THE
ELIMINATION OF METAPHYSICS
THE TRADITIONAL DISPUTES of philosophers
are, for the most part, as unwarranted as
they are unfruitful. The surest way to end
them is to establish beyond question what
should be the purpose and method of a philosophical
enquiry. And this is by no means so difficult
a task as the history of philosophy would
lead one to suppose. For if there are any
questions which science loaves it to philosophy
to answer, a straightforward process of elimination
must lead to their discovery.
We may begin by criticising the metaphysical
thesis that philosophy affords us knowledge
of a reality transcending the world of science
and common sense. Later on, when we come
to define metaphysics and account for its
existence, we shall find that it is possible
to be a metaphysician without believing in
a transcendent reality; for we shall see
that many metaphysical utterances are due
to the commission of logical errors, rather
than to a conscious desire on the part of
their authors to go beyond the limits of
experience.
But it is convenient for us to take the case
of those who believe that it is possible
to have knowledge of a transcendent reality
as a starting-point for our discussion.
The arguments which we use to refute them
will subsequently be found to apply to the
whole of metaphysics.
One way of attacking a metaphysician who
claimed to have knowledge of a reality which
transcended the phenomenal world would be
to enquire from what premises his propositions
were deduced. Must he not begin, as other
men do, with the evidence of his senses?
And if so, what valid process of reasoning
can possibly lead him to the conception of
a transcendent reality?
Surely from empirical premises nothing whatsoever
concerning the properties, or even the existence,
of anything super-empirical can legitimately
be inferred. But this objection would be
met by a denial on the part of the metaphysician
that his assertions were ultimately based
on the evidence of his senses. He would say
that he was endowed with a faculty of intellectual
intuition which enabled him to know facts
that could not be known through sense-experience.
And even if it could be shown that he was
relying on empirical premises, and that his
venture into a non-empirical world was therefore
logically unjustified, it would not follow
that the assertions which he made concerning
this non-empirical world could not be true.
For the fact that a conclusion does not follow
from its putative premise is not sufficient
to show that it is false.
Consequently one cannot overthrow a system
of transcendent metaphysics merely by criticising
the way in which it comes into *Being*. What
is required is rather a criticism of the
nature of the actual statements which comprise
it. And this is the line of argument which
we shall, in fact, pursue. For we shall maintain
that no statement which refers to a "reality"
transcending the limits of all possible sense-experience
can possibly have any literal significance;
from which it must follow that the labours
of those who have striven to describe such
a reality have all been devoted to the production
of nonsense.
It may be suggested that this is a proposition
which has already been proved by Kant. But
although Kant also condemned transcendent
metaphysics, he did so on different grounds.
For he said that the human understanding
was so constituted that it lost itself in
contradictions when it ventured out beyond
the limits of possible experience and attempted
to deal with things in themselves.
And thus he made the impossibility of a transcendent
metaphysic not, as we do, a matter of logic,
but a matter of fact. He asserted, not that
our minds could not conceivably have had
the power of penetrating beyond the phenomenal
world, but merely that they were in fact
devoid of it. And this leads the critic to
ask how, if it is possible to know only what
lies within the bounds of sense-experience,
the author can be justified in asserting
that real things do exist beyond, and how
he can tell what are the boundaries beyond
which the human understanding may not venture,
unless he succeeds in passing them himself.
As Wittgenstein says, "in order to draw
a limit to thinking, we should have to think
both sides of this limit,"(1) a truth to which Bradley gives a special
twist in maintaining that the man who is
ready to prove that metaphysics is impossible
is a brother metaphysician with a rival theory
of his own. (2)
Whatever force these objections may have
against the Kantian doctrine, they have none
whatsoever against the thesis that I am about
to set forth. It cannot here be said that
the author is himself overstepping the barrier
he maintains to be impassable. For the fruitlessness
of attempting to transcend the limits of
possible sense-experience will be deduced,
not from a psychological hypothesis concerning
the actual constitution of the human mind,
but from the rule which determines the literal
significance of language.
Our charge against the metaphysician is not
that he attempts to employ the understanding
in a field where it cannot profitably venture,
but that he produces sentences which fail
to conform to the conditions under which
alone a sentence can be literally significant.
Nor are we ourselves obliged to talk nonsense
in order to show that all sentences of a
certain type are necessarily devoid of literal
significance. We need only formulate the
criterion which enables us to test whether
a sentence expresses a genuine proposition
about a matter of fact, and then point out
that the sentences under consideration fail
to satisfy it. And this we shall now proceed
to do.
We shall first of all formulate the criterion
in somewhat vague terms, and then give the
explanations which are necessary to render
it precise. The criterion which we use to
test the genuineness of apparent statements
of fact is the criterion of verifiability.
We say that a sentence is factually significant
to any given person, if, and only if, he
knows how to verify the proposition which
it purports to express-that is, if he knows
what observations would lead him, under certain
conditions, to accept the proposition as
being true, or reject it as being false.
If, on the other hand, the putative proposition
is of such a character that the assumption
of its truth, or falsehood, is consistent
with any assumption whatsoever concerning
the nature of his future experience, then,
as far as he is concerned, it is, if not
a tautology, a mere pseudo-proposition. The
sentence expressing it may be emotionally
significant to him; but it is not literally
significant. And with regard to questions
the procedure is the same. We enquire in
every case what observations would lead us
to answer the question, one way or the other;
and, if none can be discovered, we must conclude
that the sentence under consideration does
not, as far as we are concerned, express
a genuine question, however strongly its
grammatical appearance may suggest that it
does.
As the adoption of this procedure is an essential
factor in the argument of this book, it needs
to be examined in detail. In the first place,
it is necessary to draw a distinction between
practical verifiability, and verifiability
in principle. Plainly we all understand,
in many cases believe, propositions which
we have not in fact taken steps to verify.
Many of these are propositions which we could
verify if we took enough trouble. But there
remain a number of significant propositions,
concerning matters of fact, which we could
not verify even if we chose; simply because
we lack the practical means of placing ourselves
in the situation where the relevant observations
could be made.
A simple and familiar example of such a proposition
is the proposition that there are mountains
on the farther side of the moon.(3) No rocket has yet been invented which would
enable me to go and look at the farther side
of the moon, so that I am unable to decide
the matter by actual observation. But I do
know what observations would decide it for
me, if, as is theoretically conceivable,
I were once in a position to make them. And
therefore I say that the proposition is verifiable
in principle, if not in practice, and is
accordingly significant.
On the other hand, such a metaphysical pseudo-proposition
as "the Absolute enters into, but is itself incapable
of, evolution and progress,"(4) is not even in principle verifiable. For
one cannot conceive of an observation which
would enable one to determine whether theAbsolute did, or did not, enter into evolution and
progress. Of course it is possible that the
author of such a remark is using English
words in a way in which they are not commonly
used by English-speaking people, and that
he does, in fact, intend to assert something
which could be empirically verified. But
until he makes us understand how the proposition
that he wishes to express would be verified,
he fails to communicate anything to us. And
if he admits, as I think the author of the
remark in question would have admitted, that
his words were not intended to express either
a tautology or a proposition which was capable,
at least in principle, of being verified,
then it follows that he has made an utterance
which has no literal significance even for
himself.
A further distinction which we must make
is the distinction between the "strong"
and the "weak" sense of the term
"verifiable." A proposition is
said to be verifiable, in the strong sense
of the term, if, and only if, its truth could
be conclusively established in experience.
But it is verifiable, in the weak sense,
if it is (possible for experience to render
it probable. In which sense are using the
term when we say that a putative proposition
is genuine only if it is verifiable? It seems
to me that if we adopt conclusive verifiability
as our criterion of significance, as some
positivists have proposed, (5) our argument will prove too much. Consider,
for example, the case of general propositions
of law-such propositions, namely, as "arsenic
is poisonous"; "all men are mortal";
"a body tends to expand when it is heated."
It is of the very nature of these propositions
that their truth cannot be established with
certainty by any finite series of observations.
But if it is recognised that such general
propositions of law are designed to cover
an infinite lumber of cases, then it must
be admitted that they cannot, even in principle,
be verified conclusively. And then, if we
adopt conclusive verifiability as our criterion
of significance, we are logic-ally obliged
to treat these general propositions of law
in the same (fashion as we treat the statements
of the metaphysician.
In face of this difficulty, some positivists(6) have adopted the heroic course of saying
that these general propositions are indeed
pieces of nonsense, albeit an essentially
important type of nonsense. But here the
introduction of the term "important"
is simply an attempt to hedge. It serves
only to mark the authors' recognition that
their view is somewhat too paradoxical, without
in any way removing the paradox. Besides,
the difficulty is not confined to the case
of general propositions of law, though it
is there revealed most plainly. It is hardly
less obvious in the case of propositions
about the remote past. For it must surely
be admitted that, however strong the evidence
in favour of historical (statements may be,
their truth can never become more than highly
probable. And to maintain that they also
constituted an important, or unimportant,
type of nonsense would be implausible, to
say the very least.
Indeed, it will be our contention that no
proposition, other than a tautology, can
possibly be anything more than a probable
hypothesis. And if this is correct, the principle
that a sentence can be factually significant
only if it expresses what is conclusively
verifiable is self-stultifying as a criterion
of significance. For it leads to the conclusion
that it is impossible to make a significant
statement of fact at all. Nor can we accept
the suggestion that a sentence should be
allowed to be factually significant if, and
only if, it expresses something which is
definitely confutable by experience. (7)
Those who adopt this course assume that,
although no finite series of observations
is ever sufficient to establish the truth
of a hypothesis beyond all possibility of
doubt, there are crucial cases in which a
single observation, or series of observations,
can definitely confute it. But, as we shall
show later on, this assumption is false.
A hypothesis cannot be conclusively confuted
any more than it can be conclusively verified.
For when we take the occurrence of certain
observations as proof that a given hypothesis
is false, we presuppose the existence of
certain conditions. And though, in any given
case, it may be extremely improbable that
this assumption is false, it is not logically
impossible. We shall see that there need
be no self-contradiction in holding that
some of the relevant circumstances are other
than we have taken them to be, and consequently
that the hypothesis has not really broken
down. And if it is not the case that any
hypothesis can be definitely confuted, we
cannot hold that the genuineness of a proposition
depends on the possibility of its definite
confutation.
Accordingly, we fall back on the weaker sense
of verification. We say that the question
that must be asked about any putative statement
of fact is not, Would any observations make
its truth or falsehood logically certain?
but simply, Would any observations be relevant
to the determination of its truth or falsehood?
And it is only if a negative answer is given
to this second question that we conclude
that the statement under consideration is
nonsensical. T
To make our position clearer, we may formulate
it in another way. Let us call a proposition
which records an actual or possible observation
an experiential proposition. Then we may
say that it is the mark of a genuine factual
proposition, not that it should be equivalent
to an experiential proposition, or any finite
number of experiential propositions, but
simply that some experiential propositions
can be deduced from it in conjunction with
certain other premises without being deducible
from those other premises alone. (8)
This criterion seems liberal enough. In contrast
to the principle of conclusive verifiability,
it clearly does not deny significance to
general propositions or to propositions about
the past. Let us see what kinds of assertion
it rules out. A good example of the kind
of utterance that is condemned by our criterion
as being not even false but nonsensical would
be the assertion that the world of sense-experience
was altogether unreal. It must, of course,
be admitted that our senses do sometimes
deceive us. We may, as the result of having
certain sensations, expect certain other
sensations to be obtainable which are, in
fact, not obtainable. But, in all such cases,
it is further sense-experience that informs
us of the mistakes that arise out of sense-experience.
We say that the senses sometimes deceive
us, just because the expectations to which
our sense-experiences give rise do not always
accord with what we subsequently experience.
That is, we rely on our senses to substantiate
or confute the judgements which are based
on our sensations. And therefore the fact
that our perceptual judgements are sometimes
found to be erroneous has not the slightest
tendency to show that the world of sense-experience
is unreal. And, indeed, it is plain that
no conceivable observation, or series of
observations, could have any tendency to
show that the world revealed to us by sense-experience
was unreal. Consequently, anyone who condemns
the sensible world as a world of mere appearance,
as opposed to reality, is saying something
which, according to our criterion of significance,
is literally nonsensical.
An example of a controversy which the application
of our criterion obliges us to condemn as
fictitious is provided by those who dispute
concerning the number of substances that
there are in the world. For it is admitted
both by monists, who maintain that reality
is one substance, and by pluralists, who
maintain that reality is many, that it is
impossible to imagine any empirical situation
which would be relevant to the solution of
their dispute.
But if we are told that no possible observation
could give any probability either to the
assertion that reality was one substance
or to the assertion that it was many, then
we must conclude that neither assertion is
significant. We shall see later on (9) that there are genuine logical and empirical
questions involved in the dispute between
monists and pluralists. But the metaphysical
question concerning "substance"
is ruled out by our criterion as spurious.
A similar treatment must be accorded to the
controversy between realists and idealists,
in its metaphysical aspect. A simple illustration,
which I have made use of in a similar argument
elsewhere, (10) will help to demonstrate this.
Let us suppose that a picture is discovered
and the suggestion made that it was painted
by Goya. There is a definite procedure for
dealing with such a question. The experts
examine the picture to see in what way it
resembles the accredited works of Goya, and
to see if it bears any marks which are characteristic
of a forgery; they look up contemporary records
for evidence of the existence of such a picture,
and so on. In the end, they may still disagree,
but each one knows what empirical evidence
would go to confirm or discredit his opinion.
Suppose, now, that these men have studied
philosophy, and some of them proceed to maintain
that this picture is a set of ideas in the
perceiver's mind, or in God's mind, others
that it is objectively real. What possible
experience could any of them have which would
be relevant to the solution of this dispute
one way or the other? In the ordinary sense
of the term "real," in which it
is opposed to "illusory," the reality
of the picture is not in doubt. The disputants
have satisfied themselves that the picture
is real, in this sense, by obtaining a correlated
series of sensations of sight and sensations
of touch. Is there any similar process by
which they could discover whether the picture
was real, in the sense in which the term
"real" is opposed to "ideal"?
Clearly there is none. But, if that is so,
the problem is fictitious according to our
criterion. This does not mean that the realist-idealist
controversy may be dismissed without further
ado. For it can legitimately be regarded
as a dispute concerning the analysis of existential
propositions, and so as involving a logical
problem which, as we shall see, can be definitively
solved. (11) What we have just shown is that the question
at issue between idealists and realists becomes
fictitious when, as is often the case, it
is given a metaphysical interpretation.
There is no need for us to give further examples
of the operation of our criterion of significance.
For our object is merely to show that philosophy,
as a genuine branch of knowledge, must be
distinguished from metaphysics. We are not
now concerned with the historical question
how much of what has traditionally passed
for philosophy is actually metaphysical.
We shall, however, point out later on that
the majority of the "great philosophers"
of the past were not essentially metaphysicians,
and thus reassure those who would otherwise
be prevented from adopting our criterion
by considerations of piety.
As to the validity of the verification principle,
in the form in which we have stated it, a
demonstration will be given in the course
of this book. For it will be shown that all
propositions which have factual content are
empirical hypotheses; and that the function
of an empirical hypothesis is to provide
a rule for the anticipation of experience. (12)
And this means that every empirical hypothesis
must be relevant to some actual, or possible,
experience, so that a statement which is
not relevant to any experience is not an
empirical hypothesis, and accordingly has
no factual content. But this is precisely
what the principle of verifiability asserts.
It should be mentioned here that the fact
that the utterances of the metaphysician
are nonsensical does not follow simply from
the fact that they are devoid of factual
content. It follows from that fact, together
with the fact that they are not a priori
propositions.
And in assuming that they are not a priori
propositions, we are once again anticipating
the conclusions of a later chapter in this
book.(13)
For it will be shown there that a priori
propositions, which have always been attractive
to philosophers on account of their certainty,
owe this certainty to the fact that they
are tautologies. We may accordingly define
a metaphysical sentence as a sentence which
purports to express a genuine proposition,
but does, in fact, express neither a tautology
nor an empirical hypothesis. And as tautologies
and empirical hypotheses form the entire
class of significant propositions, we are
justified in concluding that all metaphysical
assertions are nonsensical. Our next task
is to show how they come to be made.
The use of the term "substance,"
to which we have already referred, provides
us with a good example of the way in which
metaphysics mostly comes to be written. It
happens to be the case that we cannot, in
our language, refer to the sensible properties
of a thing without introducing a word or
phrase which appears to stand for the thing
itself as opposed to anything which may be
said about it. And, as a result of this,
those who are infected by the primitive superstition
that to every name a single real entity must
correspond assume that it is necessary to
distinguish logically between the thing itself
and any, or all, of its sensible properties.
And so they employ the term "substance"
to refer to the thing itself. But from the
fact that we happen to employ a single word
to refer to a thing, and make that word the
grammatical subject of the sentences in which
we refer to the sensible appearances of the
thing, it does not by any means follow that
the thing itself is a "simple entity,"
or that it cannot be defined in terms of
the totality of its appearances. It is true
that in talking of "its" appearances
we appear to distinguish the thing from the
appearances, but that is simply an accident
of linguistic usage. Logical analysis shows
that what makes these "appearances"
the "appearances of" the same thing
is not their relationship to an entity other
than themselves, but their relation-ship
to one another.
The metaphysician fails to see this because
he is misled by a superficial grammatical
feature of his language. A simpler and clearer
instance of the way in which a consideration
of grammar leads to metaphysics is the case
of the metaphysical concept of *Being*.
The origin of our temptation to raise questions
about *Being*, which no conceivable experience
would enable us to answer, lies in the fact
that, in our language, sentences which express
existential propositions and sentences which
express attributive propositions may be of
the same grammatical form. For instance,
the sentences "Martyrs exist" and "Martyrs suffer" both consist of a noun followed by an intransitive
verb, and the fact that they have grammatically
the same appearance leads one to assume that
they are of the same logical type. It is
seen that in the proposition "Martyrs suffer," the members of a certain species are
credited with a certain attribute, and it
is sometimes assumed that the same thing
is true of such a proposition as "Martyrs exist." If this were actually the case, it
would, indeed, be as legitimate to speculate
about the *Being* of martyrs as it is to speculate about their
suffering.
But, as Kant pointed out, (14) existence is not an attribute. For, when
we ascribe an attribute to a thing, we covertly
assert that it exists: so that if existence
were itself an attribute, it would follow
that all positive existential propositions
were tautologies, and all negative existential
propositions self-contradictory; and this
is not the case.(15)
So that those who raise questions about *Being*
which are based on the assumption that existence
is an attribute are guilty of following grammar
beyond the boundaries of sense.
A similar mistake has been made in connection
with such propositions as "Unicorns are fictitious." Here again the fact that there is a superficial
grammatical resemblance between the English
sentences "Dogs are faithful" and "Unicorns are fictitious," and between the corresponding sentences in
other languages, creates the assumption that
they are of the same logical type. Dogs must
exist in order to have the property of being
faithful, and so it is held that unless unicorns
in some way existed they could not have the
property of being fictitious. But, as it
is plainly self-contradictory to say that
fictitious objects exist, the device is adopted
of saying that they are real in some non-empirical
sense-that they have a mode of real *Being*
which is different from the mode of *Being*
of existent things. But since there is no
way of testing whether an object is real
in this sense, as there is for testing whether
it is real in the ordinary sense, the assertion
that fictitious objects have a special non-empirical
mode of real *Being* is devoid of all literal
significance. It comes to be made as a result
of the assumption that being fictitious is
an attribute. And this is a fallacy of the
same order as the fallacy of supposing that
existence is an attribute, and it can be
exposed in the same way.
In general, the postulation of real non-existent
entities results from the superstition, just
now referred to, that, to every word or phrase
that can be the grammatical subject of a
sentence, there must somewhere be a real
entity corresponding. For as there is no
place in the empirical world for many of
these "entities," a special non-empirical
world is invoked to house them.
To this error must be attributed, not only
the utterances of a Heidegger, who bases
his metaphysics on the assumption that "Nothing" is a name which is used to denote something
peculiarly mysterious, (16) but also the prevalence of such problems
as those concerning the reality of propositions
and universals whose senselessness, though
less obvious, is no less complete.
These few examples afford a sufficient indication
of the way in which most metaphysical assertions
come to be formulated. They show how easy
it is to write sentences which are literally
nonsensical without seeing that they are
nonsensical. And thus we see that the view
that a number of the traditional "problems
of philosophy" are metaphysical, and
consequently fictitious, does not involve
any incredible assumptions about the psychology
of philosophers. Among those who recognise
that if philosophy is to be accounted a genuine
branch of knowledge it must be defined in
such a way as to distinguish it from metaphysics,
it is fashionable to speak of the metaphysician
as a kind of misplaced poet.
As his statements have no literal meaning,
they are not subject to any criteria of truth
or falsehood: but they may still serve to
express, or arouse, emotion, and thus be
subject to ethical or aesthetic standards.
And it is suggested that they may have considerable
value, as means of moral inspiration, or
even as works of art. In this way, an attempt
is made to compensate the metaphysician for
his extrusion from philosophy. (17)
I am afraid that this compensation is hardly
in accordance with his deserts. The view
that the metaphysician is to be reckoned
among the poets appears to rest on the assumption
that both talk nonsense. But this assumption
is false. In the vast majority of cases the
sentences which are produced by poets do
have literal meaning. The difference between
the man who uses language scientifically
and the man who uses it emotively is not
that the one produces sentences which are
incapable of arousing emotion, and the other
sentences which have no sense, but that the
one is primarily concerned with the expression
of true propositions, the other with the
creation of a work of art. Thus, if a work
of science contains true and important propositions,
its value as a work of science will hardly
be diminished by the fact that they are inelegantly
expressed.
And similarly, a work of art is not necessarily
the worse for the fact that all the propositions
comprising it are literally false. But to
say that many literary works are largely
composed of falsehoods, is not to say that
they are composed of pseudo-propositions.
It is, in fact, very rare for a literary
artist to produce sentences which have no
literal meaning. And where this does occur,
the sentences are carefully chosen for their
rhythm and balance. If the author writes
nonsense, it is because he considers it most
suitable for bringing about the effects for
which his writing is designed.
The metaphysician, on the other hand, does
not intend to write nonsense. He lapses into
it through being deceived by grammar, or
through committing errors of reasoning, such
as that which leads to the view that the
sensible world is unreal. But it is not the
mark of a poet simply to make mistakes of
this sort. There are some, indeed, who would
see in the fact that the metaphysician's
utterances are senseless a reason against
the view that they have aesthetic value.
And, without going so far as this, we may
safely say that it does not constitute a
reason for it. It is true, however, that
although the greater part of metaphysics
is merely the embodiment of humdrum errors,
there re-main a number of metaphysical passages
which are the work of genuine mystical feeling;
and they may more plausibly be held to have
moral or aesthetic value. But, as far as
we are concerned, the distinction between
the kind of metaphysics that is produced
by a philosopher who has been duped by grammar,
and the kind that is produced by a mystic
who is trying to express the inexpressible,
is of no great importance: what is important
to us is to realise that even the utterances
of the metaphysician who is attempting to
expound a vision are literally senseless;
so that henceforth we may pursue our philosophical
researches with as little regard for them
as for the more inglorious kind of metaphysics
which comes from a failure to understand
the workings of our language.
Notes.
(1) Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Preface.
(2) Bradley, Appearance and Reality, and ed.,
p. I.
(3) This example has been used by Professor Schlick
to illustrate the same point.
(4) A remark taken at random from Appearance
and Reality, by F. H. Bradley.
(5) e. g. M. Schlick, "Positivismus und
Realismus," Erkenntnis, Vol. I, 1930.
F. Waismann, "Logische Analyse des Warscheinlichkeitsbegriffs,"
Erkenntnis, /ol. I, 1930.
(6) e. g. M. Schlick, "Die Kausalitat in
der gegenwartigen Physik," Naturvissenschaft,
Vol. 19, 1931.
(7) This has been proposed by Karl Popper in
his Logik der Forschung
(8) This is an over-simplified statement, which
is not literally correct. I give what I believe
to be the correct formulation in the Introduction,
p. 13.
(9) In Chapter VIII.
(10) Vide "Demonstration of the Impossibility
of Metaphysics," Mind, 1934, P- 339-
(11)Vide Chapter VIII.
(12) Vide Chapter V.
(13) Vide Chapter IV.
(14) Vide The Critique of Pure Reason, "Transcendental
Dialectic," Book II, Chapter iii, section
4.
(15) This argument is well stated by John Wisdom,
Interpretation and Analysis, pp. 62, 63.
(16)Vide Was ist Metaphysik, by Heidegger: criticised
by Rudolf Carnap in his "tFberwindung
der Metaphysik durch logische Analyse der
Sprache," Er-kmntnis, Vol. II, 1932.
(17) For a discussion of this point, see also
C. A. Mace, "Representation and Expression,"
Analysis, Vol. I, No. 3; and "Metaphysics
and Emotive Lan-guage," Analysis, Vol.
II, Nos. i and 2
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