Category: The b2o Review

The b2o Review is a non-peer reviewed publication, published and edited by the boundary 2 editorial collective and specific topic editors, featuring book reviews, interventions, videos, and collaborative projects.  

  • Jensen Suther — Back to Life? The Persistence of Hegel’s Idealism (A Response to Karen Ng, Hegel’s Concept of Life: Self-Consciousness, Freedom, Logic)

    Jensen Suther — Back to Life? The Persistence of Hegel’s Idealism (A Response to Karen Ng, Hegel’s Concept of Life: Self-Consciousness, Freedom, Logic)

    a response to Karen Ng, Hegel’s Concept of Life: Self-Consciousness, Freedom, Logic (Oxford University Press, 2020)

    by Jensen Suther

    ~

    The question of Hegel’s idealism has haunted the traditions of philosophy and critical theory for nearly two hundred years. In Marx’s early works, he polemicizes against Hegel’s alleged rationalization of the modern state on the basis of his Science of Logic. Adorno conjures the indelible image of the Hegelian system as “the belly turned mind,” swallowing up the empirical world.[i] On the philosophical side, Schelling—Hegel’s contemporary and former mentor—objects to Hegel’s supposed prioritization of spirit over nature, while thinkers from Heidegger to Foucault spurn Hegel’s rationalism, his apparent neglect of contingency.[ii] In more recent history, the debate over Hegel’s idealism has taken the form of a contest between purportedly “metaphysical” and “non-metaphysical” readings of his system, represented by figures like Stephen Houlgate and Robert Pippin, respectively. As has recently been pointed out, this repeats with a difference, in a de-politicized form, a much older contest: between Left and Right Hegelianism.[iii] Haunting each of these contexts is the specter of a problem that, ironically, Hegel was the first to rigorously identify: the “subjective idealism” of Kant’s critical project. It is the problem of the imposition by mind of its own form on recalcitrant matter; the threat of a permanent disjunction between mind and world; a divide beyond which knowers cannot reach, the infamous no man’s land of “things in themselves.” The most ambitious recent accounts of Hegel—from Pippin’s Hegel’s Realm of Shadows to Robert Brandom’s A Spirit of Trust—have sought to clear Hegel of the charge of subjective idealism and to demonstrate the objective purport or world-directedness of his most fundamental categories. Hegel’s odds of beating his case have never looked better.

    Yet in several major ways, it could be argued, even these attempts have failed to fully vindicate the Hegelian project. As a number of commentators have noted over the years, thinkers like Pippin and Brandom have not done full justice to Hegel’s naturalism, a key ingredient in his attempt to overcome the subjective idealism of his two great predecessors, Kant and Fichte. For example, J.M. Bernstein and John McDowell have challenged Pippin’s disavowal of Hegel’s Aristotelian and post-Kantian emphasis on the category of life. As Pippin and Brandom have argued, human action cannot be satisfactorily explained in naturalistic terms. If we want to know why a young nationalist assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand in 1914, we do not ask which neurons fired when, or which physiological mechanism enabled his fingers to pull the trigger. We ask what his reasons were, why such an action showed up as worth undertaking under such conditions. For the anti-naturalists, then, what must be avoided is scientific reductionism, the cession of distinctly philosophical territory to neurobiology, but also bad metaphysics, the mythical idea of a world-creating spirit or of spirit as the “end” of nature. Whereas Pippin and Brandom have frequently argued that a hard distinction between spirit and nature, the space of reason and the space of causes, is at play in Hegel’s thought, McDowell in particular has sought to show that the anti-naturalists have a “boot-strapping” problem, whereby reason comes to look “supernatural” or “spooky.” According to McDowell, nature is not reducible to a disenchanted “space of causes,” since it also consists in the purposive activity of self-organized living beings, plants and animals. Such organisms establish a context of meaning internal to nature, which rational beings like us activate in a distinctly self-conscious, discursive, social, and historical manner. As McDowell argues, human freedom or reason is not “a kind of exemption from nature, something that permits us to elevate ourselves above it,” but rather “our own special way of living an animal life.”[iv] Likewise, in Bernstein’s critical writings on both Pippin and Brandom, he has argued that the “living” nature of rational agents is not only essential for rendering the idea of agency intelligible; it also has crucial implications for political questions surrounding social organization and what an emancipatory society would actually require—a key concern of all students of Hegel’s philosophy.[v]

    This critical discussion has unfolded over the course of several decades and has in recent years come to something of a head. Karen Ng’s new book, Hegel’s Concept of Life: Self-Consciousness, Freedom, Logic is the latest installment in the debate over Hegel’s naturalism and an important contribution to the ongoing “analytic” reassessment of Idealism in general and of Hegel’s Science of Logic in particular. The key claim of Hegel’s Concept of Life is that the idealist project of articulating the a priori conditions of action and experience remains radically incomplete “without a systematic accounting of life’s essential and constitutive role” in cognition (4). Ng is not alone here; other thinkers have recently defended the centrality of life to Hegel’s project, including Terry Pinkard, James Kreines, and Thomas Khurana, in addition to Bernstein and McDowell. An important neo-Aristotelean strand of Idealism scholarship has also exhibited a preoccupation with the question of life, as illustrated by the work of Michael Thompson and Robert Stern. But Ng takes her account to be distinguished by its singular focus on the systematic implications of Hegel’s logical concept of life, which is meant to specify—in a Kantian vein—a fundamental condition for the intelligibility of objects as well as of reason itself. Indeed, the most prominent refrain throughout the book is the claim that “life opens up the possibility of intelligibility as such” and that “life opens up the space of reasons itself” (7, 10).

    In the tradition of McDowell and others, Ng’s book turns to the concept of life to overcome the limitations of the strand of Hegel scholarship often associated with Pippin’s path-breaking work from 1989, Hegel’s Idealism, which reads Hegel in terms of his inheritance of Kant’s account of self-consciousness in the first Critique. While Ng does bring into view some essential components of a possible solution to problems raised by Pippin’s account, her work also exhibits some of the major pitfalls of a new naturalism. At the same time, Ng’s program should be starkly contrasted with the critique of Pippin’s work undertaken by thinkers like Slavoj Žižek and Adrian Johnston, who have sought to downplay claims about the priority of Hegel’s Science of Logic within the Encyclopedia (his system) and have defended a Schelling-inspired materialism against the “rationalism” of analytic Hegelianism, often in the name of a radical politics.[vi] Ng defends the priority of the Logic and is critical of the later Schelling—with a Marx-informed critical theory as the ultimate horizon of her philosophical endeavors.[vii]

    Hegel’s Concept of Life is a lucid, meticulously researched work that uncovers neglected yet deeply consequential aspects of Hegel’s thought, from his critique of Fichte’s underdetermination of the “objective” dimension of subjectivity to the explosive role played by the concept of life in the Logic. Divided into two parts, the book comprises three chapters on the concept of purposiveness in Kant and Hegel and five chapters on the “purposiveness of thinking” in the Logic. The work demonstrates a mastery over a broad swath of idealism scholarship and is positioned in relation to several contemporary debates, key among them the debate over the way in which Hegel inherits the Kantian project. This is both where Ng’s book makes its most important contribution and where—in certain crucial respects—it comes up short. As I will argue below, Ng’s own solution to the problem of subjective idealism fails to adequately address Hegel’s renovation of Kant’s understanding of self-consciousness and his famous Transcendental Deduction, which creates significant problems for her account as a whole.

    Ng announces early on her intention to displace what she calls “the apperception view” (13), a reading of Hegel she identifies with the work of Pippin, McDowell, and Brandom. This is already a somewhat problematic move, both because of the major disagreement between McDowell, on the one side, and Pippin and Brandom, on the other, over the naturalism question and because of significant differences between all three regarding the apperception issue itself.[viii] It is also worth noting that Ng does not engage with McDowell’s extensive discussions of the basis of reason in the activity of life, in the chapters on Aristotle in Mind and World but also in “Two Sorts of Naturalism” in Mind, Value, and Reality.[ix] Ng subsumes McDowell under the “Pippin reading,” frequently citing his famous claim regarding the “unboundedness of the conceptual” in Mind and World, but she ignores the naturalist argument—fervently contested by other proponents of the so-called “apperception view”[x]—that underlies McDowell’s notion of conceptuality. Drawing on Aristotle, McDowell works to overcome the idea that the spontaneity of thought is unconstrained by empirical reality and thus entails the “frictionless spinning” of our concepts. Against this view, he argues that reason is not a non-natural faculty operating separately from the perceptual capacities we share with other animals; rather, the true difference lies in that our sensible faculties themselves bear a rational, conceptual form.[xi]

    The differences just alluded to are levelled by Ng’s notion of the apperception view. Nevertheless, in broad strokes, this view holds that the crux of Hegel’s idealism lies in his attempt to fulfill the promise of the B-Deduction of Kant’s first Critique. That promise, so the claim goes, was to demonstrate that “the synthetic unity of apperception” is the original source of unity for both concept and intuition, understanding and sensibility. In the Deduction, Kant had shown that the pure categories of the understanding confer conceptual unity on the content delivered by the pure forms of intuition, space and time. What Kant calls “transcendental logic” is not an account of the formal rules of thinking regardless of the content (what he calls “general logic”) but an account of “the rules of the pure thought of an object.”[xii] Kant establishes that the unity of the content of experience is a function of the self-conscious or “apperceptive” application of the categories in judgment, the basic unit of thought in Kant’s account. Pure concepts or categories are not heuristic devices or rules of thumb that one can choose to follow or not; they are rather rules that we give to ourselves just in judging anything to be the case. The categories determine how we must judge if experience is to be intelligible.

    According to Pippin (and McDowell), Hegel radicalizes Kant’s position by arguing that there is no non-conceptual, species-specific form of intuition (space and time) that constrains the categories constitutive of knowledge; that self-consciousness alone determines the categorial conditions for the possibility of objects of experience. The conceptual is thus “unbounded” and does not “fall short” of “things in themselves”[xiii]; it is not limited by or relegated to the brute fact of “our” forms of intuition. Hegel’s Science of Logic thus does not need what Kant calls the “Transcendental Deduction,” whose aim was to demonstrate the applicability of the pure categories to the forms of intuition. All that is required is a “Metaphysical Deduction,” a derivation of the pure categories themselves. Hegel’s Science of Logic just is such an expanded metaphysical deduction, the determination by pure thought of the concepts required for determining a possible object—not just “for us” but as such, for any possible knower.

    On Ng’s view, the approach of the Pippin camp overestimates the significance of Kant’s Deduction argument and yields a “subjective idealism”—that is, a “prison-house” view of categoriality that cannot make contact with the empirical world (13). For reasons that will become apparent, I think this is a faulty objection, but Ng’s second criticism of the apperception view—which pursues a line of argument first developed by Bernstein and McDowell—is closer to the mark. Thinkers like Pippin and Brandom “affirm self-consciousness’s beginnings in life while stripping life of any positive explanatory force in the theoretical and practical activities of self-determining reason” (Ibid). For example, in Brandom’s influential reading of the master/slave dialectic, he claims that part of what is demonstrated by the “struggle to the death” over the desire for recognition is that “the life one risks is not an essential element of the self one is thereby constituting, while that for which one risks it [a position of recognized authority] is.”[xiv] Brandom’s approach must ignore Hegel’s own claim that “self-consciousness learns that life is as essential to it as is pure self-consciousness,”[xv] but it also renders inexplicable the relationship between sensibility and rationality, desire and freedom, nature and spirit. As Ng will proceed to argue, in a systematic manner virtually unparalleled in contemporary Hegel scholarship, self-consciousness has its ground in the category of life, without which the categories of reason, spirit, and self-consciousness would lack content, a determinate relation to the world.

    In contrast to the apperception view, Ng aims to demonstrate the outsized influence of Kant’s third Critique on Hegel’s project, arguing that the key to the Logic is Hegel’s appropriation of Kant’s category of “inner purposiveness,” which was employed in the third Critique in two key ways. First, Kant tried to show that the account of judgment in the first Critique was radically incomplete and troubled by a lingering problem of “cognitive fit” (45-6). In other words, Kant had not shown that nature actually exhibited the unity and regularity that the pure categories of the understanding were supposed to impose, leaving room for the possibility of what Ng calls “empirical chaos,” following Henry Allison (32). The category of substance may empower us to judge the unity of an object with properties persisting in time, but it is not able to grasp that object as a member of a species, as living or as non-living, and so on. In the third Critique, judgment assigns itself a new principle—the principle of purposiveness—in order to guide the formation of empirical concepts and the pursuit of scientific knowledge, which must presuppose the systematic unity of nature.

    Second, the principle of purposiveness licensed the distinction between law-governed, mechanical processes and the sorts of activities characteristic of living beings. This marked what Hegel refers to as “one of Kant’s great services to philosophy,”[xvi] his formulation and revival of the Aristotelian idea of inner purposiveness. Whereas the use of trees to make paper gives them an “external purpose,” relative to our ends, plants have the specific parts that they do (limbs, leaves, roots) and behave in specific ways (heliotropism, photosynthesis) in order to satisfy the “inner purpose” of their own self-reproduction (and the reproduction of their kind). A tree with a “sick” limb or dried up roots is deficient not by any external lights but by its own lights, in accord with its own purpose of maintaining itself. For a tree to be a tree, it must act to satisfy its purpose, “actualizing” its species-concept (Gattung), which furnishes a normative standard prescribing how individual trees ought to be. According to this Aristotelian conception of “actuality” (energeia), for something to be actual is for it to act in accord with its concept, to fulfill the potential (dynamis) its matter embodies.[xvii]

    Yet on Kant’s picture, purposiveness is merely a “regulative” rather than “constitutive” principle—a principle that judgment “heautonomously” requires of itself for scientific inquiry but that it does not “autonomously” give to nature as a principle genuinely constitutive of the objects of experience (47). Following Allison, on whom Ng relies extensively in the book’s early chapters, she argues that this distinction does not really hold up under scrutiny, that the “as if” character of regulative judgments itself seems to commit one to “the thought that nature is purposively constituted such that teleological explanations are satisfactory” (59). And it is precisely here where Hegel will seek to rescue Kant from himself, by showing that purposiveness is not just a regulative principle with merely subjective validity but a principle with actual purchase on objectivity. Ng emphasizes that Hegel is posing the “quid juris” question of our right to employ the concept of life and that he overcomes Kant’s subjectivism by showing that life is the “objective context in which subjects, objects, and their relationship come to have meaning at all” (7). There is little question that this is what Hegel is trying to do. The issue is how Hegel achieves such an overcoming of Kant.

    In developing the thesis of life’s constitutive role in cognition, Ng is careful to defend Hegel against the charge that he is a hylozoist who believes that all matter is living, that nature is one big organism or world-soul, and that all judgments are teleological judgments premised on the idea that everything has a purpose. As Ng makes clear, Hegel does not hold such views: the Science of Logic “eschews making substantial claims about the construction of matter” and is rather concerned with “a theory of conceptual form and activity” (63). Indeed, Hegel takes there to be and argues for a necessary distinction between mechanical/chemical, biological/organic, and rational/spiritual modes of being. Not everything in the world is living, but the inanimateness of the world is only intelligible from the standpoint of life—of living beings for whom the distinction between the living and the non-living, between the mechanical and the teleological, matters (226). It matters to the snake, for example, that it be distinct from its environment, that it not be just another inert thing. It strives to resist the mechanical and chemical process of decomposition, which threatens to reduce it to dust.

    As I have noted, Ng’s books aims to show that Hegel solves the problem of subjective idealism by virtue of the category of life. Yet what I want to begin to highlight here is that Ng’s approach leaves unanswered the question of how Hegel’s method of the derivation of such “constitutive” categories is distinct from Kant’s. Because of Ng’s denial of the centrality of Hegel’s take on the “deduction” issue (13), she misses an essential aspect of Hegel’s solution to the general problem of the subjectivism of the categories. As will become clear, Ng tends to treat life as a mediating category that ensures that cognition has content through its “living” contact with the empirical world. By contrast, on the interpretation of Hegel I want to defend, the Logic is concerned with the very intelligibility of a world as a world.[xviii] Life plays an essential role in this latter enterprise, but that role cannot be properly specified outside of an account of two key moves in Hegel: (1) Hegel’s overcoming of the Kantian distinction between transcendental and general logic, through which Hegel shows that there can be no coherent account of the pure forms of thought (general logic) that is not already an account of the pure forms of things (transcendental logic).[xix] And (2) Hegel’s radicalization of Kant’s strategy in the metaphysical deduction, whereby we do not just derive “our” “conceptual scheme” but the categorial form of being itself, in light of which any empirical being is in principle thinkable.[xx]

    In this context, it is also worth mentioning a problem on the level of rhetoric. Hegel calls the notion of inner purposiveness “one of Kant’s great services to philosophy [eines der großen Verdienste Kant um die Philosophie],”[xxi] whereas Ng repeatedly misquotes Hegel as saying that it is “Kant’s great service to philosophy” (6, 16, 260), going so far as to use the modified phrase as the title to chapter two. This is symptomatic of the general tendency towards one-sidedness in her study, its neglect of Hegel’s emphasis on Kant’s other great service: his articulation of the transcendental unity of apperception, which is the basis for the self-determination by thought of the necessary constraints on the thought of an object.[xxii] As the frequently cited passage reads: “It is one of the profoundest and truest insights to be found in the Critique of Reason that the unity which constitutes the essence of the concept is recognized as the original synthetic unity of apperception, the unity of the “I think,” or of self-consciousness.”[xxiii] A further consequence of Ng’s neglect of the structural significance of apperception—a consequence related to the inability of her Hegel to fully overcome subjective idealism—is that she cannot explain such claims as: “Every thought-determination of the Logic has revealed itself to be insufficient in some way […]. Very often in Hegel, these failures are couched in terms of one-sidedness, fixed dualisms, abstractions, or internal inconsistencies” (248). As we shall see, such inconsistencies are inconsistences internal to thinking, to which thought must be “apperceptively” responsive if it is to consistently think the thought of being—and ultimately the thought of thought itself.

    At the end of chapter two, Ng introduces one of her major interpretive theses, that Hegel’s notion of the “concept” is best understood in terms of the Kantian idea of inner purposiveness. In Kant, the categories are predicates of possible judgments, rules that prescribe how one ought to judge; they are necessary for the determination of any empirical content. By the concept, Hegel means to capture the general idea of such self-legislated normative constraints. The concept is thus Hegel’s theory of conceptuality. Ng’s claim is that inner purposiveness is constitutive of conceptual activity, that acting and believing in light of norms derives its self-determining character from the internally purposive structure of life (62). This claim is worked out in detail in the third chapter of the book, which is one of its best. Turning to Hegel’s Fichtekritik in his first published work, Ng highlights the Schellingian aspect of Hegel’s critique: while Fichte makes important progress by demonstrating the primacy of practical rationality and the irreducibility of the “self-positing” of the I, he conceives the natural, embodied self as merely subject to mechanical laws and thus—in Hegel’s words—as “dead” (88). As Ng shows, this results in a picture of the I as engaged in an “infinite” struggle to subsume its recalcitrant nature under the dictates of reason, undermining its purported autonomy. The Hegelian solution, in brief, which Hegel shares with the early Schelling, is to grasp the “objective subject-object” (life) as bearing a non-mechanical, internally purposive form and thus as being “speculatively identical” with the “subjective subject-object” (self-consciousness) (107). That is, reason is not something wholly heterogeneous to life but is a higher and freer actualization of the same self-organizing form. As I understand this claim, rational agents are constrained by the necessity of satisfying the internal purpose of self-maintenance, but the requirements that specify what counts as successful self-maintenance are, for beings like us, not simply given but must be recognized by us and are subject to change, giving rise to the complex historical dynamic for which Hegel’s philosophy is best known. This barely scratches the surface of this rich and suggestive chapter, which also contains an important and highly original account of Hegel’s appropriation of various Kantian transcendental strategies for his deduction of life prior to the Logic.

    Towards the end of part one, with the “apperception view” in her sights, Ng argues that Hegel answers the quid juris question of our entitlement to the concept of life “not by presenting life as a category among others in a metaphysical deduction” but by arguing that, without life, self-consciousness would itself remain unintelligible (111). While this is intended as a characterization of Hegel’s method in the Phenomenology, it also applies to Ng’s understanding of Hegel’s task in the Logic. As she further clarifies in Chapter 4 (an illuminating account of the engagements with Kant and Spinoza in the Logic of Essence), Hegel attempts “to provide, in the logical context, a series of arguments for the constitutive character of inner purposiveness for any account of self-conscious conceptual activity whereby determinations of thinking have the power to determine actuality” (126). Chapter 4 traces the transition from the Logic of Essence to the Logic of the Concept, showing how Hegel derives the standpoint of subjectivity—of which life is the first, immediate form—through a development of the concept of “actuality,” glossed earlier in terms of Aristotle’s notion of energeia. Through a demonstration of the emptiness of Spinoza’s conception of substance as the necessary cause of all finite things (137-8), Ng’s Hegel defends a version of what Paul Redding has called “modal actualism” (Redding 2017), the view that possibility and necessity are constrained by what is actually the case. (Kant’s theory of pure intuitions is also “actualist” in this sense, insofar as they are meant to limit the application of the pure categories to reality.) Contrary to widely held views about Hegel’s position, he establishes in the Logic of Essence the “necessity of contingency,” which grounds the idea of real rather than merely logical possibility: it is logically possible (it does not violate the law of non-contradiction) that the moon might be made of cheese, but it is not really possible—the contingent conditions are not in place for such a possibility to be actualized (145).

    Yet actuality remains “blind,” in Hegel’s words, reducible to mechanical necessity, without the notion of purposive self-actualization. Ng’s illuminating example is of a musician whose father’s death prompted him to cultivate his musical talent; his father in turn was shot and killed in a war. Does that mean that the bullet that killed the musician’s father was the cause of his musical career? The potential endlessness of such explanations—what about the causes that led to the bullet’s production?—reflects their unsatisfying nature. They point to the need for an internal explanatory principle, whereby the son can be grasped as determining for himself that music was worth taking up and pursuing (154-55). In holding himself to such a principle (in valuing himself under the description of the “practical identity” of musician, to borrow Korsgaard’s phrase),[xxiv] the son becomes subject to a norm, a criterion of success and failure, in light of which he must discriminate between what he ought and ought not do as a musician. Likewise, it can thus be asked whether he is “actually” a musician, whether he is not just pretending, perhaps acting on his father’s wishes, or just temporarily sublimating his grief. It is “actuality” in this sense of purposive striving that secures the determinacy of objectivity in Hegel’s account, constituting things as the distinct things that they are and furnishing a truly satisfying—that is, internal and self-determined—principle of explanation.

    Note that this does not mean that all things are “actual” in this sense. An inanimate entity like the moon does not have an internal purpose; to explain its constitution and its orbital activity, we must make reference to natural laws. It is thus subject to a lower explanatory principle, mechanism, which depends for its intelligibility on the activity of self-actualizing living beings, which distinguish themselves a priori from inert matter, just in striving to be what they are (155-56). While Ng does not make the point in this way, one can say that there are three fundamental principles of explanation, which pure thought requires of itself in judging anything to be the case: (1) laws, which govern the constitution of the inanimate; (2) purposes, which govern the self-constitution of the animate; and (3) reasons, which govern the self-legislating activity of the rationally alive. The progressive adequacy of such principles lies in their ability to render intelligible each prior criterion of explanation, with reason itself grounding the very idea of explanatory principles by virtue of its recognition that it alone is the source of their normative authority.[xxv]

    At the end of the Logic of Essence, however, we do not yet have an account of the dynamic of such self-actualization, which necessitates the transition to the Logic of the Concept. Over the remaining three chapters of Hegel’s Concept of Life, Ng develops an account of life as the “immediate form of the Idea,” Hegel’s term of art for the unity of concept and reality in self-determining activity. The Idea is meant to grasp Hegel’s notion of “immanent universals,” the species-concepts in light of which living beings constitute themselves as the kinds of beings they are. To return to my earlier example of plant life, the concept of a succulent is not just an organizing category for taxonomic purposes but a principle of self-organization for certain types of plants.[xxvi] As Ng argues, life is to be understood as the “original judgment” or activity of rendering intelligible (171, 259), since living beings must distinguish between what is worth pursuing and what ought to be avoided, what counts as pleasurable and what counts as painful. They thus posit a distinction between themselves and their external environment and a distinction between themselves and their species-concept, which they must constitutively strive to fulfill.

    On Ng’s account, this notion of a distinction internal to the living being is Hegel’s way of inheriting Hölderlin’s famous claim that judgment (Urteil) is the “original division” (Ur-Teil); as Hegel himself puts it, “Judgment is the self-diremption of the concept.” Whereas in Hölderlin judgment is the original division between subject and object that renders being in itself permanently inaccessible, Ng’s Hegel dispenses with the prelapsarian notion of unscathed being and understands the originary division in terms of life (168), which constitutes the immediate form of a meaningful responsiveness to reality, opening up the very space of determinate being. As Ng points out in a footnote (171n9), this interpretation diverges from that of Dieter Henrich, who claims in his path-breaking account of Hölderlin’s influence on Hegel that Hölderlinian being is replaced by Hegel not with life but with spirit (Geist).[xxvii] This again raises the key difficulty of Hegel’s method of deriving the categories: if the judgment enacted by living beings is itself only intelligible as such from the higher standpoint of self-conscious knowing, can it truly be said that life has explanatory priority over Geist in deducing the concept of full-blooded being?

    Nevertheless, Ng proceeds to argue that it is because life is distinct from and “lie[s] outside cognition” that it secures cognition’s determinate, contentful relation to empirical reality (258, 257). There are three necessary constraints on the idea of life. First, life must always be embodied in a living individual, which can feel irritated or excited by external stimuli on the basis of its purpose of self-reproduction. Second, life must consist in the metabolic activity of consuming and assimilating an external environment on which the living individual is inherently dependent. Third, life must always exemplify a genus (Gattung), which dictates how the embodied individual is to live (the life of a wolf is distinct from that of an elephant) and what would count as successful reproduction. It is because the species-category (Gattung) constitutive of living individuals cannot be grasped from the standpoint of life (living beings are not conscious of their species membership) that the transition to “Knowing” is required. This final category in the Logic actualizes the three constraints on life (Corporeality, Externality, and the Genus, as Ng enumerates them) in a distinctly self-conscious—social, historical, recognitive—form. “This self-conscious reflexivity transforms the determination of life,” Ng writes, “but it does not eliminate its distinctive contribution as the immediate schema of any possible unity of Concept and objectivity” (277). Knowing is grasped as the fundamental condition for rendering intelligible the idea of “intelligibility” itself, but it does not “leave nature behind,” to cite Pippin.[xxviii]

    Ng’s account of life as “original judgment” is a real contribution to our understanding of Hegel and should be carefully studied by students of the Science of Logic (and, I would argue, those interested in the issue of life in Marx). But tendentious readings of proponents of the “apperception view” as well as fundamental ambiguities in her own formulations regarding the “deduction” issue mar her approach. On the first point, Ng often greatly overplays her differences with Pippin in particular, as in a footnote early on in the book in which she takes remarks by Pippin out of context to obscure his own acknowledgment of the indispensability of Kant’s account of “reflecting judgment” in the third Critique (5). Pippin has long emphasized that the theory of judgment provided in the first Critique is insufficient, that the crucial move made in Kant’s later work is his demonstration of the necessity of a non-subsumptive, reflective form of judgment oriented by the “particular.”[xxix]

    Such moments not only weaken Ng’s argument on a rhetorical level; they are symptomatic of a more substantive difficulty: her contention that life lies “outside cognition” and is irreducible to acts of apperceptive judgment. Ng suggests that the addition of the category of life is what prevents Hegel’s “metaphysical deduction” from entailing subjective idealism, but this misses Hegel’s fundamental renovation of the Kantian notion of deduction, which now consists in the self-determination by thought of what would count as an intelligible conception of being. The apperceptive nature of any thinking lies in its minimal responsiveness to the demand for reasons: in writing this review, I take myself to be writing it as reviews ought to be written and am on that basis susceptible to mistakenness, open to the potential need for self-correction. In brief, this notion of self-conscious judgment accounts for the peculiar dynamic at the heart of the Logic. In resolving to think the thought of anything at all, pure thought tasks itself with thinking being as it ought to be thought and with thinking thought itself—the capacity for making sense of being—in its intelligibility.[xxx] To try, for example, to think of the object of thought solely under the rubric of “quantity,” as if judgments of magnitude were sufficient to account for the being or determinacy of objects, results in the “apperceptive” recognition that quantitative predicates are unable to specify what they are quantities of.[xxxi] This necessitates the legislation by thought of the new category of “measure,” which is a self-defeating attempt in its own right to grasp quality and quantity as co-constitutive. Thought thus determines for itself not just what “we” must think but a genuine requirement on being itself, in its potential knowability: objects cannot be—because not intelligible as—mere collections of magnitudes or quanta.

    As Hegel remarks, Kant had already attempted to “turn metaphysics [the forms of being] into logic [the forms of thought], but [he] gave to the logical determinations an essentially subjective significance out of fear of the object.”[xxxii] Hegel makes clear that his own approach to the deduction will lie in the self-development of “pure self-consciousness,” its determination of the pure categories constitutive of any possible judgment and of any possible object of judgment. As he puts the point against Kant:

    If there was to be a real progress in philosophy, it was necessary that the interest of thought should be drawn to the consideration of the formal side, of the ‘I,’ of consciousness as such, that is, of the abstract reference of a subjective awareness to an object, and that in this way that path should be opened for the cognition of the infinite form, that is, of the concept. Yet, in order to arrive at this cognition, the finite determinateness in which that form is as ‘I,’ as consciousness, must be shed. The form, when thought out in its purity, will then have within itself the capacity to determine itself, that is, to give itself a content, and to give it as a necessary content—as a system   of thought-determinations.[xxxiii]

    What Hegel means here by the “abstract reference of a subjective awareness” is a formalized notion of consciousness, “pure thinking,” abstracted from any notion of experience. At issue is not the consciousness of the Phenomenology, confronted by an external object, but the very concept of a possible object, “pure being.” Hegel is giving an account of the form of any possible empirical act of knowing as well as the pure form of the object of any such act. Thinking in the context of the Logic has itself as its object and thus the determinations of any possible thinking as its content. In the end, thought has its own self-determining form as its content, the thought of pure thought itself.

    We are in deep woods here, but the basic point against Ng is clear: throughout her book, she argues that the purposive drive of thought towards its own self-comprehension is a product of its “living” nature, which is itself understood to be irreducible to thought (120). In a recent review of Pippin’s book, Ng claims that since “intelligibility rests on immanent species-concepts actualized in things in themselves as a ‘foundation,’ this would appear to be independent of any acts of apperceptive judgment.”[xxxiv] But in the passage cited above and elsewhere in the Logic, Hegel argues that at each moment in the text, self-consciousness is giving a progressively more explicit account of itself. That is, even the concept of life, in its three distinct moments, is a self-specification by thought of the activity of thinking. In this sense, life both is and is not a thought-determination like the others. It is in the sense that life is self-legislated by thought. If the category of life were not a product of the apperceptive unity of thought, it would be hard to understand how it relates to the text as a whole, as the “science of pure thought.”[xxxv] Life does not lie “outside” cognition but is the first attempt by thought to grasp the condition of any act of cognition.

    By the same token, life is not like the other thought-determinations in that it is an explicit attempt to specify what it means to be a sense-maker, in the sense that Pippin misses and in the sense that Ng defends. In Hegel’s Realm of Shadows, Pippin shows that Hegel entitles himself to—does not just arrogate—a “constitutive” rather than merely regulative category of life: Hegel argues against the Kantian idea that pure concepts are “empty” by showing that “pure thinking’s determination of the necessary moments of possible conceptual determinacy are just thereby a specification of objects in their knowability.”[xxxvi] Nevertheless, Pippin tends to treat life as a possible object of judgment rather than as an initial specification of its active, objective form. In a response to Ng’s contribution to a symposium on Realm of Shadows, Pippin raises the worry that such an approach would render “the results of the logic species-specific and so provincial,” while also noting the “obviousness” of the fact that “any thinker must be alive to be thinking.”[xxxvii] Yet what Pippin merely takes for granted (the “fact” of any thinker’s living nature) is a categorial constraint on the form of subjectivity that his own reading of the Logic enables us to properly ground. While Ng does promote the unfortunate idea that Hegel is advancing a “formal anthropology,”[xxxviii] there is another way to understand the “life of thought,” made possible by Pippin’s conception of logic as metaphysics. For Hegel, thought is not an anthropological idiosyncrasy, an accident of Homo sapiens, nor is life a mere accident of thinking beings. As Hegel writes, “The fact that [the subject] is a living being is not contingent but in accordance with reason.”[xxxix] Accordingly, it is not that thought is necessarily restricted to some one species. There could or could not be other species of rational animals, whether in this galaxy or in another one, whether in the past or in the future. The point, however, is that thinking must be the activity of a living being to be thinking, in any possible universe. The logical category of life is both given to thought by itself (through apperceptive awareness of what further thought-determinations are required by the failure of the prior categories of the Logic) and can be understood to grasp a “proto” or “immediate” form of what, at the highest level, will be living, embodied apperceptive spontaneity. Life is the proto-form of apperceptive spontaneity and rational agency is self-conscious life.

    Ng attempts to tie everything together by pursuing a reading of Hegel’s notion of the Idea in terms of her earlier account of the Differenzschrift. In many ways, this is a productive strategy, but in at least one crucial respect, it is radically distorting. Ng draws on a pivotal remark from Faith and Knowledge in which Hegel suggests that the forms of intuition in the B-Deduction of the first Critique are already synthetic unities produced by apperceptive spontaneity. “From this passage,” Ng writes, “it is usually inferred that Hegel therefore does away with an intuition theory altogether and concentrates instead on a theory of thought’s autonomous self-determination” (251). Ng goes on to argue—against this Pippinian approach—that Hegel does develop an intuition theory, under the rubric of “life.” Yet this is precisely where Ng’s reliance on the Differenzschrift leads her astray: the Science of Logic as a whole is Hegel’s “intuition theory,” insofar as it is an attempt to grasp the form of any possible intuitive or empirical content, a “this-such” (an individualized, context-dependent token of a type).

    We can thus identify the fundamental problem with Ng’s overall argument. Life as a category cannot alone resolve the “subjective idealism” problem without a deduction of the status of categoriality in general. Without the renovated account of Kant’s Deduction, Ng’s emphasis on life as a category simply kicks the problem “down” a level: why would life on its own be any better equipped to guarantee the objective purport of the categories, including the category of life itself? This is what is at stake in Pippin’s thesis—argued for at length in his recent work, Hegel’s Realm of Shadows—that logic and metaphysics are shown to “coincide” in the Logic. That is, Hegel’s logic (the science of pure thought) articulates a consistent metaphysics, the science of pure being. Life plays a crucial role in specifying the basic form of purposive responsiveness to empirical reality, but it does so as part of the broader attempt to grasp being in its intelligibility.

    The systematic significance of Ng’s neglect of Hegel’s appropriation of the apperception thesis can be seen in her discussions of the transitions in the Logic. One example of how this plays out is Ng’s discussion of mechanism, chemism, and teleology, which comprise Hegel’s account of “objectivity” within the subjective Logic. Ng argues that we can understand the movement from mechanism to teleology and ultimately to life in light of life’s capacity for self-determination: mechanism, for example, is a “violent” external determination of the object by a law rather than a self-determination on the basis of an inner purpose (229-230). The problem with this interpretive tact is that it presupposes the category of life, rather than showing how mechanism, for example, fails on its own terms. Mechanism fails not because it is not yet life but because lawfulness is unable to adequately specify objects in their determinate individuality. As Hegel himself puts it, in his inimitable way, mechanism “does not have the objects themselves for its determinate difference; these are […] non-individual, external objects.[xl] Life not only grounds the activity of “rendering intelligible” but also fulfills (or begins to fulfill) the demand for an account of being in its intelligibility. Because Ng neglects or greatly downplays the status of the Logic as the “science of pure thought,” she is forced to derive a criterion for the inadequacy of the paradigms of objectivity from a later point in the text—a decidedly un-Hegelian procedure.

    Ng’s belief in the recalcitrance of life to thought has consequences for her understanding of the status of the Logic, its transitions, and perhaps most importantly, the account in Hegel’s text of the form of rational action. In the otherwise excellent sixth chapter, which rigorously reconstructs the Concept-Judgment-Syllogism sequence in the “Subjectivity” chapter, Ng follows Paul Redding in arguing that Hegel is committed to a “weak inferentialism”—a counter-position to Brandom’s “strong inferentialism” that holds that the role judgments play in inferences is not sufficient to account for the determinacy of their content (189). For Ng/Redding, this is an aspect of Hegel’s inheritance of the Kantian notion of reflecting judgment, a form of judgment indexed to its particular perceptual, experiential context. The “original judgments” made by living beings about what ought to be done under certain environmental conditions for the sake of their self-maintenance are judgments of precisely this sort. What it means to be a good friend here and now is situation-dependent, cannot be deduced from a general rule, and is thus a matter of “objective judgment” rather than syllogistic inference (240). By the same token, Ng does invoke Aristotle’s notion of the practical syllogism to explain the operation of the species-concept (Gattung) in the context of rational life. The major premises in practical syllogisms constitute the “inner purposes” of rational animals: I am your friend; friends go to their friend’s piano recital; I attend your recital (239). I satisfy my purpose of being a friend in attending the recital and thus constitute myself as the kind of rational being I am.

    Ng’s account of the logical form of inner purposiveness in terms of Aristotle’s practical syllogism is exactly right, but in her attempt to assert the priority of judgment over syllogism, her account falters. She helpfully invokes John McDowell’s “uncodifiability thesis” (the idea that judgments about what to do in concrete situations cannot be codified as universal principles),[xli] but she draws the wrong lesson from his argument. She writes that concrete situations “render the practical syllogism superfluous” because “self-determining, internally purposive activity cannot be reduced to being the conclusion of a sound practical syllogism” (241). Yet this misses the way the practical syllogism is distinct from theoretical syllogism, as underscored by McDowell and others (Wiggins and Nussbaum both come to mind).[xlii] It is rather that the practical syllogism is itself not reducible to the deductive theoretical model, insofar as its minor premise (“friends go to their friend’s piano recital”) is always a matter of what shows up as worth doing or avoiding in a concrete situation. The practical syllogism cannot be rendered superfluous because it is the very form of rational activity—what renders such activity intelligible as the distinctly intentional, reason-responsive activity that it is. This is why Hegel writes that “the connection of purpose is therefore more than judgment; it is the syllogism of the self-subsistent free concept that through objectivity unites itself with itself in conclusion.”[xliii] Practical syllogisms result not in “sound conclusions” (thoughts about what to do) but in actions themselves, which embody the syllogism as a whole. Moreover, as thinkers like Brandom have argued, the content of the concept of friendship is dependent on its use: each “objective judgment” about how to be a good friend inflects and transforms the concept of friendship, constituting it anew for future agents.[xliv] Ng’s understanding of the practical syllogism as a superfluous form used to retrospectively make sense of or to explicitly formulate practical purposes reflects her view that the category of life secures thought’s determinate relation to the empirical world as well as her hard separation of cognition from life. In contrast to Ng’s view that the practical syllogism is epiphenomenal, Hegel’s point is that the practical syllogism is what allows the objective judgment of life to become fully articulate, to come into its own.

    One might ask what the broader stakes are of an intervention that unfolds at such a high level of abstraction—indeed, the highest level of abstraction. One key “concrete” implication of her approach can be seen in her recent article, “Ideology Critique from Hegel and Marx to Critical Theory.” Ng draws heavily in the piece on her account of the Idea in the Science of Logic, which is held to provide a universal criterion for assessing ideologies as reason become unreason, “social pathologies, wrong ways of living” (393). She shows that in the conclusion to the Logic, “Hegel transforms the critique of reason into a critique of rational forms of life,” arguing that reason has empowered itself to reflexively examine its own collective and historical activities (396). Drawing on the three aspects of life delineated above (corporeality, externality, and the genus) and Axel Honneth’s idea of a “formal anthropology,” Ng develops an account of Marx’s notion of species-being as “providing formal, anthropologically rooted conditions of self-actualization that are subject to historical variation and yet substantial enough to help us identify social pathologies” (398). For instance, one of the three aspects of the anthropology she provides is the formal condition of “embodiment” (corporeality in the terms of the book), which is thought to provide “the basis for critiquing and assessing ideological distortions of practices surrounding health, for example, the commodification of health care” (402).

    Yet the problem with adopting embodiment as a critical criterion is that it establishes an ahistorical standard of “health,” against which historical “pathologies” like commodification are measured. This is a direct result of Ng’s claim that life lies “beyond cognition” in her reading of the Logic. If the commodification of health care is a form of suffering, it is not because it runs athwart the formal category of embodiment, but rather because commodified health care fails to fulfill its own promise, cannot adequately provide the care that it purports to provide, a historically novel need whose fulfillment we now recognize as essential. This marks the contradiction of a historical form of health, not a deficiency according to an anthropological criterion. Embodiment is a formal condition of the historical unfolding of rational life. But as such, it is too thin a category to function as a critical yardstick. Indeed, throughout history, embodiment has itself often been considered a sickness or stain, a condition to be overcome, as in Novalis, the model for the “beautiful soul” in the Phenomenology: “Life is a disease of the spirit.” As we learn from Hegel, embodiment is a logical constraint that pure reason must give to itself—not an anthropological given it simply discovers. Accordingly, while a truly free form of life would recognize the embodied nature of spirit as a positive condition rather than as a negative restriction, what counts as successful embodiment, as sickness versus health, is determined by us, on the basis of collective self-legislation.

    What is needed, consequently, is not a formal anthropology (as Ng claims), but a speculative account of the formal conditions for the possibility of a critical theory. And to be fair, Ng takes us a long way in the right direction. Hegel’s Concept of Life is a valuable work of Hegel scholarship, contributing in major ways to our understanding of the Logic of the Concept and to many other aspects of Hegel’s text. It breathes new life into what is arguably Hegel’s most important work, whose radical ambition is to bring reason to consciousness of its own status as living. It is crucial, however, to keep in view Hegel’s radical renovation of Kant’s deduction, if we are to truly have a chance of achieving the holy grail of an absolute idealism. We must not forget either of Kant’s two greatest services to philosophy: the concept of life (inner purposiveness) and the original synthetic unity of apperception.

    _____

    Jensen Suther is a PhD candidate in Comparative Literature at Yale University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in a range of academic publications, including Modernism/modernity and The Review of Metaphysics. 

    Back to the essay

    _____

    Notes

    [i] See Marx (1970) and Adorno 2004, 23.

    [ii] For the clearest statement of Schelling’s position, see Schelling 2008, 134-163. In Heidegger (1988), the issue is framed primarily in terms of Hegel’s prioritization of subjectivity over time, in contrast to Heidegger’s prioritization of time over subjectivity. For Foucault’s claim that we should “free ourselves from Hegel,” see Foucault (1998).

    [iii] See Comay (2013).

    [iv] McDowell 2000, 65.

    [v] See the magisterial chapter “To Be Is to Live, to Be Is to Be Recognized” in Bernstein (2015); for a more sustained critique of Pippin, see Bernstein (2017).

    [vi] For a recent critique of Pippin and Robert Brandom, see Žižek (2015). While I am sympathetic to Žižek’s critique of Pippin’s “transcendental dualism,” I think his own proposed solution—a Schellingean naturalism—is anti-Hegelian and serves to undermine the principle of freedom on which German Idealism—and ultimately Marxism—is founded. See also Johnston (2018). For Pippin’s response to Žižek, see Pippin (2012); for his response to Johnston, see Pippin (2018c).

    [vii] See Ng’s article—discussed below—on the implications of Hegel’s logic of the “Idea” for ideology critique, Ng (2015).

    [viii] For a concise enumeration of those differences, see Pippin (2018b).

    [ix] There is one minor exception to this. While Ng does engage with McDowell’s arguments about the practical syllogism (see the discussion below) as well as with his conception of the “deductive impotence” of the Aristotelian categorical in the case of rational animals, the only allusion in her book to his distinctly naturalistic understanding of self-consciousness is in a short footnote just a few pages before the end (277n47).

    [x] See Pippin (2007).

    [xi] One difficulty with McDowell’s account is that some of his formulations suggest that we are born “mere animals” and become rational animals through initiation into a language; see McDowell 2000, 125. If human children are merely animals, what renders their motivations and desires—as distinct from those of non-human animals—susceptible to being shaped by reason? For McDowell’s view to be coherent, he would have to acknowledge that human animals are born with a distinctly rational form of the power of self-maintenance, which is not, therefore, first obtained but only fully actualized in adulthood. For my own account of the actualization of the structure of self-maintenance by rational animals, see Suther (2020).

    [xii] See Kant 1998, A55/B80.

    [xiii] See McDowell (2000).

    [xiv] See Brandom 2007, 130. See also Brandom’s comment regarding the prospects of analytic philosophy: “My hope is that by slighting the similarities to animals which preoccupied Locke and Hume and highlighting the possibilities opened up by engaging in social practices of giving and asking for reasons, we will get closer to an account of being human that does justice to the kinds of consciousness and self-consciousness distinctive of us as cultural, and not merely natural, creatures” (Brandom 2001, 35). Yet by ceding an account of our nature to Lockean and Humean thought, Brandom misses the Aristotelian account of nature that preoccupied Hegel. On that account, culture is not simply other than nature but is a distinctly rational form of the natural.

    [xv] See Hegel 2018, 112/§189. Not to mention Hegel’s further claim, in the Logic, that life is not simply “left behind” in the progression of categories. As he writes in the Encyclopedia, “The absolute idea is first the unity of the theoretical and practical and, by this means, at the same time the unity of the idea of life and the idea of knowing” (Hegel 2010a, 299/§236A).

    [xvi] See Hegel 2010b, 654/12.157. Translation modified.

    [xvii] For Aristotle’s development of the concept of energeia, see books VII-IX of Aristotle (2016). For an important book-length argument for the translation of energeia as “activity,” see Kosman (2013).

    [xviii] For a full defense of such a reading, see Suther (2020).

    [xix] Hegel links Kant’s distinction between transcendental and general logic to his subjectivism at Hegel 2010b, 40/21.46-7. It is crucial, however, to understand that Hegel is not simply running the two together and trying to derive things themselves from thought, as in the rationalist tradition. For an extended defense of Hegel against the rationalism charge, see chapter two of Pippin (2018a).

    [xx] Hegel calls his rewriting of the metaphysical deduction an “immanent deduction” of the concept, at Hegel 2010b, 514/12.16. Ng takes note of Hegel’s notion of an immanent deduction but reads it exclusively in terms of “his attempt to provide, in the logical context, a series of arguments for the constitutive character of inner purposiveness for any account of self-consciousness conceptual activity” (126). Yet this ignores Hegel’s vitally important claim that “the content and determination of the [concept]” have been provided on the basis of the deduction—that is, the determinate content of being itself.

    [xxi] See Hegel 2010b, 654/12.157. My emphasis.

    [xxii] Hegel uses this same phrase at Hegel 2010a, 245/§171 to refer to Kant’s partial satisfaction of the demand for “a totality determined by thinking” of the “various species of judgment.”

    [xxiii] See Hegel 2010b, 515/12.18.

    [xxiv] See Korsgaard 1996, 101.

    [xxv] See also Hegel 2010b, 675/12.175: “Finite things are finite because, and to the extent that, they do not possess the reality of their concept completely within them but are in need of other things for it—or, conversely, because they are presupposed as objects and consequently the concept is in them as an external determination.”

    [xxvi] See Hegel’s discussion of how the features of animals are not just “distinguishing marks” useful for subjective classification but “the vital point of animal individuality,” in Hegel 2010b, 717/12.219.

    [xxvii] See Henrich 2007, 132.

    [xxviii] This is the unfortunate, waggish title of Pippin’s first critique of McDowell, in Pippin (2005). To be fair, Hegel himself does sometimes talk this way: “[The being of spirit] is this motion of freeing itself from nature” (Hegel 1978, 93). Yet this must be understood, as Hegel explains in that context, in terms of an emancipation from given notions of “human nature” and from determination by natural necessity, rather than in terms of an emancipation from life, embodiment, finitude. Pippin would not deny spirit’s inseparability from nature, but he offers no positive account of what that inseparability (the nature of spirit’s “nature”) looks like and often just takes it for granted. In a word, spirit does not strive to leave nature behind but to render life activity fully free. Or as Hegel puts it: “The fact that [the subject] is a living being is not contingent but in accordance with reason, and to that extent [she] has a right to make [her] needs [her] end. There is nothing degrading about being alive, and we do not have the alternative of existing in a higher spirituality. It is only by raising what is present and given to a self-creating process that the higher sphere of the good is attained” (Hegel 1991, 151/§123A, my emphasis). That we have genus requirements is given; what those requirements are has been determined historically through violence and domination and—more recently—debate and negotiation; and why they are sustained is a matter of rational deliberation over what would constitute the good life, a flourishing world we could call our own.

    [xxix] See, for example, Pippin 1997, 140, for an earlier account of Hegel’s reliance on the Kantian notion of reflecting judgment. For a more recent account of the crucial role played by reflecting judgment in the Science of Logic, see Pippin 2018a, 290-91.

    [xxx] This is the reading of the Science of Logic defended in Pippin (2018a).

    [xxxi] Hegel 2010a, 168/§106A.

    [xxxii] Hegel 2010b, 30/21.35.

    [xxxiii] Ibid., 41-42/21.48.

    [xxxiv] See Ng 2020, 7.

    [xxxv] Hegel 2010b, 38/21.45.

    [xxxvi] Pippin 2018a, 289.

    [xxxvii] Pippin 2019, 1072.

    [xxxviii] Ng 2015, 401.

    [xxxix] Hegel 1991, 151/§123A.

    [xl] Hegel 2010b, 644/12.147.

    [xli] McDowell 2002, 65-69.

    [xlii] See Nussbaum (1985) and Wiggins (1998).

    [xliii] See Hegel 2010b, 656/12.159.

    [xliv] See Brandom 2002, 48: “What we actually do, perform, and produce affects the contents of the conceptual norms, and so what inferences and exclusions determine what we ought and ought not to do, perform, and produce.”

    _____

    Works Cited

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  • Zachary Loeb — Flamethrowers and Fire Extinguishers (Review of Jeff Orlowski, dir., The Social Dilemma)

    Zachary Loeb — Flamethrowers and Fire Extinguishers (Review of Jeff Orlowski, dir., The Social Dilemma)

    a review of Jeff Orlowski, dir., The Social Dilemma (Netflix/Exposure Labs/Argent Pictures, 2020)

    by Zachary Loeb

    ~

    The myth of technological and political and social inevitability is a powerful tranquilizer of the conscience. Its service is to remove responsibility from the shoulders of everyone who truly believes in it. But, in fact, there are actors!

    – Joseph Weizenbaum (1976)

    Why did you last look at your smartphone? Did you need to check the time? Was picking it up a conscious decision driven by the need to do something very particular, or were you just bored? Did you turn to your phone because its buzzing and ringing prompted you to pay attention to it? Regardless of the particular reasons, do you sometimes find yourself thinking that you are staring at your phone (or other computerized screens) more often than you truly want? And do you ever feel, even if you dare not speak this suspicion aloud, that your gadgets are manipulating you?

    The good news is that you aren’t just being paranoid, your gadgets were designed in such a way as to keep you constantly engaging with them. The bad news is that you aren’t just being paranoid, your gadgets were designed in such a way as to keep you constantly engaging with them. What’s more, on the bad news front, these devices (and the platforms they run) are constantly sucking up information on you and are now pushing and prodding you down particular paths. Furthermore, alas more bad news, these gadgets and platforms are not only wreaking havoc on your attention span they are also undermining the stability of your society. Nevertheless, even though there is ample cause to worry, the new film The Social Dilemma ultimately has good news for you: a collection of former tech-insiders is starting to speak out! Sure, many of these individuals are the exact people responsible for building the platforms that are currently causing so much havoc—but they meant well, they’re very sorry, and (did you hear?) they meant well.

    Directed by Jeff Orlowski, and released to Netflix in early September 2020, The Social Dilemma is a docudrama that claims to provide a unsparing portrait of what social media platforms have wrought. While the film is made up of a hodgepodge of elements, at the core of the work are a series of interviews with Silicon Valley alumni who are concerned with the direction in which their former companies are pushing the world. Most notable amongst these, the film’s central character to the extent it has one, is Tristan Harris (formerly a design ethicists at Google, and one of the cofounders of The Center for Humane Technology) who is not only repeatedly interviewed but is also shown testifying before the Senate and delivering a TED style address to a room filled with tech luminaries. This cast of remorseful insiders is bolstered by a smattering of academics, and non-profit leaders, who provide some additional context and theoretical heft to the insiders’ recollections. And beyond these interviews the film incorporates a fictional quasi-narrative element depicting the members of a family (particularly its three teenage children) as they navigate their Internet addled world—with this narrative providing the film an opportunity to strikingly dramatize how social media “works.”

    The Social Dilemma makes some important points about the way that social media works, and the insiders interviewed in the film bring a noteworthy perspective. Yet beyond the sad eyes, disturbing animations, and ominous music The Social Dilemma is a piece of manipulative filmmaking on par with the social media platforms it critiques. While presenting itself as a clear-eyed expose of Silicon Valley, the film is ultimately a redemption tour for a gaggle of supposedly reformed techies wrapped in an account that is so desperate to appeal to “both sides” that it is unwilling to speak hard truths.

    The film warns that the social media companies are not your friends, and that is certainly true, but The Social Dilemma is not your friend either.

    The Social Dilemma

    As the film begins the insiders introduce themselves, naming the companies where they had worked, and identifying some of the particular elements (such as the “like” button) with which they were involved. Their introductions are peppered with expressions of concern intermingled with earnest comments about how “Nobody, I deeply believe, ever intended any of these consequences,” and that “There’s no one bad guy.” As the film transitions to Tristan Harris rehearsing for the talk that will feature later in the film, he comments that “there’s a problem happening in the tech industry, and it doesn’t have a name.” After recounting his personal awakening, whilst working at Google, and his attempt to spark a serious debate about these issues with his coworkers, the film finds “a name” for the “problem” Harris had alluded to: “surveillance capitalism.” The thinker who coined that term, Shoshana Zuboff, appears to discuss this concept which captures the way in which Silicon Valley thrives not off of users’ labor but off of every detail that can be sucked up about those users and then sold off to advertisers.

    After being named, “surveillance capitalism” hovers in the explanatory background as the film considers how social media companies constantly pursue three goals: engagement (to keep you coming back), growth (to get you to bring in more users), and advertising (to get better at putting the right ad in front of your eyes, which is how the platforms make money). The algorithms behind these platforms are constantly being tweaked through A/B testing, with every small improvement being focused around keeping users more engaged. Numerous problems emerge: designed to be addictive, these platforms and devices claw at users’ attention; teenagers (especially young ones) struggle as their sense of self-worth becomes tied to “likes;” misinformation spreads rapidly in an information ecosystem wherein the incendiary gets more attention than the true; and the slow processes of democracy struggle to keep up with the speed of technology. Though the concerns are grave, and the interviewees are clearly concerned, the tonality is still one of hopefulness; the problem here is not really social media, but “surveillance capitalism,” and if “surveillance capitalism” can be thwarted then the true potential of social media can be attained. And the people leading that charge against “surveillance capitalism”? Why, none other than the reformed insiders in the film.

    While the bulk of the film consists of interviews, and news clips, the film is periodically interrupted by a narrative in which a family with three teenage children is shown. The Mother (Barbara Gehring) and Step-Father (Chris Grundy) are concerned with their children’s social media usage, even as they are glued to their own devices. As for the children: the oldest Cassandra (Kara Hayward) is presented as skeptical towards social media, the youngest Isla (Sophia Hammons) Is eager for online popularity, and the middle child Ben (Skyler Gisondo) eventually falls down the rabbit hole of recommended conspiratorial content. As the insiders, and academics, talk about the various dangers of social media the film shifts to the narrative to dramatize these moments – thus a discussion of social media’s impact on young teenagers, particularly girls, cuts to Isla being distraught after an insulting comment is added to one of the images she uploads. Cassandra (that name choice can’t be a coincidence) is presented as most in line with the general message of the film and the character refers to Jaron Lanier as a “genius” and in another sequence is shown reading Zuboff’s The Age of Surveillance Capitalism. Yet the member of the family the film dwells on the most is almost certainly Ben. For the purposes of dramatizing how an algorithm works, the film repeatedly returns to a creepy depiction of the Advertising, Engagement, and Growth Ais (all played by Vincent Kartheiser) as they scheme to get Ben to stay glued to his phone. Beyond the screens, the world in the narrative is being rocked by a strange protest movement calling itself “The Extreme Center” – whose argument seems to be that both sides can’t be trusted – and Ben eventually gets wrapped up in their message. The family’s narrative concludes with Ben and Cassandra getting arrested at a raucous rally held by “The Extreme Center,” sitting handcuffed on the ground and wondering how it is that this could have happened.

    To the extent that The Social Dilemma builds towards a conclusion, it is the speech that Harris gives (before an audience that includes many of the other interviewees in the film). And in that speech, and the other comments made around it, the point that is emphasized is that Silicon Valley must get away from “surveillance capitalism.” It must embrace “humane technology” that seeks to empower users not entangle them. Emphasizing that, despite how things have turned out, that “I don’t think these guys set out to be evil” the various insiders double-down on their belief in high-tech’s liberatory potential. Contrasting rather unflattering imagery of Mark Zuckerberg (without genuinely calling him out) testifying with images of Steve Jobs in his iconic turtleneck, the film claims “the idea of humane technology, that’s where Silicon Valley got its start.” And before the credits roll, Harris seems to speak for his fellow insiders as he notes “we built these things, and we have a responsibility to change it.” For those who found the film unsettling, and who are confused by exactly what they are meant to do if they are not part of Harris’s “we,” the film offers some straightforward advice. Drawing on their own digital habits, the insiders recommend: turning off notifications, never watching a recommended video, opting for a less-invasive search engine, trying to escape your content bubble, keeping your devices out of your bedroom, and being a critical consumer of information.

    It is a disturbing film, and it is constructed so as to unsettle the viewer, but it still ends on a hopeful note: reform is possible, and the people in this film are leading that charge. The problem is not social media as such, but what the ways in which “surveillance capitalism” has thwarted what social media could really be. If, after watching The Social Dilemma, you feel concerned about what “surveillance capitalism” has done to social media (and you feel prepared to make some tweaks in your social media use) but ultimately trust that Silicon Valley insiders are on the case—then the film has succeeded in its mission. After all, the film may be telling you to turn off Facebook notifications, but it doesn’t recommend deleting your account.

    Yet one of the points the film makes is that you should not accept the information that social media presents to you at face value. And in the same spirit, you should not accept the comments made by oh-so-remorseful Silicon Valley insiders at face value either. To be absolutely clear: we should be concerned about the impacts of social media, we need to work to rein in the power of these tech companies, we need to be willing to have the difficult discussion about what kind of society we want to live in…but we should not believe that the people who got us into this mess—who lacked the foresight to see the possible downsides in what they were building—will get us out of this mess. If these insiders genuinely did not see the possible downsides of what they were building, than they are fools who should not be trusted. And if these insiders did see the possible downsides, continued building these things anyways, and are now pretending that they did not see the downsides, than they are liars who definitely should not be trusted.

    It’s true, arsonists know a lot about setting fires, and a reformed arsonist might be able to give you some useful fire safety tips—but they are still arsonists.

    There is much to be said about The Social Dilemma. Indeed, anyone who cares about these issues (unfortunately) needs to engage with The Social Dilemma if for no other reason than the fact that this film will be widely watched, and will thus set much of the ground on which these discussions take place. Therefore, it is important to dissect certain elements of the film. To be clear, there is a lot to explore in The Social Dilemma—a book or journal issue could easily be published in which the docudrama is cut into five minute segments with academics and activists being each assigned one segment to comment on. While there is not the space here to offer a frame by frame analysis of the entire film, there are nevertheless a few key segments in the film which deserve to be considered. Especially because these key moments capture many of the film’s larger problems.

    “when bicycles showed up”

    A moment in The Social Dilemma that perfectly, if unintentionally, sums up many of the major flaws with the film occurs when Tristan Harris opines on the history of bicycles. There are several problems in these comments, but taken together these lines provide you with almost everything you need to know about the film. As Harris puts it:

    No one got upset when bicycles showed up. Right? Like, if everyone’s starting to go around on bicycles, no one said, ‘Oh, my God, we’ve just ruined society. [chuckles] Like, bicycles are affecting people. They’re pulling people away from their kids. They’re ruining the fabric of democracy. People can’t tell what’s true.’ Like we never said any of that stuff about a bicycle.

    Here’s the problem, Harris’s comments about bicycles are wrong.

    They are simply historically inaccurate. Some basic research into the history of bicycles that looks at the ways that people reacted when they were introduced would reveal that many people were in fact quite “upset when bicycles showed up.” People absolutely were concerned that bicycles were “affecting people,” and there were certainly some who were anxious about what these new technologies meant for “the fabric of democracy.” Granted, that there were such adverse reactions to the introduction of bicycles should not be seen as particularly surprising, because even a fairly surface-level reading of the history of technology reveals that when new technologies are introduced they tend to be met not only with excitement, but also with dread.

    Yet, what makes Harris’s point so interesting is not just that he is wrong, but that he is so confident while being so wrong. Smiling before the camera, in what is obviously supposed to be a humorous moment, Harris makes a point about bicycles that is surely one that will stick with many viewers—and what he is really revealing is that he needs to take some history classes (or at least do some reading). It is genuinely rather remarkable that this sequence made it into the final cut of the film. This was clearly an expensive production, but they couldn’t have hired a graduate student to watch the film and point out “hey, you should really cut this part about bicycles, it’s wrong”? It is hard to put much stock in Harris, and friends, as emissaries of technological truth when they can’t be bothered to do basic research.

    That Harris speaks so assuredly about something which he is so wrong about gets at one of the central problems with the reformed insiders of The Social Dilemma. Though these are clearly intelligent people (lots of emphasis is placed on the fancy schools they attended), they know considerably less than they would like the viewers to believe. Of course, one of the ways that they get around this is by confidently pretending they know what they’re talking about, which manifests itself by making grandiose claims about things like bicycles that just don’t hold up. The point is not to mock Harris for this mistake (though it really is extraordinary that the segment did not get cut), but to make the following point: if Harris, and his friends, had known a bit more about the history of technology, and perhaps if they had a bit more humility about what they don’t know, perhaps they would not have gotten all of us into this mess.

    A point that is made by many of the former insiders interviewed for the film is that they didn’t know what the impacts would be. Over and over again we hear some variation of “we meant well” or “we really thought we were doing something great.” It is easy to take such comments as expressions of remorse, but it is more important to see such comments as confessions of that dangerous mixture of hubris and historical/social ignorance that is so common in Silicon Valley. Or, to put it slightly differently, these insiders really needed to take some more courses in the humanities. You know how you could have known that technologies often have unforeseen consequences? Study the history of technology. You know how you could have known that new media technologies have jarring political implications? Read some scholarship from media studies. A point that comes up over and over again in such scholarly work, particularly works that focus on the American context, is that optimism and enthusiasm for new technology often keeps people (including inventors) from seeing the fairly obvious risks—and all of these woebegone insiders could have known that…if they had only been willing to do the reading. Alas, as anyone who has spent time in a classroom knows, a time honored way of covering up for the fact that you haven’t done the reading is just to speak very confidently and hope that your confidence will successfully distract from the fact that you didn’t do the reading.

    It would be an exaggeration to claim “all of these problems could have been prevented if these people had just studied history!” And yet, these insiders (and society at large) would likely be better able to make sense of these various technological problems if more people had an understanding of that history. At the very least, such historical knowledge can provide warnings about how societies often struggle to adjust to new technologies, can teach how technological progress and social progress are not synonymous, can demonstrate how technologies have a nasty habit of biting back, and can make clear the many ways in which the initial liberatory hopes that are attached to a technology tend to fade as it becomes clear that the new technology has largely reinscribed a fairly conservative status quo.

    At the very least, knowing a bit more about the history of technology can keep you from embarrassing yourself by confidently making claiming that “we never said any of that stuff about a bicycle.”

    “to destabilize”

    While The Social Dilemma expresses concern over how digital technologies impact a person’s body, the film is even more concerned about the way these technologies impact the body politic. A worry that is captured by Harris’s comment that:

    We in the tech industry have created the tools to destabilize and erode the fabric of society.

    That’s quite the damning claim, even if it is one of the claims in the film that probably isn’t all that controversial these days. Though many of the insiders in the film pine nostalgically for those idyllic days from ten years ago when much of the media and the public looked so warmly towards Silicon Valley, this film is being released at a moment when much of that enthusiasm has soured. One of the odd things about The Social Dilemma is that politics are simultaneously all over the film, and yet politics in the film are very slippery. When the film warns of looming authoritarianism: Bolsanaro gets some screen time, Putin gets some ominous screen time—but though Trump looms in the background of the film he’s pretty much unseen and unnamed. And when US politicians do make appearances we get Marco Rubio and Jeff Flake talking about how people have become too polarized and Jon Tester reacting with discomfort to Harris’s testimony. Of course, in the clip that is shown, Rubio speaks some pleasant platitudes about the virtues of coming together…but what does his voting record look like?

    The treatment of politics in The Social Dilemma comes across most clearly in the narrative segment, wherein much attention is paid to a group that calls itself “The Extreme Center.” Though the ideology of this group is never made quite clear, it seems to be a conspiratorial group that takes as its position that “both sides are corrupt” – rejecting left and right it therefore places itself in “the extreme center.” It is into this group, and the political rabbit hole of its content, that Ben falls in the narrative – and the raucous rally (that ends in arrests) in the narrative segment is one put on by the “extreme center.” It may appear that “the extreme center” is just a simple storytelling technique, but more than anything else it feels like the creation of this fictional protest movement is really just a way for the film to get around actually having to deal with real world politics.

    The film includes clips from a number of protests (though it does not bother to explain who these people are and why they are protesting), and there are some moments when various people can be heard specifically criticizing Democrats or Republicans. But even as the film warns of “the rabbit hole” it doesn’t really spend much time on examples. Heck, the first time that the words “surveillance capitalism” get spoken in the film are in a clip of Tucker Carlson. Some points are made about “pizzagate” but the documentary avoids commenting on the rapidly spreading QAnon conspiracy theory. And to the extent that any specific conspiracy receives significant attention it is the “flat earth” conspiracy. Granted, it’s pretty easy to deride the flat earthers, and in focusing on them the film makes a very conscious decision to not focus on white supremacist content and QAnon. Ben falls down the “extreme center” rabbit hole, and it may well be that the reason why the filmmakers have him fall down this fictional rabbit hole is so that they don’t have to talk about the likelihood that (in the real world) he would likely fall down a far-right rabbit hole. But The Social Dilemma doesn’t want to make that point, after all, in the political vision it puts forth the problem is that there is too much polarization and extremism on both sides.

    The Social Dilemma clearly wants to avoid taking sides. And in so doing demonstrates the ways in which Silicon Valley has taken sides. After all, to focus so heavily on polarization and the extremism of “both sides” just serves to create a false equivalency where none exists. But, the view that “the Trump administration has mismanaged the pandemic” and the view that “the pandemic is a hoax” – are not equivalent. The view that “climate change is real” and “climate change is a hoax” – are not equivalent. People organizing for racial justice and people organizing because they believe that Democrats are satanic cannibal pedophiles – are not equivalent. The view that “there is too much money in politics” and the view that “the Jews are pulling the strings” – are not equivalent. Of course, to say that these things “are not equivalent” is to make a political judgment, but by refusing to make such a judgment The Social Dilemma presents both sides as being equivalent. There are people online who are organizing for the cause of racial justice, and there are white-supremacists organizing online who are trying to start a race war—those causes may look the same to an algorithm, and they may look the same to the people who created those algorithms, but they are not the same.

    You cannot address the fact that Facebook and YouTube have become hubs of violent xenophobic conspiratorial content unless you are willing to recognize that Facebook and YouTube actively push violent xenophobic conspiratorial content.

    It is certainly true that there are activist movements from the left and the right organizing online at the moment, but when you watch a movie trailer on YouTube the next recommended video isn’t going to be a talk by Angela Davis.

    “it’s the critics”

    Much of the content of The Social Dilemma is unsettling, and the film makes it clear that change is necessary. Nevertheless, the film ends on a positive note. Pivoting away from gloominess, the film shows the rapt audience nodding as Harris speaks of the need for “humane technology,” and this assembled cast of reformed insiders is presented as proof that Silicon Valley is waking up to the need to take responsibility. Near the film’s end, Jaron Lanier hopefully comments that:

    it’s the critics that drive improvement. It’s the critics who are the true optimists.

    Thus, the sense that is conveyed at the film’s close is that despite the various worries that had been expressed—the critics are working on it, and the critics are feeling good.

    But, who are the critics?

    The people interviewed in the film, obviously.

    And that is precisely the problem. “Critic” is something of a challenging term to wrestle with as it doesn’t necessarily take much to be able to call yourself, or someone else, a critic. Thus, the various insiders who are interviewed in the film can all be held up as “critics” and can all claim to be “critics” thanks to the simple fact that they’re willing to say some critical things about Silicon Valley and social media. But what is the real content of the criticisms being made? Some critics are going to be more critical than others, so how critical are these critics? Not very.

    The Social Dilemma is a redemption tour that allows a bunch of remorseful Silicon Valley insiders to rebrand themselves as critics. Based on the information provided in the film it seems fairly obvious that a lot of these individuals are responsible for causing a great deal of suffering and destruction, but the film does not argue that these men (and they are almost entirely men) should be held accountable for their deeds. The insiders have harsh things to say about algorithms, they too have been buffeted about by nonstop nudging, they are also concerned about the rabbit hole, they are outraged at how “surveillance capitalism” has warped technological possibilities—but remember, they meant well, and they are very sorry.

    One of the fascinating things about The Social Dilemma is that in one scene a person will proudly note that they are responsible for creating a certain thing, and then in the next scene they will say that nobody is really to blame for that thing. Certainly not them, they thought they were making something great! The insiders simultaneously want to enjoy the cultural clout and authority that comes from being the one who created the like button, while also wanting to escape any accountability for being the person who created the like button. They are willing to be critical of Silicon Valley, they are willing to be critical of the tools they created, but when it comes to their own culpability they are desperate to hide behind a shield of “I meant well.” The insiders do a good job of saying remorseful words, and the camera catches them looking appropriately pensive, but it’s no surprise that these “critics” should feel optimistic, they’ve made fortunes utterly screwing up society, and they’ve done such a great job of getting away with it that now they’re getting to elevate themselves once again by rebranding themselves as “critics.”

    To be a critic of technology, to be a social critic more broadly, is rarely a particularly enjoyable or a particularly profitable undertaking. Most of the time, if you say anything critical about technology you are mocked as a Luddite, laughed at as a “prophet of doom,” derided as a technophobe, accused of wanting everybody to go live in caves, and banished from the public discourse. That is the history of many of the twentieth century’s notable social critics who raised the alarm about the dangers of computers decades before most of the insiders in The Social Dilemma were born. Indeed, if you’re looking for a thorough retort to The Social Dilemma you cannot really do better than reading Joseph Weizenbaum’s Computer Power and Human Reason—a book which came out in 1976. That a film like The Social Dilemma is being made may be a testament to some shifting attitudes towards certain types of technology, but it was not that long ago that if you dared suggest that Facebook was a problem you were denounced as an enemy of progress.

    There are many phenomenal critics speaking out about technology these days. To name only a few: Safiya Noble has written at length about the ways that the algorithms built by companies like Google and Facebook reinforce racism and sexism; Virginia Eubanks has exposed the ways in which high-tech tools of surveillance and control are first deployed against society’s most vulnerable members; Wendy Hui Kyong Chun has explored how our usage of social media becomes habitual; Jen Schradie has shown the ways in which, despite the hype to the contrary, online activism tends to favor right-wing activists and causes; Sarah Roberts has pulled back the screen on content moderation to show how much of the work supposedly being done by AI is really being done by overworked and under-supported laborers; Ruha Benjamin has made clear the ways in which discriminatory designs get embedded in and reified by technical systems; Christina Dunbar-Hester has investigated the ways in which communities oriented around technology fail to overcome issues of inequality; Sasha Costanza-Chock has highlighted the need for an approach to design that treats challenging structural inequalities as the core objective, not an afterthought; Morgan Ames expounds upon the “charisma” that develops around certain technologies; and Meredith Broussard has brilliantly inveighed against the sort of “technochauvinist” thinking—the belief that technology is the solution to every problem—that is so clearly visible in The Social Dilemma. To be clear, this list of critics is far from all-inclusive. There are numerous other scholars who certainly could have had their names added here, and there are many past critics who deserve to be named for their disturbing prescience.

    But you won’t hear from any of those contemporary critics in The Social Dilemma. Instead, viewers of the documentary are provided with a steady set of mostly male, mostly white, reformed insiders who were unable to predict that the high-tech toys they built might wind up having negative implications.

    It is not only that The Social Dilemma ignores most of the figures who truly deserve to be seen as critics, but that by doing so what The Social Dilemma does is set the boundaries for who gets to be a critic and what that criticism can look like. The world of criticism that The Social Dilemma sets up is one wherein a person achieves legitimacy as a critic of technology as a result of having once been a tech insider. Thus what the film does is lay out, and then set about policing the borders of, what can pass for acceptable criticism of technology. This not only limits the cast of critics to a narrow slice of mostly white mostly male insiders, it also limits what can be put forth as a solution. You can rest assured that the former insiders are not going to advocate for a response that would involve holding the people who build these tools accountable for what they’ve created. On the one hand it’s remarkable that no one in the film really goes after Mark Zuckerberg, but many of these insiders can’t go after Zuckerberg—because any vitriol they direct at him could just as easily be directed at them as well.

    It matters who gets to be deemed a legitimate critic. When news networks are looking to have a critic on it matters whether they call Tristan Harris or one of the previously mentioned thinkers, when Facebook does something else horrendous it matters whether a newspaper seeks out someone whose own self-image is bound up in the idea that the company means well or someone who is willing to say that Facebook is itself the problem. When there are dangerous fires blazing everywhere it matters whether the voices that get heard are apologetic arsonists or firefighters.

    Near the film’s end, while the credits play, as Jaron Lanier speaks of Silicon Valley he notes “I don’t hate them. I don’t wanna do any harm to Google or Facebook. I just want to reform them so they don’t destroy the world. You know?” And these comments capture the core ideology of The Social Dilemma, that Google and Facebook can be reformed, and that the people who can reform them are the people who built them.

    But considering all of the tangible harm that Google and Facebook have done, it is far past time to say that it isn’t enough to “reform” them. We need to stop them.

    Conclusion: On “Humane Technology”

    The Social Dilemma is an easy film to criticize. After all, it’s a highly manipulative piece of film making, filled with overly simplified claims, historical inaccuracies, conviction lacking politics, and a cast of remorseful insiders who still believe Silicon Valley’s basic mythology. The film is designed to scare you, but it then works to direct that fear into a few banal personal lifestyle tweaks, while convincing you that Silicon Valley really does mean well. It is important to view The Social Dilemma not as a genuine warning, or as a push for a genuine solution, but as part of a desperate move by Silicon Valley to rehabilitate itself so that any push for reform and regulation can be captured and defanged by “critics” of its own choosing.

    Yet, it is too simple (even if it is accurate) to portray The Social Dilemma as an attempt by Silicon Valley to control both the sale of flamethrowers and fire extinguishers. Because such a focus keeps our attention pinned to Silicon Valley. It is easy to criticize Silicon Valley, and Silicon Valley definitely needs to be criticized—but the bright-eyed faith in high-tech gadgets and platforms that these reformed insiders still cling to is not shared only by them. The people in this film blame “surveillance capitalism” for warping the liberatory potential of Internet connected technologies, and many people would respond to this by pushing back on Zuboff’s neologism to point out that “surveillance capitalism” is really just “capitalism” and that therefore the problem is really that capitalism is warping the liberatory potential of Internet connected technologies. Yes, we certainly need to have a conversation about what to do with Facebook and Google (dismantle them). But at a certain point we also need to recognize that the problem is deeper than Facebook and Google, at a certain point we need to be willlng to talk about computers.

    The question that occupied many past critics of technology was the matter of what kinds of technology do we really need? And they were clear that this was a question that was far too important to be left to machine-worshippers.

    The Social Dilemma responds to the question of “what kind of technology do we really need?” by saying “humane technology.” After all, the organization The Center for Humane Technology is at the core of the film, and Harris speaks repeatedly of “humane technology.” At the surface level it is hard to imagine anyone saying that they disapprove of the idea of “humane technology,” but what the film means by this (and what the organization means by this) is fairly vacuous. When the Center for Humane Technology launched in 2018, to a decent amount of praise and fanfare, it was clear from the outset that its goal had more to do with rehabilitating Silicon Valley’s image than truly pushing for a significant shift in technological forms. Insofar as “humane technology” means anything, it stands for platforms and devices that are designed to be a little less intrusive, that are designed to try to help you be your best self (whatever that means), that try to inform you instead of misinform you, and that make it so that you can think nice thoughts about the people who designed these products. The purpose of “humane technology” isn’t to stop you from being “the product,” it’s to make sure that you’re a happy product. “Humane technology” isn’t about deleting Facebook, it’s about renewing your faith in Facebook so that you keep clicking on the “like” button. And, of course, “humane technology” doesn’t seem to be particularly concerned with all of the inhumanity that goes into making these gadgets possible (from mining, to conditions in assembly plants, to e-waste). “Humane technology” isn’t about getting Ben or Isla off their phones, it’s about making them feel happy when they click on them instead of anxious. In a world of empowered arsonists, “humane technology” seeks to give everyone a pair of asbestos socks.

    Many past critics also argued that what was needed was to place a new word before technology – they argued for “democratic” technologies, or “holistic” technologies, or “convivial” technologies, or “appropriate” technologies, and this list could go on. Yet at the core of those critiques was not an attempt to salvage the status quo but a recognition that what was necessary in order to obtain a different sort of technology was to have a different sort of society. Or, to put it another way, the matter at hand is not to ask “what kind of computers do we want?” but to ask “what kind of society do we want?” and to then have the bravery to ask how (or if) computers really fit into that world—and if they do fit, how ubiquitous they will be, and who will be responsible for the mining/assembling/disposing that are part of those devices’ lifecycles. Certainly, these are not easy questions to ask, and they are not pleasant questions to mull over, which is why it is so tempting to just trust that the Center for Humane Technology will fix everything, or to just say that the problem is Silicon Valley.

    Thus as the film ends we are left squirming unhappily as Netflix (which has, of course, noted the fact that we watched The Social Dilemma) asks us to give the film a thumbs up or a thumbs down – before it begins auto-playing something else.

    The Social Dilemma is right in at least one regard, we are facing a social dilemma. But as far as the film is concerned, your role in resolving this dilemma is to sit patiently on the couch and stare at the screen until a remorseful tech insider tells you what to do.

    _____

    Zachary Loeb earned his MSIS from the University of Texas at Austin, an MA from the Media, Culture, and Communications department at NYU, and is currently a PhD candidate in the History and Sociology of Science department at the University of Pennsylvania. Loeb works at the intersection of the history of technology and disaster studies, and his research focusses on the ways that complex technological systems amplify risk, as well as the history of technological doom-saying. He is working on a dissertation on Y2K. Loeb writes at the blog Librarianshipwreck, and is a frequent contributor to The b2 Review Digital Studies section.

    Back to the essay

    _____

    Works Cited

    • Weizenbaum, Joseph. 1976. Computer Power and Human Reason: From Judgment to Calculation. New York: WH Freeman & Co.
  • Ali Behdad — The Afterlife of Orientalism (Review of Leah Feldman’s On the Threshold of Eurasia)

    Ali Behdad — The Afterlife of Orientalism (Review of Leah Feldman’s On the Threshold of Eurasia)

    Review of Leah Feldman, On the Threshold of Eurasia: Revolutionary Poetics in the Caucasus (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2018)

    By Ali Behdad

    Edward Said’s 1978 Orientalism has been one of the most influential works in modern literary studies. As a political critique of European representations of the “Orient,” this pioneering text galvanized into existence the vital fields of postcolonial theory and criticism in the United States academy. Orientalism not only riveted the attention of the intellectual establishment on the issue of colonial power by rigorously interrogating the ideological underpinnings of familiar scientific and artistic representations of “otherness” in modern European thought, but it also played a pivotal role in shifting the focus of literary, aesthetic, and cultural criticism from a concern with apolitical formalism to political history. To be sure, from the very moment of its publication, Said’s groundbreaking work attracted more than its fair share of critics. While reactionary commentators such as Bernard Lewis and Robert Irvine[1] attacked Said for misrepresenting the project of Orientalism, the more intellectually rigorous scholars like Ajaz Ahmad and James Clifford challenged Orientalism’s “high humanism,” while taking issue with its use of Foucault’s theory of knowledge-power and indicting its omission of German and Russian Orientalisms.[2]

    Despite this barrage of criticism, Said’s almost singularly generative text inspired a whole new generation of scholars who have developed his critique by exploring its implications in novel, and sometimes unexpected, arenas. Scholarly engagements with Orientalism initially were marked by critical revisionism. Lisa Lowe and I, for example, built on Said’s critique of the complicity of European knowledge about the Middle East in the history of Western colonialism by elaborating the complexities of power relations between French and British Orientalists and their objects of representation.[3] Rejecting the monolithic account of Orientalism as a reductive and one-directional discourse of power, we independently argued that difference, ambivalence, and heterogeneity are the fundamental attributes of Orientalist discourse that have ensured its cultural hegemony and political longevity to this day. Meanwhile other scholars set out to rectify Said’s neglect of German and Russian Orientalisms. For example, while Suzanne Marchand has traced the origins of German Orientalism to Renaissance philology and early modern biblical exegesis to address its development in the context of debates about religion and classical schooling during the nineteenth century,[4] David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye and Michael Kemper have explored Russian and Soviet Orientalisms as ambivalent, and at times anti-imperialist, modes of representation.[5]

    In recent years, scholarly engagement with Said’s Orientalism has been conspicuously marked by methodological and ideological orthodoxy. As Aamir Mufti laments, “At the present moment, at least in literary studies, attention to Orientalism seems to have reverted more or less exclusively to the form of cataloguing representations of this or that social collective in this or that body of Western literature.”[6] Such an approach, Mufti further observes, is partly the consequence of the dominance of an anglophone form of “world literature” in the Euro-American academy that perpetuates the hegemony of English as the language of critique and literary studies. “If Orientalism, despite its wide reputation, remains still a strangely misunderstood and underexplored book,” he explains, “this is possibly because readers in the literary-critical disciplines are generally still not trained to be at ease in at least some of ‘Orientalist’ archives with which it engages, and those readers who are professionally assigned the mastery of those archives in the division of labor in the humanities sometimes respond defensively to its relentless (and occasionally overreaching) criticism of their disciplinary methods and procedures” (28). Considering this predicament, Mufti cogently argues that “the critique of Orientalism must ultimately lead us to the Orientalized spaces themselves” (24).

    Leah Feldman’s On the Threshold of Eurasia[7] offers a compelling example of what the exploration of an “Orientalized space” by a scholar “trained to be at ease” in a non-Western Orientalist archive can productively yield. The book is chronologically organized in two parts. The first “recounts the story of Russian and Muslim cultural interactions” during the revolutionary transition and the second “chronicles the gradual disappearance of heterological networks that connected the Russian, Persian, and Ottoman empires with the creation of new forms of Bolshevik national consciousness” (25, 33-34). At first glance, Feldman’s book appears to be a narrowly focused study of a marginalized, if not marginal, body of literary works by Turkic Muslim writers positioned on the periphery of Russian Empire and Soviet Union, during the revolutionary period from 1905 to 1929 when an alternative or avant-garde Azari literary aesthetic emerged. But the book also offers a nuanced account of an unexamined interplay between Russian Orientalism and anticolonial Marxism. The book provides not only a rich portray of Eurasian literary modernity but “an opportunity to critically assess and develop postcolonial theory to accommodate a world literary scope” (26). In these ways, On the Threshold of Eurasia makes important contributions to recent debates in the field of comparative literature concerning translation studies and world literature.

    If, as Emily Apter urges us to do, one were to “imagine a program for a new comparative literature using translation as a fulcrum,”[8] On the Threshold of Eurasia would provide a perfect example of what such a program would look like. Like Apter, Feldman views translation studies and comparative literature as commensurable in that both challenge monolingualism to engage in transnational literary and cultural exchanges. In first part of the book, Feldman addresses the reception and translations of canonical Russian writers such as Nikolai Gogol and Alexander Pushkin by Azeri writers Celil Memmedquluzade and Mirze Feteli Axundov. In the opening chapter, Feldman adopts Said’s comparative methodology to read Gogol’s parodic prose contrapuntally alongside Memmedquluzade’s free translations to “illustrate the role of Russian imperial literature more broadly in forging cultural connections and anticipating ruptures between the Muslim South Caucasus, the Russian imperial metropole, and the transnational Turkic Muslim world” (41). In 1909, the Azari writer and critic introduced the figure of “Qoqol,” a transliteration of the Russian realist writer’s name, in the satirical, eight-page Azerbaijani periodical, Molla Nesreddin, which he edited. Memmedquluzade’s stories pivot around the figure of Molla Nesreddin, the infamous Sufi wise man-cum-fool, to create at once a parody of the imperial literature and a new literary language that fuses Turkic, Persian, and Russian references. Far from merely reproducing Gogol’s text, or even borrowing his plotlines, Feldman convincingly argues that Memmedquluzade’s translations of the Russian writer’s works constitute a political form of literary appropriation which “reframed Gogol’s critique of tsarist bureaucracy through the colonial context and reinvisioned the imperial canon through this Turkic translation of Russian prose” (45). The story “Qurbaneli Bey,” for example, which is a translation, or more accurately an adaptation, of Gogol’s 1836 short story “The Carriage,” is set in the South Caucasus and draws on Gogol’s formal devices such as sound repetitions and metonymy to satirize the class pretentions of landowning Russified Azari elite. In so doing, the story draws attention to the ways class and imperial power are imbricated in Russia’s periphery. As Feldman demonstrates, Memmedquluzade’s appropriation of Gogol’s “narrative about the Russian provinces in the context of the imperial Caucasus [thus] undermines the authority of the Russian imperial bureaucracy, while it offers a metacommentary on the unequal processes of linguistic and literary exchange that occur in translation” (60).

    In the second chapter, Feldman explores the literary relation of Azeri poets such as Axundov and Abbas Sehhet with Russian Romantic writers like Pushkin and Mikhail Lermontov. If the parodic works of Gogol provided Memmedqulzade with a model of social critique, the works of Russian romantics furnished Azeri poets with a “counterpoint” they used  both to imagine “a new civic identity and modern subjectivity” and to negotiate “the intertwining influences of Russian, Ottoman, and Persian poetics into an ethos of empathy, staged in a sublime Caucasus imaginary on the threshold of revolution” (83, 82). The process of translating the works of Russian romantics in this case entailed a multilingual form of textuality that “blended revolutionary politics with classical forms of mystical poetry” (86). Drawing on Paul Ricoeur’s theory of translation and Mikhail Bakhtin’s notion of chronotope, Feldman discusses Axundov’s and Sehhet’s intertextual dialogues with Russian Orientalists, an engagement that generated “a new type of cultural identity based in part on Russian romantic poetics but oriented toward pan-Turkic and pan-Islamic forms of cultural and civic identity” (86). Sehhet’s 1912 translations of European and Russian classics, for example, appropriated Orientalist representations of Caucuses to “render the figure of the Muslim Other with dignity and heroism in his native tongue” (102). As a scholar equipped with knowledge of several languages, including Russian, Persian, and Azeri Turkish, as well as being trained to work in non-Western archives, Feldman is able to insightfully identify Sehhet’s translations as the site of a multi-lingual exchange that draws on Persian and Ottoman literary forms such as ghazal and qaṣīda to “provide a vision of poetic intuition, which reinscribes the search for esoteric knowledge onto the sublime poetic topography of the Russian orientalist canon” (104). Feldman’s reframing of “Azeri literary modernity through spaces of critical dialogue” can serve as a model for a new comparative literature that avoids encoding the kind of neocolonial geopolitics that Anglo-centric or Franco-centric studies of world literature often do, however inadvertently (110). Complicating the postcolonialist binaries of center/periphery and power/resistance, Feldman’s discussion of the dialogical nature of modern Azeri poetry thoughtfully attends to “the interlingual, intercultural, and intersubjective experience of being in the world of the text exposed at the threshold sites of intertextual dialogue” (119).

    In the second part of On the Threshold of Eurasia, Feldman demonstrates the broader reach of her argument about the heterodoxy of Azeri poetry in the context of the Soviet annexation of its eastern frontier after the October revolution of 1917. Scholars of early Soviet Russia like Michael Kemper and Boris Groys[9] have demonstrated the continuity between Soviet “red Orientalism” and classical Russian Orientalism on the one hand, and pre- and post-revolutionary Russophone aesthetics on the other. Following their lead, Feldman examines the revolutionary vision of literary modernity of Russian and Russophone Azeri writers in Baku where avant-garde Russian poets immigrated during its annexation from 1919-1920 to avoid censorship, and where Azeri poets fashioned a new Turkic poetry marked by a fusion of Marxist-Leninist aesthetics and Arabo-Persian and Ottoman poetic traditions. In chapter 3, Feldman complicates our understanding of Soviet Orientalism which, like its Russian precursor, relied on the work of literary artists, linguists, and social scientists for its discursive power. Drawing on Jacques Rancière’s critical genealogy of avant-garde art and politics in the Politics of Aesthetics, and mining a wide range of Soviet writers and intellectuals, including Sergei Gorodetsky, Velimir Khlebnikov, Viacheslav Ivanov, Tatiana Vechorka, and Grigory Zinoviev, Feldman elucidates the contours of the Janus-faced project of Soviet Orientalism. While much of the scholarship on Soviet Orientalism focuses either on its opposition to the bourgeois Russian tradition of Oriental scholarship or its support for the liberation of East from Euro-American imperialism, Feldman offers a more nuanced understanding of it as a paradoxical discourse that simultaneously celebrates and rejects the past. She shows that much of the Soviet avant-garde poetry produced between 1919 and 1920 relied on a Russian romantic Orientalist imaginary of the Caucasus while simultaneously aiming to create a Muslim communist subjectivity to free the “brave” Caucasian from the shackles of Euro-American imperialism. As Feldman puts it, “while the image of the Caucasus as the center of the new Soviet Orient formally denounced the imperial imaginary, it simultaneously drew on its discursive power to instrumentalize Muslim support for the Bolshevik revolution, mapping imperial Eurasian geopolitics onto a Marxist-Leninist anti imperial ideological platform” (127).

    In the concluding chapter, Feldman engages the formal and ideological ambivalences of post-revolutionary poetry produced by the Azari Writers’ group Red Pens, created by the Soviet Council of Propaganda in 1925. Borrowing Fredric Jameson’s model of narrative as a socially symbolic act, presented in his 1981 The Political Unconscious, Feldman considers a series of works, including Huseyn Cavid’s play Ibis, Nazim Hikmet’s Song of the Sun Drinkers, and Süleyman Rüstam’s From Sadness to Happiness, to trace their role in the formation of a “national Bolshevik political unconscious” and to invent a new Turkic poetics (207). Like their pre-revolutionary counterparts, these poets retained “ties to the romantic symbolism of the Arabo-Persian-Ottoman lyric tradition” (178). Yet, Feldman argues, what distinguishes the works of these writers from those of Memmedqulzade, Axundov and Sehhet is the instrumentality of their art as they repurposed the pan-Turkic oral cultural tradition for propagandist revolutionary purposes. Culturally influenced, if not politically pressured, by the aesthetic materialism of Leon Trotsky and Vladimir Mayakovsky, who considered art a “hammer with which to shape society,”[10] Rüstam and his Red Pen colleagues saw their work as a vehicle to move the supranational Pan-Turkic community towards a Muslim communist future. Both Rüstam and Hikmet, for example, deployed the genre of the Turkic folk ballad to “excite and organize the Muslim worker-reader as central to the creation of postrevolutionary Azeri poetry under the first years of Soviet control” (177).

    In “Traveling Theory,” Said warned us that a theoretical or methodological “breakthrough can become a trap, if it is used uncritically, repetitively, limitlessly,” reiterating Raymond Williams’ prescient observation that “once an idea gains currency because it is clearly effective and powerful, there is every likelihood that during its peregrinations it will be reduced, codified, and institutionalized.”[11] It is ironic, but hardly surprising, that this predicament characterizes much of scholarship that has engaged with Said’s Orientalism. Against this background, reading On the Threshold of Eurasia feels like a breath of fresh air, both intellectually and politically. What is refreshing about Feldman’s book is that it avoids the trap of Saidian orthodoxy which would have resulted in an application of Orientalism to the Eurasian context. Instead, Feldman broadens Said’s theoretical insights by attending to the complex “imbrications of imperial and anti-imperial discourses that animate literary representations across the empire and their role in the formation of Russian and Soviet literary modernity” (26). Reading together the poetic representations of the Caucasus by Azeri and Russian/Soviet writers, Feldman thus provides readers with an intricate understanding of not only the “orientalist vision of Eurasia and its attendant Bolshevik Eastern International but also the ways in which these discourses informed the creation of a modern Turkic literary subjectivity” (215).

     

    Ali Behdad is John Charles Hillis Professor of Literature, Professor of English and Comparative Literature, and the Director of the Center for Near Eastern Studies at UCLA. He is the author of Belated Travelers: Orientalism in the Age of Colonial Dissolution (Duke University Press, 1994), A Forgetful Nation: On Immigration and Cultural Identity in the United States (Duke University Press, 2005), Camera Orientalis: Reflections on photography of the Middle East (University of Chicago Press, 2016), and the co-editor of A Companion to Comparative Literature (Blackwell, 2011) and Photography’s Orientalism: New Essays on Colonial Representation (Getty Research Institute, 2013).

     

    [1] Bernard Lewis, “the Question of Orientalism,” Islam and the West, (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 99-118; Robert Irwin, For Lust of Knowing: The Orientalists and their Enemies, (London: Allen Lane, 2006).

    [2] Ajaz Ahmad, In Theory: Classes, Nations, Literatures (London: Verso, 1992); James Clifford, “On Orientalism,” in Predicaments of Culture (Harvard University Press, 1988), 225–76.

    [3] Lisa Lowe, Critical terrains: French and British Orientalisms (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991); Ali Behdad, Belated Travelers: Orientalism in the Age of Colonial Dissolution (Durham: Duke University Press, 1994).

    [4] Susan Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire: religion, Race and Scholarship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009).

    [5] David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism: Asia in the Russian Mind from Peter the Great to the Emigration (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010); Michael Kemper, “Red Orientalism: Mikhail Pavlovich and Marxist Oriental Studies in Early Soviet Russia,” Die Welt des Islams 50 (2010): 435-476; Michael Kemper, “The Soviet Discourse on the Origin and Class character of Islam, 1923-1933,” Die Welt des Islams 49 (2009): 1-48.

    [6] Aamir Mufti, Forget English! Orientalisms and World Literature (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016), 23.

    [7] Leah Feldman, On the Threshold of Eurasia: Revolutionary Poetics in the Caucasus (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2018).

    [8] Emily Apter, The Translation Zone: A New Comparative Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 243.

    [9] Michael Kemper, “Red Orientalism: Mikhail Pavlovich and Marxist Oriental Studies in Early Soviet Russia,” Die Welt des Islams 50 (2010): 435-476; Boris Groys, The Total Art of Stalinism, Trans. Charles Rougle, (London: Verso, 2011).

    [10] As Feldman notes, this statement has been attributed to both Bertolt Brecht and Vladimir Mayakovsky, and further elaborated by Leon Trotsky in his 1924 treatise Literature and Revolution, 179. The Azeri post-revolutionary poets, Feldman further observes, were also inspired by the Marxist spiritualism of the Polish polymath Alexander Bogdanov who in his 1918 essay “The Proletariat and Art” theorized the function of art as the “weapon or tool of the social organization of people” (183).

    [11] Edward Said, The World, the Text, and the Critic (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983), 239.

  • Arne De Boever — Remembering Bernard Stiegler

    Arne De Boever — Remembering Bernard Stiegler

    The editors of boundary 2 and b2o mourn the passing of the French philosopher Bernard Stiegler. In 2017, boundary 2 published a special issue titled “Bernard Stiegler: Amateur Philosophy,” which included three lectures on aesthetics that Stiegler delivered in Los Angeles in 2011 as well as reflections on those lectures by some of Stiegler’s closest collaborators. Duke University Press has now made those lectures freely accessible, and interested readers can access them here.

    Also in 2017, and in relation to this special issue, b2o: An Online Journal published a text by Yuk Hui and Pieter Lemmens titled “Apocalypse, Now! Peter Sloterdijk and Bernard Stiegler on the Anthropocene.” This text is freely available through our website.

    Below is a reflection that Arne De Boever wrote for Parrhesia: A Journal of Critical Philosophy about his relationship with Bernard Stiegler. It introduces a special issue of Parrhesia that collects all of the journal’s publications by Stiegler and about Stiegler’s work, and also contextualizes the boundary 2 special issue as part of a longer intellectual and personal history.

    Remembering Bernard Stiegler

    By Arne De Boever

    I met Bernard Stiegler for the first time during the 2007-2008 academic year, when I was finishing the research for the final chapter of my doctoral dissertation in Paris, as a visiting student in Samuel Weber’s Paris Program in Critical Theory. Sam and Bernard were looking to assemble a team to translate Simondon’s L’Individuation psychique et collective (IPC), and I joined a small group of other students to take up this task. Very soon, we were meeting regularly at Stiegler’s office, high up in a building in front of the Centre Pompidou, to talk Simondon and discuss what each of us had been translating. Bernard Stiegler and Jean-Hugues Barthélémy were our advisors, and both were very generous with their time. Stiegler’s research team had created a dispositif that made our collective work easier: it showed, on the left-hand side of the computer screen, Simondon’s original French, and, on the right-hand side, our translation. It was ideal for both comparison (when we were working individually) and simultaneous review (during our group meetings). The goal of our group work was to achieve consistency of style and technical vocabulary throughout.

    While this project was finished about a year later, it would (for various reasons I won’t go into here) sit on the shelf for many more years, until the University of Minnesota Press finally handed it off to Taylor Adkins, who completed the project and turned the translation into his own (it’s now finally out with Minnesota). I stayed in touch with Bernard after the experience, and obtained permission to include Kristina Lebedeva’s translation of one of his texts on Simondon and Heidegger for a special issue that Parrhesia published—the first English-language journal issue on Simondon—in 2009. In an email that he sent me as part of this correspondence, Bernard pointed out that he would in fact have preferred to see his introduction to IPC featured in the special issue, but at the time it was impossible to obtain the translation rights—so we had to put this off. Parrhesia did publish a translation of this text–“The Uncanniness of Thought and the Metaphysics of Penelope”–in 2015, and Bernard was pleased to see it out.

    There was a lot to follow after Parrhesia’s special issue on Simondon: in 2010, I participated in the “Arbeitsenergien” seminar taught by Erich Hörl and Bernard Stiegler as part of the Prometheus-akademie in Essen (Germany). That’s where I met Yuk Hui, among others. In 2011, I invited Bernard to Los Angeles to deliver three lectures on aesthetics, one at the California Institute of the Arts, one at the University of California, Los Angeles (in collaboration with Kenneth Reinhard), and one at the University of California, Irvine (in collaboration with one of Bernard’s translators, Stephen Barker). These lectures were published in 2017, in a special issue of boundary 2 titled “Bernard Stiegler: Amateur Philosophy.” The issue included contributions from many of the scholars that Bernard had begun to assemble around him, partly through the organization Ars Industrialis and the school of philosophy that he and Ars Industrialis started at the watermill in Épineuil-le-Fleuriel. Several of the thinkers included in that volume—Gerald Moore, Alexander Galloway, Claire Colebrook—have also published work in Parrhesia. During the year, Bernard’s school lived online, but in Summer, its students met to continue their conversations at Bernard’s house. This is where I saw Yuk again, and met Gerald, Geert Lovink, Nandita Biswas-Mellamphy and Dan Mellamphy, among others.

    The first time I presented my work in the Summer school, Jean-Hugues Barthélémy slipped me a text by Simondon on techno-aesthetics. It was a bad copy of a type-written manuscript, but the text immediately grabbed my attention, and I wanted to photocopy it so that I could maybe translate it after I had returned to the United States. Bernard thought it was a good idea, but noted there was only one copy-machine in a neighboring town: at the local bar, next to the train station–and he added that we could borrow his wife Caroline’s car to get there. With a friend, who could barely drive stick, I somehow made it to the bar, where the copy-machine in question turned out to be a fax-machine that took an eternity to reproduce a single page. Many beers later, we finally had our copy of Simondon’s multi-page manuscript, and we made it back to the watermill just in time for dinner. Parrhesia published this translation in 2012. Frédéric Neyrat’s interview with Stiegler, initially published in the journal Multitudes, came out in Parrhesia in the same year.

    After his 2011 visit, Stiegler very generously returned to Los Angeles several times, once in 2013 to give a lecture on Abbas Kiarostami’s Close Up (published in Parrhesia in 2014) at the West Hollywood public library, and then in 2016 to give a closed seminar at CalArts about the neganthropocene. In 2013, I met him at the décade on Simondon at Cerisy-la-Salle, where we both spoke. I gave an account of my involvement in the project of translating Simondon into English, and focused on Simondon’s use of the term “translation” (“traduction”) in his work and tried to think the connections between translation and individuation (see Gilbert Simondon, ou l’invention du futur, which includes a long contribution by Bernard that reveals his obsession with the figure of the spiral). Responding to my account of the delay we had faced in getting our translations published, and also criticizing a professional translator in the audience who thought I should have translated Simondon less literally, more idiomatically (but at the cost of losing specific terminology in Simondon’s text), Bernard stood up in the Q&A and spoke with admiration of the translation work we had accomplished since we’d started in his office at Beaubourg, and he remarked that the delay of the translations’ publications was, and I recall exactly how he put it, “a catastrophe of transindividuation”—a catastrophe of the transindividuation that Simondon’s book, in translation, would accomplish.

    In 2016, he called me very late at night after he had arrived in Los Angeles, apologizing profusely for the delay—he had been detained at Los Angeles International Airport for over four hours, and I’d left several messages. He told me he was very tired, but mostly he was angry at how he’d seen people treated—it was inhuman, he said. When I met him the day after, he was still troubled by what he’d seen. His detention had no doubt been due to his criminal record, something about which I’d never asked him, even if I continue to find the pages where he writes about his time in prison some of the most moving and philosophically powerful in his work—in Acting Out, for example, but especially in The Age of Disruption. I was under the impression that he appreciated this reticence; I’d seen him deal with questions about that time rather quickly, and dismissively, in the Question and Answer sessions after his talks. But one evening, after a family dinner at his house in Épineuil-le-Fleuriel—I am uncertain about the date–, he brought it up himself over a glass of wine on the terrace. We’d been talking about our children, my grandfather’s (and now my father’s) carpentry tools, Peter Sloterdijk, my mother’s work as a primary school teacher, and a possible visit to Los Angeles, but also about how he had taken up the habit of writing while biking, dictating his texts into a recording device while cruising the countryside roads around his house. I mentioned how much of my writing started while I was swimming (something he too, as I recall, loved to do)—how, once you have the technique down, activities like swimming or biking, especially when you do them for a long time, can push the mind to different places, so much so that often one forgets what one is doing altogether. It was then that he mentioned that when he was in jail, he used to run. “They’d let us out for physical activity,” he said, “and during that time, I ran.” And when he was running, especially after running for a while, thought started, and his mind went to a different place altogether—a place outside of prison—to such an extent that he forgot that he was running. One day, he ran for so long, he said, that he tore a muscle in his calf and collapsed in the prison courtyard, and had to be taken to a doctor afterwards.

    I didn’t know what to make of the story—was he telling me not to swim for too long? Not to forget, while I was thinking, that I was swimming? Was he telling me that thinking/swimming could distract from the care of the self, even though I associated them with the care of the self? Was he saying that philosophy could make one forget about reality? Was that a good thing, or was he warning me about that? Was all of this part of thinking’s pharmakon? Thinking over the story in silence, I I was reminded of the image he’d chosen for his school of philosophy: a flying fish. A fish taking flight. A creature to add to philosophy’s bestiary.

    I remembered this story when I heard about his passing, and I remembered our shared realization that intense, prolonged physical activity was able to open up a space of thought that was capable of taking us somewhere else, a place so far away that we didn’t even notice our bodies were hurt.

    The last text by Stiegler that Parrhesia published was his first philosophical text, a long article titled “Technologies of Memory and Imagination” that Bernard wanted to be carefully contextualized “as an early, formative piece.” It reads like a sketch for the Technics and Time series, which would change the path of philosophy’s thinking of technology for good.

    Los Angeles, August 11, 2020

     

  • Colin Dayan — Police Power & Can’t Breathe

    Colin Dayan — Police Power & Can’t Breathe

    by Colin Dayan

    Police Power

    When I grew up in Atlanta, the police were known as “the laws.” I grew up hearing about the “meat that takes directions from someone.” The laws were as terrifying and unknowable as evil spirits. They controlled and judged. I heard stories of the patrollers who could get you if you were found walking outside at night. But they could be anywhere. The laws. Driving down to Florida, you knew where not to stop, which gas station to avoid, when not to turn and look at a red light, how to get to where you were going.

    Until I left the South, I never felt safe. And now that I’ve returned, I still see the men in trucks, driving down the street like they owned the world. They are smiling. It’s what my mother called “a shit-eating grin.” Some of my neighbors talk about what might happen after sunset. They’re not afraid of police. I keep quiet. I am afraid of them.

     

    George Floyd is dead because Derek Chauvin killed him, in close collaboration with three of his police colleagues. Of this there is no doubt, and it will be confirmed as fact when they eventually go to trial and are convicted on charges that go little way to match even the illegality, to say nothing of the brutality and savagery, of their crimes. That will not be the end of the story, for they are white and Floyd was black. There will be propaganda from the policemen’s union. That has already begun, with the union leader spewing out bile designed to get his men off the hook. There will be appeals. The (now ex-) police officers will spend some time in prison. Then, on release, they will, given how these things work in the United States, find their way back into gainful employment. That will probably be in some form of policing. That is what happens in more than fifty percent of such cases; and this inevitability represents the racism and oppression based on color that structures this country.

    What are the deeper and more structural aspects of this racism and oppression? No one, no American, no one armed with a big gun, no other American police officer except, just possibly, a direct superior of the four killers who was actually known to them, not the governor of the state, not even the president of the United States, could have stopped these police officers from killing George Floyd. Eight minutes is a long time, but it is short enough to kill a man, slowly. Physically intervening would have been dangerous, risking the life of anyone who tried.  It is risky to get involved when a heavily armed gang of four killers is busy killing someone, and when those gang members are policemen it is even riskier.

    That makes this particular killing sound like another anonymous murder in the druglands of Mexico, or the favelas of Brazil, or the excesses of the military dictatorships of Latin America before democracy returned, or the terror of Duterte’s Philippines.  But while all those cases are painted bright in the colors of the American flag, this one is right here.  And while all those cases represent extra-judicial, illegal forms of action, the case of Derek Chauvin represents legality at its worst.

    Legally intervening to save George Floyd’s life was impossible. Interfering with the actions of a police officer in the United States is legally a crime. There might be cracks on this round the edges, but the central fact, all over the United States, is that you cannot interfere with a policeman killing a black man—executing his duties, as he sees them—without risk to your own life and limb and freedom.

    The real story here is about police power and its effects on the lives of Americans, white as well as black, and the character of the United States as a country that tells itself—no less than the rest of the world—lies about what it is, what it stands for and how it stands for it.

    The ghost of slavery is built into our legal language and holds our prison system in its grip. To the extent that slaves were allowed personalities before the law, they were regarded chiefly—almost solely—as potential criminals. During the second session of the 39th Congress (December 12, 1866-January 8, 1867) debates raged on the meaning of the exemption in the 13th Amendment to the Constitution. It abolished slavery “except as punishment of crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted.” The parenthetical expression guaranteed enclosure, a bracketing of servitude that revived slavery under cover of removing it. Those who were once slaves were now criminals, and forced labor in the form of the convict lease system ensured continued degradation. As Charles Sumner warned, the locale for enslavement would move from the auction block to the courts of the United States.

     

    Can’t Breathe

    This piece was originally published in Transition (2015) in the issue “New African Fiction”: “I Can’t Breathe,” included with other responses to the murders of unarmed black Americans by police.

    Hard to write what I want to say. Knowing that my words can’t even get close to righteous response. I remember Birmingham and Jackson and being a child in Atlanta in 1963. What is happening now is different. It might be more pernicious, more lasting, less easy to combat. No Civil Rights Act can stop it. Trying to put into words what these murders of blacks—by any white person, police or not—tell us, I sense a desire to repeat the racial tags of our American history, a litany of law that seems like a series of death announcements that always precede and continue to haunt the bodies left lying on the street losing blood unable to breathe talked over and done in.

    But instead I can only say what I keep thinking about: How the most well-intentioned and reasonable folks end up abetting the state of fear and atrocity, terrifying because commonplace—easily as tactful as de Blasio’s call “for everyone to put aside political debates, put aside protests, put aside all of the things that we will talk about in due time.”
    I remember Nina Simone’s words in “Mississippi Goddam,” “Keep on saying ‘go slow.’ ” Who has to slow down? How long is due time? Real terror plucks us by the sleeve and comes along naturally, forever just occurring, always perceptible just at the edge of our vision. What terrorizes is this casual but calculated disregard. A terror relayed not by
    the dogs, hoses, and bombs in the new South of the sixties, but by the near nonchalance of legal murder anywhere in the United States today: as if these living breathing black citizens, now dead, were not supposed to go about their lives, walk down the street, stand on a corner, put their hands in their pockets, take a toy gun to the park, go down the stairway of their own building—breathe.

     

    Colin Dayan is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences as well as Robert Penn Warren Professor in the Humanities at Vanderbilt University. She has held Guggenheim as well as other distinguished fellowships.

  • Anthony Bogues — Black Lives Matter and the Moment of the Now

    Anthony Bogues — Black Lives Matter and the Moment of the Now

    by Anthony Bogues

    We live in an extraordinary moment. One in which many cross currents tussle for sustained  dominance. A moment when armed white supremacy groups make attempts to take over state legislative offices in states like Michigan. One in which the science of contagion is in battle with a myopic individualism in which the wearing of a mask for medical protection becomes a signifier for a political symbolic battle around hegemony.  All of this occurs in a moment when there is a historic  pandemic, one which should make us as human species reflect on our contemporary ways of life. A pandemic which exposed the structures of the American health system where race and class determine those who will survive and live and those who disproportionately die. In the midst of this crisis, in which lockdowns and shelter in place were every day practices, we witnessed one of the most significant global protests that the world has seen for some time. The protests upended many commentators, shattered many conventional wisdoms about politics and at least for a time punctured the everyday normal many of us had become accustomed to. So what was at the root of this upsurge? And what are its significances? And, therefore, how might we understand it?

    In the epigraph to the first chapter of Black Reconstruction (1935), WEB Du Bois writes about “How black men, coming to America … became a central thread to the history of the United States, at once a challenge to its democracy and always an important part of its economic history and social development.” That challenge has historically been the touchstone for both American democracy and its civilization. Racial slavery was a cornerstone of capitalism. It is not that racial slavery laid the foundation for capitalism; rather racial slavery, the plantation slave economy, the African slave trade were themselves practices of capitalism. At the core of the inauguration of capitalism was not the factory system with its wage labor but the slave plantation, unfree labor and a network of credit and debt arrangements. In Debt: The First 5000 years (2011), David Graeber points out how the Atlantic slave trade depended upon a system of debts and credits. Within this system emerged various institutions we now associate with capitalism from bond markets to brokerage houses. There was also the emergence of major companies whose chief functions were linked to slave trade, financing plantations and other aspects of the European colonial project. Here one can refer amongst others to the Dutch West India Company, the French Société de Guinée, and of course, the Royal African Company of England. At the core of what historian Catherine Hall calls this “slavery business” was the African captive who became an enslaved person. The late African American theorist Cedric Robinson called this historical process “racial capitalism.”

    The enslaved body as the Caribbean historian Elsa Goveia said was “property in person.” It was a body that produced commodities while it was commodified. The black female enslaved body reproduced this commodification process three times over, as a body producing commodity, while being a commodity and then through sexual violence a reproductive body of enslaved labor. The plantation was a site of generative violence of commodification. Capitalism was inaugurated through the various violences enacted upon the enslaved black body. Exploitation was established upon the foundation of unfree labor. That is the history of capitalism: not a stages theory of transition of societies from one mode of production to another, but rather a historical process of generative violence upon the bodies of the African enslaved. In such a history the body is not secondary, it is the source of the methods, the several ways, of practices which turn the human into an enslaved dehumanized thing. Creating such a historical process, the colonial and planter power needed to construct forms of life, ways of thinking, construct modes of being human that would at least for a time guarantee the full reproduction of a society. To put this another way: exploitation requires forms of domination and the latter requires ideas and practices which the dominant elite and others accepts. This is about the manufacturing of what Gramsci calls “commonsense,” a kind of naturalized underpinning of a society, an ideational glue which holds society together. In slave and colonial societies violence was regularized as a technique of rule because in such societies might was right. And while this was so these orders also ruled by a set of ideas and practices about who was human and who was not.

    All nations we know are an “imagined community” and as such we search for what glues bind the nation together. In America, the glue that has bounded the society together is not the fiction of America as an idea, the exception of the “City on the Hill,” rather it has been anti-black racism. What Du Bois calls the “wages of whiteness” became the naturalized commonsense  which structured the everyday practices of living. Anti-black racism, has a long history founded within the matrices of the generative violence of the African slave trade; elaborated in plantation slavery through a complex system of customs and legal codes. It was codified in human systems of classification promulgated by European natural historians in the 17th century, mapped by Christian doctrine whereby some human beings had souls and some not; and then, in the 19th century, recodified through the so-called scientific studies of skulls–phrenology–a pseudo-science of the study of the mind in which it was said that Africans were inferior because of the size of their skulls since the brain was located in the skull. And when science made it clear that there was no scientific basis for anti-black racism then culture became a terrain to explain the supposed inferiority of blackness.

    So blackness as visual marker produces within the dominant commonsense the death of the black person. Black life becomes disposable, is a lack, has no interiority, it is locked upon itself. As a visual marker, the black body has no escape. Its public presence is an affront, it must be tamed, put back in its place. It must be not allowed to breathe, because breath is life and for the black body to breathe means it has life. This is not primarily an American phenomenon. The history of racial slavery in America, the inauguration of Jim Crow and formal segregation, given the imperial power of America on the world stage created the illusion that there was a special American race problem. Of course, all societies have their own historical specificities, but anti-black racism was not an American feature alone. What Du Bois called the “color line” was embedded in the world because racial slavery and colonialism were parts of a global system which ruled much of the world from the 15th century Columbian voyages onwards. The anti-black racism of European colonial powers drew from racial theories created in America, the Caribbean, the historical encounters between Europe and Africa. South African apartheid drew some of its resources from the structures and practices of American Jim Crow. In all this the black body was the disposable surplus; not the other but the irremediable non-other, that which could not be fully included into the body politic of the given nation. Such an irremediable body, always on the outside, challenges the very meaning of democracy itself. It is why struggles around anti-black racism shake the society, indeed call Western civilization into question.

    If we agree historically that the foundation of the capitalist West was racial slavery and colonialism and the accompanying genocide and attempted genocide of the indigenous populations, then what we are witnessing today are the challenges to this foundation. Capitalism is not just an abstract economic system as Marx made clear long ago when he noted that economic relationships are always between people. To rule, to be able to reproduce itself, any social system creates ways of living, modes of being human as it is then understood. Historically and in the present, anti-black racism and the creation of whiteness, of white supremacy was both a way of life and a signifier of being human. It is not just an ideological belief but rather a naturalized commonsense which in many ways functions like a fantasy, one which has material life and consequences. Commonsense as well in part is constructed by the historical understandings of a society about itself. We are, as humans, historical beings that make sense of ourselves through memories of the past. We take from that past to make the self. In societies where the past has been a historical catastrophe, where regularized violence operated as “power in the flesh” making the “human superfluous,” that past becomes a critical way to establish the grounds for inhumane ways of life. America’s unwillingness to confront the fact that it was a slave society since its founding as a British colony; that practices of settler colonialism wreaked havoc on the indigenous population; Europe’s unwillingness to confront its own history as multiple colonial powers now provides a dominant commonsense which structures the present. Yet as the poet and thinker Aimé Césaire noted in 1955: “Between the colonizer and the colonized there is room only for forced labor, intimidation, pressure, the police, taxation, theft, rape, compulsory crops … no human contact, but relations of domination and submission.” This history is elided by European countries. It is a history made visible through the various pacification campaigns, the genocide of the Herero people in Namibia and regular cutting off of the hands of the Congolese people. A history codified through forms of rule which created the African subject into a native and turned various African social and political formations into tribes.  However, history lives in the present and becomes memorialized into the public landscapes of monuments. Monuments are an encoded system of public signs which enact meanings in the public domain. So when the Black Lives Matter Movement and those activated by it demand the removal of monuments, they are engaged in a move of symbolic insurgency to get rid of the public landscapes of the everyday historical monumentalization in the present. This happens in America, in South Africa, the UK. And continental Europe cannot escape the fire this time.

    So here we are. For over a month there has been in America the single largest protests in America’s history. These protests were ignited by the public lynching of George Floyd who cried out “I can’t breathe,” before being murdered and then died with the words “Mama” on his lips. In that modern lynching scene, for nearly 9 minutes we witnessed the meaning of anti-black racism. Yes, it was the police man who kneeled down on his back and neck. Yes, the American police force were operating like modern day slave catchers. But there was something else and that something else was the casual nonchalance, the non-recognition that Floyd was human. It was the nonchalance that Floyd was just another disposable black body. The daily confrontation between black men and increasingly black women with the police is the nodal point where anti-black racism is most visible. In this nodal point there is no pretense. State authority expresses itself, that might be right, that black life does not matter. This is so in Brazil, in parts of Europe, the Caribbean, America or indeed in parts of Africa. Here ordinary black life does not matter.

    After the death of Trayvon Martin, in 2013, a group of black feminists, Patrisse Khan-Cullors, Alicia Garza and Opal Tometi, formed the organization which became known as “Black Lives Matter.” Today the name of the organization has become a political banner igniting the political imagination of both black and white around the world. There is a rich historical current in which black revolts / uprisings have catalyzed various struggles around the world. In the 19th century the dual Haitian revolution inspired Greek anti-colonial figures fighting against the Ottoman Empire when some of them wrote to the Haitian government requesting arms and political support. We recall how what was then called “Negro Revolt”, the black uprisings in the 1960’s, influenced feminist and the anti-war movements around the world. In all this the African American spiritual “We shall overcome” became a clarion political message of many movements. So why, might we ask, does Black Lives Matter at this moment become transformed into a catalytic political banner, one which has engaged the political imagination of thousands? I return to Du Bois.

    Racial slavery was the foundation of America and, I would argue, of the making of the modern world. As a form of domination its very core was the double and triple commodification process I addressed earlier. It was about making non-human another human being. As a generative historical process, it lasted for centuries. That is a special form of domination which not only required violence but creating another kind of human being, one who would be surplus and disposable. It also created the conditions for Black struggle to be catalytic, a point the Caribbean historian and radical thinker CLR James made in 1948, when living underground in the USA in the 1940’s he noted in a seminal essay “The Revolutionary Answer to the Negro Problem in the United States that “this independent Negro Movement is able to intervene with terrific force upon the general social and political life of the nation.” Black Lives Matter became a political banner because it challenges continued racial domination, its deep rooted legacies and consequences. It says we are human. It demands that as human the society should be transformed to create new ways of living. It not only therefore exposes police brutality but calls to order the entire historical foundation on which Western civilization rests, which is why getting rid of the historical monuments which venerate the West has become so crucial. While being part of a historic black liberation tradition, BLM political organizational methods have enacted critiques about Black masculinity. Given all this, Black Lives Matter as a political banner is world historic. And here the reader might pause and wonder why? Let us return to the making of the modern world; to the ways in which anti-black racism continues in the after-lives of  racial slavery to dominate black life and has done so for centuries. So when there are sustained protests against the institutional and everyday forms of anti- black racism and this happens on the global stage. Is this not world historic? The current global protests are world historic because they confront the entire panoply and edifice that built the modern world. They are also world historic because they posit different methods of political organizing which breaks from previous forms of radical black movements. When the movement demands that monuments which invoke the past that undergirds the present must fall, it draws from the earlier struggles of South African students and the Rhodes Must Fall Movement. It demands abolition, making the word capacious, creating a new political language not just about abolishing prisons but demanding the opening of a new space, invoking the radical imagination to think of new ways of life. If many social and political radical movements have paid attention only to the state and the economy as structures of the present, Black Lives Matter is attentive to the history of the structures and their underlying assumptions and commonsense.

    We are indeed in a new moment. Some say this moment feels different in part because the world wide protests have been multiracial, as the image of a lone white woman sitting on the sidewalk in a rural American town with a sign which reads “Black Lives Matter” illuminates. But perhaps what is most different about this moment is that for the first time in a world governed by neoliberalism, one in which as Stuart Hall and Alan O’ Shea put it, there is a neo-liberal commonsense, we are witnessing an uprising which challenges a foundational element   of that commonsense. A commonsense in which anti-black racism has been a glue for the American body politic. This is an uprising of the radical imagination which demands abolishing the reproductive structures of the making of the modern world. However, as Stuart Hall makes clear in his work,  commonsense is a contested terrain, In every major uprising where elements of the dominant order have been challenged, power when it cannot defeat immediately or ignore the uprising attempts to coopt, to integrate signs and symbols of the upsurge into the dominant thereby gutting them. So the response of many American corporations has been to proclaim support for Black Lives Matter, not the movement but to appropriate the banner turning it into a slogan. So when Amazon proclaimed on its website at the height of the protests that Black Lives Matter it was responding to a popular upsurge it could not ignore. Amazon’s practice was one of appropriation. One of the remarkable features of American power is its ability to quickly gobble up what begins outside of the body politic and then rework it into a hegemony without fundamental changes occurring. This is one aspect of the present moment.

    We end where we began, with Du Bois and Black Reconstruction.

    In 1935, Du Bois identified in Black Reconstruction a form of politics he called “abolition democracy.” It was, he argued, the necessary radical political framework if the transformation of America was going to occur after the civil war. For Du Bois, “abolition democracy” in his words “pushed towards the dictatorship of Labor”. By then Du Bois in the most radical phase of his intellectual / activist life. Eighty-five years later the black radical imagination has reworked abolition into a demand for new ways of life dismantling the structures which inaugurated the modern world. Fundamental change may not come and at the time of writing this piece, things can be said to be in flux and for sure a revolution is not around the corner. But historically, fundamental change requires the work of the radical imagination, the thinking that a new form of human life is possible. The global Black Lives Matter protests have opened that space. That is its remarkable significance for the current moment.

     

    Anthony Bogues is Asa Messer Professor of Humanities at Brown university where he is the inaugural director of the Center for the Study of Slavery and Justice. He is also a curator.

  • Peter Valente — The Body’s Prehistories (Review of Hervé Guibert’s Written in Invisible Ink)

    Peter Valente — The Body’s Prehistories (Review of Hervé Guibert’s Written in Invisible Ink)

    The Body’s Prehistories: On Hervé Guibert’s Written in Invisible Ink

    by Peter Valente

    One of the many pleasures of reading Hervé Guibert’s collection of stories, Written in Invisible Ink (Semiotext(e), 2020), is following his development as a writer from the earliest  stories in this volume, which date from the late 1970s, to the latest (which were collected in 1988’s Mauve Virgin). According to his widow Christine Guibert, he did not write any stories after 1988 and focused more on longer works such as the novel To The Friend Who Did Not Save My Life (1990).[1] Several of the stories published in this present volume have never been published before. Interestingly, the ones collected here, chosen by the translator Jeffrey Zuckerman, coincide with Guibert’s time as a journalist; many of the texts have the journalist’s attention for details that will capture a reader’s attention.

    The stylistic difference between Propaganda Death, the earliest of his books, and the later stories is between the raw passionate writing of the former and the more controlled prose of the latter. Guibert was one of first French writers of “autofiction,”: he used writing from his diary as well as memoir and fiction to complicate the narrative “I.” The writing in Propaganda Death is almost cinematic in its cataloguing of physical violence to the body mixed with an unbridled sexual urge: “My body, due to the effects of lust and pain, has entered a state of theatricality, of climax, that I would like to reproduce in any manner possible: by photo, by video, by audio recording” (27). Its scenes of the savage torturing and disemboweling of the human body, amidst slaughterhouses and hospitals, exhibit the frightening transparency of what lies beneath the skin, revealing its secrets: “no need for candles to brighten this night of the body; its internal transparency illuminates all” (27). In “Final Outrages” Guibert imagines himself as the young girl Ophelia, “stolen away in the bloom of youth by an ailment gnawing slowly at her interior (while making her exterior radiate!)” (81). In “Five Marble Tables”, he writes, imagining himself dead: “I won’t let go of my body, I cling to it, I push out everything I can inside but it all stops immediately, I’m clean forever now, my muscles tear apart, I can’t go back in myself anymore and I leave this deserted place, all the fight gone, all the fury slain” (70). Death in life is imagined as transformative; in a later work, Crazy for Vincent (Semiotext(e), 2017), published in 1989, a year after the latest stories in this volume, Guibert writes: “I struggle with the mystery of the violence of this love…and I tell myself that I would like to describe it with the solemnity of the sacred, as if it were one of the great religious mysteries…I don’t have too many sexual thoughts, of fucking or of defilement, violent hallucinations that would bring sex or lechery into play, but rather the suspended grace of bearing witness to a transfiguration” (85). The thrust of these stories is away from materiality, and toward a refiguring of the male body as a site for spiritual transformation.[2]

    Propaganda Death is also an ecstatic fantasy of destruction, desecration, and horror, calling for nothing less than the annihilation of the petit-bourgeois world through a complete reversal of cherished mores and customs, and its obsession with good hygiene, both physical and mental: “I’d like to smear my gonorrhea over the entire world, infect the planet, contaminate dozens of asses at a go, …my bed every morning is a field of carnage, a slaughterhouse” (51).  He continues: “Let’s open abscesses in all this stupid flesh!…Let’s love ourselves and hate them! Let’s orgasm as we pull our heads from our bodies!” (47). Wayne Koestenbaum writes:

    Filth is Guibert’s passport to infinity. Filth, as literary terrain, belongs to de Sade, but Guibert reroutes s/m through the pastoral landscape of religious interiority, as if ghosted by hungry Simone Weil, or by Wilde’s scarified, Christological denouement. (To skeptics, such spirituality might seem papier-mâché, but I’m a believer.) Guibert sees a cute young man at a party and “instead of imagining his sex or his torso or the taste of his tongue, in spite of myself it’s his excrement I see, inside his intestines.” (Kostenbaum 2020)[3]

    These passionate, anarchic early texts are difficult to read. They are unpolished, raw, unedited, obsessed with the violence of desire, and with orifices; but nevertheless, they are works of great intensity, written when Guibert was 21 years old, and likely to shock a reader into a recognition of his/her own body, and its impermanence, and the weakness of the flesh. They are performance, spectacle, and indeed, propaganda in defense of homosexuality and the violence of desire.

    Guibert seeks to “to uncover my body’s prehistories,” the traces of the animal inside the human. In the story, “Flash Paper,” he writes that while kissing Fernand, he imagines that “Out of the extended, warm pleasure of the kiss came other visions: we were two animals that had met on the terreplein, each from our own half of the forest, two horned beasts, two giant snails, two unhappy hermaphrodites” (Invisible Ink 230-31). And, continuing with this theme in the same story: “His wide-opened eye had awakened mine and did not leave it: we had become insects” (232). He and Fernand are, “two poor shameful animals” (233). Finally, he writes: “we danced like two spider crabs being boiled, destroying everything in their path” (234). The erotic charge of an encounter turns men into animals searching for their release. There is danger and excitement in the kill, the sexual energy of it: “If I fuck him, if I decide to fuck him, it’s first to annihilate him.”[4] This is “no simple sadism…no simple equation of fucking and killing, of penetrating and violating – instead, the wish to fuck or be fucked…is a sensation of being voided, chiseled, scalded, disemboweled. Is this consciousness a queer privilege? Is it shamanistic? Is it in fact not trans or queer or anything of the sort, but simply poetic?” (Kostenbaum 2014). Guibert could certainly be melodramatic, as well as poetic. Sex in his work is theatrical; he plays a game of hide and seek with a reader; but he doesn’t sugar coat desires that are complex or grotesque and this is what makes his work so valuable as a document of honest writing in a time such as ours when the line between truth and falsity has been blurred.                            

    In the section, “Personal Effects” Guibert examines objects rather than bodies and reveals their hidden meanings or forbidden histories. About the “Cat o’Nine Tails”, for instance, he writes: “The cat o’ nine tails has been hung, among the cobwebs dusters, from ceiling hooks, in the dim backroom of the hardware store. It carries within itself, in its unmoving straps, the screams of battered children, it exhales the pleasure of perverted lovers” (Invisible Ink 97). Gloves are a normal part of winter wear or when working in the garden, or in construction et cetera, but Guibert reminds us that “it should never be forgotten that the hands they’re keenest to help are those of thieves and stranglers” (103). With regard to the “vibrating chair,” he notes that the dukes of Pomerania found “extravagant” uses for it, including attaching a large dildo to its seat (107). This section of the book is representative of Guibert’s poetics. As a journalist, he was accustomed to examining the forbidden histories behind things which elude the eye of the observer. In “Newspaper Clipping,” he talks about certain facts concerning the death of a person and cautions about imaginatively reconstructing the scene. “Let’s come back to reality!,” he writes, concluding that “…everything, for now, remains purely hypothetical” (56). The secret will not reveal itself easily and it requires patient and research to reveal a truth perhaps stranger than fiction.

    In the world of these stories, love is essentially a complex power game, where the weak person is always at a disadvantage. Guibert is not a psychological writer, concerned with exploring in depth the subjective feelings of lovers. There is no utopian idea about love in these stories. Love is often deceptive, leading to betrayals and even violence. “For P. Dedication in Invisible Ink,” concerns a young writer who has complex desires toward an older, more established writer, and is called upon to help him write a book. At the end of the story, the young writer speaks of their erotic dynamic in the following way:

    The king of the jungle had been tamed, or maybe it was the lion that subdued its tamer, but one or the other, at his point of submission, attacked the other in hopes of breaking him, and these visits grew increasingly rare. The break-up happened over the course of the seventh year, bit by bit, as if by blows, and neither the assailant nor the stronghold, at risk of breaking their necks, wanted to bow down. (159)

    Love often begins with a kind of “tacit contract” that one or the other eventually betrays. In one of the central stories, “The Sting of Love,” love is imagined as a liquid that is injected in the lover. The story traces its various effects on those who have been “infected” and concludes:

    A happiness so great becomes unbearable unless one is shackled, or better yet, in bed, because the effect of this injected liquid doesn’t end with any climax, it persists all the way into sleep. It is impossible here to determine the specific link between consciousness and dreams. Anyone who wants to fight against this surreptitious transition with conscious effort, who is afraid because the dream, at first still just as wholly gentle, slowly turns into nightmare, flickering with swift animal shapes, anyone who wants to prolong this amorous stupor indefinitely with a second injection is struck with melancholy, as with a tarantula’s bite, and loses speech, nails, job. (135)

    Physical attraction is just as capricious and mysterious and not necessarily the result of erotic language: “We sat facing each other in the small, unlit kitchen, and I immediately felt within his physical presence a sense of elevation, adventure, freedom. The words he had said had nothing overtly erotic about them, but they suddenly, mysteriously had my penis swelling” (182). There is no attempt to seek a reason for his desire which would amount to a kind of defense; Guibert was open about his homosexuality and its relation to danger as well as pleasure. Furthermore, this physical excitement can suddenly turn into potential violence: “two years earlier, walking behind him, I had suddenly wanted to use all my force to hit the back of his neck with the heft of the camera hanging by a strap around my wrist” (178). In “For P. Dedication in Invisible Ink”, Guibert writes, “My feelings about this man were skewed: even as I could have said that I loved him, when I found myself before him, at long last, I wanted to go for his throat” (153).

    Danger extends to sexual encounters in the park. In “A Lover’s Brief Journal,” Guibert relates an incident in the Tuileries, where, after “a guy whispers the word cop,” he and another man get dressed, and leave the park; but Guibert is then assaulted: “the first one punches me in the face, another kicks me in the balls, right after a third guy takes a running start to headbutt me, I fall down, I get back up, I shout for help without thinking about it, they run off, I run in the other direction, I turn around, I see one of them hurrying to pick up the coins that fell out of my pocket, hungry, greedy” (48-49). The violence has as much to do with money as with sexuality: the link here is between capitalist greed and homophobia.  Though capitalism created the material conditions so that both men and women could lead independent sexual lives, it also, at the same time, imposed heterosexual norms on society to create an economic, ideological, and sexual regime, centered in the family. In the present time, when Trump, a symbol of capitalist greed, is seen as a spokesman for the white, heterosexual male, and encourages violence against marginalized groups on the basis of their skin color, religion or sexual preference, it is no surprise that we see a rise in violence against gay and trans men and women.

    For the narrator of “Flash Paper,” love is, “ a voluntary obsession, an unsure decision” (239). But Guibert writes of the man who died in “A Man’s Secrets,” “All the strongholds had collapsed, except for the one protecting love: it left an unchangeable smile on his lips, when exhaustion closed his eyes” (254). And the aging star in “The Desire to Imitate” says, “In this impossibility of love there will have been all the same a little love” (212). In these stories, love and cruelty are woven together; this unholy union was born of Guibert’s hatred of his own body, his self-pity, his anger, his theatricality, his passion for the grotesque. He is attacking bourgeoise values, and inherited ideas about morality, thus turning our assumptions about love and hate upside down. Men who knew him said he was cruel but he hated pity and charity; Marie Darrieussecq writes that he preferred real friendship and despised cowardly people (“Guibert’s Ghost” 2015). For Guibert, true love may be impossible, but all the same, he valued the love that was possible in genuine friendships. He sought the truth in himself by testing the limits of his body and of his desires. In a world where our freedoms are being assaulted by both far right conservatives and neoliberals, a writer like Guibert is necessary and should be read, because he questions our conventional ideas about the nature of sexuality, love and hate.

    Death hovers on the periphery of the stories in Written in Invisible Ink, and is often a central theme, and linked mysteriously with desire. In “Five Marble Tables,” Guibert imagines himself on a laboratory table, communing with other bodies, one of which is a young child. As I suggested earlier on, in the story Guibert feels in some way liberated: “I’m clean forever” (Invisible Ink 70). Guibert speaks of the dream, a kind of death-state in itself, as concealing, “a geography of pleasure, an itinerary with its impasses, its openings, its stairwells, its gulfs, its forbidden directions. Desire is there alone, idealized, freed of all materiality” (75). It can also contain, “desirable monsters,” such as the man whose “suffering was immense” because his “head is four times larger than his body” (129) and who believes the hand that gives him his food through a trapdoor is the hand of God. The monstrous, the forbidden, is a gateway to the spiritual.

    In this palace of desirable monsters are men with “dog’s or wolf’s heads” or with “scales or moss growing on their skin” (129, 128). The animal and the vegetal are mixed and the monstrous appears beautiful. A world based on reason, a human creation, gives over to the animal, the irrational, the monstrous. This space contains an alternate time that exists simultaneously with the real world. In “Posthumous Novel,” one of my favorite stories, Guibert writes of a space where, as a result of a “deatomization effort” in Holland, “countless words, incomplete sentences” are “hanging like clumps off of trees and, broken and sown over the ground” (143). Words are not necessarily attached to sentences but exist alone as fragments. In the story, Guibert writes that when one is travelling by train, one’s thoughts release, “more or less clouded and blinded” words into the air of the surrounding countryside and that they take root in the “roadside dust, a branch shaken by the wind, setting sun” (144). These words or sentences, cast into the world by the living, are “nourishment for the dead…a vital message of what happens in the hereafter” (144). By accessing these “sentences” through “x-raying” the “final trajectories” of the young writer in the story who committed suicide, the author is able to partly reconstruct the dead man’s novel (146). The narrator is like Orpheus, in Cocteau’s film, listening to the transmissions on the radio which are actually the voices of the dead. These words of the dead need to be remembered. History must be remembered in order not to repeat the same mistakes to the point of unconsciousness.

    It is in this forbidden space, this underworld that does not obey the laws of physics, that Guibert, a kind of Orphic figure, is able to imagine a language that is not bound to its materiality; it exists in the air, unrealized, incipient, spiritual, the image of a ghost. It is here where the monstrous, the aborted, the abject thoughts reside, and where the dead dwell. It is a land that “had never been described or transcribed on a map” (220). It is a forbidden and magical place, where one has the “courage to be oneself, to present oneself, and to liberate every secret, to invent them” (150). Guibert wrote this book in “invisible ink,” from that place, as if the stories themselves are only the visible traces of what lies behind them: the sexual encounters that produced them.[5]

    In January, 1988, Guibert was diagnosed with AIDS. As a result, he immediately found himself the focus of media attention and appeared on numerous talk shows. Early in his career, Guibert was openly gay and unashamed of his homosexuality and this, according to his translator Jeffrey Zuckerman, “was not meant as a provocation” but as “a quietly revolutionary stance in line with his particular brand of rebelliousness, in which, to quote a line from the end of “Ghost Image,” ‘secrets have to circulate” (“Translator’s Preface”13). Furthermore, Zuckerman writes, “When I began this project, all of Guibert’s translated novels were out of print – even To the Friend Who Did Not Save My Life. At the time, it felt symbolic yet saddening: if gay rights were moving so steadily forward toward equality with the broader population, why preserve this particular, liminal past? Indeed, such an unprecedented nationwide – and even global – sea change in attitudes toward gay marriage and adoption risked effacing the long struggle that came before it, from Oscar Wilde’s trials and Alan Turing’s cyanide-laced apple to the Stonewall riots and the ACT-UP movement” (“Translator’s Preface” 15). And for this reason, the stories in Written in Invisible Ink are a valuable addition to Guibert’s work in English, and a good starting point for the reader unfamiliar with his work.

     

    Peter Valente is the author of A Boy Asleep Under the Sun: Versions of Sandro Penna  (Punctum Books 2014), which was nominated for a Lambda award, The Artaud Variations (Spuyten Duyvil 2014), Let the Games Begin: Five Roman Writers (Talisman House 2015) and Catullus Versions (Spuyten Duyvil  2017). He has also published translations from the Italian, Blackout by Nanni Balestrini (Commune Editions 2017) and Whatever the Name by Pierre Lepori (Spuyten Duyvil 2017), Two Novellas: Parthenogenesis & Plague in the Imperial City (Spuyten Duyvil, 2017). He is the co-translator of the chapbook Selected Late Letters of Antonin Artaud, 1945-1947 (Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs,2014), and has translated the work of Gérard de Nerval, Cesare Viviani, and Pier Paolo Pasolini. His poems, essays, and photographs have appeared or are forthcoming in journals such as Mirage #4/Periodical, First Intensity, Aufgabe, Talisman, Oyster Boy Review, spoKe, and Animal Shelter. His most recent book is a co-translation of Succubations and Incubations: The Selected Letters of Antonin Artaud (1945-1947). Forthcoming is a collection of essays, Essays on the Peripheries (Punctum 2020) and his translation of Guillaume Dustan’s Nicolas Pages (Semiotext(e) 2021).

    Works Cited

    Darrieussecq, Marie. “Guibert’s Ghost.” Tin House, 13 January, 2015: https://tinhouse.com/guiberts-ghost/

    Guibert, Hervé . 2020. Written in Invisible Ink. trans. Jeffrey Zuckerman. Los Angeles:  Semiotext(e).

    —-  2017. Crazy for Vincent. trans Christine Pichini. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e).

    Kostenbaum, Wayne. “The Pleasures of the Text.” Book Forum, June-August, 2014: https://www.bookforum.com/print/2102/herve-guibert-s-unbridled-eroticism-13298

    Zuckerman, Jeffrey. “Translator’s Preface” in Written in Invisible Ink. trans. Jeffrey Zuckerman. Los Angeles:  Semiotext(e), 2020, 1-15.

     

    Notes

    [1] Guibert married Christine in 1989, so that she could protect his estate and so that the royalty from the sale of his books would go to her children. The publication of the mentioned novel, in which Guibert told the world he had AIDS, caused a scandal because in it he disguised Michel Foucault, who had the same disease, under another name (Muzil). However, the public discovered that this was Foucault; he had been dead for six years (reportedly from cancer) at the time of the publication of Guibert’s book.

    [2] For Bataille, the indulgence in “perversity” also contained a strong drive for the metaphysical, for that which lies beyond the body.

    [3] I would also add Artaud to the list above in his researches into “fecality.”

    [4]Quoted in Kostenbaum, The Pleasures of the Text,” accessed on May 17, 2020, https://www.bookforum.com/print/2102/herve-guibert-s-unbridled-eroticism-13298

    [5] In “A Lover’s Brief Journal,” Guibert writes, “I got completely undressed, I write and that gets me hard, I jerk myself off with one hand…” Hervé Guibert, Written in Invisible Ink, 49.

  • Mikkel Krause Frantzen — Has Capitalism Become Psychologically Unsustainable? Six Tentative Theses on COVID-19 and Mental Health

    Mikkel Krause Frantzen — Has Capitalism Become Psychologically Unsustainable? Six Tentative Theses on COVID-19 and Mental Health

    This essay is a part of the COVID-19 dossier, edited by the b2o editorial staff. 

    by Mikkel Krause Frantzen

    1/ The future is already lost, the loss is just unevenly distributed. This altered version of sci-fi author William Gibson’s famous one-liner captures our age nicely: there is, on the one hand, the permeating sense that the future has no future, that the future has slipped away before our eyes. On the other, this doesn’t mean ‘we’ are all in the same proverbial boat, that ‘we’ are suffering in the same way. It is also important to realize that this loss of futurity is not an abstract loss. When you are in debt and have pawned away your future, more precisely your future labor, in order to pay back a debt that can never be paid, it is not abstract. When you live in the Arctic and the ice is melting due to global warming and you can foresee that you cannot sustain your way of life, or you live in Australia and endless draught has made it impossible keep living on the land that you and your family have lived on for generations, it is not abstract. The loss is concrete and it has economic and ecological implications. To quote from Joshua Clover’s poetry collection Red Epic, “because reasons”: because capitalism and its genocidal and ecocidal machine.

    2/ It wasn’t depression, it was capitalism. As I have written elsewhere (in the book Going Nowhere, Slow and also in The Los Angeles Review of Books), the loss of futurity is one of the symptom(s) of depression, if not its primary symptom. Since the 1970s, depression has gradually become the paradigmatic psychopathology of capitalist societies. Alan Horwitz has detailed how by 1975, the 18 million diagnoses of depression had surpassed the 13 million diagnoses of anxiety, and in 1980 the third edition of Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) saw the light of day, a pivotal event within the field of psychiatry: “Although biological psychiatry and its central vehicle of depression were gaining ground during the 1970s, the implementation of the third edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-III), which the APA issued in 1980, was the central turning point leading to the transition from anxiety to depression.” That the history and rise of depression runs parallel with the history and rise of neoliberalism should cause us no surprise. When no such thing as society exists, when all forms of collectivity have been utterly destroyed, all there is left is the individual. If you are depressed, it is your own fault. Like in the diagnostic manuals, no context is needed. If you feel like shit, you alone are to blame. It is your own personal problem and responsibility. 

    3/ Capitalism kills love, but it kills more than that. There is an artwork by the artist duo Claire Fontaine, whose work often engages the relation between depression and the political economy: it’s a neon sign that says “Capitalism kills love.” But capitalism kills more than that. Capitalism, some times in the guise of neoliberal austerity measures, forces people to kill themselves. The examples are legion: Dimitris Christoulas in Greece, who put a gun to his head in front of the Greek parliament, declaring “I am not committing suicide, they are killing me”; Jerome Rodgers in England, who died by suicide aged twenty after two unpaid £65 fines spiraled to over £1000; Daniel Desnoyers in the US, who “committed suicide after he lost his insurance and access to his psychiatric medication because he was $20 short on the monthly premium.” Or a 22-year-old-student in Lyon, France, who set himself on fire in front of a university restaurant due to financial difficulties and a desperate, precarious situation. Quickly the hashtag “#laprécaritétue” spread: Insecurity, precarity, kills. Let’s also not forget the waves of suicides at the Foxconn factory in China around 2010, with one worker, Xu (not to be confused with the poet Xu Lizhi who killed himself at this exact place in 2013) telling The Guardian some years later: “It wouldn’t be Foxconn without people dying […] Every year people kill themselves. They take it as a normal thing.” This is capitalist normality: Suicide, death. You die before you should have, it’s a normal thing. All of this to say that the current crisis, or crises, is also a mental health crisis. Across the globe people (students, workers, the unemployed) seem to be getting more and more unhappy, desperate and depressed. It is a common, yet uneven condition. Some tragic cases (like those just described) make it into the news; many others do not.

    4/ What COVID-19 intensifies is an already generalized condition.  And then COVID-19 happened. At the time of this writing, the virus has led to more than half a million dead across the globe. Since the outbreak of the pandemic 40 million Americans have lost their jobs, supply chains have broken down, consumption has plummeted, oil prices have been negative and the global levels of debt, already sky-high, have reached stratospheric heights. On March 16, when the VIX opened at 57,83 and closed at 82,69, the Dow Jones Index fell nearly 3,000 points, “the worst trading day in percentage terms since the ‘Black Monday’ crash of 1987 when the Dow got a 22 percent haircut.” And then, magically and absurdly, the markets recovered: In the beginning of July, The Economist reported that “American stock markets recorded their best quarter in at least two decades. From April to June the S&P i500 and Dow Jones Industrial Average rose by around 25%, and the Nasdaq by over a third.” Once again, the Fed came to the rescue, this time even keeping the junk bond-market afloat, while the average American was left to drown in a sea of debt, joblessness and little to no health care. Once again, the final reckoning was postponed and another veil was cast over the stark economic reality. This is the current predicament, a situation which COVID-19 has intensified, but in no way initiated. It is a crisis that is intimately and inherently connected not only to the economic crisis, but also and above all to the ongoing ecological one: the loss of biodiversity, deforestation, the food industry, agricultural capitalism, the destruction of ecosystems and wildlife habitats—all of these events (and many more) are contributing factors in the outburst and dispersion of SARS-CoV-2. “Forget the butterfly effect,” Adam Tooze argues: “this is the bat effect – our stranglehold on nature has unleashed the coronavirus outbreak. And the pandemic is forcing us to rethink how to run our networked world.” As is the case with the climate crisis, the corona crisis is no natural disaster. It is yet another example of what Marx and Engels, in The Communist Manifesto, referred to as “the sorcerer, who is no longer able to control the powers of the nether world whom he has called up by his spells.” Yet another example of nature getting even. And ‘we’, the humans living in and through the crisis, have to ask the question that Mike Davis—who wrote about the avian flu in The Monster at our Door (2005)—articulated lately: has capitalist globalization become biologically unsustainable?

    5/ Zoom is shit. Meanwhile (and as several texts included in this dossier have already described), the lockdown continued, university teaching took place online, and students were forced to sit at home, each in front of their own screen, isolated and alienated. Of course, many students around the world were already indebted and feeling lost, and without any future whatsoever. A futureless and fucked-up generation indeed. In Fall 2019, a Danish report was published, documenting that approximately 10% of all students in the Faculty of Humanities, University of Copenhagen, are struggling with mental health issues. This number only corroborates a general tendency in Danish society and the 18,4% increase in diagnoses of depression during the last decade. Other data even suggest that almost half of the students at the university of Copenhagen (48%) have experienced physical stress symptoms. For these reasons, and before COVID-19, I decided to engage some of the students at Department of Arts and Cultural Studies in a series of conversations/interviews in the Spring semester of 2020. The picture that took shape is not pretty. One interviewee, a second year-student with multiple diagnoses, told me: “All of us students are feeling like shit and yet everyone is alone in their own misery.” It did not get any better after the lockdown, quite the opposite. While some students may have thrived in the interregnum—with less obligations, less stress, less social interactions, less speed—it was certainly not the case with the eight students that I talked to. One student with social anxiety was adamant that Zoom was only accelerating her anxiety, especially but not only when it came down to the so-called “breakout rooms.” All of the interviewees emphasized that they were feeling more isolated, anxious, precarious and/or depressed. Or as an MA-student diagnosed with depression wrote to me: “I will definitely say that this [the lockdown and the transformation of classes from physical to virtual settings] is far, far worse than being at KUA [the campus for the Faculty of Humanities at the University of Copenhagen],” only to add, more emphatically: “tl:dr: online teaching sucks”.

    6/ Capitalism has become psychologically unsustainable. How to collectivize these experiences of mental illness, within the university and beyond? How to mobilize the students and how also to eliminate their suffering and the conditions that make them suffer? How to create infrastructures of care that don’t produce patients nor handle health as a business or a commodity; how to treat people who are sick in ways and in environments that are not themselves sick; how to deal with depression, and mental illnesses in general, outside the norm of returning people to normality, getting them (back) to being good, happy and productive workers? Or, more crudely, how to reclaim the future? The solutions offered by neoliberal ideology are clearly not helping. Notions of manning up, courses in positive psychology, self-help gurus and other forms of individualized therapy: they are not really helping. (The question of medication, antidepressants, and Big Pharma is a topic too large to deal with here.) At the University of Copenhagen—a full-blown neoliberal and financialized institution—a stress think tank has been launched recently and already it is evident that it too focuses on subjective and individual changes (releasing a mindfulness-app for instance), not structural and institutional ones. This isn’t helping either. But what then? The psychopathological problems of the present need to be taken seriously, but it would be exaggerated and maybe even counterproductive to speak of a mental health epidemic, as Nikolas Rose in a podcast has pointed out. A lot of the problems that are being framed as mental health problems are in fact social, political, economic and/or ecological problems (Nona Fernández reminds us: “No era depresíon era capitalismo”). Thus, it is important not to indulge in the tendency to privatize, psychologize and pathologize suffering, important not to reinforce the tendency to over-diagnose mental illnesses such as depression. That said, the problem of mental health is, unquestioningly, an acute problem, and one that has only been escalating since COVID-19. Not only among students, obviously. There has been a rise in suicides: “Deaths in mental health hospitals have doubled compared with last year – with 54 fatalities linked to since March began.” Several epidemiological studies have, unsurprisingly, found heightened rates of depression, anxiety and stress during the pandemic–from Colorado to China. Here, it bears repeating that ‘we’ are not all in the same boat. Just like COVID-19, and any other illness for that matter, mental health problems are distributed differentially, hitting disproportionately hard among communities who are struggling and vulnerable to begin with. To the question of mental illness belong questions of race, class and gender that cannot be ignored. Overall, then, COVID-19 poses a wide range of public and mental health questions, and not just to the disciplines of psychiatry or psychology. There is still a lot to think about, numerous questions left unexplained and unanswered. Yet there is little doubt that capitalism, at this point, simply seems to have become—always already was—psychologically unsustainable.

     

    Thank you to Arne De Boever and to all my students, especially the ones who agreed to share their stories and experiences with me during Spring semester of 2020.

     

    Mikkel Krause Frantzen (b. 1983), PhD, postdoc at the Department the Department of Arts and Cultural Studies at the University of Copenhagen, where he works on finance, fiction and the psychopathologies of the present. He is the author of Going Nowhere, Slow – The Aesthetics and Politics of Depression (Zero Books 2019), his work has appeared in Critique: Studies in Contemporary Fiction, Journal of Austrian Studies, Studies in American Fiction, boundary2, SubStance, Los Angeles Review of Books and Theory, Culture and Society.

     

     

  • Stephen Wright — Devising the Post-Capitalist Imaginary/A Device for the Post-Capitalist Imaginary

    Stephen Wright — Devising the Post-Capitalist Imaginary/A Device for the Post-Capitalist Imaginary

    The text below was initially presented at the “Algorithms, Infrastructures, Art, Curation” conference, organized by Arne De Boever and Dany Naierman, and hosted by the MA Aesthetics and Politics program (School of Critical Studies, California Institute of the Arts) and the West Hollywood Public Library.

    The text is published here as part of a dossier including the lecture by Brian Holmes to which it was responding.

    –Arne De Boever

     

    by Stephen Wright

    Above all, what I take away from Brian Holmes’s Cascadia project, and from the broad conceptual and affective setting that informs it — both nicely laid out in his user-friendly paper — is this: that we don’t so much lack a critique of capitalist globalization; we don’t even so much lack theories of communism; what we lack is a post-capitalist or post-globalization imaginary. We need, in other words — and those words will prove crucial in their own way — to experimentally implement full-scale (even if on a modest scale) devices to give embodiment to that imaginary. We need, that is, to devise a post-capitalist imaginary. And the good news is — at least, this is what I would like to be able to assert! — that this is precisely what his new projects on Bioregionalism put forth. But the reality is far more complex and it really does him no service to portray his critical cosmovision as incurably optimistic. Brian’s texts have always exuded a sense of pessimism, and delving deep into his findings over the course of detailed conversation where his critical edge is unchecked or unaccompanied by concrete experience of boots on the ground, one often feels that more critical knowledge in and of itself doesn’t lead to the heuristic elation one might expect; it sometimes feels more like backsliding into a wormhole — as if too much critical lucidity alone, or too much disembodied critical distance, occasions a kind of paralysis. This would be the sterility of critical theory for its own sake — fine for those of use who like that sort of thing, but not at all on a par with Brian’s demanding ethics of engagement.

    Let me quickly but systematically unpack some of those remarks which I admittedly draw as much from my several decades long friendship (and occasional collaboration) with Brian as from the paper he has just presented.

    When I first met Brian in Paris where he lived until 2008, he was a translator — he still is, in an expanded sense of course, but I mean in those days he was making a good living translating texts between one language and another. This obviously couldn’t last because, however one may learn by the more-than-intimate contact with the translated subject (I mean the internal merging with their perspective), one is inevitably frustrated by a kind of paradoxal algorithm of translation: the better the translation in a sense, the more one’s own subjectivity disappears.

    So Brian began to inject his writing skills into political activism, working with groups on the fringe of art and activism in Barcelona, Paris, London and elsewhere, and working as a core member of collectives as different (and hard-hitting) as the conceptual design activist group Ne Pas Plier, the critical cartography collective Bureau d’études, or the post-operaist journal Multitudes, amongst many others. I’m saying this stuff not because I’m planning to write Brian’s Wikipedia page (which presumably already exists, I don’t know) but because I want to draw out what are the underlying ethics of his practice as it evolved over time.

    Even as he was engaged in these collectives, another more ambitious but more personal investigative project was developing — in keeping with the rise of the continental trading blocks that were the jugulars of globalizing capitalism. In those years, Brian (and not only him) kept feeling like he was waking up on the wrong side of capitalism — no matter where on Earth he woke up! That graffitied slogan became the logo to the website Continental Drift, as the project came to be known. It was a staggeringly ambitious project, but simple in its conceit. As economic and financial power was usurped from sovereign states and concentrated on continental scales, then it was fair to assume that subjectivity was henceforth also being produced at that same macro- or mega- scale: NAFTA subjectification, EU subjectification, China-Japan-Korea subjectification. And Brian wanted to mobilize a critical analysis of the former to investigate the latter, and vice versa. So, Situationist style, Brian began to self-organize with a host of likeminded comrades and local informants, drifts across the continental subjectivity-production zones, in the Americas, Asia, etc. Rather than approach the macroeconomic and macropolitical exclusively on the level of critical analysis, he would do cartography with his feet. As if there were a need to feel, see, smell, hear — affect the affects — to keep things from being overwhelming.

    Perhaps for this reason too — or perhaps another — Brian chose as his lens of predilection for these drifts (their subsequent restitution, but on the ground too) the most micro-configurations he could find: artworks. Artworks are perhaps the pithiest, the most affect-intense and knowledge-energized symbolic configurations there are, and from their material can be teased out any number of insights, to which they themselves are often partially blind. Actually, this is the only thing that redeems art at all; the only justification for an other unjustifiable pursuit (I mean that in a good way!).

    Continental Drift was and was not an art project: it was an art usership project, not in any explicit way an artist-initiated endeavour.  But one can see all the methodology in germination of the current projects: the vertiginous confrontation of disparate scale, the paramount importance of clarity, the imperative to make territory palpable, pedestrian. Of Continental Drift one might say that although its ontology was not of art, its coefficient of art was already high.

    It came as no surprise that it was often taken as art, though not performed as such. Brian had become as he wrote to me “una suerte de artista que sabe de libros”. When he finally did become an artist in 2015, it was less of a coming out — though with hindsight one can see a logic unfolding — than a tactical choice for a site of engagement. For this is what it has always been about: not the specificity of some mode of doing or being, but its compatibility with other modes of doing and becoming. More precisely, about social engagement. In his text, he writes, “One of the most important things that artists and intellectuals can do is to express and analyze the constituents, forms, desires and aims of a bioregional culture.” Importantly, there is no conceptual distinction between “artists and intellectuals”; maybe just a slight shift in focus.

    Important too is the plural form. Brian didn’t spell it out in his text so I will (though it is abundantly implicit and should not really require emphasis): critical engagement of any kind cannot be done meaningfully alone; it is an inherently collective undertaking. That is the lesson of the avant-garde — the mutualization of competence and incompetence. Even the most strikingly original turn of phrase or analysis is never anything more than a collective enunciation in disguise. So people, work together! It’s at once the ways and means of devising the post-globalization imaginary…

    After Continental Drift, after the exhaustion of globalization, Bioregionalism appears a logical deduction — though that is an illusion due as more to the clarity of Brian’s exposition than to the reality of it — since it remains, precisely, an imaginary to be built. That clarity of exposition may be the upshot of years of writing, but it also embodies a deep-seated ethical imperative — a commitment to popular education, the exigency to vulgariser and render accessible — the essence of Brian’s ethics of engagement, which could more simply be described as generosity.

    Inseparable from this — and no less important, especially in this setting today — is the fact that all of these broad-scoped extradisciplinary investigations were done without any of the epistemic high-tailings and legitimation of academia. But they have all been informed — and Brian is inflexible on this — by a standard of rigor to which academia could rarely hold itself. We are talking about an emblematic instance of autonomous knowledge production — not the only one, to be sure, but one that is particularly exemplary. Like Continental Drift, we can look forward to finding in Bioregionalism a voracious appetite for theory and often dense analysis, crunched and if not quite digested, reformatted in reader- and user-friendly fashion. What a great way to practice theory! Make it palatable; make it palpable, make it useful.

    For sure there’s something of the escapologist in Brian’s work: Escaping the Overcode (2009) was the title of his third and most comprehensive collection of essays; escaping epistemic and academic capture; escaping institutional framing; escaping ontological capture as “just art”. But the singular temporality that in each of those cases characterizes escapology is that escape precedes capture — indeed only from the perspective of power is capture primary. Escape is always already underway; we never know when people may choose to escape; but we can be sure that they already are — which is what renders power so paranoid — and provides such traction to embodied projects of devising a new imaginary, rather than merely falling back on the disengagement of critique.

    A few years ago, my son Liam and I used to watch a mainstream TV show called Prisonbreak. It was a bit of a dudefest of a show, but beyond the action-packed episodes, there was something about the conceit that attracted my attention — and that in a way reminds me of Brian’s work. It’s the story of a man who wants to spring his brother from high-security prison, where he has been unjustifiably put by none other than a Wyoming-based vice president of the United States… So in order to orchestrate the escape, the protagonist first has to get into the prison himself, as a prisoner, and then use a sophisticated map of the super-max establishment to find the way out. The map, it turns out, is an incredibly detailed tattoo on his own body… This is the paradoxical and dialectical relation between the need to penetrate to the very core of the oppressive system, in order to embody the map out. On a wholly different scale with utterly different collaborators, but with a similar logic, this is the plan for Cascadia. Our bodies and practices as devices of the becoming bioregional imaginary.

  • Chad Kautzer — Trump, Public Health, and Epistemic Authoritarianism

    Chad Kautzer — Trump, Public Health, and Epistemic Authoritarianism

    by Chad Kautzer

    “What you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening.”

    – President Donald J. Trump, July 24, 2018

     

    In the midst of the coronavirus pandemic, we have witnessed how autocrats can effortlessly dismiss dire public health news, regardless of its factual basis, and disparage its messengers or even smear them as treasonous without reservation. Such reactions undermine public health and threaten the researchers and practitioners generating knowledge in its service. Yet, however demoralizing it may be to witness the present disregard for public health as well as the belittlement and even endangerment of public health advocates, there are lessons to be learned about authoritarianism and the ways we can oppose it.[1]

    Trust in public health researchers and practitioners derives not from their supposed objectivity or claims to certainty, but from a commitment to transparency, an openness to critique and revision, and the promotion of health equity in the face of economic and sociodemographic disparities. As producers of credible knowledge in the lab or in the field, they earn a form of authority we call epistemic. To autocrats, who consider their own political authority to be subject to neither critique nor limit—Trump, for example, recently claimed that his authority is “total”—epistemic authority represents an unwelcome check, because it can raise legitimate questions about their policies and assertions. Attacks on journalists, academics, and civil and human rights organizations are similarly motivated by the autocrat’s desire to undermine or appropriate their various kinds of authority. To this end, these groups are often described as “elites” or “enemies of the people” to separate them from the “real people” whom the autocrat is said to personify.

    Autocratic regimes do, of course, rely on expert knowledge, but vigorously police them to ensure that such expertise does not contradict the leader or erode trust in the authoritarian relations, and alternate epistemic universe, they cultivate. This task becomes difficult in times of crisis, when autocrats feel compelled to demonstrate absolute authority, yet solutions to complex problems call for input from a plurality of voices (including those most impacted), open and critical deliberation, and public trust.[2] Autocrats are therefore engaged in a battle on multiple fronts: confronting public crises, while simultaneously assailing non-political forms of authority that could challenge them.

    Autocratic Tactics Against Public Health Advocates

    When the crisis is a public health emergency, it is public health researchers and practitioners who gain public prominence and in turn the autocrat’s covetous wrath. The autocrat employs three identifiable tactics in his campaign against the epistemic authority of others, namely, those of delegitimizing, silencing, and usurping.[3] The tactic of delegitimizing public health advocates is pursued through spurious accusations and public denigration. It is often combined with, and said to justify, the second tactic, namely, silencing through threats, removal, incarceration, or even death.

    At the beginning of the pandemic, indeed, before the novel coronavirus had a name or was deemed to have caused a pandemic, there was the tragic case of Dr. Li Wenliang in Wuhan. It was early January of this year when the Chinese government attempted to delegitimate and silence Dr. Wenliang, a 33-year-old ophthalmologist. Late last year, Dr. Wenliang alerted fellow doctors about several patients with coronavirus infections, although the virus strain was unclear. He recommended his colleagues and their families take precautions.

    Within days, Dr. Wenliang was publicly accused of spreading rumors, detained, and threatened with prosecution. Police from the Wuhan Public Security Bureau made him sign a letter stating that he made “false comments,” had “severely disturbed the social order,” and must promise to never do it again. He returned to work and contracted the virus, but days before he died on February 3, he publicly shared the letter they made him sign, sparking national outrage. In an interview before his death, Dr. Wenliang said “I think there should be more than one voice in a healthy society, and I don’t approve of using public power for excessive interference.”[4]

    For the past several years, Turkey’s autocratic President, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, has used delegitimizing and silencing tactics against tens of thousands of academics, scientists, journalists, doctors, artists, and activists, labeling them terrorists or terrorist sympathizers with the help of  anti-terrorism legislation Amnesty International calls “vague and widely abused in trumped up cases.”[5] Individuals have lost their jobs, their public platforms, and their personal freedom.[6]

    Dr. Bülent Şık, for example, was a deputy director at the Food Safety and Agricultural Research Center at Akdeniz University, but fired from his position and indicted for participating in terrorist propaganda by signing an Academics for Peace petition. He had recently completed years of research for the Ministry of Health measuring environmental pollutants in several regions of Turkey and found widespread and serious risks to public health. When he attempted to alert the public to the danger in a series of newspaper articles, he was sentenced to 15 months in prison. During the coronavirus pandemic, doctors Güle Çınar and Yusuf Savran were detained and made to issue public apologies after their statements about the coronavirus were deemed inconsistent with the official state line.[7] Most recently, public health specialist and member of the Turkish Medical Association COVID-19 Monitoring Group, Prof. Kayıhan Pala, is under investigation for stating that the number of infections and fatalities in the Turkish city of Bursa is higher than publicly reported.[8]

    Brazil’s neofascist president, Jair Bolsonaro, has employed all three tactics against health care officials at a time when the country has the second highest number of coronavirus infections and deaths in the world. He has ridiculed warnings by medical experts, calling them “hysterical”; removed officials who advocated for evidence-based policies that contradicted his political imperatives; and recommended unproven remedies such as hydroxychloroquine as if he possessed specialized knowledge on the subject. “The virus is out there and we will have to face it, but like men, damn it, not kids,” he said at a public event, where he flouted the social distancing rules set by his then health minister, Luiz Henrique Mandetta, a medical doctor.

    It was Mandetta’s social distancing policy and lack of support for Bolsonaro’s hydroxychloroquine remedy that led to the minister’s ouster.[9] In his farewell press conference, Mandetta urged Ministry of Health employees to not be afraid and to vigorously defend science. “Science is light,” he said, “and it is through science that we will find a way out of this.”[10] Mandetta’s replacement, Nelson Teich, also a physician, quit as health minister weeks later after opposing Bolsonaro’s continued push for hydroxychloroquine and his failure to consult with the Ministry of Health before reopening businesses.[11] Bolsonaro tested positive for COVID-19 in early July.

    In Russia, which now has the third highest number of infections, police arrested Anastasia Vasilieva, a physician and head of the Alliance of Doctors, for speaking out about the government’s undercounting of coronavirus cases and the lack of personal protective equipment for health-care workers.[12] In Leningradskaya, Dr. Natalia Trofimova was fired after warning that a new ward for Covid-19 patients was not safe,[13] and in St. Petersburg journalist Tatiana Voltskaya was criminally charged for publishing an interview with a doctor about the lack of ventilators under a new law that forbids spreading “false information” about the coronavirus.[14] According to Sarah Clarke from the rights group Article 19, Russia’s new law “makes it easy for the authorities to suppress any data deviating from the official narrative and punish journalists and ordinary citizens for openly questioning the efficacy of official responses.”[15]

    The authoritarian prime minister of Hungary, Viktor Orbán, was granted dictatorial powers under the auspices of fighting the pandemic in March of this year. As with Russia’s law against spreading “false information,” the law granting Orbán dictatorial power makes similar acts punishable by up to five years in prison. Political science professor László Bruszt aptly described it as “a real sword hanging over the head of doctors and journalists alike.”[16]

    We recognize a similar autocratic playbook in Trump’s response to public health officials during the coronavirus pandemic, and in previous encounters with authoritative knowledge concerning economic, military, intelligence, and environmental issues. Trump began by controlling or silencing the message from physicians and scientists at the Center for Disease Control (CDC) and the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS), insisting all public messaging be done through the Coronavirus Task Force press briefings. He then replaced the head of the task force, HHS Secretary Alex Azar, with Vice President Mike Pence, a sycophant who famously stays on message.[17] Having consolidated the public communications from relevant government agencies and scientists in the task force, Trump then took over its press briefings. He saturated them with self-congratulatory monologues, enemy lists, false claims, and untested cures as well as real-time spin of task force member statements that contradicted his own.[18]

    Trump has also employed delegitimizing and silencing tactics against doctors and public health officials beyond the task force. After Christi A. Grimm, an inspector general at HHS, released a report on the shortages of testing and safety equipment at hospitals, Trump called the report “fake,” characterized her as an oppositional political operative, and is in the process of removing her.[19] Also removed was Dr. Rick Bright, director of HHS’s Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority, for, he says, limiting “the broad use of chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine, promoted by the Administration as a panacea, but which clearly lack scientific merit.” In order to combat the virus, he said, “science—not politics or cronyism—has to lead the way.” [20] Trump sought to undermine Dr. Bright’s credibility by describing him as “a disgruntled guy” and added that he “hadn’t heard great things about him either.”[21] The Food and Drug Administration has since issued a warning against the use of chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine and the United States Office of Special Counsel has determined that Dr. Bright’s removal likely violated the Whistleblower Protection Act.[22] In early July, Trump also began the process of withdrawing the U.S. from the WHO, which he claims “China has total control over.”[23]

    The most sensational tactic Trump employs against public health researchers and practitioners is usurpation or the appropriation of their epistemic authority for himself. There is seemingly no end to the issues Trump, with his “very good brain” and familial relation to a “great super genius” MIT professor, claims to be the expert about. It has become the pastime of journalists to compile lists of them. While recently touring CDC headquarters in March, Trump told reporters “I really get it. People are surprised that I understand it. Every one of these doctors said, ‘How do you know so much about this?’ Maybe I have a natural ability.”[24] It was this perceived ability that informed his repeated claims that hydroxychloroquine is a risk-free cure for Covid-19 as well as his musings about the benefits of injecting disinfectants and “very powerful light” into the body.[25] While it is tempting to dismiss such hubris as simply the clownish flouting of convention, these are the typical antics of an autocrat.[26]

    Tragically, an autocrat’s absurd proclamations can become self-fulfilling prophecies. As Catherine MacKinnon observes in Feminism Unmodified, “the beliefs of the powerful become proof, in part because the world actually arranges itself to affirm what the powerful want to see.”[27] This happens in part through an actual changing of the world. Hours after Trump’s son-in-law Jared Kushner publicly mischaracterized the National Strategic Stockpile of medical supplies for health emergencies as “our stockpile,” i.e. for the federal government and not the states, the official mission statement on the website of the National Strategic Stockpile was edited to turn Kushner’s lie into the truth.[28] And it happens in part through changing the appearance of the world, as when Trump altered a National Weather Service map with a marker to lazily substantiate his misstatement about the path of a hurricane.[29] “Populists are not greatly concerned with the subtleties of empirical observation,” writes Federico Finchelstein in From Fascism to Populism in History, “but instead direct their attention toward reworking, even reinventing, reality in accordance with their varied ideological imperatives.”[30]

    Epistemic Authoritarianism

    The autocrat’s desire to undermine and appropriate the epistemic authority of others is more than a defensive posture. Delegitimizing, silencing, and usurping tactics are not merely deployed to disarm particular threats. The tendency is rather to develop what we might call an epistemic authoritarianism in which “truth” and “reality” are, to the greatest extent possible, authored by the autocrat and their surrogates. The autocrat encourages their supporters, who now constitute “the people,” to not only reject particular facts and theories, but to challenge the very processes of rational reflection and deliberation as well. This creates an epistemic vacuum that is filled by the will and myths of the autocrat, and increases the chances that followers will engage in unreflective or spontaneous acts of violence.[31]

    In their 1949 study of fascist tendencies in the U.S., Prophets of Deceit, Leo Löwenthal and Norbert Guterman describe the fascist leader as seeking to “increase his audience’s disorientation by destroying all rational guideposts.”[32] This allows more emotive and irrational forces to reign and “truth” to operate as something more akin to loyalty. Or as Finchelstein writes, truth is “reformulated as a matter of ideological, often visceral, faith, rather than as a function of observation, rational discernment, and corroboration.”[33] Autocrats achieve this by mobilizing long present authoritarian values and structures that already constrain who may be publicly recognized as credible. They foment distrust through a deluge of outlandish lies and conspiracy theories, particularly those attributing sinister motives to scientists, academics, and journalists, that play on anti-Semitic, racist, and nativist tropes.

    Eventually, the sheer quantity of delusional nonsense produces a qualitative shift: a generalized suspicion of all potential bearers of epistemic authority. “The credibility of any source, indeed the very idea of verified knowledge itself is thus thrown into question,” writes Sophia Rosenfeld in Democracy and Truth.[34] The exception is, of course, the autocrat himself, whose self-proclaimed unique insight is incorruptible and thus becomes the only remaining means for the people to access reality itself.[35] This hegemony silences the plurality of voices and the processes of critique and revision. “He warns his audience,” write Löwenthal and Guterman, “that it needs his guidance in the bewildering situation in which it finds itself.”

    Out of this fog a narrative emerges: Conditions, we are told, were awful before the autocrat came to power, i.e. the people were victimized and humiliated by their enemies both foreign and domestic, but now everything is better than it has ever been.[36] The autocrat is unsparing in the Pollyannaish, self-congratulatory assessments of their own performance. Like a children’s game, enemies are conjured up and swiftly defeated before dinner without the pretense of evidence. The autocrat claims they are relentlessly persecuted by shadowy forces and political enemies because they fight for “the people,” yet the autocrat always triumphs in the end and thus so too do the people, at least vicariously.[37]

    The power of these fictions does not depend on the intended audience mistaking them for empirical truths or even sincere assertions. These are no longer conditions for belief within epistemic authoritarianism.[38] The autocrat divides the world into friends and enemies, leans heavily on ritualistic performances, and titillates followers by transgressing social norms they consider oppressive, such as prohibitions on racism, sexism, and religious bigotry.[39] Innuendo and empty signifiers (e.g. “Just look at what’s happening”) permit followers to fill in the blanks with their white supremacist, anti-Semitic, and misogynist fantasies. Resentment over the unfulfilled promises of an economic system that leaves needs unfulfilled and renders life more precarious is channeled into a rejection of democracy. “Because it does not fulfill what it promises,” writes Theodor Adorno in The Authoritarian Personality, “they regard it as a ‘swindle’ and are ready to exchange it for a system which sacrifices all claims to human dignity and justice.”[40] The autocrat’s categorical assertions about the inherently corrupt nature of political opponents, scientists, doctors, journalists, and activists, permit followers to reject outright even the most mundane (a posteriori) claims, from weather reports to infection rates. This active ignorance is difficult to overcome, writes José Medina in The Epistemology of Resistance, for people “would have to change so much of themselves and their communities before they can start seeing things differently.”[41]

    Followers prefer the gratification of the fiction: the sense of belonging; the relief and self-righteousness of a “Truth” not subject to revision; the confirmation of their victim status; the clear identification of enemies; and the euphoric release of aggression and self-control when the autocrat actually or symbolically brutalizes these enemies in their name and encourages them to do the same.[42] This is the deeply seductive dimension of epistemic authoritarianism and why empirical evidence and reasonable critiques prove ineffective at generating skepticism among adherents.[43] In this way it resembles religious faith, which is why the autocrat can so easily appropriate religious symbolism and in turn divine authority. This was recently and poignantly demonstrated by the violent removal of peaceful protestors near the White House to enable Trump’s walk with an all-white entourage of military, cabinet, and family members to St. John’s Episcopal Church where he raised a bible overhead for the cameras. He made no statements and read no scripture. It was pure symbolism: the wedding of lawless state violence and white Christianity in the autocrat leader.

    Resistance and Solidarity

    We are often shocked by the brazen lies and then confounded and demoralized that the autocrat pays no political price for them. “The need to pay constant attention to the lies is exhausting,” writes Masha Gessen in Surviving Autocracy, “and it is compounded by the feeling of helplessness in the face of the ridiculous and repeated lies.”[44] This feeling of helplessness is understandable. However, if we remember that epistemic authoritarianism offers not only “alternative facts,” as Trump advisor Kellyanne Conway called them, but an alluring sense of belonging, vindication, and superiority, then we can manage our expectations and identify forms of resistance.

    A first step is understanding the threat and formulating a critique. Epistemic authoritarianism is, we know, characterized by an actively desired fiction manifest in the social practices and identities of the autocrat’s followers. An important means of actualizing this fiction in a group, and thus constituting the identity of the group itself, is the performance of rituals at, for example, political rallies where attendees experience what Adorno describes as the “loosening of self-control, the merging of one’s impulses with a ritual scheme.”[45] These rituals function to elicit and direct hostility toward enemies said to threaten “the people” in one way or another. Finally, we recognize the autocrat’s tactics of delegitimizing, silencing, and usurping, which are used against those whose epistemic authority represents a threat to the autocrat’s power.

    A second important step is considering the extent to which existing forms of knowledge production are amenable or antagonistic to authoritarianism. When Trump told a group of veterans “What you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening,”[46] we were reminded of Winston in George Orwell’s book 1984, who was faced with a regime telling him “to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears.” Winston ultimately concluded that the most basic freedom is “the freedom to say that two plus two make four.” There is wisdom and benefit in this, for ourselves at least, despite neither mathematical truths nor empirical fact-checking being effective tools against committed authoritarians. Knowledge production is, however, made more resilient to authoritarian (and technocratic) encroachment to the degree it relies on critical, reflexive, and democratic methods of inquiry and problem-solving, which are also more successful in addressing health and other social inequities.[47]

    Most urgently, however, is the need for us to defend the researchers and practitioners currently being targeted because their work undermines the narratives, myths, and potentially the authority of autocrats. Recent examples include the widespread outrage in China over the targeting of Dr. Li Wenliang, which rattled its authoritarian government as calls for justice rose in defiance of state censors. The government was forced to investigate the accusations against Dr. Wenliang and quickly concluded a mistake was made. A rare apology was issued and the officers involved in silencing Dr. Wenliang have themselves been reprimanded. In Turkey, Dr. Bülent Şık was originally indicted for several crimes, including supporting terrorism, but public opposition led to the most serious charges being dropped. He was convicted of one charge, but has since appealed his 15-month prison sentence. International solidarity campaigns are calling for the Turkish Court of Appeals to overturn it.[48]

    These and similar campaigns can be replicated, expanded, and integrated to make the defense of public health advocates, not to mention academics, journalists, writers, and artists, a central commitment within a political culture of epistemic resistance. Existing international organizations, which have experience providing legal support and organizing solidarity campaigns, need financial support and assistance in amplifying their efforts. Unions, professional organizations, colleges, and universities can use their resources to support those whose careers or lives are threatened as well as suspend any relations they have with the responsible institutions or regimes. We can also use the public platforms available to us to network, organize, and promote political actions. To be sure, these efforts alone will not defeat epistemic authoritarianism, but building a culture of epistemic resistance with solidarity at its core would contribute to this ultimate goal while also serving as a desirable example of a possible future.

     

    Chad Kautzer is associate professor of philosophy at Lehigh University. He is the author of Radical Philosophy: An Introduction (Routledge), coeditor of Pragmatism, Nation, and Race: Community in the Age of Empire (Indiana), and is currently writing a book about race, political violence, and community defense. You can find more of his publications here. Kautzer works on academic solidarity campaigns and administers the page International Solidarity with Academics in Turkey.

     

    [1] I’d like to thank Jenny Weyel, Nitzan Lebovic, Daniel Loick, Eric Schliesser, Eylem Delikanlı, Steve Vogel, and Sirry Alang for their feedback on an earlier version of this essay.

    [2] The authors of a post-SARS study for the World Health Organization conclude “most measures for managing public health emergencies rely on public compliance for effectiveness. This requires that the public trust not only the information they are receiving, but also the authorities who are the source of this information, and their decision-making processes.” P. O’Malley, J. Rainford, and A. Thompson, “Transparency during public health emergencies: from rhetoric to reality,” Bull World Health Organ 87 (2009): 615.

    [3] “Post-truth is, at heart,” writes Sophia Rosenfeld, “a struggle over people as holders of epistemic authority and over their different methods of inquiry and proof in an intensely partisan era.” Sophia Rosenfeld, Democracy and Truth (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2018), 37.

    [4] https://www.caixinglobal.com/2020-02-06/after-being-punished-by-local-police-coronavirus-whistleblower-vindicated-by-top-court-101509986.html

    [5] “Turkey: Imprisoned journalists, human rights defenders and others, now at risk of Covid-19, must be urgently released,” Amnesty International, March 30, 2020 https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2020/03/turkey-imprisoned-journalists-human-rights-defenders-and-others-now-at-risk-of-covid-19-must-be-urgently-released/

    [6] With the coronavirus spreading rapidly in Turkey’s prisons, Erdoğan is now engaging in a cynical form of necropolitics, which subjects those who represent checks on his authority to an increased chance of life-threatening infection. On April 13, Erdoğan released nearly one-third of Turkey’s prison population to minimize their chances of contracting the virus, yet political prisoners, including doctors, journalists, and academics, were excluded.

    [7] Isaac Chotiner, “The Coronavirus Meets Authoritarianism in Turkey,” The New Yorker, April 3, 2020 https://www.newyorker.com/news/q-and-a/the-coronavirus-meets-authoritarianism-in-turkey; “Turkish doctors issue apologies for coronavirus statements,” Ahval, March 30, 2020, https://ahvalnews.com/turkey-coronavirus/turkish-doctors-issue-apologies-coronavirus-statements

    [8] http://m.bianet.org/english/health/226705-uludag-university-launches-investigation-against-prof-kayihan-pala

    [9] “The ‘Ostrich Alliance’: the leaders denying the coronavirus threat,” Financial Times, April 16, 2020. https://www.ft.com/content/974dc9d2-77c1-4381-adcd-2f755333a36b

    [10] Dom Phillips, “Bolsonaro fires popular health minister after dispute over coronavirus response,” The Guardian, April 16, 2020, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/apr/16/bolsonaro-brazil-president-luiz-mandetta-health-minister

    [11] https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/15/world/americas/brazil-health-minister-bolsonaro.html

    [12] https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/03/world/europe/russian-virus-doctor-detained.html

    [13] https://www.npr.org/2020/05/01/848932901/health-care-workers-in-russia-pay-deadly-price-fighting-covid-19

    [14] https://www.thenation.com/article/world/free-speech-russia-coronavirus/

    [15] https://www.article19.org/resources/russia-stop-restrictions-on-media-and-independent-journalists-under-the-cover-of-coronavirus/

    [16] László Bruszt, “Hungary’s Disease Dictator,” Project Syndicate, April 16, 2020, https://www.project-syndicate.org/commentary/hungary-covid19-viktor-orban-pandemic-dictatorship-by-laszlo-bruszt-2020-04

    [17] Pence’s appointment on February 26 was a response to public comments made by Dr. Nancy Messonnier, the director of the CDC’s National Center for Immunization and Respiratory Diseases, at a CDC press briefing the day before. “Disruption to everyday life might be severe,” she told reporters. “It’s not a question of if this will happen but when this will happen and how many people in this country will have severe illnesses.”  The statement was accurate, but incongruent with Trump’s fantastical, upbeat assessments. Dr. Messonnier did not appear in public again and the CDC press briefings were subsequently shut down in early March.

    [18] In one memorable exchange, Trump claimed that CDC director Robert Redfield was “misquoted” when he told a reporter “There’s a possibility that the assault of the virus on our nation next winter will actually be even more difficult than the one we just went through.” Trump called the reporting “fake news” and insisted Redfield explain what he really said. “I’m accurately quoted,” Redfield responded, and then tried drawing a distinction between “more difficult” and “worse,” the word used in the article’s title. Redfield came under fire in July for promising to change the CDC guidelines for reopening schools hours after public criticism from President Trump that existing guidelines were too stringent.

    [19] https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/trump-replaces-hhs-watchdog-who-found-severe-shortages-at-hospitals-combating-coronavirus/2020/05/02/6e274372-8c87-11ea-ac8a-fe9b8088e101_story.html

    [20] https://edition.cnn.com/2020/04/22/politics/read-whistleblower-vaccine-development/index.html

    [21] https://www.nytimes.com/aponline/2020/05/08/us/politics/ap-us-virus-outbreak-whistleblower.html

    [22] https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/08/us/coronavirus-updates.html

    [23] https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarks-president-trump-actions-china/

    [24] https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarks-president-trump-tour-centers-disease-control-prevention-atlanta-ga/

    [25] https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarks-president-trump-vice-president-pence-members-coronavirus-task-force-press-briefing-31/

    [26] Autocrats are “taken seriously” writes Adorno, precisely “because they risk making fools of themselves.” Theodor Adorno, “Anti-Semitism and Fascist Propaganda” (1946), in The Stars Down to Earth and Other Essays on the Irrational in Culture, edited by Stephen Crook (New York: Routledge, 1994), 166.

    [27] Catherine MacKinnon, Feminism Unmodified: Discourses on Life and Law (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), 164.

    [28] https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/stockpile-website-change-kushner/

    [29] https://www.npr.org/2019/09/04/757586936/trump-displays-altered-map-of-hurricane-dorians-path-to-include-alabama

    [30] Federico Finchelstein, From Fascism to Populism in History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2017), xxxvii.

    [31] “In fascism,” writes Finchelstein, “the ultimate form of truth required no corroboration with empirical evidence: rather, it emanated from an intuitive affirmation of notions that were supposed to be expressions of transhistorical myths. The leader embodied these myths.” Federico Finchelstein, A Brief History of Fascist Lies (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2020), 26.

    [32] Leo Löwenthal and Norbert Guterman, Prophets of Deceit: A Study of the Techniques of the American Agitator (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 6.

    [33] Finchelstein, From Fascism to Populism in History, 250.

    [34] Rosenfeld, Democracy and Truth, 16-17.

    [35] “No absolute ruler can be satisfied today with dominion over political life alone,” writes Michael Polanyi. “Dictatorship can become real today only by eradicating the whole autonomous cultural life with all its widespread popular roots” Michael Polanyi, “The Growth of Thought in Society,” Economica, Vol. 8, No. 32 (Nov., 1941): 443. I thank Eric Schliesser for pointing me toward Polanyi’s critique of authoritarianism.

    [36] Jean-Paul Sartre famously used Orbán’s Stalinist predecessor in Hungary, Mátyás Rákosi, to illustrate how terror arises from the “everything was always going well” ideology of an autocrat. Prime Minister Rákosi had ordered the construction of a subway in Budapest in the 1950s. When, writes Sartre, “the engineers came to explain to Rakosi, after a few months’ work, that the subsoil of Budapest was not suitable for the construction of a metro, he had them thrown into prison.” Jean-Paul Sartre, Critique of Dialectical Reason, Vol. 2, edited by Arlette Elkaïm-Sartre and translated by Quinton Hoare (New York: Verso, 1991), 173.

    [37] Löwenthal and Guterman describe the fascist agitator as “a bullet-proof martyr who despite his extraordinary sufferings always emerges victorious over his enemies” Löwenthal and Norbert Guterman, Prophets of Deceit,119.

    [38] “The ideal subject of totalitarian rule is… people for whom the distinction between fact and fiction (i.e., the reality of experience) and the distinction between true and false (i.e., the standards of thought) no longer exist.” Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (New York: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1973), 474.

    [39] “They function vicariously for their inarticulate listeners by doing and saying what the latter would like to, but either cannot or dare not.” Adorno, “Anti-Semitism and Fascist Propaganda,” 166.

    [40] Theodor W. Adorno, E. Frenkel-Brunswik, D. J. Levinson, and R. N. Sanford, The Authoritarian Personality (New York: Harper & Row, 1950), 678.

    [41] José Medina, The Epistemology of Resistance: Gender and Racial Oppression, Epistemic Injustice, and Resistant Imagination (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 57-58

    [42] Fascist truth, writes Robert Paxton, “was whatever permitted the new fascist man (and woman) to dominate others, and whatever made the chosen people triumph.” Robert Paxton, The Anatomy of Fascism (New York: Knopf, 2004), 16.

    [43] “Fascism was not a simple and hypocritical lie,” writes Finchelstein, “but a lived and believed experience both from above and from below. The creation of a fascist self through the internalization of fascist themes had multiple meanings, official ones as well as spontaneous instances of fascist perception…. In fascism, fiction displaced reality and became a reality.” Finchelstein, A Brief History of Fascist Lies, 21.

    [44] Masha Gessen, Surviving Autocracy (New York: Riverhead Books, 2020), 164.

    [45] Adorno, “Anti-Semitism and Fascist Propaganda,” 167. See Adorno: “It is not simply a reversion to older, primitive emotions but rather the reversion toward a ritualistic attitude in which the expression of emotions is sanctioned by an agency of social control.” Ibid.

    [46] https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarks-president-trump-veterans-foreign-wars-united-states-national-convention-kansas-city-mo/

    [47] Rosenfeld, like Karl Popper, argues that the advantage of democratic methods is not that they produce better “empirical outcomes,” but that they allow for continual revision in a world without certainty. Rosenfeld, Democracy and Truth, 293.

    [48] An open letter accepting signatures in support of Dr. Bülent Şık