceding ques-
tions. Only insofar as we are explicit about the qualitative specific-
ity of intellectual modes of relating, and attributing meaning, to the
world will we be in a position to make insightful assertions about
the role of intellectuals with respect to the aforementioned ten-
sions: (a) ‘left’ versus ‘right’, (b) ‘emancipation’ versus ‘domination’,
(c) ‘academic commitment’ versus ‘political commitment’, (d) ‘intel-
lectual ideologies’ versus ‘non-intellectual ideologies’, and—more
generally—(e) ‘intellectual’ versus ‘non-intellectual’.392
XII. Theory
Baert posits that ‘studies of intellectuals are often insufficiently theo-
rized’393 and that, more specifically, ‘[o]ne tends to associate the lack of
an explicit theoretical underpinning more with intellectual history than
with sociology of intellectuals’394. The reason for this, he contends, is that,
unlike the latter, ‘the former is supposed to be more preoccupied with
deciphering the context and depicting the intellectual moves within it than
with broader theoretical considerations as such’395. As a closer look at
these two research traditions reveals, however, numerous inquiries within
58 S. SUSEN
the area of intellectual history, although some of them are indeed rather
descriptive, tend to examine the genealogy of ideas in a conceptually
sophisticated and theoretically informed fashion.396 In fact, as Baert con-
cedes, ‘even more sociologically inclined authors do not always elaborate
on their theoretical stance’397.
What is more significant, however, is that sociological accounts of
intellectuals—while they may draw upon theoretical frameworks to
explain or to interpret developments in the intellectual field—in many
cases fail to engage with the substance of the contributions made by the
figures whose lives they study. For example, in relation to a different
issue, Baert mentions Bourdieu’s analysis of Heidegger.398 The irony of
Bourdieu’s account of Heidegger may be described as follows: although
it provides useful field-theoretic tools to shed light on Heidegger’s
position within the academic field in mid-twentieth century Germany,
Bourdieu’s analysis lacks agenuine engagement with the concep-
tual depth, let alone with the major philosophical contributions, of his
oeuvre. In short, both in intellectual history and in the sociology of intel-
lectuals one finds manifold investigations that—since they suffer from
an ‘empiricist’ or a ‘descriptivist’ bias—are not sufficiently informed, let
alone guided, by theoretical considerations concerning either the wider
socio-historical circumstances in which ideas develop or the substance of
the ideas themselves (or a combination of these two deficits of critical
analysis).
XIII. Fallacy
Baert identifies ‘five recurring problems’399 that, in his view, under-
mine the quality of existing studies of intellectuals: the empiricist bias,
the motivational bias, the structural fallacy, the authenticity bias, and the
stability bias.400 Two issues immediately spring to mind, however, when
reflecting on the validity of Baert’s conceptualization of these limitations.
First, it is not clear why Baert characterizes four out of five issues as
forms of ‘bias’401 and only one of them as a ‘fallacy’402. The point is
not to make a case for the rigid view that an argument can be coher-
ent only to the extent that it is terminologically consistent—that is, in
this case, semantically homological. Rather, the point is to acknowl-
edge not only that the terms ‘bias’ and ‘fallacy’ describe two very dif-
ferent states of affairs, but also that the latter has much more profound
implications for the validity of a particular explanatory account than
the former. If an argument or approach is permeated by a specific type

of ‘bias’, its validity is not completely undermined. If, by contrast, an
argument or approach suffers from a ‘fallacy’, its validity can hardly be
sustained. The question that poses itself in this regard is why we should
assume that Baert’s third issue—the ‘structural’ one—deserves to be
described as a fallacy, whereas the other four issues do not. The reader is
left in the dark as to why this is the case. It seems to me that, in relation
to the aforementioned ‘five recurring problems’403, Baert’s terminologi-
cal choice merits a few words of explanation.
Second, it is far from evident why Baert characterizes only one out
of five issues as a form of ‘ism’ (‘empiricist’)404—that is, with a suffix
denoting a doctrine—, whereas the other issues are described with stand-
ard adjectives (‘motivational’ and ‘structural’)405 and standard nouns
(‘authenticity’ and ‘stability’)406. Given that, arguably, every form of
bias contains a motivational component (especially in the development
of an explanatory approach), and given that every fallacy comprises vari-
ous structural dimensions (particularly within a sociological account con-
cerned with the interplay between different social forces), it would have
been more appropriate to characterize these sources of bias as ‘motiva-
tionalist’ and ‘structuralist’, respectively. The reader is not given the
luxury of clarification concerning this conceptual differentiation. Once
again, it would have been useful if this terminological incongruity had
been accompanied by a brief elucidation.
XIV. Sociality
When scrutinizing what he calls the ‘structural fallacy’407, Baert states
that this form of misjudgement consists in attempting ‘to explain indi-
vidual decisions by sociological determinants’408. Drawing upon
Durkheim’s Rules of Sociological Method409, he goes on to affirm that,
according to the conceptual framework proposed in this ground-break-
ing study, ‘social facts ought to be explained and predicted by other social
facts’410 and that, crucially, such a ‘sociological explanation did not extend
to individual facts’411. This contention is problematic for at least two
reasons.
1. Baert does not provide definitions of the concepts ‘social facts’ and
‘individual facts’, which would have been useful to understand the
exact differences between these two states of affairs.
60 S. SUSEN
2.
Baert seems to overlook one of the main objectives underlying
Durkheim’s analysis, which consists in demonstrating that seem-
ingly ‘individual facts’ (such as suicide) and seemingly ‘individual
acts’ (such as committing suicide) actually constitute ‘social facts’
and ‘social acts’ to the extent that they are profoundly shaped by
social forces.
The following remark, which he makes in this context, is equally mislead-

ing: ‘while he [Durkheim] thought that levels of societal integration and
regulations explain and predict suicide patterns, he realized that they do
not account effectively for an individual suicide’412. As Durkheimian
scholars may object, the opposite is the case. The principal purpose of
Durkheim’s four-dimensional typologization of suicide—(1) ‘egoistic sui-
cide’, (2) ‘altruistic suicide’, (3) ‘anomic suicide’, and (4) ‘fatalistic sui-
cide’—is to illustrate the extent to which human acts that, at first glance,
appear to have a merely individual motivational and behavioural structure
are, as a thorough sociological examination reveals, profoundly shaped by
social (notably, cultural, political, economic, and historical) forces.413
Hence, when criticizing prominent sociological accounts—as the ones
developed by Perry Anderson and Neil Gross414—for ‘conflating socio-
logical and individual explanations’415, Baert is right to be wary of ‘sociol-
ogistic’ attempts to explain almost everything—including an intellectual’s
preference for a particular doctrine—in merely sociological terms. Yet, to
the extent that, as Durkheimians convincingly insist, all aspects of human
existence—including those that may appear to be ‘subjectively’, or even
‘biologically’, determined—are influenced by social forces, it is a meth-
odological mistake to create a conceptual opposition between ‘individual
facts’ and ‘social facts’. The most sensible way forward, then, is to make
a case for a multifactorial form of analysis, which—while permitting the
researcher to prioritize some causal factors over others in a context-sen-
sitive fashion—avoids falling into the trap of providing simplistic explana-
tions that reduce the complexity of the interplay between social actions
and social structures to one overriding dimension.
XV. Authenticity
In the context of examining what he characterizes as the ‘authenticity
bias’416, Baert insists that ‘intellectuals operate within competitive are-
nas, struggling over symbolic and institutional recognition and scarce
financial resources’417. It appears that, in this respect, intellectuals do not

have much of a choice: either they are ‘in’ by accepting ‘the rules of the
game’, or they are ‘out’ by rejecting ‘the rules of the game’ (in which
case, for them, there is no game—that is, no game within the intellectual
field). For Baert, intellectual interventions constitute ‘an integral part of
this power struggle’418, implying that it would be an interpretive mistake
to regard their creative contributions as ‘an expression of some deeper
self’419. It follows that, within the analytical parameters set by Baert’s
positionist framework, the notion that it is ‘essential to establish a critical
distance vis-à-vis the way in which most intellectuals portray themselves
to their audience’420 can be considered a categorical methodological
imperative.
This proposition reflects not only a valid point in relation to the
ambition to develop a sociologically reflexive programme for the study
of intellectuals but also an empowering component of a critical posture
that prevents researchers from making the epistemological mistake of
taking the statements made by their objects of examination at face value.
What this methodological strategy tends to underestimate, however, is
the extent to which intellectuals are in a position to bypass the struggles
to which they are exposed, and in which they participate, in their field
of competition. To put it bluntly, some intellectuals are more, and some
intellectuals are less, affected by these struggles than others. To be sure,
this is not a Mannheim-inspired plea for a ‘universe of free-floating intel-
lectuals’.421 Rather, this is to recognize that intellectuals can challenge
and, in some cases, subvert the rigid and constraining boundaries of
field-specific realities. Since they are usually equipped with powerful con-
ceptual and methodological tools, by means of which they can question
the apparent givenness of reality, intellectuals possess both the theoretical
capacity to create their own critical imaginaries and the practical capac-
ity to construct their own experiential spheres of objectivity, normativity,
and subjectivity.
In short, a major sociological challenge consists in shedding light on
the following paradox:
– On the one hand, intellectuals, in order to position themselves in

relation to other intellectuals in particular and to other members of
society in general, are obliged to obey, if not to promote, ‘the rules
of the game’ by entering into a field-specific struggle over access to
material and symbolic resources.
62 S. SUSEN
– On the other hand, intellectuals, in order to distinguish themselves

from other intellectuals in particular and from other members of
society in general, are able to bypass, if not to undermine, ‘the rules
of the game’ by generating both theoretical and practical spheres of
retreat, allowing them to escape, at least to some degree, the con-
straining logic of field-specific mechanisms of material and symbolic
profit-driven reproduction, ranking, and competition.
Baert’s analysis provides astute reflections on the former, while offering

little in the way of insightful contemplations on the latter.
XVI. (in-) Determinacy

Undoubtedly, it is possible to gather substantial textual evidence to sup-
port the view that it is appropriate to describe Bourdieu as a ‘determin-
ist’.422 When doing so, however, one needs to recognize that a close
reading of Bourdieu’s writings demonstrates that his conception of
human action in particular and his conception of society in general are
far more complex than such a reductive interpretation may suggest.423 In
fact, in addition to the first contention that Bourdieu was a determinist
and to the second contention that Bourdieu was not a determinist, one
is confronted with the third contention that Bourdieu was not sufficiently
determinist, to which, of course, one may wish to oppose the fourth con-
tention that Bourdieu was not sufficiently anti-determinist.424
Irrespective of which of these perspectives one may wish to endorse,
Baert’s interpretation of Bourdieusian analysis is weakened by the fact
that, without further reflection, the former tends to associate the latter
with sociological determinism. Surely, Baert is right to reject ‘the assump-
tion that early formation makes for fixity of somebody’s subsequent
intellectual trajectory’425. The problem with this statement, however, is
that—although some Bourdieu-inspired researchers, such as Gross, may
support this arguably reductive view—it is untenable to accuse Bourdieu
himself of this kind of crude sociological determinism. In Gross’s
defence, one may point out that hardly anyone would seriously claim that
an individual’s early formation makes for ‘fixity’ of his or her subsequent
trajectory (intellectually or otherwise defined).
Baert appears to make a case for a more balanced account when
stating that ‘Bourdieu and Gross are right in so far as intellectu-
als’ orientations remain relatively stable’426, which is illustrated in the
fact that most of them ‘do not change their stance constantly’427. Yet,
his hope that positioning theory can ‘provide a more convincing expla-
nation’428 is based on shaky foundations to the extent that it is moti-
vated by the misleading assumption that rival approaches—notably,
Bourdieu’s ‘theory of practice’429 and Gross’s application of this frame-
work to the study of intellectuals—are thoroughly and unambiguously
deterministic.
To be clear, there is no point in denying that Bourdieusian forms of
social analysis are pervaded by deterministic tendencies.430 It would be
misleading not to acknowledge, however, that Bourdieu as well as many
of his followers rightly insist on the generative potential permeating the
objective, normative, and subjective dimensions of human existence.431
Interestingly, Bourdieu himself was a striking example of this generative
potential, since his own habitus changed dramatically throughout his life,
converting him into a self-reflexive protagonist of upward social mobil-
ity.432 One may wish to focus on the dispositions one acquires through
one’s habitus, on the positions one occupies in different social fields, or
on the material and symbolic resources one accumulates by means of
different forms of capital. Irrespective of one’s primary analytical con-
cern, to the extent that all of these sociological variables are subject to
high degrees of malleability, adaptability, and convertibility, they reflect
the generative potential that is built into social actions in particular and
human existence in general. Baert’s account suffers from a lack of atten-
tion to the role of this generative potential in shaping the lives of, and
relations between, intellectuals.
XVII. Performativity
Baert draws an interesting analogy between ‘language’ and ‘intellectual
interventions’.433 To be exact, it appears that the ‘performative turn’ can
be examined in comparative terms on two levels:
– On the one hand, it has been undertaken in linguistics by virtue of

pragmatist approaches based on speech-act theory, which influenced
the effort to reformulate critical theory in communication-theo-
retic terms (Jürgen Habermas)434 as well as the attempt to redefine
the role of the philosopher in anti-foundationalist terms (Richard
Rorty)435.
64 S. SUSEN
– On the other hand, it may be pursued in the sociology of intel-

lectuals, as proposed by Baert, in order to shed light on the ways
in which thinkers, by virtue of their scholarly interventions, not
only reflect but also act upon the world by which they are sur-
rounded, in which they are embedded, and to which they are
connected.
The pragmatist rationale behind this analogy, then, can be described as

follows: just as ‘words, rather than representing or mirroring the external
world, accomplish things’436, so do intellectual interventions. Far from
simply describing, analysing, interpreting, explaining, or assessing par-
ticular aspects of social reality, intellectual interventions do things—that
is, they act upon, and in relation to, the world.
This analogy, however, is problematic for the following reason: while
we may regard both language and intellectual interventions as part of
the symbolically constructed superstructure of society, the former consti-
tutes an integral and foundational element of everyday life, whereas the
latter can be seen as a potentially significant, yet ultimately dispensable,
aspect of advanced civilizations. To use a Wittgensteinian metaphor, both
language games and intellectual games are embedded in field-specific
life forms. Yet, whereas the former play a pivotal role, the latter serve a
rather peripheral function, in the construction of symbolically mediated
modes of existence—even in societies in which intellectual contributions
enjoy high degrees of appreciation and recognition.
In order to illustrate the centrality of this point, it may be useful to
consider the distinction between ‘foundational field’, ‘contingent field’,
and ‘ephemeral field’:
(i) A foundational field constitutes a civilizational ensemble of relationally

structured conditions the existence of which is necessary for the emergence
of social order. (ii) A contingent field represents a societal ensemble of rela-
tionally structured conditions the existence of which is possible within the
emergence of social order. (iii) An ephemeral field stands for an interac-
tional ensemble of relationally structured conditions the existence of which
is largely irrelevant to the emergence of social order.437
The analogy between linguistic forms and intellectual forms is valid only
to the extent that we recognize the following: the former constitute a
foundational field, whereas the latter constitute a contingent field. In

brief, human society is inconceivable without language, while it is con-
ceivable without intellectuals.
XVIII. Positionality
It is surprising, and equally disappointing, that, despite the central place
that this notion occupies within his analysis, Baert provides a remarkably
vague, and somewhat dissatisfying, definition of the concept of ‘position-
ing’438, which reads as follows:
The key notion that captures this activity is ‘positioning’. This indicates the
process by which certain features are attributed to an individual or a group
or some other entity.439
This statement is problematic for a number of reasons:
1. Since it defines ‘positioning’ in the passive voice (‘the process by

which certain features are attributed to an individual or a group
or some other entity’), ‘positioning’ is erroneously portrayed as a
process that is exclusively determined by exogenous agents, that is,
as a process of which the positioning subject itself is not in charge.
2. Since, in addition to defining ‘positioning’ in the passive voice, it
does not specify who the hidden subject of the action is (‘the pro-
cess by which certain features are attributed [by whom?] to an indi-
vidual or a group or some other entity’), ‘positioning’ is mistakenly
described as a process in which it is not clear who the exogenous
agents are that are, presumably, in charge of this dynamic.
3. The aforementioned definition fails to capture the fact that ‘positioning’
constitutes a multifaceted process based on (a) relationality, (b) reciproc-
ity, (c) reconstructability, (d) renormalizability, and (e) recognizability.440
a.
‘Positioning’ is possible only in terms of relations established
between positioned and positioning subjects, that is, as a process
that is created by socially interconnected agents. A positioning sub-
ject exists with—that is, by relating to—other positioning subjects.
b. ‘Positioning’ is possible only in terms of a minimal degree of rec-
iprocity established between positioned and positioning subjects,
66 S. SUSEN
that is, as a process that depends on the interlocking of actions

and reactions. A positioning subject exists through—that is, by
interacting with and reacting to—other positioning subjects.
c. ‘Positioning’ is possible only in terms of a minimal degree of
reconstructability established between positioned and posi-
tioning subjects, that is, as a process that involves the con-
stant rebuilding of social relations. A positioning subject exists
beyond—that is, by inventing and reinventing its relation to—
other positioning subjects.
d. ‘Positioning’ is possible only in terms of a minimal degree of
renormalizability established between positioned and position-
ing subjects, that is, as a process in which the meanings and
values attributed to behavioural, ideological, and institutional
patterns of social life—which manifest themselves in the real
or imagined positions that human agents occupy in the social
space—are incessantly being negotiated and renegotiated. A
positioning subject exists about—that is, by attaching meanings
and values to—other positioning subjects.
‘Positioning’ is possible only in terms of a minimal degree of
e.
recognizability established between positioned and positioning
subjects, that is, as a process that evolves in the form of a daily
struggle for recognition. A positioning subject exists within—that
is, by seeking acknowledgment from—other positioning subjects.
In short, the existence of a positioning subject is conceivable only

as a social constellation that unfolds with, through, beyond, about,
and within the existence of other positioning subjects.441
XIX. Multipositionality
Baert convincingly distinguishes between different types of positioning.
More specifically, he claims that ‘[p]ositioning can take two ideal-typical
forms’442: (1) intellectual positioning and (2) politico-ethical positioning.
The former ‘locates the agent primarily within the intellectual realm’443,
the key currency of success being ‘originality or intellectual power’444.
The latter requires agents to take ‘a broader political or ethical stance
which surpasses the narrow confines of the intellectual sphere’445,
implying that the principal challenge consists in defending a coherent

stance in relation to the normative constitution of particular sets of social
arrangements. Baert is right to suggest that, ‘[i]n practice, intellectual
positioning and political-ethical positioning tend to be intertwined’446.
The fact that, in many cases, it is far from obvious to what extent they
can be disentangled may indicate that they are intimately interrelated: it
is difficult to advocate a coherent and well-founded political-ethical posi-
tion without drawing on intellectual thought, just as it is hard to endorse
a timely and cutting-edge intellectual position without taking into
account political-ethical considerations.
What is surprising, however, is that Baert explicitly limits his analytical
framework to the aforementioned types of positioning. Arguably, there are
many other—significant—forms of positioning that are crucially related to, if
not closely interwoven with, intellectual positioning. Indeed, one may go
a step further by contending the following: to the degree that intellectual
positioning always takes place against a particular disciplinary background,
it is possible to identify a large variety of intellectual forms of positioning.
– Particularly important, in this respect, are intellectual forms of posi-

tioning in key areas of philosophical inquiry: epistemology (‘the
nature of knowledge’), ontology (‘the nature of being’), logic (‘the
nature of argument’), ethics (‘the nature of morality’), and aesthet-
ics (‘the nature of art, beauty, and taste’).
– No less significant in this regard are intellectual forms of positioning
in key areas of social-scientific inquiry: anthropology, criminology,
communication studies, economics, educational studies, geography,
political science, psychology, and sociology.
– To the previous list, one may add intellectual forms of positioning
in key areas of the humanities: ancient and modern languages, lit-
erature, visual arts, performing arts, musicology, religious studies,
archaeology, classical studies, law, semiotics, linguistics, history and
historiography, and—as previously mentioned—philosophy.
– Finally, it is not trivial that intellectual forms of positioning take
place, to an increasing extent, in key areas of natural-scientific
inquiry: astronomy, biology, chemistry, earth science, and physics.
To be sure, this is not to deny the socio-historical significance of intel-

lectual positioning and political-ethical positioning. This is to suggest,
68 S. SUSEN
however, that there are numerous additional noteworthy forms of posi-

tioning that occupy a central place in the intellectual field. Of course, the
importance attached to particular forms of positioning is spatiotempo-
rally contingent. A sociological account of intellectual positioning that
fails to consider, let alone to explain, the multitude of forms of position-
ing that shape the intellectual field, however, falls short of doing justice
to the complexity permeating the wide-ranging and eclectic production of
ideas, knowledge, and discourses in advanced societies.
XX. Teams
Reflecting upon the unfolding of intellectual life, Baert insists upon the
centrality of ‘teams’, which he distinguishes from ‘networks’. More spe-
cifically, he claims that the former are narrower than the latter in that
their members ‘actively cooperate in positioning themselves’447. Within the
behavioural and ideological—as well as, in some cases, institutional—
framework of a ‘team’, it is common that intellectual groups start to
develop in terms of ‘schools’ or ‘research programmes’, ‘often using a label
which makes their work and agenda immediately recognizable’448.
When assessing the validity of the concept of ‘team’ in the context
of the intellectual field, however, we are confronted with a number of
issues.
1. Arguably, not every intellectual has a ‘team’—at least not in the

sense of a collaborative network of human resources upon which
an agent can rely when seeking to acquire, or to consolidate, a
materially and/or symbolically empowering position in the intel-
lectual field. Surely, one may object that, at least in the long run,
intellectuals—including those that seem to flourish in rather iso-
lated and atomized ways—cannot have a significant impact upon
paradigmatic developments in any social field unless they make
allies with members of a particular ‘team’ or start building their
own ‘team’ from scratch. Yet, it would be an interesting research
project in itself to scrutinize the unusual cases of ‘solitary intel-
lectuals’ who manage to set the agenda within a specific area of
investigation or engagement, but, at least initially, without being
members of a clearly identifiable ‘team’. There does not appear to
be much—if any—room for the ‘solitary intellectual’ within Baert’s
explanatory framework.
2. Another crucial issue concerns the question of what happens when

an intellectual—consciously or unconsciously, explicitly or implic-
itly, deliberately or unwittingly—joins more than one team at the
same time. To be clear, team identity and team membership can be
defined on several levels:
• in ‘major/classical ideological’ terms (e.g. anarchist,
communist/socialist, liberal, conservative, or fascist);
• in ‘sub-major ideological’ terms (e.g. nationalist, feminist, envi-
ronmentalist, etc.);
• in disciplinary terms (e.g. anthropology, classics, communication
studies, cultural studies, economics, historiography, human geog-
raphy, law, linguistics, literary studies, musicology, philosophy,
political science, psychology, religious studies, sociology, etc.);
• in paradigmatic terms (e.g. structuralism or poststructuralism,
idealism or materialism, constructivism or realism, interpretivism
or positivism, etc.);
• in institutional terms (e.g. research centre, department, school,
faculty, university, etc.);
• in linguistic terms (e.g. Anglophone, Germanophone,
Francophone, Hispanophone, Italianophone, etc.);
• in national terms (e.g. British, German, French, Spanish, Italian, etc.);
• in generational terms (e.g. adult, middle-aged, old-aged; e.g. par-
ticularly productive in the sixties, seventies, eighties, etc.);
• in personal terms (e.g. friendships, social circles, etc.).
In practice, team identity and team membership are defined in

terms of a combination of the aforementioned (and various other)
factors. In all cases, however, team members need at least one cen-
tral common denominator on which to form a collective identity,
spirit, and project. In light of the above, we are confronted with
various important sociological questions, such as the following:
a. What are the practical and theoretical implications of the fact
that an intellectual can be a member of more than one ‘team’?
b. Is there a limit as to the number of ‘teams’ of which an intellec-
tual can be a member?
c. Who or what decides which of the various teams to which an
intellectual may belong will be the crucial one in defining his or
her relative success, or failure, within the field of intellectuals?
70 S. SUSEN
3. Another key issue concerns the question of what defines member-

ship within a team. More specifically, it is far from evident to what
degree team membership is (a) objectively, (b) normatively, and/or
(c) subjectively constituted. The sociological challenge, then, consists
in exploring whether the criteria that determine team membership
are primarily objective, normative, or subjective (or a combination of
these elements).
a. To the extent that team membership criteria are objective, they
are conceptually representable, methodologically measurable,
and empirically verifiable—irrespective of normative standards
and/or subjective perceptions.
b. To the extent that team membership criteria are normative, they
are relationally malleable, historically variable, and socially arbi-
trary—irrespective of objective indicators and/or subjective per-
ceptions.
c. To the extent that team membership criteria are subjective, they
are psychologically projectable, personally interpretable, and
individually adjustable—irrespective of objective indicators or
normative standards.
To the extent that the criteria that determine team membership are
defined by a combination of these factors (a/b/c), there is no clear
way of delineating it.449
The problem of identifying reliable criteria that permit us to define
team membership has serious conceptual, methodological, and
empirical implications:
• On the conceptual level, it demonstrates that it is far from

straightforward to propose a sound explanatory framework for
the theoretically informed understanding of intellectuals.
• On the methodological level, it illustrates that it is far from simple
to develop a procedurally rigorous research strategy for the prac-
tically oriented study of intellectuals.
• On the empirical level, it shows that it is far from clear how
to paint an accurate picture of the multiple facets shaping
the contents, processes, practices, and stakes—as well as the
forms, configurations, structures, and boundaries—of intellec-
tual life.450
XXI. Cooperative Individuality

Baert rightly draws attention to the paradoxical relationship between two
fundamental dynamics shaping the development of the intellectual field:
cooperation and individualization.451 In this respect, he makes the fol-
lowing claim:
In general, the more secure and established one’s position, the less one
needs to rely on teamwork and the more likely one will press for intellec-
tual individualization.452
It would have been interesting, however, to consider empirical or hypo-

thetical counterexamples that contradict this tendency. The importance of
this task is due to the fact that, for some intellectuals, the opposite may
be true: the more secure and established they are in the field, the more they
depend not only on the continuous recognition by, but also on the continuous
cooperation with, their fellow intellectuals. Without regular recognition
by their peers, even the most established intellectuals—unless they have
already reached the status of a ‘classic’ in their field—may find it difficult
not to disappear from the radar.
Another critical comment in relation to this point highlights the fact
that cooperation and individualization—and, indeed, collaboration and
competition—constitute two contradictory processes of any social field.
In other words, the tension-laden interplay between socializing and indi-
vidualizing, as well as between collaborative and competitive, processes
does not represent a unique feature of the field of intellectuals. The
sociologically more interesting question, however, concerns the extent
to which the dynamic between these two tendencies varies between dif-
ferent social fields and why this is the case. (For instance, in some social
fields, one of the two tendencies may be preponderant, that is, the
emphasis may be placed on collaboration, rather than on competition,
or vice versa.) The aforementioned distinction between (1) ‘foundational
fields’, (2) ‘contingent fields’, and (3) ‘ephemeral fields’453 may be use-
ful in this regard: different social fields possess different degrees of coop-
eration and individualization, as well as of collaboration and competition,
depending on the underlying logic of their respective functioning. The
more vital the existence of a particular field is to the constitution of soci-
ety, the more profoundly the interactional dynamics of the former impact
upon the small- and large-scale developments of the latter.
72 S. SUSEN
XXII. Credibility
Baert affirms that ‘radical repositioning is rarely attained without loss of
credibility’454. It appears that there are two main reasons for this:
– During or after an act of ‘radical repositioning’, an intellectual has

to provide a strong justification for his or her shift in perspective.
As mentioned in one of the preceding sections, this may turn out
to be tricky—or even impossible—if an intellectual decides to shift
towards a position that is—at least at first glance—diametrically
opposed to the position that he or she previously advocated.
– After an act of ‘radical repositioning’, an intellectual’s followers have
to decide whether or not they wish to continue supporting him or
her (either in spite of or because of his or her new stance). Just as the
intellectual protagonist will have to provide sound justifications for
his or her shift in perspective, so do those who openly subscribe to
his or her position if they opt to continue endorsing, and looking
up to, their leading figure.
Baert’s claim concerning the nexus between (re-)positioning and cred-

ibility may be challenged, however, by turning it upside down: in many
cases, ‘radical repositioning’ has made intellectuals more, rather than less,
credible. As spelled out in one of the previous sections, in the history and
sociology of intellectual thought, it is common to distinguish between an
‘early’ and a ‘late’ phase when trying to make sense of the contributions
made by a particular thinker. Famous examples include Karl Marx and
Ludwig Wittgenstein, but also—more recently—Theodor W. Adorno,
Jürgen Habermas, Michel Foucault, Pierre Bourdieu, and Luc Boltanski.
To the extent that being an intellectual requires being immersed in a
horizon of constantly shifting relations, expectations, and positions, ‘radi-
cal repositioning’ constitutes an integral element of what it means to be an
intellectual. As Baert rightly states, ‘radical repositioning’ can trigger a loss
of credibility. As Baert fails to acknowledge, however, ‘radical reposition-
ing’ can also allow for an increase in credibility—especially if and where a
fundamental change in direction represents the only option an intellectual
has to take on board both his or her supporters’ and his or her adversaries’
criticisms, thereby demonstrating that he or she, instead of sticking dog-
matically to one position, is willing to revise his or her viewpoints and to
adjust them in a timely, constructive, and dialogical fashion.455
XXIII. (in-) Security

Based on his remarks on processes of ‘radical repositioning’, Baert takes
his argument a step further, as expressed in the following—previously
quoted—statement:
The more the intellectual is known, the more likely the repositioning will
have to be accounted for. In sum, repositioning entails reputational risks.
Both factors—the costs and the reputational risks—explain why repositioning
tends to be found among either firmly established intellectuals, such as ten-
ured academics, or those who are just starting off and have not yet publicly
cemented their position.456
Effectively, Baert distinguishes between ‘established intellectuals’ and

‘non-established intellectuals’. In most cases, the former enjoy a consider-
able degree of institutional, financial, and reputational security. By con-
trast, the latter—especially if they are newcomers—tend to occupy rather
precarious positions within the intellectual field, characterized by a sig-
nificant level of institutional, financial, and reputational insecurity.
For all its merits and perceptiveness, the previous distinction is prob-
lematic for at least two reasons.
1. One key problem with this binary distinction is that it seems to

imply that, in terms of success measurement, the separation
between ‘established’ and ‘non-established’, in addition to rep-
resenting the major dividing line, is all there is in the intellectual
field. In reality, however, the picture is much more complex, for
there are numerous individual and collective agents in the intellec-
tual field that do not fit any of these two categories—that is, those
who are neither ‘established’ nor ‘non-established’, but who are
situated somewhere between these two positions.
2. Another noteworthy problem with this binary distinction is that it
fails to do justice to the qualitative difference between acts of ‘repo-
sitioning’ undertaken by ‘established’ intellectuals and acts of ‘reposi-
tioning’ carried out by ‘non-established’ intellectuals—not to mention
those who are situated somewhere between these two positions. For
instance, when examining these two (or, possibly, three) groups on
the basis of empirical data, ‘repositioning’ processes may appear rad-
ical in some cases and moderate in others. Furthermore, agents in
74 S. SUSEN
one of these two (or three) groups may have very different motives
for undertaking these repositioning processes—partly, because they
have diverging interests; partly because they have different back-
grounds; and, partly, because they have diverse trajectories. In this
respect, the sociological challenge consists in shedding light on the
question of whether or not it is possible to identify group-specific
patterns of repositioning within the intellectual field.
XXIV. Epistemocracy
Baert appears to be suggesting that the epistemic disparity between experts
and laypersons has been narrowing in recent decades. Arguably, contempo-
rary societal developments have undermined the traditional gap between,
on the one hand, the specialized knowledge produced by scholars, aca-
demics, and professional researchers and, on the other hand, the com-
mon-sense knowledge employed by ordinary people.
There are, according to Baert’s analysis, various reasons for this sig-
nificant change.
1. The rising ‘high educational levels for larger sections of society’457

have contributed to the fact that ‘the erstwhile distinction between
an intellectual elite and the rest no longer holds to quite the same
extent’458.
2. Due to higher levels of education for larger sections of society,
there has been ‘a growing scepticism towards epistemic and moral
authority, an increasing recognition of the fallibility of knowledge
and of the existence of alternative perspectives’459. As a consequence,
it is considered less and less appropriate for intellectuals to engage
in patronizing processes based on ‘[s]peaking from above and at
their audience’460, instead of speaking from below and with their
audience.
3.
Since the economies of advanced postindustrial formations are
centred around knowledge, information, and science, both the
production and the exchange of epistemic resources have been
increasingly ‘democratized’.
4. In the ‘digital age’461, the rise of social and alternative media has
substantially contributed to the democratization of access to, and
exchange of, knowledge and information.
Indicative of this far-reaching trend is, in Baert’s view, the rise of ‘dia-
logical public intellectuals’462. One of their defining features is that they
‘do not assume a superior stance towards their publics’463 and that,
instead, they ‘engage with their publics in a more interactive fashion’464
and on a more horizontal basis. Under such parameters, based on criti-
cal dialogue and horizontal reciprocity, it becomes possible to establish
‘an intellectual and social partnership between the sociological research-
ers and the communities they serve, whereby both parties are willing
to learn from each other and collaborate, while striving for a common
political goal’465.
Although Baert’s diagnosis of the relationship between experts and
laypersons is largely accurate, it tends to overlook the importance of a
curious paradox of the contemporary age, which can be described as fol-
lows:
– On the one hand, the epistemic gap between experts and layper-
sons has been narrowing due to the gradual universalization of
the production, distribution, and consumption of knowledge and
information.
– On the other hand, the epistemic gap between experts and lay-
persons has been widening due to the gradual specialization of
the production, distribution, and consumption of knowledge and
information.
Baert provides a perceptive account of the former tendency, but he

offers little in the way of an in-depth, let alone a critical, engagement
with the latter development. In a society in which knowledge—above
all, scientific knowledge—is increasingly specialized and, on many lev-
els, even hyper-specialized—that is, divided and sub-divided into dis-
ciplines, sub-disciplines, and niche areas—it seems untenable to focus
almost exclusively on the universalizing and democratizing trends in
relation to the production, distribution, and consumption of epistemic
resources. The simultaneous universalization and particularization
of knowledge generation in advanced societies are two sides of the same
coin.466 As such, both processes need to be empirically studied, concep-
tually grasped, and analytically assessed. Otherwise, we risk telling only
one part of the story.
76 S. SUSEN
In addition, one may object the following:
1.
The gap between experts and laypersons remains, since human
agents, in stratified societies, are equipped with unequally distrib-
uted material and symbolic resources, which manifest themselves
in asymmetrically allocated forms of capital (notably, in relation
to social, economic, cultural, educational, linguistic, political, and
symbolic capital).
2.
agents, in stratified societies, are equipped with specialized epistemic
resources, which manifest themselves in asymmetrically allocated
forms of knowledge (which is increasingly divided and sub-divided
into disciplines, sub-disciplines, and niche areas).
3.
agents, in stratified societies, are equipped with context-dependent
conceptual and methodological resources, which manifest themselves
in the functional division between science and common sense (and,
correspondingly, in the separation between the systematic study of
reality and the quotidian immersion in reality).
Furthermore, one may wonder to what extent the idea of a partnership

between researchers and grassroots communities, prepared to learn from
one another and ‘striving for a common political goal’467, can be consid-
ered a guarantee of the realization of a project that is not only practi-
cally viable but also normatively defensible and desirable. For instance,
authoritarian and fascist movements typically claim to bridge the divide
between ‘the elite’ and ‘the people’.468 An obvious historical example of
this ideological rhetoric is Nazi Germany, in which the adjective völkisch
was commonly used to give the impression of a ‘democratized’ (that is,
Volk-based) usage of scientific forms of knowledge production.469 One
may find far less extreme examples to illustrate the following point: the
fact that both researchers ‘from above’ and laypersons ‘from below’ are
involved in dialogical exchanges of knowledge is not a guarantee of the
normative defensibility, let alone desirability, of their goals.470
Finally, the idea of a partnership between researchers and grass-
roots communities sounds, of course, appealing in theory. It is far from
obvious, however, what it actually means in practice and how it can
be converted into feasible modes of organizing spheres of knowledge
production, which can claim to shape constitutive realms of society in a

more democratic—that is, universally empowering and, hence, emancipa-
tory—fashion.471
Thus, one of the principal civilizational challenges of the twenty-
first century consists in drawing upon the respective strengths, while
avoiding the respective pitfalls, of (1) authoritative, (2) expert, and (3)
dialogical public intellectuals. Highly differentiated societies need intel-
lectuals who are capable of being authoritative without being dogmatic,
specialized without being disconnected, and dialogical without being
condescending. Rather than relying on the stifling mechanisms of self-
referential empires of epistemic power, democratically organized social
formations need to make use of the powerful, yet fallible, conceptual
resources provided by authoritative, knowledgeable, and dialogical
intellectuals.
XXV. Effectology
Baert’s plea for a paradigm shift from a concern with ‘intentions’ to
an emphasis on ‘effects’ lies at the heart of his entire treatise. The for-
mer may be associated with a—philosophically inspired—deontological
approach to the study of the rationale behind intellectual ideas. The
latter is embedded in a—sociologically motivated—pragmatist frame-
work, designed to scrutinize the impact of intellectual ideas, notably on
behavioural, ideological, and institutional developments. The theoreti-
cal underpinnings of this paradigm shift have been elucidated, in some
detail, in the previous sections. Rather than repeating the principal
dimensions of Baert’s plea for a paradigm shift at this stage, let us—for
the sake of brevity—focus on some problematic aspects of his central
claim that ‘the solution lies in abandoning a vocabulary of intentions for
a vocabulary of effects’472.
Baert asserts that it is common—particularly in the writings of
the Cambridge School of Intellectual History473, epitomized in
the conceptual framework proposed by John G. A. Pocock and
Quentin Skinner474—‘to take the meaning of an intellectual interven-
tion within a given context to be synonymous with the intent behind
it’475. Challenging this view, Baert advises ‘to hold onto the distinc-
tion between the purpose behind an intellectual intervention and its
effect’476. The validity of this proposition, however, suffers from a num-
ber of problems:
78 S. SUSEN
1.
There is the problem of conceptual confusion. At first sight, it
appears that Baert distinguishes two key levels of analysis; as a
closer look at the previous statement reveals, however, he actually
refers to three levels of analysis:
a. the purpose(s) behind an intellectual intervention,
b. the meaning(s) of an intellectual intervention, and
c. the effect(s) of an intellectual intervention.
Baert focuses on the alleged opposition between (a) and (c). We
need to recognize, however, that (a), (c), and (b) constitute essen-
tial dimensions of intellectual realities.
a. The purpose (or purposes) behind an intellectual intervention
describes (or describe) the intention (or intentions) that an
intellectual has when making an assertion. This intention (or
these intentions) can express a concern with objective, norma-
tive, or subjective aspects of human existence (or with a combi-
nation of these elements).
b. The meaning (or meanings) of an intellectual intervention des-
ignates (or designate) the interpretation (or interpretations)
made in relation to it, both by its author him- or herself and by
its recipients. This meaning (or these meanings) can articulate
a concern with the objective, normative, or subjective dimen-
sions of the intervention (by focusing on one, two, or all three
of these elements).
c. The effect (or effects) of an intellectual intervention refers (or
refer) to its material or symbolic impact upon the intellectual
field and/or other social fields. This impact can be assessed—if
not measured—in objective, normative, or subjective terms (or
in terms of a combination of these elements).
The conceptual differentiation between these three levels of analy-
sis would have contributed to the terminological precision, meth-
odological rigour, and empirical usefulness of Baert’s—otherwise
formidable—account of intellectuals.
2. There is the problem of analytical limitation. Baert’s effect-centred
approach runs the risk of understating the importance of intentions
behind, and meanings attached to, intellectuals’ interventions. To be
sure, these intentions and meanings can be classified in different ways:
• in constitutive terms, they can be conscious or unconscious, explicit or
implicit, blatant or subtle, obvious or hidden, basic or sophisticated;
• in evaluative terms, they can be selfish or altruistic, right-wing

or left-wing, conservative or progressive, complicit or subversive,
orthodox or heterodox, traditional or cutting-edge.
It is possible to develop a comprehensive typology of intentions,
permitting researchers to identify and—if desired—to assess the
rationale behind specific intellectual interventions. The aim of
such a typological endeavour is not to negate the socio-ontologi-
cal significance of the effects that intellectual interventions may, or
may not, have. Notwithstanding the merits of such an undertak-
ing, it draws attention to a crucial insight: the pragmatist ambi-
tion to prove the socio-ontological preponderance of effects involves
the danger of losing sight of the socio-ontological significance of the
intentions behind, and meanings attributed to, intellectual inter-
ventions. All three dimensions—that is, (a) purposes/intentions,
(b) meanings/interpretations, and (c) effects/consequences—
need to be taken into consideration, without asserting their respec-
tive socio-ontological preponderance in an a priori fashion. Where
there are human actions, interactions, and interventions, there are
intentions, meanings, and effects. All three levels of analysis deserve
to be studied and to be given substantial diagnostic weight.
If one of them is attributed more interpretive, or even explana-
tory, value than the others, then we end up providing a reductive
account of social life in general and of intellectual life in particular.
Intellectual interventions have effects because of, not despite, the
fact that they are both intention-laden and meaning-laden.
*** *** ***

Regardless of their critical content, the purpose of the above reflections
is to be constructive. As such, they should not draw attention away from
the fact that Baert’s The Existentialist Moment: The Rise of Sartre as a
Public Intellectual has broken new ground and opened hitherto barely
explored avenues for the study of intellectuals. The theoretical frame-
work upon which Baert’s inquiry is based is highly original, making a
much-needed contribution to contemporary sociological thought. Baert
deserves to be applauded for having taken our socio-historical under-
standing of the intellectual field to an unparalleled level. The challenge
that remains when grappling with the role of intellectuals in society477,
however, is to push the debate forward by examining the impact of
80 S. SUSEN
recent and ongoing global developments on the sociological variables

underlying the production of symbolic forms in general and of critical
discourses in particular. This task is all the more pressing in light of the
rapidly changing conditions of civilizational existence in the twenty-first
century. One can only hope that intellectuals will play a largely positive
role in shaping the development of society—that is, a role in which their
particular interests, which they pursue when contributing to the power-
laden construction of field-specific realities, are subordinated to the uni-
versal interests of humanity.
Notes
1. Baert (2015).
2. Ibid., p. 21.
3. Ibid., p. 21.
4. Ibid., pp. 21–22.
5. Ibid., p. 22.
6. Ibid., p. 22.
7. Ibid., p. 22. See also ibid., pp. 12, 78, 90, and 91.
8. Ibid., p. 22. See also ibid., pp. 20, 103, 110, 111, 112, 115, 116, and
134.
9. Ibid., p. 22.
10. Ibid., p. 22.
11. Ibid., p. 22.
12. Ibid., p. 1.
13. Ibid., p. 1.
14. Ibid., p. 1.
15. Ibid., p. 1.
16. Ibid., p. 1 (italics added).
17. See Sartre (1943) and Sartre (2003 [1958/1943]).
18. See Baert (2015), p. 2.
20. Ibid., p. 2. See also, for instance: Betz and Martens (2004); Spotts
(2008).
21. Baert (2015), pp. 2–3.
23. Ibid., p. 3.
24. Ibid., p. 5.
25. Ibid., p. 5.
26. See Boschetti (1985) and Boschetti (1988 [1985]). See also Baert
(2015), p. 5.
27. See, for example: Bourdieu (1979a); Bourdieu (1979b); Bourdieu

(1993 [1984]-c); Bourdieu (1993a); Bourdieu (1993c); Bourdieu and
Passeron (1964); Bourdieu and Passeron (1970).
28. Baert (2015), p. 5.
29. Ibid., p. 5.
30. On this point, see, for instance: Bourdieu (1979a); Bourdieu (1979b);
Bourdieu (1993 [1984]-c); Bourdieu (1993a); Bourdieu (1993c);
Bourdieu and Passeron (1964); Bourdieu and Passeron (1970). See
also, for example: Beasley-Murray (2000); Bohman (1999); Brown
and Szeman (2000); Codd (1990); Fowler (1997); Gartman (2002);
Honneth (1984); Jurt (2004); Lash (1993); LiPuma (1993); Maigret
(2002); Ostrow (2000 [1981]); Rigby (1993); Robbins (2000); Susen
(2011b); Susen (2013c); Susen (2016a); Swartz (1997); Wagner
(2003).
31. Baert (2015), p. 5.
32. Ibid., p. 5.
33. Ibid., p. 6.
34. Ibid., p. 6.
35. Ibid., p. 6.
36. On this metaphor, see Susen (2007), p. 189. On the concept of ‘rule’ in
Bourdieusian thought, see, for instance: Bourdieu (1990); Bouveresse
(1995); Fabiani (1999); Gebauer (2000); Lawler (2004); Nollmann
(2004); Rigby (1993); Susen (2011a), p. 456; Susen (2011c), pp.
367, 385, and 408; Susen (2013c), pp. 203, 214, 220, and 221; Susen
(2013d), pp. 329, 354, 360, and 372; Taylor (1995).
37. Baert (2015), p. 6.
38. Ibid., p. 6. See also ibid., pp. 148 and 156.
39. Ibid., p. 6.
40. Ibid., p. 6.
42. Ibid., p. 6.
43. Ibid., p. 6.
44. Ibid., p. 7.
45. Ibid., p. 7.
47. Ibid., p. 7.
48. Ibid., p. 7.
49. Ibid., p. 7.
50. Ibid., p. 7.
51. Collins (1998).
52. Baert (2015), p. 7.
53. Ibid., p. 7.
82 S. SUSEN
54. Ibid., pp. 7–8.

55. Ibid., p. 8.
56. Ibid., p. 8.
57. Ibid., p. 8.
58. Ibid., p. 8.
59. Ibid., p. 8.
60. Ibid., p. 8.
62. Ibid., p. 8.
63. Ibid., p. 8.
64. See Collins (1998), pp. 754–784.
65. Baert (2015), p. 8.
66. Ibid., p. 8.
67. On this point, see ibid., p. 9. In fact, it may be argued that the rise of
existentialism—along with the popularity of hermeneutics and phe-
nomenology—in French (and other ‘national’) intellectual circles can-
not be understood without taking into account both the theoretical
and the practical limitations of alternative candidates for paradigmatic
adoption—notably, reductive versions of Marxism (such as ‘ortho-
dox Marxism’, ‘determinist Marxism’, ‘scientific Marxism’, ‘positivist
Marxism’, ‘Vulgärmarxismus’, ‘Soviet Marxism’, and ‘dialectical mate-
rialism’—to mention only a few). For a critique of reductive forms of
Marxism, see, for example: Holloway (2002); Holloway (2005 [2002]);
Holloway (2005); Holloway (2007); Holloway (2010); Holloway and
Susen (2013); Susen (2012a); Susen (2015a), esp. pp. 18, 22, 26, 28,
29, 30, 32, 41, 70, 74, 87, 90, 91, 92, 99, 100, 101, 127, 141, 149,
165, 189, 226, 238, 239, 250, 262, 265, 286n126, 295n33, 294n22,
301n140, 314n81, 335n47, and 336n116. On the relationship between
Marxism and existentialism, see, for instance: Archard (1980); Ley
(1979); Lukács (1951); Novack (1966); Odajnyk (1965); Rauche
(1970); Read (1949); Salvan (1967); Sartre (2008 [1974/1972]).
68. Baert (2015), p. 9.
69. On this point, see ibid., p. 9.
71. Ibid., p. 10.
72. Ibid., p. 10.
73. Ibid., p. 10.
74. Ibid., p. 10.
75. Galster (2001a). See also Galster (2001b).
76. On the concept of ‘public intellectual’, see, for example: Etzioni (2006);
Etzioni and Bowditch (2006); Posner (2003 [2001]); Small (2002);
Swartz (2003).
77. Baert (2015), p. 11 (italics added).

78. Ibid., p. 11.
79. Ibid., p. 11.
80. Ibid., p. 11 (italics added). See also ibid., pp. 1, 12, 22, 78, 87, 91–111,
112, 138, and 145.
81. Ibid., p. 11 (italics added). See also ibid., pp. 12, 78, 90, and 91.
82. See Sartre (1946). See also Sartre (2007 [1946]).
83. Baert (2015), p. 11. See also ibid., p. 103.
84. Ibid., p. 11.
85. Ibid., p. 11.
86. Ibid., p. 12.
88. Ibid., p. 12.
89. Ibid., p. 12.
90. Ibid., p. 12.
92. Ibid., p. 13.
93. Ibid., p. 13.
94. Ibid., p. 12.
95. Ibid., p. 13.
96. On this point, see, for instance, Susen (2012b), pp. 716–717, and Susen
(2014 [2012]), 195–196.
97. Baert (2015), p. 13.
98. Ibid., p. 13.
99. Ibid., p. 13.
100. Ibid., p. 13.
101. Ibid., p. 14.
102. On this point, see ibid., pp. 13–14.
103. Ibid., p. 14.
104. Ibid., p. 14.
105. Ibid., p. 14.
106. Ibid., p. 14.
108. On this point, see, for example, Susen (2011e), pp. 58–60, 70, 76, and
77. See also Susen (2011b). In addition, see Baert and Shipman (2005).
109. Baert (2015), p. 14.
110. On Habermas’s notion of ‘the colonization of the lifeworld’, see, for exam-
ple: Habermas (1987 [1981]-c), p. 332; Habermas (1987 [1981]-d),
pp. 134, 140–143, and 148; Habermas (1987 [1981]-e), esp. p. 196;
Habermas (1987 [1981]-f), pp. 333–335; Habermas (1982), pp. 226
and 278–281. In addition, see, for instance: Browne and Susen (2014),
p. 217; Susen (2007), pp. 69, 71, 72, 97n47, 110, 177, 178, 190,
84 S. SUSEN
246, 252, 279, 296, and 305; Susen (2009), pp. 86, 106, and 109;
Susen (2010), pp. 108 and 113; Susen (2011d), pp. 49 and 51; Susen
(2012a), pp. 288, 289, 290, 305, 308, and 314; Susen (2013d), pp.
354, 360, 368, 383n352; Susen (2015b), p. 1034.
111. Baert (2015), p. 14.
112. Ibid., p. 14.
113. On this point, see ibid., pp. 14–15. See also, for instance, Susen
(2011b), pp. 176–184.
114. Baert (2015), p. 15.
115. Ibid., p. 15.
116. Ibid., p. 15.
117. Ibid., p. 16.
120. Ibid., p. 16.
121. Ibid., p. 16.
122. Ibid., p. 16.
124. Ibid., p. 16.
125. Ibid., p. 16.
130. Ibid., p. 17 (italics added; except for ‘vis-à-vis’, which appears in italics in
the original).
132. Ibid., p. 17.
135. Ibid., p. 17.
136. Ibid., p. 17.
137. Ibid., p. 17.
138. Ibid., p. 17.
139. On this point, see Susen (2015a), pp. 34, 96, 98, 116, 117, 125, 227,
and 229. On the ‘digital turn’, see, for example: Athique (2013); Baym
(2014 [2010]); Belk and Llamas (2013); Burda (2011); Junge, Berzina,
Scheiffele, Westerveld, and Zwick (2013); Negroponte (1995); Runnel,
Pruulmann-Vengerfeldt, Viires, and Laak (2013); Westera (2013); Zhao
(2005).
141. Ibid., p. 17.
142. Bergson (1945 [1907]). See also Bergson (2007 [1907]).

143. Baert (2015), p. 18.
145. See, for instance, Cahm (1996 [1994]).
146. Baert (2015), p. 19.
147. Ibid., p. 19.
148. Ibid., p. 19.
149. Ibid., p. 19.
150. On anti-intellectualism, see ibid., p. 19; see also, for instance, ibid., pp.
161–162.
151. Ibid., p. 19.
152. Ibid., p. 19.
153. Ibid., p. 19.
154. Ibid., p. 19.
155. Ibid., p. 19.
156. Ibid., p. 19.
157. Ibid., p. 19.
158. See ibid., p. 19.
160. Ibid., p. 19 (italics added). On this point, see also, for instance: Baert,
Koniordos, Procacci, and Ruzza (2010).
161. Baert (2015), p. 19.
162. Ibid., p. 19.
163. On this point, see, for instance: Kant (2009 [1784]); Kant (2003
[1785]); Kant (1979 [1798]). See also, for example: Susen (2010),
esp. pp. 112–113; Susen (2013d), pp. 325–326 and 330–331; Susen
(2015a), pp. 13, 57, 58, 105, 162, 197, 198, 210, 215, 216, 219, 234,
235, 236, 259, 260, 275, and 333n15; Susen (2016c), pp. 432–433.
164. Baert (2015), p. 19.
165. Ibid., p. 20.
166. Ibid., p. 20.
167. Ibid., p. 20.
168. See ibid., Chapter 7 (pp. 158–189).
170. Ibid., p. 158.
171. Ibid., p. 158. See also ibid., esp. pp. 97–99, 163, 165–173, and 177–
183.
172. Ibid., p. 158.
173. Ibid., p. 159. See also ibid., pp. 7, 8, 13, 147, 159, 160, and 186.
174. Ibid., p. 159. See also ibid., p. 158.
175. Ibid., p. 159.
176. Ibid., p. 159.
86 S. SUSEN
177. Ibid., p. 159. In this context, Baert cites Charles Camic’s account

of Talcott Parsons’s earlier writings as an example. See Camic (1987)
and Camic (1992). See also, for instance, Parsons (1978) and Parsons
(1991).
178. Baert (2015), p. 159.
179. See ibid., pp. 159–160. See also ibid., p. 174.
180. Ibid., p. 160.
181. Ibid., p. 160. See also ibid., pp. 90, 96, and 113.
182. Ibid., p. 160.
183. Ibid., p. 160.
187. Ibid., p. 161.
188. On this point, see ibid., p. 161. See also Durkheim (1982 [1895]) and
Durkheim (2010 [1924]). In addition, see Karsenti (2012 [2006]).
189. On this point, see Baert (2015), p. 161.
190. In this context, Baert mentions Neil Gross’s biography of Richard Rorty.
According to Baert, it is absurd to suggest, as—he claims—Gross does,
that ‘Rorty’s social background predisposed him to be antagonistic to
logical positivism and sympathetic to the project of metaphysics’ (p.
161). On this point, see Gross (2008). See also Gross (2002).
In addition, Baert makes reference to Bourdieu’s arguably reductive (that
is, in this case, sociologistic) interpretation of Heidegger. See Baert (2015),
p. 162 (italics in original): ‘Pierre Bourdieu’s otherwise sophisticated
account of Heidegger when he argues that the latter’s petty bourgeois
background explained the anti-cosmopolitan and anti-modernism of his
outlook and his predilection for a “völkisch[e] language”. Just like Gross [,]
whom he inspired, Bourdieu erroneously takes a sociological explanation
of social facts for a sociological account of individual action.’ On this point,
see also Bourdieu (1975), Bourdieu (1988), and Wiechens (2002).
191. Baert (2015), p. 161.
192. Ibid., p. 162.
194. Ibid., p. 162.
196. On this point, see, for example, Morgan and Baert (2015).
197. Baert (2015), p. 162.
198. Ibid., p. 162.
199. On this point, see Susen (2007), pp. 158–167.
201. Ibid., p. 163 (italics in original).
202. On this point, see, for example: Bourdieu (1984); Bourdieu (1993b);
Bourdieu (1993 [1984]-a); Bourdieu (1993 [1984]-b); Bourdieu
(1993 [1984]-d); Gross (2002); Gross (2008).
203. Baert (2015), p. 163.
204. Ibid., p. 163.
205. Ibid., p. 163.
207. Ibid., p. 163.
208. Ibid., p. 163.
209. Ibid., p. 163.
212. Ibid., p. 164.
214. On this point, see, for instance, Susen (2015a), esp. Chapter 1 and
Chapter 2. See also, for example, Susen (2016c) and Susen (2017d).
217. Ibid., p. 164.
220. Ibid., p. 164.
222. Ibid., p. 165.
223. Ibid., p. 165.
225. Ibid., p. 165.
226. Ibid., p. 165.
227. Ibid., p. 165.
229. Ibid., pp. 165–166 (italics added).
234. See ibid., p. 167. See also ibid., pp. 125, 170, 174, 175, and 179.
235. Ibid., p. 167.
238. See ibid., p. 167.
240. Ibid., p. 169.
88 S. SUSEN

243. Ibid., p. 170.
245. Ibid., p. 171.
246. Ibid., p. 171.
247. On this point, see Susen (2015a), esp. Chapter 4. See also, for example,
Susen (2016c) and Susen (2017d).
249. Ibid., p. 171. See also ibid., pp. 2–3, 62, and 143–148. On this point,
see also, for instance: Alexander, Eyerman, Giesen, Smelser, and
Sztompka (2004); Eyerman, Alexander, and Breese (2011).
250. Baert (2015), p. 171.
255. On the relationship between ‘validity claims’ and ‘legitimacy claims’, see, for
example: Susen (2007), p. 257; Susen (2013c), esp. pp. 200, 207–215,
217–218, 219, 222, 225–230; Susen (2013d), esp. pp. 330, 331, 334, 335,
337, 339, 341, 342, 343, 344, 349, 363, 365, and 369; Susen (2015a), pp.
55, 200, and 324n195. Cf. Bourdieu (1982) and Bourdieu (2002).
258. Ibid., p. 174.
261. Ibid., p. 174.
262. Ibid., p. 175.
263. Ibid., p. 175.
264. Ibid., p. 175.
266. In this context, Baert draws attention to Mead (1967 [1934]) as well
as to Saussure (1995 [1916]) / Saussure (1978 [1916]). See Baert
(2015), pp. 175–176.
267. In relation to this point, Baert remarks that ‘analytic’ philosophers (such as
Bertrand Russell and A. J. Ayer) commonly associate their own works—
because of their concern with ‘precision, logic and science’—with liberal
forms of government, while accusing ‘continental’ philosophers (such as
Georg W. F. Hegel and Martin Heidegger) of ‘muddled thinking’ and,
hence, of being causally related to, if not partly responsible for, the emer-
gence of totalitarian regimes. See Baert (2015), p. 176.

269. Ibid., p. 177.
271. Ibid., p. 178.
272. Ibid., p. 178. See Farrell (2001).
273. Baert (2015), p. 178.
275. Cf. Erving Goffman’s concept of ‘team’. See, for example, Goffman (1971
[1959]), esp. p. 85. In addition, see Susen (2016e), esp. pp. 120–121,
126–127, 131–133, and 136.
279. Ibid., p. 180 (italics added). See ibid., pp. 179–182.
282. Ibid., p. 180.
286. Ibid., p. 181.
287. See ibid., p. 182. See also ibid., p. 181.
289. Ibid., p. 182.
290. Ibid., p. 183.
293. On this point, see ibid., p. 184. See also, for example: Harré (1993
[1979]); Ingold (1986), esp. pp. 368ff.
294. Baert (2015), p. 183.
295. Ibid., p. 183.
296. Ibid., p. 183.
297. Ibid., p. 183.
301. Ibid., p. 184.
302. Ibid., p. 184.
304. Ibid., p. 185.
305. Ibid., p. 185.
306. Ibid., p. 185.
90 S. SUSEN
307. Ibid., p. 185.
309. Ibid., p. 185.
310. Ibid., p. 185.
311. Ibid., p. 185.
314. Ibid., p. 185.
316. Ibid., p. 187.
318. Ibid., p. 187.
319. Ibid., p. 188.
320. Ibid., p. 188.
321. Ibid., p. 188 (italics removed from ‘and acquired knowledge’).
322. Ibid., p. 188.
323. Ibid., p. 188.
325. On this point, see, for instance: Burawoy (2005); Burawoy, Gamson,
Ryan, Pfohl, Vaughan, Derber, and Schor (2004); Burawoy (2000). See
also, for example: Baert (2015), p. 189; Baert and Silva (2010 [1998]-
a), esp. p. 302; Baert and Silva (2013); Seidman (1994), p. 119; Susen
(2011d); Susen (2013a), esp. p. 92; Susen (2015a), p. 7.
326. Baert (2015), p. 189.
328. Ibid., p. 185.
330. On this point, see Baert (2015), pp. 185–186.
332. On this point, see Susen (2014a), esp. p. 23. See also Susen (2015a), pp.
10, 37, 43, 47, 70, 78, 108, 126, 152, 157, 174, 184, 218, 243, 245,
and 274.
333. Baert (2015), p. 186.
334. Ibid., p. 186 (italics added—except for the preposition ‘at’, which is itali-
cized in the original).
335. Ibid., pp. 186–187.
336. Ibid., p. 186.
338. On this point, see Susen (2015a), pp. 22, 26, 28, 30, 32, 74, 101, 189,
and 250. See also, for example, Gamble, Marsh, and Tant (1999). In
addition, see Holloway and Susen (2013) as well as Susen (2012a).
339. Baert (2015), p. 187 (italics added). On the concept of fanaticism, see

Toscano (2010).
340. On this point, see Baert (2015), p. 187. On Fukuyama’s conception
of ‘the end of history’, see Fukuyama (1992), esp. pp. 276–277. On
this point, see also, for example: Blackburn (2000), p. 267; Boltanski
(2008), p. 63; Bourdieu and Boltanski (2008 [1976]), p. 53; Fukuyama
(2002); Hammond (2011), pp. 305–306, 310, 312, and 315; Horrocks
(1999), pp. 7 and 13; Kellner (2007), p. 119; Osamu (2002); Paulus
(2001), p. 745; Susen (2015a), pp. 170, 245, 271, and 317n207.
341. On this point, see Susen (2015a), esp. Chapter 4 and Chapter 5. See
also, for example, Susen (2016c) and Susen (2017d).
342. On this point, see Susen (2015a), esp. pp. 142, 187, 188, and 189.
343. See Hobsbawm (1994).
344. See Baert (2015), Chapter 7 (pp. 158–189).
345. See ibid., p. 182. See also ibid., p. 181.
347. Ibid., p. 5 (in this case, Baert draws upon Anna Boschetti’s definition).
348. On Bourdieu’s conception of ‘the field’, see Susen (2007), esp. pp. 171–
180.
350. Ibid., p. 5.
351. Ibid., p. 5.
352. See, for instance, ibid., p. 5.
353. See, for instance, ibid., p. 6.
355. Ibid., p. 6.
357. On this point, see, for example: Albrecht (2002); Bourdieu (1979a);
Bourdieu and Passeron (1970); Passeron (2000 [1986]); Susen (2016a).
358. Indeed, Sartre’s own parcours was far from smooth and problem-free.
He was only two years old when his father, Jean-Baptiste Sartre, passed
away, after suffering from a fever. Given the difficult domestic cir-
cumstances caused by his father’s death, his mother, Anne-Marie (née
Schweitzer), moved back to her parents’ house in Meudon, located in
the South-Western suburbs of Paris. Most commentators seem to agree
that her father, Charles Schweitzer—who was a teacher of German—had
a formative influence on the young Jean-Paul. He taught him mathe-
matics and classical literature in the early stages of his life. At the age
of twelve, Sartre’s mother remarried; subsequently, the family moved
to La Rochelle (in South-West France), where—according to some
sources—he experienced bullying at school. Bourdieusian scholars will
insist that, irrespective of the difficult domestic circumstances that he
92 S. SUSEN
experienced in his early years, Sartre enjoyed the benefits of a relatively

privileged social background. (His father was an officer of the French
navy, and his mother was the first cousin of Nobel Prize laureate Albert
Schweitzer.)—On Sartre’s life, see, for instance: Cohen-Solal (2005
[1987/1985]); Drake (2005); Leak (2006); McBride (1997); Sartre,
Auster, and Davis (1978 [1977/1976]); Thompson and Thompson
(1984); van den Hoven and Leak (2005).
360. Ibid., p. 7.
361. Ibid., p. 7.
363. Ibid., p. 7.
365. On the centrality of the emphasis on ‘the socio-historical conditions of produc-
tion’ in Bourdieusian thought, see, for instance: Robbins (2010); Robbins
(2013).
368. There are numerous examples of Bourdieusian (or Bourdieu-inspired)
approaches to intellectual ideas and/or intellectuals in the literature.
See, for instance: Bautista (1987); Boschetti (1985); Boschetti (1988
[1985]); Collins (1998); Fritsch (2005); Gross (2002); Gross (2008);
Kauppi (2000); Mahar (1990); Miller (2003); Nash (2005); Pecourt
(2007); Pecourt (2008); Pels (1995); Picò and Pecourt (2013); Pinto
(1991); Ringer (2000 [1990]); Schwengel (2003); Sintomer (2005);
Sintomer (2011); Susen (2011e). On this point, see also, for exam-
ple: Bourdieu (1984); Bourdieu (1993b); Bourdieu (1993 [1984]-a);
Bourdieu (1993 [1984]-b); Bourdieu (1993 [1984]-d).
369. Baert (2015), p. 11 (italics added). On this point, see ibid., pp. 10–13.
370. Ibid., pp. 10–11.
371. Ibid., p. 11. On this point, see ibid., pp. 10–13.
373. See Luhmann (1995 [1984]) and Luhmann (2002). See also, for
instance: Baraldi, Corsi, and Esposito (1997); Bohn (2005); Fuchs
(1993 [1992]); Habermas (1987 [1985]-b); Mingers (2002);
Viskovatoff (1999). For detailed comparisons between Luhmannian sys-
tems theory and Bourdieusian field theory, see, for example: Beer (2006);
Bohn (1991), pp. 99–116 and 137–139; Bohn (2005); Hahn (1991),
pp. 7–8; Kneer (2004); Nassehi and Nollmann (2004a); Nassehi and
Nollmann (2004b); Nollmann (2004); Saake (2004); Susen (2007), pp.
177 and 199n28.
374. See Rupke (2006).
375. Baert (2015), pp. 16–17 (italics added).

376. Ibid., p. 17.
377. On this point, see Susen (2015a), esp. pp. 192–194. See also, for
instance: Heywood (2007 [1992]); Susen (2014c); Susen (2016b).
378. On this point, see Susen (2015a), esp. pp. 140–143.
379. On this point, see ibid., pp. 21, 26–27, and 195.
380. On this point, see ibid., esp. p. 140.
381. Baert (2015), p. 17.
382. Ibid., p. 17 (italics added). Cf. Rosa (2016).
383. On this point, see, for instance: Browne and Susen (2014), pp. 217–
223; Susen (2012a), esp. p. 307; Susen (2014c), pp. 96–109; Susen
(2015a), esp. pp. 12, 35, 111, 124, 130, 134, 135, 140, 185, 194, 195,
201, 238, 250, 257, 273, 280, 295n23, and 306n304.
384. On this point, see Baert (2015), p. 172: ‘[…] the strength of a narrative
often depends on what is not said […]’ (italics added). On this point,
see also Susen (2014c), esp. pp. 96–97 (see point on ‘dominant ideo
logy and distortion’).
386. Ibid., p. 17.
387. Ibid., p. 17.
388. Ibid., p. 17.
389. Ibid., p. 17.
391. Ibid., p. 19. On anti-conformist critiques of power, see, for example:
Browne and Susen (2014); Holloway (2005 [2002]); Holloway (2007);
Holloway (2010); Holloway and Susen (2013); Susen (2008a); Susen
(2008b); Susen (2012a); Susen (2014a).
392. In order to avoid making sweeping generalizations about the nature of the
intellectual field, the aforementioned questions and reflections need to
be examined on the basis of historical analysis. For instance, in her book
Economists and Societies: Discipline and Profession in the United States,
Britain, and France, 1890s to 1990s (2009), Marion Fourcade suggests that,
especially since the demise of Keynesianism, discipline has produced over-
whelming numbers of right-wing intellectuals (notably in the United States
of America, Great Britain, and France). On this point, see Fourcade (2009).
On the relationship between politics and intellectuals, see, for instance:
Dreßen (1971); Etzioni and Bowditch (2006); Eyerman, Alexander,
and Breese (2011); Greiffenhagen (1986); Hanuschek, Hörnigk, and
Malende (2000); Herf (1984); Jennings and Kemp-Welch (1997);
Kauppi (2010); Misztal (2007); Pecourt (2008); Reuter (1982);
Scheuch (1974); Swartz (2003); Swartz (2013); Thijssen (2013);
Wiehn (1971).
94 S. SUSEN
On left-wing ideologies and intellectuals, see, for instance: Dreßen

(1971); Grunewald and Bock (2002); Hirsh (1981); Horowitz (2003);
Khilnani (1993); Lloyd (1997); O’Brien (1977); Vogelgesang (1974).
On right-wing ideologies and intellectuals, see, for instance: Deutsch and
Dolkart (1993); Hoeveler (1991); Mergel (2010); Sanos (2013).
393. Baert (2015), p. 159.
396. On this point, see, for instance: Becker Lorca (2014); Berman (1968);
Bethell (1996); Bourg (2004); Burguière (2009 [2006]); Ekirch
(1963); Grant (1996); Maclean (1980); Salmon (1987); Sedgwick
(2009 [2004]); Wish (1960).
398. See, for instance, ibid., pp. 2 and 162. See Bourdieu (1975) and
Bourdieu (1988). See also Wiechens (2002).
399. Baert (2015), p. 158.
400. See ibid., pp. 158–163.
401. See ibid., pp. 158–163.
402. See ibid., pp. 161–162.
403. Ibid., p. 158.
404. See ibid., pp. 158–159.
405. See ibid., pp. 159–162.
406. See ibid., pp. 162–163.
408. Ibid., p. 161.
409. On this point, see ibid., p. 161. See also Durkheim (1982 [1895]) and
Durkheim (2010 [1924]). In addition, see Karsenti (2012 [2006]).
413. On this point, see Durkheim (1966/1951 [1897]).
414. On these accounts, see Baert (2015), pp. 161–162.
415. Ibid., p. 161.
416. Ibid., p. 162.
418. Ibid., p. 162.
419. Ibid., p. 162.
420. Ibid., p. 162.
421. On this point, see, for example: Susen (2007), pp. 237 and 277; Susen
(2013c), pp. 208–211. See also Kögler (1997) and Kögler (2013). It
is beyond the scope of this essay to examine the significant contribu-
tions made by Karl Mannheim (1893–1947) to the social sciences in
general and to sociology in particular. It should be taken into account,

however, that he is widely considered one of the founding figures—if
not, the founding figure—of the sociology of knowledge. In essence,
the sociology of knowledge is concerned with the study of the rela-
tionship between human thought and the social context within which
it arises. To be exact, the sociology of knowledge explores the extent
to which the constitution, development, and functions of cognitive
processes—including their epistemic representations—are shaped by,
and in turn shape, the spatiotemporally contingent settings in which
they come into being. Irrespective of the question of whether or not
his project can be regarded as worthwhile, contemporary debates on
the nature of both ordinary and intellectual modes of knowledge pro-
duction have been profoundly influenced by Mannheim’s attempt to
provide a comprehensive sociological understanding of epistemic pro-
cesses and structures. On this point, see, for example: Mannheim (1991
[1936/1929]); Mannheim (1997 [1940/1935]); Mannheim (1997
[1952]); Mannheim (1997 [1980/1922–1924]); Mannheim (1997
[1986/1925]); Mannheim (1997 [1951]); Mannheim (2001 [1930]);
Mannheim and Wolff (1971). See also, for instance: Baum (1977);
Kettler, Loader, and Meja (2008); Kögler (1997); Longhurst (1989);
Remmling (1975); Simonds (1978); Woldring (1987).
422. On the problem of determinism in Bourdieusian thought, see, for example:
Gautier (2001); Inglis (2013); Quiniou (1996); Susen (2007), pp. 13,
14, 150, 151, 152, 156, 158, 206, 207, 225, 227n4, 239, 250, and
309; Susen (2011e), pp. 49, 51, 52, 53, 56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 65, 66,
67, 69, 73, 74, 76, 77, 78, and 80; Susen (2011c), pp. 369, 373, 374,
377, 379, 381, 382, 385, 386, 387, 388, 392, 393, 394, 395, 397,
398, 399, 401, 402, 404, 405, 407, and 408; Susen and Turner (2011),
pp. xv, xvii, xxv, and xxvi; Susen (2013b), pp. 197–198; Susen (2013c),
pp. 200, 203, 204, 207, 209, 215, 216, 217, 218, 220, 221, 223, 225,
226, 228, and 229; Susen (2013d), pp. 328, 330, 331, 332, 333, 337,
338, 340, 341, 343, 344, and 364–374; Susen (2014 [2015]), pp.
316, 327, 339n23; Susen (2015c), pp. 158–159, 159n56, and 174. Cf.
Habermas (2004) and Varela (1999).
423. On this point, see Susen (2007), Chapters 5–8.
424. See previous note on the problem of determinism in Bourdieusian thought.
427. Ibid., p. 163.
428. Ibid., p. 163.
429. See Bourdieu (1972) and Bourdieu (1977 [1972]).
96 S. SUSEN
430. See previous note on the problem of determinism in Bourdieusian thought.

See esp. Susen (2007), Chapter 7.
431. On this point, see ibid., Chapter 7, esp. pp. 171–192 (notably, the
points on the temporality, constructability, potentiality, indetermi-
nacy, autonomy, and contestability of field and habitus). On Bourdieu’s
emphasis on the generative potential permeating the objective, norma-
tive, and subjective dimensions of human existence, see ibid., esp. pp.
187, 189, 211, and 214.
432. On this point, see Bourdieu (2004).
433. On this point, see Baert (2015), esp. pp. 163–164.
434. See, for example: Habermas (1988 [1967/1970]); Habermas (1984
[1976]); Habermas (1987 [1981]-a); Habermas (1987 [1981]-b);
Habermas (1987 [1985]-a); Habermas (1998 [1976, 1981, 1985,
1986, 1988, 1996]); Habermas (2001). See also, for instance: Baert
(1998a), Chapter 6; Baert (1998b); Baert (2005b); Baert and Silva
(2010 [1998]-a), Chapter 7; Baert and Silva (2010 [1998]-b).
435. See, for example: Rorty (1982); Rorty (1989); Rorty (1991a); Rorty
(1991b); Rorty (1998); Rorty (2009 [1979]). See also, for instance:
Baert (2003); Baert (2005a); Baert and Silva (2013); Baert and Turner
(2004); Baert and Turner (2007).
436. Baert (2015), p. 163 (italics in original).
437. Susen (2013c), p. 236n121 (italics in original). See ibid. (italics in origi-
nal): ‘(i) The most obvious examples of foundational fields are eco-
nomic, political, cultural, artistic, linguistic and sexual fields, because
no society can possibly exist without some degree of division of labour,
small-scale and large-scale modes of action coordination, various forms
of habitualization, diversified realms of aesthetic expression, everyday
spaces of communicative interaction, and overt or subtle ways of regu-
lating sexual reproduction. (ii) Contemporary examples of contingent
fields are judicial, military, religious, scientific, academic and journalistic
fields, because society may be organized more or less efficiently with,
but can—at least in principle—exist without, legal arrangements, mar-
tial resources, sacred institutions, systematic forms of knowledge pro-
duction, disciplinary divisions of cognition and media industries. (iii)
Obvious examples of ephemeral fields are short-lived gatherings, politi-
cal demonstrations, concerts, stage performances, parties, sport events,
football matches, train journeys, lectures, seminars and classes; in short,
an infinite list of collectively constructed situations and shared experi-
ences.’—On this point, see also, for instance: Susen (2016d), esp. pp.
461–463; Susen (2017a), pp. 144–146; Susen (2017c), pp. 119–120;
Susen (2017e), pp. 358, 365–367, and 372n70.
438. On the concept of ‘positioning’, see, for instance: Davies and Harré
(1990); Harré and Langenhove (1998); Harré, Moghaddam, Cairnie,
Rothbart, and Sabat (2009); Montiel and Guzman (2011); Osbeck and
Nersessian (2010); Ries and Trout (2001 [1981]); Schmidle (2010);
Slocum-Bradley (2010); van Langenhove and Harré (1993).
442. Baert (2015), p. 169.
443. Ibid., p. 169.
444. Ibid., p. 169.
445. Ibid., p. 169.
448. Ibid., p. 178.
449. On the relationship between the objective, normative, and subjective dimen-
sions of human existence, see, for instance: Susen (2012b), p. 712 (see
point c); Susen (2014 [2012]), p. 192 (see point c); Susen (2014b), pp.
349–350 (see point 13); Susen (2015a), pp. 101–103; Susen (2017d),
pp. 109–110.
450. It should be noted that there are multiple examples that illustrate the
complexity, contentiousness, and contradictoriness of labelling and
(re-)positioning processes taking place within the intellectual field. For
instance, in John Eldridge and Lizzie Eldridge’s Raymond Williams:
Making Connections (1994), the validity of Raymond Williams’s self-
characterization as a ‘Marxist’ is called into question. This is indicative
of the fact that labelling and (re-)positioning processes are far from
straightforward, depending not only on intellectual scholars themselves
but also on the ways in which they, and their works, are perceived and
interpreted by others—notably, by their peers as well as by their com-
mentators and critics. On this point, see Eldridge and Eldridge (1994).
Considering Williams’s numerous publications on both culture and soci-
ety, both the label ‘cultural theorist’ and the label ‘social theorist’ appear
appropriate to describe him in terms of his intellectual outlook; indeed,
given his advocacy of historical materialism, the label ‘Marxist theo-
rist’ may be equally suitable. On this point, see, for example: Williams
(1958); Williams (1961); Williams (1977); Williams (1980); Williams
(1981); Williams (1988 [1976]). See also, for instance: Eagleton
(1989); Eldridge and Eldridge (1994); Higgins (1999); Jones (2004);
Milner (2002); Milner (2010); Stevenson (1995); Tredell (1990). In
short, the classification of intellectual ‘team membership’ is, in many
cases, far from unambiguous, let alone uncontroversial.
98 S. SUSEN
451. See Baert (2015), esp. pp. 177–179.

453. See Susen (2013c), p. 236n121.
455. As suggested above, radical repositioning can lead to both loss of cred-
ibility and increase in credibility. Either way, intellectual repositioning
has reputational implications. It can occur not only with varying degrees
of denial, withdrawal, or recantation, but also with varying degrees of
public interest in the reasons behind, and in the consequences of, repo-
sitioning. Prominent cases of ‘repositioning’ include Anglo-American
interwar writers, such as Sidney Hook (1902–1989), as well as Partisan
Review editors, such as Dwight MacDonald (1906–1982) and Philip
Rahv (1908–1973). Looking at the other side of the Atlantic, notably
Britain, one may mention the poets of the so-called Auden Group or
Auden Generation, who were particularly active in the 1930s: Wystan
H. Auden (1907–1973), Cecil Day-Lewis (1904–1972), Stephen
Spender (1909–1995), and Louis MacNeice (1907–1963), but also the
novelist Christopher Isherwood (1904–1986)—all of whom underwent
processes of repositioning throughout their careers. I owe this observa-
tion to Bridget Fowler.
458. Ibid., p. 186.
461. See previous note on the ‘digital turn’.
463. Ibid., p. 188.
464. Ibid., p. 188.
466. On the distinction between ‘ordinary knowledge’ and ‘scientific knowledge’,
see, for example: Boltanski (1990); Boltanski (1998), esp. pp. 248–251;
Boltanski (1999–2000), esp. pp. 303–306; Bourdieu and Eagleton
(1992), esp. p. 117; Celikates (2009), esp. pp. 12, 25–28, 39–40, 56,
72–81, 89–92, 116–122, 138–152, 159–160, and 187–247; Cronin
(1997), esp. pp. 206–207; Mesny (1998), esp. pp. 143–190; Susen
(2007), esp. pp. 25, 102, 135–137, 138, 139, 140, 146n8, 153, 156,
157, 204, 205, 224, and 311; Susen (2011a), esp. pp. 448–458; Susen
(2011e), pp. 8, 27, 33–36, and 40; Susen (2015a), pp. 282–283n30.
468. On this point, see Kühnl (1983) and Kühnl (1990 [1979]). See also
Susen (2013a), pp. 99–100n29.
469. Cf. Jeffrey Herf’s Reactionary Modernism: Technology, Culture and

Politics in Weimar and the Third Reich (1984). In this study, Herf pro-
vides an insightful historical analysis of the emergence of regressive
modernism in Germany between the late 1920s and 1945; see Herf
(1984). Any claims concerning the ‘closeness’ that some intellectuals
appear to possess in relation to a particular ‘Volk’ should be regarded
with the greatest suspicion.
470. See, for instance, recent debates on ‘Brexit’—notably, in terms of the
normative role of discursive oppositions such as ‘experts’ versus ‘lay-
persons’, ‘the elite’ versus ‘the people’, and ‘them’ versus ‘us’. On this
point, see Susen (2017b).
471. On the concept of emancipation, see Susen (2015b). See also Susen (2009).
473. On this point, see ibid., pp. 159–160. See also ibid., p. 174.
474. See, for instance: Pocock (1985); Skinner (1969); Skinner (1978).
477. The literature on the role of intellectuals in society is vast. See, for instance:
Ahearne and Bennett (2007), Bennett (2007); Baert and Isaac (2011);
Baert and Shipman (2012); Becker Lorca (2014); Bennett (2007); Berger
(1991); Berman (1968); Betz and Martens (2004); Bhoite (1987);
Boschetti (1985); Boschetti (1988 [1985]); Bourg (2004); Bozóki
(1999); Brym (1980); Burguière (2009 [2006]); Chebel d’Appolonia
(1991); Collini (2006); Collins (1998); Debray (1979); Debray (1981
[1979]); Edwards (2015); Ekirch (1963); Eliæson and Kalleberg
(2008); Etzioni (2006); Etzioni and Bowditch (2006); Eyerman (1994);
Eyerman, Alexander, and Breese (2011); Fleck and Hess (2014); Frickel
and Gross (2005); Fuller (2005); Fuller (2009); Furedi (2004); Furedi
(2006 [2004]); Galster (2001a); Galster (2001b); Gella (1976); Goldfarb
(1998); Gouldner (1985); Grant (1996); Gross (2002); Haney (2008);
Head and Walter (1988); Jachec (2015); Jacobs and Townsley (2011);
Jacoby (2000 [1897]); Jennings (1992); Jennings and Kemp-Welch
(1997); Judt (1992); Julliard and Winock (2009 [1996]); Kaplan (1986);
Kauppi (2010); Kelly (2004); King and Szelényi (2004); Lemert (1991);
Long (2013); MacDonald (2000); Maclean (1980); Malik (1979); Miller
(1999); Misztal (2007); Mohan (1987); Morgan and Baert (2015);
Ory and Sirinelli (1992); Pecourt (2007); Pecourt (2008); Picò and
Pecourt (2013); Posner (2003 [2001]); Rabinbach (1997); Rieff (1969);
Rubenstein (1993); Sabour (2001); Sadri (1992); Said (1994); Salmon
(1987); Sedgwick (2009 [2004]); Sirinelli (1988); Small (2002); Sowell
(2009); Spotts (2008); Swartz (2003); Swartz (2013); Thijssen (2013);
Traverso (1999); Wilkinson (1981); Winock (1997); Wish (1960).
100 S. SUSEN
Acknowledgement I am indebted to David Lehmann for providing me with

helpful comments on a draft version of this chapter.
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CHAPTER 2
The Existentialist Moment Defended:

A Reply to Simon Susen
Patrick Baert
Abstract  In this chapter, Patrick Baert offers a detailed reply to Simon

Susen’s review of The Existentialist Moment: The Rise of Sartre as a Public
Intellectual. More specifically, Baert defends his proposal for a positioning
theory, arguing that it equips us with a powerful explanatory framework
for the sociological study of intellectuals. Even if the label ‘positioning
theory’ may suggest otherwise, Baert’s version of this approach consti-
tutes a comprehensive research programme, rather than a merely theo-
retical endeavour. As such, it can be regarded as a way of conducting
research that pays close attention to the relationship between intellectual
interventions and the meanings that these interventions acquire within
socio-political contexts. This type of inquiry, then, requires an in-depth
understanding not only of intellectuals but also of the broader milieu in
which intellectuals operate.
Keywords  Existentialism · History · Positioning theory · Public

intellectuals · Sartre · Social theory
Introduction
I would like to express my appreciation for Simon Susen’s compre-
hensive and intelligent engagement with the central theoretical argu-
ments developed in my book The Existentialist Moment1. It is a pleasure
to be able to read a thorough and fair critique of one’s work, and
© The Author(s) 2017 123

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-61210-2_2
124 P. BAERT
delivering such a critique is precisely what Susen has done. I hope to be

able to do as much justice to his critical assessment as he has done to
my book.
Let me first start with a word of caution. Whilst Susen’s critique of
The Existentialist Moment is extremely well developed, it focuses almost
entirely on two chapters of the book—the introductory chapter and
especially the final chapter. In this concluding chapter, I develop the
theoretical perspective—called positioning theory—that underlies the
preceding chapters. The main objective of my book was not to propose
this theory but, rather, to answer a specific historical question: how can
one explain the sudden rise of Jean-Paul Sartre as a public intellectual in
the 1940s? In order to make the book accessible to a broad audience, I
decided not to elaborate on my theory as such until the final chapter. In
other words, the large bulk of the book is an attempt to show how the
intellectual field and political and cultural sensitivities changed through-
out the early to mid-1940s and how Sartre was able to operate within
that context and tap into new insecurities and hopes.
For instance, I discuss the prosecution of collaborationist intellectu-
als, especially in 1944 and 1945, in which the notion of responsibility
loomed large. Some writers were put on trial, mainly for writing in sup-
port of Nazi Germany, some received lengthy sentences and a few were
even executed. In the trials, the arguments used against collaboration-
ist writers tended to focus on their ability to influence their readers. It
was argued that the more talent you have as an author, the more you
carry responsibility for what you write, because you will then have an
audience that might be susceptible to your ideas, and people who have
been influenced can influence others. The notion of the responsibil-
ity of the intellectual then quickly moved from the legal to the cultural
sphere, occupying a central theme in the literary pages of newspapers and
journals.2
During this period, Sartre redefined his philosophy, made it simpler,
more digestible and palatable, and crucially he redefined his philosophy
around the notion of the responsibility of the intellectual. The respon-
sibility about which he was talking, however, bore little resemblance
to the responsibility of the courtroom. Sartre’s genius, if that is the
appropriate word, was to define responsibility and strip it of its negative
connotations. Responsibility, then, was no longer about holding some-
one accountable for the pernicious actions of their past. Responsibility
had become a positive category, directed towards both the present and
2 THE EXISTENTIALIST MOMENT DEFENDED: A REPLY TO SIMON SUSEN 125
the future: it was about your moral duty as a writer to engage politically
with the present. Hence, a key notion that emerged was that of the
engaged intellectual, which, from then onwards, became Sartre’s central
self-positioning.3
In sum, the book showed, among other things, how Sartre tapped
into this renewed cultural interest in the notion of responsibility, rede-
fining his philosophy around this category. My positioning theory was
central to the arguments developed—Sartre managed to reposition him-
self in tune with the changing climate. This theory remained, however,
implicit until the final chapter.
Now, Susen’s critique mainly focuses on the theory—not the histori-
cal case study. Given Susen’s research interests, this is perfectly fine and
understandable. After all, in The Existentialist Moment, I argued that the
positioning theory that I developed here has much broader applicability
well beyond the Sartre case. I gave many other examples along the way—
all to make this point. In short, Susen is more than justified in zoom-
ing in on the theory chapter, and I am very happy he did so, especially
as some other reviews of the book failed to engage with this aspect of
the book.4
Nevertheless, in this book I tried to present a rich, historical account
of the context in which Sartre rose to prominence; the theory was an aid
to this empirical enterprise—not an end in itself. The positioning theory
that I propose draws our attention to the significance of thick interpreta-
tive research. It focuses on how some intellectual interventions resonate
with various publics; uncovering this process requires in-depth empirical
investigation of the kind that I sought to undertake in The Existentialist
Moment. For instance, I explored how, during the Second World War,
in French Resistance circles the notion of silence acquired heroic con-
notations, whereas at the end of the war the very same people celebrated
and promoted the act of speaking out. This cultural shift was crucial in
the making of Sartre, whilst, as I point out, he also contributed to it.
Investigating these cultural changes requires a thorough socio-historical
analysis, one that goes well beyond the rigid structure of a theoretical
framework. This is not to belittle the significance of the theory, nor to
dismiss Susen’s critique of it. Rather, what I want to argue is that for
those, such as Susen, who are interested in the broader implications,
what is at stake here is not just a theory, but it is something different.
Call it an approach or, to use a grand term, a research programme—
a way of conducting research. The metaphorical proof of the pudding
126 P. BAERT
is in the eating and a significant part of The Existentialist Moment does

precisely that: putting the research programme into practice. In this
case, we should be careful when analysing the theory separately from the
actual research.
Whilst Susen pays attention to the more theoretical chapters, I would
like to take the opportunity here to correct some misunderstandings
about the bulk of the book, which deals with Sartre’s rise and fall as a
public intellectual. I will focus in particular on two reviews that grossly
misread what I wrote: a review by Steve Fuller in the British Journal of
Sociology and a review by William McBride in Contemporary Political
Theory.5 Fuller, who generally likes to court controversy, suggests that
my account of Sartre is ‘neither so surprising nor so different from more
conventional accounts’6, but then he fails to say anything about which
conventional accounts he is talking about and why they are supposedly
so similar. I suspect the reason for this lacuna is obvious: he has little
knowledge of the literature to which he is alluding. Indeed, a self-styled
polyglot, Fuller’s writings touch upon the philosophy of science, social
epistemology, and some social theory, but certainly not French intellec-
tual history. Even so, if he had read my introductory chapter, he would
have learned that I provide a clear description about how different my
explanation is from the existing accounts that are available, including
those by Anna Boschetti and Randall Collins.7 Fuller’s slapdash review
fails to acknowledge this altogether. Surely, a reviewer should at least
read the Introduction!
If Fuller does not seem to have much in-depth knowledge about the
topics covered in The Existentialist Moment, McBride has made a career
stretching over half a century from editing and writing about Sartre.
He is undoubtedly knowledgeable about Sartre’s philosophy of exis-
tentialism. Yet, his review includes a string of bizarre misinterpretations
mixed with the occasional non sequitur.
First, McBride writes that, in his view, I exaggerate the importance of
Sartre’s famous lecture ‘L’existentialisme est un humanisme’, which he
gave at the end of October 1945 in Paris. Nothing could be further from
the truth: I explicitly criticize any attempt to account for Sartre’s rise by
focusing exclusively on the autumn of 1945 and the public lecture in
particular.8 My whole point was that focusing exclusively on the autumn
of 1945 ignores the significance of the preceding five years. In this con-
text, McBride also contends that there was by the summer of 1945
‘already wider awareness, at least in intellectual milieux and possibly
beyond’9. Again, this is not really in contradiction to what I argued in

the book, as I made it very clear in the text that Sartre’s rise to promi-
nence already got under way in the course of 1944—not in the autumn
of 1945.10
Second, for McBride, the initial absence of reviews of L’Être
et le néant is not necessarily indicative of a lack of interest in this book,
because reviews of philosophical works always take time and there was
a paper shortage under Vichy. Still, we cannot ignore that, initially, no
major outlets showed any interest in L’Être et le néant, and McBride fails
to provide any evidence for his idée fixe that the publication of L’Être
et le néant somehow made his broader reputation. McBride’s reason-
ing becomes particularly confusing when he cites a positive review of
L’Être et le néant, published in an Argentinian journal in August 1945,
as proof of the wider interest in L’Être et le néant. Now, all commenta-
tors agree that by then—the summer of 1945—Sartre’s rise was already
underway, although we can all concur that there are better indicators for
his fresh status as a public intellectual in France than a positive apprecia-
tion in a specialized national journal in Argentina. If there is any verac-
ity in McBride’s review essay, it is the suggestion that Sartre’s writings
prior to 1944 already gave him some credibility among a specialist cir-
cle. I totally agree, and I never argued otherwise (although I refuse to
limit the significance of Sartre’s corpus to L’Être et le néant). Indeed, I
acknowledge in The Existentialist Moment that by early 1944 Sartre had
already acquired a reputation among his peers, partly because of his phil-
osophical writings (which included not just L’Être et le néant but also
various other publications in the 1930s that engage with German phe-
nomenology) and his literary output (which included novels, plays, and
short stories).11 He was at that point, however, not a public intellectual
by any stretch of the imagination. He became one over the course of the
next couple of years.
Third, McBride misunderstands my typology of public intellectu-
als (authoritative, expert and dialogical) and erroneously assumes that
I celebrate the expert public intellectual and the role of the social sci-
ences in it. For instance, he writes about ‘Baert’s […] frequent insist-
ence that social scientists, including in particular sociologists like himself,
are in possession of certain keys to the intellectual kingdom that mere
humanists like Sartre (for whom, after all, existentialism was a human-
ism) lack’12. This is a misreading of the arguments developed in The
Existentialist Moment. My statements in this regard were descriptive as
128 P. BAERT
well as, to a certain extent, explanatory; they were never meant to be

normative. I did not mean to promote the expert public intellectual and
the social sciences, nor did I mean to applaud the gradual demise of the
authoritative public intellectual and the humanities. Rather, I was simply
arguing that various sociological shifts (including higher educational lev-
els for more people, plus the rise and institutionalization of the social sci-
ences) have made it more difficult to operate like an authoritative public
intellectual.13
Simon Susen’s Critique

I will now move on to Susen’s critique, and I will take each of his points
in turn.
Susen’s first point concerns intersectionality—the intersection bet
ween different sources of inequality. He argues that I ignore this. Well,
it is true that this has not been the focus of my attention in the book.
It is also true that the protagonists in The Existentialist Moment—
collaborationist authors and Resistance writers—tended to be male and
came mostly from relatively privileged backgrounds. This might not
be entirely surprising, given the historical context. There were quite a
few exceptions, however, and they appear in The Existentialist Moment.
In relation to gender, Colette and Simone de Beauvoir were key figures
in the 1940s whilst, of course, operating in a predominantly male con-
text. Further, some of the well known authors during this period had
little educational or social advantage. We all know about Albert Camus’s
working class credentials; his mother was an illiterate cleaner. Susen
also mentions sexual orientation: I explain in the book how the alleged
homosexuality of the collaborationist writer Robert Brasillach played a
crucial role in his trial and how, contentiously from today’s perspective,
Sartre linked collaboration with homosexuality.14
In relation to Sartre himself, class, obviously, comes into the picture.
As I explain in the book, Sartre came from a relatively privileged back-
ground and his maternal grandfather, who was a significant intellectual
in his own right, took it upon himself to educate the young Jean-Paul.
So Sartre had a head start, the cultural capital that he ‘inherited’ cer-
tainly helped him to gain access to the École normale, and this institu-
tion in turn would provide Sartre with important social connections.
I acknowledge all this, but I emphasize that this is not sufficient to explain
the Sartre phenomenon—his remarkable success. Against Anna Boschetti
(who makes this narrative of a privileged trajectory the cornerstone of

her explanation for Sartre’s rise)15, I point out that many of Sartre’s con-
temporaries in the intellectual and literary field had a similarly privileged
parcours. Nor does Boschetti explain why Sartre came to prominence
around 1945—not before, not after. So my point is that we need to go
beyond the traditional Bourdieu perspective (which Boschetti follows
very closely) and investigate how, around 1945, Sartre’s writings man-
aged to connect with sections of French society.
In sum, The Existentialist Moment does mention issues relevant to
what Susen talks about (e.g. class, gender, sexuality), but it does not flag
it up as such because the focus is different.
Susen’s second point concerns my claim that Sartre’s status as a public
intellectual and his political influence have been unrivalled in the twenti-
eth and twenty-first centuries. In this context, Susen lists other intellec-
tuals who have been prominent in the public sphere and have exercised
a considerable political impact. I never intended to deny the existence
of other prominent public intellectuals, but I remain unconvinced by
Susen’s list: it includes thinkers who have contributed significantly to
their respective fields but whose position in the public realm is nowhere
near comparable to that of Sartre. For instance, there is no doubt that
Nancy Fraser’s contributions to political theory are very important, but
that does not make her a major public intellectual, and it is not a sur-
prise that she does not feature in the latest list by Prospect of the top
50 current ‘world thinkers’, as voted by people around the world.
Of all the people on Susen’s list Noam Chomsky has probably been the
most prominent (he was listed as number one in the 2005 Prospect list
of public intellectuals, but interestingly he does not feature in the latest
list); and, like Sartre, he is undoubtedly an iconic figure. Sartre’s politi-
cal influence was remarkable, however; he enjoyed private audiences with
various heads of state (including Nikita Khrushchev and Fidel Castro)
and played a central role in several political developments, ranging from
the anticolonial movement to the 1960s student movement. Chomsky’s
political influence does not begin to compare.
Susen’s third point concerns my use of field theory, and I think he
makes some pertinent observations, though none that conflict with or
undermine my arguments in the book. Susen is right that, in the context
of Sartre, I ignore the scientific field, but there is an obvious reason for
this: Sartre operated in a variety of fields (journalism, philosophy, litera-
ture, etc.), but the scientific field was not one of them. Relatedly, there
130 P. BAERT
is truth in Susen’s observation that the literary and the academic

fields started to intersect much earlier than in the twentieth century,
although some of the philosophers he mentions—such as Jean-Jacques
Rousseau, Karl Marx, and Friedrich Nietzsche—hardly operated in the
academic realm. Regardless, I was not trying to deny that this intersec-
tion had a long history; rather, I sought to argue that it was only in
the course of the twentieth century that this intersection intensified.
I also agree with Susen’s comment that the philosophical field should
not be equated with the academic field (indeed, Sartre for one never
worked as an academic, and he did not really mean to engage with
academic philosophy in a straightforward fashion), although I remain
unconvinced that I confuse the two in the book. Finally, I entirely
agree with Susen that, besides Sartre, many other intellectuals, includ-
ing contemporaries of his, were able to operate in both the literary and
the philosophical fields, but again I never argued otherwise. Actually,
I made precisely the same point in my critique of Boschetti. She was
misguided in explaining Sartre’s success by the fact that he was success-
ful in many domains: not only is her argument circular, but, in addi-
tion, it ignores that many of Sartre’s contemporaries also worked in
different fields.16
I find Susen’s fourth point about diversity perplexing. Susen con-
tends that my positioning theory does not account for why certain
intellectuals from nontraditional backgrounds manage to be success-
ful in the intellectual realm. I disagree: the theory that I suggested in
The Existentialist Moment does precisely what Susen says it does not.
It is true that a Bourdieu-inspired perspective would find it difficult
to explain why some people from a less advantaged background would
rise to prominence (after all, they have less social and cultural capital,
etc.), but the positioning theory that I suggest is much better placed.
Positioning theory pays particular attention to what the intellectual
interventions do—what they accomplish, how they manage (or fail) to
resonate with the public(s). Of course, intellectuals rely on various per-
formative tools to bring about these effects; for instance, they might
(or might not) have the right connections, and they might (or might
not) have the rhetorical skills to bring their message across. Here, class
and background undoubtedly play a role, and it would be foolish to
ignore these factors, but positioning theory draws our attention to
how positioning affects levels of diffusion and symbolic or institutional
recognition.
Susen’s fifth point is an attempt to defend Bourdieu against my criti-

cisms of Boschetti. Now, it was not my intention to criticize Bourdieu as
such; rather, I wanted to show the deficiencies of the Bourdieu-inspired
analysis by Boschetti. My argument against her was that she tended to
focus on Sartre’s background and the advantages that it bestowed on
him—his social and cultural capital, to use Bourdieusian parlance. I
show that this explanation only goes so far because the same reasoning
would apply to quite a few other French intellectuals at the time (supra).
Furthermore, her explanation is not so different from the pedestrian
explanation that Sartre was successful simply because he excelled at what
he did, although of course this excellence, Boschetti would argue, had
social causes. I was trying to show that what appears to be a sociological
explanation is anything but.17
Susen’s sixth point is the assertion that I set up straw men when I
list four dominant narratives often invoked to explain the rise of Sartre.
Susen might be right that I could have provided more examples of
authors who exhibit those views. So let me give one example: Cohen-
Solal’s excellent biography of Sartre.18 It is an extraordinarily thorough
analysis and a remarkable achievement. For the sake of the argument
here, however, I am interested in the sections in her book devoted to
the mid-1940s, when Sartre rose to prominence. Now, in those passages,
Cohen-Solal very much focuses on the autumn of 1945 and ignores the
earlier period. More precisely, she writes about the earlier period (1940–
1944), but only in relation to Sartre’s own trajectory (his brief stint in
the army, the ill-fated attempt to start a small resistance group, his join-
ing the Resistance, etc.). In contrast, I show that, during the war and
the period leading up to the liberation, numerous significant things hap-
pened, both politically and culturally. Moreover, I posit that it is impor-
tant to see the connection between Sartre’s performances in the autumn
of 1945 (including his famous lecture on 29th October) and the broader
cultural and political shifts that preceded.19 In other words, to focus
exclusively on the autumn of 1945 is to ignore the significance of the
broader historical context that preceded it and affected it profoundly.
Without appreciating the cultural and political complexities of what hap-
pened during the period 1940–1944, it is difficult to understand how,
around 1945, Sartre managed to resonate with sections of the French
public.
Moving on to Susen’s seventh point, he disagrees with how I por-
tray the Humboldtian notion of the university. This is a minor criticism
132 P. BAERT
because it does not really affect the rest of my argument. Nevertheless, it

seems to me that Susen misunderstands what I was trying to say. As can
be inferred from Susen’s quotation, I explicitly used the Humboldtian
notion as referring to self-governance. Of course, the Humboldtian
University serves a larger function for society, and Susen puts it suc-
cinctly when he writes about the Bildung der Gesellschaft; this societal
role, however, does not contradict the principle of self-governance.
On the contrary, in Humboldt’s view, the two are connected.
Point eight deals with the labelling of intellectual interventions.
Remember that I was trying to argue that labels help the diffusion of
ideas, especially from the specialized to the public domain. Now, Susen
seems to make two distinct observations here. His first observation is that
many significant intellectual currents are internally fragmented, whereas
his second comment is that, paradoxically, some intellectual interven-
tions gain currency precisely because of their lack of clarity and coher-
ence. With regard to the first observation, it is certainly true that one
label can cover very different intellectual strands, including ones that are
incompatible with each other. Yet, this does not necessarily undermine
my argument that a label can help processes of diffusion. On the con-
trary, labels are like shortcuts, enabling the broader public to make sense
of intellectual currents. They give a sense of unity where there might not
be one. The second observation is more interesting: there are indeed
cases where ambiguity creates a sense of enigma, possibly contributing
to the aura around the intellectuals involved. Some of Jacques Derrida’s
appeal at some point, especially among younger academics, might have
had something to do with the difficulties of pinning him down. In those
cases, ambiguity might of course be a form of positioning itself.
Point nine goes to the core of what I was trying to say in The
Existentialist Moment. Susen takes issue with my hypothesis that for
intellectual interventions to enter the public realm they need to resonate
with recent socio-political experiences. He asserts that intellectual cur-
rents may well distort, rather than resonate with, the recent past. Now,
I think Susen posits a false opposition here between resonating and dis-
torting; and he seems to attribute a different meaning to the process of
resonating from the one I attach to it. For me, to resonate with some-
thing does not presume that one provides what Susen calls ‘objective
accounts of reality’. To resonate with people is, as far as I am concerned,
to connect emotionally with them. The Existentialist Moment shows
how Sartre did precisely that: his writings and lectures resonated with
sections of the French public in the way in which he presented a narra-

tive that enabled them to come to terms with the traumatic experience
of the war, whilst assisting them in moving forward. I was not trying
to imply that Sartre managed to present things as they really were (or
had been), let alone that his appeal at that time had anything to do with
his purported ability to reveal the truth. If anything, I indicate in the
book that Sartre’s reconstruction of the recent past was dubious at best:
for instance, subsequent historical evidence sheds doubt over Sartre’s
résistantialisme.20 The issue of veracity, however, is not really the point
here. What is important is that Sartre’s reconstruction of the recent past
was a convenient narrative (an untruth, as it turned out) that resonated
with the French at the time. Aristotle had something similar in mind
when he pointed out that, besides ēthos (confirming one’s own charac-
ter) and logos (developing a coherent argument), the art of rhetoric is
also about pathos (evoking emotion in the audience).21 That is what
Sartre did.
Susen’s tenth point concerns the contention that I failed to specify
about what kind of ideas I was talking. Well, the introductory chapter
to which Susen is referring deals with intellectuals (and the whole book
does), so obviously the ideas I had in mind were ideas that, tradition-
ally, would have been associated with the intellectual realm. However, I
do not want to hold on to a strict distinction between intellectual and
nonintellectual ideas in the way in which Susen seems to suggest. Susen
appears to contrast intellectual ideas with epistemic forms such as com-
mon sense, dogma, traditions, and religion—a distinction that is dif-
ficult to uphold and that is, surely, at closer scrutiny bound to break
down. His implicit assumption that intellectual life somehow resides
in a realm devoid of these other factors seems very curious. At vari-
ous points, the religious and intellectual worlds have intersected, and
Hans-Georg Gadamer rightly pointed out that any form of knowledge
acquisition always necessarily draws on some form of tradition.22 Of
course, nowadays intellectuals often position themselves in opposition
to dogma and tradition (and in some respects, this is a lasting legacy of
the Enlightenment), but this does not mean that their interventions are
devoid of it.
Point eleven: Susen argues that there is hardly any scope for right-
wing intellectuals in my study. This is not true. It is true that I show how
the historical origins of the French notion of the intellectual were inter-
twined with a progressive, Republican tradition. This phenomenon is,
134 P. BAERT
however, historically contingent, and several chapters of The Existentialist

Moment discuss, at length, the views and actions of fascist and con-
servative intellectuals in France in the late 1930s and the first part of
the 1940s.23 I discuss, for instance, Béraud Céline, Pierre Drieu la
Rochelle, and Charles Maurras—hardly progressives in any meaning of
the term!
In this political context, Susen also poses a number of empirical ques-
tions, and they would form an interesting research programme. I would
like to make a few observations, partly based on research already con-
ducted in this area.
First, there has been some empirical research on the political orienta-
tions of academics in the United States of America.24 The results were
not earthshattering. Professors in the social sciences are on the left of the
political spectrum in comparison with Professors in the natural sciences
and engineering. The most interesting result concerned Law Faculties:
they appeared to be the most divided, with a large proportion of people
on opposite poles of the political spectrum.
Second, there has been some interesting research, again in the United
States of America, showing that academics tend to be politically more
liberal than people in other professions. The explanation provided by
Neil Gross is that conservative-leaning individuals who may consider
an academic career feel that universities are not a conducive place for
them.25 On that basis, they decide not to become academics and end up
contributing to the liberal bias of universities. It is a plausible explana-
tion, especially as he shows there is little evidence that higher education
in itself brings about liberal views.
Third, I am not convinced that simple dichotomies such as ‘left ver-
sus right’ (used by Susen) do justice to the complexity of the political
orientations that are currently available. Nowadays, a significant number
of intellectuals embrace aspects of economic liberalism, but they differ,
for instance, in the extent to which they think the state should intervene
either to stimulate the economy or to protect the vulnerable in society.
They also differ, for example, in how much they support regional or
national calls for autonomy or in their views about ethnic diversity and
social cohesion. Simple juxtapositions do not capture these complexities.
This brings me to a fourth point, concerning the interplay between
what appear to be opposing political ideas. There are interesting cases
in which intellectuals use the political writings of people with prima
facie diametrically opposed views: take, for instance, the use of Antonio
Gramsci among the extreme right in France26 or Carl Schmitt’s influence

among left-wing scholars such as Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe27.
What I am trying to convey is that political ideas can be (and are occa-
sionally) diffused in circles that are hostile to the initial projects associ-
ated with those ideas. Again, this demonstrates the level of complexity
involved.
Susen’s twelfth point relates to the claim that sociologists typically
fail to engage properly with the content of the philosophies they are
trying to explain. I could not agree more. Indeed, I never argued dif-
ferently. Susen is responding to my observation that, in comparison
with sociologists, intellectual historians tend to dwell less on theoreti-
cal considerations when conducting their empirical research. Susen is
right when he argues that sociologists in turn sometimes fail to study
the actual philosophies in-depth. Yet, this was precisely my argument
in relation to Boschetti. She portrayed extremely well the social context
in which Sartre operated, but she did not fully appreciate the signifi-
cance of what Sartre wrote and how it struck a chord with sections of
French society at the time. That is what I tried to accomplish in The
Existentialist Moment. More broadly, the positioning theory that I
developed implies that we need to look carefully at how the authors
located themselves and how other intellectuals positioned them.28 This
means that we have to study the texts and talks by the authors involved
and those by their contemporaries—something that requires thick
interpretative work. In other words, Susen and I are on the same wave-
length here.
Point thirteen: Susen questions why I wrote about the structural fal-
lacy—not the structural bias. After all, I had referred to an empiricist
bias, motivational bias, authenticity bias, and stability bias. So why talk
about a fallacy suddenly? Well, the answer is simple: it is more than just a
bias; it is, literally, a mistake. The other problems are biases—tendencies
to overstate or to overdo something—but the structural fallacy is of a
different order. It is a logical or methodological error by which observ-
able patterns at the group level are used to explain individual behaviour.
Susen defends this reasoning; thus, I will not elaborate here on why it is
problematic—I refer to point fourteen. Suffice it to say the choice of the
term ‘fallacy’ was deliberate.
In this contest, Susen also wonders why I do not use the suffix ‘ism’
(or ‘ist’/‘istic’) when referring to the motivational bias, the structural
bias, the authenticity bias and the stability bias. After all, I talked about
136 P. BAERT
‘empiricism’, so why not use similar terminology for the other problems.
The answer is straightforward: I tend to avoid ‘isms’ as much as possible
because they can lead to various misinterpretations. I only used ‘empiri-
cism’ because there is a clearly identifiable intellectual tradition that can
be associated with that label. I did not want to add more ‘isms’. Frankly,
this is an unimportant point anyway—it is a matter of semantics. Susen
makes far more interesting points than this one; hence, let us not dwell
on it.
This brings me to his fourteenth point, concerning the structural fal-
lacy. Susen seems to argue that there is no such fallacy and that, in this
regard, my understanding of Durkheim is flawed. I obviously disagree.
It is true that Durkheim wants to show that prima facie individual deci-
sions are anything but individual, but only at the level of observable
patterns. Social facts do not explain what a specific individual did, let
alone why he or she did it. Durkheim’s Suicide explains, for instance,
why married people with children are less likely to commit suicide than
those who are single, but this in itself can never explain the specific
suicide of a sole individual. Leaving aside Durkheim, I was mention-
ing the structural fallacy in relation to sociological attempts to invoke
the social background of an intellectual to explain the content of their
interventions. Communist critics of Sartre used to invoke this type of
pseudo-sociology: his bourgeois origins supposedly explained his alleged
individualism. Now, it is perfectly possible to argue that certain charac-
teristics of people’s upbringing correlate with specific intellectual sen-
sitivities; but, again, this does not explain a specific case because each
individual has a unique biographical history that cannot be reduced in
that way.
Susen’s fifteenth point concerns the issue of authenticity. Susen argues
that, in some cases, intellectuals are able to bypass or even undermine
‘the rules of the game’ and that my approach is less well equipped to
analyse this phenomenon. I am not entirely sure what Susen means pre-
cisely by ‘bypassing (or undermining) “the rules of the game”’; in this
context, it might be useful to distinguish between different types of con-
straint—in particular, between judicial, economic, and socio-symbolic
constraints:
• Judicial or legal constraints refer to the set of regulations that

restrict publications and speeches, plus the sanctions available
to implement those rules. They will obviously differ according to
the type of political system in which intellectuals are operating:

The Existentialist Moment, for instance, discusses the restrictions
imposed by Germany on the French cultural scene during the war.29
Constraints of this kind are not limited to authoritarian regimes. As
we know, in liberal democracies, there are also restrictions on writ-
ings and speeches.30
• Economic restrictions refer to the extent to which a specific intel-
lectual is financially dependent on various institutions. In this con-
text, the Existentialist Moment elaborates on the dilemmas faced by
Resistance writers who could only publish or stage a play by going
through the German censor. They either compromised or had to
resort to other means for survival, such as teaching, but even there
they would be subject to restrictions.31
• Socio-symbolic constraints are often less tangible, but they are pow-
erful nevertheless: they refer to a set of expectations within spe-
cific circles. They could range from ideas which people consider
deeply problematic or intolerable to highly desirable views. Again,
The Existentialist Moment contains plenty of examples: before the
Second World War the idea of l’art pour l’art had a certain follow-
ing, but, after the experience of the war, people saw this view as
pernicious, especially as collaborationist intellectuals used the sepa-
ration between cultural production and politics in their defence
during their trials. This created space for thinking of writing as a
political act—something that would become central to Sartre’s
redefinition of himself as an engaged intellectual.32
Susen’s point about authenticity and the undermining of ‘the rules of the
game’ seems to refer to what I call socio-symbolic constraints. Of course,
Susen is right: individuals can exercise agency and possibly go against the
grain. The Existentialist Moment and positioning theory teach us, how-
ever, that the cultural setting will have a considerable effect on how your
intervention will be perceived, whether your audience will be receptive
to your ideas, and so on. As I explain in the book, around 1945 some
collaborationist intellectuals held on to the idea of separation of art and
politics as part of their defence33, but this position had become unten-
able in the context of recent experiences. Positioning theory draws atten-
tion to these types of selection mechanisms.
Sixteenth point: Susen suggests that my interpretation of Bourdieu
is deterministic. I never intended to claim that Bourdieu’s oeuvre is
138 P. BAERT
deterministic, and I agree with Susen that Bourdieu’s framework pro-

vides scope for some level of agency. The point that I was trying to
make, however, was not that Bourdieu presents a deterministic view but,
rather, that there is a tendency among scholars within the sociology of
intellectuals to account for the stability of an intellectual’s outlook in
terms of early formation. In this context, they often invoke notions such
as habitus (Bourdieu) or self-concept (Gross). In addition, there is no
doubt that Bourdieu’s own book on Martin Heidegger34 subscribes to
a similar—that is, deterministic—picture, explaining, as he did, the views
and sensibilities of the German philosopher in terms of his background.
I do realize that other works by Bourdieu provide a more nuanced
account of the relationship between social forces and creativity, but I was
not trying to make a judgement on Bourdieu’s overall contribution to
social theory. That would be a different enterprise altogether.
Point seventeen: Susen criticizes the way in which I develop an anal-
ogy between language and intellectual interventions, because the former
is foundational to everyday life, whereas the latter are not. I agree with
this (arguably Habermasian) point, but I fail to see why this would be
relevant to my argument. I never claimed that intellectual interventions
were identical to language or indeed foundational to everyday life. Thus,
it seems to me that this point is somewhat superfluous.
Point eighteen: Susen objects to the way in which I supposedly por-
tray positioning in passive terms—that is, to use his words, ‘as a process
that is exclusively determined by exogenous agents’. In my definition, I
consciously avoided attributing specific agency to the way in which posi-
tioning unfolds, precisely because the notion of unfolding is key here.
It is an ongoing process in which various agents are involved. Authors are
never entirely in control of how a particular intervention positions them
because that positioning will be very much dependent on what others
make of the intervention, how they interpret it, how they react to it, and
how they may ignore or (re-)discover it. This does not mean that posi-
tioning is ‘exclusively determined by exogenous agents’ (I never asserted
this), but it does imply that positioning can never be entirely controlled
by the authors themselves. Related to this problem, Susen’s objection
that I am unclear as to the identity of the exogenous agents misses the
point, but inadvertently gets to the core of the issue involved: we can
never know in advance which exogenous agents will be crucial in defin-
ing the positioning of an intervention. Positioning constitutes, to some
extent, an unpredictable process. What my approach does pay attention
to, however, is the fact that, within the intellectual realm, the play-
ers involved have different levels of resources at their disposal and some
will be well equipped to impose their interpretations of the meaning of
a particular intervention onto others.35 Incidentally, this perspective is
perfectly compatible with Susen’s proposal for a ‘multifaceted’ proposal
around relationality, reciprocity, and so on.
Susen’s nineteenth point relates to my distinction between intellec-
tual positioning and politico-ethical positioning. I drew this juxtaposi-
tion because there are different arenas (or, if you wish, in Bourdieusian
parlance, fields) involved: intra-intellectual and public intellectual arenas.
Now, Susen points out that there are different forms of intellectual posi-
tioning depending on the type of inquiry involved: philosophical, social-
scientific, etc. He is right, and my perspective can certainly accommodate
for this (as Susen shows himself), but those distinctions were not particu-
larly significant for my arguments regarding Sartre. In fact, this explains
why I did not make them. A different case study may well require further
distinctions of the kind Susen makes (or, indeed, other distinctions), but
this one did not. I would disagree, though, with Susen’s statement that
‘intellectual positioning always takes place against a particular discipli-
nary background’. Even in academia, this is not always the case, as peo-
ple can straddle different disciplines. Outside academia, Susen’s position
becomes even less plausible.
Susen’s twentieth point addresses my notion of intellectual teams.
In this respect, Susen makes three observations, each of which shall be
addressed here:
• First, I disagree with his contention that my view does not allow
for ‘solitary intellectuals’. There are, of course, intellectuals who are
not embedded in a team, but it would not be as straightforward for
them to make an impact. It is not surprising, therefore, that Susen
did not mention any examples of well known ‘solitary intellectu-
als’. In his next point (twenty-one, to be discussed below), Susen
himself acknowledges that, without reliance on teamwork, ‘even the
most established intellectuals […] may find it difficult not to dis-
appear from the radar’! Indeed, a closer look at some of the well-
documented enfants terribles, from Wittgenstein to Foucault, shows
that they were clearly located within a research tradition (and, at
some point, undoubtedly belonged to a team) before they ‘broke
away’ and made their own mark.
140 P. BAERT
• Secondly, Susen’s comment about the plurality of teams has more

validity: intellectuals can (and often do) belong to various teams
at the same time, and this is an important issue. Susen’s examples,
though, confuse—rather than illuminate—the matter: in my view,
he conflates what I call ‘teams’ (where people explicitly cooper-
ate to bring about a particular positioning) with collective catego-
rizations (whereby, for purposes of analysis, people are grouped
together based on observable similarities). Nevertheless, it is cor-
rect that intellectuals can belong to different teams and that these
multiple memberships bring their own opportunities and complex-
ity. In The Existentialist Moment I explain, for instance, how the
later Sartre attempted to merge existentialism and Marxism, which,
in the intellectual and political context at the time, was perfectly
understandable but also brought about its own convolutions and
conflicts.36
• Thirdly, Susen’s distinction between three forms of membership is
illuminating and certainly helps to provide more analytical rigour in
the analysis, although it seems to me that the distinction between
the normative and the subjective needs further articulation. Also,
I would disagree with Susen’s rather sombre conclusions as to the
usefulness of the notion of teams for analysing intellectuals. They
are, in my view, unwarranted.
Point twenty-one: Susen questions my tentative hypothesis that ‘the

more secure and established one’s position, the less one needs to rely
on teamwork and the more likely one will press for intellectual individu-
alization’. Susen is wondering whether there are any counterexamples,
and he seems to suggest the opposite might well be the case: the more
established intellectuals are, the more they depend on recognition and
cooperation. This is obviously an empirical question, but note that I
was arguing that, in comparison with other intellectuals, those who are
established do not need to rely on teamwork to the same extent as non-
established ones. This does not imply that they manage to maintain their
profile and reputation without the ongoing assistance of a broader net-
work of allies and critics, but, as I explained in the book, there is (at least
in my terminology) a difference between teams and networks. And, of
course, once individualization sets in, other intellectuals may flock to the
new guru or creed, resulting in the creation of a new team (hence the
‘Keynesians’, ‘Foucauldians’, and so on).
Point twenty-two relates to the issue of credibility and reposition-

ing. In The Existentialist Moment, I argued that, within the intellectual
sphere, ongoing repositioning could lead to a reputational loss. Susen
argues that there are cases where radical repositioning may enhance cred-
ibility. I could not agree more, and I support this view in my analysis. As
a matter of fact, I explain in the book how the previously apolitical Sartre
repositioned himself dramatically in the context of the Second World
War. Sartre accompanied this repositioning with a convincing narrative:
he argued that the war made him become aware of the centrality of the
collective and of the need for political engagement. My argument was
not that any dramatic repositioning decreases credibility (which would
clearly be wrong) but, rather, that there are limits to the frequency of
such repositioning by intellectuals—not only because their peers may
start to question their integrity or coherence, but also because any act
of positioning relies on years of preparatory work and building of net-
works.37 The Sartre case shows another interesting component: reposi-
tioning is likely to be more successful if accompanied by a compelling
narrative, which may involve elements of autobiography and socio-polit-
ical history.
Point twenty-three: Susen here questions my distinction between
established intellectuals and non-established intellectuals. Susen is right
in that the distinction is rather broad, as I already discussed under point
twenty. I am less convinced by Susen’s additional suggestion that there
are various other distinctions that could be made. Of course, they can be
made (we can always add further distinctions), but the issue is whether
we should do so (and, if yes, why). What would be the intellectual
(or any other) pay-off? I tend to follow roughly a pragmatist perspec-
tive, which stipulates that there is no point in making further concep-
tual distinctions or innovations if we cannot envisage tangible effects for
the research conducted. I have more sympathy towards Susen’s related
observation that there might be differences between established intel-
lectuals and non-established intellectuals in terms of the nature of repo-
sitioning and the motives underlying it. These are obviously empirical
questions, but they are interesting, and Susen is right that this may be a
productive way forward.
I like Susen’s twenty-fourth point. Susen is certainly right that
I did not pay sufficient attention to the widening (epistemic) gap
between experts and the wider public, and therefore my analysis did
not capture fully the paradox that he described so eloquently. His other
142 P. BAERT
observation—concerning the desirability or practicality of the dialogical

model—seems to rely on a misunderstanding: I did not mean to pro-
mote the ‘dialogical public intellectual’ in The Existentialist Moment. I
did, however, advocate a dialogical mode of knowledge acquisition in
an earlier book, Philosophy of the Social Sciences: Towards Pragmatism38,
and this may explain Susen’s reading of this section of The Existentialist
Moment. I should emphasize that Philosophy of the Social Sciences is more
than a decade old, and I now very much agree with Susen’s reservations
about some of the optimistic presumptions that may underlie such a dia-
logical model.
Point twenty-five: Susen argues that, in my framework, I lost
sight of the significance of meanings as separate from intentions and
effects. Meanings, however, do come into play in my analysis. The
way, for instance, in which Sartre’s literary products around 1945
positioned Sartre ultimately depended on the myriad of mean-
ings attached to those interventions at that point in time. The
Existentialist Moment attempted to reconstruct those meanings by
contextualizing historically. It is only against the cultural backdrop of
the Second World War and the Liberation that we can begin to grasp
how, say, a particular play or a specific article would have been inter-
preted at the time.
Susen’s final observation about intentions seems to be based on a mis-
understanding, similar to one that can be found in Henrik Lundberg’s
recently published review of my book.39 Of course, I do not deny that
intellectuals have purposes when making interventions, especially given
the extent to which they have time to reflect on what they are going to
say or write and to anticipate possible meanings for their audience. My
concern, however, is of a methodological kind. In many cases, there is
insufficient evidence to attribute intentions, in which case doing so—as
is often the case in biographies of intellectuals—becomes a speculative
endeavour. Indeed, the genre of intellectual biography tends to be both
atheoretical and speculative. The problem is epitomized in Ray Monk’s
lackadaisical comment in his review of The Existentialist Moment: he
writes that there is no need for a theory (not just positioning theory but
any theory) and that, therefore, it is perfectly possible simply to study
(as he does) intellectuals on a case-by-case basis.40 No longer shackled
by theoretical and methodological concerns, biographers à la Monk are
under the illusion that they are able to enter the minds of the individuals
portrayed.
Of course, it is sometimes possible to reconstruct intentions: there

are cases where letters, interviews, or diaries may indeed provide such
insight, although even then we have to be careful because they tend
to be recollections made within a new context. Josh Booth and I have
researched how intellectuals behind Podemos draw on Carl Schmitt’s
ideas; in this context, we managed to gather some evidence to support
claims regarding intentionality.41 Yet, we have to remain vigilant and
not be tempted to extrapolate motives and expectations from what is,
in many cases, rather limited evidence. Searching for effects has major
methodological advantages. I disagree with Sarah Richmond42 that this
research strategy necessarily has a descriptive ring to it: as we have seen in
the case of Sartre, tracing effects, in the way in which I did, showed how
certain writings resonated, whereas others did not, leading to differential
uptake and diffusion—not to mention differences in symbolic recogni-
tion. Within the academic sphere, this perspective has the potential to
help us think creatively about canon formation, about what is included
and what is not. It seems to me that these are particularly salient topics
in the context of current debates on ideas around ‘decolonizing the cur-
riculum’.
I would like to finish by, once again, thanking Simon Susen for mak-
ing the effort to engage with my book.
Notes
1. Baert (2015).
2. Baert (2015), pp. 23–90.
3. Baert (2015), pp. 91–149.
4. The reviews by Carreira da Silva (2016), Catani (2017), Lundberg
(2016), Mayer (2016), McBride (2017), Outhwaite (2017), Ralston
(2017), Rapport (2016), and Richmond (2015) acknowledge the exist-
ence (and significance) of my theoretical chapter, but the reviews by
Blanchard (2016), Bradatan (2016), Frère (2017), Fuller (2016),
Grunner (2016), and Martin (2016) ignore the theoretical framework
proposed in my book. Most extraordinary, Monk (2016) explicitly writes
that we do not need theory for this kind of endeavour.
5. Fuller (2016), McBride (2017).
6. Fuller (2016), p. 562.
7. Baert (2015), pp. 2–22.
8. Baert (2015), pp. 11–12.
9. McBride (2017), p. 134.
144 P. BAERT
10. Baert (2015), pp. 1–5, and 73–111.

11. See, for instance, Baert (2015), pp. 14 and 139.
12. McBride (2017), p. 134.
13. Baert (2015), pp. 184–189.
14. Baert (2015), pp. 56–57, 74–75, and 84.
15. Boschetti (1985).
16. Baert (2015), pp. 5–7.
17. Baert (2015), pp. 5–7.
18. Cohen-Solal (2005).
19. Baert (2015), pp. 23–124.
20. See, for instance, Baert (2015), pp. 143ff.
21. Baert and Morgan (2017).
22. Gadamer (2004).
23. See Baert (2015), esp. pp. 23–90.
24. E.g. Zipp and Fenwick (2006); Gross and Simmons (2014).
25. Gross (2013).
26. Mondon (2015).
27. Mouffe (1999).
28. Baert (2015), pp. 158–189.
29. Baert (2015), pp. 23–49.
30. See, for instance, Cram (2016).
31. Baert (2015), pp. 38–46.
32. See, for instance, Baert (2015), pp. 137–138.
33. Baert (2015), p. 64.
34. Bourdieu (1991 [1988]).
35. See Baert (2015), pp. 170ff.
36. Baert (2015), pp. 150ff.
37. Baert (2015), pp. 182–183.
38. Baert (2005).
39. Lundberg (2016).
40. Monk (2016).
41. Booth and Baert (2018).
42. Richmond (2015).
References
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Baert, Patrick (2015) The Existentialist Moment: The Rise of Sartre as a Public
Intellectual, Cambridge: Polity Press.
Baert, Patrick and Marcus Morgan (2017) ‘A Performative Framework for the Study of
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Moment: The Rise of Sartre as a Public Intellectual, Cambridge: Polity Press’,
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and Contemporary Progressive Populism, London: Routledge. Forthcoming.
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trans. Peter Collier, Stanford: Stanford University Press.
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Cohen-Solal, Annie (2005) Jean-Paul Sartre; A Life, New York: The New Press.
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Martin, Andy (2016) ‘What Is It Like Being Dead?’, Prospect. 18 February 2016.
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Index of Names
A Becker Lorca, Arnulf, 94n396,

Adkins, Lisa, 120 99n477, 101
Adorno, Theodor W., 72, 118 Beck, Ulrich, 47, 48
Ahearne, Jeremy, 99n477, 100 Beer, Raphael, 92n373, 101
Albrecht, Steffen, 91n357, 100 Belk, Russell W., 84n139, 101
Alexander, Jeffrey C., 88n249, Bennett, Oliver, 99n477, 100
93n392, 99n477, 100, 106 Bennett, Tony, 99n477, 101
Archard, David, 82n67, 100 Berger, Stephen D., 99n477, 101
Aron, Raymond, 7 Bergson, Henri, 16, 85n142, 101
Athique, Adrian, 84n139, 100 Berman, Ronald, 94n396, 99n477,
Auden, Wystan H., 98n455 102
Auster, Paul, 91–92n358, 117 Berzina, Zane, 84n139, 110
Bethell, Leslie, 94n396, 102
Betz, Albrecth, 80n20, 99n477, 102
B Bhoite, Uttam Bajirao, 99n477, 102
Baert, Patrick, vii, viii, x, xi, 1–99, Bittlingmayer, Uwe H., 121
100–101, 113, 118, 123, 127, Blackburn, R.J., 91n340, 102
143–146 Blanchard, Alexander, 143n4, 145
Baraldi, Claudio, 92n373, 101 Bock, Hans Manfred, 93–94n392,
Baskin, Wade, 31n2, 117 107
Baudrillard, Jean, 91n340, 109 Bohman, James, 81n30, 102
Baum, Gregory, 95n421, 101 Bohn, Cornelia, 92n373, 102, 108
Bautista, Juan José, 92n368, 101 Boltanski, Luc, 72, 91n340, 98n466,
Baym, Nancy K., 84n139, 101 102, 103, 118, 119
Beasley-Murray, Jon, 81n30, 101 Booth, Josh, 143, 144n41, 145
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017 147

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-61210-2
148 Index of Names
Boschetti, Anna, 4, 5, 6, 9, 50, Chebel d’Appolonia, Ariane, 99n477,

51, 80n26, 91n347, 92n368, 104
99n477, 102, 126, 128–131, Chomsky, Noam, 40, 47, 48, 129
135, 144n15, 145 Cloutier, Charlotte, 96n437, 120
Bourdieu, Pierre, 4, 13, 23, 36, Codd, John, 81n30, 104
40, 47, 48, 51, 58, 62, 63, 72, Cohen-Solal, Annie, 91–92n358, 104,
81n27, 81n30, 86n190, 87n202, 131, 144n18, 145
88n255, 91n340, 91n357, Collier, Peter, 144n34, 145
92n368, 94n398, 95n429, Collini, Stefan, 99n477, 105
96n431, 96n432, 98n466, Collins, Randall, 4, 6, 51, 81n51,
100–104, 106–121, 129–131, 82n64, 92n368, 99n477, 105,
137, 138, 144n34, 145 126
Bourg, Julian, 94n396, 99n477, 104 Colliot-Thélène, Catherine, 92n368,
Bouveresse, Jacques, 81n36, 103, 104 102, 117
Bowditch, Alyssa, 82n76, 93n392, Cooke, Maeve, 96n434, 108
99n477, 105 Coole, Diana, 83–84n110, 119
Bozóki, András, 99n477, 104 Cordero, Rodrigo, 96n437, 120
Bradatan, Costica, 143n4, 145 Corsi, Giancarlo, 92n373, 101
Breese, Elizabeth Butler, 88n249, Cram, Ian, 144n30, 145
93n392, 99n477, 106 Cronin, Ciaran, 98n466, 105
Brosnan, Caragh, 96n437, 120
Brown, Nicholas, 81n30, 101, 104
Browne, Craig, 83n110, 93n383, D
93n391, 104 Dahms, Harry F., 89n275, 120
Brym, Robert J., 99n477, 104 Davies, Bronwyn, 97n438, 105
Burawoy, Michael, 41, 90n325, 104 Davis, Lydia, 91–92n358, 117
Burda, Hubert, 84n139, 104 Day-Lewis, Cecil, 98n455
Burguière, André, 94n396, 99n477, de Beauvoir, Simone, 2, 7, 31, 47, 48,
104 128
Butler, Judith, 47, 48 Debray, Régis, 99n477, 105
Delanty, Gerard, 99n477, 100
Derber, Charles, 90n325, 104
C Derrida, Jacques, 47, 48, 132
Cahm, Eric, 85n145, 104 Descartes, René, 48
Cairnie, Tracey Pilkerton, 97n438, Deutsch, Sandra McGee, 93–94n392,
108 105
Calhoun, Craig, 87n202, 92n368, Dinerstein, Ana C., 82n67, 109
103, 111 Dolkart, Ronald H., 93–94n392, 105
Camic, Charles, 86n177, 104, 114 Drake, David, 91–92n358, 105
Cancogni, Anna, 91–92n358, 104 Dreßen, Wolfgang, 93–94n392, 105
Canguilhem, Georges, 7 Dreyfus, Alfred, 16
Catani, Damian, 143n4, 145 Durkheim, Émile, 31, 59, 60, 86n188,
Celikates, Robin, 98n466, 104, 118 94n409, 94n413, 105, 136
Index of Names 149
E G
Eagleton, Terry, 97n450, 98n466, Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 133, 144n22,
103, 105 145
Ebrecht, Jörg, 91n357, 100 Galster, Ingrid, 9, 82n75, 99n477,
Edwards, Iain, 99n477, 105 106
Eickelpasch, Rolf, 86n190, 94n398, Gamble, Andrew, 90n338, 106
121 Gamson, William, 90n325, 104
Ekirch, Arthur Alphonse, 94n396, Gartman, David, 81n30, 106
99n477, 105 Gautier, Claude, 95n422, 107
Eldridge, John, 97n450, 105 Gebauer, Gunter, 81n36, 92n368,
Eldridge, Lizzie, 97n450, 105 102, 107, 117
Eliæson, Sven, 99n477, 105 Gella, Aleksander, 99n477, 107
Elliott, Anthony, 97n449, 119 Gibbons, Michael T., 83–84n110,
Ellis, Elisabeth, 83–84n110, 99n471, 99n471, 119
119 Giesen, Bernard, 88n249, 100
Esposito, Elena, 92n373, 101 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 48
Etzioni, Amitai, 82n76, 93n392, Goffman, Erving, 89n275, 107
99n477, 105 Goldfarb, Jeffrey C., 99n477, 107
Eyerman, Ron, 88n249, 93n392, Gond, Jean-Pascal, 96n437, 120
99n477, 100, 105, 106 Gorz, André, 93–94n392, 109
Gouldner, Alvin Ward, 99n477, 107
Goulimari, Pelagia, 91n340, 110
F Grant, Edward, 94n396, 99n477, 107
Fabiani, Jean-Louis, 81n36, 106 Gregor, Mary J., 85n163, 110
Farrell, Michael P., 33, 89n272, 106 Greiffenhagen, Martin, 93n392, 107
Ferguson, Kennan, 83–84n110, Gross, Neil, 23, 51, 60, 62, 86n190,
99n471, 119 87n202, 92n368, 99n477, 106,
Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 48 107, 134, 138, 144n24, 144n25,
Fleck, Christian, 99n477, 106 145
Foucault, Michel, 31, 40, 47, 48, 72, Grunewald, Michel, 93–94n392, 107
139 Grunner, Steven Warren, 143n4, 145
Fourcade, Marion, 93n392, 106 Guzman, Judith de, 97n438, 113
Fowler, Bridget, 81n30, 98n455, 106
François, Etienne, 92n373, 102, 117
Fraser, Nancy, 47, 48, 129 H
Frère, Bruno, 119, 143n4, 145 Habermas, Jürgen, 47, 48, 63, 72,
Frickel, Scott, 99n477, 106 83n110, 92n373, 95n422,
Fritsch, Philippe, 92n368, 106 96n434, 100, 101, 107, 108, 118
Fuchs, Peter, 92n373, 106 Hahn, Alois, 92n373, 108
Fukuyama, Francis, 44, 91n340, 106 Halls, W.D., 86n188, 94n409, 105
Fuller, Steve, 99n477, 106, 126, Hammond, Philip, 91n340, 108
143n4, 145 Haney, David Paul, 99n477, 108
Furedi, Frank, 99n477, 106 Hanuschek, Sven, 93n392, 108
150 Index of Names
Harker, Richard, 81n30, 92n368, Jacobs, Ronald N., 99n477, 109

104, 112 Jacoby, Russell, 99n477, 110
Harré, Rom, 89n293, 97n438, 105, Jennings, Jeremy, 93n392, 99n477,
108, 121 110
Hasumi, Shiguehiko, 91n340, 114 Jones, Paul, 97n450, 110
Head, Brian, 99n477, 109 Judt, Tony, 99n477, 110
Hearse, Phil, 82n67, 93n391, 109 Julliard, Jacques, 99n477, 110
Hegel, Georg W.F., 48, 88n267 Junge, Barbara, 84n139, 110
Heidegger, Martin, 3, 8, 31, 88n267, Jurt, Joseph, 81n30, 110
102, 103, 115, 121, 138, 145
Held, David, 83n110, 107
Herder, Johann Gottfried, 48 K
Herf, Jeffrey, 93n392, 99n469, 109 Kalleberg, Ragnvald, 99n477, 105
Hess, Andreas, 99n477, 106 Kant, Immanuel, 48, 85n163, 110
Heywood, Andrew, 93n377, 109 Kaplan, Alice Yaeger, 99n477, 110
Higgins, John, 97n450, 109 Karsenti, Bruno, 86n188, 94n409,
Hillebrandt, Frank, 91n357, 100 110
Hirsh, Arthur, 93–94n392, 109 Kastner, Rolf, 86n190, 94n398, 121
Hobsbawm, Eric, 91n343, 109 Kauppi, Niilo, 92n368, 93n392,
Hoeveler, J. David, 93–94n392, 109 99n477, 110
Hofmann, Martin Ludwig, 81n30, Kellner, Douglas, 91n340, 110
110 Kelly, Michael, 99n477, 110
Holloway, John, 82n67, 90n338, Kemp-Welch, A., 93n392, 110
93n391, 109 Kettler, David, 95n421, 110, 112
Honneth, Axel, 81n30, 109 Khilnani, Sunil, 94n392, 111
Hook, Sidney, 98n455 King, Lawrence P., 99n477, 111
Hörnigk, Therese, 93n392, 108 Kneer, Georg, 92n373, 111
Horowitz, David, 93–94n392, 109 Kögler, Hans-Herbert, 94n421,
Horrocks, Chris, 91n340, 109 95n421, 111
Humboldt, Alexander von, 48, 52, Kojève, Alexandre, 8
116, 132 Kolkman, Michael, 101
Husserl, Edmund, 7–8 Koniordos, Sokratis M., 85n160, 100
Korta, Tobias F., 110
Koyré, Alexandre, 8
I Kühnl, Reinhard, 98n468, 111
Inglis, David, 95n422, 109
Ingold, Tim, 89n293, 109
Isaac, Joel, 99n477, 100 L
Isherwood, Christopher, 98n455 Laak, Marin, 84n139, 116
Lahire, Bernard, 81n36, 106
Langenhove, Luk van, 97n438, 108
J Lash, Scott, 81n30, 111
Jachec, Nancy, 99n477, 109 Laugier, Sandra, 88n255, 103
Index of Names 151
Lawler, Steph, 81n36, 111 Matthews, John, 82n67, 116

Lawrence, Frederick, 92n373, Mauger, Gérard, 92n368, 106
96n434, 108 Mayer, Sandra, 143n4, 145
Leak, Andrew N., 91–92n358, 111, McBride, William Leon, 91–92n358,
121 112, 143n4, 143n5, 143n9,
Leca, Bernard, 96n437, 120 144n12, 146
Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 48 McCarthy, Thomas, 83–84n110,
Lemert, Charles C., 99n477, 111 96n434, 107, 108
Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 31 McCleary, Richard, 80n26, 92n368,
Ley, Ralph, 82n67, 111 99n477, 102
LiPuma, Edward, 81n30, 87n202, McLennan, Gregor, 87n214, 88n247,
92n368, 103, 111 91n341, 97n449, 120
Llamas, Rosa, 84n139, 101 Mead, George Herbert, 88n266, 112
Lloyd, Brian, 93–94n392, 111 Meja, Volker, 94–95n421, 110, 112
Loader, Colin, 94–95n421, 110, 112 Mergel, Sarah Katherine, 93–94n392,
Longhurst, Brian, 94–95n421, 111 113
Long, Imogen, 99n477, 111 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 7, 31, 100
Luhmann, Niklas, 92n373, 101, 102, Meschonnic, Henri, 91n340, 114
106, 108, 111, 113, 116, 121 Mesny, Anne, 98n466, 113
Lukács, György, 82n67, 112 Miller, Nicola, 99n477, 113
Lundberg, Henrik, 143n4, 144n39, Milner, Andrew, 97n450, 113
145 Mingers, John, 92n373, 113
Lybeck, Eric R., 89n275, 120 Misztal, Barbara A., 93n392, 99n477,
113
Moghaddam, Fathali M., 97n438, 108
M Mohan, Raj P., 99n477, 113
Macafee, Norman, 91–92n358, 104 Mondon, Aurelien, 144n26, 146
MacDonald, Dwight, 98n455 Monk, Ray, 142, 143n4, 144n40, 146
MacDonald, Heather, 99n477, 112 Montiel, Christina, 97n438, 113
Macey, David, 99n477, 105 Morgan, Marcus, 86n196, 99n477,
Maclean, Ian, 94n396, 99n477, 112 113, 144, 144n21
MacNeice, Louis, 98n455 Mouffe, Chantal, 135, 144n27, 146
Mahar, Cheleen, 92n368, 104, 112 Mulhern, Francis, 99n477, 105
Maigret, Éric, 81n30, 112
Malende, Christine, 93n392, 108
Malik, Yogendra K., 99n477, 112 N
Mannheim, Karl, 94–95n421, 101, Nash, Roy, 92n368, 113
110–112, 115, 117, 122 Nassehi, Armin, 92n373, 111, 113,
Marsh, David, 90n338, 106 116
Martens, Stefan, 80n20, 99n477, 102 Neary, Mike, 82n67, 109
Martin, Andy, 143n4, 146 Negroponte, Nicholas, 84n139, 113
Marx, Karl, 23, 31, 48, 72, 101, 108, Nersessian, Nancy, 97n438, 114
130, 145 Nice, Richard, 95n429, 102
152 Index of Names
Nicholsen, Shierry Weber, 96n434, Q

108, 112 Quiniou, Yvon, 95n422, 115
Niekisch, Sibylle, 81n30, 110
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 31, 48, 130
Nizan, Paul, 7 R
Nollmann, Gerd, 81n36, 92n373, Rabinbach, Anson, 99n477, 115
111, 113, 116 Rademacher, Claudia, 86n190,
Novack, George Edward, 82n67, 113 94n398, 121
Rahv, Philip, 98n455
Rapport, Nigel, 143n4, 146
O Rauche, Gerhard Albin, 82n67, 115
O'Brien, Patrick, 93–94n392, 114 Read, Herbert, 82n67, 115
Odajnyk, Walter, 82n67, 114 Rehbein, Boike, 81n30, 92n368, 117,
Ory, Pascale, 99n477, 114 121
Osamu, Nishitani, 91n340, 114 Remmling, Gunter Werner, 94–
Osbeck, Lisa, 97n438, 114 95n421, 115
Ostrow, James M., 81n30, 114 Reuter, Helmut Harald, 93n392, 115
Outhwaite, William, 119, 120, 143n4, Richmond, Sarah, 143n4, 144n42, 146
146 Rieff, Philip, 99n477, 115
Ries, Al, 97n438, 115
Rigby, Brian, 81n30, 81n36, 115
P Ringer, Fritz, 92n368, 115
Parsons, Talcott, 86n177, 104, 114 Robbins, Derek, 81n30, 92n365, 114,
Pascal, Blaise, 48 115
Passeron, Jean-Claude, 81n30, Rorty, Richard, 86n190, 96n435, 107,
91n357, 103, 104, 114 115, 116
Paulus, Andreas L., 91n340, 114 Rosat, Jean-Jacques, 88n255, 103
Pearson, Keith Ansell, 85n142, 101 Rothbart, Daniel, 97n438, 108
Pecourt, Juan, 92n368, 99n477, 114 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 48, 130
Pels, Dick, 92n368, 114 Rubenstein, Diane, 99n477, 116
Pfohl, Stephen, 90n325, 104 Rubio, Fernando Domínguez,
Picò, Josep, 92n368, 99n477, 114 99n477, 100
Pinto, Louis, 92n368, 114 Runnel, Pille, 84n139, 116
Pocock, David Francis, 86n188, Rupke, Nicolaas A., 92n374, 116
94n409, 105 Ruzza, Carlo, 85n160, 100
Pocock, J.G.A., 77, 99n474, 114 Ryan, Charlotte, 90n325, 104
Posner, Richard A., 82n76, 99n477,
114
Postone, Moishe, 103, 111 S
Procacci, Giovanna, 85n160, 100 Saake, Irmhild, 92n373, 116
Pruulmann-Vengerfeldt, Pille, Saalmann, Gernot, 81n30, 92n368,
84n139, 116 117, 121
Index of Names 153
Sabat, Steven R., 97n438, 108 Spotts, Frederic, 80n20, 99n477, 118
Sabour, M'hammed, 99n477, 116 Stark, Jerry A., 96n434, 108
Sadri, Ahmad, 99n477, 116 Stevenson, Nick, 97n450, 118
Said, Edward W., 99n477, 116 Susen, Simon, vii, viii, xi, 1, 81n30,
Saint-Simon, Henri de, 48 81n36, 82n67, 83n96, 83n108,
Salmon, J.H.M., 94n396, 99n477, 83–84n110, 84n113, 84n139,
116 85n163, 86n199, 87n214,
Salvan, Jacques L., 82n67, 116 88n247, 88n255, 89n275,
Sanos, Sandrine, 94n392, 116 90n325, 90n329, 90n332,
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 2, 7, 104, 111, 116, 90n338, 91n340, 91n341,
117, 124, 145 91n342, 91n348, 91n357,
Saussure, Ferdinand de, 31, 88n266, 92n366, 92n368, 92n373,
117 93n377, 93n378, 93n383,
Scheiffele, Walter, 84n139, 110 93n384, 93n391, 94n421,
Scheuch, Erwin K., 93n392, 117 95n422, 95n423, 96n430,
Schmidle, Robert, 97n438, 117 96n437, 97n440, 97n449,
Schmitt, Carl, 135, 143, 145, 146 98n453, 98n466, 98n468,
Schor, Juliet, 90n325, 104 99n470, 99n471, 101, 104,
Schwengel, Hermann, 92n368, 117, 109, 110, 115, 117, 118–120,
121 123–143
Searle, John R., 81n36, 107 Swartz, David, 81n30, 82n76,
Sedgwick, Mark J., 94n396, 99n477, 93n392, 99n477, 120
117 Szelényi, Iván, 99n477, 111
Seidman, Steven, 90n325, 117 Szeman, Imre, 81n30, 101, 104
Shils, Edward, 99n477, 112 Sztompka, Piotr, 88n249, 100
Shipman, Alan, 83n108, 99n477, 100
Shusterman, Richard, 81n30, 102
Silva, Filipe Carreira da, 90n325, T
96n434, 101, 143, 145 Tackett, Timothy, 94n396, 104
Simmons, Solon, 144n24, 145 Tant, Tony, 90n338, 106
Simonds, A.P., 95n421, 117 Taylor, Charles, 81n36, 120
Simpson, George, 94n413, 105 Thijssen, Peter, 93n392, 99n477, 120
Sintomer, Yves, 92n368, 117 Thompson, John B., 92n358, 107
Sirinelli, Jean-François, 99n477, 114, Thompson, Kenneth, 92n358, 120
117 Thompson, Margaret A., 92n358, 120
Skinner, Quentin, 77, 99n474, 117 Threadgold, Steven, 97n450, 120
Slocum-Bradley, Nicci, 97n438, 117 Todd, Jane Marie, 94n396, 104
Small, Helen, 99n477, 118 Toscano, Alberto, 91n339, 120
Smelser, Neil J., 88n249, 100 Townsley, Eleanor R., 99n477, 109
Sowell, Thomas, 99n477, 118 Traverso, Enzo, 99n477, 120
Spaulding, John A., 94n413, 105 Tredell, Nicolas, 97n450, 120
Spender, Stephen, 98n455 Trout, Jack, 97n438, 115
154 Index of Names
Turner, Bryan S., 95n422, 101, 112, Wiechens, Peter, 86n190, 94n398,
117–120 121
Turner, Stephen P., 98n455, 100 Wiehn, Erhard Roij, 93n392, 121
Wilkes, Chris, 81n32, 104, 112
Wilkinson, James D., 99n477, 121
V Williams, Raymond, 97n450, 105,
van den Hoven, Adrianm, 92n358, 109, 110, 113, 118, 120, 121
121 Winock, Michel, 99n477, 110, 121
van Langenhove, Luc, 97n438, 121 Wirth, Louis, 95n421, 112
Varela, Charles R., 95n422, 121 Wish, Harvey, 94n396, 99n477, 121
Vaughan, Diane, 90n325, 104 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 23, 64, 72,
Vaughan, Michael, 90n325, 101 103, 139
Viires, Piret, 84n139, 116 Woldring, H.E.S., 95n421, 122
Viskovatoff, Alex, 92n373, 121 Wolff, K.H., 95n421, 112
Vogelgesang, Sandy, 94n392, 121
Voltaire, François-Marie, 48
Y
Yamamoto, Tetsuji, 98n466, 102
W
Wagner, Hans-Josef, 81n30, 121
Walter, James, 99n477, 109 Z
Weber, Max, 99n477, 110, 116 Zhao, Shanyang, 84n139, 122
Westera, Wim, 84n139, 121 Žižek, Slavoj, 47, 48
Westerveld, Wim, 84n139, 110 Zwick, Carola, 84n139, 110
Index of Subjects
A views and actions, 134

Ableism, 46 Adaptability, 9, 16, 63
Absolutist, 27 Aesthetic, 14, 17, 28, 43, 52, 67,
Academia, 116, 139 96n437, 116
Academic, 4, 7, 12, 13, 16, 18, 25, aesthetically appreciative, 52
37–39, 41, 43, 47–49, 52, 55–58, aesthetically superior, 14
73, 74, 96n437, 105, 130, 132, aesthetic attributes, 17
134, 143 aesthetic authority, 43
Accident(s), 23 aesthetic positioning, 28
Action(s), 6, 8, 10, 25, 47, 51, 60, 62, Age, 10, 11, 16, 41, 43–46, 74, 75,
63, 65, 66, 79, 86n190, 96n437, 91, 101, 109, 110, 112n358
107, 108, 110, 124 Ageism, 46
action-focused, 25 Agency, 10, 26, 102, 137, 121, 137,
action and interaction, 8, 79, 134 138
course of action, 25 endogenous and exogenous agency,
decisions and actions, 10, 21, 59, 26
136 endogenous and exogenous forms
human action, 62, 79 of agency, 26
human actions, interactions, and human agency, 10, 121
interventions, 79 Agenda(s), 15, 18, 30, 32, 33, 41, 68
interlocking of actions and reac- ideological agenda, 41
tions, 66 normative agendas, 18, 32
pernicious actions, 124 Agent(s), 4, 8, 11, 16, 19, 22, 23,
resources for action, 47 25–27, 29–33, 36, 37, 43, 47,
social actions, 51, 60, 63, 107 50, 54, 65, 66, 68, 73, 76, 138
symbolically mediated actions, 6 agent within the intellectual field, 27
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017 155

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-61210-2
156 Index of Subjects
atomized agents, 31 anti-modernism, 86n190

discursively equipped agents, 11 anti-positioning, 17, 26, 57, 62
dominant agents, 16 Anticolonial movement, 129
exogenous agents, 65, 138 Apparatus
groups of agents, 31 educational apparatus, 52
human agents, 25, 66, 76 Applicability, 55, 125
individual and collective agents, 54, Appreciation, 12, 64, 123, 127, 131,
73 135
legitimizing agents, 29 Approval, 12, 15
ordinary agent, 23, 43 Arbitrary, 7, 18, 56, 70
polycentrically positioned agents, 8 arbitrary forms of authoritarian state
social agents, 19, 30 power, 18
socially interconnected agents, 65 arbitrary systems of domination, 56
Ambiguity, 132 Architecture
America, 93n392, 102, 106, 113, 134 conceptual architecture, 19
United States of America, 93n392, intellectual architecture, 56
134 Argentina, 127
American, 40, 45, 98n455, 104–107, Argentinian, 127
110, 111, 121 Argumentation, 2, 6, 15, 18, 29, 30,
American foreign policy, 40 37, 58, 59, 67, 73, 123–125,
Anglo-American, 98n455 127, 129, 130–133, 135, 138,
North American, 45 139, 141
US-American, 45 Arrangement(s), 67, 96n437
Anarchism, 53, 56, 115 legal arrangements, 96n437
Anarchist, 69 social arrangements, 67
Anglo-American, 98n455 Art, 17, 53, 54, 67, 133, 137
Anglophone, 46, 69 l’art pour l’art, 137
Anomic the art of image management and
anomic suicide, 60 self-promotion, 17
Antagonistic, 86n190 the art of packaging and branding,
Anthropology, 48, 55, 67, 69 53
Anti- the art of rhetoric, 133
anti-conformist critiques of power, separation of art and politics, 137
93n391 Artistic
anti-conformists, 18, 55, 93n391 artistic arena, 26
anti-cosmopolitan, 86n190 artistic expression, 26
anti-determinist, 17, 26, 57, 62 artistic and intellectual endeavour,
anti-Dreyfusards, 17, 26, 57, 62 33
anti-foundationalist, 63 artistic positioning, 28
anti-intellectual, 17, 26, 53, 57, 62, Atlantic, 98n455, 104
85n150 Auden Group/Auden Generation,
anti-intellectualist, 53, 57, 85n150 98n455
Authenticity, 21–23, 58–60, 135–137 private background preparation, 15

authenticity bias, 21, 58, 60, 135 privileged backgrounds, 5, 38, 39,
human authenticity, 22 49, 50, 128
scholastic claims to authenticity, 23 social background, 21, 50, 86n190,
Authority, 15, 18, 38, 39, 41, 43, 74 92n358, 111, 136
authoritarian, 18, 27, 44, 76, 137 Baert’s Account of Intellectuals, 44
authoritarian and fascist movements, Base, 5, 8, 10, 12, 14, 17, 22, 23, 28,
76 39, 41, 49, 55, 63, 65, 73–75,
authoritarian regimes, 44, 137 79, 134, 140, 142
authoritarian state power, 18 hegemonic power base, 5
authoritative, 38, 39, 41–43, 77, Behaviour, 10, 13, 18, 21, 22, 38, 60,
127, 128 66, 68, 77, 105, 113, 114, 117,
authoritative claims, 42 121, 135
authoritative public intellectuals, Being and Nothingness (Sartre), 3, 116
38–40, 43, 128 Belief/believes, 7, 14, 15, 18, 21, 22,
authority over the wider public, 18 30, 49, 55
being authoritative without being Bias/biases, 19, 21, 23, 26, 58–60,
dogmatic, 77 134, 135
cognitive, normative, and aesthetic authenticity bias, 21, 58, 60, 135
authority, 43 ‘bias’ and ‘fallacy’, 58, 59, 135, 136
diminished authority, 15 empiricist bias, 19, 58, 135
epistemic and moral authority, 43, 74 ‘empiricist’ or ‘descriptivist’ bias, 19,
scepticism towards epistemic and 58, 59, 135
moral authority, 43, 74 individualistic bias, 26
symbolic authority, 39 liberal bias of universities, 134
Autobiography, 141 motivational bias, 19, 58, 135
Autonomous, 5, 6, 8, 51 sources of bias, 59
Autonomy, 12, 34, 52, 96n431, 114, stability bias, 23, 36, 58, 135
115, 134, 135 structural bias, 21, 135
academic autonomy, 52 unbiased, 28
autonomy and sovereignty, 12 Bildung, 52, 132
healthy degree of autonomy, 12 Bildung der Gesellschaft (education
material and symbolic autonomy, 34 of society), 52, 132
regional or national calls for Bildung des Individuums (education
autonomy, 134 of the individual), 52
Awareness, 26, 126, 141 Binary, 73
binary distinction, 73
Biographies, 21, 86n190, 131, 122,
B 131, 142
Background(s), 5, 15, 21, 22, 38, 39, biographical history, 136
49, 50, 67, 74, 86n190, 92n358, biographies of intellectuals, 142
111, 128, 130, 131, 136, 138, 139 Biology/biologically, 60, 67
Blurring, 28, 43 Capital, 4, 7, 8, 13, 28, 30, 38, 39,

blurring of the boundaries between 45, 46, 49, 50, 54, 63, 76, 101,
experts and laypersons, 43 103, 104, 128, 130, 131
blurring of the difference between asymmetrically allocated forms of
politico-ethical and intellectual capital, 76
positioning, 28 crucial forms of capital (such as eco-
Boundaries, 8, 43, 61, 70 nomic, symbolic, educational,
blurring of the boundaries between social, ethnic, national, ‘racial’,
experts and laypersons, 43 linguistic, gender-specific,
boundaries of field-specific realities, sexual, generational, and per-
61 formative capital), 50
disciplinary boundaries, 8 cultural capital, 7, 8, 38, 128, 130,
Bourdieusian, 5, 47, 51, 62, 63, 131
81n36, 91n358, 92n365, cultural, educational, and intellec-
92n368, 92n373, 95n422, tual capital, 13
95n424, 96n430, 115, 119, 120, cultural and intellectual capital, 39
131, 139 cultural, symbolic, and social capital,
Bourgeois, 86n190, 136 49
Britain (Great Britain), 93n392, different forms of capital, 63
98n455, 105, 106 economic capital, 45
British, 45, 69, 126, 145 educational capital, 45
Bureaucratization, 12 ethnic capital, 45
Business model, 13 gender capital, 46
Business studies, 55 generational capital, 46
linguistic capital, 46
national capital, 45
C performative capital, 46, 50
Canadian, 45 ‘racial’ capital, 46
Canon(s), 53, 143 sexual capital, 46
canon formation, 143 social and cultural capital, 130, 131
sub-canons, 53 social capital, 45, 49
Canonical, 49 social, economic, cultural, educa-
canonical belief, 49 tional, linguistic, political, and
Capacity, 5, 8, 15, 21, 25, 47, 49, 54, symbolic capital, 76
61 symbolic capital, 45, 76
capacity to develop—and to volume of capital, 4, 49
project—a sense of truthfulness, Capitalism, 54, 109, 118
uniqueness, and genius-like confluence of consumer capitalism
matchlessness, 21 and neoliberalism, 54
capacity to set the agenda, 15 consumer capitalism, 54
charismatic capacity, 15 Career(s), 5, 26, 28, 32, 36, 39, 40,
practical capacity, 61 46, 49, 50, 98n455, 106, 126,
theoretical capacity, 61 134
Categorizations collective body, 52

collective categorizations, 140 collective categorizations, 140
Celebrity, 2, 3, 9, 145 collective conscience, 10
Charisma, 6, 9 collective distress, 4
Charismatic, 15, 39 collective endeavour, 26
Chauvinism collective experience, 26
linguistic chauvinism, 46 collective forms of self-realization,
national chauvinism, 45 12
Chemistry, 67 collective identity, spirit, and pro-
Circulation, 5, 11 ject, 69
Civilization(s), 13, 17, 18, 64, 77, 80 collective imagination, 16
Class(es), 11, 16, 45, 50, 96n437, collective narcissism, 13
111, 115, 128–130 collective practice, performance, and
class, ethnicity, gender, ‘ability’, and projection, 26
age, 11 collective psyche, 11
educated classes, 16 collective subject, 25, 26
middle or upper class, 45 Colonization
Classical, 20, 67, 69, 91n358, 110, colonization of the lifeworld,
115, 118 83n110
classical status, 20, 71 systemic colonization of people’s
classical studies, 67 lifeworlds, 13
Classics, 9, 23, 32, 69 Comfort zone, 12
Classism, 45 Commensurability, 46
Codes, 5, 13 Commitment, 18, 40, 41, 57
codes of accomplishment, 5 academic commitment, 57
protectionist codes of snobbish elit- political commitment, 18, 57
ism, 13 progressive political commitment,
Cognitive, 13, 15, 27, 43, 52, 95, 113 18
Cohesion Commodification, 12, 52
social cohesion, 134 Common sense/common-sense, 19,
Collaboration, 2, 3, 33, 34, 36, 41, 43, 55, 74, 76, 133
68, 71, 75, 106, 124, 128, 137 Communism, 53, 56, 69, 136
collaborationist intellectuals, 2, 3, Community/communities, 2, 13, 17,
33, 124, 137 41, 75, 76
collaborationist writer(s), 124, 128 community of ordinary people, 13
French collaborationist intellectu- grassroots communities, 76
als, 2 intellectual community, 2
Collective, 4, 7, 10–13, 16, 25, 26, national community, 17
43, 52, 54, 69, 73, 96n437, 100, Competition, 22, 36, 61, 62, 71
106, 113, 140, 141 Complacency, 41
collective agents, 54, 73 Complexities/complexity, 10, 11, 13,
collective attempts to come to terms 32, 47, 49, 56, 57, 60, 62, 68,
with ‘the trauma of the war’, 4
73, 97n450, 104, 131, 134, 135, Cooperative individuality, 71

140 Counterarguments, 6
Conflict(s), 10, 19, 22, 34, 100, 110, Counterexamples, 71, 140
113, 129, 140 Counterintuitive, 24, 53
Confusion, 78, 127, 130, 140 Counterparts, 19
Conscience Countries/country, 2, 10, 50, 51
collective conscience, 10 Creativity, 13, 22, 113, 138
Conservatism, 10, 53, 56, 57, 69, 79, creative contributions, 61
109, 112, 113, 134, 145 creative individuals, 11
Constancy, 25 creative output, 6, 7, 22
Constraint(s), 23, 102, 136, 137 creative schools, 7
different types of constraint, 136 Credibility, 3, 36, 37, 39, 72, 98n455,
judiciary, economic, and socio-sym- 127, 141
bolic constraints, 136 Criminology, 67
judiciary or legal constraints, 136 Crisis
material, symbolic and institutional crisis of Marxism, 44, 54
constraints, 23 validity crisis, 15
socio-symbolic constraints, 136, 137 Critic(s)/criticism(s), 2, 11, 12,
Construction, 7, 15, 29, 30, 52, 64, 15, 19, 27, 34, 39, 40, 44, 72,
80 97n450, 106, 107, 119, 126,
construction and deconstruction, 15 131, 136, 138, 140
construction of field-specific reali- Critique(s), 82n67, 93n391, 102–104,
ties, 80 106–108, 117–120, 123–125,
construction of ‘the good society’, 128, 130
52 Cultural, 2, 4–9, 13, 14, 16, 17, 20,
construction of narratives, 29, 30 21, 28, 29, 38, 39, 46–49, 51,
construction of symbolically medi- 53, 60, 69, 76, 96n437, 97n450,
ated modes of existence, 64 100, 102–104, 106, 109–111,
Constructivism, 24, 53, 69 113–120, 124, 125, 128, 130,
Consumption 131, 137, 142
consumption of epistemic resources, audit culture, 12
75 cultural and aesthetic attributes, 17
consumption of knowledge and cultural arena, 4, 47
information, 75 cultural backdrop, 142
Contestability, 96n431 cultural capital, 7, 8, 38, 128, 130,
Contextual, 142 131
Contingency, 31, 115 cultural changes, 106, 125
Contingent cultural climate, 9, 16
contingent field(s), 64, 65, 71, cultural connections, 7
96n437 cultural dimensions, 14
Control, 12, 31, 138 cultural, educational, and intellec-
Cooperation, 32, 71, 140 tual capital, 13
cultural elite, 16 public debates, 12

cultural expression, 5 Decolonizing the curriculum, 143
cultural field, 2, 4, 47 Deconstruction, 15
cultural goods, 13 Deficiencies, 18, 131
cultural—including intellectual— Democracies
developments, 6 liberal democracies, 43, 44, 74, 77,
cultural/institutional racism, 46 137, 145
cultural/institutional sexism, 46 Demographic, 21
cultural and intellectual capital, 39 Denial, 98n455
cultural interest, 125 Deontological, 77
cultural landscape, 20 Description, 9, 21, 58, 126, 127, 143
cultural metanarratives, 53 Desire(s), 10, 20, 21, 23, 32, 44, 76,
cultural and political arenas, 20 79, 142
cultural and political complexities, Determinant(s)
131 determinism, 62, 95n422, 96n430,
cultural and political shifts, 131 107, 109, 115, 121
cultural positioning, 28 determinism in Bourdieusian
cultural production, 4, 13, 103, thought, 95n422, 95n424,
118, 137 96n430
cultural scene, 137 sociological determinism, 11, 21,
cultural sensitivities, 124 45, 59, 62
cultural setting, 137 Determinist, 62, 63, 82n67, 137, 138
cultural shift, 125 anti-determinist, 62
cultural sphere, 6, 16, 51, 124 Development(s), 1, 2, 6, 9, 13, 17,
cultural studies, 48, 69, 103, 113, 19, 25, 29, 36, 39, 42, 51, 53,
115 58, 59, 68, 71, 74, 75, 77, 80,
cultural, symbolic, and social capital, 95, 101, 113, 122n421, 129
49 behavioural, ideological, and institu-
cultural trauma, 4, 29, 100, tional developments, 77
97n450, 119, 121 cultural—including intellectual—
culture and society, 6 developments, 2, 6, 9, 39, 42,
everyday culture, 17 58, 129
high culture, 5 developmental flexibility, 36
development and influence of exis-
tentialism, 7
D development of the academic field,
Darwinian, 36, 49 13, 16, 25, 38, 47, 48, 55, 58,
Debate(s) 130
contemporary social and political development of an explanatory
debates, 47 approach, 59
debates on ideas around ‘decoloniz- development of human—including
ing the curriculum’, 143 intellectual—affairs, 47
development of intellectual fields Dialogue, 41, 75, 119

and of their protagonists, 19 Dichotomies, 134
development of knowledge, 17, 25 Digital, 16, 74, 84n139, 98n461,
development of modern societies, 9, 100, 101, 104, 110, 113, 116,
19, 53, 105, 118 121, 122
development of the intellectual field, digital age, 16, 74, 101
5–8, 14, 19, 20, 22, 26, 27, digital turn, 84n139, 98n461, 110,
29–34, 36–38, 42, 44, 46, 51, 116, 121
56, 58, 61, 68, 71, 73, 74, 78, Disabled, 50
79, 93n392, 97n450, 115, 124 Disciplinary, 8, 42, 67, 69, 96n437,
developments within and outside 139
philosophy, 42 disciplinary background, 67, 139
future development of society, 1, 80 disciplinary boundaries, 8
generalizability of developments, 29 disciplinary boundaries separating
global developments, 80 literature and philosophy, 8
historical developments, 51 disciplinary power, 42
local developments, 29 disciplinary terms, 69
paradigmatic developments, 68 Discipline(s), 6, 25, 32, 38–40, 42,
political developments, 129 48, 55, 56, 75, 76, 93n392, 106,
small- and large-scale developments, 139
71 academic disciplines, 55, 56
social, political, and environmental disciplines in the humanities and
developments, 43 social sciences, 48
societal developments, 6, 8, 51, 74 high-profile disciplines, 38
Dialectical materialism, 82n67 high-status disciplines versus low-
Dialectics, 26, 36, 82n67 status disciplines, 39
Dialogical/dialogically, 38, 41, 43, 72, master discipline, 42
75–77, 127, 142 prestigious discipline, 6
dialogical and democratic potential sub-disciplines, 75, 76
of the new social media, 43 ‘time-laden’ discipline, 42
dialogical approach, 41 ‘timeless’ discipline, 42
dialogical exchanges of knowledge, Discourse(s), 3, 18, 24, 68, 80, 108,
76 115, 117, 121
dialogical fashion, 72 critical discourses, 80
dialogical format, 41 discourses in advanced societies, 68
dialogical intellectuals, 77 intellectual discourse, 3
dialogical model, 142 twentieth-century discourses, 18
dialogical mode of knowledge acqui- words, ideas, and discourses, 24
sition, 142 Discursive/discursively, 5, 11, 12, 15,
dialogical public intellectual, 38, 41, 18, 29, 30, 48, 54, 99n470, 105
75, 77, 142 Disempowered social groups, 50
dialogical without being conde- Disinterested. See Interest(s)
scending, 77 Dispositions, 4, 10, 47, 63, 104
Dissemination, 16, 19, 26, 27 E

dissemination channels, 16 Earth science, 67
dissemination of ideas, 26, 27 École normale superieure, 5
Distance Economic, 21, 50, 60, 67, 69, 76, 96,
critical distance, 22, 61 136
Distortion, 54, 93n384 economic capital, 45
Distribution, 11, 28, 75 economic liberalism, 134
Diversity, 49, 130, 134 economic logic, 13
Division(s), 2, 4, 5, 16, 49, 76, economic metanarratives, 53
96n437 economics restrictions, 137
division between literary world and Economies/economy, 74, 134
the academic world, 4 Education, ix, x, 8, 43, 45, 49, 50, 52,
division between novelists and pro- 74, 134
fessors, 5, 49 educational apparatus, 52
division between science and com- educational capital, 45
mon sense, 76 educational context, 39
divisions within the intellectual com- educational hierarchies, 39
munity, 2 education of individual, 52
ideological divisions, 16 educational institutions, 52
Doctrine, 14, 15, 52, 54, 59, 60 educational levels, 52
Dominant, 16, 19, 33, 45, 46, educational or social advantage, 128
93n384, 102, 103, 119, 131 educational prowess, 40
dominant agents, 16 educational studies, 67
dominant ethnic capital, 45 educational system, 49
dominant gender capital, 46 education of society, 52
dominant generational capital, 46 French education system, 49
dominant linguistic capital, 46 higher education, ix, 41, 43, 128,
dominant narratives, 19, 131 134
dominant national capital, 45 higher educational levels, 41, 128
dominant performative capital, 46 humanistic education system, 52
dominant position, 33 Effect(s), 20, 21, 26, 30, 31, 37,
dominant ‘racial’ capital, 46 77–79, 130, 137, 142, 143
dominant sexual capital, 46 desired effect, 32
Domination, 56, 57, 107, 118 effect-centred approach, 78
Dreyfus affair, 16, 104, 110 effects/consequences, 79
Dreyfusards, 17. See also effects > intentions formula, 37
Anti-Dreyfusards effect (or effects) of an intellectual
Durkheimian, 21, 60 intervention, 20, 30, 31, 78
Dynamic, 7, 10, 15, 16, 22, 26, 29, effects of intellectual performances,
34, 51, 35, 71, 106 21
effects of intellectual outputs, 31
emphasis on ‘effects’, 77 empirical findings, 19

multiple effects, 20 empirical implications, 70
proselytizing effects, 30 empirical investigation, 125
socio-ontological preponderance of empirical level, 70
effects, 79 empirically sensitive, 14
tangible effects, 141 empirically studied, 21, 75
types of effects, 26 empirically substantiated, xi, 3
uneven effects, 30 empirically verified, 55
vocabulary of effects, viii, 1, 35, 44, empirical or hypothetical counterex-
77 amples, 71
Effective/effectively, 7, 16, 26, 28, 29, empirical questions, 134, 140, 141
55, 60, 73 empirical research, 43, 134, 135
Effectiveness, 7 empirical room, 50
Effectology, 77 empirical tools, 40
Égalité, 18, 49 empirical usefulness, 78
Elite, 76, 99 Empiricism, 19, 58, 59, 135
cultural elite, 16 empiricist bias, 19, 58, 135
‘the elite’ and ‘the people’, 76, 99 empiricist counterparts, 19
elite institutions, 5 ‘empiricist’ or ‘descriptivist’ bias, 19,
elite universities, 39 58, 135
intellectual elite, 43, 74 Empowering, 17, 41, 43, 61, 68, 77
small elite, 39 End (the end)
Elitism, 13, 17, 45 the end of history, 44, 91, 106
Emancipation/emancipations, 57 the end of the war, 6, 13, 125
Emancipatory, 77 Energy
emancipatory potential, 18 emotional energy, 7
emancipatory resources, 12 Enfants terribles, 139
Embeddedness Engagement/engagements, xi, 5, 18,
macro-social embeddedness, 6 38, 40, 41, 58, 68, 75, 111, 119,
Embodied 123, 141
embodied entity, 18 comprehensive and intelligent
embodied practices, 8 engagement, 123
Emotion, 133 critical engagement, 41
emotional energy, 7 expert-driven engagement, 40
Empires, 77 genuine engagement, 58
Empirical/empirically, 14, 19, 21, 40, in-depth, let alone a critical, engage-
43, 50, 70, 78, 125, 134, 135, ment, 75
140, 141 political engagement, 18, 141
empirical data, 73 public engagement, 38
empirical dimensions of intellectual scholarly engagements, 5
fields, 19 English, 29
empirical enterprise, 125 Enlightened
‘the to-be-enlightened’, 43 epistemological mistake, 61

Enlightener(s) Épuration, 3, 116
‘the enlighteners’, 43 Ethnic, 67
Enlightenment (the Enlightenment), ethnic capital, 45
18, 22, 110, 115, 133 ethnic diversity, 134
Entities/entity, 7, 18, 21, 22, 25, 65 ethnic group, 50
Environment, 43, 53, 57 ethnic positioning, 28
Environmentalist, 69 Ethnicity, 11, 45
Ephemeral, 8, 64, 71, 96n437 Ethnocentrism, 45
ephemeral field, 64, 71, 96n437 Eurocentrism, 45
Epistemic/epistemically, ix, 18–20, Europe, ix, 39, 101, 104, 109, 121
27, 31n3, 39–41, 43, 44, 56n56, European, 45, 100, 101, 109, 116,
74–76, 133, 141 118, 120, 144, 146
epistemically superior, 18 European intellectuals, 5, 112
epistemic and moral authority, 43, non-European language, 50
74 Everyday, 96
epistemic clarity, 20 everyday behaviour, 22
epistemic disparity between experts everyday culture, 17
and laypersons, 74 everyday life, 55, 64, 107, 138
epistemic faculties, 43 Evolution/evolutionary, 7, 9, 14, 19,
epistemic forms, 133 36, 56, 101, 107, 109
epistemic frameworks, 40 Exchange(s), viii, xi, 12, 13, 74, 76,
epistemic gap between experts and 113
laypersons, 75 Existentialism, 2–4, 6, 8–11, 16, 38,
epistemic hierarchies, 44 51, 82, 100–116, 126, 127, 140,
epistemic position, 27 145, 146
epistemic power, 77 Existentialist(s)/Existentialist, 7
epistemic relationship between existentialist movement, 8
experts and laypersons, 43 existentialist offensive, 2, 9
epistemic resources, 74–76 existentialist philosophy, 10
epistemic spirit, 56 French network of existentialists, 7
epistemic transcendentality, 43 Sartre’s existentialist philosophy, 10
epistemic validity, 19, 31n1, 31n2, The Existentialist Moment: The Rise
39 of Sartre as a Public Intellectual
gulf between ‘epistemic superiority’ (Baert), vii, viii, x, xi, 1, 2, 79,
and ‘epistemic inferiority’, 41 100, 123–130, 132, 134, 135,
Epistemocracy, 74 137, 140–142, 144–146
Epistemologies/epistemology, 24, Expansion, 42
61, 67, 105, 109, 111, 115, 118, Experience(s), 10, 11, 16, 35, 43, 54,
119, 126 91n358, 96n437, 114, 137
epistemological framework of pre- Experiential, 61
suppositions, 19n2
Expert(s), ix, x, 3, 12, 23, 35, 39–41, Female, 50

43, 75, 77, 99n470, 127, 141 Feminism, 53, 57
expert-driven engagement, 40 Feminist, 69
expert knowledge, 39 Fetishized, 43
expert philosophers, 3 Field(s), 4, 7, 8, 13, 14, 16, 19,
expert public intellectual, 38, 40, 20, 22, 23, 26, 28–36, 38, 42,
127, 128 46–48, 51, 56, 58, 61, 63, 64,
experts and laypersons, 43, 74–76 68, 69, 71, 73, 74, 78, 79, 129,
Expertise, ix, 23, 35, 41, 42 130, 139
Explanation(s), xi, 4, 9, 21, 25, 35, academic field(s), 13, 25, 47, 48,
36, 59, 60, 63, 113, 126, 129, 55, 130
131, 134 academic fields and subfields, 38
alternative explanations, 9 contingent field(s), 64, 65, 71,
conflating sociological and individ- 96n437
ual explanations, 21, 60 cultural field, 2, 4, 47
multi-level explanation, 19 ephemeral field(s), 64, 71, 96n437
pedestrian explanation, 131 ‘the field’, 13, 28, 32, 33, 35, 47,
plausible explanation, 134 71
scholarly explanations, 4 field of competition, 61
simplistic explanations, 60 field of expertise, 23, 35
sociological explanation, 59, field of generalized cultural produc-
86n190, 131 tion, 13
structural explanations, 21 field of intellectual productions, 28
Explanatory, xi, 8, 10, 56, 58, 59, 70, field of intellectuals, 6, 7, 14, 22,
79, 128 26, 29, 33, 36, 42, 47, 71
explanatory approach, 59 fields of philosophy, literature, thea-
explanatory concept, 10 tre, journalism, and politics, 28
explanatory deficit, 8 field of restricted cultural produc-
explanatory framework, viii, xi, 68, tion, 13
70 field of social agents, 30
explanatory scope, 56 field theory, 4, 129
explanatory value, 79 foundational field(s), 64, 71,
96n437
French field of intellectual produc-
F tion, 5, 28
Fallacy, 58, 59, 135, 136 French intellectual field, 5, 6
structural fallacy, 58, 59, 135, 136 hierarchically structured fields and
Fascism, 53, 57, 110 subfields, 38
Fascist, 69, 76, 134 intellectual, scientific, artistic, and
Fatalistic academic fields, 13
fatalistic suicide, 60 intellectual field(s), 5–8, 14, 20,
Favouritism, 45 22, 26, 27, 29–33, 36–38, 42,
44, 46, 56, 61, 68, 73, 78, 79, French education system, 49
97n450, 115, 124 French field of intellectual produc-
interactional fields, 30 tion, 5, 28
judicial, political, and journalistic French intellectual field, 5, 6
fields, 30 French intellectual history, 126
literary and philosophical field, 49, French intellectual life, 2, 110
130 French intellectuals, 3, 8, 110, 116,
literary field, 47, 48, 129 131
multiple fields, 28 French nationhood, 4
philosophical field, 48, 49, 130 French network of existentialists, 7
political and journalistic fields, 34 French philosopher, 16
scientific field, 129 French public, 131, 133
social fields, 4, 32, 34, 37, 71, 78 French Resistance circles, 125
sub-fields, 4, 8, 19, 22, 28, 30, 34, French scholars, 7
36–38, 47–49, 63, 71, 129, French society, 10, 104, 129, 135
130, 91n348 French values, 17
variety of fields, 129 Friendships, 69
Field-specific, 6, 38 Function(s)
Field-theoretic, 4, 58 complementary functions, 11
Fixity, 23, 62 constative, affirmative, or mimetic
Flexibility function, 24, 29, 125
developmental flexibility, 36 decisive function, 5
Fluidity, 25, 36 distortive functions, 54
Foucauldians, 140 function of intellectuals, 19
Foundational, 44, 64, 138 larger function, 132
Foundationalist peripheral function, 64
anti-foundationalist, 63 societal function, 52
Fragmented, 53, 132 teleological function, 20
France, 2–6, 8–10, 16, 18, 47, 51, Future, 29, 106, 125
91n358, 93n392, 103–106, 110, future development of society, 80
111, 114, 116, 127, 134, 135
Francophone, 8, 46, 69
Fraternité, 18, 49 G
Freedom, 10, 13, 112, 115, 145 Gallimard, 8, 28, 116
French Game(s)
French ancestry, 17 ‘entering the game’, 34
French case, 10 ‘game changers’, 32
French collaborationist intellectu- intellectual games, 64
als, 2 language games, 40, 64
French Connection, 7 no game, 61
French cultural arena, 4 ‘playing the game’, 34
French cultural scene, 137 ‘the only game in town’, 54
‘the rules of the game’, 5, 61, 62, Habitualization, 96n437

136, 137 Habitus, 10, 23, 39, 63, 96n431, 107,
‘trying to play the game’, 34 138
Gatekeepers, ix, 13, 38 Hegemonic, 5, 15, 29, 42
Gender, 11, 45, 46, 128, 129 non-hegemonic, 29, 50
Gender-specific, 50 Hegemonize, 16
Genealogy of ideas, 58 Hermeneutic/hermeneutically, 14, 35,
Generalizability, 29 82n67
Generalizations, 93n392 Hermeneuticist, 14
Generational, 11, 50, 69 Hermeneutics, 34, 35
Geography, 67 hermeneutics of positioning, 34, 35
human geography, 69 hermeneutic understanding of the
German, 29, 45, 69, 91 experiences, 35
German censor, 137 Heterodox, 79
German network of phenomenolo- Heterogeneity, 52
gists, 7 Heteronormativism, 46
German phenomenology, 127 Hierarchical, 4, 7, 38, 39
German philosopher, 3, 138 Hierarchies, 28, 44
Germanophone, 8, 46, 69 educational hierarchies, 39
Germany, 58, 99, 137 entrenched hierarchies, 41
Nazi Germany, 76, 124 epistemic hierarchies, 44
Gesellschaft formal and informal hierarchies, 28
Bildung der Gesellschaft, 52, 132 Hispanophone, 46, 69
Global, 3, 5, 80 Historians, xi, 53, 135
Globe, 44 Historical/historically
Glocalized, 43 historical account, 125
Goods, 15 historical analysis, 9, 93n392,
cultural goods, 13 99n469, 125
intellectual goods, 11 historical case study, 125
symbolic goods, 7 historical circumstances, 58
Government historical constellations, 2
government forces, 18 historical context, 3, 9, 128, 131
government interference, 12 historical developments, 51
Grand narratives, 29 historical dynamics, 10
Grassroots historical evidence, 133
grassroots communities, 76 historical example, 76
grassroots forms of communication, historical origins, 133
43 historical period, 4
Great Britain, 93n392 historical question, 124
historical relationship, 47
historical roots, 17
H historical settings, 19
Habermasian, 118, 138 historical specificity, 4
historically contingent, 134 Hypostatizing, 21

historically rooted sensitivities, 31 Hypothesis/hypotheses, 9, 15, 51, 55,
historically variable, 70 132, 140
macro-historical, 8
socio-historical analysis, 125
socio-historical conditions, 51, I
92n365 Idealism, 22, 53, 69, 107
socio-historical conditions of pro- Idealistic, 6, 14
duction, 51, 92n365 Ideals
socio-historical setting, 20 ideal of academic autonomy, 52
socio-historical significance, 67 ideals of liberté, égalité, and frater-
socio-historical understanding, 79 nité, 18, 49
Historicity, 50 Ideal type, 28, 39
(socio-) historicity, 50 Identities/identity, 21, 22, 69, 100,
Historiography, 48, 67, 69, 102 113, 138
History, 2, 6, 13, 19, 29, 43, 44, 58, collective identity, 69, 100
67, 72, 77, 101, 105, 115, 117, identity and values, 21
123, 126, 130, 136 identity of the exogenous agents,
biographical history, 136 138
Cambridge School of Intellectual team identity, 69
History, 20, 77 Ideological/ideologically, ix, 2, 5, 6,
French intellectual history, 126 8, 12, 14–16, 18, 20, 21, 22, 28,
history of ‘Western’ civilization, 13 38, 41, 44, 56, 66, 68, 69, 76,
human history, 29, 43 115
inevitable march of history, 44 ideological agenda, 41
intellectual history, 6, 19, 57, 58 ideological context, 20
modern history, 2 ideological credentials, 56
socio-political history, 141 ideological divisions in France
‘the end of history’, 44, 91n340, between 1894 and 1906, 16
106 ideological modes of functioning,
Homosexuality, 128 13
Horizontal, 75 ideological orientation, 21
Humanism, 127 ideological preponderance, 56
Humanisme, 9, 126 ideological presuppositions, 28
Humanistic, 52 ideological rhetoric, 76
Humanists, 127 ideological support of leading intel-
Humanities, ix, 18, 29, 39, 47, 48, 53, lectuals, 5
67, 128 ideological transformations, 6
Humanity, 49, 80 ideological trends, 6, 56
Humboldtian, 12, 52, 131, 132 ideologically coherent, 22
Hybridized, 8, 44 ‘major/classical ideological’ terms,
Hyper-specialized, 75 69
mono-ideological positions, 44 Imagination, 3, 13, 15, 16, 54, 127

politico-ideological controversies, 2 Immanence, 11
‘sub-major ideological’ terms, 69 Impact, 2, 5, 24, 28, 31, 32, 41, 43,
Ideology/ideologies, 2, 5, 6, 8, 46, 47, 53, 68, 71, 77–79, 129,
12–16, 18, 20–22, 28, 38, 41, 139
44, 53, 55–57, 66, 68, 69, 76, Implications, 35, 51, 53, 58, 69, 70,
77, 93n384, 93–94n392, 102, 98n455, 125
109, 112, 115, 118, 119 broader implications, 125
centre-ground major political ide- conceptual, methodological, and
ologies, 57 empirical implications, 70
dominant ideology, 93n384, 102, practical and theoretical implica-
103, 119 tions, 69
free-market ideologies, 44 reputational implications, 98n455
intellectual ideologies, 57, sociological implications, 35
93–94n392 Incommensurability/(in-) commensu-
left-wing major political ideologies, rability, 46–47
56 Indeterminacy, 25, 96n431
link between political ideologies and Individual/individually, ix, 4, 6, 7,
intellectual thought, 57 9–12, 14, 17, 21, 25, 26, 27,
‘major’ and ‘sub-major’ ideologies, 29, 30, 31, 34, 49, 50, 52, 54,
53 56, 59, 60, 62, 65, 70, 71, 73,
major political ideologies, 44, 53, 86n190, 134–137, 142
56, 57 individual acts, 60
‘major’ political ideologies of individual and collective agents, 54,
modernity, 53 73
non-intellectual ideologies, 57 individual and collective forms of
political ideologies, 44, 53, 56, 57 self-realization, 12
right-wing ideologies, 53, 55–57, individual behaviour, 135
94n392 individual beliefs or behaviours, 21
right-wing major political ideolo- individual decisions, 21, 59, 136
gies, 53, 57 individual explanations, 21, 60
sub-major’ political ideologies, 53, individual facts, 59, 60
57 individual instances, 21
‘sub-major’ political ideologies of individual minds, 7
modernity, 53 individual motivations, intentions,
Illocutionary force, 25 or desires, 19–21
Image- and impression-management, individual qualities, 9
31 individual subject, 26
Image management, 17, 31 individual suicide, 60
Imaginaries/imaginary, 18, 54, 61 individual thinkers, 14
critical imaginaries, 61 Individual(s), ix, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10, 12, 14,
imaginary of twentieth-century 21, 25–27, 30, 31, 34, 52, 54,
discourses, 18 59, 60, 65, 73, 86, 135, 136, 142
an individual’s early formation, 62 Integration

conservative-leaning individuals, societal integration, 60
134 Integrity, 141
creative individuals, 11 Intellectual(s)/intellectually, vii,
education of the individual, 52 viii, ix, x, xi, 1–24, 26–58,
groups of individuals, 7 60–75, 77–80, 82n67, 92n368,
individual’s trajectories, 29 93–94n392, 95n421, 97n450,
other individuals, 27, 31 98n455, 99n469, 100–118, 120,
rivalries between individuals, 7 121, 123–146
socially awkward and self-deceiving anti-intellectual, 53, 57
individuals, 17 extra-intellectual, 14
Individualism, 136 French intellectual life, 2, 110
Individualist/individualistic global intellectual stage, 3
individualistic bias, 26 intellectual approaches, 36
individualistic logic, 6, 51, 71 intellectual architecture, 56
Individuality, 71 intellectual biography, 21, 142
cooperative individuality, 71 intellectual capital, 13, 39
individualization, 32, 33, 34, 71, intellectual careers, 36, 46
140 intellectual careers and trajectories,
intellectual individualization, 34, 36
71, 140 intellectual change, 6, 105
Industries/industry intellectual choices, 20
media industries, 96n437 intellectual circles, 27, 82n67
publishing industry, 15, 16 intellectual community, 2
sartre’s talents and industry, 9 intellectual component, 57
Inequality, 113, 128 intellectual contributions, 11, 39,
Inferiority, 41 42, 64
Influence, 2, 3, 5, 7, 13, 16, 21, 28, intellectual current, paradigm, or set
30, 40, 42, 44, 47, 51, 53, 60, of assumptions, 27
63, 91n358, 95n421, 124, 129, intellectual current(s), 7, 8, 53, 132
135 intellectual discourse, 3
Information, 43, 74, 75 intellectual doctrine, 14, 15, 52
Inquiry, vii, viii, 6, 42, 49, 67, 79, intellectual domain, 14, 15n3, 52,
123, 139 54
Insecurities/insecurity, 73, 124 intellectual dominance, 42
Institution(s), 5, 29, 39, 96n437, 128, intellectual elite, 43, 74n1
137 intellectual endeavour, 33
Institutional/institutionally, 7, 8, 14, intellectual enterprise, 4, 102
15, 18, 20, 22, 23, 26, 33, 34, intellectual establishment, x, 15
38, 44, 46, 60, 66, 68, 69, 73, intellectual field(s), 5–8, 14, 20, 22,
77, 107, 130 26, 27, 29–34, 36–38, 42, 44,
Institutionalization, 128 46, 51, 56, 58, 61, 68, 71, 73,
74, 78, 79, 93n392, 97n350, intellectual outlook, 8, 23, 57,

115, 124 97n450, 138
intellectual figures, 5 intellectual output(s), 3, 6, 12, 22,
intellectual forms, 34, 64, 67 23, 28, 29, 31, 127
intellectual forms of positioning, 67 intellectual paradigms, viii, 1, 6, 14,
intellectual games, 64 16, 20, 24, 27, 34–36, 38, 42,
intellectual goods, 11 44, 53, 54, 68, 69, 77, 82n67
intellectual groups, 68 intellectual performances, 21, 22,
intellectual historians, xi, 135 24, 26
intellectual history, 6, 19, 57, 58, intellectual position, viii, x, xi, 4,
77, 101, 102, 104, 105, 109, 5, 7, 13, 14, 18–20, 23, 24,
114, 117, 121, 126 27–38, 40, 42, 44, 47, 51, 57,
intellectual ideas, 15, 20, 53–55, 77, 58, 61, 63, 65–68, 72–74, 77,
92n368, 133 78, 105, 113, 139, 140
intellectual ideas, currents, and para- intellectual power, viii, x, 3, 5, 6, 10,
digms, 8, 20, 53, 54, 132 17, 18, 22, 28, 30, 34, 36, 39,
intellectual ideologies, 57 40, 42, 50, 61, 66, 93n391,
intellectual impetus, 20 106, 109, 111, 123
intellectual individualization, 34, intellectual practices, 6, 8, 11, 12,
71, 140 22, 24, 26–28, 33, 34, 49, 63,
intellectual intervention(s), viii, 2, 67, 70, 102, 104, 110, 112,
19, 20, 24, 26, 27, 30–32, 114, 116, 126
34–37, 44, 61, 63, 64, 79, 123, intellectual preponderance, 11, 56,
125, 130, 132, 138 79
intellectual kingdom, 127 intellectual production(s), 4–7, 9,
intellectual labels, 27 13, 14, 28, 42, 51, 68, 74, 75,
intellectual landscape, 10 77, 80, 92n365, 95n421, 102,
intellectual life, 2, 33–35, 45, 68, 104, 105, 110, 118, 137
70, 79, 106, 110, 112, 133, intellectual products, 5, 11, 20, 28,
145 30, 33, 142
intellectually, 14, 55, 57, 62 intellectual programme, viii, 19, 33,
intellectual milieu, 20, 123, 126 36, 52, 61, 68, 110, 123, 125
intellectual modes of relating, and intellectual protagonist, 19, 28, 38,
attributing meaning, to the 63, 72, 128
world, 57 intellectual purpose, 2, 20, 44, 60,
intellectual movement, 14, 106, 109 77–79, 140, 142
intellectual moves, 14, 19, 21, 57, intellectual realities, 61, 78, 80
106, 109 intellectual realm, ix, 4, 5, 8, 11, 12,
intellectual networks, 6–8, 19, 14, 22, 26, 34, 47, 55, 66, 77,
32–34, 45, 50, 68, 140, 141 129, 130, 132, 133, 139
intellectual originality, 2, 7, 16, 35, intellectual scholars, 3, 4, 5, 7–9,
44, 66, 79 13, 17, 19, 23, 27, 28, 32, 35,
37, 48, 64, 74, 97n450, 105, non-intellectual ideologies, 12, 13,
135, 138 52, 55, 57
intellectual schools, 7, 9, 20, 33, 53, public intellectual arena, 12–14, 16,
68, 69, 77, 104 139
intellectual sensitivities, 11, 31, 124, public intellectual domain, 14, 15,
136 52, 54
intellectual shifts, 2, 11, 23, 128 Intellectual(s)
intellectual space, 8, 20, 30, 109, authoritative, knowledgeable, and
137 dialogical intellectuals, 77
intellectual specificity, 3, 4, 8, 57 authoritative public intellectuals,
intellectual sphere, ix, 5, 6, 12, 13, 38–40, 43
16, 27, 28, 38, 39, 49, 51, 55, biographies of intellectuals, 142
61, 62, 66, 76, 109, 113, 118, Bourdieusian studies of intellectu-
120, 141 als, 51
intellectual statement(s), 26, 31, 35, collaborationist intellectuals, 2, 3,
55, 61, 62, 73, 78, 139 124, 137
intellectual strands, 132 committed intellectual, 2
intellectual teams, 33, 139 dialogical public intellectuals, 38,
intellectual thought, 2, 8, 17, 24, 41, 75, 77
27, 33, 38, 52–54, 57, 60, 67, embedded or dialogical public intel-
72, 79, 92, 95, 114, 118 lectuals, 38
intellectual tracts, 24 engaged intellectual, 125, 137
intellectual tradition, ix, 21, 39, 44, established intellectuals, 37, 71, 73,
49, 50, 53, 55, 57, 79, 110, 139–141
117, 130, 133, 136, 139 established intellectuals and non-
intellectual trajectory, 23, 30, 62, established intellectuals, 141
129 European intellectuals, 5
intellectual universe, 33, 37, 61 expert public intellectuals, 38, 40,
intellectual will or desire, 20 127, 128
intellectual work, vii, ix, xi, 5, 8, 9, fellow intellectuals, 12, 33, 38, 71
12, 21, 27, 31–33, 35, 47 field of intellectuals, 5–8, 14, 19,
intra-intellectual, 12–14, 52, 139, 20, 22, 26, 27, 29, 30–34,
141 36–38, 44, 46, 51, 56, 58,
intra-intellectual and public-intellec- 61, 68, 71, 73, 74, 78, 79,
tual arenas, 12–14, 49, 52, 139 93n392, 97n450, 115, 124
intra-intellectual arena, 12, 13, 52, free-floating intellectuals, 61, 103
57 French collaborationist intellectu-
intra-intellectual world, 3, 4, 9, als, 2
11–13, 22, 24, 40, 52, 56, 57, French intellectuals, 3, 8, 110, 116,
64, 133 131
non-intellectual ideas, 55, 133 high-profile intellectuals, 39, 50
high-ranking and world-renowned specific intellectual, 31, 40, 79, 136,

public intellectuals, 47 137
imagination of intellectuals, 3 status and recognition of intellectu-
intellectual, 50, 51, 53, 54, 57 als, 33
leading intellectuals, 5 study of intellectuals, vii–ix, xi, 19,
left-wing–or, at least, left-leaning– 51, 57, 58, 61, 63, 70, 79,
intellectuals, 56 123, 144
lives and careers of intellectuals, 50 successful intellectuals, 50
low- or high-profile intellectuals, 50 total intellectual, 5
major public intellectual, 9, 129 transdisciplinary public intellectual,
Manifesto of the Intellectuals, 18 28
non-established intellectuals, 73, twentieth-century intellectuals, 47,
141 48
professional intellectuals, 12 The Intellectual Enterprise. Sartre and
prominent intellectuals, 17 ‘Les Temps Modernes’ (Boschetti),
prominent ‘preaching’ intellectu- 4, 102
als, 30 Intellectualism, 17
prominent public intellectuals, 13, anti-intellectualism, 53, 57, 85n150
49, 129 Intellectualist, 57
prominent twentieth-century intel- anti-intellectualist, 53, 57
lectuals, 47 Intellectuality, 55
public intellectual(s), viii, x, 1, 2, Intellectuel engagé, 18
9, 12–16, 28, 37–44, 47, 49, Intention(s), viii, 1, 19, 20, 21, 35,
52, 54, 75, 77, 79, 82n76, 37, 38, 44, 77, 78, 79, 142, 143
100, 105, 114, 118, 120, 124, effects > intentions formula, 37
126–129, 139, 142, 144–146 hidden intentions, 21
realm of intellectuals, 34 importance of intentions, 78
right-wing intellectuals, 55, 56, an intellectual’s intentions, 38
93n392 intentions,meanings,and effects, 79,
right-wing—or, at least, right-lean- 142
ing—intellectuals, 56 intentions behind, and meanings
role of intellectuals, xi, 57, 79, attributed to, intellectual inter-
99n477, 105 ventions, 78, 79
role of intellectuals in society, 79, intentions behind intellectual inter-
99n477 ventions, 19
secular intellectuals, 30 Sartre’s intentions, 37
sociological theory of intellectuals, typology of intentions, 79
19 vocabulary of intentions, viii, 1, 35,
sociology of intellectuals, vii–ix, xi, 44, 77
1, 19, 57, 58, 64, 107, 113, Intentional, 20, 108, 143
116, 138 intentional positioning, 34, 37
solitary intellectual, 68, 139 Intentionalist, 20
Intentionality, 107, 143 Irreducibility, 29

Interact/interacting, 66 Irreducible, 11
Interaction, 7, 8, 12, 25, 30, 36, 47, Irregularity, 25
64, 71, 79, 96n437 Italian, 45, 69
Interactional, 12, 30, 47, 64, 71 Italianophone, 46, 69
Interest(s), 11, 13, 25, 36, 63, 68, 71,
74, 80, 98n455, 125, 127, 131,
132, 134, 136, 141 J
action-focused interest, 25 Journal(s), 5, 11, 12, 25, 28, 29, 33,
cultural interest, 125 124, 126, 127, 144–146
diverging interests, 74 Judgement(s), 25, 32, 38, 138
particular interests, 80 Justice, 10, 14, 17, 68, 73, 124, 134
research interests, 125 Justification(s), 35, 37, 72, 107, 120
sociological interest, 13 self-justification, 17, 43
universal interests of humanity, 80
Interpenetrability, 47
Interpretation(s), 6, 9, 10, 14, 36, 52, K
62, 78, 79, 86n190, 137, 139 Kantian, 18
Interpretive, 22, 35, 61, 79, 107 Keynesianism, 93n392
Interpretivism, 53, 69 Keynesians, 140
Interpretivist, 24 Knowledge
Intersectional, 11, 45, 46 acquired knowledge, 40, 90n321
Intersectionality, 45, 128 common-sense knowledge, 43, 74
Intersubjectivized, 43 the constitution and the evolution
Intervention(s), viii, 2, 19, 20, 22, 24, of knowledge and belief systems
26–28, 30–32, 34–37, 42, 44, 61, knowledgeable, 9, 14
63, 64, 77–79, 123, 125, 130, development of knowledge, 17, 25
132, 133, 136–139, 142 dialogical exchanges of knowledge,
effective intervention, 28 76
‘generalist’ interventions, 42 domain of knowledge, 41
intellectual intervention(s), viii, 2, expert knowledge, 39
19, 20, 24, 26, 27, 30–32, fallibility of knowledge, 43, 74
34–37, 44, 61, 63, 64, 77–79, knowledge, information, and sci-
123, 125, 130, 132, 138 ence, 43, 74
journalistic interventions, 2 knowledge acquisition, 133, 142
public intellectual interventions, 44 knowledge and belief systems, 14,
scholarly interventions, 64 15
Intra-intellectual, 12–14, 52, 139 knowledge and information, 74, 75
intra-intellectual and public-intellec- knowledge generation, 75
tual arenas, 12, 13 knowledge production, 9, 42, 43,
intra-intellectual arenas, 12, 13 76, 95n421, 96n437
intra-intellectual world, 12, 52 nature of knowledge, 67
professional knowledge, 40 Lesbian, gay, bisexual, and/or

‘the queen of knowledge’, 42 transgender (LGBT), 50
representationalist accounts of Liberal, 69, 88n267, 134, 137, 145,
knowledge, 24 146
scientific knowledge, 75, 98n466 Liberalism, 53, 57, 134
specialized knowledge, 43, 74 Liberation, 131, 142
spheres of knowledge production, Liberté, 18, 49
76–77 Life/lives, 2, 12, 21, 23, 29, 30, 32–
35, 41, 45, 49, 50, 55, 57, 58,
63, 64, 66, 68, 70, 79, 91n358,
L 103, 104, 106, 107, 109, 110,
Label, viii, 9, 17, 27, 33, 53, 68, 97, 112, 120, 133, 138, 145
123, 132, 136 academic and non-academic spheres
‘Sartre’ (the label), 9 of life, 49
Labour academic life, 12
division of labour, 96n437 everyday life, 55, 64, 107, 138
Lamarckian, 36 field-specific life forms, 64
La naissance du phénomène Sartre. good life, 30
Raisons d’un succès, 1938–1945 intellectual life, 2, 33–35, 45, 68,
(Galster, ed.), 9, 106 70, 79, 106, 110, 112, 133,
Language(s), 17, 22, 24, 25, 29, 40, 145
45, 46, 50, 63–65, 67, 86, 109, new life, 29
115, 119, 138 public and/or private lives, 21
Language games, 40, 64 social life, 57, 66, 79, 109, 120
Law(s), 7, 67, 69, 101, 114, 134 walks of life, 41
law of small numbers, 7 Life forms, 64
Law Faculties, 134 Lifeworld(s), 13, 83n110, 107, 108
Laypersons, 12, 43, 74–76, 99n470 Limit(s), 27, 67, 69, 127, 141
L’être et le néant (Sartre), 3, 116, 127 Limitation(s), viii, 1, 19, 44, 58, 78,
L’évolution créatrice (Bergson), 16, 82n67
101 Linguistic, 8, 20, 21, 24, 40, 46, 50,
L’existentialisme est un humanisme 63, 64, 67, 69, 76, 96n437
(Sartre), 9, 116, 126 Literary, 49, 111, 124, 130, 146
Lecture(s), 9, 12, 16, 30, 96n437, literary field, 47, 48, 129
116, 126, 131, 132 literary journals, 5
Left/left-wing, 18, 55, 56, 59, 79, literary output, 127
94n392, 103, 105, 109, 111, literary products, 142
114, 121, 134, 135 literary studies, 69
Legitimacy, 15, 31, 39, 42, 44, 54, literary world, 4
88n255, 104 Literature, xi, 4, 8, 9, 26, 28, 48, 67,
Legitimacy claims, 31, 88n255 91n358, 92n368, 99n477, 109,
Legitimation, 12, 25 110, 111, 121, 126, 129
Les Temps Modernes, 4, 5, 102, 145 Local, 29
Logic, 4–7, 13, 24, 30, 36, 47, 49, 51, 40, 45, 48, 51, 60, 61, 70, 76,
52, 62, 67, 71, 88n267, 108 78, 135, 142, 143
Logical, 86n190, 135 methodological advantages, 143
logical positivism, 86n190 methodological concerns, 142
methodological error, 7, 135
methodological imperative, 61
M methodological issues, 34
Macro/macro-, 6, 8, 25 methodological kind, 142
macrocosm, 47 methodological level, 70
macro-historical, 8 methodological mistake, 51, 60
macro-level, 25 methodological nationalism, 45
macro-social, 6 methodological remarks, 35
Male, 46, 128 methodological resources, 76
Management, 17, 31, 55 methodological rigour, 78
Management studies, 55 methodological strategy, 8, 19, 61,
Margins, 17 70, 143
Marginalization, 40 methodological tools, vii, viii, 48,
Marginalized, 49, 55 61
Market(s), 7, 12, 16, 44, 52 Micro/micro-, 25
mass market, 16 microcosms, 47
Market-driven, 12 micro-level, 25
Marketing strategies, 28 micronarratives, 44
Marxism, 44, 54, 82n67, 100, 106, Military, 96n437
107, 109, 111–116, 118, 121, Mind(s), 7, 11, 47, 55, 58, 105, 106,
140 112, 115, 133, 142
Marxist, 97n450 Minority, 50
Materialism, 53, 69, 82n67, 97n450, Mirroring, 24, 64
109, 113, 115, 121 Mobility
Meaning(s), viii, 7, 20, 22, 25, 27, social mobility, 63
35, 43, 57, 66, 77–79, 109, 113, Mobilize(d), 7, 17, 39, 40
117, 123, 132, 134, 139, 142 Modern, vii, viii, 2, 4, 9, 16, 19, 35,
Media, x, 2, 12, 16, 43, 47, 74, 44, 48, 53, 67, 102, 105, 107,
96n437, 100, 109 112, 116, 117, 118
alternative media, 16, 43, 74 Modernity, 44, 53, 108
media attention, 2, 47 Moral/morally, 10, 14, 38, 43, 52,
new social media, 43 74, 102, 108, 110, 125
social and alternative media, 16, 43, cognitively, morally, and aesthetically
74 superior, 13–14
Message, 32, 130 moral authority, 43, 74
Metanarrative(s), 44, 53 moral duty, 125
Metaphysics, 86n190, 110 morally guided behaviour, 10
Methodological/methodologically, vii, morally oppressive, 10
viii, xi, 1, 3, 7, 8, 14, 19, 34, 35, moral vocabulary, 10
moral voice, 38 Neopragmatist, 42

relaxing of morals, 10 Nepotism, 45
Morality, 67 Network(s), 4–8, 19, 32–34, 45, 50,
Motivation(s), 19–21 68, 117, 140, 141
Motivationalist, 19, 59 academic networks, 7
Movement(s), 3, 8, 14, 76, 106, 109, building of networks, 141
129 collaborative network, 68
1960s student movement, 129 French network of existentialists, 7
anticolonial movement, 129 German network of phenomenolo-
authoritarian and fascist movements, gists, 7
76 intellectual networks, 32, 33
existentialist movement, vii, viii, x, network approach, 4, 6
xi, 1, 2, 8, 79, 100, 123–130, network centre, 8
132, 134, 135, 137, 140–142, network members, 34
144–146 network of allies and critics, 140
intellectual movement, 14, 106, 109 network of fellow intellectuals, 33
philosophical movement, 3 professional network, 5
Multipositionality, 66–68 social networks, 7, 8, 45, 50
Music, 26 Newspapers, 5, 11, 124
Musicology, 67, 69 Nineteenth century/nineteenth-cen-
tury, 4, 47
Normative, vii, viii, 13, 18, 32, 33, 37,
N 38, 41, 43, 44, 52, 54, 56, 63,
Narrative(s), 9, 19, 22, 28–30, 43, 67, 70, 76, 78, 96n431, 97n449,
51–54, 93n384, 110, 129, 131, 99n470, 128, 140
133, 141 Normativity, 15, 61
Narrativity, 51
Narrow-mindedness, 41
Nationalism, 45, 53, 57, 113 O
Nationalist, 17, 69 Objective/objectively, vii, viii, 4, 15,
Nationality, 45 37, 47, 51, 54, 60, 61, 63, 70,
Nationhood, 4 78, 96n431, 97n449, 115, 124,
Natural, 9, 42, 43, 47, 67, 134 132
natural and social sciences, 42, 43 Obscurity, 3
natural aptitude, 9 Ontology, 7, 67, 79, 116, 145
natural sciences, 42, 134 Opportunistic/opportunistically, 9, 10
natural-scientific inquiry, 67 Optimistic, 142
natural scientists, 47 Order
Nazi Germany, 76, 124 different order, 135
Nazi regime, 3 social order, 64
Nazis, 2, 4 Ordinary
Neoliberalism, 40, 54 ordinary agents, 23, 43
ordinary citizens, 4 intellectuals’ foreground perfor-

ordinary human beings, 14 mances, 22
ordinary members of society, 38 intellectual performances, 8, 21, 22,
ordinary people, 13, 17, 43, 74 24, 67, 131
ordinary practices, 22 positional performance, 8, 22,
Originality, 7, 35, 44, 66 24–26, 28, 67
Orthodox Marxism, 82n67 Sartre’s performances, 8, 131
Orthodoxy, 18, 79, 82n67 Performative
performative capital, 46, 50
performative imbalance, 34
P performative logic, 24
Paradigm(s)/paradigmatic performative perspective, 2
intellectual paradigms, 20, 27, 54 performative positioning, 24, 28
paradigmatic changes, 42, 43 performative role, 24
paradigmatic developments, 42, 68 performative tools, 28, 130
paradigmatic influence, 16, 42 performative turn, 24, 63
paradigmatic rise, 6 Performativist, 24, 25
paradigmatic shift, viii, 1, 25, 34, Performativity, 63
35, 44, 77 Person
paradigmatic status, 6, 25, 42 Sartre (the person), vii, viii, x, xi,
paradigmatic terms, 6, 38, 54, 69 1–11, 13, 16, 28, 31, 37, 38,
paradigmatic transition, 24 46–49, 51, 52, 79, 80n17,
paradigm-driven, 38 82n67, 83n82, 91n358, 100,
paradigm-inventers, 14 102–106, 109, 111, 112, 116,
Paradigm shift, viii, 1, 34, 35, 44, 77 117, 120, 121, 123–133,
paradigm shift from a concern with 139–146
‘intentions’ to an emphasis on Personalistic, 6, 14
‘effects’, 77 Personality
paradigm shift from a ‘vocabulary of personality-focused, 6
intentions’ to a ‘vocabulary of personality formation, 25
effects’, viii, 1, 35, 44, 77 Personal/personally, 7, 8, 28, 69, 70,
Paradox/paradoxical/paradoxically, 101
42, 53, 61, 71, 75, 132, 141 Perspective/perspective(s), 2, 5, 9, 10,
Particularity, 29, 75 12, 14, 20, 22, 32, 35, 43, 47,
Partisan Review, 98n455 51, 52, 62, 72, 74, 100, 103–
Perception(s), 15, 28, 70, 75 105, 111, 113, 117, 120, 124,
misperceptions, 54 128–130, 139, 141, 143
subjective perceptions, 70 Phenomenology, 7, 19, 34, 43,
Perceptive/perceptively, 28, 75 82n67, 116, 127, 128, 133, 136
Perceptiveness, 73 Philosophical, 3, 6, 8, 11, 21, 34, 44,
Performance(s), 8, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26, 48, 49, 53, 58, 67, 77, 102, 108,
67, 96n437, 131 115, 119, 127, 130, 139
Philosophies/philosophy cultural and political shifts, 131

academic philosophy, 130 left-wing major political ideologies,
actual philosophies, 135 56
developments both within and out- major political ideologies, 44, 53,
side philosophy, 42 56, 57
developments within and outside political act, 137
philosophy, 42 political attack on neoliberalism, 40
literature and philosophy, 8 political commitment, 18, 57
philosophies, 3, 6, 8–10, 28, 38, political complexities, 131
42, 43, 48, 67, 69, 100–102, political context, 31, 35, 50, 123,
105, 108, 116, 118, 119, 121, 134, 140
122, 124–126, 129, 130, 142, political and cultural sensitivities,
144–146 124
philosophy of science, 126 political debates, 47
philosophy of the social sciences, political developments, 129
100, 121, 142, 144 political direction, 41
preponderant position of philosophy political engagement, 18, 141
in the intellectual field, 42 political-ethical considerations, 67
prestigious discipline of philosophy, political-ethical position, 28, 67
6 political experiences, 15, 54, 132
Sartre’s existentialist philosophy, 10 political and journalistic fields, 30,
Sartre’s philosophy, 3, 126 34
Sartre’s philosophy of existentialism, political and philosophical imagina-
126 tion of intellectuals, 3
scholastic philosophy, 43 political/politically, 2–5, 8, 10, 14,
sociology of philosophies, 6, 105 15, 18, 20, 21, 26–28, 30, 31,
status of philosophy as a discipline, 34, 35, 39–44, 47, 48, 50, 51,
42 53–57, 60, 66, 67, 69, 75, 76,
Philosophy of the Social Sciences: Towards 96n437, 100, 101, 109, 112–
Pragmatism (Baert), 100, 142, 114, 117, 119, 120, 123–126,
144 129, 131, 132, 134, 135, 137,
Physics, 67 140, 141, 145, 146
Pitfalls, 77 political-ethical positioning, 27, 28,
Political/politically 66, 67, 139
apolitical, 141 political or ethical stance, 27, 66
centre-ground major political ide- political forces, 27
ologies, 57 political goal, 41, 75, 76
common political goal, 41, 75, 76 political ideas, 134, 135
contemporary social and political political ideologies, 8, 14, 21, 44,
debates, 47 53, 56, 57, 109
cultural and political arenas, 20 political impact, 129
cultural and political complexities, political influence, 2, 47, 129
131 political issues, 39
politically charged climate, 28 Politics, 18, 25, 28, 40, 93n392,

politically opportunistic, 10 99n469, 100, 103–105, 109–
political metanarratives, 53 111, 113, 114, 119, 120, 137,
political orientations of academics in 145
the US, 134 international relations and politics,
political science, 48, 55, 67, 69, 113 25, 109
political scientists, 53 linguistics and politics, 40
political shifts, 131 politics of the day, 18
political spectrum, 10, 18, 55, 134 separation of art and politics, 137
political system, 137 separation between cultural produc-
political theory, 100, 101, 126, 129, tion and politics, 137
146 Polycentrically positioned agents, 8,
political thinkers, 40 22, 26, 37
political turbulence of the late Popularity, 3, 49, 82n67
1960s, 3 Sartre’s popularity, 49
political world, 42 Population, 15, 16
political writings, 134 Positional/positionally/positionality,
progressive political climate in 26, 65
France, 4 multipositionality, 66
progressive political commitment, positional party, 26
18 positional performance, 24
right-wing major political ideolo- Positioning
gies, 57 acts of positioning, 25
social, political, and environmental acts of ‘repositioning’, 73
developments, 43 aesthetic positioning, 28
social and political issues, 39 anti-positioning, 26
social and political thinkers, 40 artistic positioning, 28
social and political world, 42 an author’s positioning, 35
socio-political conditions, 5, 28, 50, carefully constructed or calculated
53, 57 positioning and self-position-
socio-political context, viii, 31, 35, ing, 31
50, 54, 123 conscious and explicit modes of
socio-political events and trends, 10 positioning, 34–35
socio-political experiences, 15, 54, conscious and explicit positioning,
132 35
socio-political factors, 51 credibility and repositioning, 141
socio-political history, 141 cultural positioning, 28
‘major’ political ideologies, 44, 53, dynamic of positioning, 26, 29
56, 57 effective positioning, 29
‘sub-major’ political ideologies, 53, ethnic positioning, 28
57, 69 field-specific positioning, 38
forms of positioning, 26–28, 30, 32, radical repositioning, 37, 72, 73,
67, 68, 114 98n455, 141
hermeneutics of positioning, 34, 35 relative solidity of positioning, 51
intellectual forms of positioning, repositioning, 36, 37, 72–74,
34, 67 98n455, 141
intellectual positioning, 24, 27, 28, role of ‘positioning’, 19
30, 32, 33, 66–68, 139 self-positioning, 26, 27, 31, 32, 34,
intentional positioning, 34, 37 125
modes of positioning, 35, 38 subtle forms of positioning, 27
nature of repositioning, 141 theory of positioning, 14
nexus between (re-)positioning and types of positioning, 66, 67
credibility, 72 Positionist, 14, 16, 20, 22, 24, 25, 61
overt forms of positioning, 27 Position(s), 4, 5, 7, 13, 14, 18, 23,
performative positioning, 24 25–27, 31–35, 37, 38, 40, 42,
politico-ethical positioning, 27, 66, 44, 47, 51, 57, 58, 61, 63,
139 66–68, 71–73, 129, 133, 138,
positioned and positioning subjects, 137, 139, 140
65, 66 Positive, 17, 80, 106, 124, 127
positioning of an intervention, 138 Positivism, 53, 69, 86n190, 115
positioning of other agents, 26 interpretivism and positivism, 53, 69
positioning of other individuals, 31 logical positivism, 86n190
positioning process, 34, 97n450 Positivist Marxism, 82n67
positioning and narratives, 30 Possibility, 41, 49
positioning in passive terms, 138 Posthumous/posthumously, 32
‘positioning’ in the passive voice, 65 Postindustrial, 43, 74
positioning and self-positioning, Post-1989 legitimacy crisis of
31, 32 Marxism, 54
positioning subject, 65, 66 Postmodernism, 42, 44, 53, 54, 104,
positioning theory, 20, 23, 25, 35, 110, 114, 117, 119, 120
36, 63, 108, 117, 123, 124, Postmodernist, 44
125, 130, 135, 137, 142 Poststructuralism, 53, 69
positioning within a field through a Post-war France, 11, 51
team, 33 Potential
positioning within hierarchically dialogical and democratic potential,
structured fields and subfields, 43
38 emancipatory potential, 18
positioning within a team through a generative potential, 63, 96n431
field, 33 purposive, normative, and evaluative
processes of positioning, 29, 36 potential, 52
processes of positioning and reposi- Potentiality, 96n431
tioning, 36 Pouvoir (le pouvoir), 18, 55, 105
Power, 3, 5, 6, 10, 18, 22, 28, 30, both the production and the
34, 39, 40, 42, 47, 61, 66, 77, exchange of epistemic
93n391, 106, 109, 111, 112, resources, 74
119, 120 cultural production, 4, 13, 103,
authoritarian state power, 18 118, 137
disciplinary power, 42 field of intellectual productions, 28
epistemic power, 77 forms of cultural production, 4
hegemonic power base, 5 French field of intellectual produc-
intellectual power, 66 tion, 5
power base, 5 generalized cultural production, 13
power of generational shifts, 10, 11 intellectual production, 5, 28
power relations, 40 knowledge production, 9, 42, 43,
power of social science, 40 76, 95n421, 96n437
power struggle, 3, 22, 61 production, distribution, and
state power, 18 consumption of epistemic
symbolic power, 28, 30, 39, 40, resources, 75
111, 120 production, distribution, and con-
Power-laden, 22, 34, 36, 43, 47, 80 sumption of knowledge and
Power-laden dynamics, 22 information, 75
Power-ladenness of the intellectual production of ideas, knowledge, and
field, 34 discourses, 68
Practical, 56, 61, 62, 69, 70, 76, production of symbolic forms, 6, 80
82n67, 102, 104, 142 restricted cultural production, 13
Practice(s), 6, 8, 10–12, 22, 24–28, scientific forms of knowledge pro-
33, 34, 49, 63, 67, 69, 70, 76, duction, 76
102, 104, 110–112, 114, 116, separation between cultural produc-
120, 126 tion and politics, 137
Pragmatism/pragmatist, 20, 24, 25, social conditions of production, 6,
42, 63, 64, 77, 79, 100, 101, 14
110, 111, 115, 118, 142, 144 socio-historical conditions of pro-
neopragmatist, 42 duction, 51, 92n365
Present, 16, 18, 22, 23, 52, 105, 124, spheres of knowledge production,
125, 133 76
Principle(s), 10, 12, 33, 36, 41, 43, spheres of scholarly productions and
52, 55, 57, 96n137, 132 exchanges, 13
Private, 8, 15, 17, 21, 39, 129 systematic knowledge production,
Privilege, 5, 8, 13, 18, 38–40, 45, 49, 42
50, 92n358, 128, 129 Professionalization of the social sci-
Process(es), 25, 26, 29, 33, 34, 36, ences, 42
37, 65, 66, 70–75, 95n421, Professional/professionalized, 5, 8,
97n452, 98n455, 125, 132, 138 12, 18, 40, 42, 43, 74
Production(s) personal and professional, 8
professional intellectuals, 12 expert public intellectuals, 38, 40,

professional journalists and com- 127, 128
mentators, 12 French public, 131, 133
professional knowledge, 40 general public, 34
professional network of sympathetic larger public, 15
peers, 5 private and public, 8
professional researchers, 43, 74 public celebrity, 2, 3
professional social scientists, 42 public debates, 12
professional status, 18 public engagement, 38
Profit-driven, 62 public figure, 16, 40
Progressive, 3, 18, 40, 41, 56, 79, public foreground presentation, 15
133, 134, 145 public imagination, 15
progressive political climate, 4 public institutions, 39
progressive political commitment, public intellectual, 1, 2, 9, 12,
18 13–16, 28, 37–44, 47, 52, 54,
progressive transformation of social 49, 75, 77, 79, 82n76, 100,
reality, 40 105, 114, 118, 120, 123, 124,
progressive-transformative impact, 126–129, 139, 142, 144–146
41 public intellectual arena, 12–14, 16,
Prominence, 3, 4, 16, 20, 125, 127, 139
129–131 public intellectual domain, 14, 15,
Protectionism, 45 52, 54
Protectionist, 13 public lecture, 9, 16, 126
socio-protectionist, 39 public and/or private lives, 21
Pseudo-sociology, 136 public profile, 2, 5
Psyche public prominence, 3, 16
collective psyche, 11 public realm, 129, 132
Psychology, 67, 69, 108 public sphere, 38, 55, 109, 117,
Publication(s), 28, 35, 97n450, 102, 118, 120, 129
127, 136 wider public, 13, 18, 41, 141
Public(s), 1–3, 5, 8, 9, 12–16, 18, 21, Publishing industry, 15, 16
28, 34, 35, 37–44, 47, 49, 52, Purge (épuration), 3
54, 55, 73, 75, 77, 79, 82n76, Purist, 17
97n450, 98n455, 100, 104–106, Purpose(s), 2, 20, 44, 60, 77–79, 140,
108, 109, 113, 114, 117, 118, 142
120, 123–133, 136, 139, 141, Purposive, 7, 43, 52, 54, 107
142, 144, 145
authoritative public intellectuals,
38–40, 43, 128 Q
broader public, 13, 132 Qualitative difference, 73
embedded or dialogical public intel- Qualitative specificity, 57
lectuals, 38 Quality/qualities
quality of existing studies of intel- reality, ix, 17, 19, 24, 29, 40, 54,
lectuals, 58 61, 64, 73, 76, 78, 80, 132
Sartre’s success in terms of his ‘indi- social reality, 40, 64
vidual qualities’, 9 systematic study of reality, 76
Sartre’s ‘unique and multiple quali- Reason(s), 2, 14, 18, 29, 31, 38,
ties’, 6 40, 43, 57, 59, 64, 65, 72, 74,
unprecedented quality, 44 98n455, 126, 127, 129, 131, 135
Quasi- critical reason (Urteilskraft), 43
quasi-private, 40 normative reason (Vernunft), 43
quasi-religious, 30 purposive reason (Verstand), 43
reasons behind the gradual decline
of existentialism in French
R intellectual life, 2
‘Race’, 45 reasons behind the transition from
‘Racial’ ‘intra-intellectual’ to ‘extra-
‘racial’ capital, 46 intellectual’ in the realm of
Racist, 17 ideas, 14
Radical, 10, 37, 40, 56, 72, 73, voice of reason, 18
98n455, 141 voice of reason against government
Radio, 16 forces, 18
Ranking, 22, 25, 29, 47, 62 Reception, 5, 19
ranking of research institutions, Reciprocity, 41, 65, 75, 139
publishers and journals, 29 Recognition
social ranking, 25 approval and recognition, 15
Rational, 10 high degrees of appreciation and
Rationale, 64, 77, 79 recognition, 64
Realism, 53, 69 mechanisms of approval, recogni-
Realistic, 49 tion, appreciation, and legitima-
Realities/reality tion, 12
construct reality, 24 processes of recognition, legitima-
day-to-day immersion in reality, 54 tion, and social ranking, 25
field-specific realities, 61, 80 pursuit of social recognition, 7
givenness of reality, 61 recognition of intellectuals, 33
intellectual realities, 78 social recognition, 7
naïve, stereotypical, and common- struggle for recognition, 22, 66
sense understandings of reality, struggle over symbolic recognition,
19 4
objective accounts of reality, 54, 132 struggles for status and recognition,
people’s symbolically mediated 33
involvement in reality, 29 subject capable of judgement and
quotidian immersion in reality, 76 recognition, 25
symbolic and institutional recogni- Relationalist, 32

tion, 22, 26, 60 Relationality, 65, 139
symbolic or institutional recogni- Relationship
tion, 130 epistemic relationship between
symbolic recognition, 4, 37, 143 experts and laypersons, 43
Recognizability, 65, 66 historical relationship between the
Reconstructability, 65, 66 ‘literary field’ and the ‘academic
Reconstruction(s), 29, 133 field’, 47
Reductive, 11, 21, 62, 79, 82n67, paradoxical relationship between
86n190 two fundamental dynamics
Reflexive, 14, 61 shaping the development of the
self-reflexive protagonist, 63 intellectual field: cooperation
sociologically reflexive, 14, 61 and individualization, 71
sociologically reflexive programme, relationship between an individual
61 and other individuals, 31
sociologically reflexive undertaking, relationship between experience and
14 intellectual sensitivities, 11
Regime(s) relationship between experts and
absolutist, authoritarian, or dictato- laypersons, 43, 75
rial regimes, 27 relationship between intellectual and
authoritarian regimes, 44, 137 non-intellectual members of the
Nazi regime, 3 public, 41
regime, 3, 10, 27, 44, 88n267, 137 relationship between social forces
Vichy regime, 10 and creativity, 138
Regulations, 60, 136 relationship between the construc-
Reified, 23 tion of narratives and processes
Relation(s) of positioning, 29
horizon of constantly shifting rela- resourceful relationship, 15
tions, 23, 72 Relativity, 31
international relations, 25 Religion, 133
power relations, 40 Religious
rebuilding of social relations, 66 quasi-religious status, 30
relations established between posi- religious and intellectual worlds,
tioned and positioning subjects, 133
65, 66 religious belief systems, 55
shifting relations, 23, 72 religious metanarratives, 53
social relations, 32, 66 religious studies, 67, 69
system of social relations, 47 Renormalizability, 65, 66
Relational/relationally Representation(s)
relational affair, 30–32 misrepresentations, 54
relational logic, 30 representational, 24
relationally, 12, 47, 64, 70 Representationalist, 24
Reproduction financial resources, 22, 61

profit-driven reproduction, 62 human resources, 68
reproduction of academic networks, independent resources, 39
7 levels of resources, 139
reproduction of a field, 47 material and symbolic resources, 4,
Research 36, 38, 40, 47, 49, 61, 63, 76
empirical research, 43, 134, 135 purposive, normative, and evaluative
interesting research, 68, 134 resources, 52
research centre, 69 resources for action, 47
research institutions, 29 social, educational, linguistic, and
research interests, 125 symbolic resources, 8
research in the cultural field, 47 Resourceful, 15
research model, 14 Responsibility, 124, 125
research programme, 19, 33, 36, Revolutionary, 56
68, 123, 125, 126, 134 Rhetoric, 49, 76, 133
research project, 68 Rhetorical, 130
research strategy, 70, 143 Right(s)
research submitted for peer review, extreme right in France, 135
35 ‘left’ versus ‘right’, 57, 134
research traditions, 57, 139 right-wing, 79
sociological research, 9, 41, 75 right-wing ideologies, 53
Researcher(s) right-wing intellectuals, 55, 133
critical researcher, 14, 43, 51, 53, right-wing – or, at least, right-lean-
61, 76, 79 ing – intellectuals, 56, 57
partnership between researchers and right-wing major political ideolo-
grassroots communities, 76 gies, 56, 57
professional researchers, 43, 74 right-wing (right-leaning), 56, 57
sociological researchers, 41, 75 universal rights, 49
Resistance/resistance, 3, 10, 125, 128, Risk(s)
131, 137 costs and risks, 36
French Resistance circles, 125 reputational risks, 37, 73
resistance group, 131 risk of understating the importance
Resistance writers, 128, 137 of intentions behind, and
Resource(s) meanings attached to, intellec-
assimilated resources, 7 tuals’ interventions, 78
collectively transmitted and individ- Ritual(s)
ually assimilated resources, 7 general theory of interaction rituals,
conceptual resources, 77 7, 106
context-dependent conceptual and theory of interaction ritual chains, 7
methodological resources, 76 Rivalries, 7
emancipatory resources, 12 Romanticism, 22
epistemic resources, 74–76 Romanticizing, 21
Rule(s) social science, 18, 29, 39, 40, 42,

rules and roles, 25 43, 48, 53, 94n421, 127, 128,
rules of both the ‘literary field’ and 134, 142
the ‘academic field’, 47, 48 Scientific, 13, 19, 35, 67, 75, 76,
rules of the game, 5, 61, 62, 136, 82n67, 96n437, 129
137 modern scientific and social-scien-
tific paper, 35
natural-scientific, 13, 19, 35, 67,
S 134
Sartre et « Les Temps Modernes ». natural-scientific inquiry, 67
Une entreprise intellectuelle scientific, artistic, and academic
(Boschetti), 4, 102, 145 fields, 13
Scepticism, 43, 57, 74 scientific field, 129
Schicksalsgemeinschaft, 10 scientific forms of knowledge pro-
Scholastic, 23, 43, 51, 112 duction, 76
School(s) scientific knowledge, 75, 98n466
Cambridge School of Intellectual social-scientific, 35, 139
History, 20, 77 social-scientific comprehension, 19
competitive creative schools, 7 social-scientific inquiry, 67
creative schools, 7 Scientist(s), 42, 47, 53, 127
intellectual scholars and schools, 9 natural scientists, 47
intellectual schools, 7 political scientists, 53
school of thought, 33 professional social scientists, 42
school or research programme, 33 social scientists, 42, 47, 127
‘schools’ or ‘research programmes’, Second World War, 10, 125, 137, 141,
68 142
‘sub-schools’ and ‘sub-canons’, 53 Secular intellectuals, 30
Science(s), 18, 39, 40, 42, 43, 48, 53, Security/securities
55, 67, 76, 127, 134 (in-) security, 73, 74
earth science, 67 institutional, financial, and reputa-
humanities and social sciences, 18, tional insecurity, 73
29, 39, 48, 53 institutional, financial, and reputa-
knowledge, information, and sci- tional security, 73
ence, 43, 74 new insecurities and hopes, 124
natural and social sciences, 43 Self-concept, 23, 138
natural sciences, 42, 134 Self-confidence, 39, 107
philosophy of science, 126 Self-congratulatory, 17
philosophy of the social sciences, Self-conscious, 22
100, 121, 142, 144 Self-deceiving, 17
political science, 48, 55, 67, 69 Self-description, 21
science and common sense, 76 Self-funded, 5, 49
Self-governance, 132 social arrangements, 67

Self-justification, 17, 43 social background, 21, 50, 86n190,
Self-notions, 21 92n358, 111, 136
self-positioning, 12, 26, 27, 31, 32, social causes, 131
34, 39, 52, 125 social capital, 45, 49
Self-promotion, 17 social circles, 69
Self-realization, 7, 12 social circumstances, 9
Self-referential, 41, 77 social cohesion, 134
Self-reflexive, 63 social conditions of production, 6,
Self-regulatory, 12, 52 14
Self-styled, 126 social connections, 128
Self-sufficient, 6, 17 social context, 95n421, 135
Semiotics, 67 social and cultural capital, 130, 131
Sensibilities, 138 social, educational, linguistic, and
Sexism symbolic resources, 8
institutional sexism, 46 social epistemology, 105, 109, 111,
Sexual, 50 115, 119, 126
bisexual, 50 social fabric, 4
heterosexual, 46 social facts, 21, 59, 60, 86n190,
homosexuality, 128 136
sexual capital, 46 social fields, 4, 22, 32, 34, 36, 37,
sexual orientation, 45, 46, 128 63, 68, 71, 78
Sexist social forces, 21, 59, 60, 138
sexist social formations, 77
anti-sexist social groups, 50
Situatedness, 26 social interactions, 36
Situation(s) social life, 57, 66, 79
constructed situations, 96n437 socially arbitrary, 70
potentially precarious situations, 34 socially awkward, 17
societal situation, 20 socially deprived, 49
Small narratives, 29 social legitimacy, 31, 39
Social/socially socially interconnected agents, 65
natural and social sciences, 43 socially recognized, 34
new social media, 43 socially stratified forms of cultural
social actions, 51, 60, 63, 107 production, 4
social actions and social structures, social mechanisms, 20
51, 60 social mobility, 63
social advantage, 128 social methodologists, 53
social agents, 19, 30 social networks, 7, 8, 45, 50
social and alternative media, 16, 43, social order, 64
74 social partnership, 41, 75
social analysis, 63 social and political debates, 47
social, political, and environmental sociology of intellectual thought, 72

developments, 43 sociology of philosophies, 6, 105
social, political, ideological, or intel- The Sociology of Philosophies. A Global
lectual movement, 14 Theory of Intellectual Change
social and political issues, 39 (Collins), 6, 105
social and political thinkers, 40 Socio-ontological, 79
social and political world, 42 Socio-political, 5, 10, 15, 26, 31, 35,
social privilege and entitlement, 49 50, 51, 54, 123, 132, 141
social ranking, 25 Socio-protectionist, 12, 26, 27, 31,
social reality, 40, 64 34, 39, 52, 125
social recognition, 7 Socio-symbolic, 136, 137
social relations, 32, 47, 66 Solidarity, 41, 115
social sciences, 18, 29, 39, 40, 42, South-West(ern), 91n358
43, 48, 53, 94n421, 127, 128, Sovereignty, 12
134 Space(s)
social-scientific comprehension, 19 conceptual space, 20
social-scientific inquiry, 67 discursive spaces of argumentation,
social-scientific paper, 35 15
social space, 31, 66 intellectual space, 8
social structure, 10, 51, 60, 112 social space, 30, 66
social sciences, 128 space for thinking of writing, 137
social struggles, 22, 47 Spanish, 45, 69
social theory, 100, 101, 111, 113, Spirit
117, 118, 120, 126, 138, collective identity, spirit, and pro-
144–146 ject, 69
social universe, 25 epistemic spirit, 56
social work, 55 normative spirit, 56
social world, 56 Stability, 25, 35, 59, 138
system of social relations, 47 relative stability, 35
upward social mobility, 63 stability bias, 23, 36, 58, 135
Socialism, 53, 56, 118 Stake(s), 125
Sociality, 59, 60 Standard(s)
Socializing, 71 normative standards, 70
Socio-historical, 2, 19, 20, 39, 51, 58, State, 134
67, 79, 92n365, 114, 125 administrative logic of the state, 52
Sociology, 19, 41, 48, 55, 57, 58, 64, authoritarian state power, 18
67, 69, 138 heads of state, 129
pseudo-sociology, 136 state power, 18
public sociology, 41, 104, 106 State-administered societies, 12
sociology of intellectuals, 19, 57, Status, 3, 7, 9, 18, 20, 22, 23, 30, 33,
58, 64, 72, 106, 107, 113, 38, 39, 42, 45, 50, 71, 107, 127,
116, 138 129
Straitjacket rational subjects capable of morally

cognitive straitjacket, 27 guided behaviour, 10
Strategies/strategy Subjective/subjectively, 4, 37, 47, 60,
marketing strategies, 28 61, 63, 70, 78, 96n431, 97n449,
methodological strategy, 8, 19, 61 140
research strategy, 70, 143 Subversive, 18, 79
strategies of individual thinkers, 14 Success, 8–10, 12, 15, 16, 34, 38, 46,
Structural, 6, 21, 53, 59, 69 54, 69, 73, 128, 130
structural bias, 21, 135 Superior, 14, 18, 41, 75
structural dimensions, 59 epistemic superiority, 41
structural explanations, 21 Superstructure, 6, 64
structural fallacy, 58, 59, 135, 136 Suspicion, 12, 22
structural forces, 21 Symbolic/symbolically
structural and ideological transfor- construction of symbolically medi-
mations, 6 ated modes of existence, 64
Structuralist, 25, 59 material and symbolic, 4, 8, 28, 34,
Structure(s), 4, 8, 19, 38, 47, 51, 60, 36, 38, 40, 47, 49, 61–63, 76
47, 125 materially and/or symbolically, 68
Struggle(s), 3, 4, 8, 22, 33, 36, 47, socio-symbolic constraints, 136, 137
61, 66 symbolic, 6–8, 20, 22, 23, 26, 28,
inner struggle for attention in the 49, 50, 60, 130
intellectual space, 8 symbolically codified creations, 13
power struggle(s), 3, 22, 61 symbolically constructed superstruc-
realm of social struggle, 22 ture of society, 64
social struggle, 22, 47 symbolically empowering position,
struggle for access to material and 68
symbolic resources, 36, 47 symbolically mediated actions, 6
struggle for recognition, 22, 66 symbolically mediated involvement
struggles for status and recognition, in reality, 29
33 symbolic authority, 39
struggle over access to material and symbolic autonomy, 34
symbolic resources, 61 symbolic capital. See Capital
struggle over symbolic recognition, symbolic (dis)advantages, 20
4 symbolic forms, 6, 80
Subject(s) symbolic goods, 7
collective subject, 25, 26 symbolic impact, 78
hidden subject, 65 symbolic and institutional con-
individual or a collective subject straints, 23
capable of judgement and rec- symbolic or institutional recogni-
ognition, 25, 26 tion, 130
individual subject, 26 symbolic means, 28
positioning subject, 65, 66 symbolic power, 28, 30, 39, 40
symbolic profit-driven reproduc- textual contribution, 29

tion, 62 textual evidence, 62
symbolic props and devices, 28 Theories/theory, viii, ix, x, xi, 1, 2,
symbolic recognition, 4, 37, 143 4, 6, 7, 11, 14, 19, 20, 23–25,
symbolic resources, 4, 8, 36, 38, 40, 35, 36, 50, 52, 56–58, 61–63,
47, 49, 61, 63, 76 69, 70, 76, 79, 82n67, 92n373,
System(s) 97n450, 123–126, 129, 130,
autopoietic systems, 52 135, 137, 138, 142, 143n5
educational systems, 49 Theorized/theorizing
French education system, 49 insufficiently theorized, 19, 57
knowledge and belief systems, 14, theorizing of intellectuals, 24
15 Thinking, ix, 17, 23, 24, 32, 88n267,
Luhmannian systems theory, 129, 132, 134, 137, 143
92n373 Thought(s)
Luhmannian systems theorist, 52 contemporary sociological thought,
philosophical systems, 44 2, 79
political system, 137 currents of thought, 52, 54
system of social relations, 47 influential current or school of
systems of domination, 56 thought, 33
Systematic/systematically, 4, 10, 16, intellectual thought, 8, 53, 57, 67,
19, 26, 42, 45, 51, 76, 96n437 72
Systemic, 12, 13 line between ‘intellectual’ and ‘non-
intellectual’ thoughts, ideas,
and principles, 57
T line of thought, 17
Team(s), 33, 34, 68–70, 89n275, mode of thought, 17, 27
97n450, 139, 140 thought experiments, 17
concept of ‘team’, 68, 89n275 traditions of thought, 53
intellectual teams, 33, 139 Tool(s), vii, viii, 20, 28, 40, 48, 58,
new team, 140 61, 130
plurality of teams, 140 conceptual and methodological
team identity, 69 tools, vii, viii, 48, 61
team members, 34, 69 conceptual tools, 20
team membership, 33, 69, 70, empirical tools, 40
97n450 field-theoretic tools, 58
teams and networks, 140 performative tools, 28, 130
teamwork, 34, 71, 139, 140 Tradition(s), ix, 21, 39, 43, 44, 53,
Technologies/technology, ix, 41, 55, 57, 74, 79, 129, 133, 136,
99n469 139
Television, 16 dogma and tradition, 55, 133
Temporality, 96n431 Durkheimian tradition of sociologi-
Textual cal analysis, 21
textual context, 55 intellectual tradition, 136
non-traditional, 49, 50 uniqueness of the case of Sartre,

non-traditional backgrounds, 130 28, 46
research tradition(s), 57, 139 United States/United States of
the traditional Bourdieu perspective, America(US/USA), ix, 45,
129 93n392, 134
traditional sources and channels Unity, 5, 51, 132
of cognitive, normative, and Universal, 7, 49, 56, 77, 80
aesthetic authority, 43 Universalist, 43
traditions of everyday life, 55 Universality, 29
traditions of thought, 53 Universalization, 75
Transcendence, 11 Universalizing, 75
Transcendent, 23, 29, 42, 43 Universe, 25, 33, 37, 61
Transdisciplinary, 28, 38 intellectual universe, 33
Transformation(s), vii, x, 2, 6, 8, 37, social universe, 25
40 universe of free-floating intellectu-
Transition(s), 14, 24 als, 61
Trauma Urteilskraft, 18, 43
cultural trauma, 29 Usefulness, 10, 58, 59, 64, 71, 78,
national cultural trauma, 4 136, 140
trauma of the war, 4 Utopian
traumatic experiences of the Second utopian vision, 44
World War, 10
traumatic experience of the war, 133
Trust, 41 V
Truth(s), 17, 22, 24, 126, 130, 133 Validation, 12, 61, 64
Truthfulness, 21 Validity, 15, 19, 22, 30, 31, 39, 42,
Twentieth century/twentieth-century, 55, 58, 59, 68, 77, 88n255,
vii, viii, 4, 6, 18, 24, 39, 47, 48, 97n450, 140
53, 54, 58, 130 epistemic validity, 19, 31, 39
Typologization of suicide, 60 transcendental validity, 42
Typology, 79 validity claims, 30, 88n255
typology of intellectuals, 37 validity crisis, 15
typology of intentions, 79 Value(s), ix, x, 10, 17, 18, 20–22, 36,
typology of public intellectuals, 127 39, 61, 66, 79
conservative values, 10
face value, 20, 21, 61
U French values of justice and truth,
Unconscious/unconsciously, 25, 28, 17
30, 38, 69, 78 meanings and values, 66
Understanding(s), viii, xi, 9–11, 16, values of the Enlightenment, 18, 22
19, 21, 35, 41, 70, 79, 95n421, values, principles, and practices, 10,
123, 126, 136, 142 33
Uniqueness, 6, 21, 34, 46, 71, 136 Vernunft, 18, 43
Verstand, 18, 43 posthumously published works, 32

Vichy, 4, 10, 127 preparatory work, 141
Visual arts, 67 social work, 55
Visuals, 30, 67 team work, 34, 68, 71, 139, 140
Vocabularies/vocabulary the works of an intellectual, 32, 33
moral vocabulary, 10 work ethic, 9
vocabulary of effects, viii, 1, 35, 44, works, 8, 12, 21, 31, 32, 35, 47,
77 88n267, 97n450, 127, 138
vocabulary of intentions, 1, 35, 44, Working-class
77 working-class credentials, 50, 128
Voice Workshops, 12
moral voice, 38 World(s), x, 3, 4, 9–12, 15, 18, 24,
passive voice, 65 25, 41, 42, 47, 52, 56, 57, 64,
voice of reason, 18 125, 129, 133, 137
Volk, 76, 99n469 academic world, 4, 12, 41, 52
Volk-based, 76 division between the literary world
Völkisch, 76, 86n190 and the academic world, 4
Voluntarist, 20 external world, 24, 64
intra-intellectual world, 12–14, 52,
139
W journalistic world, 15
War(s)/war(s) non-academic world, 41, 49
end of the war, x, 6, 13, 125 religious and intellectual worlds,
experience of the war, 10, 133, 137 133
Second World War, x, 10, 125, 137, Second World War, x, 10, 125, 137,
141, 142 141, 142
trauma of the war, 4, 10 social and political world, 42, 47
traumatic experience of the war, 10, social world, 56
133 world of critics, 15
the war, 4, 6, 13, 125, 131, 133, world thinkers, 129
137, 141 Worldviews, 22
Western, ix, 2, 10, 13, 44, 45, 47, 50, World War(s)
91n358 Second World War, x, 10, 125, 137,
Wittgensteinian, 23, 64, 72, 139 141, 142
Work(s), ix, 5, 8, 9, 12, 14, 21, 27, Writer(s), ix, x, 7, 14, 98n455, 124,
31–33, 35, 47, 50, 55, 68, 125, 128, 137
88n267, 97n450, 123, 127, 128, collaborationist writer(s), 124, 128
130, 135, 138, 141 Resistance writers, 128, 137
hard work, 9
his work in influential circles, 5
intellectual work, 35 Z
interpretative work, 135 Zeitgeist, 15
philosophical works, 127, 130 Zeitgeister, 23

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Simon Susen, Patrick Baert-The Sociology of Intellectuals - After 'The Existentialist Moment'-Palgrave Macmillan (2017)

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OF INTELLECTUALS

Simon Susen and

‘Focused on the theoretical model deployed in Patrick Baert’s superb book on

ISBN 978-3-319-61209-6 ISBN 978-3-319-61210-2 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017947178

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017

Cover illustration: © saulgranda/Getty

Printed on acid-free paper

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by Springer Nature

Introduction: Key Issues in the Sociology of Intellectuals vii

1 Reflections on Patrick Baert’s The Existentialist Moment:

2 The Existentialist Moment Defended:

Index of Names 147

Index of Subjects 155

Simon Susen and Patrick Baert

Abstract This chapter offers some preliminary reflections on Simon

Keywords Baert · Intellectuals · Public intellectuals · Sartre · Sociology of

This book seeks to provide a cutting-edge account of key issues in the

The Rise of Sartre as a Public Intellectual (Cambridge: Polity Press,

• at the theoretical level, to explore a new set of conceptual and meth-

With the aim of shedding light on these three levels of investigation,

The challenge of providing a theoretical framework for the sociologi-

1. There are signs of an increasing polarization between ‘intellectu-

or at least democratizing, potential—contradicts the previous

The following critical exchange between Baert and Susen focuses on

Reflections on Patrick Baert’s

Abstract In this chapter, Simon Susen provides an in-depth review of

Keywords Baert · Effects · Intellectuals · Intentions · Public

© The Author(s) 2017 1

Patrick Baert’s The Existentialist Moment: The Rise of Sartre as a Public

First Part: Baert’s Argument

I. Sartre: Public Intellectual and Public Celebrity

conceptually sophisticated, methodologically rigorous, and empirically

political climate in France. Second, during and after its occupation by

II. Two Scholarly ‘Explanations’: Bourdieu and Collins

existentialism occurred during this particular period—not before, not

According to Collins’s ‘general theory of interaction rituals’56 (or—

Husserl and Martin Heidegger. It would be inaccurate, however, to

take ‘the broader cultural climate of the mid-1940s’74 into consideration.

III. Four Alternative ‘Explanations’

years—not only in France, but also in other ‘Western’ countries.

IV. Baert’s Theoretical Orientation

adopted the role of critics, especially when commenting on each other’s

1. ‘The self-regulatory principle of the intra-intellectual world is epit-

the systemic colonization of people’s lifeworlds110, including those

morally, and aesthetically superior to those produced and repro-

In order to uncover the reasons behind the transition from ‘intra-intel-

and “labelled”’128. Intellectual ideas—which are mediated by the

V. Baert’s Five Central Hypotheses

1. Ideas spread more rapidly if those who endorse them succeed in

Baert is keen to avoid any misunderstandings arising from a misread-

importance, illustrating the centrality of two diametrically opposed concep-

Eventually, Dreyfusards were triumphant and, consequently, succeeded in

in the imaginary of twentieth-century discourses in the humanities and

1. When examining the ‘Manifesto of the Intellectuals’158, it is strik-

VI. Baert’s Project:

intellectuals but, in a more fundamental sense, to explain their existence

in the sense that it seeks to shed light on an intellectual impetus,

Thus, such a positionist account highlights that, whereas it is dif-

effects of intellectual performances, which—unlike hidden inten-

[T]he authenticity bias is integral to a particular genre of intellec-

It is true that most intellectuals construct narratives about them-

The intellectual field is marked by a permanent struggle for recogni-

1. There are signs of an increasing polarization between ‘intellectu-

Reflections on Patrick Baert’s

Abstract  In this chapter, Simon Susen provides an in-depth review of

Keywords  Baert · Effects · Intellectuals · Intentions · Public

I. Sartre: Public Intellectual and Public Celebrity

II. Two Scholarly ‘Explanations’: Bourdieu and Collins

1. ‘The self-regulatory principle of the intra-intellectual world is epit-

1. Ideas spread more rapidly if those who endorse them succeed in

1. When examining the ‘Manifesto of the Intellectuals’158, it is strik-

[T]he authenticity bias is integral to a particular genre of intellec-

VII. Performative Positioning and Positional Performance

1. It is pragmatist, in the sense that it centres on intellectual practices,

1. intellectual positioning, which locates the agent within the intellec-

XI. Positioning: Cooperation and Individualization

1. The Hermeneutics of Positioning

a. Stability: Positioning theory seeks to provide a convincing expla-

2. A Tripartite Typology of Intellectuals

a. Authoritative public intellectuals rely on, as well as represent, ‘high

b. Expert public intellectuals are driven by the mission to gener-

a. Developments within and outside Philosophy

c. The Waning Influence of ‘Philosophical Systems’

– nationality: British, Canadian, US-American, German, French,

– language: Anglophone, Germanophone, Francophone, Hispanophone,