In what is undoubtedly his most famous essay, the late F.C.S. Schiller posed the deceptively simple query: “Must philosophers disagree?” To Schiller and, seemingly, the bulk of philosophers before and after him, the question should be answered in the negative. Yet, the dialogues among contemporaneous philosophers, past and present, as among the vast number of protagonists in the long, “unscripted” dialogue which constitutes the history of thought, reveal that the disagreements among philosophers justly may be said to define a central problem of philosophy, if not the root problem. Perhaps fearful lest the diversity of philosophical alternatives evidence the defeat of reason, many have striven to piece together a unified whole, to gloss over deep rifts in convictions among individuals, and even to institutionalize some contemporaneously acceptable explanation. But none of these moves has been successful to the present and none seem destined to gain the field in the future. Indeed, contrary to the end which the “heart” may desire, the “mind” drives us towards the conclusion that the ineluctable characteristic of reason is disagreement. Yet this in no way disparages reason or its usages, for no principle of logic has been violated when one chooses from among diverse basic convictions which form the foundation of alternative philosophic systems.

According to the Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology the meanings of ‘divine’ are ‘pertaining to God, godlike, soothsayer and seer’ while ‘to divine’ (after the Latin divinare) is to ‘foretell, predict or make out as by supernatural insight’.

In Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego Freud addresses the problem of how groups are formed or of how society is possible. The question of the possibility of society presupposes that in some sense human beings are not thoroughly social beings, that they must agree to or be made to participate in a common life in which they submit to general principles regulating their conduct towards one another. The notion that the grounds for social order cannot be taken for granted originates in the beginnings of modern thought, particularly in Hobbes’ Leviathan, in which the classical idea that human beings are essentially social and political animals is rejected in favor of the view that the individual is in a basic sense independent of society and opposed to it, and that society is merely a conventional unity. For Hobbes, society is primarily a defensive alliance guaranteed by fear of a sovereign who constitutes a legal order. Social order, then, is imposed externally on the individual, who submits to regulation only on the basis of prudence. The history of thought about the problem of order after Hobbes’ initial attempt to resolve it is a development of more refined motives for obedience, which culminates in Kant's notion of a self-legislated moral law. The importance of Kant's solution is that it provides a positive ground for society. Human beings do not merely submit to standards because they are inclined to, either out of fear or out of desire, but because they acknowledge a rational principle to which they give their voluntary assent. For Hobbes, society is at least an imposition and at most an expedient. For Kant, society may, indeed, be both an imposition and an expedient, but it is also an order of life that might be perfected. In Kant's view, human beings are imperfectly rational beings, not organisms entirely ruled by pleasure and pain, as they were for Hobbes.

The sociology of knowledge is faced with a problem of historical temporality that it has carefully avoided up until now. The subject has been avoided or ignored because a discussion of it in depth would run the risk of questioning all modern scientific thought. The problem is that of the concept of absolute time as it is used in evolutionist theory. In this category of theory I include not only social evolutionism, abused for a long time and recently reanimated by the “socio-biologists,” but also biological, paleontological, geological and other types of evolutionism, that is, those qualified as “scientific.”

The advent of science brought about a radical division between the means of expression it made possible and the one it disavowed: in the centuries preceding its establishment such a break was not possible, even though it was often desired.

Medical treatises of the Renaissance that analyze the plague and melancholy used categories that were not different from those used by theologians (and sometimes doctors) as far as their reference to the Devil was concerned. Since it is no less a question of the imagination in one case than in the other, we can try to associate these three “objects”-three figures of misfortune-and treat them as though they belonged to the same level of expression. Such a decision is not at all arbitrary; it proceeds, completely a posteriori, from the observation of a noticeable proximity between them, aside from their diversity: it is as though they offered variations on a certain number of themes, variations requested by a logic of the imaginary that we shall try to elucidate here by showing the several categories that serve as a point of departure for the functioning of that logic.