Goodman on Forgery Michael Wreen The Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 33, No. 133. (Oct., 1983), pp. 340-353. Stable URL: http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0031-8094%28198310%2933%3A133%3C340%3AGOF%3E2.0.CO%3B2-9 The Philosophical Quarterly is currently published by The Philosophical Quarterly.
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GOODMAN ON FORGERY
Prior to 1965, analytic philosophers, I think it's safe to say, took virtually no interest in forgery. Then, in that year, Alfred Lessing's "What's Wrongwith a Forgery?" appeared,' and three years later Nelson Goodman's now famous "Art and Authenticity", chapter three of his Languages ofArt, provoked a variety of responses - dismay, puzzlement, exasperation, elation, simple surprise - by its startlingly fresh and original treatment of forgery. Article has followed article since that time, and the debate has recently culminated in an entire anthology devoted to the topic.' The aim of this paper is a modest one: not to solve any of the overarching conceptual and valuational problems connected with forgery,' but to concentrate on Goodman's views, since to my knowledge the literature contains no sustained intensive, textual examination of his arguments.
First, a brief summary of some of the conceptual aspects of forgery would be in order. A forgery of a work of art need not be a copy or imitation of some extant, or previously extant, work: the Macpherson poems of the eighteenth century, which were intentionally misattributed to a Gaelic poet of the third century, are ample testimony to the fact. A forged work is a (supposed) work which is not genuine, but which is represented as genuine, with the intention to deceive; and genuineness, or authenticity, concerns provenance of issue, specifically, from whom (or, in some cases, what, when, or where) the work actually issued. Nevertheless, though the concepts of copy, imitation, and resemblance on the one hand, and of forgery on the other, are conceptually independent, there is an empirically close connection between at least two of them - forgery and resemblance. Most forgeries are not copies, true enough (such forgeries would be, generally speaking, too easy to detect), but most forgeries do resemble actual works, at least so far as style, subject matter, ' TheJournal ofAesthetics andArt Criticism 24 (1965): 461-71.
' The Forger's Art: Forgety and the Philosophy ofArt, ed. Denis Dutton, (California, 1982). Lessing's and Goodman's papers are reprinted therein, but in the main The Forger's Art contains essays not previously published. Though I have made such an attempt elsewhere, in "Is, Madam? Nay, It Seems", TheForger's Art.
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technique, etc., are concerned. (And nowadays, of course, chemical analysis being as advanced as it is, most forged paintings closely resemble bonafide works of the attributed person, school, period, or place, as far as materials are concerned, too.) In and of itself, forgery, like plagiarism, is essentially the intentional misrepresentation of a (supposed) artifact, work of art or not, as far as its issuing from a specified source is concerned. This, in brief, is the analysis of forgery I have defended el~ewhere,~ and so elaboration of it here would be out of order.
Let us, varying an example of Nelson Goodman's, imagine that before us there are two stunning pairs of jeans being modeled, the one on the left an original Sassoon's, the one on the right a superlative imitation and, for good measure, a forgery, a purported Sassoon's, as well.5They are, so far as we can tell, perceptually indistinguishable, at least for us now. Suppose, however, that we know that the one on the left is the original, the one on the right the copy/forgery. Is there an aesthetic difference for us now? Yes, says Goodman, because knowledge of [the fact that the one on the left is original, the one on the right a copy/forgery] (1) stands as evidence that there may be a difference between them that [we] can learn to perceive, (2) assigns the present looking a role as training toward such perceptual discrimination, and (3) makes consequent demands that modify and differentiate my present looking at the two [pairs of j e a n ~ ] . ~
I have elsewhere noted that this argument is just as cogent - but no more so -when the properties of being an original and beingaforgery orcopy are replaced by costing $10,000 and costing $10, so Goodman's argument establishes only that there is an empirical connection between forgeries/copies and aesthetic disvalue.' (For, Goodman's claims that he does not want to discuss the In "Counterfeit Coins and Forged Paintings: Careat Emptor", Analysis 40 (1980): 146-51; and especially "Is, Madam?" op. cit., pp. 189-203. ' It really doesn't matter whether jeans-making is an autographic or an allographic art, or even an "art" at all, so far as Goodman's discussion is concerned. By his own admission, forgery is possible in allographic as well as autographic arts, and there is no reason for thinking that the autographic/allographic distinction, ifsound at all, cannot be applied to any art, that is, any skill in making, whatsoever. Better still, Goodman's actual discussion, in the first part of "Art and Authenticity", proceeds without the autographic/allographic distinction, and what he says, as I'll attempt to show below, holds equally well for anjj two objects, natural or artifactual, with different modes of generation, e.g., a leaf from the oak tree in my yard and a leaf from an oak tree in my next door neighbor's yard. But more on that below. " Languages o f A n pew York, 1968), p. 105. Subsequent references to Goodman are to the above text, unless otherwise specified. In "Is, Madam?" op. cit. pp. 205-9.
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aesthetic in general notwithstanding, the relation of aesthetic value to aesthetic difference is like that of silver dollars to our economy: mostly we do not see it, but we reckon in terms of it.8) I am tempted to add that the argument is also of equal strength if the aforementioned properties are replaced by being believed to be an original and being beliaied to be a forgey or copy. For since it would then seem that it makes no difference whether objective or corresponding subjective properties are specified, Goodman's argument would surely not be sufficient to establish an inherent connection between the properties invoked in it. (By an inherent connection, I mean neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition of aesthetic value or disvalue but only a prima facie good-making or bad-making quality; hence my claim that aesthetic value is the silver bullion which backs up the paper currency of aesthetic difference and aesthetic activity.) Instead, though, I would like to renounce my earlier discussion altogether. Goodman's argument, I now hold, either proves absolutely nothing or is implicitly question-begging and leads to strongly counter-intuitive results. For that argument relies upon our knowing that one object is a forgery or copy and one isn't, so the force of misrepresentation and intention to deceive (components of forgery) are wholly muted, and what is really focussed on is just the fact that the two objects have different causal histories, as far as their genesis is concerned - which is true of any two objects - and that we know as much. An argument parallel to Goodman's, then, would show that, for any two objects whatsoever, when we perceptually scrutinize them, our knowledge that they have different genesis-properties (or, as with the logically equivalent proposition, that they are numerically distinct) would constitute an aestheticdifference for us now. That, I take to be a reductio of Goodman's view - suppose, e.g., the objects are an Idaho potato and a Maine potato, or a frog and a clone of the frog, or a print pulled at 5 :00 p.m. and a print pulled at 5 :01 p.m. Goodman's conclusion, that the two facts in question constitute an aesthetic difference for us now, would follow only if evey perceptual difference, or even the possibility of any perceptual difference, between two objects constituted an aesthetic difference, indeed, ultimately a difference in aesthetic value, between the two objects. But that is either false - as I certainly think it is -or it wholly subsumes the aesthetic under the cognitive, which is strongly counterintuitive, leads to results very much at variance with the entire history of art and art criticism, and is blatantly question begging. The dilemma itself is likely to go unnoticed only because of the adept philosophical legerdemain of the original argument.
"y imagery here is borrowed from Willard Quine, Word and Object (Cambridge, Mass., 1960), p. 227.
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Waiving this point, though, and moving along with Goodman's discussion: "Suppose," he writes, "it could be proved that no one [not even Gloria Vanderbilt] will ever be able to see any difference [between the jeans]?" With his usual querulousness, he answers: "What sort of proof could be given?" None, of course, according to Goodman; for a "delicate scanning device that compares the colour of the two [pairs of jeans] and registers the slightest discrepancy" and so which could prove that no one will ever be able to see any difference, is, apparently, not a real possibility. First, The scanning device must thus cover at each instant a region big enough to have colour but at least as small as any perceptible region. Just how to manage this is puzzling since "perceptible" in the present context means "discernible by merely looking", and thus the line between perceptible and nonperceptible regions seems to depend on the arbitrary line between a magnifying glass and a microscope (pp. 106-7). And second, Our scanning device will examine colour - that is, reflected light. Since reflected light depends partly upon incident light, illumination of every quality, of every intensity, and from every direction must be tried. And for each case, especially since the [jeans] do not have a plane surface, a complete scanning must be made from every angle. But of course we cannot cover every variation, or even determine a single absolute correspondence, in even one respect. Thus the search for a proof that [we] shall never be able to see any difference between the two [pairs of jeans] is futile for more than technical reasons (p. 107). There are a number of problems with this argument, however. First, the term 'proof' is misplaced, or at least the criteria for its application are set inordinately high. T o prove - or better, to provide very strong evidence - that no one will ever be able to discriminate perceptually between my Xerox copy of page one of The Wind in the Willows and the original from which it was Xeroxed - itself, let's say, a Xerox - or some other copy of that original, or some other Xerox of my Xerox, all we need do is conduct some rather quotidian perceptual discrimination tests from an admittedly open-ended set of such tests, and, if the results are uniformly negative, declare, with confidence, that no one will ever be able to detect perceptually any difference between the two. The same holds for jeans and for paintings . 'Proof having
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thus been cut down to everyday size, no forbiddingly high epistemic barrier remains, even though the proposition in question is a universal negative and concerns a dispositional property, and so conclusive verification ofit - which is very nearly what Goodman seems to be demanding without admitting as much - is impossible. Secondly, why restrict scanning devices in the way Goodman does? More "fine-grained" microphysical properties, especially primary qualities, would be better to focus on, I think, since colour properties apparently emerge from them in law-like ways. And they are, moreover, not (putative) secondary qualities, and so the theoretical problems Goodman alleges arise with colour detection need not arise. Thus, even within the austere confines of proof Goodman (quite gratuitously) imposes, proof may well be possible. Thirdly and last, why chase ambulances at all? An Aladdin's Lamp of the sort Arthur C. Clarke envisions, nay, predict^,^ certainly is possible; that is to say, a molecule-for-molecule replicator is conceivable. T o know, say, that my Xerox, or the forged jeans, is a product of such a replicator is sufficient proof that no one will ever be able to distinguish it perceptually from its original. Nor is such a proof suspect, the molecular replicator supposedly being known to be such, just because it is known or believed to incorporate the dubious scanning device. For the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and we could have eaten, and drunk, many a replicator-produced organic delight of incredible molecular complexity to test the machine before givingit an easy job such as a painting, a pair of jeans, or a sheet of paper with print on it.
When pressed with the "question whether, if proof were given, there would then be any aesthetic difference for [us] between the [jeans]", Goodman answers: [Sluppose we answer this . . . question in the negative. This will still give our questioner no comfort. For the net result would be that if no difference between the [jeans] can in fact be perceived, then the existence of an aesthetic difference between them will rest entirely upon what is or is not proved by means other than merely looking at them. This hardly supports the contention that there can be no aesthetic difference without a perceptual difference (p. 108). But it is hard to make any sense of this passage except as philosophical sleight of hand and rhetorical bullying. For we are to suppose that if it could be proved that no one will ever be able to distinguish the jeans perceptually, then "Aladdin's Lamp", Profiles oofthe Future (1964), pp. 156-162.
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there is no aesthetic difference between the two. Why then go on to say that "the existence of an aesthetic difference between them will rest entirely upon what is or is not proved by means other than merely looking at them"? Apart from the fact that, as argued above, "merely looking" may be good enough, the important point to note is that Goodman has conceded (for the sake of argument) that no perceptual difference entails no aesthetic difference. Hence, on the assumption that the antecedent is satisfied, the consequent, "the existence of an aesthetic difference . . .", either contradicts the prior concession, or should be understood as "the existence or non-existence of an aesthetic difference . . .". Read in this latter way, however, Goodman's parting shot, "This hardly supports the contention that there can be no aesthetic difference without a perceptual difference", loses all of its force, even its rhetorical force. For aesthetic differences, on the concession admitted and the assumption that the antecedent is satisfied - and the denial that it could be satisfied doesn't allow the argument to proceed, and returns us to an earlier issue - then seem to vary in accordance with and because of perceptual differences. The fact that the judgment that there is no perceptual, and therefore no aesthetic, difference between the jeans, is based, in part, on data not gathered by "mere looking" is of little moment, and should not embarrass Goodman's questioner. All it would seem to indicate is that perceivers need good grounds for such universal negatives, and that the grounds may be, in part, non-perceptual, or theoretical. My grounds for thinking that no one will ever be able to leap six fifty-story buildings or fly to Jupiter unaided may similarly be in part non-perceptual, or theoretical. But there is nothing either epistemically or conceptually strange about that.
A final topic Goodman discusses is the unfakable. Why, he asks, is it that, "in music, unlike painting, there is no such thing as a forgery of a known work". There are, he admits, "compositions falsely purporting to be by Haydn . . . but of the London Symphony, unlike [Rembrandt's] Lucretia, there can be no forgeries" (p. 112). Is he right about this? Before arguingthat he is not, I would like to discuss his own preferred explanation of the (supposed) fact. Copies of [Haydn's] score may vary in accuracy, but all accurate copies, even if forgeries of Haydn's manuscript, are equally genuine instances of the score . . . all correct performances [of the score] are equally genuine instances of the work. In contrast, even the most exact copies of the Rembrandt painting are simply imitations or forgeries, not new instances of the same work. Why the difference between the two arts?
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Let us speak of a work of art as autographic if and only if the distinction between original and forgery of it is significant; or better, if and only if the most exact duplicate of it does not thereby count as genuine (p. 112-3). Non-autographic works, and arts, are termed "allographic". That, then, is the crucial distinction. What is its basis, and how does it help to answer Goodman's question? T h e distinction appears to be founded upon different conventionally or traditionally based practices respecting the individuation of works of art, especially in so far as such individuation is dependent upon the existence of, or the ready constructibility of, a notation. Basically, the distinction is founded upon amenability to notation: "An art seems to be allographic just in so far as it is amenable to notation" (p. 121). The autographic arts - painting, printmaking, cast sculpture, probably photography - have no "alphabet of characters" (p. 116); hence, none of the (artistic) properties of works of such arts is distinguished as constitutive; no such feature can be dismissed as contingent, and no deviation is insignificant. The only way of ascertaining that [say] the Lucretia before us is genuine is to establish the historical fact that it is the actual object made by Rembrandt. Accordingly, . . . the conception of forgery of a particular work [gains purchase] (p. 116). On the other hand, the allographic arts -literature, music, architecture, the drama - are amenable to notation, in Goodman's strict sense of the term: [all1 that matters [as far as genuineness is concerned] is what may be called sameness of spelling exact correspondence as sequences of letters, spaces, and punctuation marks. A sequence . . . that so corresponds to a correct copy is itself correct, and nothing is more the original work than is such a correct copy (pp. 115-6). Thus, the answer to the original question is: Where there is a theoretically decisive test for determining that an object has all the constitutive properties of the work in question without determining how or by whom the object was produced
- and it is just such a theoretically decisive test, namely, sameness of spelling, that notationality provides -
there is no requisite history ofproduction and hence no forgery of any given [i.e., known] work (p. 122) -which means just that there can be no forgeries ofknown allographic works.
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Ingenious and inventive as this solution is, I doubt that it is correct. First, the autographic/allographic distinction may be questioned. Goodman's preferred way to draw this distinction is: A work is autographic if and only if even the most exact duplicate of it does not thereby count as genuine. Autographic arts are those with (at least one?) autographic work; all other works, and arts, are allographic: exact duplicates of originals thereby count as genuine. It should be evident, however, that given this definition, all works, and all arts, are autographic: in no case does mere duplication ensure genuineness. Any work - painting, poem, photograph, print - can be duplicated and the duplicate intentionally misrepresented as issuing from a hand other than the one it, the original, did issue from; hence, every work, and every duplicate or copy of every work, is susceptible of forgery - afortiori of non-genuineness. For example, if I found the manuscript of a poem by A, knew it was by A, duplicated or copied it, and intentionally attributed it to B, by sending it to Poetry with a covering letter which bore B's signature (and I may or may not be B), the work sent would be a forgery (as would the covering letter, if I were not B). But poetry is, according to Goodman, an allographic art. Perhaps, though, this is an unfair criticism; perhaps what Goodman has in mind is the following. A performance of a Mozart concerto, is, ipsofacto, a performance of a genuine Mozart concerto - KV453, for example - even if the performance is intentionally misrepresented as, say, a Haydn concerto. Not so with a duplicate of a Rembrandt painting. A copy of a given Rembrandt painting, Bathsheba for example, is ipsofacto not a genuine Rembrandt painting at all (assuming that Rembrandt didn't copy his own work), and certainly not the genuine Bathsheba. There is a great deal of merit in this view, and in this way of reading Goodman, but I'm not sure that either the view or the way of reading Goodman is correct. An exact duplicate of a permission slip I composed and typed, but which is unsigned, let's say, would not be a genuine M.W. permission slip, though the original would be; and an exact duplicate of a M.W. letter or a U.S. ten-dollar bill is not, ipso facto, a genuine M.W. letter, or a genuine U.S. ten-dollar bill, much less that particular letter, or thatparticular ten-dollar bill. The same holds for signatures and signature-items in general, that is, for items for which genuineness (a genuine X ) requires authorization or approval (by X), though perhaps not an actual signature (X's signature). Notationality seems to be beside the poht: there is certainly a notation available for permission slips and letters. Indeed, I'm inclined to think that there is a notation (though perhaps not in Goodman's sense of the term) for U.S. currency - there are both plates and plans for plates, and the data
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recorded by optical scanning devices are both encodeable and, at times, encoded. Still, none of the items mentioned is a work of art. And per contra, in so far as a letter is regarded as a work ofliteray art rather than a historical relic, as a letter by Lord Chesterfield might be, duplication, even without the letterwriter's authorization or approval, does seem to be sufficient to generate a genuine Chesterfield letter, in fact the particular letter. So, despite his evident inventiveness and ingenuity, Arthur Danto is wrong, I think, in holding that the literary work of Borges' Pierre Menard (a work which, Danto notwithstanding, is clearly a copy of Cervantes' Quixote) is a work numerically distinct from Cervantes' Quixote.lo Being a duplicate or copy, it is that work. If a duplicated item, an X Y (e.g., a M.W. letter), requires approval or authorization by X to count as a genuine X Y (M.W. letter), then, it seems to me, it is to that extent a social/institutional item. No work of art, however, seems to be of that sort. Goodman's distinction, then, seems to be upheld. Unfortunately, though, the interpretation on which the distinction does seem sound is probably incorrect. For Goodman says that All that matters [for genuineness in an allographic art] is . . . sameness of spelling (p. 115); Any sequence that corresponds to a correct copy [of a given poem or musical work] is itself correct, and nothing is more the original work than is such a correct copy (pp. 115-6); Correct spelling. . . is . . . the sole requirement for a genuine instance ofawork (p. 117); Merely by determining that the copy before us is spelled correctly we can determine that it meets all the requirements of the work in question (p. 116); Definitive identification of works, fully freed from history of production, is achieved only when a notation is established (p. 122); and For an art to become allographic depends upon establishment of a practice of classifying instances into works in a manner independent of history of production. I ' All of this seems wrong, and so, in so far as the above is taken to explicate the autographic/allographic distinction, the earlier interpretation accorded it must be incorrect - or, at the least, inadequate or incomplete. "' Arthur C. Danto, Thr TransfiRuration (I/ the Commonplace (Cambridge, mass., 1981), pp. 33-8; also, ".-\rtworks and Real'rhings", Theoria (1973): 1-17; reprinted inAesthetics,G. Dickie and R. Sclafani, eds. (Nen York, 1977), pp. 551-62; see esp. pp. 554-5. ' ' Problems crridPr/yrcts (Nen York, 1972), p. 136.
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Individuation in evey art is inherently linked to history of production, and sameness of spelling is never sufficient to establish that a given item is an instance of this work rather than that. This in fact is evident if genuineness itself is analyzed: 'genuine' is the logically primary term, and 'genuineXY the logically primary locution, with 'X'specifylng the provenance of issue. Hence, genuineness itself is analyzed in terms of history of production, and so, as the individuation of all works of art involves the determination of genuineness, the individuation of all works of art is caught up with, and infected by, history of production. Consequently, in the long run the initial criticisms of the autographic/allographic distinction lodged above seem to be recovered, and I think they must tell strongly against the viability of the distinction.
T h e truth of the matter is that there are differences between the concepts of a copy or duplicate, of an exact resemblance (sameness of spelling or perceptual indistinguishability), and of a genuine or authentic work. A copy of an X is, in the relevant sense, an exact or nearly exact resemblance of an X, which, normally, was produced intentionally (that is, with the intention to produce such an exact resemblance). Exact resemblance of, unlike copy of, is a symmetrical relation, and has no intentional or deliberative import. Genuineness, on the other hand, has nothing to do with either: it is not a relational concept at all, has nothing to do with resemblance, and, in every case, has to do only with the origin of a work; or, more precisely, with whether a given person (school, period, group) from whom (which) the work is said to issue, really is the one from whom (which) it issued. T h e adjective 'genuine' is the logical home base of the concept, and it is an attributive adjective, being logically stuck to a two-term noun, basically a person-kind noun (e.g., Picasso painting, Shakespeare sonnet, Sassoon jeans). Genuineness, then, is a causal-historical concept having to do with origins. Pace Goodman, sameness of spelling, which has to do with copies or exact resemblance, has no intrinsic connection with genuineness. VIII
What then of Goodman's original question? Why is it impossible - not his explicit claim but clearly implied by the text - that there be a forgery of a known musical work but not of a known painting? Here, I deny the presupposition; forgeries of known musical works are possible in some circumstances . . . and forgeries of known paintings are impossible in other circumstances. Whether the item to be forged is Rembrandt's Lucretia or Haydn's London Symphony, what is possible (or impossible) depends on the beliefs and know-
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ledge of the would-be forger, and, so far as he is rational and well informed, on what the beliefs and knowledge of the person@)he is trying to fool are. It all depends, in other words, on who knows/believes how much about what, such relativization to belief and knowledge not being surprising, I think, since forgery involves an intention (which entails a belief) on the forger's part, with that intention having to do with the beliefs of his prospective audience. An example. Suppose that I were to visit the outback of Australia. The aborigines there, trying to integrate themselves into Western society, might be willing to pay to hear even mediocre performances of musical works by the great Western masters, whom they might or might not know by name; but in any case, they know nothing more, let's say. Unscrupulous and musically unknowledgeable, I might take advantage of the situation; I might write down a number of notes and whistle a tune; or better, establish a makeshift orchestra and conduct a performance of, I claim, Haydn's London Symphony. My score need not resemble Haydn's in any way, nor need the performance sound like the genuine article. But my work would be a forgery of the London Symphony, a work known to some people, but not to the aborigines. T h e situation is precisely the same with the Lucretia: if the aborigines, say, wanted to acquire, or were willing to pay to see Rembrandt's Lucretia, I might forge it . . . even if I no more know what it looks like than I know what the London Symphony sounds like. And, as Arthur Danto would point out, my works, both the symphony and the painting, would still be forgeries even if, by some quirk of fate, what I wrote was note for note identical with Haydn's piece, the performance indistinguishable from a Philadelphia Orchestra performance, and my painting perceptually indistinguishable from Rembrandt's own. (Note that neither the painting nor the symphony produced would be a copy, though in both cases there would be exact resemblance, and, in at least the latter, sameness of spelling.) Speaking now just of the symphony: the case illustrates the fact that (rational and informed) would-be forgers attempt to take advantage of the ignorance of those they try to dupe. Sophisticated concert-goers know the London Symphony; you know it; Nelson Goodman knows it; almost all the readers of his book know it. But others, including both the aborigines and most Americans and Europeans, might not. T o those who don't, a work could be intentionally misrepresented as Haydn's London Symphony and not be it; hence, there could be a forgery of it. If, in my example, I had intentionally copiedHaydn's score, I would not have forged, since the work would have been genuine. But if, as described, I made the score up as I went along, did not copy or remember the score of the music, then the work would have been a genuine Wreen, not a genuine Haydn, and so a different work, even if notationally identical to Haydn's piece. What I can forge, as far as musical works are
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concerned, depends both on what I b o w or believeabout the prospective works to be forged, and on what prospective works I belime I can fool my audience about, in respect to genuineness. Some knowledge (or certain beliefs) on their part is compatible with (rational and informed) forging on my part; relatively complete knowledge (or certain beliefs) is not, at least in so far as I know or believe they have such knowledge (or beIiefs). And relatively complete knowledge of a prospective work on my part is not either (though see the qualification above). Almost precisely the same set of considerations holds for the Lucretia. If rational and informed, and if my audience were the owner of the Lucretia, I could not represent a work of my own as that painting. He, the owner, knows too much; I, being rational and informed, could not then have the requisite intention to deceive. But, for exactly the same reason, I could not intend to deceive AndrC PrCvin into believing that the work I had just spun off the top of my head is Haydn's Symphony. There is a difference between forging known musical works and known paintings, though the difference really concerns how much knowledge of the work to be forged can be had by the aspiring forger. Complete knowledge of Haydn's London Symphony does prevent a person with such knowledge from forging it qua a Haydn work; not so Rembrandt's Lucretia. But this difference really reflects the fact that we individuate different kinds of works of art differently, musical works being repeatable in that they can be performed many times, a painting not repeatable in that given current individuation practices, or current technology, only one object can be an instance of any given painting. The restriction or lack of restriction on forgers respecting their knowledge of prospective works to be forged, is just these individuation differences cum the would-be forgers' rationality and informedness about such differences. Differences in individuation are, in fact, probably what inspired Goodman's somewhat ill-formulated drawing of the autographic/ allographic distinction, for that distinction really attempts, I think, to demarcate what I have somewhat misleadingly called repeatable works from non-repeatable works. But to explain the knowledge restriction respecting forging known musical works: if I knew Haydn's Symphony quite well, and knew that Haydn was its composer, then I could not reproduce it and thereby forge; for in reproducing it under those circumstances, I would be reproducing Haydn's work and know as much, and thus not have the requisite intention to deceive others that it is Haydn's Symphony.
Last, what of the alleged basis of the autographic/allographic distinction? What of antecedent individuation practices with or without notational back-
ing? I have already argued that notational considerations alone are never sufficient for individuation, but apart from that, I am sceptical of the alleged inzportance of antecedent practices with or without notational backing. All objects, natural and artifactual, can be notationally encoded, and the rise and fall of mere conventional practices is likely to proceed on much the same time schedule as changes in the weather. The Dietz Re-creation Process, for example, is apparently a notationally-based process for reproducing paintings. '' If it does in fact yield perceptually indistinguishable copies, and if it does in fact "catch on", then multiple copies of one and the same painting would be possible. Or, to borrow an example from M. Pabst Battin, a molecule-for-molecule replica of the Grand Canyon, one located in Bayonne, N. J., say, is conceivable," and would or would not be a Grand Canyon depending, I suppose, on whether people can be convinced to adopt a practice for individuating holes differently than they do now. (I am not saying that the Grand Canyon is a work of art - it clearly isn't.) I am not complaining about the reproduction of works of art and natural objects of surpassing grandeur and sublimity - that I largely applaud. Nor am I questioning the conceptual centrality or value of notationality, both ofwhich seem to me firmly and rightly fixed. It is the roncentionali~~ of the practices that worries me, for the metaphysics of art, and so all other aspects of art, would then blow where the winds of convention list; an unhappy result for art, art criticism, and the philosophy of art, it seems to me, especially given the evanescence of conventional practices and the fact that their establishment and decay is largely unpredictable. In sum, then: the autographic/allographic distinction suffers from both internal problems (in its explication) and external problems (within the philosophy of art as a whole) and yields erroneous results (such as that known musical works cannot be forged). In addition, there is no independent theoretical support for the distinction, and it seems of little help in systematizing the arts or art criticism. I think we should regard the distinction as unfounded.
Clearly, I find many of Goodman's views ill-argued and quite a few mistaken. My discussion has been almost wholly negative, but that, as any reader of Goodman will attest, is simply unfair. "Art and Authenticity" emphasizes the importance of the history of production of a work of art in a way that no previous discussion has, and it calls attention to problems of
'' Advertisement, The.itnn
York Times (October 20, 1969),p. 39. "Exact Replication in the Visual Arts", TheJournul ofAesrhericsandArt Critirism 38 (1 979): 153-158,154. I'
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individuating works of art, and of demarcating the aesthetic, in a way and with a force unseen in the literature. Even if some of Goodman's conclusions should be rejected, not all should be, and his discussion is both stimulating and instructive and will be for years to come.
Philadelphia College ofArt
