122 JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 31 " 1 JANUARY 1993 examples Watson offers, each case that he sets forth approvingly is one where he thinks that the historical effect of the philosopher's use of a "shadow history" already is part of the history of twentieth-century philosophy, that is, it has already had an influence on philosophical thinking. But suppose at the present moment we are presented with a lecture by a philosopher telling us about Spinoza's impact on Descartes's early thought, and when we tell him that he has his facts wrong, that Spinoza was not alive when Descartes had his early thoughts, he replies that he is only offering a "shadow history" which helps us understand some subtle important point. Should we laugh or cry? Should the historian get off his high horse to meet the philosopher on his low horse? If, a century from now, it turns out that said philosopher has become a central figure, and his or her distortion of history has become part of the way certain ideas are considered, then future historians will have to deal with that "shadow history"; but do we have to now, just in case the misinformation becomes part of the presentation of future philosophical ideas? What are we to do now with presentations of historical claims that appear false or misleading, but which are part of the way a present-day philosopher sees fit to present his or her philosophical point? Why can't the philosopher make the point without the misinformation? There may be dramatic reasons, or rhetorical ones that could constitute an answer. Fictionalizing may help emphasize. Poetic license, like supposed conversations between Plato and Aristotle, may more forcefully bring out certain ideas. So, if there can be "reasons" for nonfactual presentations, should we encourage or discourage this? I really do not know, hut I think we should, whenever and wherever possible, try to get the factual part of a philosophical story sufficiently right by finding the best available data, or omit the historical portion and just deal with the ideas, without giving them spatial and temporal references. Either of these possibilities would avoid needing to create "shadow histories" as evasions from actual history, or no history. And, of course, a century later, either possibility could still turn out to be a "shadow history." RICHARD H. POPKIN Washington University and University of California, Los Angeles Author's Reply I thank the commentators for constructive discussion of the issue. I find Rogers's gloss on my paper fine, even if he protests a bit too much about Yolton's Locke (as does also, I think, Popkin). But it is a good point that Rorty himself is influenced by Yolton. Also, it is good to stress that people in many fields read the history of philosophy. But probably a lot more people in many fields are influenced by books such as Rorty's Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature than by books such as Ayers's Locke. The saving grace here may be, as Popkin also remarks, that the people who write the popular and influential books are themselves influenced by solid historians such as Yolton. NOTES AND DISCUSSIONS 12 3 The only bait I might rise to in Livingston's commentary is his final remark that certain shadow histories are tedious. I would protest that, on the contrary, Bennett's is fun, Russell's brilliant, Ayer's exciting, Ryle's mesmerizing, and Rorty's thoughtprovoking as narrative in just the way Livingston approves. For the annals of history, I document here that Richard Popkin directed my dissertation and I directed Donald Livingston's. I have never forgotten and often tell students something Popkin said to me at the beginning of my career. I tell it different ways, but the substance goes something like this: It is good to work on minor figures, for after you understand the problems of making sense of someone who may not have known clearly what he was trying to say himself, then you are in a position to ask questions about the standard interpretations of the great philosophers who presumably did. I think I'll leave it at...