1 o return to the first sentence. Thenfirst thing that should be noted is the usenof “right foot” instead of “left foot.”nFoucault tends to delve into (around?)nsubjects that are not widely noted andndiscussed because they are assumed tonbe of little import in the larger schemenof things; he has, it is clear, been influencednby the Annates’ school of history.nHis response to the belittlement of thensubjects/objects would probably be thatnthe bourgeoisie has—^because of the “institutionalnregime of the production ofntruth” (Power/Knowledge, Pantheon,n1980) that it has established—deemednsuch things insignificant for its own purposes.nIts purposes are seemingly behindneverything. For example, in The Historynof Sexuality, Volume I {Pantheon, 1978),nFoucault wonders whether the limitsnplaced on sexual perversity, which hadnthe effect of putting more emphasis onn”genitally centered sexuality,” weren’tnreally established “to ensure population,nto reproduce labor capacity, to perpetuatenthe forms of social relations: innshort, to constitute a sexuality that isneconomically useful and politically conservative.”nThis echoes a point he makesnabout the rise of the medical profession;nFoucault, in The Archaeology of Knowledge,ndates its advent at the end of then18th century, “when the health of populationnbecame one of the economicnnorms required by industrial societies.”nLaws against performing bizarre sex actsnand the “cUnical gaze” are both widely,ntacitiy accepted in Western societies.nThat’s the problem, maintains Foucault.nSo, taking his approach, one might concludenthat the orientation of the pedestriannmetaphor is actually a politicallynmotivated trope (i.e., harking back tonFrench parliamentary seating in the earlyn19th century) that, through the subtle,ninsidious effects of the power-knowledgendominance of the bourgeoisie, has becomena tropism.nSecondly, there is reference to Boswellnand Johnson: two proper names, two authors.nWrites Foucault in “What Is an Author?”:n”The author’s name is not a fiinc-ntion of a man’s civU status, nor is it fictional;nit is situated in the breach, amongnthe discontinuities, which gives rise tonnew groups of discourse and their singularnmode of existence.” (Bouchard, editornof Language, Counter-Memory, Practice,nprovides a footnote for that sentencenwhich opens, “This is a particularly importantnpoint and brings together a greatnmany of Foucault’s insights concerningnthe relationship of an author (subject)nto discourse.” Indeed.) While the namesn”BosweU” and “Johnson” have, in thisncase, given rise to a new discourse, theynhave done significantiy more than sit in anbreach waiting to be reclaimed, disinterrednin a text. Actually, the use of thencitation for Boswell’s book, as well asnthe use of citations for the various booksnby Foucault quoted herein, betrays mynunFoucaultian approach. Write Lemertnand Gillan about his approach: “Documentationnis used parsimoniously ….nEven though . . . dates are crucial theynare seldom provided in the text. Thenreader must check them, usually in anbibliography, often by consulting an encyclopedia.nThe reader is forced to donhis own work.” Shouldn’t that readn”Foucault’s work”? After all, the readerngoing to Foucault is presumably doingnso in order to become enlightened, or atnleast to gain some insights about the particularnhistorical events, discontinuities,nsubjects. However, what unsuspectingnreaders may not realize is that Foucaultnworks to void such things of theirn”accepted” meanings.nA* or example, the archaeologicalnmetaphor is a misleading one; very importantnaspects of the conventionalnscience are neglected. One of the reasonsnwhy Foucault uses it is to differentiatenhis procedure from that of those historiansnwho use a linear approach to organization.nIn a linear scheme therenmust be, by definition, connective elementsnbetween points. Foucault thinksnthat such syntheses can be felse, misleading.nHe stresses the importance of disruptions,ndiscrete objects; all of hisnscientific baggage notwithstanding.nnnFoucault loves the fragment as much asnthe 19th-centiuy Romantics did. Historiansnusing the more conventional linearnapproach, of course, tend to analyze thenmeaning of, say, discourses. As pointednout, Foucault concentrates not on whatnthe discourse says, but rather on the environment,nthe surroundings, the positionnin which it is located. He seems tonask, “What makes this particular itemnpossible?” The archaeological metaphornworks, then, in two ways. First, archaeologistsnon a dig will tend to find (i.e., exceptnin very disruptive circumstances,nlike Pompeii) isolated objects withinnthe strata that they penetrate. Thus,nFoucault’s emphasis on the disruptive,nsingular, makes sense. Second, saidnarchaeologists upon finding, say, a bowl,nwould make careful notations of spatialncoordinates and all other relevant detailsnthat describe the ecology. But archaeologyndoesn’t stop there, thou^ Foucaultndoes. That is, says Racevskis, “An archaeologicalnanalysis vwll. . . concern itselfnwith a ‘field of dispersion,’ with the realitynof things that are written and articulated,nbut it will consider them at thenlevel that reveals their existence as singularndiscursive events, not as signs thatnstand for something else.”nThe situation, then, is this: Foucaultnthe archaeologist spends his time putteringnaround in a field with calipers, a spade,nand a tape measure. Once he finds a bowl,nhe examines the surrounding dirt, rocks,nand vegetation and tries to figure outnwhat makes it possible for the bowl tonexist in its particular position. Anothernarchaeologist comes up to the site andnremoves the bowl; his objective is tonsubject the bowl to further analysis.nFoucault observes the hole. Later, after angreat deal of pondering, he announcesnthe existence of the hole. People ask himnfor more information about his find.n”Measure it yourself,” is the curt response.nFoucault is busy with another pockmark.nFinally, the selection of Johnson mustnbe accounted for. Johnson is certainlynone of the great figures of 18th-centurynliteramre, a very moral writer, given thengenerally accepted definition of that ad-nSeptember 1983n