Finally, in a moment of sheer intellectual perversity on my part, I joyfully exclaimed, "Ah, now I think I see what you are saying. You are using delicious irony to affirm the objectivity of truth." The lady was not amused. "That is exactly what I am not saying," she protested with some heat, and then she laid out her position again. I clasped my hands in enthusiasm and told her how delighted I was to find someone using irony so cleverly in order to affirm the possibility of objective knowledge. Her answer was more heated, but along the same lines as her first reply. I believe she also accused me of twisting what she was saying. I told her I thought it was marvelous that she should add emotion to her irony; all to the purpose of exposing the futility of extreme relativism, thereby affirming truth's objectivity. Not surprisingly, she exploded in real anger, and accused me of a lot of unmentionable things.

When she finally cooled down, I said, rather quietly, "But this is how I am reading you."

Of course, she saw what I was getting at immediately, and sputtered out like a spent candle. She simply did not know what to say. My example was artificial, of course, since I only pretended to read her in a certain way, but what I did was sufficient to prove the point I was trying to make to her. "You are a deconstructionist," I told her, "but you expect me to interpret your words aright. More precisely, you are upset because I seem to be divorcing the meaning I claim to see in your words from your intent. Thus, implicitly you affirm the link between text and authorial intent. I have never heard a deconstructionist who would be pleased if a reviewer misinterpreted his or her work: thus in practice deconstructionists implicitly link their own texts with their own intentions." I simply want the same courtesy extended to [the Apostle] Paul.

My, point, then, is that in the real world, for all the difficulties there are in communication, from person to person and from culture to culture, we still expect people to say more or less what they mean (and if they don't, we chide them for it), and we expect mature people to understand what others say, and represent it fairly. The understanding is doubtless never absolutely exhaustive and perfect, but that does not mean the only alternative is to dissociate text from speaker, and then locate all meaning in the reader or hearer. True knowledge of the meaning of a text and even of the thoughts of the author who wrote it is possible, even if perfect and exhaustive knowledge is not. That is the way things are in the real world--and that in turn suggests that any theory that flies in the face of the realities needs to be examined again.

Nor will it do to say that in the case of writings whose authors are still living incorrect interpretations can be challenged, but not in the case of writings by authors long deceased. For many scholarly enterprises the importance of authorial intent is still recognized, even while almost everyone tries to avoid the intentional fallacy. Thus in the latest circular from the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognitive Studies sent to its members (July 10, 1994), a "Statement of Principles" is provided for their forthcoming new English translation of the Septuagint (NETS). The sixth principle reads as follows: "NETS translators will seek to reflect the meaning of the Greek text in accordance with the ancient translator's perceived intent, and as occasioned by the ancient translator's linguistic approach...." Observe that the text is assumed to have a meaning;, that although all translation (in this case from Hebrew to Greek) involves interpretation, it is assumed that the translator's intent can be perceived from the text that he actually writes. Why should such intent be less discernible in what is not a translation?

The general point has been recognized by many responsible philosophers. Against the threat of solipsism, or complete incommensurability, Stout and Davidson have convincingly demonstrated that virtually any conversation presumes some degree of commonality and of mutual understanding. Almost always enough common ground exists to permit dialogue to commence and to continue. Quite apart from whatever criteria both sides agree constitute a sound or an unsound argument, it is also possible that extended conversations may help them discover and rectify their disagreements regarding appropriate criteria. Stout argues that the intensity of our disagreements frequently blinds us to the range and depth of our agreements--which tend not to be noticed or commented on.