From Work to Play

This is a very ugly amalgam of writing samples I intended to use for grad school. Ambiguous and vague, don’t be surprised if terms and principles are thrown in there willy-nilly.

 

From Work to Play

            The history of art sways between subject and object. The proliferation of available technology quickens the swing of this social pendulum. Writing is a mapping of the commons of imagination. These commons are the topos (context) for the revealing of identity. The desire for individuality is the love of metanarrative. This is philosophy. Everyone must construct their own life for themselves; we, the authors, re-present ourselves as the authored. Yet, we persist as something more than a genre-enclosed protagonist. Occupy Wall Street is a reminder of this psychological fact, deferring significations of social categories in order to keep the possibility of this apperception alive. Behind the work of signifying the signified is an inter-subjective communion in jouissance. Let me show you a way to play.

In the last millennium, writing cycled between something essentially old, collective and traditional, and something essentially new, authentic and spontaneous. The activity of writing has always involved a certain reliance on tradition. In the Middle Ages, writing was authoritative if it was a derivation and remediation of older texts and ideas in order to answer the questions of the present. An author made original contributions insofar as he wrote “as part of an enterprise conceived collaboratively” (Woodmansee 2).

The Romantic period witnessed something different. During that time, the notion of the Author was reborn as an originator of works differing qualitatively from the plethora of public writings. But what was wrong with public writings? Isn’t all reading and writing pleasurable? Marquis de Sade, a French author and political activist of the late eighteenth century, described his era as one in which writers felt that “everything seems already to have been written, [and] the sterile imaginations of authors seem incapable of producing anything new” (Sade 114). Writers like Sade felt trapped by the thoroughly uncreative sentiments thoughtlessly rehashed to the point of mendacity. Consequently, the popularity of the Novel took hold. With the rejection of the old scholarly ways of writing, Sade and other writers of his time believed “that ‘tis better to invent, albeit poorly, than to translate or copy. The inventor can lay claim to talent or genius…what claim [to that effect] can the plagiarist make” (Sade 115)? Sade began his Reflections on the Novel with an etymological analysis: Novel, derived from the French Nouvelle (short story) and the Latin Novellus, the diminutive of Novus (new). This form of writing is thus an embodiment of the Enlightenment’s desire to escape the conceptual chains of extant literary works. But the novel is merely one manifestation of this artistic infatuation with authorship.

Samuel Johnson, an English writer of the same era, had the same End, but different means. Throughout his career, he coordinated with several other writers and editors in order to establish a pantheon of great authors whose works differed qualitatively from common writing. Yet, the authorship of this work, of Lives of the Poets, itself intended to raise the notion of Authorship to uniquity, stems from a plurality; paradoxically, the construction of individuality rests on the community.

This ironic project is microcosm to the macrocosm of Johnson’s career. He relinquished authorship as the authored was transformed into capital. Johnson believed that, once published, his works were no longer of him. Woodmansee suggests that Johnson’s distinctly non-proprietary attitude towards collaborative works may have reflected a real uncertainty as to where his intellect left off and those of his cowriters began. This anti-egoic relationship to writing a text is unavoidable when one has little to no proprietary concerns. Why insert oneself, one’s name, into a community, when one can manipulate the society “by orchestrating from behind the scenes” (Woodmansee 2)?

However, going behind the scenes means leaving the stage altogether. Outside the theater of society there is no object. There is nothing. This is subjectivity; the essence of consciousness. Something’s missing. On our way out of the social, we bracket not only society’s media-driven popular belief (doxa), but social objects and causality. In a word, ‘bracketing’ is pedantic austerity. We begin from the beginning, in the imaginary. Upon reflecting experience, consciousness creates an image of an object, which is a manner of that object not being at such a distance. The characteristic of any object is to be intuitive-absent: given as absent to intuition. We try in vain to give rise to the belief that an object really exists by our actions, but this is to react to an image as if it were a perception. If this reaction reoccurs, then the image wraps around us, bringing us full circle in a search for objectivity.

Yet, this vanity and error proliferates socially. Thought affirms various qualities of its object without realizing them on it, but the image aims at producing its object. With language, we direct others to form simulations of our images in their experience; we communicate with symbols. This is because the function of the image is to signify. In order to function in this world, each person must become an unconscious library of symbols, constituting an entire Civilization of Sign. This raises the question regarding who educates, and who is being educated. Since these questions arise together, we must answer them in kind; as one.

The act of self-education, by means of notes and the contemporary hypertext, is a merging of reader and writer. The reader is always already rewriting the text for oneself. The ontological distinction between author and authored has no significance if one writes with a pathos of commentary. By contributing his or her own commentary, the reader narrates the internal experience of perception, or interprets. In describing the originary (or “empirical”) perception, the reader “synthesizes what is experienced as an infinite multiplicity of determinations and possible relations” (Sartre 16). In short, the reader becomes an overt collaborator in an unending process of reading and writing. Johnson participated in this mode of writing. This places the very notion of authorship into question.

There is no sense in claiming proprietary rights on something with a dynamic ontology; a written work means something different for each reader because each reader rewrites the text in their own disparate reading-act. Hence, the distinction between reader and writer becomes contingent, “returning us to something very like the expressively collaborative writing milieu of the Middle Ages and the [early] Renaissance with which we began” (W 5).

By fortuity or folly, the Renaissance succeeded in creating a simulacrum of Plato’s Republic. Even now we can see experience divided into sub-categories; each science is a monument to a particular mode of experience (hypomnesis). The educational systems of Europe and the North America were modified to mimic Prussian military institutions. We of course must ask whether or not altering these categories of experience is beneficial for humanity, but this presupposes the very notion under question.

Individuality, an image engaged in the Civilization of Sign, necessarily affects the notion of Authorship. Writing is the dissolution of the gap between Subject and Object. Thus, how Subjectivity and Objectivity are perceived through time, according to doxa, warps the image of authorship. Foucault’s work with structuralism reveals an anachronism in Modernist doxa, in the notion of the Author. An unconscious historicism, working behind the scenes, suggests something deeper and more real than the ‘reality’ of doxa.

As a manifest product of the imagination, modernist categories of thought pervade experience, often against one’s own will. However, while it is true that the structure of consciousness is predisposed to interpret perceptual phenomena in accordance with the categories instilled by popular belief, the image of an object is something the viewing subject puts there. In this gap, between perception and image, occurs an unconscious act that is potentially conscious. This difference is the submission of will to intentional structure. “To say that there can be an image without will in no way implies that there can be an image without intention” (Sartre 19). Judgment is the act by which the will affirms an intentional structure.

The collective affirmation of the intentional structures of doxa bounds our interpretation of what it is to be an author. But what else are there than various categories of “me” given by experience? We must remember that the ontology of individuality is always already given as not being there in some way. Every recognition of personhood is the genesis of an objectifying field. To what degree originary subjectivity is bestowed on an object is the extent to which the objects of the world are absent. Recognizing something as a consciousness allows the possibility of world-creation, as this thing’s judgments then signify a world in its otherness, negating all other possible worlds.

The Enlightenment represents the recognition of enclosure qua the form of subjectivity, or objectifying field. Those unfortunate enough to present a notion of subjectivity different in kind than the Enlightenment faced misperception and objectification. These peoples’ words were viewed as unreason, and their way of life, madness. This onto-political distinction has manifested in the structures of segregation since the days of the lepers. Confinement moved the venereal, debauched, dissolute, blasphemers, homosexuals, alchemists and libertines out of society, where madness appeared as a sort of subliminated omnipresence, to a place outside of ‘society,’ to a distance that allowed perception of unreason.

Unreason is first and foremost the deep division that lies between the consciousness that believes the mad can be recognized immediately (independent of any discursive knowledge of madness), and a form of knowledge that claims the ability to unfold, along the plane of its virtualities, all forms of madness, complete with all the tell-tale signs that manifest its truth. In this valley is nothing, a void or absence; what madness as a general and concrete form would be, as a real element in which the mad would recognize themselves. “What the fall of Man was to sin, so was madness to unreason…Madness summed up the whole of unreason in a single point-the guilt of day and the innocence of the night” (Foucault 158). No longer are we faced with two clear choices (reason and unreason) in opposition. A continuum of systematic complexity separates prejudice from solipsism. Neurosis and mental disorder are captured and remediated, leaving a new science which has, as its object, the engendering of absence, or modern psychology.

Madness represents the dynamism inherent in any notion of individuality, or the difference concomitant in excluding the horizon of possibility for subjectivity. During the enlightenment, madness was silenced and sent away, left to develop on its own. But when medical science entered therapeutics, madness was forced into the spotlight of scientific analysis for the first time. By the nineteenth century western society recognized that, while the phenomenon may never be truly mastered, madness is still the rightful property of the gaze that dominates it. This analytical consciousness of madness forms the possibility of an objective knowledge of madness.

“Madness measures the distance that exists between foresight and providence, between calculation and finality. And it masks a profound, collective reason that masters time itself” (Foucault 177).

In 1650, many prisons recited the litanies of confinement in their lengthy registers: ‘debauched,’ ‘imbecile,’ prodigal,’ ‘infirm,’ ‘of unsound mind,’ ‘libertine,’ ‘ungrateful son,’ ‘dissolute father,’ ‘prostitute,’ ‘insane,’ et cetera. No attempt was made to discriminate between them, and all were cast into the same abstract dishonor. For the social reproach of the mentally alienated to be carried out, a complete reorganization of the ethical world was necessary.

The experiences divided for banishment or integration revolved around the relationship between sexuality and the organization of the bourgeois family, or libertinage (i.e. the new relations that were beginning to emerge between free thinking and the system of the passions), or around the profanation qua the new conception of the sacred and religious rituals. Each of these had some connection with delirium and madness (e.g. Marquis de Sade’s Justine). Some forms of sexuality were directly linked to unreason and certain types of mental illness. Sexuality is a universal symbol, capable of inculcating every conceptual scheme of life by showing common unconscious roots in Otherness. Classifying various forms of sexuality as mental illness distances society from the experience of unreason. This transforms the modernist systematization of otherness into an ideology of solidarity.

The concept of ‘psychological alienation’ is little more than the anthropological confusion of two experiences of alienation:

i)                    Those who have fallen under the power of the Other, and are chained to their liberty.

ii)                  The individual-turned-Other, excluded from the fraternal resemblance between men.

Since the middle ages, there has been an association between madness and a familiar strangeness. At the Enlightenment’s zenith, “metamorphosis into an animal was no longer an indication of the power of the devil, nor a result of the diabolical alchemy of unreason. The animal in man was no longer an indicator of a beyond, but had become in itself his madness, with no reference to anything other than itself” (Foucault 148).

Just as madness evolved to recognize an otherness present in itself, so is the otherness originally sought by art and science now found in the arts and sciences. Nietzsche’s sentiment of the impossibility of enquiry shows exteriority as lack. The philosopher can no longer describe its other without taking account of itself as an Other. Each subject implicitly implies all others. This mediation achieved partial autonomy and grew into a spectacle of civilization, a great monument, constituting an objectified hypomnesis of subjectivity. The term “the world,” masks a premeditated subliminal chain of experience; it is the continuing project of the Enlightenment.

This objectified notion of subjectivity exists today, and re-presents more human activity (praxis) than ever before. The otherness of the institutions at odds with the occupy movement (OM) is signified with increasing degree by abstracting the “ninety-nine percent” from the various social antagonisms they signify. Without taking account of the market-enclosed commons as an experience of otherness, thought attempts to answer more abstract questions about the conditions for economic downturns, why it is that we conceive of “national security” as cause for over-militarization of the state, why it is that the “Other” is perceived as always already antagonistic to us, et al. But this form of analysis only serves to cultivate and reify our unconscious spectacular dependence, or ideology.

Instead of investigating these social antagonisms by increasing the depth of analysis, OM is the exemplar field of play, using bodies on the ground to create a commons allowing a new recognition of zoe (or bare, unqualified life). It refuses the supplement of “reality” prescribed by the market-enclosed commons in favor of an open-source movement. This is how OM recognizes, yet defers, social antagonisms as potentially signified improvements of bios (political, qualified life). There is an ever-present gaze, watching and managing all forms of bios from the inside, perpetually leading human experience away from itself.

Roland Barthes, in From Work to Text, declares the activity of Text to be the true agent of change behind society’s rampant categorizing of works. This isn’t to place Text as some metaphysical cause, nor does this imply that literary genres and works are not real. Consider Lacan’s distinction between ‘reality’ and ‘the real.’ In an analogous way, the work can be seen (e.g. bookshops, catalogues), but the text is a process of demonstration; it is shown. OM’s method for decision-making is called General Assembly (GA). It is based on anarchical consent. One is not capable of understanding it by simply watching. This system is a means of altering the course of the real, of playing with the possibility of reality on a sub-political level, underneath and through extant categories of discourse; GA signifies concrete polis. Analogously, the text doesn’t stop at (good) literature; unlike works, it cannot be contained in a hierarchy, or even a simple division of genres. The text goes to the limit of the rules of enunciation (rationality, readability, etc), and tries to place itself just behind the limit of doxa. Barthes argues that doxa is defined by its limits, by its censorship.

The text is signification, and operates via two modes:

(i)                 It is claimed to be evident and the work is then the subject of literal science, of philology.

(ii)               It is secret, ultimate, something to be sought out, and then falls under the scope of hermeneutics, of an interpretation (e.g. Marxist, psychoanalytic).

The Text “practices the infinite deferment of the signified, is dilatory; its field is that of the signifier” (Barthes 3), which must be conceived as the deferred action of the signifier. The field of the signifier is an infinity, a playing. The generation of the perpetual signifier in the field of the text isn’t an organic process of maturation or hermeneutic discourse of deepening investigation, but a serial movement of disconnections, overlappings and varyings.

Like language, the Text is structured but off-centered; a system with neither boundary nor center. The Text isn’t a co-existence of meanings, but a passage, an overcrossing. It answers not to interpretation (not even a liberal one), but a dissemination. It is a stereographic plurality, irreducible. The Text can be only in its difference (not in the sense of being autonomous in an individualistic sense); its reading is semelfactive, rendering any inductive-deductive science of texts illusory (there is no grammar of the Text).

The work is always said to be owned and fathered by the author (droit d’auteur). But the Text reads without the inscription of the Father. Work is an image of an organism which grows by vital expansion; Text is a network: it can be broken (e.g. Holy Scripture, Aristotle). The ‘I’ that writes the Text is a paper ‘I’: a character of fiction that plays the role of guest in his own work. Text requires we attempt to abolish the distance between reading and writing. This is not to be done by the projection of the reader into the writing, but by joining them in a single signifying practice.

Phenomenologically, a transubstantiation of authorship occurs in the activity of Text: Pre-reading, a subject and object (text) have internal and external relations (i.e. writing is not reading). During reading, the text, as pharmakon, leads the subject out of oneself and into the text, as one’s mind becomes interwoven with it, indiscernible from it. The reader becomes the author, yet also the authored. At this point, the ‘is’ between ‘reading is writing’ begins to break down. The practice is not reduced to a passive, inner mimesis; it is bound to jouissance: pleasure without separation. “The Text is the space where no language has a hold over any other, where languages circulate…a Theory of the Text cannot be satisfied by a metalinguistic exposition:” (Barthes 7) the calling into doubt of metalanguage is part of the theory itself. The modernist reassurance of an author’s essentially grounded nature, of a cogito to which one could retreat, is thus rendered illusory; there is nothing to hold onto.

“The Text is that social space which leaves no language safe, outside, nor any subject of the enunciation in position as judge, master, analyst, confessor, decoder. The theory of the Text can coincide only with a practice of writing” (Barthes 7).

There is no escape from this madness. The Text is all-encompassing, integrating the author, as an assemblage of signs, into the signifying activity itself. As the scope of the text extends, dilating, it reverses the ‘author-authored’ relationship. Not only does the Text add signs to the author, it replaces him, effecting a transubstantiation of the subject. This is text as supplement.

From its beginning, Occupy Wall Street (OWS) claimed it wasn’t interested in seeking principles. This pathos engenders a consciousness of Text, in that it continually defers any signifying act. It is not about the Civilization of Sign. Nor is it signifying the deferment of signification. OWS is a dilation of signifying acts in the commons created by the people. The slogan “We are the 99%” has two senses. Explicitly, it signifies autonomy, affirming the existence of the people, the Untermensch, the trampled-over, the would-be-proletariat. Implicitly, it is a dilation of the sign of individuality as such, as a social construct. OM is flooded with paradoxical signs like this. If it supported non-contradictory slogans, it would cease to be a field of play, and fall prey to the market’s forces of privatization. It would become categorized, passed, past; work.

These two senses of the slogan above, when taken together, engender a paradoxical threshold of indistinction between a situation of fact and a situation of right. In this field, the border between zoe and polis blurs, and bare life frees itself from the city, becoming both subject and object of the conflicts of the political order. GA is the practice of anarchical consent; it attempts to create a link between voice and word. This is a means for critiquing the State of Exception; a “complex topological figure, in which the exception, the rule, the state of nature and law, outside and inside, pass through one another” (Agumben 28).

But who…or what occupies this space and time, this new commons? In Silvia Federici’s words, Occupy arose out of a desire “to put an end to the separation between the personal and the political, and political activism and the reproduction of everyday life” (RECLAMATIONS BLOG). If this is the pathos of OM, then its desire is the reclamation of zoe (bare, unqualified life), or, in effect, to discover the bios of zoe!

We thus unveil an originary political structure; the politics of “reality” fold back to show the polis of the real. OM rejects the establishment because it is one of re-presentation, or a politics of absence. They counter it by physically inserting themselves into the commons, creating a space for biopolitics, where occupiers face zoe (e.g. what to eat, where to sleep, urinate, et al). They are “exposed and threatened on the threshold in which life and law, inside and outside, become indistinguishable” (Agumben 23). The establishment attempts to reinsert itself in the occupied commons according to a negative dialectic, or a narrative of signification:

Nomos, most noticeable through the regulations of food, health and trespassing laws (created ad hoc). These are biopolitical boundaries inserted between OM and zoe, to halt (or stall) their ability to ground their daily lives in a more liberated bios. In short, the regulations force occupiers to cease deferment of signification of bios, so that they are unable to achieve zoe. This entrapment allows the establishment and the public in media res to question the equality of representation (i.e. is this a young, white movement?).

This leads us to the second means of commons-enclosure: topos, seen as the reification of OM’s signified exteriority (context implied as already being there, before presentation). By doing so, the establishment creates for itself a means of re-presenting OM in public space, distancing the zoe sought and experienced by occupiers from the spectacle of mainstream media. This prohibits OM from being able to represent the people not physically occupying, and enframes non-occupiers as allies of the establishment. From this, antagonistic questions arise that signify the homogeneity of the occupying population with regards to signified political issues (e.g. sexism, racism, ageism, et al). This is Authorship, sneaking into doxa again as a means of discerning a signified notion of authenticity (i.e. is OM truly egalitarian?).

Most importantly, topos pressures occupiers into facing physical enforcement during marches. For instance, the march on Brooklyn Bridge, intended to inform both the one percent and the public in general of the limits of the quality of their lives, was enframed by the media’s propaganda about OM’s perceived roots, perceived, that is, through mainstream media. In other words, whatever biopolitics were occurring in the lives of occupiers, they had little to do with the public opinion of the movement, since those experiences were only reviewed in OM’s own, decentralized commons (e.g. blogs, twitter, etc). This is the establishment entering biopolitics by re-presentation; by pulling the occupiers out of zoe and towards the abstract bios of their signified image in the state. If occupiers show a lack of dependence on the civilization of sign, topos can be deferred.

To deny the existence of OM is to deny its context. Under the purview of the privatized commons, mainstream media initially denounced the movement as disorganized, inconsequential, and un-categorizable. This makes OM appear inaffectual with respect to the “reality” of the political. This media outburst is the image of OM’s collision with a map. The former’s complaint of ‘having no guiding principle’ stems from the same patricidal fear that frightens King Thamus and Socrates in Plato’s Phaedrus. The logic of pharmakon exhibits an identical irony. Pharmakon, an ancient Greek word, has two senses which must be taken together. It is medicine, and it is poison. It is a drug. Without a singular voice or guiding praxis, OM acts as pharmakon to the masses, drawing critics to the very boundary of doxa, to a point where every signification fails to affirm any marketed topos. In this way, the consciousness of the ‘99%’ is one of the Text.

If OM is pharmakon to the masses, then it is also for the construction of hypomnesis in relation to the masses; it traces a biopolitical constellation, re-presenting the contents of doxa, as viewed from the commons created by the movement. OM’s confrontations with the establishment trace the topos of the one percent folded back. In Chicago, occupiers sketched the activity of the one percent by revealing what the politics of re-presentation dismissed as madness. By resisting bank foreclosures and evictions, the SOPA act, and even hitting the military arm of the establishment, NATO, OM acts as pharmakon to the establishment, fighting fire with fire.

Like the Text, OM dilates signifiers of revolution in order to play with the act of signification, immunizing itself from doxic categories. For example, the hashtag #casualpepperspray, seized by proponents of OWS, was remediated to create various paradoxical images (Know Your Meme). The police officer, casually spraying the protestors, is spliced into other images, showing him as an antagonism to the hippies of the 1960’s, the founding fathers of America, Jesus, and even other memes of the infosphere. At the center of this nomos is the union between two antithetical Greek principles: Bia and Dike; respectively, violence and justice. Each spliced background listed above is another signified time, place, movement, revolution, fad, et al. Memes such as this show that violence can signify any ethical topos. Whenever police brutality is suggested as an antagonism to OM, the movement faces the threat of becoming a work, of becoming logocized into some sort of blind anti-authoritative praxis.

The use of excessive force against demonstrators in New York, Denver, Seattle and other cities reveals the process of forestalling categorization. Concomitant with violent images like the face of an eighty-four year old woman soaked in pepper spray (MEDIAITE) is a chain reaction of antagonisms. These are triggerings of signifiers present in the field of OM. They include economic inequality, corporate hegemony, over-militarization of the State, ecological concerns, et al. With every incursion, the Civilization of Sign forces OM’s hand, as it were, into ceasing its dilation of signs, into no longer deferring signification. To cease deferment is to cease historicization. This would centralize OM’s efforts, reducing their scope from particular incursions of violence to violence as such.

This is the third method of the establishment’s self-insertion, where OM meets the one percent; bia (violence). Violence is used as a wild-card signifier to make OM vulnerable to signification of doxic frames. In short, bia reduces (or abstracts) zoe to dike (justice). Throughout marches, demonstrations, and evictions, OM media never fails to headline police brutality as the number one antagonism. This isn’t the movement showing its true colors, any more than it is the establishment proving its unwillingness to listen. The law manifests in violence not because it commands and prescribes, but because it must create the sphere of its own reference in real life and make that reference regular; in short, it must embody a rule.

The “ninety-nine percent” and supporters of the status quo are vying for control of the civilization of sign in the public eye. While the former desires a greater awareness of the structures responsible for ignorance and the consequential manipulation of “zoe” (qua doxa) by supplementing doxa with a new commons, adding to and replacing the topos of individuality, the latter desires the proliferation of a narrative. Signification of particular social antagonisms will inculcate a more manageable topos into the collective unconscious: neo-liberalism.

At this point, if OWS is logocized, or integrated into the Civilization of Sign, the rejection of neo-liberalism would be its greatest signifier. Neo-liberalism represents corporate boundaries enforced as a determinate buffer between oneself and self-authorship. Instead of freedom-from the privatized commons, the social fact of neo-liberalism limits all to a freedom-to choose a categorized version of oneself, re-presented by the privatized commons.

In the end, violence may kill OM. If the reality of mainstream media and government responses continue to regulate their incursions into the occupied commons in this manner, OM will eventually have no choice but to no longer dilate signifiers of social antagonisms, and regress into an anti-violence protest. From a critique of bios as such to a narrative of zoe liberated, or rather forced away, inwards; from the pursuit of the bios of zoe to a reactionary bios, to protect a hidden zoe – to survive.

This narrative is OM’s greatest threat. If the commons created and occupied by OM become remediated into categories of work, and genres of revolutionary principles, it may go out like punk rock. By dilating the signifier of police brutality, OM avoids subverting itself to a single social antagonism. The threat of logocentric enclosure is averted. So long as it continues to defer exclusive signification of any particular cultural antagonism, it will survive; it will transform the American ideal of self-authorship.

In hopes of engendering a new field of possibility for individuality, of freeing the Commons, the people of OM subvert and cast off their individual authority. They come together to co-author the “author.” Its threat is that of private mythologization, embodied by neo-liberalism. This is how OM, at its core, is a pharmakon, a supplement. OM is poison to itself in its voluntary release of authored categories, and it is poison to the privatized commons, by making its unequivocal dominion over capital and information arbitrary. But how is this done, and why is arbitrariness a threat?

Arbitrariness is not a threat, and neither is OM, because we need subculture. Without subculture, there would be nothing unknown. We would literally be in Plato’s Republic. Society would crumble, and there would be no diversity.  The privatized commons, as a resource for the construction of individuality, limits diversity and the notion of authorship as such. OM’s expansion of the commons is the creation of new worlds, of new possibilities for the concept of cogito; it is the communal desire for new myths. That is what this world needs more than anything. A new Myth. Today, we find ourselves in the same position as Sade and his peers; the imagination of humankind has been cut off from expansion. The rapid convergence of media and information has only quickened this social seizure.

OM’s actions are much like Johnson’s in his day. It works behind the scenes, in the shadow of mainstream media and its doxa of privatized commons, in order to manipulate and expand the field of play. Johnson refused proprietary rights on his works, just as Occupy refuses to claim anything but its difference. That there is something else, something more, a desire for something other-than-this shows the dynamism necessary for the future of individuality, for the possibility of authorship.

This truth is dirigible to post-structuralism, in that post-structuralism is the psychological ideal, a notion of the self as the psyche which contains all psyches; a collective unconscious. We all see in other persons a semblance of ourselves; a doppelgänger glance from a ‘you’ of the future. No one is a social outcast. One may not belong to a coveted subculture, but that doesn’t mean one doesn’t belong to any subculture.

Marxism is a subculture. But what does it do? Marxism makes me think about money. I don’t have money. But I want to be successful. Success, for me, is applying and being accepted to graduate school, by getting a degree and having the credentials to be who I am, and who I want to be. This will help me by giving me legitimacy. Of course these are social constructs, but one must see how they are applicable to postmodernism, existentialism, and post-structuralism. When I say “see,” I don’t literally mean “SEE.” I am being abstract. “See,” to me, means “FAILURE.” This is because what I see is not literally what I am describing. I am being aesthetic. Pardon my prose, but I’m a student of English, and philosophy is not a pass-time; it is a way of life. I want to be a philosopher, and by going to graduate school, I will fulfill my dreams. Sigmund Freud spoke of dreams, and he wasn’t a psychologist, or a philosopher; he was a neurologist. And this multi-disciplinary approach is exactly what post-structuralism is.

In conclusion, the author stated in my thesis is none other than me. This is irrefutable. Granted, in citing authors read for a class and discussed in lecture, I am only subjectively the author. I claim to be an objectivist. But only social reality is objective. This is Marxism. Now I’m going to roll a cigarette, and show you why taking time to examine my philosophy is more than journalism.

There’s something about being deluded, in the sense of being led away, astray from the average every-day habitual story of your-self. What we’re getting at is that moment, no, the day, or when your ego, as in your ‘society,’ and everyone in it, heists you. You are jacked. YOU are jacked. YOU can’t speak. This is praxis. Human activity, done (as far as you know) for its own sake; you’re working. But there’s always a suspicion that you aren’t alone in there (in your head). I’m not talking about schizophrenia. It’s more ubiquitous than that. All of us, of course, have different voices running us, to chaos, or Ends that we don’t understand. But if we listen to one of them, and then reflect, we start to doubt the meaningfulness, of any, it. IT is “the world,” an ego-synthesis, really, it’s only your own pathos, you, as a pathetic expansion of what you think really matters (or is, potentially) about all of this into the social realm of your friends and family; the bright scary core everyone is rushing to. Or one of them. The pursuit of unreason, reified, is “reason.” But unity becomes plurality, and society comes to it slowly, and usually together. The you that was, the world that it viewed, is sent away, relocated to its distant and unknown destination, lost to the sea of unreasoned and indifferent potential. Homonym is feared, and synonym takes hold. Your inside is cast outside, and a society plants its stake inside of you, claiming your consciousness as a city wall claims the land. A difference is born, in your own mind. You are divided in yourself.

Sub-, infra-, neo- and every other semantic modifier is a trace of an endoxic class, not popular in the factual sense, but textual proof of the resistance or response to endoxa. They signify included middles. This is banal. But isn’t all linguistic morphology? We’re signifying the ever de-pragmatizing of philosophical rhetoric by a movement that claims its purpose to be the improvement of society. Theory as Praxis. This is Post-Structuralism. An autonomously stabilizing Endoxa seems impossible, yet it never fails to find a new mean. And that becomes meaning, remederi. Praxicidal theory is a contradiction. That is, any attempt to destroy praxis is already itself praxis. So we slap a neo- in front of it, to mark it, if only temporarily, for the reader. But the reader is a variable. This is anaphora. He or She must bring their own pathological semantic scope to the terms. Dilation. In this case, any sentence means anything. Another banality. There is art, and there is language, but sometimes both comment on each other, at once, and the boundary between signs disappears. This is Occupation:

Bodies, boding dark dreams of lagging signs into your lacking lap. Lips, ripping and bleeding and dying and kissing. Nameless and without organ they lap up and down, future and past now arbitrary choices, or not, except with respect to “us.” A neo-class becomes class, then crass, as it’s seen once more, in time, or prose. A 99% is also an organless body. Lack, and fear. That is-

And, yet. There are also those who still claim to know nothing. Who want to know. Who want to meet you. They let madness penetrate them, willfully and fully. Curiouser and lovelier, they see their self in a stranger’s eye when you speak with the paper-“I” of tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow. They are the truly nameless nomos. They are the hidden heroes. The past has not passed if you never mix stories. There’s only one Just sovereign, and it does not claim propriety. A habitus of non-membership. An ethos you refuse to engage in. The sovereign must curse himself as homo sacer. No one ever dies. If society banishes you, know that “you” isn’t YOU. Again, let’s not appeal to holistic alternatives. Let’s instead get romantic: let’s talk about nothing. Let’s talk about an abyss. Let’s talk about subjectivity. Let’s look into the darkness, together, into the valley of unreason. As you fall into darkness, you ascend above gender-class. You will be tempted to conflate this with an icy world of pure logic, but don’t. Don’t you dare reduce the pure subject to logic. It’s beyond class, beyond category, and beyond face. It’s the realm of boundaries; the thin social film between society’s “reality” and the unknown real of pure imagination. It won’t bite because it can’t. The REAL you can’t hurt anything. It is the infinite possibility of reconstruction, the lack of self-cultivation, the heroin addict’s dream; the yndi halda of an angel’s eternal rest. Don’t be afraid to dream in the margins, and don’t fear the next, bright, white day. Whatever it takes, whomever you make, you will never be dragged down to his-story. No one need ever know what you’re thinking or feeling. Not even you. That is-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Works Cited:

Barthes, Roland. From Work to Text. 1971. Trans. Stephen Heath. 1977. Print.

Woodmansee, Martha and Peter Jaszi. On The Author Effect: Recovering Collectivity. 1994. Print.

Foucault, jkljakdjfkl;a history of madness

Agumben, Giorgio. Homo Sacer….etc

Sade, Marquis de. “Reflections on the Novel.” The 120 Days of Sodom & Other Writings. Austryn Wainhouse and Richard Seaver. 1966. New York: Grove Press, 1987. 91-116. Print.

Know Your Meme. Cheezburger, Inc. Web. 24. November 2011.

<http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/casually-pepper-spray-everything-cop/photos?sort=views>

MEDIAITE. Mediaite, LLC. 16. November 2011. Web. 24. November 2011.

<http://www.mediaite.com/online/84-year-old-woman-pepper-sprayed-at-occupy-seattle-protest-instantly-becomes-icon-of-movement/>

George Caffentzis. In the Desert of Cities: Notes on the Occupy Movement in the US.

Reclamations Blog. 27. January 2012. Web. 01. May 2012. <http://www.reclamationsjournal.org/blog/?p=505&gt;

 

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Von der Arbeit zum Spielen

The history of art sways between subject and object. The proliferation of available technology quickens the swing of this social pendulum. Writing is a mapping of the commons of imagination. But the commons are the resource for the construction of identity. The desire for individuality is the love of metanarrative. This is philosophy. Everyone must construct their own life for themselves; we, the authors, re-present ourselves as the authored. Yet, we persist as something more than a genre-enclosed protagonist. Occupy Wall Street is a reminder of this psychological fact, deferring significations of social categories in order to keep the possibility of this apperception alive. Behind the work of signifying the signified is a non-subjective communion in jouissance. Let me show you a way to play.

In the last millennium, writing has cycled between something essentially old, collective and traditional, and something essentially new, authentic and spontaneous. The activity of writing has always involved a certain reliance on tradition. In the Middle Ages, writing was authoritative in the sense of being a derivation, a remediation of older texts and ideas in order to answer the questions of the present. An author made original contributions insofar as he wrote “as part of an enterprise conceived collaboratively” (Woodmansee 2).

But the Romantic period introduced something new. During that time, the origin of ‘Author’ was born, as an originator of works differing qualitatively from the plethora of public writings. But what was wrong with public writings? Isn’t all reading and writing pleasurable? Marquis de Sade, a French author and political activist of the late eighteenth century, described his era as being one in which writers felt that “everything seems already to have been written, [and] the sterile imaginations of authors seem incapable of producing anything new” (Sade 114). The popularity of the Novel took hold. With the rejection of the old scholarly ways of writing, Sade and other writers of his time believed “that ‘tis better to invent, albeit poorly, than to translate or copy. The inventor can lay claim to talent or genius…what claim [to that affect] can the plagiarist make” (Sade 115)? Sade begins his Reflections on the Novel with an etymological analysis of the word. Novel, derived from the French Nouvelle (short story) and the Latin Novellus, the diminutive of Novus (new). This form of writing is thus an embodiment of the Enlightenment’s desire to escape the conceptual chains of extant literary works. But the novel is merely one manifestation of the artistic infatuation with authorship.

Samuel Johnson, an English writer of the same era, had the same End, but different means. Throughout his career, he coordinated with several other writers and editors in order to establish a pantheon of great authors whose works differed qualitatively from common writing. Yet, the authorship of Lives of the Poets, itself intended to establish an individualistic notion of the Author, belongs to a plurality; paradoxically, the construction of individuality rests on the community.

This ironic project is microcosm to the macrocosm of Johnson’s career. Johnson believed that, once paid for, his works were no longer of him; he relinquished authorship as the authored was transformed into capital. Woodmansee suggests that Johnson’s distinctly non-proprietary attitude towards collaborative works may have reflected a real uncertainty as to where his intellect left off, and those of his cowriters began. Perhaps, for Johnson, the Text was experienced as a non-individualistic, inorganic and semelfactive experience. This anti-egoic relationship to writing a text is unavoidable when one has little to no proprietary concerns. Why insert oneself, one’s name, into a community, when one can manipulate the society “by orchestrating from behind the scenes” (Woodmansee 2)?

The act of self-education, by means of notes and the contemporary hypertext, is a merging of reader and writer. The reader is always already rewriting a text for oneself. The ontological distinction between author and authored has no significance if one writes with a pathos of commentary. By contributing his or her own commentary, the reader becomes an overt collaborator in an unending process of reading and writing. Johnson participated in this mode of writing, placing the very notion of authorship into question. From this perspective, the distinction between reader and writer disappears and becomes arbitrary, “returning us to something very like the expressively collaborative writing milieu of the Middle Ages and the [early] Renaissance with which we began” (W 5).

The last century witnessed a change in our conception of language, connected to linguistics, anthropology, Marxism and psychoanalysis. These formerly disparate studies now encounter and morph objects that traditionally have no province with them. No longer is the object of art and literature merely an extension of society’s general assent to the Kantian Idea. There is no categorical imperative guiding our actions to Utopia. Such universal conceptualizations fall prey to the consequences of historicism. Each science reinterprets all other sciences to fit its own interpretation (e.g. philosophy of psychology, vice-versa, physics of biology, vice-versa, etc). This interdisciplinarity is an epistemological slide, altering the very notion of subject and object. “…the combined action of Marxism, Freudianism, and structuralism demands, in literature, the relativisation of the relations of writer, reader, and observer (critic)” (Barthes 1). Foucault’s work with structuralism reveals an anachronism in Modernism, in the notion of the Author. An unconscious historicism, working behind the scenes, suggests something deeper and more real than the ‘reality’ of doxa.

Roland Barthes, in From Work to Text, declares the Text to be the real agency behind society’s rampant categorizing of its works. This isn’t to say that literary genres and works are not real. To elucidate, consider Lacan’s distinction between ‘reality’ and ‘the real.’ In an analogous way, the work can be seen (e.g. bookshops, catalogues), but the text is a process of demonstration; it is shown. The text doesn’t stop at (good) literature; unlike works, it cannot be contained in a hierarchy, or even a simple division of genres. The text goes to the limit of the rules of enunciation (rationality, readability, etc), and tries to place itself just behind the limit of doxa. Barthes argues that doxa is defined by its limits, by its censorship. The text is signification, and operates via two modes:

(i)                 It is claimed to be evident and the work is then the subject of literal science, of philology.

(ii)               It is secret, ultimate, something to be sought out, and then falls under the scope of hermeneutics, of an interpretation (e.g. Marxist, psychoanalytic).

The Text “practices the infinite deferment of the signified, is dilatory; its field is that of the signifier” (Barthes 3), which must be conceived as the deferred action of the signifier. The field of the signifier is an infinity, a playing. The generation of the perpetual signifier in the field of the text isn’t an organic process of maturation or hermeneutic discourse of deepening investigation, but a serial movement of disconnections, overlappings and varyings.

Like language, the Text is structured but off-centered; a system with neither boundary nor center. The Text isn’t a co-existence of meanings, but a passage, an overcrossing. It answers not to interpretation (not even a liberal one), but a dissemination. It is a stereographic plurality, irreducible. The Text can be only in its difference (not in the sense of being autonomous in an individualistic sense); its reading is semelfactive, rendering any inductive-deductive science of texts illusory (there can be no grammar of the Text).

The work is always said to be owned and fathered by the author (droit d’auteur). But the Text reads without the inscription of the Father. Work is an image of an organism which grows by vital expansion; Text is a network: it can be broken (e.g. Holy Scripture, Aristotle). The ‘I’ that writes the Text is a paper ‘I’: a character of fiction that plays the role of guest in his own work. Text requires we attempt to abolish the distance between reading and writing. This is not to be done by the projection of the reader into the writing, but by joining them in a single signifying practice.

Phenomenologically, a transubstantiation of authorship occurs in the activity of Text: Pre-reading, a subject and object (text) have internal and external relations (i.e. writing is not reading). During reading, the text, as pharmakon, leads the subject out of oneself, into the text itself, as one’s mind becomes interwoven with it. The reader becomes the author, yet also the authored. At this point, the ‘is’ between ‘reading is writing’ begins to break down. The practice is not reduced to a passive, inner mimesis, it is bound to jouissance; pleasure without separation. “The Text is the space where no language has a hold over any other, where languages circulate…a Theory of the Text cannot be satisfied by a metalinguistic exposition:” (Barthes 7) the calling into doubt of metalanguage is part of the theory itself. The modernist reassurance of an author’s essentially grounded nature, of a cogito to which one can retreat, is thus rendered illusory; there is nothing to hold onto.

One cannot escape this paralysis. The Text is all-encompassing, integrating the author, as an assemblage of signs, into the signifying activity itself. As the scope of the text extends, dilating, it reverses the ‘author-authored’ relationship. Not only does the Text add signs to the author, it replaces him, effecting a transubstantiation of the subject. This is text as supplement, as pharmakon.

From its beginning, Occupy Wall Street (OWS) claimed it wasn’t interested in seeking principles. This pathos engenders a consciousness of Text, in that it continually defers any signifying act. It is not about the civilization of Sign. Nor is it signifying the deferment of signification. OWS is a dilation of signifying acts in the commons created by the people. The slogan “We are the 99%” has two senses. Explicitly, it signifies autonomy, affirming the existence of the people, the Untermensch, the trampled-over, the would-be-proletariat. Implicitly, it is a dilation of the sign of individuality as such, as a social construct. OWS is flooded with paradoxical signs such as this. If it supported non-contradictory slogans, it would cease to be a field of play, and fall prey to the market’s forces of privatization. It would become categorized, passed, past; work. The logic of pharmakon exhibits an identical irony. Pharmakon, an ancient Greek word, has two senses which must be taken together. It is medicine, and it is poison. It is a drug.

In Dissemination, Jacques Derrida deconstructs Plato’s Phaedrus, reinterpreting it as a pharmakon. The text of Lycias’ written speech is medicine and poison, with which Socrates leaves his usual, rational or scientific world. He would not have been seduced by a spoken speech, for the notion of spoken dialogue in the present is part of Socrates’ Athenian reality. “Only the logoi en bibliois, only words that are deferred, reserved, enveloped, rolled up…that force one to wait for them…only hidden letters can…[lure Socrates,] as if under the effects of a pharmakon” (Derrida 76).

As Lycias’ speech is pulled out of Phaedrus’ cloak, the question of morality is raised. Played in the political context of Philosophers vs. Sophists, Socrates introduces the opposition of euprepeia/aprepeia (seemliness and unseemliness). Socrates defines writing as repeating without knowing…which Socrates introduces by merely repeating; by invoking a myth.

Socrates’ refuge in moral dilemmas stems from his subconscious belief that writing is unable to fend for itself without the speaker, or father. In Dissemination, Derrida recounts the myth of the Egyptian King Thamus, who is presented with a gift, which is promised to improve memory. He rejects the gift, as father, speaker. As the origin of Logos, Thamus distrusts writing, which comes from outside or below, as pharmakon. Since writing is Logos set away, independent of the father (as it is pharmakon-in-waiting), the proposition of its introduction into Thamus’ Kingdom is rejected and denounced as the desire for orphan-hood.

Mainstream media’s interpretation of OWS tells a similar story. Under the purview of the privatized commons, they initially denounced the movement as disorganized, inconsequential, and un-categorizable. The complaint of ‘having no guiding principle’ stems from the same patricidal fear that frightens King Thamus and Socrates. Without a singular voice or guiding praxis, OWS acts as pharmakon to the masses, drawing critics to the very boundary of doxa. In this way, the consciousness of the ‘99%’ is one of the Text.

Like the Text, OWS dilates signifiers of revolution, in order to play with the act of signification, immunizing itself from doxic categories. For example, recently the meme #casualpepperspray has been seized by proponents of OWS and remediated to create various paradoxical images (Know Your Meme). The police officer, casually spraying the protestors, is spliced into other images, showing him as an antagonism to the hippies of the 1960’s, the founding fathers of America, Jesus, and even other memes of the infosphere. Whenever police brutality is suggested as an antagonism to OWS, the movement faces the threat of becoming a work, of becoming logocized into some sort of blind anti-authoritative praxis.

The use of excessive force against demonstrators in New York, Denver, Seattle and other cities shows the process of forestalling categorization. Concomitant with violent images like the face of an eighty-four year old woman soaked in pepper spray (MEDIAITE) is a chain reaction of antagonisms. These are triggerings of signifiers present in the field of OWS. They include economic inequality, corporate hegemony, over-militarization of the State, ecological concerns, et al. With every incursion, the civilization of Sign forces OWS’ hand, as it were, into ceasing its dilation of signs, into no longer deferring signification.

At this point, if OWS was logocized, or integrated into the civilization of Sign, the rejection of neo-liberalism would be its greatest signifier. Neo-liberalism represents corporate boundaries enforced as a determinate buffer between oneself and self-authorship. Instead of freedom-from the privatized commons, the social fact of Neo-liberalism limits all to a freedom-to choose a categorized version of oneself, re-presented by the privatized commons.

This is OWS’ greatest threat. If the commons created and occupied by OWS become remediated into categories of work, and genres of revolutionary principles, it may go out like punk rock. By dilating the signifier of police brutality, OWS avoids subverting itself to a single social antagonism. The threat of logocentric enclosure is averted. So long as it continues to defer signification of any particular cultural antagonism, it will survive; it will transform the American ideal of self-authorship.

“The Text is that social space which leaves no language safe, outside, nor any subject of the enunciation in position as judge, master, analyst, confessor, decoder. The theory of the Text can coincide only with a practice of writing” (Barthes 7).

In hopes of engendering a new field of possibility for individuality, of freeing the Commons, the people of OWS subvert and cast off their individual authority. They come together to co-author the “author.” Its threat is that of private mythologization, embodied by neo-liberalism. This is how OWS, at its core, is a pharmakon, a supplement. OWS is poison to itself, in its voluntary release of authored categories, and it is poison to privatized commons, by making its unequivocal dominion over capital and information arbitrary. But how is this done, and why is arbitrariness a threat?

Arbitrariness is not a threat, and neither is OWS, because we need subculture. Without subculture, society will crumble, and there would be no diversity.  The privatized commons, as a resource for the construction of individuality, limits diversity and the notion of authorship as such. OWS’ expansion of the commons is the creation of new worlds, of new possibilities for the concept of cogito; it is the communal desire for new myths. That is what this world needs more than anything. A new Myth. Today, we find ourselves in the same position as Sade and his peers; the imagination of humankind has been cut off from expansion. The rapid convergence of media and information has only quickened this social seizure.

OWS’ actions are much like Johnson’s in his day. It works behind the scenes, behind mainstream media and its doxa of privatized commons, in order to manipulate and expand the field of play. Johnson refused proprietary rights on his works, just as OWS refuses to claim anything but its difference. That there is something else, something more, a desire for something other-than-this shows the dynamism necessary for the future of individuality, for the possibility of authorship.

This truth is dirigible to post-structuralism, in that post-structuralism is the psychological ideal, a notion of the self as the psyche which contains all psyches; a collective unconscious. We all see in other persons a semblance of ourselves; a doppelgänger glance from a ‘you’ of the future. No one is a social outcast. One may not belong to a coveted subculture, but that doesn’t mean one doesn’t belong to any subculture.

Marxism is a subculture. But what does it do? Marxism makes me think about money. I don’t have money. But I want to be successful. Success, for me, is applying and being accepted to graduate school, by getting a degree and having the credentials to be who I am, and who I want to be. This will help me by giving me legitimacy. Of course, these are social constructs, but one must see how they are applicable to postmodernism, existentialism, and post-structuralism. When I say “see,” I don’t literally mean “SEE.” I am being abstract. “See,” to me, means “FAILURE.” This is because what I see is not literally what I am describing. I am being aesthetic. Pardon my prose, but I’m a student of English, and philosophy is not a pass-time; it is a way of life. I want to be a philosopher, and by going to graduate school, I will fulfill my dreams. Sigmund Freud spoke of dreams, and he wasn’t a psychologist, or a philosopher; he was a neurologist. And this multi-disciplinary approach is exactly what post-structuralism is.

In conclusion, the author stated in my thesis is none other than me. This is irrefutable. Granted, in citing the authors written for a class and discussed in lecture, I am only subjectively the author. I claim to be an objectivist. But only social reality is objective. This is Marxism. Now I’m going to roll a cigarette, and tell you why taking time to examine my philosophy is more than journalism.

I went with my friend John to Deadwood; he has been visiting me during Thanksgiving Break, from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He is a really good friend. He has helped me realize through reflected appraisals who I am. And that is a post-structuralist.  Upon reflecting upon my paper, I realize I’m a misogynist.

Works Cited:

Barthes, Roland. From Work to Text. 1971. Trans. Stephen Heath. 1977. Print.

Woodmansee, Martha and Peter Jaszi. On The Author Effect: Recovering Collectivity. 1994. Print.

Derrida, Jacques. Dissemination. Trans. Barbara Johnson. 1972. New York: Continuum International Publishing Group, 2011. Print.

Sade, Marquis de. “Reflections on the Novel.” The 120 Days of Sodom & Other Writings. Austryn Wainhouse and Richard Seaver. 1966. New York: Grove Press, 1987. 91-116. Print.

Know Your Meme. Cheezburger, Inc. Web. 24. November 2011.

<http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/casually-pepper-spray-everything-cop/photos?sort=views>

MEDIAITE. Mediaite, LLC. 16. November 2011. Web. 24. November 2011.

<http://www.mediaite.com/online/84-year-old-woman-pepper-sprayed-at-occupy-seattle-protest-instantly-becomes-icon-of-movement/>

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A Semelfactive Hero

In Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison introduces a character with no name. This protagonist (P) tells the reader that he isn’t visible. He goes on to suggest that he might not exist at all. How can we make sense of this? Making sense is precisely what P is getting at. We can’t make direct sense out of what we see, because that activity is always “a matter of construction of the inner eyes” (Ellison 3). We organize layers of narrative, layers which dissociate us more and more from what is really happening outside of us.

But if this is true, then are we eternally fated to play along, alone, fighting others for the sake of a world which is nothing but personal delusion?! The dialectical journey of this question is not only posed, but lived by P. He repeatedly constructs, exhausts, and abandons one life and solipsistic world after another. Finally, he hides himself in a hole, in pure darkness. He explains how “without light [he is] not only invisible, but formless as well… [he] did not become alive until [he] discovered [his] invisibility” (Ellison 7). This brings forth the question at hand: If there is no hope of really being there, of really sharing yourself and others in a potted plant of pure jouissance, should one hide forever in pure seclusion and entertain our former lives as perfidious children? Or should one go out into the world, and “make passionate love to [one’s] sickness” (Ellison 576)? Here we will follow P, and look for answers to why he chooses to play the Chthonian game.

In the prologue, we witness P’s Grandfather on his deathbed. He considers himself a traitor to his own kind, and tells P to follow suit, to be a good black man until the white men vomit him out. Grandpa sees how in being over-confirmed through the roles he’s played through his life; he has been pushed into the darkness; unconformable. Perhaps, if P ‘yessuh’s his way through life, he’ll help society quicken its self-annihilation.

At the University, P is a student of great prestige. The envy of his classmates, he is asked by Dr. Bledsoe to chauffer the financial foundation of the school around the campus and surrounding town. This foundation, Mr. Norton, expresses his inner-most desires to P. During the drive, he tells P; “you are important because if you fail I have failed by one individual, one defective cog; it didn’t matter so much before, but now I’m growing old and it has become very important…through you and your friends…I become a hundred teachers” (Ellison 45).

This ideological buffer between Mr. Norton and the external world is of a fascist bourgeois archetype, no different in function than the Third Reich. He considers students as capital and human material for narcissistic ego-confirmation—to simulated immortality. But of whom does Mr. Norton speak of? Himself? He implies that the desperation coating his request comes from his life’s approaching end. Nothing is said about his personal habits, or his individual psychology. He mistakes what his inner eye sees for what it maps onto.

Upon exposure to the world of Trueblood and the anarchy of The Golden Day, the contradiction in Mr. Norton’s fantasy is shoved into the spotlight. His delusion can’t admit those worlds, so he resorts to whiskey; he resorts to sabotage of his own ideological machine. After being awoken from a fainting spell, a veteran mocks both Mr. Norton and P’s perspectives; the ideology of fate and theology can never play out in a reality which has no sympathy for such fantasies.

Enraged that P subjected Mr. Norton to such realities, Dr. Bledsoe banishes P to New York. P is led to believe that he has a chance at a respectable job, respectable in the sense of belonging to the aesthetic and ascetic dissociative principles shared by his (former) university. In New York, P periodically sends out letters of referral that Dr. Norton gave him. With no response, P mails a letter to Emerson, personally expressing his will to be employed by Emerson. However, this supposed communion of self with other is again interrupted, as Emerson’s son enlightens P to the fact that all of Dr. Norton’s ‘referral letters’ direct each prospective employer to ignore P, and keep him running.

Reluctantly shedding the ideological layers of academia and ‘academic success,’ P gets a job at Liberty Paints, like a Chthonian star seeking a new ideological atmosphere. However, the atmosphere is dynamic. P is constantly distracted from his mixing job by mundane aberrations in his duties. Kimbro gives him insufficient instructions. At the end of the day, P is rebuked and mocked by Kimbro for things that weren’t P’s fault, then reassigned as Mr. Brockway’s assistant. Complacent in light of his lack of confirmation, P listens to Brockway’s interpretation: P and Brockway are distracted and perpetually deferred, because they are “the machines within the machine” (Ellison 217). In Liberty Paint, P is not recognized; he is seen through. His coworkers only recognize him as a cog in the ideological machine. The paint is produced for coating statues of national heroes. Here, P, a black man, only has worth insofar as he produces white paint for white society. His existence is confirmed as white, but his black self is ignored; invisible.

After a major accident, P is admitted to the factory hospital and experimented on. ‘Cured’ by some alternative form of frontal lobotomy, he can’t remember his name until a doctor reminds him. This procedure goes deeper than a Chthonian shedding its outer layers. It isn’t ideology that P loses; the rocky core of his physical self, his brain, is taken from him. He “had a feeling that somehow [the doctor] was acting a part; that something about him wasn’t exactly real—an idea which I dismissed immediately, since there was a quality of unreality over the whole afternoon” (Ellison 288). Confused and freshly schizophrenic, P is released from the hospital’s custody. Jobless and groundless, he sees for the first time that all interpretations, all worlds, are passing dreams, beautiful and calm in their semelfactive flight.

The collapse of ideological naïveté is the destruction of the divide between hero and observer. No longer is P safely inside, engaging in heroic acts with other people whenever he fancies; there is no ‘there’ to go to because the layer of separation, of ideological interpretation is always there, between him and the unreality of other people.

After witnessing P’s improvised speech in Harlem, ‘Brother’ Jack asks P to join a Brotherhood of men, of all colors, to work towards the End of improving society as such. Eventually accepting, Jack drives P to the Chthonian, a bourgeois club of self-proclaimed social revolutionaries. He sees the ideology for what it is; something indifferent to him and his; “what I thought of myself I would have to keep to myself. Yes, and I’d have to hide the fact that I had actually been afraid when I made my speech. Suddenly I felt laughter bubbling inside me” (Ellison 311). He laughs because of how incredible his manipulation of ideology is becoming. Everyone else’s signs, expressed through language, are just as arbitrary as his. All that matters is to know how they work. “I’d have to catch up with this science of history business” (Ellison 311).

After giving a very emotionally driven, down-to-earth speech, and receiving polarized reviews from his ‘Brothers,’ P reflects: “What had come out was completely uncalculated, as though another self within me had taken over and held forth” (Ellison 353). P’s paper self, the ego he constructed for success in the political domain of the Brotherhood’s praxis, had manifested completely. P spoke his speech through this ego, fully conscious of it as he did. The success of this method excited him to the feeling of possession. Here, we see P “making passionate love to his sickness;” (Ellison 576) the necessary divide between him and the audience. He changed them. He changed their worlds.

Despite their polarized reviews, the Brotherhood’s committee elects P to be their spokesman in the Harlem district. P is introduced to Todd Clifton, a youth leader for the Brotherhood. During a coordinated public speech on the streets, Ras the Exhorter (a self-proclaimed black nationalist) starts a fight against the members of the Brotherhood. Ras holds a rather populist perspective in front of his inner eye, believing that white man in abstract is responsible for all the pain of the black population. Todd is more educated, but the theories of the Brotherhood limit his ability to communicate just as much. Neither party can hear the other; they can only fight. The struggle between Todd and Ras embodies the struggle between two ideologies, two sicknesses, two philosophies bent on transforming the world to match the one seen by their inner eyes.

This doesn’t bother P; he’s just as committed to the movement as any other Brother. “We recognized no loose ends, everything could be controlled by our science. Life was all pattern and discipline; and the beauty of discipline is when it works. And it was working very well” (Ellison 382). But P finds one such loose end in a letter. It reads “You are from the South and you know that this is a white man’s world. So take a friendly advice and go easy…” (Ellison 383). The anonymous author wants him to slow down. Slow down what? The Brotherhood ideology that is held before the inner eye; and if it is embraced too thoroughly, it will be burned away, leaving only the chthonian self, invisible, floating in space.

Sent away by the Brotherhood to work in a smaller district, P completely embraces the Brotherhood ideology. He becomes so sick with it that he’s actually seduced by a woman who knows how to use the ideological machinery. This woman mocks his sense of individuality by using him as a tool, ready to serve all purposes so long as you know which buttons to push. Shortly thereafter, P is recalled to the Harlem district headquarters, horrified that the committee may know of his unforgivable transgression against a movement which cannot admit the experience of infidelity in its web of theory.

In a bar, P learns that the Brotherhood has stopped fighting. P’s office is abandoned, and there are no records indicating what had changed during P’s absence. “Returning to the district was like returning to the city of the dead” (Ellison 428). The atmosphere of the Brotherhood had burned away. Without P’s skill in the mechanics in Brotherhood ideology, the district itself had gone Chthonian.

P goes in search of Todd Clifton, and he eventually finds him selling paper-dolls which he controls (in secret) with little black strings, giving the illusion of automation. After leaving the Brotherhood, Todd had plunged “into nothingness, into the void of faceless faces, of soundless voices, lying outside history” (Ellison 439). P later shares this sentiment with the committee, trying to convince them to return to the needs of the people of Harlem, the needs of those whom have plunged outside of history.

Jack cuts P off by removing his glass eye, metaphorically manifesting his paper self into the physical. He rebukes P, telling him that he doesn’t want to see it “because [he doesn’t] appreciate the meaning of sacrifice…do you know what discipline is, Brother Personal Responsibility? It’s sacrifice, sacrifice, SACRIFICE” (Ellison 475)! Jack is telling P that blindness is the sacrifice necessary for carrying on the cause of Brotherhood. Blindness to the world of the real, to those who have plunged out of history, out of the Brotherhood’s story.

If the way of the Brotherhood is eternal blindness, then what is it to see? Surely not some other ideology like Ras,’ but some other, non-ideological freedom? To avoid Ras’ hitmen around town, P dons a disguise of dark glasses and a hat, “plunging into blackness,” (Ellison 482) out of his-story. He is mistaken several times for a man named Rinehart. According to these patrons of Rinehart’s life, he is a number runner, a hustler, a pimp, a preacher, a snitch, and perhaps infinitely more paper people. Rinehart is the evolved version of Todd, forever playing with paper-selves. Perhaps this is the only way to be a true self, to get around that ‘necessary’ inner-eye of ideology. If every ‘you’ is a paper you, then perhaps, for P, the way to be real is to fake it all the way.

P returns to the committee, with the intention of driving the Brotherhood into the ground. He’s had enough of being ignored and sacrificed for the good of the whole, of the lies, of the charlatan, of the naïve unequivocalizing of ‘reality!’ He plans to fulfill his Grandpa’s wishes, to play the role the Brotherhood sees until the reality of the world blows up and burns away their paper faces!

P fabricates stories of new enlistees joining the Brotherhood, and coming together to clean up the town. While playing this stereotypical ‘yessuh’ negro-self, Ras the Destroyer incites the people of Harlem to destroy their own community. In the meantime, while P is paper-raping Sybil, he gets a call from the committee; it seems Ras’ paper self has indeed inherited the world of Harlem, and it is literally burning down!

P and Sybil, more drunk than awake, stumble towards P’s office.  P is oddly driven by some empathetic responsibility for the lives he’d endangered at the Chthonian bar; embodying a new kind of hero, who acts out of intuition, for the good of Human life. The observer-hero divide is temporarily reinstalled. Sybil plays the role of observer, complaining to P about the uselessness of his actions, like a good nihilist. “We didn’t make this stinking world, boo’ful. Forget—” (Ellison 531).

Wandering around Harlem, P realizes the error of his Rinehart-way; “It was suicide, not murder. The committee had planned it. And I had helped, had been a tool. A tool just at the very moment I had thought myself free. By pretending to agree I had indeed agreed” (Ellison 553). P has realized his true identity through responsibility. He leads because he understands the real.

Armed with physically manifested traces of his past paper selves, P fights off other rioters, “stumbling about in circles, blindly swinging the brief case, the image of a fiery comet’s tail burning my smarting lids…I stumbled down the street, the comet tail in my eyes” (Ellison 561). Confused and pursued by paper-cops, P falls into a coal pit. Enveloped in darkness, he becomes a Chthonian, and burns away every artifact of his history contained in his briefcase; in this darkness, he sees the light; he sees the real. Starving and mad, P hallucinates the committee showing him his true self: nothing but a drop of blood sacrificed into the red river of history. Laughing, P tells them how wrong they are: “your sun…your moon…your world…there’s your universe, and that drip-drop upon the water you hear is all the history you’ve made, all you’re going to make” (Ellison 570).

Alone in the dark, free of all his paper selves, a Chthonian-en-entelecheia, P explains his new knowledge; that reality is a club, but he doesn’t know “whether accepting the lesson has placed [him] in the rear or the avant-garde” (Ellison 572). Be that as it may, P’s life has become one of “infinite possibilities.” (Ellison 576) His story is a one of learning the process of affectivity and responsibility. The question posed in the thesis is not answerable. One must shift between them, in order to save the history of the plunged, of the unreal. P plans a return to New York, with a brief case full of anyone. Time is indeed a boomerang; we pitch a paper-self with the muscle of ideology, and await its return to see who we can learn from that experiment. Perhaps no one can be seen. Maybe when eyes glance our way, they are really “looking through…Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you” (Ellison 581).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Works Cited:

Ellison, Ralph. Invisible Man. Second Vintage International Ed. New York: Random House, Inc, 1995. Print.

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The Irony of Hylosis

It has been argued that unless there is some external authority to appeal to for meaning and value, there is no possible way for Man to live a meaningful life. For many, this authority takes the form of God, the ultimate being by virtue of which every man can be moral. But why is it that this authority’s prescription is so important?

According to Christian Theology, the Good and meaningful life is the one which is spent in service to God, and in anticipation of the consequences which we will face in the next life. Indeed the very culture which we ourselves partake of contains a plethora of Myths which prescribe certain virtues that are taken to be good for the sake of life itself abstracted from death; for the sake of pleasure and bliss in the absence of pain and suffering. Such Utopian dreams have taken several forms. One such Utopia promises eternal peace and meaningful happiness: Heaven. The existence of this paradise is contingent upon the existence of God.

It seems to thus follow that if there is no God to which we can submit and enslave this life, then nothing in this life matters. Meursault, the main character in Camus’ The Stranger seems to fit this archetype of the Godless man, of a man who doesn’t necessarily adamantly disbelieve in God, yet doesn’t see the purpose of taking responsibility for his beliefs and actions for the sake of another world. “…drawing himself up…asking me if I believed in God. I said no…‘Do you want my life to be meaningless?’ As far as I could see, it didn’t have anything to do with me…” (P. 69) Here Meursault isn’t asserting the non-existence of God and Christian morality in favor of some positive argument for an alternate ethical paradigm. Meursault’s response is an expression of the arbitrariness of this transcendent morality qua his case. My contention is simply that Man’s obsession with certain knowledge is at once his greatest burden and his most fulfilling connection to a reality which will reveal our final end only with our rejection of it.

Near the end of Meursault’s initial interview by the judge, he (the judge) asks Meursault if he regrets what he did. He responded that more than sorry, he felt annoyed. “I got the impression that he didn’t understand.” (p.70) The judge was assessing Meursault’s guilt or innocence in relation to the status of his soul, qua his arbitrary lack of belief in God. To the judge, Meursault’s guilt or innocence didn’t rest on the events in question. On the contrary, it rested in Meursault’s certainty in a life after this one. In this instance, then, it can be seen why Meursault doesn’t believe that this has anything to do with his belief in God. In this case, he is right, for none of the events described relate in any way to the murder.

But why is it that Meursault can be seen as a Nihilist in the sense that nothing matters? Surely, it isn’t that Meursault never takes pleasure or derives meaning from his life, for when he is first imprisoned, he gazes out at the sea and remembers how happy he was while living the life he was; not one in which he drank, smoked, slept, swam and made love for the sake of some external standard of value and meaning, but the one in which he enjoyed all of these activities for the sake of no-thing in particular.

Shortly after his imprisonment, Meursault spoke with a guard about the conditions of his imprisonment. Meursault complained that his inability to have women for company was unfair treatment. The guard responded:

“’But…that’s exactly why you’re in prison’

‘What do you mean by that’s why?’

‘Well, yes-freedom, that’s why. They’ve taken away your freedom’

‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘Otherwise, what would be punishment?’

‘Right, you understand these things…’” (p. 78)

Meursault agrees with the guard in that the restrictions being imposed on his life are punishment, but still doesn’t see how they have anything to do with his actions. This conversation (between the guard and Meursault) is as arbitrary and unnecessary for Meursault as his punishment is for his actions. Meursault is being forced to suffer the consequences of a perspective of life fixated on a belief in things which he has never seen relevance in. This is because his belief, as a thing, didn’t matter, in the sense that it played no experiential role in his life that day on the beach.

This interpretation is complimented with an antithetical value in relation to his perspective’s values in the sense that it is chosen over and above other prisoner’s values. It is interesting and perhaps even relevant to observe the ethical landscape painted by Camus in this scene. Different cultures (from individual people to them being in conjunction with their visitors) combine to create not only a strange work of vocal harmony, but also create an Ethos with an entirely distinct ontology. “Their subdued murmuring, coming from lower down, formed a kind of bass accompaniment to the conversations crossing above their heads.” ( p.74) When participating in this event, Meursault plays along in the musical Ethos of the room; while he may have wanted to speak to Marie qua the meaning which had been ascribed to the relationship by him before his imprisonment, that meaning was constituted by indifference with respect to any of the pre-supposed transcendental ends which the other prisoners were grasping at.

This notion of being committed to a particular end, in the sense of being dedicated to this or that ethical narrative, from which Meursault’s perdition originates, is made distinct more explicitly in the trial than anywhere else. Not only both the prosecution and the defense committed to a singular end (that he was guilty), but they were also committed to a trial based on a morality which has as its foundation the status of his soul. “The utter pointlessness of whatever I was doing there seized me by the throat…” (p. 105) The status of his soul is a priori determined by his belief in the “good” values of that culture and (perhaps more directly) by the belief in a life after this one “ ‘I know that at one time or another you’ve wished for another life’…but it didn’t mean any more than wishing to be rich…or to have a more nicely shaped mouth…he…wanted to know how I pictured this other life…‘One where I could remember this life!’ ” (p.119-120)

As is made clear, Meursault saw the belief in an afterlife as nothing more than wishful thinking, as nothing more than asserting the reality of one particular dream over all other dreams. The judge, jury and chaplain were more than merely interested in their morality. They went further even than taking their morality seriously, or as something real. They had become so habitualized to the shared Myth of spiritualistic value that they came to practice a sort of iconoclasm of their own, in that other value systems were to be redefined to match their own or destroyed. The reason Meursault suffered this confrontational Pathos is that the Ethos of his culture was one that required certainty qua morality.

Meursault’s indifference to his culture’s foundation of meaning and value isn’t necessarily nihilistic, as stated above; he took pleasure in activities which weren’t for the sake of anything in particular. Like Dionysus, Meursault seemed to value the present moment of happiness more than anything else. However, since this implied seeking out meaning on his own, he had to find another way to justify his existence.

Throughout the story, Meursault’s actions embodied increasingly immoral essences, in that he remained indifferent as the opportunities to act in accordance with his culture’s Ethos were made available. This isn’t to say that he was aware of what the “right” actions and feelings were. Instead, he negated each ethical dilemma as being arbitrary. These ethical dilemmas are possibilities for a man to embody essences, or collections of archetypes (e.g. Christian Ethos).

One by one, Meursault refused to submit to the Ethos of his culture because it was never necessary to choose any one essence in particular. The rest of society, being God-fearing, chose to embody essences on the basis of an authority external to their selves. In so doing, they collectively created the guiding beliefs of the world in which Meursault found himself. The society’s method of appealing to authority for their choices allowed them to entertain and maintain the illusion of certainty. Meursault, on the other hand, appealed to no authority when embodying essences. By this I mean that, in many instances, he justified his actions by admitting to himself that he had no reason not to perform this or that action and thus proceeded with the act. When faced with dilemmas later on, he saw no reason to choose either way. When Meursault is imprisoned, his options for the embodying of essences and making choices are severely constrained. However, instead of allowing himself to become frustrated at his limited possibilities, he began to reflect on the wider range of possible essences he had chosen to embody on the outside. In time, he began to see himself as the one responsible for the essences and values with which he guided himself to prison.

In the beginning, Meursault appealed to a “big-picture” authority qua what the right thing to do was. Hearing nothing, he stopped appealing to any authority whatsoever. But, after the deconstruction of the transcendental ethical myth, he ascribed the responsibility to himself. Instead of surrendering to a life which acquired meaning from other-worldly values, he began to actively shape his actions by grounding meaning in this world, interpreting each action as a particular this which he chose. But this still begs the very same question. Why is his life meaningful if he is able to create and alter himself in any manner he sees fit? How can one world of purposelessly linked events be better than a transcendent realm of Divine ordinance? One could argue that the actions of Meursault were morally wrong because of his restricted punishment of restricted freedom, but there is no necessary link of causation between all of his choices and his current predicament.

The dilemma is made even worse when Meursault’s appeal is denied, and his fate is sealed. Suddenly, his entire life was clear to him. All life was clear to him. He saw how it made no difference whether he died today or in thirty years because everyone had the same fate awaiting them. Although everyone is privileged with life, death is inescapable. Throughout the story, no one could really relate to him because of their reluctance to face the transience of their transcendental “certainties”.  No essence is without he whom embodies it. Eventually all of us are caught in that last act and speak our final words to a deaf world. It makes no difference what and whom one chooses to be, because you’re damned if you don’t and damned if you do.

But this truth is neither Evil nor Good, “I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself—so like a brother, really.” (p.122-123) With his newfound happiness grounded in the absolute absurdity of our hopes for eternal certitude, he realized that he never had anything to lose. Such is the only final meaning an individual can have. It is as if the world of Meursault, in addition to the sporadic, self-enslaved voices which compose it, are a mirror of him, in that it is just as random, fleeting and indifferent as him.

At last, the Stranger is home.

Bibliography:

Albert Camus, The Stranger, trans. M Word,

New York: Vintage Books (1989)

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Praxicidy gegen Poiēsis

It has been argued that the experiences of the concentration camps of the holocaust are beyond narrative, beyond explanation, beyond even description. One reason for this is that any such attempt would be a misinterpretation. Still more, it may actually be that any interpretation is a priori incapable of doing justice to the experiences had by so many victims of events like Auschwitz, like the Lager. This would only be the case if those virtues, values, archetypes and essences (or modes of being Human) were negated and nihiliated to the extent that the world and ‘life’ of the Lager was itself wholly Numenal, or so other-worldly that nothing at all resembling our common world was cogitable. My position is neither to affirm nor deny this possibility of complete incommensurability of worlds. My contention is of a scientific Nature. Primo Levi, in his book “Survival in Auschwitz”, did not try to interpret his experiences as such into a fully cognizable and thoughtful story of an ordinary man in the Lager; instead he held his memories of that time as a distinct entity, as a collection of experiences with which he could at most conjoin and disjoin values, literary works and myths.

My thesis in the present work is to guide the reader in creating a world beheld by his mind’s eye that is itself the nihilation of his common, civilized world; the life of the Lager will be shown to not only be the destruction of physical life, but also the nihilation of entire psyches, myths had by the psyches, and essences embodied by consciousness itself.

From the very exposition of the book, Levi and other prisoners are ripped from their habitually civilized world and crowded into train cars. Families are separated, mothers unable to nurse their infants and it begins to seem that every opportunity of hope for the privileges and luxuries of a world supporting life as he knows it is just psychological torture, an ironic twisting of humanistic values as they are still in the process of slipping out of mind. Levi goes back and forth between preparing to let the old world go and clutching onto whatever of it he could. In the Lager, an ex-sergeant Steinlauf encourages him to preserve the skeleton of civilization, to refuse consent, “We must polish our shoes, not because regulation states it, but for dignity and prosperity. We must walk erect, without dragging our feet, not in homage to Prussian discipline but to remain alive, not to begin to die.” (p. 41)

Life of the Lager itself begins to take a two-fold shape: on the one hand, all is so close to death and unlike the old world that it seems natural to give in to the psychological nihilation; the psychological theme of life only brings more suffering to the body, for the essence of the old world is impractical, indeed the very antithesis of pragmatic qua the new world of the Lager, so death becomes more seductive. Contrariwise, in order to continue living in this new world, one must ironically cling to the psychological habits of the old world (e.g. cleanliness, self-determination, etc.). But there is a hidden distinction between essences of life that will pull a subject under, and those that will keep him afloat.

The Lager continually challenges any subject present by systematically destroying it, not from the inside nor the outside exclusively; both are attacked and pressured towards whatever relationship the body and soul ultimately share “…the Lager was pre-eminently a gigantic biological and social experiment…social habits and instincts are reduced to silence.” (p. 87) Here metaphors for psychological habits are referenced; the id and (essential elements of) the superego are silenced.

Eventually there are only two categories of prisoners at the Lager: the drowned and the saved. The saved destine themselves to one day clear the ordered entanglement of “life” as it is known in the Lager in hopes of being granted a confrontation with himself, in exclusion from the praxis of ironic survival that is that “ambiguous life of the Lager”. The drowned are silenced as they allow the spirit of the old world and their former selves to be the only meaning in their life. As more time passes, those values (or essences) which they refuse to disembody are buried under the appearances of the Lager, and where they go, the drowned follow. The old humanism is drowned out by the new humanism of the Lager. Ex-Humanistic dichotomies (e.g. good and bad, fortunate and unlucky, etc…) are lost in the stockpile of essences formed, in part, by the Führer Mythos, itself praxis, an enframing or mode of challenging-forth the presencing of a sort of world believed to be concealed by Nature.

The most explicit illustration of the drowned is that of “…the Muselmänner… (who) form the backbone of the camp, an anonymous mass, continually renewed and always identical…the divine spark dead within them…one hesitates to call them living…(or) their death death.” (p. 90) To these subjects, nothing is revealed anymore; there are no creative thoughts or expressions. These men are resource, pure stockpiled human material; the essence of human nihilation. “…for their (ordinary life and civilization) it rarely happens that a man loses himself.” (p. 88)

This enframing or filtering of human nature acts on all levels of human experience, from the Lager to the Nation itself, “…a country is considered the more civilized the more the wisdom and efficiency of its laws hinder a weak man from becoming too weak or a powerful one too powerful.” (p. 88) A political schema is said to be good if its method of enframing, or praxis, is stabilized, or not drowning or saving too many, for change to the Third Reich is dissent, identical to anarchistic destruction of a way of life; in particular, Hitler’s ideal of life.

From this phenomenology, we have perhaps arrived at the essence of the Third Reich itself, as an enframing of human nature so as to alter its poetic mode of giving and revealing into a mechanical stockpile; the Lager is an instantiation of nature enframed by the confrontational praxis of the Führer Mythos. It is a reducing of all essences had by Mankind into material, and thus concealing truth as poiēsis to the extent that Man is unable to see himself, and is reduced to a mode of being below even that of an animal, reduced to and drowned in the stockpile of essences challenged-forth from the world of appearances.

Bibliography:

Levi, Survival in Auschwitz

Heidegger, Basic Writings, pp.311-341, The Question Concerning Technology

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Process Reality and Originality

This post is definitely more philosophically abstract in the Apollonian sense, but it’s object is culture.

According to Whitehead’s Process Reality, higher organisms are “composed” of two grades of permanence: the psychological field, whose objects are sense experiences and passing emotions, and the Mind, which permeates that complete field, and whose endurance is the living soul. Put simply, I as a human, am an event of high enough complexity so as to recess into individualized activities away from the transient fire of the sensible world, I may partake of a wide variety of circumstances, even if it temporarily threatens the stability of the higher organism. But suppose I was faced with an environment that threw my psychological field into relative chaos? The Mind itself can never separate from the psychological field (PF), because it is in part created and supported by it. Indeed, the novel series of circumstances transferred from simple organisms to the Mind by the PF strengthens and evolves the Mind into a Soul. So it seems that intense psychological changes bring the Mind out of its recessive activities and can even undo a Soul completely. It’s as if the Mind is a pocket in a riverbed with its own individually contained current that is influenced by the overhead current of the main river in a manner proportional to the depth of the pocket. The PF is like the rim of the pocket which partially buffers the flowing-chaotic river. Sometimes the rim can crack due to intense psychological or substantial (food/malnourishment) transience. When this happens, the current in the deeper parts of the pocket are thrown out of their usual pattern and the entire pocket itself is in danger of being damaged (if not torn apart completely). This sort of event is analogous to what is commonly known as psychological trauma, and can drive any Soul to death. However, if the transient sensible world and its emotional themes are what strengthen the Soul while at the same time serving as its creative inspiration (creation the consequence of Being’s flirting with Non-Being, with Nothing, and so in a sense originated from transient Souls), then as the PF accelerates into chaos, the Mind, although its existence is threatened, is suddenly cast into a direct relationship with the infinitely Novel world of Process.

This kind of near-death experience for the Mind can yield extremely original works of art; creative acts that embody the process itself can give birth to completely new abstractions, can partake of eternal objects, an apperception of which no Mind has ever had before.

The Soul, being the result of prolonged success in dealing with a variety of environments, is much more prone to supplying the Mind with a rich knowledge of abstractions if it has been exposed to a rich variety of hierarchical abstractive sets.

Put simply, only those Souls whom have been exposed to the widest variety of highly complex cultures may hope to experience originality in the most dangerous and transient events.

Nietzsche was right. First seek culture, then you can and will see what philosophy can do.

Cultures are abstract hierarchies. The more abstract a description of an event, the more concrete the description becomes.

Every event is a partaking of various eternal objects, of which some are more present than others (A can be and not be: Parmenides was wrong.).

An original work of art is an image of various eternal objects. Just as an event is a moving image of eternal objects, art is a mirror of this concrete fact.

Art is the world mirroring itself.

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γνῶθι σεαυτόν

“Here we are lacking, it is true, every good right; but the judges before whom we find justice judge you also and will tell you: first acquire a culture; then you shall experience what Philosophy can and will do.”

-Nietzsche

γνῶθι σεαυτόν ==> “Know Thyself”. The Logos passed down from those original pre-socratic philosophers to us. It has taken many meanings, so many arbitrary symbols have been ascribed to it. For most post-socratic philosophers (the ones that influenced western culture for thousands of years), your self was no more than a soul whose mission was to escape this world. This world has actually been said to be punishment for something we’ve done before. Or something we didn’t do. Or know. Metaphorically, I could agree with all of these, after all, why am I here? Can’t I make a hell of my world? Can’t I set some new Telos in hopes of escaping the world? Am I here or am I there? Who am I and who are all of these others? All overly-systematic, mathematical and logical Logos are Apollonian in nature, which is to say that they promise salvation through suffering. Apollo, the greek sun god, represents transcendence, other-worldliness, or what my naive friends call “deep”.

Apollonian philosophy is not something done to make you happy. At least not in the present. It ends in faith of a thereafter (or, if you’d rather, “rational insight”). Simply put, overly systematic philosophies are no good unless they have something to systematize. Every universal requires a particular to be predicated upon. The quote at the top is meant to emphasize this truth. First seek culture. Where is culture? In a book? You can read about culture in a book, yes, but that isn’t culture itself. Let me tell you something: you are culture. You nurture different forms of expression by defining your life with symbols. You are your own religion. But true culture is that which does not need to be re-lived. It is that which is flowing through these symbols, leaking, dripping through. It’s you. It’s us. You don’t need a Dionysian orgy to ‘feel the moment’. A Dionysian tragedy can culture anyone, but not if you just cry about it. The theme of the archetype here is irony. Not the colloquial irony, the same meaning, but with everything and everyone as it’s object. Literally, get out there and drink and laugh at the carnival, at the circus of masks walking and weeping through the city as if their religions really mattered, as if their symbols were the constant of the world. Lose yourself, for there is no tomorrow for this expression. Am I getting to you yet? Are you feeling the cycles? It’s almost Zen, but it’s so much more Paris.

First seek culture, then you can and will see what philosophy can do.

Today, scientism and relativism are running rampant with their masochistic Logos: ‘Know everything, be it quantity.’ By day, they worship a fractured and broken semblance of Apollo though their purposeless divisions; by night they submit, unkowingly, to the Dionysian Will running rampant. Without being acknowledged by reason, Dionysian passions go awry, and we humans collectively embody a tantrum had for the sake of our own laziness and cowardice. We are like a six year old, orphaned, yet still attending school each day, only to return to his empty home, which still houses his late parents’ wine cellar.

Why is it that so many lovers go into some sort of autopilot when they start fucking? Why do they make a dichotomy out of their love life? Why always two and not one? This is something that noone is fated to suffer forever, it’s simple: love is not wrong. The naked body is not wrong. The minds of the lovers may be prejudiced by their respective cultures to play it one way, dominant or submissive, venus in fucking furs, but those (again) are choices, you don’t have to love someone like an object or a pet. You can, but that will only yield a master-slave relationship. If you want that platonic love spoken of in the Phaedrus, you have to embody the other. You have to know the subject as a subject by recognizing the goddess in her whom you yourself have once embodied. For a student-teacher relationship (let alone the transient ‘equality’), you need gnosticism. For anything else, well….just treat her like any other object that you utilize…as in tool for your satisfaction. Don’t take this as a moral prescription. Just don’t lie to yourself when you objectify other subjects because you haven’t yet taken the time or effort to know them via gnosis. Love is ambiguous for a reason. It’s one that means many, just like the fire from which we come and to which we are all perpetually returning.

To Heraclitus, the world’s driving force of change is fire. This world was in a time long passed pure fire that united this world as one burning unity. But because of the injustices of a previous world of plurality in which permanence was almost cogitable, the fiery world cooled into this inhomogeneous world of plurality. For the crimes of our predecessors we suffer the illusion of eternal being, of water and earth.

“The transformation of the pure into the impure shifts the guilt into the essence of things and indeed, into the world of becoming and of individuals accordingly exonerated of guilt; yet at the same time condemned forever and ever to bear the consequences of guilt.”

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Hero as Drama

To fight for the sake of others is to enjoy the fight for its own sake…but isn’t this a contradiction? Maybe fighting for the sake of others is a virtue, which stimulates a sense of honor and respect for your opponent…or the act of selflessness itself.

When you fight for yourself, you falter eventually, because the more you grow, the less you are able to keep up with yourself in a knowledgeable way. When you are growing, every description of you that is simpler than your actual process of growing is to a greater and greater degree false. In order to gain a reason for fighting, you must form a belief, but if the object of it is yourself, then your belief is made more false. Talent can overcome the malcontent that consequently occurs (and luck too), but the degree to which it can save you decreases proportionally to how long you continue to depend on it (and how significant or novel the fighting event is).

So to fight not for yourself, but for others is to believe in the worth of them and their existence (i.e. who and what they are). Since who and what they are is for the most part what they are thinking and feeling at the time, you are fighting for yourself indirectly, by virtue of the way in which your self appears to them, which is a more concrete representation of you, as its component parts are a synthesis of more varied versions of yourself (because of the contribution (or affect) of each others’ memories, hopes and desires qua yourself being unique to any individual).

This is why, the belief in the value of others’ well being is more conducive to honor, fighting spirit and victory than fighting simply for yourself. The referent of the belief qua others entails a plurality of values and events, and the referent of the belief qua yourself entails only a single event, of which this belief is a relatively simple abstraction representing your fight as the event in question.

But this belief in how others feel, address memories and have hopes qua you is not epistemically justified because there is no direct apprehension of the mental experience of any of the subjects in question.

However, if the belief’s object is that of your relationship to these individuals, it is founded on the certain knowledge of gods or archetypes present in you (or which you embody), with which you are able to love others, in virtue of your past recognition of the same archetypes in another.

Thus the virtue of fighting for the sake of others becomes a matter of the process of Love, or knowledge of a self or agent, or gnosis.

/ This virtue is not an epistemic matter.

In order to fight with a sense of true honor, you must be Gnostic qua other agents who value you (e.g. love you, friendship, etc…)

TO FIGHT WITH HONOR IS TO RECOGNIZE THE GOD IN YOU.

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*”‘Nothing’ ‘Makes’ Sense”*

It can be agreed upon that, from the preceeding deliberations, both subjective experiences of emotions, purposes and qualities in general and quantitative or conceptual representations of an external nature are present in experience, or conscious apperception. If both my idea of nature and our sense of individuality exist completely in my consciousness, then in what way could I possibly gain objective knowledge, or knowledge of what the cause of these experiences is? Without knowledge of some unifying nature that conjoins my experiences with the rest of the world, including other minds and objects, I would not be certain of any knowledge besides those experiences that necessitate nothing else: that there is thinking, feeling, sensing, and the like. None of these reveal any cause for themselves, as I explained in my last post. Everything that occurs in virtue of these known experiences is the phenomenal world.

The phenomenal world is the world as it appears. The phenomenal world, of itself, exercises no causal powers on itself, but flows with no certain pattern. All we can do when concerning ourselves with it is to describe various essences, or suggestions of form in order to map the structure of consciousness. However, in so doing, we would have to withhold from our reasonings (or bracket) any explanation of cause, lest we appeal to knowledge of something beyond the phenomenal world of appearances. What is there beyond the phenomenal world? Whatever it is that allows these experiences to persist in the way that they do. If nothing else, we do know that one certain permanence in the phenomenal world is its very own continuation, for no other reason than that ancient greek riddle:

Why is there something rather than nothing?

However, how is it that I can make the leap from the fact of experience to a non-experiential world of cause? This is where Kant’s synthetic a priori comes into play. The phenomenal world, persisting independent of its content, cannot be said to have any future at all in virtue of past or present experiences because beliefs in experiences persisting formed from those experiences only support the existence of the experiences from which the said beliefs were formed (i.e. the contents of a particular experience only justify with certainty knowledge of those particular contents from that particular moment).

Any knowledge obtained a priori must be of the kind such that the object of the a priori belief cannot be otherwise. If I say that A is the case, but it could logically be B or C without implying a contradiction, then the belief is arbitrary, or does not necessitate its content. So what reason do I have for believing in the continuation of the phenomenal world? Ask yourself, can you imagine Nothing at all? Not a black void, for that is still something you can experience and imagine, but pure Nothingness? It seems not, for all experience (and consciousness) is an experience of something. Since I cannot imagine the phenomenal world doing anything but some-thing, in some manner, I have a logically necessary belief about my experiences that is not founded on experience. Knowledge that doesn’t arise a posteriori or in the phenomenal world, yet has as its object the existence of these experiences, or the phenomenal world’s existence itself is synthetic a priori, or a necessary truth about the world. Since it does not have the phenomenal world as its origin, but only as its object, it is knowledge from the unobserved world of causation, or the Noumenal World. Since this Noumenal World does not contain anything that appears to us, it must be understood as a negation of the entire phenomenal world.

But wasn’t the point of this entire elucidation a search for a creative act, a search for ‘what makes sense’? Isn’t a negation of sense a destructive act? How is it that a thing can come into being because of a destructive act, one that leaves absolutely no trace of itself? Isn’t a creative act from destruction creating something from nothing? How can one escape this logical mess? Is there a way to speak in contradictions, or was Parmenides right, and is it true that I have two heads but no thoughts?

I may write more on this subject later, but for now I’m going to begin revealing some influence from Nietzsche.

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*(“‘this doesn’t make sense'”)*

What does phenomenology mean? What is the noumenal world? To have a full understanding of both of these realms, it would help to possess an understanding of Kant’s synthetic a priori. But what the hell is that, and how is it relevant?

Instead of starting with another abstract term ambiguous to the philosophically naive, let’s elucidate synthetic a priori with a common saying. Imagine yourself explaining to someone how to hammer a nail into a block of wood. After a brief story of a man nailing a hammer, the listener responds with the phrase “that makes sense”. Usually you would interpret this to mean something like “i understand” or still more “that’s reasonable”. However, all knowledge that arises from the senses cannot be said to be reasonable. It may seem reasonable that rain falls from clouds, but that’s only because we are used to it. Would it be unreasonable if it rained cats and dogs? One would think so, but that’s only because a shower of mammals is quite the novel sight. Let me ask you this: Is it impossible for you to conceive of it raining cats and dogs? Of course not. Some grey bloke could load a bunch of mammals into a dozen cargo planes and dump them over cloudy skies. The point here is not a conflation of reason with logical necessity; on the contrary, my point regards our abundant trust in what is sensed. Anything that we call a fact is something we justify on the grounds of what we sense (in most cases, by sight). Most claims regarding some matter of fact are supported by their ability to inhere into a coherent physical model that has ‘worked’, but any such construct is still constructed from the senses, that is, from a part of our experiences (i.e. something seen).

Keep that in mind and return with me to the saying “that makes sense”.

Consider another, more literal interpretation. What if an act of creation is what is intended? What is responsible for this act of creation? A body? A physical force? Neurons sending electrical signals to the hand? All of the above? These are the closest thing to an act of creation that the naive consciousness is willing to go. However, there is a major assumption being taken for granted in these explanations.

Let’s start the search for this assumption in a simple way; the Socratic way. Do you ever sense electrical signals? Do you instead infer them from a sense of heat or a graph on a screen? Are either one of these electrical signals? Hm. How about physical force? Have you ever directly sensed force? Do you instead infer it from a pushing sensation, or a viewing of some collision with another body? Are either of these things force? It seems that both concepts are unobserved by the senses. Instead, we infer (or argue with a degree of conviction) that these abstract concepts are things which are observed directly by our senses. If we did directly observe things like force, then we would be correct in believing that what makes the sense experience of the nail going into the wood is a force that transfers when the hammer and nail connect. Most scientists would never claim that what we observe is force itself. Instead they would argue that force proper, or the scientific concept of force, is what causes the sensed experience of a nail being hammered into a block of wood. however, since this concept of force is never observed, and only its supposed effects are, it is false that unobserved concepts of science are somehow validated or verified through observation, for if what is observed is not what is unobserved, what we observe is what it is, not what we conceive it to be.

So, how can we hope to answer the question”what makes sense”. I have already shown you that whatever it is, it cannot be known via unobserved abstract concepts supplied or adapted exclusively to what we experience by our senses, for an act of creation implies a will, and the senses, which are always flowing and changing, show no permanent observable pattern in relation to which we could justify a belief in a sensed act of creation. Heraclitus, when describing the ancient world in which he lived once said:

“Everything flows and nothing abides; everything moves and nothing stands still.”

Of course, we can explain how sensed experiences come to be by telling a story of other sensible things re-organizing into an event currently being observed, but this doesn’t show us how sense is made or created, for by presuming the existence of sense experiences in our explanation, we have completely ignored the question: what makes sense?

It seems we can agree that an act of creation implies a process through time, or a duration. If we are asking what creates sense experience, then we must look outside of it for a cause. What else do we have at our disposal? Thoughts? Introspection? That would be a convenient cause for our senses, but it seems that what is sensed persists and changes independently of our thoughts. For example, my imagining or thinking that it will rain anything at all does not cause precipitation. And thoughts of anticipation of rain are only often followed by rain out of a habitual association of cloudy skies with rain, so in those cases, causation moves in the opposite direction, from sense experience to thoughts, which are another kind of experience.

So, I have eliminated both thoughts and senses from the list of candidates of cause for sense experience. Our alternatives are dwindling.

Introspection, thoughts and sense experience are all qualified as experience, because they are that which is immediately verifiable by our immediate awareness of existence, of goings-on in a some-where during a some-time.

A philosophical term for experience in general is a posteriori, whose meaning stands in contrast to a priori, which means simply “before experience”.

If we cannot find a cause for sense experience a posteriori, then it must be a priori, or before experience in general. However, if in order for something to be observed, it must be experienced, how could we ever observe something not observable, or before experience? Obviously, any a priori cause cannot be a scientific concept any more than it can be a God of some Abrahamic faith, for both of these alternatives are conceptual and therefore experiential, which is impossible, as I’ve already shown. It is interesting to note here that both paradigms reference something before experience: scientific materialism posits unobserved entities that we can describe and justify belief in with experiential models; Abrahamic Theology is a little bit closer to what we are looking for because of its lack of exclusivity (that is, it takes into account qualities like emotions, purpose, and most importantly, the human will to connect, with certainty, bare particular events with universal necessity, or certain knowledge), but it equates the unknown pre-experiential cause with the perfection of a section of human experience: the mind.

This is backwards. We must start with our non-reducible consciousness of the world as a unified experience in conjunction with our perspectival spotlight awareness of this-or-that object. To do one without the other is to regress either 500 or 10000 years in the evolution of consciousness….

I still haven’t answered the question positively, but a satisfying conclusion to this elucidation will be up soon (I just get so damned distracted by infinite regresses of implications).

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