Dear Marion,

The terms Geisteswissenschaften und Naturwissenschaften
were made prominent around the end of the 19th century
by Wilhelm Dilthey, a professor of philosophy in Berlin
whose Gesammelte Werke I purchased during my Damascus days
when my determination to know and understand burgeoned
in full strength.  In subsequent years reading in various
volumes of Dilthey's works, has led me to the conclusion
that he was seeking to rationalize the institutionalized
knowledge as promulgated by the European universities as
they flourished in the second half of the 19th century.
The task which Dilthey set himself, if I interpret him
correctly, is to demonstrate that the disciplines of the
"humanities" and the "social sciences", i.e.
Geisteswissenschaften, comprising all species of history,
as well as sociology, psychology and economics, entailed
a cogency and conclusiveness comparable to that exhibited
by the natural sciences which were even then transforming
the intellectual landscape. This challenge was recognized
by other authors as well. John Stuart Mill, for example,
referred to "moral sciences". The term "cultural sciences"
has also been used.  But Dilthey's labels remain, to my
ears at least, by far the most euphonious. To the extent
that one accepts "knowledge" as the proprietary product
of the university, the distinction between Natur- and
Geisteswissenschaft is highly relevant. However, to my
mind this differentiation lies not at the root of
epistemology, but is rather a veil, a curtain, a distraction
which tends to conceal the salient issues.

Dilthey's inquiry  - I was about to write: into the nature of 
Geisteswissenschaften, when I caught the incipient paradox, - 
is reminiscent of the question that Kant addressed in his
Kritik der reinen Vernunft: "Wie ist Wissenschaft moeglich?"
How is science possible?  To my mind that question requires
to be restated: Before I may ask how science is possible, I
must answer the question, what science is.

For me, at least, enlightenment on this issue came unexpectedly
from another direction, namely from Kierkegaard's inquiries into
theology, and from his surmise that the correct answer to the
theological issues he posed was that the truth of theology is
a subjective one. Kierkegaard generalized: Subjectivity, he
asserted, is the truth.  How is the insight that subjectivity
is the truth in matters of theology to be reconciled with the
pervasive claims of the (other) sciences, Geisteswissenschaften
und Naturwissenschaften alike, that truth is objective? Should
theology, as distinct from the (other) sciences, be considered
a species of poetry, a sort of fiction?

The solution, and to my mind, the only solution to this riddle
is the reduction of knowing to the individual who knows. If my 
"knowledge" of theology is subjective, then there is a sense in
which my "knowledge" of mathematics, of physics, of chemistry
and biology, of the histories of this and that, of sociology,
psychology and economics is also subjective; and unavoidably
there is a different sense in which my "knowledge" of all these
topics is NOT subjective, i.e. is objective. This distinction
between the subjectivity and the objectivity of my knowledge
requires to be understood and explained.

I dispense with the notion of subjectivity as inwardness,
as somehow being obscure because it is hidden "within" me.
Rather I consider subjective as knowledge which is isolated,
individual, separable, personal to me; in contrast to objective
knowledge which belongs to a group, to a society, knowledge
which is developed and preserved in community.

The contrast between subjective and objective knowledge, then,
is the contrast between private and public knowledge. The doubt
about the conceptual world about which I have written, is the
unwillingness or inability of the person to surrender his cognitive
individuality to society, and this refusal to a spiritual merger
with society, notwithstanding the circumstance that individuality
was generated and nourished by society, I call doubt.  Doubt is an
essential component of all cognitive function. It is the ultimate
acknowledgement of the limitation of my knowledge.  Doubt is the
admission of my ignorance.

I can find no first principle of knowing; the theory of knowledge
(epistemology) yields no algorithm which will enhance my ability
to know, except in a negative sense, by throwing into sharp and
clear focus the limitations of my knowledge, reconciling me to
the insight of my ignorance, an insight with which the analysis
of knowledge has come full circle, both as a matter of history, -
considering the origin of epistemology as Socrates' assertion that
he was certain only of the fact that he was ignorant, and as a
matter of experience, considering that the practical reality of
any item of knowledge is the subjective experience which it
engenders.

And that's enough of that, at least for now.

Both yesterday and today I spent about three hours at Margrit's
bedside. So far there have been no complications and she is
recovering albeit slowly. The surgeons have prohibited all food
by mouth. She is receiving only intravenous fluids. Complains
persistently that her mouth is dry. The promise of receiving
jello tomorrow makes her want it today. Just now she telephoned
me to let me know how distraught she was, telling me she would
sign out of the hospital tomorrow if the jello were not forthcoming.
I am very sympathetic with her plight, and very much hope for her
sake that in 2 or 3 days she will be able to come home with her
physicians' blessing.