Historically, psychoanalytic writing and everyday language have referred to “woman” as a unitary entity; psychoanalysis has compared “the man” to “the woman” “the boy” to “the girl.” Recent feminist and postmodernist writing has taught us to be wary of such singular referents and of theories that employ them. In particular, psychoanalysis has often been criticized for the limited class and cultural location of its clinical sample of the empirical “women” upon which its purportedly universal theory of femininity has been developed. When we interrogate Freud's writings, however, we find that his and other psychoanalytic references to “woman” are in dialogue with an emphatically plural account of a multitude of “women.” Freud's descriptions of women and of his interactions with them comprise a large cast of characters, a pantheon of higher and lesser ideal-typical goddesses and mortals to complement and accompany Oedipus, Narcissus, Moses, and others in psychological glory or ignominy. We also find actual, historically specific, late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century named and nameless women in clinical cases and vignettes.

This essay enumerates these women. I describe a number of implicit axes that differentiate them. Freud describes woman as subject of her own psyche, that is, as living experiencer of self and conscious and unconscious mental processes, as subject to herself. Woman as subject expands into woman as subject-object, that is, object to her own subjectivity as she internally relates to and identifies with or against another internally experienced woman.

For many years, Freud's “seduction theory”of neurosis was seen as an erroneous if initially plausible step on his way to the mature theory of psychoanalysis, and his account of his rejection of the seduction theory was taken essentially at face value. More recently, with the increasing appreciation of child sexual abuse, classical psychoanalysis has been criticized for dismissing childhood reality as infantile fantasy, interest in the seduction theory has been revived, and Freud's motives for abandoning it have been sharply questioned. The story of the rise and fall of the seduction theory thus takes on new interest and significance. Perhaps its most crucial lesson is the importance of theory in psychoanalysis. Theoretical presuppositions played a major role in creating the theory, in causing Freud to abandon it, and in helping him produce a replacement. Theoretical considerations also explain why, though Freud never ceased believing in the reality of sexual abuse in childhood, he could not find a causal role for it once he had adopted his new theory.

The climax of the story is well known. In his letter of September 21, 1897, Freud announced to Wilhelm Fliess, "I no longer believe in my neuiotica" (1985 [1887-1904], 264), the seduction theory he had tenaciously defended for the two preceding years. His reaction to this event seemed paradoxical even to him. It was, he wrote, "the collapse of everything valuable" in his recent theoretical efforts, yet he had "more the feeling of a victory than a defeat (which is surely not right)." But it was. The famous letter was as much birth announcement as obituary. Less than two months later, Freud sent Fliess with mock fanfare the first outline of his theory of infantile sexuality and its role in the formation of neurotic symptoms in adulthood.

In the preface to Volume 14, we said that a rounded perspective on the Communist enterprise in China might be possible only after a century. An epilogue appended to the final volume of a history of China covering two thousand years is a hazardous venture. Yet to take our narrative so close to the present and not offer some contemporary reflections seems craven, even if the result will only provide harmless amusement for future historians.

In our introduction to these final two volumes, entitled "The Reunification of China," we pointed out that "a billion or so Europeans in Europe and the Americas live divided into some fifty separate and sovereign states, while more than a billion Chinese live in only one state." We rejected geography and ethnic diversity as sufficient explanations for the failure of Europeans to revive the Roman empire, as compared with the success of the Chinese in restoring theirs. We argued, rather, that the disorder of the Warring States period (403-221 B.C.) led Chinese political philosophers such as Confucius to enshrine peace and order as central ideals, thus transforming unity into an overriding political goal. Once achieved, unity was preserved by the invention of bureaucratic government. The bureaucracy's function was facilitated by the unifying symbol of the emperor and legitimized by a universal ideology of which it was the guardian.

POINTS OF CONTACT BETWEEN MARXISM AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY

Marxism has made two major contributions to recent moral philosophy. The first has been to stimulate a deep and wide-ranging discussion of the moral status of capitalism, provoked by the attempt to determine whether the Marxian critique of capitalism is a moral critique and, if so, on what moral ideal the critique is based. The second has been to force moral philosophers to confront the problem of ideology. Before sketching out the shape of these contributions and the lessons they bring, let us briefly consider what it is about Marxism and about moral philosophy that makes each subject to the concerns of the other.

First let us look at Marxism, which aims to be a scientific theory of social systems. Although Marx devoted the major portion of his writings to the analysis of one type of social system - capitalism - he tried to develop a science of history, an explanation of how societies arise, persist, and decline. And Marx predicted that capitalism's day would end with a revolution that would supplant it with communism. But Marxism is more than observation, analysis, and prediction. Marx was no neutral observer, no scholarly wallflower. His allegiance was to the working masses whose efforts wring from nature the conditions necessary for the survival and flourishing of every society, and he matched his written work with political activism. Moreover, Marx's partisanship is inextricable from his theoretical writings.

Social theorists tend to be remembered for their conclusions rather than the way in which they conducted their inquiries, but if we neglect to study the latter it is quite likely that we will misunderstand or misconstrue the former. Marx complained that the method he employed in Capital was “little understood” and although he attempted to clarify the nature of what he called his “dialectic” the logic of his scientific endeavor has continued to be a contentious subject (Marx, 1977: 99-103). To improve our understanding of his method and its significance in social science, a number of questions need to be addressed. What did Marx mean by dialectic? What did it look like in his work? What was the precise relationship between Marx's dialectical method and formal logic? And finally, what is the relationship between Marx's dialectic and Marxist theory?

The most direct way to get to the heart of the first three questions is to examine Marx's use of the concept of contradiction, which played a role of vital analytical significance in his work, resulting in well-known formulations such as the “contradictions of capitalism” and “class contradictions.”Dialectical philosophers claim that contradictions exist in reality and that the most appropriate way to understand the movement of that reality is to study the development of those contradictions. Formal logic denies that contradictions exist in reality, and where they are seen to exist in thought, they have to be expunged in order to arrive at the truth. This is embodied in the principle of noncontradiction, in which the presence of a contradiction in a statement or proposition invalidates its claim to truth. On the face of it, therefore, the claims of dialectical and formal logic appear to be incommensurable, and dialogue between the two systems appears to be impossible.

Since 1958, Chile has been ruled by four administrations (three elected, the fourth and longest imposed by a military coup), profoundly different in their ideologies and political aims, social basis and economic policies. The government of Jorge Alessandri, elected in 1958, was conservative and pro-business. Its support came from the private sector of the economy, from landowners (and the substantial peasant vote they still controlled), from sectors of the urban poor still ignored by the Marxist parties (Socialist and Communist) and by the Christian Democrats, and from the urban middle class, disillusioned with the Radicals, who had dominated political life from the Popular Front of 1938 to the election of Ibá¯nez in 1952, and not yet won over to the Christian Democrats. Alessandri proved incapable of dealing with Chile's persistent and increasing economic and social problems, and in 1964 Eduardo Frei, a Christian Democrat, was elected president.

Promising a ‘revolution in liberty’ the Partido Demócrata Cristiano (PDC) offered economic modernization combined with social justice and reform and the pursuit of class harmony. Even though the PDC enjoyed almost unprecedented electoral and congressional support (though without a majority in the Senate), the contradictions produced by trying to secure all those objectives, coupled with increasing ideological conflict and political strife, proved too much even for the able technocrats brought into the state apparatus. The threat of further reform and the electoral collapse of the Right in 1965 pushed the divided right-wing parties, Liberals and Conservatives, into the new and influential National Party.

In this chapter we shall be exploring one of Marx's most important concepts, that of reproduction. We shall look at the ways in which he did use it and also consider the reasons why he did not use it in some other ways. It may seem strange to spend so much time on what Marx (and Engels) did not do, but considering this omission and the reasons for it may throw light on some fundamental features of Marx's method. In particular, it should help us understand what underlies his materialist conception of history and assess the feminists' basic criticism: that its concentration on production rather than human reproduction means that it is not adequate to the task of explaining gender differences in society and understanding the history of struggle over them.

The plan of the chapter is as follows: First we shall examine Marx's use of the term reproduction to refer to the reproduction of whole social systems, in particular, their class structure. Then we shall consider whether accounts of how social systems reproduce themselves are complete if they do not include human reproduction, the way that people within such systems are born and raised to occupy particular class and gender positions. After this, we shall look at what Marx and Engels had to say about human reproduction and what significance they gave to the consideration of its social forms in their historical analysis. We shall find that their record on this matter is ambivalent - they seem to give human reproduction more importance in describing their historical method than in their actual analyses - and we shall explore why this should have happened. Finally, we shall look at some directions in which work that stays within the Marxist tradition but accords human reproduction more importance might go.

Some conjunctions - like Marx and the critique of political economy - are entirely natural ones. They emerge, that is, quite naturally in the course of reading Marx's works and following his own stated agenda. Marx wrote, repeatedly and at great length, about what he explicitly called “the critique of political economy” Not only did he offer to his reading public A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, but he also used similar terms to characterize a great deal of his published and unpublished work. No history of political economy would be complete without considerable attention to Marx and his works.

Other conjunctions - like Marx and the philosophy of science - border on the entirely artificial. They emerge, that is, rather artificially in the course of reconstructing Marx's works and pursuing questions that he raised only marginally. Not only did Marx never write a work on “the philosophy of science,” he never even used the phrase (which, in any case, was not popularized until after his death). More importantly, Marx wrote only two short tracts - the introduction to the Grundhsse and the Notes on Wagner (collected in Carver, 1975) - that sustained any sort of attention to topics that these days constitute the philosophy of science. Even then Marx did not complete these tracts or prepare them for publication. In this, Marx stands in stark contrast with many other theorists of the nineteenth century, including Auguste Comte, John Stuart Mill, William Whewell, Friedrich Engels, Max Weber, and Emile Durkheim. Marx did, to be sure, make a number of important asides about science and its methods, for example, in the Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts, The Poverty of Philosophy, The German Ideology, Grundhsse, and Capital, especially its various prefaces and afterwords.

ARGENTINA, I93O-46

Still among the best and liveliest introductions to Argentina in the period between the revolution of 1930 and the rise of Peron (1943—6) are three English-language books published in the early 1940s: John W. White, Argentina, the Life Story of a Nation (New York, 1942), which aptly captures the puzzled response among North Americans to the apparently hostile attitudes of Argentines during the late 1930s until 1942; Ysabel Rennie, The Argentine Republic (New York, 1945), which remains one of the best general introductions to Argentine history and offers an excellent analysis of the years 1943-5; and Felix Weil, Argentine Riddle (New York, 1944). Weil, a member of one of the 'Big Four' grain-exporting families, argued for the type of future association between Argentina and the United States that Pinedo and the liberals had aspired to in 1940, in which the United States would take charge of industrializing Argentina. If the book contains this thread of wishful thinking, it also shows an extremely well informed knowledge of Argentine society and the issues facing the country at this critical juncture. A more recent general introduction, containing several excellent essays, is Mark Falcoff and Ronald H. Dolkart (eds.), Prologue to Peron: Argentina in Depression and War (Berkeley, Calif, 1975). See also David Rock, Argentina, 1516-1987 (Berkeley, Calif, 1987), chap. 6, and for a reinterpretation of the 1940s, Carlos H. Waisman, The Reversal of Development in Argentina (Princeton, N.J., 1987).

During the three decades after 1930 — and indeed until the coup which brought down the government of Salvador Allende in 1973 — Chilean politics were unique in Latin America. Only Chile sustained in this period an electoral democracy including major Marxist parties. And for almost fifteen years, between 1938 and 1952, Radical presidents held power through the support, erratic but persistent, of both the Socialists and the Communists, with lasting consequences for the nation's political development. These multi-party governments based on multi-class alliances simultaneously pursued industrial growth and social reform. They failed, however, to attack the roots of Chilean underdevelopment in either the latifundia-dominated rural sector or the United States-dominated external sector.

From the 1930s Chilean reformers criticized the excessive national dependence on the foreign sector that had been highlighted by the world depression. After that crisis, Chile gradually achieved greater self-sufficiency: between the 1920s and the 1940s the estimated share of gross domestic product (GDP) being sold abroad declined from approximately 40 to 20 per cent, as did foreign capital as a proportion of the total capital in Chile. By contrast, direct U.S. investments grew by 80 per cent from 1940 to 1960, the vast majority of this foreign capital going to the mining sector. Overwhelmingly controlled by U.S. companies from the 1920s to the 1960s, copper came to account for some 50 per cent of Chilean exports, copper and nitrates nearly 80 per cent. Not only was the United States the leading foreign investor in Chile; it also regained its position as Chile's premier trading partner after a spurt of German competition in the 1930s.

It is often asserted that for Marx, and for the overwhelming majority of Marxists, economic class is the supreme category, whereas gender has been subject to relative neglect. In most interpretations of Marx's writing, the prime role in analysis, history, and political action is awarded to class, just as within that class analysis, the working class assumes its own prime role and revolutionary potential. These are undoubtedly the dominant themes of Marx's writing.

Marx did not write extensively on gender, and so in the indexes of most of his major works you will find no references to sex, gender, sexuality, women, or men. Marx did, however, make a number ofimportant, though relatively brief, explicit statements about gender, including those in The Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts (Marx, 1975: 279-400) and Capital, volume 1 (Marx, 1977) and those written with Engels in the Communist Manifesto (Marx, 1974b: 62- 98) and The German Ideology (Marx and Engels, 5/1976). In addition, Engels (1972) wrote The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State. Drawing particularly on anthropological evidence contained in Lewis Henry Morgan's (1963) Ancient Society, first published in 1876, and Marx's critical notebooks on this and other material, Engels gave a more extended materialist account of these questions, particularly for prehistorical times.

One need not be a Marxist to appreciate the breadth and depth of Marx's learning and the important legacy that he left to philosophy and the social sciences. Marxian concepts and categories are today employed even by non-Marxist anthropologists, economists, political scientists, and sociologists. And yet Marx's legacy has, on the whole, been an ambiguous one. His works - like those of Scripture or literature or the law - are open to different, and sometimes quite divergent, interpretations. Despite their differences, however, readers of Marx are apt to agree on at least one point: His philosophy of history, his account of how historical change comes about, occupies a pivotal place in his overall outlook.

The phrase philosophy of history was coined by Voltaire in the eighteenth century to refer to any grand philosophical system that purports to divine the direction and destination of history. Such allencompassing schemes are to be found, for example, in Giambattista Vico's New Science (1725) and in the Marquis de Condorcet's Sketch for a Historical Picture of the Progress of the Human Mind (1794). Marx was exceedingly critical of the “air castles” constructed by his predecessors, and he was particularly critical of the speculative philosophy of history constructed by G. W. R Hegel. And yet Marx's philosophy of history evolved mainly from his own critical confrontation with Hegel's speculative system. I propose to begin, therefore, with a brief account of Hegel's philosophy of history, followed by a more extended account of Marx's appropriation and critique of Hegel. This done, I shall consider several controversies that have arisen over what Marx meant. And finally, I shall conclude with some speculations about the directions in which Marx's view of history appear to point.