Originally posted: September 10, 2012 at Viewpoint Magazine
Issue 2: Theory and Practice
The neighborhood is the new factory
An article by Liz Mason-Deese on the unemployed movement in Argentina since 2001.
In 2001, Argentina suffered an economic crisis, similar to the one that much of the world is experiencing today. After more than a decade of IMF-mandated structural adjustment, which only deepened poverty and unemployment, the government was forced to default on over $100 billion of public debt and declared a state of emergency in an attempt to calm public unrest. Despite a military-imposed curfew, thousands of people rushed to the streets and forced the president and other politicians out of office with the chant “que se vayan todos/ni se quede uno solo” (they all must go/not one can stay). These protests were the culmination of years of organizing in response to increasing unemployment and simultaneous reductions in welfare programs as part of neoliberal policies. Workers were taking over factories, the unemployed blocking highways, migrants occupying unused land. When joined by the spontaneous protests of the middle class in December, the mobilizations were able to overthrow the government as the president fled Buenos Aires in a helicopter. The movements were not only the largest mass mobilization in Argentina since the 1970s, but also qualitatively different from earlier movements: not interested in taking state power, nor in working more jobs and longer hours, they struggled to create new forms of life, including new forms of socio-spatial organization and the production and distribution of wealth. In the ten years following the crisis, the strongest of the movements, the Movements of Unemployed Workers (Movimientos de Trabajadores Desocupados, MTDs), has continued on this path, even as the country has recovered economically and has so far been able to resist the effects of the global crisis.
Here I’ll examine the history and practices of the MTDs, drawing on research I’ve conducted since 2003 with the MTDs La Matanza and Solano, and current research in Buenos Aires on the organization of the unemployed. The movements of the unemployed, which first emerged in Argentina in the mid-1990s, challenge traditional representations of the unemployed as lacking political agency and revolutionary potential. While many Marxists and labor organizers have maintained the latter position, Argentina’s recent history paints a different picture: the militant organization of the unemployed across the country was instrumental in overthrowing the neoliberal government in 2001 and steering the course the country would take following the economic crisis. Movements of the unemployed in Argentina are redefining work through their organizational practice, discourses around labor, and active creation of different forms of production and reproduction. This will necessarily be a very partial description of a complex, fragmented, and diverse movement, which has existed for over fifteen years.
Organizing the Unemployed
By the mid-1990s, unemployment in Argentina had reached nearly 20% (with even higher levels of underemployment), due to rapid deindustrialization and privatization, alongside a working class weakened from the earlier military dictatorship. New laws had stripped workers of remaining rights and led to the increasing “flexibilization” of labor, allowing employers to hire workers under short-term contracts and provide less benefits, making it easier to fire workers and unnecessary to compensate them upon doing so. Different forms of informal and precarious labor were already the norm for women and youth, and became increasingly so for adult men as well. President Carlos Menem had effectively cut social spending so that only certain sectors received unemployment benefits, and the jobless could not reliably depend on any support from the state. The main, officially recognized labor movement, headed by the CGT (Confederación General del Trabajo), was politically in ruins as it continued to support Menem because of its Peronist party affiliation, while these changes in the organization of work made the traditional forms of labor organizing increasingly difficult. Without stable employment, the poor increasingly relied on different forms of informal labor, illegal activity, and the political parties’ systems of patronage, as well as strengthened networks of mutual aid and support within communities.
It was in this context that the unemployed began to organize themselves, first in the interior of Argentina and soon after in the country’s major urban centers. Their first public actions were roadblocks, using barricades and burning tires to block major highways, sometimes for weeks at a time. The roadblocks were organized without any support from the major trade unions or leftist political parties, but rather through the already existing networks of support of the poor and unemployed. In the interior of the country, laid-off workers of the recently privatized oil company were the first to protest in 1996, demanding unemployment benefits and/or their jobs back. In the urban areas, however, the protests were of a more heterogeneous composition, including many who had never participated in the formal labor market. In the urban periphery of Buenos Aires, the first actions were centered around the question of food, with large public collective meals and protests demanding food assistance from the state. Other early protests focused on the rising costs of electricity and gas, the poor living conditions in working-class neighborhoods, and the lack of state support for the unemployed.
While different organizations of the unemployed emerged during this time in Argentina, the MTDs were generally the most independent and innovative. The MTDs are organized by neighborhood, instead of around a specific workplace or sector, taking the name of the neighborhood or region where they are based. Although the different MTDs sometimes come together in specific campaigns or actions, and have formed coalitions or blocks, there has never been a national organization uniting all the different groups of unemployed across the country. The MTDs are engaged in a constantly shifting constellation of alliances and networks with each other, different sectors of the labor movement, and other social movements. Thus each group is unique, not only in its geographic location, but in terms of its internal organization, political activity and ideological affiliations as well. Yet there are several elements the MTDs have in common, including the tactic of the roadblocks, a form of organization that emphasizes autonomy and a critique of hierarchy, and an emphasis on territorial organization and forming their own productive enterprises.
The MTDs first came into the public eye for their confrontational roadblocks, or piquetes. The roadblock’s immediate purpose is to stop the normal circulation of goods and services, and to make people’s demands visible. It has been widely remarked that the piquetes are the unemployed’s version of the strike or work stoppage, the only available tactic once denied access to this privileged form of workers’ revolt. However, the decision to block roads does not necessarily start from the assumption of lack: the piqueteros took their protests not to the factory doors, but rather to the streets of the city, understanding the city as the crucial site of capitalist production. For this reason, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri exemplify this tactic as a “wildcat strike against the metropolis.”1 In Buenos Aires, the roadblocks were particularly effective because they often took place at the major bridges or other entry points to the city from the suburbs, and as the crisis worsened and the government’s power weakened, at major intersections within the city itself. The roadblocks were essential in giving the piqueteros a sense of agency many felt they lacked without access to employment or the work site as a place to organize and proved to be an extremely powerful and effective tactic. The piquetes were successful in forcing the state to provide unemployment benefits and food baskets to the poor, and for the organizations winning control over the distribution of the subsidies. This control was important, as it allowed the movements to remain independent of the political parties, which would generally distribute benefits in turn for votes and political support, and because it allowed the movements to choose how to reinvest the funds in community organization.
The roadblocks were also important in that they served as a space of encounter, bringing together the different unemployed and forming new social relations and communal values. More than just protests, the piquetes were encampments in the middle of the street, where people took care of each other, and shared food and other responsibilities for maintaining the space.
Horizontality & Autonomy
While different organizations of the unemployed, and later other movements across the country, use the tactic of the roadblock, the MTDs can be further differentiated by their internal organization and commitment to autonomy. The MTDs’ internal organization emphasizes direct democracy, generally using a moderated consensus process in assemblies which are open to everyone in the movement. While the MTDs differ in their exact practices of internal democracy, with some committed to complete horizontalism while others have different leadership structures, they agree upon a critique of unions and parties for their top-down, hierarchical, and bureaucratic structures and practices, and are dedicated to enacting different forms of internal organization. This differentiates them from other organizations of the unemployed that are organized more bureaucratically, or that have come to rely on charismatic leaders.
The MTDs were formed from self-convened and organized groups of neighbors and remained autonomous from trade unions, leftist and national-popular political parties, and the parties’ patronage networks. They have resisted being incorporated into these institutions although at times they make strategic alliances with the more independent unions or leftist political parties. Since the election of Nestor Kirchner in 2003, many social movements in the country, including organizations of the unemployed with a more national-popular/Peronist political leaning, declared their support for the government, and, in some cases, became officially integrated into its ranks. Several of the MTDs, including those that make up the Frente Popular Dario Santillan, and the MTDs La Matanza and Solano, have remained independent from the government, choosing instead to focus on territorial organizing and creating new productive practices, which continue to this day.
The commitment to horizontality and autonomy are accompanied by a critique of representation. It is recognized that the movement is internally very heterogeneous and there is no ideal figure of the unemployed worker. Additionally, these movements emerged at the time of a complete breakdown of representational democracy, as seen in the neoliberal government of the 1990s and its eventual overthrow. It was clear that the politicians in power did not represent the people, not even of their own parties. Nor did the union, which continued to support Menem, represent the workers. The loss of faith in representational politics led to the cries that “they all must go,” and the adoption of popular neighborhood assemblies across the city of Buenos Aires. This skepticism toward representational politics is countered by a commitment to territorial organizing, to creating new ways of life and social-spatial organization in the neighborhoods where the poor live.
Territorial Organization
The territorial organization is another element that distinguishes the organizations of the unemployed, especially those in urban settings, from other social movements in Argentina and elsewhere. “The neighborhood is the new factory” was one of the principal slogans of the MTDs and other organizations of the unemployed. This slogan carries a double significance: production is no longer centered in the factory but dispersed throughout the territory and, in parallel, labor organizing must be dispersed throughout the neighborhood as well. Many of the MTDs, especially in southern reaches of Greater Buenos Aires, emerged from settlements in the urban periphery that had been illegally occupied in the 1980s. In these settlements, the neighborhood was already the key site of political organization, as the settlements were largely collectively controlled by their inhabitants and sites of constant struggles to maintain their land and for access to services. The neighborhood was also the obvious site for political organization for the large numbers of women and youth that had never been included in the formal labor movement and had always been excluded from other political organizations. Thus, they were the ones to take the lead as these movements emerged, a stark contrast to the many forms of political activity dominated by men.
The struggle against capital must also be the struggle to produce a different type of space and different social relations within the space.2 That is precisely what the MTDs seek to do in their territories, by establishing a physical presence in the neighborhood and seeking to collectively manage as many of the elements of daily life as possible. Territorial organization as practiced by the MTDs includes creating schools, soup kitchens, health clinics, daycares, community gardens, social centers and productive enterprises within a given territory. It means organizing around the basic needs of community residents, food, clean water, housing, education and the desire to form community in neighborhoods that are socially and ethnically fragmented. Territorial organization implies opening up all the spaces of daily activity to critique and as possible sites of organization. These movements recognize and more fully value the different types of labor that go into producing a territory. Ultimately, territorial organization seeks to build on the self-activity of the working class as expressed through the practices of everyday life and social organization in the neighborhoods.
Labor
The MTDs differ from what is traditionally conceived of as the labor movement because of their decentering of waged labor and explicit organizing of unemployed people. The MTDs have explicitly taken on the challenge of organizing the unemployed, as well as partially-employed, informal, and domestic workers. Through the positive identity of the piquetero and continuing to identify as workers, the MTDs have moved beyond a definition of the unemployed that is based on lack, on what they don’t have (employment), to one that values the political organization of the class. Thus, this discourse no longer privileges wage labor as the norm, recognizing that this is no longer a possibility for much of the country’s working class. Yet, the MTDs continue identifying as “workers,” as the working class, even without employment or even the possibility of employment. Rather, the movement recognizes that there are many types of work, and that they are organized in many different ways.
The MTDs decenter the experience of waged labor and instead put the spaces of everyday life in the center of their struggle. In this way, they are able to challenge distinctions between waged and unwaged labor, or formal and informal employment, to create a space for the majority of urban residents who survive on some combination of precarious work along with state subsidies, illegal activities, and support from family and friends. Residents of the urban periphery often work part-time in domestic labor or construction, are self-employed through micro-enterprises run out of their homes, and are involved in the constant labor of care in their own homes and communities. This labor lacks the rights and security that have helped other workers to organize, as well as geographic stability. This makes workplace organizing extremely difficult, if not impossible, meaning that there is generally little place for these workers within labor unions. The piquetero movement, however, is one of the few movements that has managed to successfully bring together these different type of workers without reproducing the hierarchies and divisions of the labor market.
Within the piquetero movement there are differing analyses of work and diagnostics of the economic situation, which are manifest in the organizations’ demands and practices. One sector of the movement calls for “genuine work” and demands their old jobs back: real, legitimate, authentic jobs. These were opposed to the demands for subsidies and unemployment benefits, which they considered to reproduce patterns of laziness and dependency. While certainly politicians’ use of these these subsidies to pacifty and co-opt movements must be criticized, it is easy to see how the simple critique of subsidies-as-dependency risks reproducing the logic of neoliberal capital and its ideology of individual responsibility. The demand for “genuine work” makes another mistake by labeling certain forms of labor as legitimate and authentic as opposed to others, devaluing women’s work in the household and community, as well as many other types of labor. It fails to take into account structural changes that make its premise worthless: there is no more genuine work.
Another sector of the piquetero movement, mostly adhering to a nationalist-populist ideology, has centered their actions around demanding unemployment subsidies from the state. Thanks to their success in winning these benefits and the right to distribute them, these organizations grew rapidly in the late 1990s, yet were unable to provide a real alternative to the corrupt and hierarchical forms of politics already taking place in working class neighborhoods. A politics based on making demands of the state means that most of these organizations now support the Kirchner administration and many have officially integrated into the government apparatus, thus losing most of their oppositional potential.
The independent MTDs, on the other hand, have taken a different approach from those either demanding “genuine work” or only demanding subsidies. While these MTDs decenter waged labor, work remains at the center of their practice and analysis. The MTDs do not just demand jobs, however. Instead, they ask: “what kind of work do we want?” and answer: “work with dignity.” Work with dignity is not so much a demand as a statement of intent, for it is precisely what the movements are putting into practice, creating new forms of work that spill over into new ways of living and organizing the urban territory.
Alternatives
Starting in the late 1990s, at the same time as some workers began taking over their factories, a number of MTDs started their own productive enterprises as a way to provide an income for some of their members and to regain a sense of control over their lives, which they had lost with unemployment. These efforts multiplied after 2001, as the crisis hit its peak and the lack of a stable government made it clear that solutions would not come from the state. During this time, the MTDs also participated in organizing barter markets and alternative currency networks, creating new economic systems based on mutual aid and support. Recognizing that full employment was no longer an option, or perhaps even a desire, for everyone, these groups decided to create their own ways of reproducing life in their territories, outside of the capitalist market.
There are different ways of interpreting “work with dignity,” and different ways of putting it into practice. We can, however, identify some common threads: (1) self-management/workers’ control/no boss, (2) workplace democracy and horizontality, (3) communal values over market values. These alternatives sometimes take the form of worker-owned cooperatives, but go beyond obviously productive enterprises as well. As part of their territorial organization, the MTDs seek to collectively manage other spaces and activities of life, from healthcare to education to the food they eat. There is a dimension of autonomy to these projects as well: although most are funded at least partially through state subsidies, the MTDs aim to be self-sufficient in order to no longer rely on the state. This is mostly a practical concern, since it is expected that the state will one day take away the subsidies or enforce certain requirements the movements are not prepared to meet. The subsidies are considered useful, however, inasmuch as they provide a material base from which to further strengthen the movement and people’s self-organization.
The alternatives that the MTDs construct are not limited to workplace alternatives, to working without bosses and democratically controlling the workplace. They aim to create different ways of working, questioning what counts as work and how that work is valued, how that work is carried out and organized, and the relationship between that work and other parts of life. This means going beyond the productive enterprises to focus on activities that create new social relations within the neighborhoods, relationships that are not based on competition or profit but on solidarity and mutual aid.
The productive enterprises the MTDs set up are usually small-scale workshops making food or textiles, or providing services. Bakeries and pizzerias are some of the most common. These enterprises are democratically controlled by the workers themselves and ultimately by the movement as whole, making the needs of the community more important than just turning a profit. They attempt to provide an alternative to the hierarchical discipline of most capitalist workplaces, as well as divisions between manual and intellectual labor, by including all workers in decision-making and rotating roles. Profit is generally invested into the organization as a whole or distributed to members most in need.
In many ways, the cooperatives run by the MTDs are similar to the “recuperated factories” that emerged in Argentina around the same time. In hundreds of sites around the country, workers took over and restarted production in factories, rather than submit to owners’ decisions to close the factories and leave workers unemployed. These range from small printing presses to large metal factories. There is a wide range of diversity in how the recuperated factories operate: in some, workers radically transform the relations of production, instituting non-hierarchical relations between workers and equally sharing responsibilities and tasks, decision-making power, and surplus, while others largely reproduce the relations and practices of the factory under its former boss. Yet in many ways the recuperated factories remain limited, because, after all, they are still creating work, which, instead of relying on a boss to instill the factory discipline, relies on collective self-exploitation. Overall, the recuperated factories do little to challenge the overall system of capital, especially as many continue to fill the same contracts with capitalist corporations as when they were run by a boss. The recuperated factories that are doing the most for political change are those that have been able to create networks with other worker-controlled enterprises, recreating the whole supply chain, and those that build ties with other movements and the wider community.
One of the central focuses of all these movements has been education, which can perhaps best be seen in the bachilleratos populares. The bachilleratos populares are high school degree programs for adults run by social movements, but with state funding and accreditation. The schools emerged out of the movements, both the recuperated factories and the MTDs, first without any outside funding or state recognition, as a way to provide education to their members and the public. They arose out of a double acknowledgment: the lack of quality educational opportunities for much of the city’s poor, and the power of education for political empowerment. After years of fighting, the degrees earned in these schools were formally recognized by the state (in 2007 in the province of Buenos Aires and 2008 in the city). The state provides additional resources as well, and in some localities provides small salaries for the teachers. However, the movements control the curriculum, and are responsible for organizing the school and teaching the classes. Teachers are generally movement activists and/or politically committed university students; some work as teachers in other schools. The MTDs put a great deal of emphasis on knowledge production in general, in some cases even operating their own publishing houses, through which they edit and publish their own research.3
Additionally, some of the MTDs operate health clinics, providing an alternative to the overcrowded and underfunded public health system and taking more holistic approaches to health, as opposed to only treating sickness. Alongside the clinics, the MTDs tend to offer classes about nutrition and wellness, seeking to integrate these elements of their activities into the daily lives of their members. The organizations offer a wide range of cultural and educational programming, from painting classes to readings groups on Marx, provide legal aid for migrants seeking to legalize their status, and facilitate women’s empowerment groups.
Participation in these activities, whether a worker-run bakery or a movement-controlled high school, creates new subjectivities and social relations, produces new territories and new forms of life. The participants go from seeing themselves as helpless victims of global capitalism, solely defined by their lack of employment, to identifying as active agents of social and political change, with the power to confront the state and capital and produce different ways of living. The MTDs challenge dominant narratives about the centrality and desirability of waged labor and instead seek to create alternative forms of production and social organization.
Today the MTDs are not as publicly visible as they were ten years ago, with much less open confrontation with the state and piquetes no longer a daily occurrence. The movement, which was never unified, is perhaps even more fragmented today: some piquetero organizations have been integrated into the Kirchner apparatus, receiving subsidies and other resources from the state, and others are increasingly critical of these new forms of co-optation. The lack of unified action poses an important problem as the government tries to divide “good protesters” from “bad protesters,” determining access to subsidies, and the cooperatives discover it is hard to sustain themselves without building larger networks of trade and support. Certain groups, most notably the Popular Front Darío Santillán, are attempting to counter this fragmentation through the construction of new alliances bringing together the unemployed, low-wage and precarious workers, and students, along with indigenous and campesino groups from other parts of the country. Despite these challenges, however, the MTDs remain committed to the day-to-day work of territorial organizing. There are now around 100 popular high school programs offering degrees around the country, dozens of cooperatives, social centers, and other activities, working to directly improve people’s lives while strengthening the self-organization of neighborhood residents and building their autonomy from the state and capital.
Liz Mason-Deese is a member of the Counter-Cartographies Collective and the Edu-Factory Collective, and is a graduate student in the geography program at UNC Chapel Hill. She currently lives in Buenos Aires, where she is conducting her dissertation research.
Originally posted: September 22, 2012 at Viewpoint Magazine
- 1Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Commonwealth, (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2009).
- 2See Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, (Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1991) for a theoretical analysis on the relationship between space and capital. For more on how social movements across Latin America struggle to produce new types of spaces, see Raúl Zibechi, Territorios En Resistencia: Cartografía Política De Las Periferias Urbanas Latinoamericanas, (Buenos Aires, Argentina: Lavaca editora, 2008). This book has recently been released in English as Territories in Resistance, trans. Ramor Ryan (Oakland: AK Press, 2012).
- 3The MTD La Matanza has self-published two books: De la culpa a la autogestión: un recorrido del Movimiento de Trabajadores de La Matanza (2005) and Cuando con otros somos nosotros: la experiencia asociativa del Movimiento de Trabajadores Desocupados de La Matanza (2007).The Popular Front Darío Santillán operates a publishing house which has published over 50 books since 2007. The MTD Solano has collaborated with Colectivo Situaciones on various projects, including the book Hipótesis 891: Más allá de los piquetes.
Comments
Against humanities: the self-consciousness of the corporate university
A standard feature of the hand-wringing associated with the crisis of the university is a fixation on the humanities. After all, for those of us in the so-called creative and critical fields, illustrating, visualizing and – dare we say it – branding the crisis is a new and unique opportunity to show off. This is what we went to school for, isn’t it? Take a recent event at Cornell University, which dramatized the question with the following thought experiment: after some sort of maritime disaster (details are scarce), a group of undergraduates commandeers a life raft. As luck would have it, they have a bit of space left – but, tragic twist of fate, the only people left to save are professors. Instead of giving up the seats to their elders, our clever young narcissists make the professors present a case as to why they deserve the remaining spot on the life raft. One physics professor and four from the humanities are graciously granted 10 minutes, during which students are educated on the ability of literature to help us understand each other, Homer’s extensive insights on rafts in the Illiad, and the power of theater professors abroad to impart the “knowledge that Ugandans could solve many of their own problems” with a firm belief in themselves – more effective, apparently, than “fresh water or a new AIDS vaccine.” Physics offered electricity, fire, and, perhaps most important of all, distilled alcohol. While the classics and physics tied, everyone was rooting for the humanities as a whole by the end.
These creative defenses come with an underlying subtext: it has been the programs in the humanities, and to a lesser extent the social sciences, that bear the brunt of budget cuts, because some departments lack the immediate ability to parlay their knowledge into contracts with surrounding businesses. University administrations, only moderately adept at the art of triage, cut those programs that are unable to find outside sources to bolster their existence. This has become a human tragedy – after all, the way we know ourselves is through the common culture that the humanities in the university are supposed to facilitate. For the defenders of the humanities, the 1926 words of Harvard graduate and classical scholar Paul Shorey echo through now-profane halls. From his speech “Can an American be an Optimist?”:
Who shall resist the fierce, unremitting pressure of the public, the press, the lecture platform, the literary critics, the school boards and schools of education to reduce everything to the level of the taste and understanding of the average pupil, the general reader, the ordinary audience, and to suppress every word, allusion, or quotation, every difficulty, every refinement and qualification, every touch of scholarship in footnote or appendix that may baffle or offend the illiterate literacy of those who have learned to read easy head-line and best-seller English and do not wish to learn more? And yet if we cannot establish and maintain some dike and se-wall of resistance to these tendencies, the rising tide of mediocrity will submerge us even while we are counting our universities by the score and our students by myriads.
When the scalpels are about to be deployed, the natural response of intellectuals is to assume defensive postures and recite the usual litanies of praise for our own profession: the humanities teach democracy; they teach a shared sense of self; they teach how to playfully and intelligently interact with the world, and sometimes even produce the world; they are the sole patch of life beyond the scope of market relations. Those who teach in and take classes in the humanities make the principal claim that without the noble vocation of the professor we’d all be stupider, less capable of making informed decisions, and left to the cold calculations of science.
For those outside of the defensive posture, many of these arguments might seem ludicrous, arrogant, and insulting. Barely muted is the claim that only those who have attended college – the right classes at college – and have subsequently absorbed the requisite cultural learning have the capacity to make society thrive. This was precisely the argument used by the emerging intellectual elite at the end of the 19th century – the liberal sons of the New England ruling class who helped create the humanities from the rubble of the classical studies. The argument underlying their thinking was that civilization was essentially a fragile machine, which must be operated by a small, though hopefully growing, group of men – a “democratic aristocracy” whose position was granted by virtue of their education and judgment, who could inculcate right ideas in both the business titans (who they mistrusted) and the working class (who they feared). In a 1926 speech delivered to the Phi Beta Kappa club at William and Mary, former Princeton professor Henry Van Dyke summed it up well:
[democracy’s] high purpose should be to develop an aristocracy of its own begetting, after its own heart, and dedicated to its service. Unless it can do this, democracy spells confusion of mind, fickleness and feebleness of action, and final decay hastened by the increase of material wealth. The fatter it grows the more it degenerates.
The advent of capitalist higher education by the latter half of the 19th century meant that universities would no longer serve just the small cohort of legal and religious minds who were to influence the tenor of towns and cities through their exemplary action and material success. The transformation was a direct result of the capitalist class usurping hegemony from the colonial patricians, and subsequently ignoring those institutions of higher education; this forced the cash-strapped universities and colleges (whose numbers far outstripped demand) to desperately search for a way to seduce the fledgling capitalists, the stubborn farmers, and the recalcitrant working class.
John William Draper, president of NYU in 1835, complained that “mere literary acumen is becoming utterly powerless against profound scientific attainment.” He asked, “To what are the great advances of civilization for the last fifty years due – to literature or science? Which of the two is it that is shaping the thought of the world?” According to the historian Christopher Lucas, the superintendent of California schools in 1858 declared the graduates of the old colleges to be useless individuals. And Henry Tappan, NYU professor and later University of Michigan President, usually credited as the father of the modern US university, declared that “the commercial spirit of our country, and the many avenues of wealth which are opened before enterprise, create a distaste for study deeply inimical to education… The manufacturer, the merchant, and the gold-digger, will not pause in their career to gain intellectual accomplishments. While gaining knowledge, they are losing the opportunities to gain money.” Engineering, physical science, and other practical knowledges were the principal means of this courtship (and sports, of course, though these had appeal beyond the bourgeoisie and helped knit universities into the urban fabric of the industrial era). There was not a tremendous enthusiasm for either classical studies or the humanities outside of a small cohort of average students, who enjoyed the theatricality of lectures, or the scions of the wealthy.
Classical studies gave up the ghost as advocates of the humanities – a composite of classical studies and the contemplative elements of the newly splintered sphere of political economy, from which emerged the disciplines of economics, anthropology, history, social science, and psychology – seized control of university departments in philosophy, literature, and the arts. The capitalist university would not just produce the legal, juridical, and technical minds required for industrial capitalism, it would also produce its soul. As Laurence Veysey recounts in The Emergence of the American University, the Harvard philosopher Josiah Royce helped provide the core of the new humanities: to encounter the thought behind the scientific method, not just the method. The humanists would be the self-described conscience of the university, the sometimes conservative, sometimes radical gadfly that would preserve capitalism’s humanity in the face of the vulgar utilitarians who prized pecuniary gain and specialization above all. By the early 20th century, the humanities had become assured of their place in the university, allowing Paul Shorey to breathe a sigh of relief: “Neither do I fear direct hostility, suppression, or neglect for the so-called humanities. We have outgrown that stage of controversy.”
When those of us who are educators in the humanities reflect on what exactly it is that “we” do, it is easy to dissociate our individual work from that of the totality of the institution – and from the ways that students use or ignore our work. Sure, says our thoughtful professor, the humanities have been partly responsible for the status quo over the last century. But my colleagues and I subvert, deconstruct, transform these spatial, intellectual, disciplinary boundaries and help students actualize themselves, confront inequality, and learn methods for speaking truth to power in defiance of a culture that seeks to reduce all matter to market calculations.
This attitude will no doubt continue to persist because very few of us want to believe that we are participating in alienating institutions – whether we are bankers, educators, or urban gentrifiers. And of course, the work that some in the humanities do is interesting, reveals much that is not yet known, and provides tools by which to better understand the social structure. But the truth is that the humanities actively hide and mystify the struggles that underly the “common culture.”
Having long prized virtuoso performances, and the ability of the pen and podium to beat back the sword, the humanities foster a specialized tool, abstract intelligence, that can be most powerfully wielded by elites. Writing in The Nation, Christopher Hayes gives a fine description of the social role of this intelligence:
Of all the status obsessions that preoccupy our elites, none is quite so prominent as the obsession with smartness. Intelligence is the core value of the meritocracy, one that stretches back to the early years of standardized testing, when the modern-day SAT descended from early IQ tests. To call a member of the elite “brilliant” is to pay that person the highest compliment.
Hayes describes intelligence like some sort of jewel encrusted dagger: “Smartness dazzles and mesmerizes. More important, it intimidates.” This type of valuation is rife throughout academic departments, especially the humanities. The contempt with which many faculty and TAs regard their own students illustrates just how deeply this attitude runs.
What Hayes misses is that this meritocratic elitism isn’t just a general risk of organization that could be corrected by a “radicalized upper middle class”– it’s part of a wider social process. A cohort of properly democratic elites, long the central fantasy of the humanities, would still fail to step outside the underlying dynamic, which is that capitalism requires expansion and movement. There is no reproduction of market society without the conquest of new markets, and the opening of new spaces to market mechanisms. We would do well to keep this in mind when we discuss the “crisis of the university.” There can be no doubt that the university is in crisis. But the metrics in vogue to describe the crisis seem wrong.
A peculiar insight raised by Brian Whitener and Dan Nemser is that the university as such is not actually in crisis, when measured by the only really important index of our society: investor return. It would be a mistake to imagine that privatization, corporatization, or meritocracy are driving the crisis of the university, when in fact the internal dynamics of capitalism itself lay at its center. Higher education today is simply unable to remain in any kind of stasis, and the stasis urged by the defenders of the university in general, and the humanities in particular, is a weak liberal utopia.
But the utopia isn’t just a weak form of opposition – it’s been part of the ideological foundation of the university from the beginning. Echoing the earlier gadflies, English professor James Mullholland argues in the Chronicle of Higher Education: “We succeed within a corporatized university because we offer ways to reflect on it, reinvent it, and evaluate it. We are the self-consciousness of the corporate university.” When this self-consciousness is universal and “human,” questions of social struggle can be evaded. And once this evasion is complete, the fine-tuning of capitalism can commence.
For the ascendant liberals of the early 20th century, a broad framework embedded in the humanities and social sciences was a mechanism by which to absorb local conflict into the realm of the interventionist state. With the passing of laissez-faire capitalism heralded by the arrival of the railroads, big business and the emergence of an organized working class in the US, the intellectual and business leaders saw only two paths: a strong centralized state anchored through centralization of power at the national level, or socialism. Stephen Skowronek’s Building a New American State shows how this centralization of bureaucratic functions within the civil administration, the military, and business regulation was accomplished, with the help of the National Civic Federation (NCF), as a response to the accumulation of capital by large businesses in the 1870s and the concomitant labor strikes that subsequently shook the US. “The construction of a central bureaucratic apparatus,” Skowronek writes, “was championed as the best way to maintain order during this period of upheaval in economic social, and international affairs.”
Edward Silva and Sheila Slaughter have traced a parallel history in Serving Power, which tells of the crucial role academics from the newly created social sciences had to play in this transformation. As “disinterested experts,” they had the distance and authority to expound local problems in ways that those involved did not; they could see the whole picture. Through the NCF, “the most influential business-sponsored political-economic forum group operating during the Progressive Period,” academics, bankers, manufacturers, and conservative labor leaders – AFL president Samuel Gompers was a founding member – partnered together with the goal of “increasing the overall efficiency of capitalistic enterprise and solving the many problems of rapid industrialization” – meaning, labor militancy and revolution.
Calling on willing leaders in the newly formed divisions of the social sciences, academics wrote model legislation, conducted studies on working conditions and public opinion, and offered theories of social change that placed true agency only with the bureaucratic centralized state. Even the organizations of these new divisions – the American Economics Association, American Political Science Association, American Historical Association, American Social Science Association, and Modern Language Association – formed, Silva and Slaughter note, as academics sought to atomize and specialize the discipline of political economy, seen to have fostered Marxism.
Through the social sciences the university offered a strategy for social change that countered Marxist political economy, to entrench both private property and an interventionist state. Through the humanities the university offered a universal theory that saw humanity as something to be imposed upon those too stupid or too obstinate to sublimate their own desires and needs to those of Western civilization. For this reason, writes Richard Altenbaugh in Education for Struggle, the militant working class distrusted formal education at every level. Altenbaugh cites a 1921 remark by Alexander Fichland, director of the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union’s “Workers University,” to this effect:
Workers feel that they cannot obtain in non-workers’ educational institutions correct information on subjects affecting their own interests. They feel that they are frequently deceived and are furnished with interpretations of life which are intended to keep them docile and submissive. They feel that the truth will be told to them only by those of their own choosing, whose outlook on life is their outlook on life, whose sympathies are their sympathies, whose interests are their interests.
By abstracting from class struggle in all of its guises, the university weaponized the knowledge of the emerging disciplines and turned them on the working class. All knowledge and all education are historically situated, developed out of particular histories and cultures, and are dependent on vast social structures in order to survive. The thought produced in universities has, for reasons deeply embedded in their history, been used to attack and undermine class struggle in the name of a progressive utopia that appears more impossible now than ever.
And this is precisely why the peans to to knowledge and higher education – especially to the humanities – grow more wearisome every year. Even in The New Yorker, the hallowed claims of educated self-consciousness, the crown jewel of the humanities, have been questioned. A recent article on the research of Princeton psychologist Daniel Kahneman concludes that we are nearly incapable of rational thought regarding our own actions, but revel in criticizing the actions of others along supposedly rational lines. “Education,” it acknowledges, “isn’t a savior.” In fact, “introspection can actually compound the error, blinding us to those primal processes responsible for many of our everyday failings. We spin eloquent stories, but these stories miss the point. The more we attempt to know ourselves, the less we actually understand.” Research shows that the smarter – and better educated – are more prone to these “mistakes.” A case in point is the author of these words, Jonah Lehrer, who was unable to resist the “primal process” of making up quotes and no longer has a job with The New Yorker.
Something other than defense of the university, and something other than the humanities, are necessary today. And this “something other” must take be constructed both within and outside of the university. Within, because as Gigi Roggero has pointed out, the university is a dynamic site of struggle and capitalist production. Outside, because knowledge is a particular kind of power, culturally and historically dependent. The humanities and university academics are an outstanding example of this: they were created as an ideological offensive against both the militant working-class struggles that threatened Europe and Americas and the residual patrician elites that threatened to hold back capitalist expansion. Instead of defending this kind of knowledge, we would do better to heed the words of Gilles Deleuze: “There is no need to fear or hope, but only to look for new weapons.” Our task is to develop new weapons, and that will require leaving the university and abandoning the humanities.
Mark Paschal has written for Reclamations Journal, and is a member of University Research Group Experiment (URGE). He is also a graduate student at UC Santa Cruz.
Comments
When professors strip for the camera
If TED took a turn to leftist (or any) critique, Žižek, the professor of “toilets and ideology,” would be the keynote speaker. The irony of the animated lecture, “First as Tragedy, Then as Farce,” is that a diatribe on “global capitalism with a human face” would get over 900,000 views on YouTube. “It’s not just what you’re buying, but what you’re buying into” seems to apply not only to Starbucks’ “coffee ethics” and TOMS Shoes’ 1-for-1 African philanthropy, but also to the availability of 10-minute Lacanian Marxist “soft apocalyptism” at a Google subsidiary with personalized ads.
With YouTube’s help, the academy where Žižek’s persona was born is an increasingly visible terrain of so-called “cultural capitalism.” The last decade has witnessed a revolution in open courseware, a source of short-circuit consumption in which anyone with a computer can drink elite university Kool-Aid without earning credit. The movement has been so explosive – the Hewlett Foundation, which provides the mother lode of funding for university initiatives, supported a whole book on it, Taylor Walsh’s 2011 Unlocking the Gates – that one wonders how long the political economy of education that it anchors, contra Žižek’s hipster-friendly fantasies of consumerist dystopia, will last.
To date, the most successful, or at least most prominent, initiative is MIT’s OpenCourseWare. In 2001, MIT unveiled a plan to offer most of its courses online for free – reading lists, lecture notes, exams, and all. In its first five weeks of existence, the OCW site got 361,000 unique visitors from 177 countries and all 7 continents. In response to OCW, UNESCO held a “Forum on the Impact of Open Courseware for Higher Education in Developing Countries.” MIT was the new Bill Gates. As university president Charles Vest wrote in the Chronicle of Higher Education in 2004:
a faculty member at a new engineering university in Ghana, a precocious high-school biology student in suburban Chicago, a political scientist in Poland, a literature professor in upstate New York, or an executive in a management seminar down the hall at MIT will be able to use the materials our professors rely on in teaching our full-time students.
Open Yale Courses, which drafted off MIT’s success, is now a competitor in the techno hype-space, only with different operating parameters. The OYC site hosts 42 courses, most of which are introductory lectures in the humanities and social sciences. Yale gives OYC professors a small honorarium in exchange for letting videographers sit in the back of the room and record every lecture.
Occasionally, there will be an awkward moment when the professor asks students not to walk in front of the class lest they get on camera, or apologizes for having to fix their mic. It’s the self-assurance of Yale’s hand-picked all-stars which makes OYC differentiable from TED talks, in which some speakers, perhaps getting to condense their wisdom into 20-minute nuggets of optimism for the first time, repeat phrases or give clumsy postscripts. Otherwise, Yale qualifies, in the words of Evgeny Morozov, as a TED-esque “international meme launderer.” Open Yale Courses are the ivory tower of university TEDification. At the same time that Yale continues its 20-year stomp on grad student unionism and ’juncts its academic workforce, it parades popular tenured professors – “I keep my eyes open for people in the news,” director and OYC participant Diane Kleiner has said – with few offerings in critical or politically charged disciplines that produce less marketable research.
Yale isn’t the only university that picks the best and brightest for the world screen. Fathom, a failed for-profit initiative at Columbia that pre-dated OCW at MIT, marketed over 600 courses but focused on star faculty. Carnegie Mellon’s Open Learning Initiative, which offers 15 courses in its core competencies of science, math, and foreign language, demands significant time for course development and thus draws mostly from tenured faculty. The whole open courseware enterprise was born of relationships among big-name university leaders. Yale president Richard Levin had been on the board of the Hewlett Foundation since 1998. AllLearn, another failed for-profit venture from the dot-com era, was a collaboration between Levin and his friends at Oxford, Princeton, and Stanford. After AllLearn, Yale’s liaison went on to be president of TIAA-CREF.
The elite origins of open courseware, put together with the academic hyperreality of its all-star offerings, are nothing compared to the backroom power play that is 2011’s “Great Big Ideas,” a course offered to students at Yale, Harvard, and Bard College and anyone else willing to shell out $199 to watch twelve hour-long lectures online. The course, “an introduction to the world’s most important ideas and disciplines,” is the pilot offering of the for-profit Floating University, a joint venture between Yale-bred businessman Adam Glick and online forum Big Think. Though it isn’t free like OYC, the conceits of open courseware lie within FU’s glossy syllabus: Steven Pinker and Paul Bloom (Norton authors); Larry Summers; William Ackman’s “If You’re So Smart, Why Aren’t You Rich?” which explains “the logistics of the modern portfolio theory of investment, handing students the tools to become the savvy investors of tomorrow”; and a TED-friendly smorgasbord of hard science, economics, and discourse on human nature—to be sure, the world’s most important ideas and disciplines.1
In Shakespeare, Einstein, and the Bottom Line, Stephen Kirp writes that open courseware gives elite universities the symbolic capital “to keep their exclusivity intact.” For schools like Yale that can only drop within existing hierarchies of exchange value – U.S. News & World Report rankings, for one – the open courseware revolution represents a new lattice of use value that fortifies the gates against disruptive innovation from other high-tech knowledge ventures as well as competitors from below. (“I don’t want to wake up one morning and find out that Harvard and Microsoft have put $5 million on the table,” piped Columbia trustee and NBA commissioner David Stern at the advent of Fathom.) Under this new regime, universities accrue a sort of secondary rent on what they already own.
Like the University of Phoenix, elite universities have heeded Bank of America analyst Howard Block’s admonition to embrace their role as content providers – or, as David Brooks noted optimistically in a May column, to bank on the transformation of “knowledge into a commodity that is cheap and globally available.” Famous Berkeley chancellor Clark Kerr’s preferred use of the university is upon us: “Knowledge is durable. It is also transferable. It only pays to produce knowledge if through production it can be put into use better and faster.” Or, if we take Carnegie Mellon’s fine-tuned, web-specific courses as the model – as President Obama has, in hailing a future for community college expansion that doesn’t require more classrooms – BF Skinner’s “teaching machine,” which rewarded students for correct answers following pre-programmed instruction, is the new motor of the digital superhighway.
Open courseware is a way for universities to get by as businesses and as universities, with all the attendant contradictions. On the one hand, as Walsh recounts in Unlocking the Gates, Yale’s director of marketing and trademark licensing claims that OYC “was driven from a marketing perspective, because every time someone views something we made, they’re consuming Yale, and the quality of their experience reflects how they think of us and the brand.” Indeed, the OYC site is laced with Yale’s name, logo, and colors, and every YouTube video has a Yale imprint. On the other hand, as Kleiner has it, “This isn’t a numbers game, since we’re not making money off this; this is a gift we’re giving to the world, so we want to see if we can bring that to as many people as possible.” In a 2000 lecture at Oxford, Mellon Foundation president William Bowen waxed that universities shouldn’t sell open courseware for fear of sacrificing their pro-bono purpose. The proprietors of webcast.berkeley consider online lectures signals to state legislators that the purveyors of tech transfer and privately supported research also teach – for the public good.
At Yale and elsewhere, the old boys club has become a genderless, frictionless, surfable ocean of philanthropy; and yet these same universities remain corporately managed austerity-mongers. Standard critiques of cybernetic utopianism apply. In Data Trash: The Theory of the Virtual Class, Arthur Kroker and Michael Weinstein define the “will to virtuality” as the “dream of being the god of cyberspace – public ideology as the fantasy drive of pre-pubescent males.” In the globalized academy, a new pantheon rises.
TED and Twitter have two things in common: they package knowledge into personal brands; and they disseminate it faster and more widely than the average academic journal. Anyone can watch a TED talk; hardware-willing, anyone can tweet. Twitter’s mass appeal has as its elite counterpart the slushy marketing pitch of the TED talker.
Today’s paradigmatic intellectual commodities, like intellectual property rights granted to authors but absorbed into the capital circuitry of the publishing world of 18th century Western Europe, come with new forms of exploitation. The labor-power embedded in these commodities is lost not only in the buyer’s fetish but in mega-networks that redefine cognitive labor and reroute it to profitable ends. In the Twitter-sphere, The New Inquiry’s Rob Horning put it in a 2011 essay, “we can be aware of ourselves only insofar as we see ourselves as profiting or not… We sell out simply by choosing to have subjectivity on social media’s terms.” This alienation, one of the “quintessential aspects of the contemporary experience of precarity,” represents “the total breakdown of the possibility of collective identity… the transformational potential of the enhanced social cooperation on which the economy depends is neutralized, frittered away in ostentatious narcissism.”
In “The Ideology of Free Culture and the Grammar of Sabotage,” Matteo Pasquinelli describes this set-up as a regime of exploitation, while also pointing to a certain kind of resistance to it. Responding to high-utopian “digitalism” and selectively permeable networks like the Creative Commons, he writes, “There is nothing digital in any digital dream. Merged with a global economy, each bit of ‘free’ information carries its microslave like a forgotten twin.” Akin to creative production subsumed by urban growth machines or media monopolies, “open culture” becomes a kind of multitude-for-rent. For Pasquinelli, subversion lies with the likes of Dmytri Kleiner’s copyfarleft, in which the commons are open to commercial use by single workers or worker cooperatives that till them, but not agents that exist outside. Over and against the flat world of open culturists, Pasquinelli posits a commons that runs on both cooperation and uncooperation, in which the multitude struggles within itself.
Sabotage of the copyfarleft sort is an important plank of resistance, but a kind of vanguardist one; culture jammers and conspiratorial digital cabals draw on highly politicized subjectivities lodged in a world that relies on the academy no matter how much it may disavow its origins. By comparison, strong assertions about the impossibility of collective identity abandon all attempts to unravel the contradictions and changing class composition of the so-called knowledge economy. While it’s predictable for the professional intellectual to decry the crassness of the newest brave new world, tweets and free lectures represent a redistribution of knowledge whose latent promise must be taken as seriously as its runaway promises. To be sure, it’s easy to criticize techno-babblers like Wired – which in 2003 wrote of MIT’s OCW, “no institution of higher learning had ever proposed anything as revolutionary” – or, for that matter, MIT’s marketing team. The operative question here is whether the tweeters or open courseware consumers who aren’tprofessional intellectuals can speak. Just as Wired’s take on Occupy Wall Street, a December article entitled “#Riot: Self-Organized, Hyper-Networked Revolts,” treats protesters as mindless iron filings, Andy Merrifield’s “Crowd Politics” in the September/October 2011 New Left Review foregrounds the “intensity of the encounter” while ignoring the variable subjectivities and lived experiences that protesters carry with them to protest. Who is Horning’s “we”?
For those who never went to a top school or, financial aid notwithstanding, couldn’t take on the debt, open education represents a utopia captured by university growth machines. Bastard simulacrum of academia that it can be, it calls neither for knee-jerk defense of the traditional academy nor blithe celebration from those whose departments or job prospects are safe from the chopping block, but measured consideration of new possibilities for reappropriating the crisis of the university.
As America’s university system grew and modernized in the postwar era, students and faculty collaborated on significant reforms to Yale’s grading system, graduation credits, and opportunities for independent study. In the postmodern academy, ideas for appropriating systemic transformation for radical ends run wild. At the Open Education Conference in 2009, Christopher Mackie offered a “Model Proposal for Utterly Transforming Higher Education Pedagogy and Intellectual Property Generation,” involving course credit for students who generate online content – elevating students’ consumption of open courseware, particularly operative at MIT, to a co-creative art. As a resolution to the skyrocketing cost of university degrees, n+1’s editors make the less modest, if more speculative, pitch for “the credentialed to join the uncredentialed in shredding the diplomas that paper over the undemocratic infrastructure of American life.”
Breaking down this infrastructure demands recognition that knowledge commodities are objects consumed by a heterogeneous multitude rather than a monolithic mass trapped within an imposed “consumerism.” As Yale’s Michael Denning contends in Culture in the Age of Three Worlds, “cultural forms do not have a necessary political meaning, and may be appropriated and reappropriated by a variety of social movements seeking to lead a society.” For Denning, cultural practices are not “quick sales” but sites of class contestation and variable material investment. Within this paradigm, the masses of people to whom simulated academic knowledge is distributed are an integral part of any program that purports to redirect the political economy of higher education.
As the academy broadcasts itself to the world, it opens itself to disruption from this audience – Ghanaian students seeking an MIT degree in exchange for all the coursework, high schoolers who love the free lectures but can’t access highly ranked university education because of race or class, let alone adjuncts who see the lies of tenure exposed on camera. The onus is on the rest of us to meet them at the gates.
* I’ve benefited from the personal guidance and generosity of several instructors from this course. My statements here are directed toward the course and not the professors themselves.
James Cersonsky (@cersonsky) is a Philadelphia-based writer and activist. His writing can be found at Dissent, In These Times, AlterNet, and elsewhere. Read about his work on community-centered pedagogy here.
- 1I’ve benefited from the personal guidance and generosity of several instructors from this course. My statements here are directed toward the course and not the professors themselves.
Comments
History and politics: an interview
Asad Haider: You write within a Marxist framework, but often focus on classical political philosophy, prior to or outside of the Marxist tradition. What’s the relevance of this kind of study?
Gopal Balakrishnan: I would say that just as we clearly see that Marx’s economic thinking arises out of a critique of classical political economy, and that in turn was made possible by a prior critique of idealist philosophy, we also have to see the problems of revolutionary politics that Marx is addressing as a critical engagement with the past history of political thought. There are specific category problems, as well as intertwined historical subject matter in an engagement with that side of Marx, and Marx’s own engagement with this lineage of thinkers – Hegel as a legal and political thinker, clearly, but Hegel’s thought as a culmination of a tradition of legal and political thinking going back to Aristotle. That’s something which has been underscored by others in the Marxist tradition, you could think of Althusser and Colletti, who also had works which were explicitly about the political writers before Marx, who in some way introduce or delineate the problems of politics and history that Marx will subsequently take up in his accounts of the class struggles and civil wars of the times that he was living in.
I want to ask about two political thinkers, and what we can learn from them. The first is Carl Schmitt, the subject of your first book, The Enemy.
Well, you know, it’s not always obvious to people why it’s necessary to read figures like Schmitt, a figure who was compromised by his intimate associations with fascism and National Socialism. So this is an initial obstacle to a critical engagement – it was even for me. Schmitt, from the other side of the political spectrum, was approaching the problems of the forms of politics that arose in a period of the historical and structural crisis of the state-form, manifesting itself in the indeterminacy around the basic categories and conceptual distinctions that organized legal and political thinking from an earlier period. His benchmark is the period of classical liberalism, so the concepts and category distinctions that organized legal and political thinking for classical liberalism and before are entering into crisis in this new era, in which the opposition of state and society, the fundamental separation of the economic from the political – which is of course one of the ways Marx understands what’s specific to modern bourgeois or capitalist society – is under threat. Schmitt is addressing the same problem as Marx, except he’s doing it in a period when the further development of the capitalist system, mediated by the interstate system into a pattern of combined an uneven development, and further mediated by revolutionary and counterrevolutionary ruptures, is bringing about a reconnection of these previously separated spheres or domains of the political and the economic. The actual subsequent development of capitalism is reconnecting them in various ways, although maintaining fundamentally the separation insofar as we’re still speaking of capitalism. So I think in that sense Schmitt is dealing with a problem – indirectly, sometimes, but sometimes directly – a deep problem that arose in Marx’s own thinking.
Now Marx, even though he posited this separation of the political from the economic, did not on that basis attempt to elaborate on concrete forms of modern statehood and their potential historical transformations within later phases of capitalist development. While he identified the social relations behind the long-term dynamic of capital accumulation, he developed a more rudimentary account of the basic structure of the state that arises from this separation. His accounts of class struggles and civil wars of the 19th century present some general outlines of the modern bourgeois state, but not much as far as theorizing its concrete tendencies of development. Unlike capital, the state is a very simple category in Marx’s writings. There isn’t really a systematic historical critique of the political order that arises from this constitutive separation of the political from the economic, or of contemporary relation between state and the development of capitalism, although he has much to say about how this played out in the period of the formation of capitalist society. In the early works, when he’s engaging with Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, he addresses the specific delineated forms of the European state arising out of this process of separation, but its of course still in a rudimentary philosophical form.
Getting back to Schmitt: there are of course serious limits to his thinking, to the extent that he only approached these problems through the mediation of his conception of the state in the tradition of constitutional law and its premises, so his understanding of the transformations of capitalism in this period are approached through this mediation. But what he has to say about the crisis of the legal forms of statehood, private property, and war is interesting in its own right, and often goes well beyond what Marxists at the time wrote on these matters. The Weimar Republic was, after all, the epicenter of a larger historical situation of an intense interwar structural crisis of capitalism and the inter-state system within which it had evolved. The Weimar state-form, and the constitutional controversies surrounding it, was a staging ground for the larger theoretical questions around the character of the period, in terms of the fundamental transformations in the relationship of the state to capitalism, of the political to the economic, that should be of interest to any Marxist. Of course, many of his students were Marxists, and he was often able to appropriate ideas from others across the political spectrum. This is apparent from the very beginning of the Weimar Republic, when he wrote on the concept of the dictatorship of the proletariat within a wider intellectual history of emergency powers and states of exception, all the way to its end when he addressed the problem of the compatibility of the crisis management of post-laissez-faire capitalism with existing forms of democracy.
The second thinker is Machiavelli. Both Gramsci and Althusser wrote about Machiavelli, and you returned to some of this material in Antagonistics.
I would say that one of the ways to think about the significance of Machiavelli is the context in which thinking about the present through a reading of Machiavelli emerged, from the 19th century to the interwar period, and perhaps closer to the present context as well. If you think about it that way, you can see that there are a number of episodes in the story of the reception with Machiavelli. In the early 19th century you have Fichte and Hegel responding to the crisis of the German state, and trying to think about the conditions of possibility of the reconstitution of a national state, by looking at Machiavelli’s writings on the problem of Italian national unity. They saw Machiavelli as addressing the problem of the conditions of the genesis of a state, particularly in the context of what appeared as catastrophic defeat in the form of foreign occupation. So that’s their historical link to Machiavelli’s situation.
Keeping that in mind, the renewed interest in Machiavelli during the interwar period, and this is manifested by writings on him across the political spectrum – you mentioned Gramsci, there’s also Leo Strauss, Wyndham Lewis, Raymond Aron, and many others. Gramsci, whether he was dealing with the problem of revolutionary political strategy in the West, the rise of Fascism or even the onset of American hegemony, raised Machiavellian questions about the nexus between the foundation of new states and the conditions of their perpetuation. This is the problem that Machiavelli is dealing with in the Discourses, the need for an interlude or founding episode of terror to establish a new state, and the mode by which that origin can be superseded through the establishment of political forms that are capable of perpetuating themselves on the basis of the multitude, the not yet fully independent popular foundation of the new order. So, these episodes of reading Machiavelli are all about the origins and foundations of new orders, as experienced in the aftermath of defeat.
So we’re seeing the resonance of these themes across historical periods. Crises in state-forms, and crises which are truly global, with catastrophic defeats, situations in which the shape of a new order can’t be clearly seen. We’re now experiencing what seems to be an interminable economic crisis; how do these classical themes play into understanding the current period?
The ability of some of these older legacies of thought to address the present was called into question by the restabilization of the capitalist system in the postwar period. For that reason those who have remained interested in those older legacies of revolutionary political thought, thinking about a politics that could bring them back, have found it difficult to find its points of application to the world of capital that arose in the postwar Western sector. There were a variety of attempts to keep alive, in some way, the possibilities of revolutionary political change, but often this took the form of trying to look for other agencies outside the working class, and other sites of struggle. For a very a long period of time we’ve experienced the development of capitalism which is in some respects no longer capable of continuing and reproducing the successes of the postwar period.
An adequate understanding of the so-called period of neoliberalism involves understanding these different levels, some of which seemed to indicate that the capitalist system was reaching new heights, as the entire world was incorporated into it, while other levels of its evolution exhibited characteristics which suggested that the fundamental economic problems of the 1970s, in terms of a slowdown in the growth of income, were never really superseded. What I suggest in my piece “Speculations on the Stationary State” is that these conjunctural problems carried over from the 1970s are converging with the structural limits of capitalism itself, which make it less realistic to assume that this renewal process is going to happen.
It was often thought, until recently, that the last thirty years, after the postwar “Golden Age,” were the greatest period of capitalism ever. Developing a comprehensive objective account of what happened in this period has been difficult, since there are so many different levels at which what happened unfolded. There’s been a long term period of structural transformations and adjustments with so many new characteristics introduced into the capitalist system, it would seem at least initially paradoxical that this has not in some way broken forth into a new period of accumulation. So in order to address that problem, its now important to reconsider some theorizations of longer-term limits of capitalism. I didn’t really go into the various Marxist versions of that, which I would do more of now, but I think that the core of it arises out of the Brenner account and some unresolved problems and questions in that account regarding the long term, drawing the political and historical problems out.
Let’s talk about Robert Brenner’s analysis of what he calls the long downturn, which started in the 1970s. His account is controversial for a number of reasons, including among Marxists. He doesn’t make use of the Marxian terminology of value, and doesn’t explicitly refer to Marx’s texts on economic crisis.
It’s neither framed in terms of Marx’s own characteristic terminology, nor is it framed as a general theory of capitalist crisis. Though some general principles might come out of it, Brenner doesn’t advance this as an explanation of the interwar economic crisis, the so-called Great Depression, nor of the crisis of the last decades of the 19th century. So although there’s a general characterization of the social property relations of the capitalist mode of production, and there’s an account of some of the long-term dynamics and trends, every particular phase of accumulation is a historical topic unto itself, calling into question the idea of Marx’s economic thought as a crisis theory. That’s good, in my view.
As a secondary issue, on Brenner’s relation to Marx, despite the terminological distance, I think actually the account that Brenner provides gives a concrete meaning to various concepts that are the foundation of Marx’s own account of the value form. I think that there’s still something more to be said on this subject, since Brenner himself doesn’t use the terminology and more or less frames his own account of capitalism and of its accumulation process in terms of a cost-price theory, explicitly avoiding the problematic that Marx opened up with his understanding of the social relations which give rise to production in a value form, that there’s a significant dimension of what Marx was trying to get at in his theory of capitalism that is not brought into sharp relief in Brenner’s account.
You’re actually in the midst of researching and writing a book on Marx, focusing on Marx’s economic writings. One of the major problems for the entire history of what was called Western Marxism was that Marx never actually wrote what his method was in works like Capital.
From beginning to end, Marx’s own theory arises out of a critical analysis of the category problems that arose within classical political economy, that it was unable to solve. Marx’s own account of “the capitalist mode of production” takes the form of a solution to these problems, from the mystery of why the value of commodities must appear in a monetary form to why the social relations of production appear in the form of separate factors of production contributing to the value of the commodity, with each appearing as a separate source of revenue to their owner. One of the premises of my work on Marx’s economic thought is that we have generally lost sight of the fundamental economic problems that Marx was addressing, that came out of classical political economy. These were in part still living problems at the time that Marx was working through them, but even during the course of Marx’s own writings on these topics, from the late 1850s to the early 1870s, this tradition of classical political economy, and the living historical content of the problems it was addressing, began to fall out of view, became in some way occluded, so I would argue there’s a kind of opacity to the fundamental underlying problems of Marx’s economic thought. The meanings of many of the terms he’s using, and more seriously the systematic character of his economic thought, are not apparent. Of course, there have always been dogmatic understandings of the systematic character of Marx’s writings, but putting those aside, interpretations of his theory of capitalism have always been mediated by the initial attempts to make sense of it, which took shape in the aftermath of the decline of the intellectual traditions out of which Marx himself formulated his critique of political economy. These initial attempts established the points of entry, topics and problems that have dominated much of the commentary since.
That being said, Marx’s own understanding of capitalism has many characteristics of the particular socio-historical world of 19th century English capitalism embedded within it. Although it’s a general theory, and arises as a critique of the fundamental economic categories of classical political economy, and the solution of the fundamental category problems and with them obviously the real underlying characteristics of a capitalist economy, with the working through of the problems and impasses of classical political economy, Marx arrived at a general theory, but this general theory is in some way conjoined to the specific socio-historical context of the capitalism of his time. Not just of course the factory-industrial order that emerged in England, which is the locus classicus for the general theory, but also the various regions of the larger world-system, from declining Asiatic empires to the still-intact world of European feudalism in the East, in Russia, in the period of its demise, the emergence of white settler states, the end of the large plantation slavery-based economies. These conditions are specific to the classical period of capitalism that Marx is theorizing, and not all of them are in some uniform way subsumed under one single form of capitalism. Many of the characteristics of his age of capitalism belong to another world: capitalist landlordism based on agricultural rent, gold standard money, and conditions of working class life that were uprooted with the advent of modern medicine and the welfare state – although, of course, this latter development has only taken place in more advanced economies. So there’s a number of ways in which Marx’s world is discontinuous with our own, though the general theory allows us to make the bridge, to understand what in the subsequent periods of capitalism, although they break and depart with the characteristics of Marx’s own time, are nonetheless intelligible in terms of the account that Marx does provide.
What you’re pointing to is the fundamental relation between the logical exposition in Capital and the historical chapters, which are sometimes seen as existing in an entirely different register.
There is a tendency to isolate the value theory, or the “theory” part of Marx’s economic writings from the historical parts, to put it crudely. That has to do with prevailing conceptions of what theory is. I’d like to demonstrate what kind of theory Marx is building by presenting it in a systematically unified, reconstructed form. Clearly, Marx does not mean by mean by theory, generalizations applied to something called “history.” But there is another sense of the term “theory” associated with Marx which is also not exactly the one Marx himself had: so-called “Critical Theory.” Marx’s conception of theory was not merely negative in this sense, but aspired to be scientific and systematically integrated with historical content, that is, with the articulation and solution of real historical problems.
Many of the attempts now to get to a new reading of Capital set up as their adversary something called “traditional” Marxism or “worldview” Marxism, which is connected to the political projects of the workers’ movement. Now, if we do a reading of the theoretical texts that were produced by the workers’ movement, we find a remarkable heterogeneity, of perspectives, problematics, questions. How can we begin to reread this tradition as well?
I think there are a couple of questions there, some of which presuppose a particular answer. I would say that, contrary to my own inclinations, insofar as I’m sympathetic to some of the traditions of so-called “worldview Marxism,” there really isn’t much in Marx’s economic writings to warrant the idea that it had some immediate or direct relationship to an understanding of the conditions of possibility of the pursuit of class struggles, or immediately oriented towards the problems of the revolutionary praxis of the working class. That was an attempt made at a later point, based in the fact that Marx’s writings are not just economic, but also on the politics and history of his time, some of them part of a series of writings on the great upheavals, the revolutions and counterrevolutions from 1848 to 1871. So obviously it was not simply culled out of nothing, that so-called “worldview Marxists” would try to establish the connection. But aside from some discussions of the workers’ movement in the form of the struggle to limit the workday, and to establish normal conditions of labor within the factory system, and the significance of the success of that in inducing structural changes within capitalism, as opposed to breaking with it and overthrowing it, there isn’t really that much in the economic writings which either explicitly puts the class struggle at the center of the unfolding evolution of these social relations. There’s much more on the violence of the class struggles that characterized the period of the “primitive accumulation” of capital than on any subsequent episodes of it. It’s not even clear whether the theory which he presents, and this is a tribute to his scientific integrity, really identifies the conditions of possibility for a workers’ movement, in the sense of a dynamic by which the working class might develop out of the process of the accumulation of capital into a force of emancipation and reconstruction. It’s not entirely clear that this is his understanding of what happens to the working class under capitalism.
Nevertheless he described Capital as a weapon in the hands of the working class.
Scientific theory is a weapon, it’s ultimately beneficial to the workers and the downtrodden of society because they have the most interest in understanding the world without illusions. It’s in that respect that I think it’s a weapon for the working class, and it’s not really clear that it can be directly, in the form that Marx wrote it, turned into an instrument of the class struggle. But that’s not what Marx is trying to do, either. He’s trying to set up a framework for concrete investigations of the evolution of this form of society and the political and other forms of struggle that result from its underlying contradictions. Theory – in some ways I think this is what Althusser was good at pointing out – is not there for us, in the sense of something which is immediately even meaningful for us, and the questions that we’re asking. It’s not meant to do that. It’s meant to maybe take us away from the questions we’re asking. So we can’t really think of theory in an instrumental way, because of that relationship, true theories don’t serve our purposes so easily. But they better serve our purposes for all that, because they are ultimately about true things and a knowledge of them. In that sense I think you could say that the scientific-critical understanding of theory, as opposed to a political worldview understanding, is really what the classical conception ultimately subscribed to. Let me qualify that: I think that Gramsci is maybe, in the aftermath of defeat, more attuned to the way a scientific-critical understanding of history and politics leads to a certain, let’s say, disabused relationship to the immediate prospects of the conditions of struggle for working and subaltern classes. It’s really a difficult thing to scientifically and critically explore these problems. We prefer to have our questions result in answers which are enabling to us in some way. There are totally good reasons we ask theory to do this for us. But it best served even that purpose when it did this indirectly.
Now, there are moments in Marx, even in Capital, which describe a kind of inexorable process of historical development which will result in communism.
Where would you say that is?
The “Historical Tendency of Capitalist Accumulation,” in continuity with earlier works.
I would disagree with that, I would say that there’s often a kind of peculiar dialectical form to the way Marx establishes the conditions of the negation of existing conditions. So although he very strikingly suggests the dialectical form of the development of capitalism as a process of the expropriation of labor, which will in turn capsize over into an expropriation of the expropriators, that formal-dialectical structure shouldn’t deceive us. I think this is where we might take a cue from some of the criticism of dialectical thought that came out of currents in the, let’s say, Althusserian tradition. The way the logic of development is understood as a way of following the logic of negation, can lead to assumptions about the course of history which ultimately turn out to be dialectical illusions. I’m not advocating stepping back away from the dialectical development of laws and tendencies. Much of what is great in Marx’s thinking takes this form, and any version of Marx which strips that out of it, really strips out the guts of it. Briefly in the penultimate chapter of volume 1 he speaks of this “expropriation of the expropriators,” it seems as if this is culmination of the analysis, at least in that volume of the text. We might be tempted to see volume 1 as culminating in this understanding of the expropriation of the expropriators. Capital is often read today as the story of the formation of the working class and, let’s call it, before the letter, “the multitude.” The basic idea is that as we approach the final chapter of the expropriation of the multitude, the conditions are emerging for a great reversal. This is the enabling ideological formula of the radical left today. There is a rational core to this. Liberals, social-democrats and remnant legacies of an older far-left often snicker at such illusions, but since they were completely blindsided by the contemporary crisis of capitalism, and failed to predict it, and now offer only hindsight and stick to whatever it is they were saying before, they’re hardly credible either.
It seems to me the reason Marx places such an emphasis on violence, as you mentioned before, in the chapters on primitive accumulation is to break from the idea – which is there in classical political economy, but can also be repeated in a modified form in a Marxism which relies on a transhistorical narrative of the forces of production, the development of the forces of production – the idea that the “social-property relations” of the capitalist mode of production are the realization of something nascent in the previous mode of production, whereas he is describing a process which isn’t a simple realization, but which involves discontinuity, and which engages every level of the social formation. He emphasizes the role of the state, the interaction of various elements which don’t contain capitalism within them.
I’m not sure if you’re describing Marx here, I think that his thoughts on the subject of the emergence or transition to something like a “social” mode of production, are scattered, as everyone knows, and really take the form of either this dialectical-overturning, or, more modestly, of a consideration of the way aspects of social reproduction which assume a particular form because of capitalist social-property relations would be suspended, given a social mode of production. In this latter vein his basic point is that what are assumed to be material necessities of production are really only such because of these particular social forms.
You’ve described the story of primitive accumulation as the formation of the working class as a kind of ideological narrative, with utility for the social moment. What would be a scientific analysis of the formation of the proletariat? Not Marx’s?
Well, he explicitly says in that chapter, that he is not going to look at the economic causes of the formation of the proletariat, that he is just going to look at the role that violence played in this process. That’s an explicit admission that this is not really a theorization, or historically grounded account of the whole process of the original accumulation of capital, but a counter-myth to the bourgeois story of enterprising Lockean forefathers scraping together, out of their labors, sums which they are then able to use to employ those who were unable, or didn’t want to do that. That story is basically an ideological account of why people today are divided into classes, and so Marx is countering it with another one unfolding within a dialectical form, with this kind of reversal.
So he’s lapsing out of science? Because you’ve described the systematicity of this entire work.
I have said that there is a logico-historical systematicity. I haven’t described it though.
Okay. But your characterization of the chapters on primitive accumulation seems to suggest that they are not part of this.
I think that there’s a conceptual development running throughout Marx’s works, including the texts on primitive accumulation.
Theorizations of history and politics are always in some way connected to a concrete historical situation, an existential-historical situation. Every example we have of even the articulation of sweeping accounts of basic political forms, whether that’s done in a way that historicizes them or not, arose in that conjuncture and encounter with a particular setting. That’s going back to Aristotle’s Politics, and that’s certainly true of early modern political thought. It’s also true of Marx. So this duality of theory and, let’s call it ideology, is inside of theory. The questions we’re asking of politics and history are questions for us, not like when we’re asking questions about other kinds of objects, with the understanding and comprehension of non-human reality, the separation of what is and what is for us can in some way be made completely, and that’s obviously not true when we’re talking about politics and history. So there is in some way this internal mutual implication of the ideological and the theoretical. Theory takes the form of the dissolution and critique of our ideologically formed questions. It doesn’t ever sever itself completely from our ideologically formed questions. Ideology in the Althusserian sense is rising out of social experience, right? The spontaneous ways things appear, and even theories can become encrusted with ideology, and become a kind of obscurantist naivete. I don’t know if that’s the right word, but it’s not the case that we have theory on the one hand and spontaneous and direct social experience in its naive form on the other. That social experience is mediated by a whole garbled set of terminologies and half-formed questions and problems, which then it’s the business of critical theoretical understanding to break apart and to generate tracks and paths for analysis and investigation. Theories and problems within any tradition can become ideologized. This is true of Marxism, this is true of every tradition. There’s a moment in which theory emerges in some living relation to scientific-critical problems and does so perhaps in some conjunction with the political moment, and then there are moments when that is left behind, and we only have ossified terminologies and poorly-understood questions and problems.
For Althusser, I would argue, the really core characteristic of ideology is that it posits the transparency of social relations. And this is guaranteed by an understanding of history as a process with a subject and a goal, which is the realization of this transparency. The primary example of this is the teleology of the Second International, and for him this is repeated in the humanist, historicist theoretical revolt against the categories of the Second International. The way this maps out onto Marx’s works is, for example, that dialectical account that you described in that chapter in Capital, that would be the ideological moment, while primitive accumulation is an attempt to break with that.
Certainly within Marx’s work is the possibility of developing an adequate account of the actual primitive, or original accumulation of capital. There’s plenty of material in Marx which is about this process of the formation of wealth in a new social form during the manufacturing period. That’s the real material on primitive accumulation. Whether it’s wholly correct is another matter.
So while I am suggesting, along with Althusser, that the chapter on the expropriation of the expropriators and the chapters on primitive accumulation are in a tension, because one describes a historical dialectic with a goal, the other describes a process of rupture which is figured in violence, you’re suggesting that they’re part of the same ideological mold.
Like I said before, I’m not saying that Marx himself was unable to break with this. I’m saying that he explicitly says that in this chapter he is only looking at the political side, the role that violence played in this process. That’s a pretty direct statement to the effect that this is not a comprehensive account of the whole process. The process of social and historical change, the emergence of a new mode of production, can’t be explained adequately by a “force theory of history.” Although Marx once referred to force as the midwife of such changes, Engels had to launch an attack on exaggerated reactionary versions of this view. By the late 19th century there’s an increasing widespread rejection of the older peaceful account of the origins of civilization, and Bismarckian blood and iron is replacing Lockean labor as the dominant ideology of the origins of society. Marxism as a result developed not just a critique of the story of the peaceful rise of civilization that you get from the classics, it also develops as a critique of the bourgeois reactionary accounts of blood and iron as the motor of history, and in this respect Marx was a Marxist.
It never really suffices to say “it’s more complicated than that,” but social and historical change is, to put it generally, a multi-dimensional process. In some way Althusser tried to convey this with his understanding of the discontinuities between levels of a social totality, that they were not capable of cohering into a single subject, because they all had their own relatively autonomous tendencies and histories. So in this sense there were histories, but there is no subject from which one could speak of a history. This was the point of contention with Sartre and Lukács. The formation of history was not an automatic and given process, it was a complex one in which the mediated and relatively autonomous social and historical existence could be given a unifying account which would become the basis for a process of their sociopolitical transformation. The idea of a subject of history, and I think Althusser came to this understanding later, is somehow implicit within our politics of historical transformation. One of the reasons why I think he’s wrestling with the problem of theory and ideology later on, is that he realizes that these are not separable things, in precisely the manner in which this was thought to be possible in the earlier writings.
Sometimes the critique of “traditional” or “worldview” Marxism extends as far as the claim that capitalist development required a workers’ movement in order to complete itself. So the end of the workers’ movement was essentially inscribed in its origins. To me it seems we’re back at what Althusser cheekily described as “poor man’s Hegelianism,” reproducing the Second International’s teleology in what claims to be a critique of the very deepest categories of Second International Marxism. The same structure of historical development is now applied to the history of the workers’ movement itself.
If by this you mean the idea that we can understand historical processes through general interrelationships between categories of analysis, this is truly to be avoided. This is something that Marx himself had things to say about. So the idea that one can, instead of actually doing historical investigation in the mold that Marx does himself, which he is in some sense creating the foundation of, if one thinks that we can instead of that do a kind of understanding of the world-historical dynamics that arise out of the internal relationships between categories, then that is not something which follows Marx. It might be that some things of intellectual interest arise out of this way of framing things, I don’t want to say that there’s nothing to that, but it should never be conceived of as a substitute for real historical understanding.
The social relations that Marx develops out of an analysis of categories and the category problems of political economy are always being developed through real historical content. This real historical content takes the form of problems that cannot be resolved by apprehending their conceptual form. They don’t exist independently, the idea that there’s a kind of purely logical mode of the interconnection of these categories to one another is simply to have a mystified and fetishistic conception of what theoretical categories are.
I want to return to these two themes of political thought that you identified earlier. One was crisis, which we’ve discussed. The other was defeat. The major defeat which frames our period is precisely the defeat of the workers’ movement, across the end of the 1970s through the 1980s. As the ambivalence towards “traditional” Marxism demonstrates, this defeat poses considerable problems for people interested in mass movements and political transformation today.
On the one hand we seem to be in a period in which more and more people are coming around to the view that the economic problems of the day speak to a deep structural crisis of capitalism. Even a few years ago when I wrote the piece on the stationary state this wasn’t widely held to be the case, but it’s now increasingly accepted. On the other hand, as you point out, we’re confronted with the absence of any large-scale agencies of social and political change that might open up the question of a new social economic order beyond capitalism. The way the crisis has unfolded so far is primarily to raise questions about how to sustain and prop up the status quo, and even forms of opposition to austerity have not really been able to break out of a set of purely defensive demands, to roll back some of the damage of the financial crisis and think about restabilizing the economy by restoring a previously existing level of economic equality and job security, which is thought to be perhaps attainable. Some people are drawing the conclusion that the problems are so deep that those kind of solutions aren’t going to work anymore, but the fundamental structural transformations that would have to happen for these problems of unemployment, declining wages, and mass poverty around the world, to be overcome are so daunting, that the fallback position is understandably one or another of these forms of left-wing populism. I don’t have any problem with that being the form that struggles assumes, it’s inevitable for that to be the case. But the reason the reason why this cannot ultimately succeed even as a strategy of defense is because there’s no new track that capitalism seems to be able to go to. Various types of left-wing reformism have been dependent on the ability of capitalism to deliver employment and rising living standards. So even though capitalism is in this deep and systemic crisis, the crisis is simultaneously manifesting itself in undermining the conditions of social and political opposition. That hasn’t just been a matter of defeat of revolutionary challenges to the system, but has also in this period taken the form of a rollback of the reformist accomplishments of the working class within the advanced capitalist countries, and elsewhere the various mixed legacies of the attempt to promote economic development in some vision of progress in more economically “backwards” zones of the world-system. That’s the context in which we operate.
Gopal Balakrishnan is an editor at New Left Review, and the author of The Enemy and Antagonistics. He is a professor in the History of Consciousness department at UC Santa Cruz.
Comments
To the party members
The sound and image of a drum circle may be one of the most easily-mocked moments associated with the Occupy movements. But the role of music in the movement, and its relation to protests and political action in general, bears closer investigation, beyond the drum circle.
Music at Occupy events has been as diverse as the people and locations involved, from Bay Area rap stalwart Mistah FAB’s freestyle at Occupy Oakland to Tom Morello’s Guitarmy, indigenous dancers and singers in Minneapolis, political marching bands like the Rude Mechanical Orchestra or the Hungry March Bands in New York, the Milwaukee Molotov Marchers, Pittsburgh’s Riff Raff, and the legendary Infernal Noise Brigade of Seattle. Videos and albums have been launched, and many have called for a new era of protest music to arise.
These musical actions themselves are often characterized as “protest music.” In fact, marching bands serve vital tactical purposes at street protests (and beyond): surrounding police vans, identifying and following undercover police, de-escalating tension, and helping facilitate the flow and communication of the crowd. But the concept of “protest music” can obscure some of music’s most powerful aspects as a social force. For many involved in Occupy, the specific relationship between the music being played and the people who hear it has not been thought through very carefully – and this weakness can reinforce political weaknesses. Indeed, when even Salon.com can call 100 tracks of Occupy-themed music “shapeless and safe,” we might ask ourselves what this protest music is missing.
Harsha Walia has pointed out that many of the most powerful aspects of Occupy spaces were not about “protesting,” but about enacting existing connections: what happened in the kitchens, the medic tents, the libraries, the teach-ins and workshops. These were places where people brought their existing skills to bear in self-organized configurations, providing for themselves and each other along a metric that was neither charity nor business, but a common interest. The most promising political actions were those that connected to existing community struggles around police violence, home foreclosure, and homelessness, where activists, residents, and even the homeless themselves, engaged directly with the lived realities of people facing systemic violence.
Music constructs similar possibilities for social relations. The kind of social relations evoked by “protesting” are not very fertile – a protest can get voices “out there,” somewhere – but doesn’t necessarily affect how people deal with each other. While music, on the other hand, can have a “message” to communicate, it can be so much more – it can be a social activity rather than just a product, what the musicologist Christopher Small has called musicking: a way for people to perform connections with each other and with existing communities, through shared cultural expression.
There is a complex relationship between music and culture that makes music politically significant – and mobilizing – in ways that go beyond words, and the particular moment of “protest.” Music can be a lived negotiation and performance of community and communication. A better understanding of how music does this, as well as more serious attention to its different culturally and historically specific traditions, would help forge a more radical relationship between the heterogeneous communities and interests that participate in resistance movements.
In my own experience as a DJ, dancer, party organizer, and researcher, I’ve engaged in-depth with the everyday practices of Jamaican musicking. In Jamaica, even though the culture of the urban poor is officially vilified and excluded, that culture still sets mainstream trends, and is understood to be authentically Jamaican. This cultural authority has persisted despite its exclusion from mass media technologies like radio and television, from their earliest inception. Both underwritten by the government until relatively recently, these media outlets have consistently supported foreign and British-identified cultural expression over popular culture.
This same hostility has limited poor people’s ability to participate in both formal employment and prestigious artistic performance. Such bodily restraints operate at the levels of both race and class: skin color tracks poverty even more dramatically in Jamaica than in the US, so the physical and verbal traits associated with poverty are also generally associated with dark-skinned Jamaicans. In the face of colonial rejection and hostility at traditional sites of “mass culture,” poor Jamaicans began, in the 1930s and 1940s, to carve out their own sites of creative expression, especially through nightlife – music and dancing at night, usually around home-built sound system. These dances, especially the free outdoor events usually known as “street dances” – became places where poor Jamaicans produced a degree of cultural autonomy from the colonial tastes of the ruling class.
These parties weren’t utopias of freedom and equality, but the performances of gender, sexuality, dominance, and pleasure that were enacted there represented a collective resistance to domination. After Jamaican independence, official media channels remained dominated by colonial tastes, and poor neighborhood nightlife became centers of an alternative voice for the majority.
This alternative voice speaks in terms that traditional politics usually don’t hear. For example, sexualized dance moves have been continually popular in Jamaica from the 1930s to the present, and critics of nightlife are often unable to hide their discomfort with these erotic social interactions. But sweaty moments can have political significance. Jamaican scholars such as Carolyn Cooper have emphasized the context of these moves: invented by descendants of enslaved Africans, such dances were a way to express traditions and relations denied to them by dominant society. Cooper suggests that that dancehall culture is “an erogenous zone in which the celebration of female sexuality and fertility is ritualized.” Taking this point more broadly, for marginalized communities – especially those with a history of enslavement – sexual autonomy is a serious issue. Securing this autonomy frequently requires transgression of religious, sexual, and even economic relations valued by dominant society.
These issues are still alive. Jamaican elites, and the government itself, have been so hostile to local popular music that to this day there is no large music venue in the capital city – so the ability of popular spaces to redraw and resist dominant cultural hierarchies remains relevant. As Sonjah Stanley-Niaah puts it, these can be spaces where people “revaloriz[e] aspects of the body that are censored in the wider social sphere.” Consider, for example, the 2010 victory in a Jamaican “Dancehall Queen” competition by Kristal Anderson, a vivacious and talented performer who was both dark-skinned and weighed over 200 pounds. Anderson’s glorious skills and talents, honed in the dances that occur in what Obika Gray calls “exilic spaces,” drew enthusiastic popular support. The judges, whose ties to the local music scene require that they respect the audience’s taste, had to represent that audience’s subversive values. It would be a mistake to underestimate the importance of street dances, and the culture centered on them, in challenging dominant standards.
Valid criticisms can be made of these practices. Sexualized performances can participate in the commodification of bodies along gendered and racial lines, and many subcultures are not free of the homophobia and sexism that also dominates mainstream society. However, ignoring the specific context in which such inequalities take place risks misinterpreting their origins, and perpetuating hierarchies of race and class. The Jamaican dancefloor, while echoing with the sound of many an explicitly anti-gay lyric, is simultaneously a place where performers challenge standard definitions of gender and sexuality – consistent with a cultural shift, even in mainstream Jamaican politics, towards a less homophobic stance than many popular elected officials in the US. Understanding how dancefloor politics reflects and possibly pushes towards these changes requires a critique informed by the subject-positions and experiences within the communities being discussed. Unfortunately, white-dominated “activist communities” have not demonstrated a humble commitment to understanding marginalized cultures. This is a great loss for many reasons. For one thing, it’s clear that so many communities care about music, and use it as a basis for solidarity and pleasure – which ought to make any good organizer sit up and pay attention.
My own observation of (and participation in) white-dominated activist scenes suggests that the ability to collaborate often falls apart not over political platforms, but over personal and social engagements around race, culture, ethnicity, and gender – often in seemingly non-political settings, like nightclubs and parties. In relation to music, these problems result from the “protest” mindset. Many participants in the Occupy movement have approached music as a didactic event, instrumentalized around “getting a message to people,” to inspire them or otherwise make them behave in a certain way. Alternately, music is expected to be a general communal “emotional release” where the specifics of particular cultural and musical practices and histories are expected to be subsumed or erased – and that erasure is apparently assumed to be liberating.
Neither understanding of music is politically fertile, or likely to take the musical experience very far outside of white middle-class activists, because it fundamentally mistakes or ignores the social function of music within marginalized communities. This reflects a broader problem facing the self-identified “American left,” which has long made it irrelevant, or even harmful, to communities of color, queer communities, and indeed the working class – an inability to deal with culture as an aspect of political identity and practice.
Much like Jamaican street dances, the history of vogue balls, hip-hop (which includes DJing, dancing, rapping, and graffiti), and house or block parties where immigrants play the music of their home countries or diasporic communities, all demonstrate that music affirms specific histories and identities in the face of marginalization. Queer communities, especially queer communities of color, have been especially rooted in these spaces, since a queer person of color may not be safe diverging from expected identity performances anywhere else they go. While certain norms of gender are enforced at home, at school, and at work, the dance floor is a space to work out pleasure, sex, and style, in the face of often murderous hostility from dominant culture. Pleasure, sex, and style can be disruptive of dominant social orders – not always, but depending on the specific bodies and communities who perform them, and the modes of their performance. It is possible, to be sure, for people to take pleasure in racism or sexism, or for hedonism to collapse, especially along lines of class, into consumerism and addiction. But when people’s actual bodies face hostility – from arrest to state-sanctioned vigilante violence, or direct police violence – for deviating from dominant norms of sexuality, gender, and race, then their practices are more significant than simple “sex-positivity” or the fetishization of transgression.
After all, we shouldn’t forget that despite the white faces of mainstream “gay rights,” it has always been queer and transgender people of color at the forefront of the struggles against the policing of sexuality. Such struggles often began with attempts to defend seemingly disreputable spaces of refuges and resistance. Such spaces are specially important for people – disproportionately queer people of color – who have been expelled from or are unable to find homes. If a home isn’t safe, or you don’t have one to live in, spaces where you can just be yourself, without scrutiny and threat from oppressive forces, are even more necessary. Many of these spaces exist on the margins of respectable and legal society. From warehouse parties to the Christopher Street Pier, such struggles are rooted in the history of queer liberation: it should be no surprise that Stonewall is so significant to the movement’s history – a bar frequented by trans people of color like Silvia Rivera, who led the resistance. Nightlife can be a refuge, but also a source of resistant identity and mobilization.
When we talk about culture, we’re also talking about history, and often music defines people’s identities from the beginning. Songs with lyrics that might make white middle-class activists squirm can take on different meanings in the context of the dance floor. Such an engagement with music is not defined by the recordings or lyrics themselves – music is a socialexperience, and its political significance can’t be understood until you know who is physically in the room, and how they are interacting with each other in the moment of musical engagement. A roomful of white frat boys singing along to DJ Assault’s “suck my motherfucking dick” has a very different significance, and a very different effect, from the same chorus sung by black drag queens.
What I’ve learned as a DJ is that the significance of a musical experience is enacted by the actual bodies of the people in the room, and thus making meaningful musical experiences requires knowing specifically who you’re trying to reach and what their (musical) histories are. Reusing those musical references can affirm and represent the listener in a way that builds collective emotional connections. In the context of mass political mobilizations, these tools are especially important, to generate the inclusivity that is the condition for any meaningful dialogue or connection.
The failure to build these connections has been one of the major weaknesses of the Occupy movement, which set its camps up against institutions – like the police – that many communities were already in struggle against. It’s not surprising that Occupy had repeatedly replicated the racist, sexist, nativist, and ethnocentric attitudes of mainstream society; it just requires a conscious effort to resist. Part of the solution is to more carefully define the problems facing Occupiers, to connect them to existing struggles over, for example, police violence or indigenous rights. And another part of the solution is that these same struggles take place over the role of music.
The great protest songs were powerful not only because the lyrics were true, and forced people to respond, but because the music called out to connections that already existed, named realities and identities that were already lodged in people’s memories, in their own experiences and traditions. That force is lost if music is subordinated to a passive vision of “message” and “protest,” or a homogeneously common struggle. Attending to music’s cultural resonance, and the social dynamics around its practice, can make it a powerful force for sharing pleasure, trust, release, and purpose across marginalized communities, and forging a radical, broadly participatory movement.
Larisa K. Mann is a legal ethnographer, educator, journalist, public speaker, and DJ, who teaches Media Studies at New York University’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development, and Sociology of Law at Brooklyn College. She has written for WireTap, the Columbia Journal of Law & the Arts, and other publications, and has contributed chapters to Bits without Borders: Law, Communications & Transnational Culture Flow in the Digital Age (forthcoming, Elgar, 2012), and Dreaming in Public: Building the Occupy Movement (New Internationalist Publications, 2012). As DJ Ripley, she has played in 19 countries across 3 continents over the past 16 years.
Comments
Be the street: on radical ethnography and cultural studies
The man who only observes himself however never gains
Knowledge of men. He is too anxious
To hide himself from himself. And nobody is
Cleverer than he himself is.
So your schooling must begin among
Living people. Let your first school
Be your place of work, your dwelling, your part of the town.
Be the street, the underground, the shops. You should observe
All the people there, strangers as if they were acquaintances, but
Acquaintances as if they were strangers to you.
—Bertolt Brecht, Speech to the Danish Working-Class Actors on the Art of Observation (1934-6)
“Anthropology is the daughter to this era of violence,” Claude Levi-Strauss once said. Poetic as that statement is, I prefer the more precise and less gendered words of esteemed anthropologist and Johnson-Forest Tendency member Kathleen Gough: “Anthropology is a child of Western imperialism.” Much like Catholic missionaries in the Spanish Empire, anthropologists examined indigenous groups in order to improve colonial administration, a tradition that continues into the present day with the US military’s Human Terrain Project in Iraq and Afghanistan. Often, this colonial imperative has fed a racist disrespect of the subjects under study. It was not uncommon, for example, for researchers to draw upon colonial police forces to collect subjects for humiliating anthropometric measurements.
According to Gough, at their best, anthropologists had been the “white liberals between conquerors and colonized.” Ethnography, the method in which researchers embed themselves within social groups to best understand their practices and the meanings behind them, had only mediated this relationship, while Gough, a revolutionary socialist, wanted to upend it. Writing in 1968, she urged her discipline to study imperialism and the revolutionary movements against it as a way to expiate anthropology of its sins. Gough later attempted this herself, travelling throughout Asia in the 1970s. Although she lacked a solid university connection due to her political sympathies, she managed to conduct fieldwork abroad, analyzing class recomposition in rural Southeast India during the Green Revolution, and detailing the improvement in the living standards of Vietnamese peasants after the expulsion of the United States.
Years later, anthropologist Ana Lopes sees fit to ask, “Why hasn’t anthropology made more difference?” The problem is not that anthropologists are reticent to contribute to ending imperialism. Indeed, there are probably more radical and critical anthropologists now than during Gough’s time, and certainly the discipline takes anti-racism and anti-imperialism incredibly seriously. Gough herself articulated some difficulties:
(1) the very process of specialization within anthropology and between anthropology and the related disciplines, especially political science, sociology, and economics; (2) the tradition of individual field work in small-scale societies, which at first produced a rich harvest of ethnography but later placed constraints on our methods and theories; (3) unwillingness to offend the governments that funded us, by choosing controversial subjects; and (4) the bureaucratic, counterrevolutionary setting in which anthropologists have increasingly worked in their universities, which may have contributed to a sense of impotence and to the development of machine-like models.
None of these plague anthropology today. Anthropologists are often incredibly deep knowlege about multiple disciplines (I have an anthropologist friend I consult on any questions of structural semiotics, Marxism, 19th century literature, or gambling); they have examined culture within large industrial and post-industrial societies; they have been involved in all sorts of radical issues, from unionizing sex workers to analyzing the securitized state; and while the university may remain a bureaucratic, counterrevolutionary setting, anthropologists have largely abandoned machine-like models. So what gives?
One issue is how anthropology chose to atone for its complicity in racism and imperialism. Instead of making a direct political intervention into imperialist practice, ethnography attacked imperialist hermeneutics. A deep critique of the Enlightenment subject, the source of anthropology’s claims to science and objectivity as well as metaphysical ground for Western notions of superiority, became a major target of the discipline. Thus rose critical ethnography, deconstructive in spirit. According to Soyini Madison, critical ethnography “takes us beneath surface appearances, disrupts the status quo, and unsettles both neutrality and taken-for-granted assumptions by bringing to light underlying and obscure operations of power and control.”
This functions at the level of the method itself: critical ethnographers should be self-reflexive. Rather than assuming an omniscient authoritative viewpoint, they should highlight their own positionality in the field by emphasizing it in the written account, thereby deconstructing the Self and its relation to the Other whenever possible. In an attack on Enlightenment pretensions to universality, accounts became partial and fragmentary, a way to head off potentially demeaning totalized portrayals at the pass.
However, ironically enough, by performatively questioning one’s own research, the figure of the ethnographer risks becoming the central figure in the study, rather than the social group. Even as it produces an often-engrossing literature, critical ethnography can undermine its own political thrust by drastically limiting what it permits itself to say. While Marxist sociologist Michael Burawoy, who shoveled pig iron for years in the name of social science, claims that with excessive reflexivity ethnographers “begin to believe they are the world they study or that the world revolves around them,” I’d counter that this isn’t so much professional narcissism as a product of the very real anxiety surrounding the ethics of representation. How best to fairly, but accurately, portray one’s subjects? How can one really know the Other? I’ve struggled with this in my own work, and I know colleagues who have been all but consumed by it. Writing about oneself seems, at the very least, safer. But this abandons scientific rigor in its reluctance to make any generalizable claims.
My own experience in ethnography came from a study of popular culture. I had grown tired of scholarly textual analysis: it seemed like more of a game for the commentators, where we critics bandied about speculative assessments of books and films and TV shows, trying to one-up each other in novelty and jargon. These interpretations said more about our positions as theory-stuffed graduate students eager to impress than they did about the putative “audiences” for the texts. Our consciousness of the objects in question had been determined by our material lives as critics-in-training. I felt pulled further away from cultural phenomena, when I wanted to get closer in order to better understand its significance. So I revolted against the rule of thoughts, starting to learn the methods that got closer to the matter at hand: ethnography,
In cultural studies, ethnography (or as a fully-trained anthropologist would probably write, “ethnography”) is most closely associated with audience reception and fandom studies. Textual analysis tells you only what a critic thinks of the work; in order to discover how “average” consumers experience it, you have to ask them. This way you avoid the totalizing, top-down generalizations of someone like Adorno, where a reified consciousness is determined by the repetitive, simplified forms of the culture industry.
This was Janet Radway’s goal when she studied female readers of misogynist romance novels. She found out that readers cared more about having private time away from domestic duties than the borderline-rape occurring in the books. However, she was forced to conclude that romance novels worked as compensatory mechanisms, securing women in capitalist patriarchal domination – in other words, she took the long way around and ended up in the same Adornoian conclusion: we’re fucked and it’s our mass culture that makes it so.
My chosen topic helped me get on a different path, one that I believe has more relevance to radical politics than haranguing the choices of hapless consumers. I wanted to study independent popular music instead of romance novels. This meant I was well positioned to examine music from the standpoint of production, rather than just surveying audience members, a technique that always felt too speculative and a bit too closely aligned with market research.
Not that market research was totally off base. Popular music exists in the form of commodities. Its form, as Adorno rightly points out, is dictated by the needs of the culture industry. If the music industry was a factory, then musicians were the workers, banging out products. A peculiar factory, to be sure, where operations spread to the homes of the workers, the machines were pirated software, and the products were derived from unique creative labors, becoming objects of intense devotion among consumers.
You can run into resistance when you define art in this way – it seems to cheapen it, as if you can’t call a song a “commodity” without implicitly sticking a “mere” in there, just as referring to artists as workers seems to demean their abilities. But this resistance comes almost entirely from music fans, who commit their own Adornoian blunder by placing music on that archaic crumbling pedestal of Art. The producers and DJs I spoke to in Detroit didn’t see it that way. They saw themselves as creative workers; at best, as entrepreneurs. One DJ talked about remixing songs in the morning over coffee. “You know how some people check their email or read the newspaper? Well, I’m making a remix of the new Ciara song during that time.” He took pride in his work ethic, but never romanticized his occupation.
There wasn’t much to wax romantic about in the Detroit music scene at that time. The culture industries were undergoing a restructuring for the immaterial age. Vinyl was no longer moving. Local radio and local music venues had gone corporate, squeezing out local music. DJs who wanted local gigs had to play Top 40 playlists in the suburban megaclubs instead of the native styles of electronic music that had given Detroit mythic status around the world. Many had given up on record labels entirely. Everyone looked to the internet as the saving grace for record sales, promotion, networking – for everything, practically. Some of the more successful artists were attempting to license their tracks for video games. Almost everyone had other jobs, often off the books. For critically acclaimed Detroit producer Omar-S, music is his side job, in case his position on the factory line is eliminated.
I wasn’t embedded within this community, as an anthropologist would be. Instead, I made the 90 minute drive to Detroit when I could, and spent the time interviewing artists in their homes or over the phone. I attended some events, participated and observed. And still, I could have written volumes on my subject-position and how it differed from many of the musicians: I was white, college-educated, not from Detroit (the last one being the most salient difference). But my goal was to go beyond self-reflexive interrogations, in spite of their importance as a starting point. I aspired to write something that would in some way, however minor, participate in the implicit political projects of musical workers.
I can’t say I succeeded in this goal. But while I may have done little for the political fortunes of Detroit musicians, I had started to think about how to revolutionize my theoretical tools. The point was not to efface or undermine my role in my research, but to identify the structural antagonism the artists were dealing with and describe it from a partisan perspective. Beyond the self-reflexive analysis of the ethnographer’s subject-position was the possibility of picking sides.
Deciding to pick sides is the difference between militant research, of the kind Kathleen Gough practiced, and purely scholastic exercises. Burawoy argues that this is a fundamental element of Karl Marx’s “ethnographic imagination”: Marx rooted his theories – not just of how capitalism functioned, but how best to destroy it – in the concrete experiences of workers, as relayed to him by Engels and others. Kathleen Gough is an exemplary figure in this respect, remaining a firm materialist in her studies. As Gough’s friend and colleague Eleanor Smollett puts it in a special journal dedicated to Gough’s legacy,
she did not arrive in Vietnam with a checklist of what a society must accomplish to be ‘really socialist’ as so many Marxists in academia were wont to do. She looked at the direction of the movement, of the concrete gains from where the Vietnamese had begun… Observing socialist development from the point of view of the Vietnamese themselves, rather than as judged against a hypothetical system, she found the people’s stated enthusiasm credible.
After studying material conditions and foreign policy in the socialist bloc, Gough decided that the Soviet Union, while certainly no workers’ paradise, was a net good for the workers of the world – heresy for anyone trying to publish in the West, let alone a Trotskyist.
Analysis is important, but the really explosive stuff of ethnography happens in the encounter. Accordingly, ethnographers and others have increasingly turned towards the methods of participatory action research (PAR). In these studies, a blend of ethnography and pedagogy, the anthropologist takes a partisan interest in the aspirations of the group, and aids the group in actively participating actively in the research. Members of the group under study become co-researchers, asking questions and articulating problems. The goal is to tease out native knowledges that best aid people in navigating difficult circumstances while mobilizing them to create political change.
But participatory action research has returned to the same old problems of imperialist anthropology. In the hands of radical anthropologist Ana Lopes, PAR led to the formation of a sex workers’ union in Great Britain. But in the hands of development scholar Robert Chambers, PAR is a tool to better implement World Bank initiatives and govern populations by allowing them to “participate” in their subjection.
The point, then, is to realize that ethnography has no political content of its own. Politics derives not from the commitment or beliefs of the researcher, but from engagement with wider social antagonisms. Ethnography enables Marxism to trace the contours of these antagonisms at the level of everyday life: a militant ethnography means Marxism at work, and functions not by imposing models of class consciousness and radical action from above, but by revealing the terrain of the struggle – to intellectuals and to workers – as it is continually produced. Ethnography can contribute in just this way, as a method where researchers listen, observe, and reveal the now hidden, now open fight for the future.
Gavin Mueller is a graduate student in Washington, DC.
Comments
In defense of vernacular ways
The crises continue to accumulate: the economic crisis, the ecological crisis, the social crisis, crises upon crises. But as we try to create “solutions,” we distressingly find ourselves up against a limit, discovering that the only alternatives we can imagine are merely modifications of the same. Proposed solutions to the economic crisis toss us back and forth between two immobile poles: free market or regulated market. When we face the ecological crisis, we decide between sustainable technology or unsustainable technology. Whatever our personal preference, a little to this side or a little to that side, we all unwittingly play according to the same rules, think with the same concepts, speak the same language. We have forgotten how to think the new – or the old.
Ivan Illich, priest, philosopher, and social critic, is not a figure that most would expect to read about in a Marxist magazine. But he identified this problem long ago, and argued that the only “way out” was a complete change in thinking. His suggestion, both as concept and historical fact, was the “vernacular.” We will not escape from capitalism through the rationality of the scientist of history; nor will we get any help from the standpoint of the proletariat. The firm ground of Illich’s critique was precapitalist and preindustrial life in common.
Even those who reject this position must meet its challenge. Those for whom politics is embedded in the proliferation of postmodern “lifestyles,” inflected with pseudo-Marxist jargon, will have to recognize that the only model we have of forms of life based on direct access to the means of subsistence is precisely the “vernacular” that Illich proposes. Alternatively, those who locate emancipation in a Marx-inflected narrative of technological progress must to face Illich’s deep criticisms of developmentalism, scientism, and progressivism. The following is a challenge not only to capitalism and the experts who defend it, but also to its critics.
Mind Trap 1: the economic crisis
Ignoring his own contributions to the festivities, George W. Bush recently scolded those on Wall Street for getting drunk on the profits from selling unpayable debts.1 The resulting collapse of financial markets heralded the end of the party. The drunks seem to have sobered up without themselves suffering the consequent hangover. Instead, in the U.S. and elsewhere, a growing number of people are left stranded without homes, jobs, food, or medicines in the wake of that twenty-year long binge. In the opinion of some, the prospects of full employment or secure retirements for US citizens are a distant and unlikely dream. As recently as April 19th 2011, The McDonald Corporation conducted a national hiring day. Almost one million people applied for those jobs, known neither for their lavish pay nor for their agreeable working conditions. McDonald’s hired a mere six percent of these applicants, as many workers in one day as the number of net new jobs in the US for all of 2009.2
Unsurprisingly, diagnoses of what went wrong have proliferated fast and furiously. Of the many explanations offered, three stand out.3 First, in a spirit of self-examination, economists have concluded that their scientific models of how people behave and asset prices are determined were wrong and contributed to their inability to anticipate the crisis. That is, economists confessed to their ignorance of how economies work. Since their earnest attempts to improve these models are unlikely to question the credulity that forms the shaky foundations of financial markets, it is likely that the future of financial and macroeconomics will resemble the epicycles and eccentricities of Ptolemaic astronomy in the time of its decline.4
Second, journalists, policy makers, and economists who began to sing a different tune after the crisis erupted, find fault with the ideology of neo-liberalism. There is widespread recognition now that deregulated and unregulated markets allowed commercial and investment banks to invent and trade in financial instruments that carried systemic risks and contributed to the failure of credit and capital markets. This doctrine that unfettered markets produce the greatest economic benefit for the greatest number, while embarrassed, is not in full retreat, at least in the U.S.5 That neo-liberal ideology is not vanquished by its evident failures is related to the third cause identified in these diagnostic exercises.
If ignorance excused economists and policy makers from anticipating the crisis and widely worn ideological blinkers exacerbated it, then it is badly designed incentives that are generally fingered as the most prominent and proximate cause of the crisis. Accordingly, much ink has been spilled on redesigning incentives to more effectively rein in the “animal spirits” that derail economies from their presumed path of orderly growth. As such, incentives are a flaw that recommends itself as remedy.
This conceit is perhaps best exposed in the report authored by the Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission of the US government.6 For instance, in indicting the process and methods for generating and marketing mortgage-backed securities, the commission emphasizes that incentives unwittingly encouraged failures at every link of the chain. Low-interest rates allowed borrowers to refinance their debts and use their homes as ATM cards; lucrative fees drove mortgage brokers to herd up subprime borrowers; the demand for mortgages from Wall Street induced bankers to lower lending standards; rating agencies stamped lead as gold because paid to do so by investment bankers; the latter distributed these toxic assets worldwide relying on mathematical models of risk; and the C-suite of the finance, insurance, and real estate sectors presided over the house of card because handsomely rewarded for short term profits. Unsurprisingly, changing these incentives through more stringent regulations and better-specified rewards and punishments to guide the behaviors of different market participants occupy most of its recommendations for the path forward7
This peculiar combination of ignorance, ideology, and incentives used to explain the economic crisis, also illuminates the space of contemporary politico-economic thought. Most of the heated debates on how to ensure orderly growth, center on the quantum of regulation necessary to control economic motives without stifling them. Accordingly, thinking about economic matters vacillates on a fixed line anchored by two poles-free markets on the one end and markets fettered by legally enforced regulations at the other. Only a brief exposé can be afforded here of the lineaments of this thought-space circumscribed almost two centuries ago.8
Around 1700, Bernard Mandeville acerbically exposed the mechanism driving economic growth. Poetically, he pointed out that it was the vices—vanity, greed, and envy—that spurred the expansion of trade and commerce. In baring the viciousness that nourished the desire to accumulate riches, he also left to posterity the problem of providing a moral justification for market activity.9 Adam Smith provided a seemingly lasting rhetorical solution to this moral paradox. First, he collapsed the vices into “self-interest” and so removed the sting of viciousness from the vices by renaming them. Second, he grounded “self-interest” in a natural desire to “better our condition” that began in the womb and ended in the tomb and so moralized it.10 Third, he invoked an invisible hand to transmute the self-interest of individuals into socially desirable benefits. Not only was the passage from the individual to the social thereby obscured by providential means but the private pursuit of riches was also justified by its supposed public benefits.
Thus, Smith hid the paradox unveiled by Mandeville behind a rhetorically pleasing façade. The uncomfortable insight that private vice leads to public benefit was defanged by the notion that public benefits accrue from the unflinching pursuit of self-interest. Whereas the former revealed the vicious mechanism fueling commercially oriented societies, the latter made it palatable. Faith in the efficacy of the inscrutable invisible hand thereby underwrote the purported “natural harmony of interests,” according to which the butcher and the baker in each pursuing his own ends unwittingly furthers the wealth of the nation at large.
Smith’s rhetorical convolutions were necessary because he excised use-value from political economy and founded the latter entirely on exchange-value. In contrast to his predecessors for whom the economic could not be separated from ethics and politics, Smith carves out a space for the economic by defining its domain by the determinants of market prices.11 He accepted Locke’s arguments: that labor is the foundation of property rights; that applying labor transforms the commons into private property; that money ignites acquisitiveness; and that accumulation beyond use is just.12 Smith deliberately ignores the commons and emboldens the market because it is the sphere in which acquisitiveness flourishes. He curtails his inquiry to exchange-value in full awareness of the contrasting “value-in-use.” Even if not in these precise terms, the distinction between “exchange-value” and “use-value” was known to both Aristotle and Smith. Yet, Smith is perhaps the first who recognizes that traditional distinction and nevertheless rules out use-value as a legitimate subject of an inquiry on wealth.13 For Aristotle, it was precisely the distinction between use and exchange that grounded the distinction between appropriate acquisition and inappropriate accumulation. More generally, it is when considerations of justice and the good constitute the starting point of thinking about man that profit-seeking becomes visible as a force that rends the political community into a commercial society. By encouraging self-interestedness, Smith allows the vainglorious pursuit of wealth to overshadow virtue as the natural end for man.14 By focusing economic science on exchange values, Smith privileges the world of goods over that of the good. The price Smith pays for ignoring use-value is the need to invoke providential the mystery by which self-interest becomes socially beneficial. Since Smith, neo-classical economics has either disavowed the distinction between use and exchange value or confessed to being incapable of understanding use-value.15 By insisting that the valuable must necessarily be useful, Marx, unlike Aristotle, could not rely on the latter to criticize the former.16
Nevertheless, it was soon discovered that individual self-interest did not “naturally” produce social benefits. Vast disparities in wealth, endemic poverty, miserable living conditions, and persistent unemployment constituted some of the many socially maligned consequences of unfettered market activity. To account for these visible failures in the natural harmony of interests, a second formula, due to Jeremy Bentham, was therefore paired to it. An “artificial harmony of interests” forged through laws and regulations were deemed necessary to lessen the disjunction between private interests and public benefits. That is, state interventions in the form of incentives – whether coded in money or by law- were thought necessary to prod wayward market participants to better serve the public interest.17
Accordingly, it is this dialectic between the natural and artificial harmony of interests that encodes the poles of the Market and the State and constitutes the thought-space for contemporary discussions on economic affairs.18 Too little regulation and markets become socially destructive; too much regulation and the wealth-creating engines fueled by self-interest begin to sputter. And yet, the continuum constituted by these two poles is unified by a common presupposition: that use-value is of no use to commerce and that the egoism implied by self-interest is both necessary and natural to commercial expansion.
Though the economic crisis has, once again, exposed the Mandevillian foundations of commercial society, thinking about it continues to function in the space marked out by Smith, Bentham and the founders of that philosophical radicalism, which erected the morality of a society oriented by exchange value on the foundation of egoism. When confined to this thought-space, one is condemned to relying, in alternating steps, on the interrelated logics of free and regulated markets. The question remains whether there is an alternative to the thought-space constituted by the State and the Market. Perhaps the answer to this question lies in taking a distance to what these logics presume: that exchange-value is of preeminent worth and that possessive individuals are to be harnessed to that cause.
Mind Trap 2: the environmental crisis
Boarded up homes and idle hands are to the ongoing crisis in economic affairs, what disappearing fish and poisoned airs are to the oncoming environmental crisis. A generation after Rachel Carson and Barry Commoner, scientists are now of almost one mind: humankind’s activities on the earth have so changed it, that the species is now threatened by disaster on a planetary scale.19 What poets and prophets once warned in verse, scientists now tell us through statistics and models. Lurking beneath those dry numbers is a growing catalog of horrors – rising seas, raging rivers, melting glaciers, dead zones in the oceans, unbearable hot spots on land – that foretell an unlivable future.
Were the picture they paint not so dire, it would be laughably ironic that scientists and technocrats now disavow the fruits of the very techno-scientific machine they once served to midwife. But it is certainly tragic that in thinking about what can be done to avert the impending crisis, scientists and engineers no less than politicians and corporate bosses insist on more of the same. Attention is now directed at inventing methods to not only mitigate the physical effects of runaway industrialization, but also to re-engineer the human psyche to better adapt to such effects. Thus, from recycling plastic and increasing fuel mileage in cars to devising towers to sequester carbon undersea and engineering carbon eating plants, the proposed solutions range from the mundane to the bizarre. More generally, the debate on what to do about the conflict between economic growth and ecological integrity is anchored by two poles: at the one end, “eco-friendly” or “sustainable” technologies, and at the other, presumably “unsustainable” or environmentally destructive ones.
Thus man’s survival appears as a choice between the Prius, solar panels, biodegradable paper bags, local foods, and high density urban lofts on the one hand, and the Hummer, oil tanks, plastic bags, industrialized foods, and suburbia on the other. Eco-friendly technologies may change the fuel that powers our energy slaves but does nothing to change our dependence on them. That the fruits of techno-science have turned poisonous is seen as a problem calling for more and improved technical solutions implying that the domain of technology forms the horizon of ecological thought.20 That more and different technology is the dominant response to its failure suggests that the made (techne) has replaced the given (physis). Ecological thought is confined to the space framed by technology partly because of the unstated assumption that knowledge is certain only when it is made.
It was Vico who announced the specifically modern claim that knowledge is made, that verum et factum convertuntur (the true and the made are convertible; have identical denotation). It is true that the schoolmen, in thinking through the question of the Christian God’s omnipotence and omniscience, argued his knowledge was identical to his creations. They argued this by insisting that through his creative act (making something from nothing) he expressed elements already contained within Himself. God knows everything because he made it all from his own being. However, the schoolmen humbly held that the identity of making and knowing applied only to God. Man, being created, could not know himself or other natural kinds in the manner akin to God. Since scientia or indubitable knowledge was the most perfect kind of knowledge, and nature or physis was already given to man, it implied that man could not scientifically know the sublunary world. It took a Galileo and a Descartes to turn this understanding on its head.21
These early moderns were “secular theologians” who tried to marry heaven and earth. They argued that geometrical objects or forms – such as triangles and squares – were unearthly. At best, such mathematical objects were “ideas” formed by the creative act of the imagination. The imagination as a site of creative activity entailed that it be unhinged from what is given. Exemplified by mathematical objects, whose perfection owes little, if anything, to the imperfect beings of the world, the secular theologians thus argued that the truth of ideas is guaranteed by the very fact that they are made.22
The perfect and timeless shapes of geometry were once thought to be applicable only to the unmoving heavens. The sublunary sphere of generation, change, and decay was not susceptible to immobile mathematical forms. But according to the secular theologians, what was good for the heavens was good enough for the earth. By insisting that the book of nature was written in “measure, weight and number,” these early moderns raised the earth to the stars.
For them, beneath the blooming, buzzing, phenomenal world lurked the laws of nature inscribed in mathematically formulated regularities. Thus the made lay beneath the given, it required arduous experimentation – the vexing of nature – to unveil these insensible but imagined laws. Accordingly, mathematical forms and laboratory experiments constituted the preeminent methods for constructing knowledge of the world. Unhinged from the given because committed to the cause of the made, techno-science shook off its Aristotelian roots, where experience was the memorable formed from long immersion in the regularities of the world, genesis and movement were impossible to know with certainty but only for the most part, and beings in the world were possessed of substantive natures.23
Prideful immodesty was not the only reason that early modern philosophers brought the heavens to the earth. They also did so for charitable reasons. Moved by concern for the poor this-worldly condition of man, they sought to improve man’s estate by escaping what is given – food technologies to erase hunger, cars and planes to overcome the limits of time and space, medicines to eliminate disease, and now genetic manipulations to perhaps even cheat death. Thus, pride and charity infuse that potent and world-making brew we call techno-science.24
Modern techno-science grew, a bit topsy-turvy, but always cleaving close to these founding impulses. The pride that compels to know-by-construction continues to be wedded to the charity fueling the production of artifacts that better our condition by transmogrifying it. Whether TV’s or theorems, the modern techno-scientific endeavor is one by which, Entis rationis, creations or constructions of the mind, are projected and given form as entis realis, things realized. Caught in this closed loop between mind and its projections, everywhere he looks, man now sees only what he has made. Instead of recovering the garden of his original innocence, modern man is now faced with the growing desert of his own making. Yet, trapped by the premise of the identity between knowing and making, contemporary thought remains unable to think of anything other than remaking what has been badly made.25
Perhaps it is this commitment to the proposition that we can know only what we make, to knowledge by construction, that forces us to be trapped within the techno-scientific frame. The environmental crisis has exposed the Achilles heel of unrestrained techno-scientific progress. Yet, faith in Progress and in Knowledge as the currency of Freedom remains unshaken. Shuttling between the poles of “sustainable” and “unsustainable” technologies, the former is proffered as the new and improved cure for the diseases caused by the latter. And once more, disinterested curiosity and solicitous concern for the welfare of others justify and reaffirm faith in salvation through technology. To escape this debilitating confine perhaps requires being disabused of the prejudicial identity between knowing and making, which animates techno-science.
Planely speaking, but not entirely
The space constituted by the dialectic between a natural and artificial “harmony of interests” enfolds the relation between free and regulated markets. The politics of a commercial republic is oriented to the satisfaction of human needs through commodities. To continually increase the satisfaction of needs, market societies must expand the sphere of commodity dependence, that is, the relentless pursuit economic growth. The production and consumption of commodities presupposes the worker and the consumer, and regardless of who owns the means of production or how profits are distributed, economic growth requires workers/consumers. Even if workers are no more likely to find well-paying jobs than are debt saturated consumers likely to buy more stuff, the social imaginary formed of workers and consumers persists. Accordingly, any effort to see beneath or beyond this confining thought-space must take its distance to this industrial mind-set formed by the thoroughgoing dependence on commodities.
Similarly, the debate on the necessity of “eco-friendly” technologies that carry a lower “ecological footprint” presupposes man as operator instead of as user.26 The user is transformed into an operator when the power of a tool overwhelms that of its user. Thus, whether it is a Prius or a Hummer, both aim to improve man’s condition by frustrating his natural ability and capacity to walk. Both demand skilled operators to steer, and neither permits the degrees of freedom necessary for autonomous use. Whether promoted by the technocrat or ecocrat, men are disabled by and become dependent on their artifacts when the latter are designed for operators instead of enabling users.
The ordinary and everyday meaning of usefulness embeds it within both human purposes and human actions. A thing is useful insofar as it unleashes and extends the capacities of the user; as long as it can be shaped, adapted, and modified to fit the purposes of its users. Therefore, the capacity of a thing to be useful is limited by the innate powers or natural thresholds of the user. For example, a bicycle calls for users because it only extends the innate capacity for self-mobility. In contrast, the automobile requires immobile if adept machine operators. In this sense, the former is a convivial technology where the latter is manipulative. A hand-pump or a well can be used to raise water for drinking or bathing. In contrast, a flush-toilet or a dam must be operated to pipe or store a liquid resource. Thus, to bring to light was has been cast into the shadows requires exposing the disabling features of some technologies.
Accordingly, whatever lies beyond the thought-space marked by the dialectic of the State-Market on the one hand and that of the sustainable-unsustainable technology on the other, it must be heterogeneous to both the worker/consumer and the operator. In this search, two caveats are to be kept in mind. First, even if the question is addressed to the present, the answer must be sought for in the past. One is obliged to rummage in the dustbin of history to recover what was once muscled into it. Otherwise, imagined futures would give wing to utopian dreams just like those that have now turned nightmarish. Second, there is no going back to the past and there is no choice between the (post)industrial and the traditional immured in habit and transmitted by memory. The dependence on commodities and manipulative technologies has been and continues to be established on the destruction of alternative modes of being and thinking. There is little of the latter around, even as millions of peasants and aboriginal peoples are daily uprooted and displaced in China, India, and Latin America. But it would be sentimental and dangerous to think that one can or should bring back the past. Instead, the task for thought is to find conceptual criteria to help think through the present.27
The Vernacular Domain
Ivan Illich proposed to revivify the word “vernacular” to name a domain that excludes both the consumer and the operator. The appropriate word to speak of the domain beyond dependence on commodities and disabling technologies is fundamental to avoiding one or both of two confusions. First, the presuppositions of economics and techno-science are likely to be anachronistically projected into forms-of-life that lie outside or beyond the thought space constituted by them. This is obvious when economists retro-project fables of the diamond and water “paradox,” “utility-maximization” and “scarcity” into pre-modern texts. So does the historian of technology who indifferently sees the monkey, Neanderthal man, and the university student as tool users. In a related vein, forms-of-life orthogonal to techno-scientifically fueled economies are likely to be misunderstood. Thus, those who today refuse modern conveniences are labeled Luddites or just cussed, while those who get by outside the techno-scientific and commodity bubbles are classified as backward or poor.
A second, more potent, confusion flourishes in the absence of a word adequate to the domain outside technologically intensive market societies. Disabling technologies no less than wage work can produce or generate unpaid toil. That the spinning jenny and the computer have put people out of work is well-known. But it is less familiar that waged work necessitates a shadowy unpaid complement. Indeed, wage work is a perhaps diminishing tip of the total toil exacted in market-intensive societies. Housework, schoolwork, commuting, monitoring the intake of medicines or the outflows from a bank account are only a few examples of the time and toil devoted to the necessary shadow work compelled by commodity-intensive social arrangements. To confuse the shadow work necessitated by the separation of production and consumption with the unpaid labor in settings where production is not separated from consumption is to misunderstand shadow work as either autonomous action or the threatened and shrinking spaces outside the market.28
Indicative of this confusion is the use of such terms as “subsistence economy,” “informal economies,” or “peasant economy” to refer to what has been cast into the shadows. By adding an adjective to the “economy,” historians and anthropologists unwittingly reinforce the grip of what they intend to weaken. By merely modifying the “economy” they are nevertheless beholden to its presuppositions. A similar weakness attends the term “subsistence.” While its etymology is noble and invokes that which is self-sufficient and stands in place, its modern connotations are irredeemably narrow and uncouth. In primarily invoking the modes by which people provided for their material needs – food and shelter – “subsistence” reinforces the economic by negation. With its connotations of “basic necessities” or “bare survival,” subsistence desiccates the varied and multifarious forms-of-life once and still conducted beyond the space circumscribed by the machine and the market. One cannot speak of “subsistence architecture” as one can of vernacular architectures. “Peasant” or “informal” does not modify dance and song, prayer and language, food and play. And yet, these are integral to a life well-lived, and at least historically, were neither commodified nor the products of techno-science. It is to avoid such blinding confusions that Illich argued for rehabilitating the word “vernacular.“29
Though from the Latin vernaculum, which named all that was homebred, homemade, and homespun, it was through Varro’s restricted sense of vernacular speech that the word “vernacular” enters English. The history of how vernacular speech was transmuted into a “taught mother tongue,” is an exemplar of not only what lies beyond the contemporary thought-space but also for what may be worthy of recuperation in modern forms.30
Elio Antonio de Nebrija was a contemporary of Christopher Columbus. In 1492, he petitioned Queen Isabella to sponsor a tool to quell the unruly everyday speech of her subjects. In the Spain of Isabella, her subjects spoke in a multitude of tongues. To discipline the anarchic speech of people in the interest of her power Nebrija noted, “Language has always been the consort of empire, and forever shall remain its mate.” To unify the sword and the book through language, Nebrija offered both a rulebook for Spanish grammar and a dictionary. In a kind of alchemical exercise, Nebrija reduced lived speech to a constructed grammar. Accordingly, this conversion of the speech of people into a national language stands as a prototype of the forays in that long war to create a world fit for workers/ consumers and operators.
Nebrija fabricated a Spanish grammar as a tool to rule enlivened speech. Because standardized and produced by an expert, his grammar had to be taught to be effective. Moreover, following grammatical rules for speech conveys the belief that people cannot speak without learning the rules of grammar. By this dispensation, the tongue is trained to repeat the grammatical forms it is taught; the tongue is made to operate on language. Hence, the natural ability to speak that can be exercised by each and all is transformed into an alienable product requiring producers and consumers. The conversion of everyday speech into a teachable mother tongue thus renders what is abundant into the regime of scarcity – to the realm of exchange-value. Instruction in language not only disables the natural powers of the speaker but also makes her dependent on certified service providers. Thus, Nebrija’s proposal at once discloses and foreshadows the world populated by workers and operators, by the market and the machine.
The war against the vernacular has been prosecuted for some 500 years.31 Once the commodity and market occupied the interstices of everyday life. Today, it is everywhere. For most of human history, tools were shaped by the purposes and limited by the natural abilities of its users. Today, their machines enslave the majority of people, particularly in advanced industrial societies. Though this transformation has and is occurring in different places at different times and rates, it nevertheless duplicates the diagram of how standardized Spanish grammar disembedded the speech of people. For instance, the rapacious “primitive accumulation” that enclosed the commons in the 17th century, uprooted English peasants from the land to make them fully dependent on wages. A similar dispossession now occurs in China and India, where hundreds of millions move from farms to factories and slums. Aboriginal tribes of the Amazon are being dispossessed and killed now with the same impunity as those in Australia and the Americas once were. For entertainment, children now operate PlayStations where they once kicked around a ball on the street. Mega-churches in the US indoctrinate the flock with power point slides and music, much as teachers, trainers, and coaches do in classrooms around the country. Food scientists, nutritionists, and plant pathologists provide just some of the inputs that consumers depend on for their daily calorie intake. Whether in single-family homes or boxes piled on top of each other, people live in houses seemingly cut from an architect’s template. Women in India now demand valentine cards with as much enthusiasm as Turkish men purchase hair, calf, and chest implants. The historical record is rife with examples that stand as witnesses to the continuing destruction of the vernacular –whether of food, shelter, song, love, or pleasures.
It is by attending to the historical specificity of our present predicament in the mirror of the past that Illich thus reveals a third axis that lies orthogonal to the plane circumscribed by the axes of commodity intensity and disabling technologies. On this z-axis are located forms of social organization anchored by two heterogeneous forms. At the point of origin of this three-dimensional space, are social arrangements that plug people into markets and machines and thereby prevent them from exercising their freely given powers. At the other end of this z-axis is found a profusion of social forms, each different from the other, but all marked by suspicion towards the claims for techno-science and the commodity.
For these modes of social organization, the difference between “sustainable” and “unsustainable” technologies is a chimera. Instead, what matters is the real distinction between convivial and disabling technologies. Similarly, the purported difference between regulated and free markets, between public and private property does little to shape these social forms. Instead, they are animated by the distinction between the household and the commons. Thus, the Amish of Pennsylvania curtail their use of such power tools as tractors. The Bhutanese limit the number of tourists to whom they play host. Some cities in Germany and Denmark have banned the car to make way for the bicycle and walking. Whether on a rooftop in Chicago or by the rail track in Mumbai, diverse groups rely on their vegetable patches for some their daily sustenance. While community supported agriculture build bonds of personal dependence, ceramic dry toilets and related forms of vernacular architectures allow people to dwell. In a fine essay by Peter Linebaugh on the Luddites and the Romantics, one is persuaded by the implicit claim that communism for the 21st century may need to mimic in a new key, the courageous Luddite defense of the vernacular.32 Even Marx, in his last years, was less of a Marxist than many of those who spoke in his name. He was far more open to the peasant communes of Russia and Western Europe than usually assumed.33
These modes and manners of living in the present are informed by the past. Those engaged in the attempt to unplug from the market and the machine know that the reign of property – whether private or public-was erected on the ruins of the commons and that the ubiquity of disabling technologies-whether sustainable or not-was achieved by denigrating convivial tools. Yet, crucially, knowing what is past has gone, they are not dogmatic in their fight. They practice a form of bricolage, opportunistically taking back whatever they can get. A shared lawnmower here, an overgrown and weed infested garden there, a political struggle to retain artisanal fishing in Kerala, a move to the barricades in the Chiapas, the willingness to peddle cocaine derived home remedies in Peru and building illegal tenements on public lands in Sao Paulo, each effort is aimed at reducing the radical monopoly of commodities and disabling technologies. Such ways – of fishing, farming, cooking, eating, dwelling, playing, praying or study – are as diverse and varied today as the people who engage in them. However, what they have in common is being oriented by the same genus, the vernacular.
Epistemic Prudence
The effort to fight against the continuing war on the vernacular also extends to the activity of thinking.34 What is confused for knowledge today is largely R&D funded and deployed by government and industry. Scientists, whether in the employ of universities, governments, or corporations, produce objective knowledge for use by others. The pertinent question for those affected by these circuits of knowledge production and sale is to ask if there are vernacular styles of thinking. Is there a kind of thought justified by neither pride nor charity? What is the nature of rigorous thought that is nevertheless conducted among friends and aimed at shaping one’s own modes of life in more beautiful ways? Are some styles of thinking better suited to comprehending the vernacular?
It is likely that the intellectual effort appropriate to bringing vernacular ways out of the shadows might itself be self-limiting. I suggest the now discarded notion of common sense as a criterion to both comprehend the vernacular domain and to recognize the styles of thought appropriate to it. Though the history of common sense is too tangled a story to be told here, it is sufficient to note its primary meaning, at least in English. The first meaning of common sense is the Aristotelian “sensus communis”: “The common bond or center of the five senses; the endowment of natural intelligence possessed by rational beings.”35 This understanding of the common sense stretches from at least Plato to Descartes and, in this primordial sense, refers to the faculty necessary for the exercise of reasonable judgments. Contrary to popular prejudice today, common sense does not refer to the content of what is known but rather how knowledge is achieved. Common sense is not reducible to a body of propositions or of knowledge-claims: instead, it is the ground from which judgments are reached, particularly, the judgment of what is appropriate, fitting, or adequate.36
Briefly, common sense is that faculty which synthesizes sense impressions into perceptions of the world. In turn, the active intelligence abstracts concepts from these sensible perceptions. An echo of this activity of the intellect still resonates in the word “concept,” etymologically related to grasping or touching. That concepts are tethered to percepts, which are rooted in the sensual, underwrites that Aristotelian commonplace, “nothing in the intellect that is not first in the senses.” Concepts are abstractions. But precisely because they are abstractions from the real, they maintain an accord between the world and the mind. Stated simply, both perception and the concepts that flow from them are dependent on what is given to the senses; conceptions of the world depend on grasping the world as it is.
Yet, techno-science is based on precisely turning this understanding on its head. Indeed, the announcement of Vico may be taken as the slogan behind which a common sense understanding of the world was slowly suffocated. From the very beginning of modern science, knowing is understood to be the same as making: the Cartesian plane is as constructed as an airplane; the Poisson distribution is as fabricated as a pipette in the laboratory. Modern scientific ideas are not concepts tethered to the senses; instead they are constructs. Constructs, as the word suggests, are made and not given. As Einstein famously said, “Physical concepts are free creations of the human mind, and not…uniquely determined by the external world.” Though wrong to use the word “concepts,” his acknowledgement that scientific theories are created underscores how scientific constructs fractures the common sense tie between perception and reality.
The sharp distinction between concepts and constructs recalls that the modern world is constructed and that people and things are often resized to fit in. Concepts are forms of thought engendered by the common sense, which itself expresses the union between the world and the senses. Concepts reflect a way of knowing things from the outside in – from the world to the mind. In contrast, constructs are forms of reflexive thought expressing a way of knowing from the inside out – from the mind to the world.In modern times, what is made up does not ideally conform to what is given. Instead, what is given is slowly buried under the made-up world.
Scientific constructs are therefore not rooted by a sense for the world. Indeed, given the contrast between concepts and constructs, it follows that scientific ideas are non-sense. They are not abstracted from experience but can often be used to reshape it. They can be experimentally verified or falsified. But experiments are not the stuff of ordinary experience. No experiment is necessary to verify if people breathe, but one is required to prove the properties of a vacuum. Experiments are necessary precisely to test what is not ordinarily evident, which is why they are conducted in controlled settings and also used to propagandize the unusual as ordinarily comprehensible. Experimental results are neither necessarily continuous with nor comprehensible to everyday experience; they do not clarify experience but usually obfuscate it.
Unlike R&D, vernacular styles of thought are neither institutionally funded nor directed at the purported happiness and ease of others. Moreover, vernacular thinking also cleaves closely to the common sense understood as the seat of reasonable judgments. Thus, it avoids the monstrous heights to which thought can rise on the wings of the unfettered imagination. Accordingly, the ability to grasp the vernacular demands not only the courage needed to buck academic pressures but also to avoid those flights of theoretical madness powered through the multiplication of constructs.37
To draw out some features of the form of thought adequate to the vernacular domain, consider Illich’s essay titled Energy and Equity, where he distinguishes between transport, transit, and traffic. Whereas transit bespeaks the motion afforded to man the self-moving animal, transport refers to his being moved by heteronomous means, whether car, train, or plane. There, a bullock cart transports villagers headed to the market. Here cars transport commuters to the workplace. By common sense perception, transport – whether by cart or car – perverts transit, which is embodied in the freely given capacity to walk. To those who cannot perceive the sensual and carnal difference between walking and being moved as a Fedex package, the distinction between transport and transit is unpersuasive. It is equally unpersuasive to those mired in that constructed universe where all motion is identified with the displacement of any body in space. The ritualized exposure to passenger-miles – whether in cars or classrooms – is the likely reason for the inability to perceive the felt distinction between transport and transit. Thus, the elaboration of concepts to properly grasp the vernacular domain cannot but begin by placing the constructions of the economy and techno-science within epistemic brackets.
Yet, if it is to be reasonable, such an exercise in epistemic hygiene cannot be immoderate.38 The contrast between transport and transit is clear and distinct, rooted as it is in phenomenologically distinct perceptions. Yet, traffic is a theoretical construct, proposed to comprehend any combination of transport and transit. This necessity for constructs is nevertheless undermined by their being tethered to and by concepts. Accordingly, the conceptual grasp of the world hobbles the free construction of it. The distinction between concepts and constructs does not imply refusing the latter at all costs but rather entails seeing the hierarchical relation between them. That is, vernacular styles of thinking do not exclude theoretical constructs but only seek to keep them in their place.
A second and related feature of vernacular thought-styles confirms its moderate and indeed, modest nature. In accord with vernacular ways, vernacular thought does not demand the exclusion or excision of that which is antithetical and foreign to its domain – the market or the machine. For instance, vernacular thought does not demand the erasure of transport so that transit can flourish. Instead, because rooted in the perceived accord or just proportion between the transit and transport, vernacular thought insists only that the capacity for auto-mobility impose a binding constraint on transport. The suggestion that the speed limit for cars be roughly the same as that reached by a bicycle is rooted in the argument that traffic be calibrated by the lexicographic preference for transit over transport.
Thus, vernacular ways of thinking in consonance with doing and being do not deny constructs – whether imagined or realized. It merely refuses the characteristically modern identification of knowing and making, of reducing thinking to calculating, of displacing the relation between subjects and their predicates by quantitative comparisons. In seeing beyond the prejudice that compares beings in terms of “measure, number, and weight,” vernacular thought reanimates a second form of quantitative measurement that, with it, was also cast into the shadows. Recall, as Einstein admitted, scientific constructs are free creations of the mind, exemplified by mathematical constructs – equations, calculations, and the like. But such mathematical measurement is only the inferior of two kinds of quantitative measurement.
In The Statesman, Plato argues for the distinction between arithmetical and “geometric” measures.39 While both are forms of quantitative measurements, arithmetical or numerical measure is independent of the purposes of the calculator and either correct or incorrect. In contrast, “geometric” measurements of too much or too little are inextricably bound to intentionality and therefore never simply correct or incorrect but always measured with respect to what is just right or fitting. To clarify the distinction, consider the following two points. Given a conventional measure – gallons or liters – a quantity of water can be precisely and universally measured as 4. However, whether 4 is too much or too little depends on whether one intends to fill a 3 or 5 gallon pail; or to put out a blazing fire or to water a horse. The frame of intentionality or purpose thus defines the quantitative measurement of greater or lesser, of more or less. Accordingly, the numerical measure of plus or minus 1 gains its meaning from and is therefore subordinate to the non-numerically measure of too much or too little. Moreover, it is also relative to purpose that 3 or 5 is considered fitting, appropriate or just right.
But there is a second point to be emphasized about the relation between so-called arithmetical and “geometrical” measurements. Arithmetical measures are utterly sterile when it comes to answering the question of purpose, of what is to be done. That is, the question of whether a given end is appropriate or fitting cannot be debated in mathematical symbols. In fact, the opposite is true. It is always possible to ask if applying arithmetical measures to a particular situation is appropriate. Thus, whether one should fill a 5-gallon pail, or construct a mathematical model of human behavior or fabricate a measure called ecological footprint are unanswerable in numerical terms.40
That arithmetical measurements cannot adjudicate its own appropriateness shows they are inferior in rank or hierarchically subordinate to “geometric” measurement. The question concerning purpose is preeminently a question of ethics, of justice among persons. Moreover, since personal relationship cannot but be grounded in the embodied sense of and for another, it follows that ethical judgments must be rooted in common sense. Thus, geometric measures of what is just and right, of what is appropriate and fitting, are judgments formed of the common sense. Accordingly it follows that concepts should regulate and serve as norms for constructs and, analogously, that vernacular ways should regulate techno-scientific constructions.
Past or Future?
Illich’s plea to resuscitate the vernacular must be taken seriously – especially now, when the ongoing economic and ecological crises reveal the restricted thought-space within which contemporary debates continue to be conducted. Just as the demand for more regulated markets expose exchange-value as the presupposition of economic thought, so also the call for sustainable or eco-friendly technologies expose the grip of techno-science on the modern imaginary. The vernacular, we could say, lies orthogonal to these axes of markets and machines, offering us a unique standpoint from which to interrogate the present. While the object of an almost 500 year long war, it nevertheless persists within the interstices and byways of modern life, ready for reactivation.
Sajay Samuel is a Clinical Associate Professor of Accounting at Penn State University. He has spoken on science, economic thought, and the vernacular for Canadian radio. His academic publications aim to undermine the current fascination with accounting and related numbers as a modality of management.
- 1BBC, “‘Wall Street got drunk’ says Bush.”
- 2Andy Kroll, “How the McEconomy Bombed the American Worker,” TomDispatch. While advanced industrialized economies cannot find enough jobs for its unemployed populations, so called emerging economies are actively creating employment. By inverse symmetry, to satisfy the demand of economic growth through industrialization, notably in China and India, peasants are converted into factory workers in the hundreds of millions.
- 3Of the raft of books on the causes and consequences of the current economic situation, there are those who argue, rightly in many particulars, that this was only the most severe of the crisis prone dynamics of capitalism. In this vein, see for example most recently, Paul Mattick, Business As Usual (London: Reaktion Books, 2011); David Harvey, The Enigma of Capital (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); and John Bellamy Foster and Fred Magdoff, The Great Financial Crisis (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2009). I ignore these accounts since they are and were largely ignored in policy circles and mainstream economic thinking.
- 4Notably, George Akerlof and Robert Shiller, Animal Spirits (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). But see also Justin Fox, The Myth of the Rational Market (New York: Harper Business Books, 2009); and Paul Krugman, “How did economists get it so wrong?” New York Times, September 9, 2009.
- 5Joseph Stiglitz in Freefall (New York: Norton Books, 2010) is perhaps the most trenchant of the well-known economists to finger free market ideology as an important cause of the crisis. Also see, N. Roubini & S. Mihm, Crisis Economics (New York, Penguin Press, 2010); and S. Johnson & J. Kwak, 13 Bankers (New York: Pantheon Books, 2010). Worthy of special mention in this regard, is Richard Posner’s, A Failure of Capitalism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009), which stands as a model for retrospective hand-wringing by a booster of neo-liberalism.
- 6The Financial Crisis Inquiry Report (New York: Public Affairs, 2011). Most if not all of the writings on the financial crisis cite incentives as both cause and remedy. The U.S. Congressional report published after two years of study and investigation is exemplary since failed or inadequate incentives—whether in the form of regulation or compensation- comprise the sum of causal factors driving the crisis. But also consult among any of the above-mentioned books, Laurence Koltikoff’s, Jimmy Stewart is Dead (New York: Wiley & Sons, 2010) for a sensible proposal to limit financially induced boom-bust cycles through limited purpose banking. The latter is designed to dampen the ill-effects of debt financing.
- 7The paradox of designing incentives to determine future behavior seems not to have been fully comprehended. Indeed, in a forthcoming work, I intend to argue that incentive mechanisms assure only one consequence: they will certainly fail.
- 8For a fuller account, see Sajay Samuel & Jean Roberts, “Water can and ought to run freely: reflections on the notion of “scarcity” in economics” in The Limits to Scarcity, ed. Lyla Mehta(London: Earthscan, 2010), 109-126.
- 9Bernard Mandeville, The Fable of the Bees or Private Vices, Publick Benefits (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1924).
- 10“It is because mankind are disposed to sympathize more entirely with our joy than with our sorrow, that we make parade of our riches, and conceal our poverty…Nay, it is chiefly from this regard to the sentiments of mankind, that we pursue riches and avoid poverty. For to what purpose is all the toil and bustle of this world? What is the end of avarice and ambition, of the pursuit of wealth, of power, and preheminence? Is it to supply the necessities of nature? The wages of the meanest labourer can supply them… If we examined his oeconomy with rigour, we should find that he spends a great part of them upon conveniencies, which may be regarded as superfluities, and that, upon extraordinary occasions, he can give something even to vanity and distinction…From whence, then, arises that emulation which runs through all the different ranks of men, and what are the advantages which we propose by that great purpose of human life which we call bettering our condition? To be observed, to be attended to, to be taken notice of with sympathy, complacency, and approbation, are all the advantages, which we can propose to derive from it. It is the vanity, not the ease, or the pleasure, which interests us. But vanity is always founded upon the belief of our being the object of attention and approbation.” Adam Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments (London: A Millar, 1759/1858), pt. 1, sec. 1, ch. 3, emphasis added. Consult Louis Dumont, From Mandeville to Marx (Chicago: University of Chicago Press 1977) whose close textual analysis of classical authors shows that it is the idea of a natural harmony between individual self-interest and the general interest, that allows, in principle, acquisitiveness to be free of ethico-political restraints. Though he includes William Petty and John Locke among “economists,” William Letwin’s judgment is instructive: “…there can be no doubt that economic theory owes its present development to the fact that some men…were willing to consider the economy as nothing more than an intricate mechanism, refraining for the while from asking whether the mechanism worked for good or evil”; Origins of Scientific Economics (London, 1963), 147-48. See CB Macpherson, The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism: Hobbes to Locke (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962) for supporting arguments that root economic liberalism in 17th century political thought.
- 11“…money has become in all civilized nations the universal instrument of commerce, by the intervention of which goods of all kinds are bought and sold, or exchanged for one another. What are the rules which men naturally observe in exchanging them either for money or one another, I shall now proceed to examine”; Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations, book 1, ch. 4.
- 12The importance of Locke to Smith is evident in his paean to property. “The property which every man has in his own labour, as it is the original foundation of all other property, so it is the most sacred and inviolable” (Wealth of Nations, book 1, ch. 10, part 2). For reasons of space, I cannot do full justice to Locke’s arguments. However, the following statements sufficiently support the four points I emphasize. “Whatsoever, then, he removes out of the state that Nature hath provided and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with it, and joined it to something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. It being by him removed from the common state Nature placed it in, it hath by this labour something annexed to it that excludes the common right of other men”; “And as different degrees of industry were apt to give men possessions in different proportions, so this invention of money gave them the opportunity to continue and enlarge them”; “…the exceeding of the bounds of his just property not lying in the largeness of his possession, but the perishing of anything uselessly in it”; John Locke, Concerning Civil Government, Second Essay, ch. 5.
- 13“…These rules determine what may be called the relative or exchangeable value of goods. The word value, it is to be observed, has two different meanings, and sometimes expresses the utility of some particular object, and sometimes the power of purchasing other goods which the possession of that object conveys. The one may be called ‘value in use’; the other, ‘value in exchange.’” (Wealth of Nations, book 1, ch. 4).
- 14Smith argues that “virtue consists not in any one affection but in the proper degree of all the affections.” For him, Agreeableness or utility is not a measure of virtue. Instead, it is ‘sympathy’ or the “correspondent affection of the spectator” that “is the natural and original measure of the proper degree (of virtue).” ***TMS, Part 8, Sec. 2, Ch.3. But such sympathy is not a virtue. At best it is a mirror of social prejudices.
- 15The blindness to subsistence in contemporary economics is evident in the judgment of George Stigler in his review of late 19th century efforts to grasp use-value: “…and there were some mystical references to the infinite utility of subsistence.” See his “Development of Utility Theory II,” Journal of Political Economy, 58 (1950), 373. Stigler is only capable of equating the useful, which is price-less, with the mystical.
- 16“A thing can be a use-value without being a value. A thing can be useful and a product of human labor, without being a commodity. …Nothing can be a value without being an object of utility..” Marx, K.(1976) Capital, vol. 1, trans. Ben Fowkes (New York: Penguin Books), 131.
- 17The fundamental, though largely overlooked, essay on the elaboration of the twinned yet polemically related “natural” and “artificial” harmony of interests remains, Elie Halevy The Growth of Philosophical Radicalism (Boston: Beacon Press, 1955).
- 18It would take a longer essay to show the function of law in commercial society. Summarily, Commercial society transforms Law into an instrument of social engineering; and thus of regulation. It began to be used to engineer society towards more or less market-intensive relations. Classical liberalism predicated on the “natural harmony of interests” requires economizing on law. In contrast, to mitigate the destructiveness of rampant market society requires shackling commercialism without destroying it, forging an “artificial harmony of interests” through punitive regulations. Hence both the minimal state of liberalism (whether classical or neo-liberalism) and the expanded state of welfare liberalism implies the instrumentalization of Law. See Michel Foucault, “On Governmentality,” in The Foucault Effect, eds. Colin Gordon, G. Burchell and P. Miller (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998). The newest crinkle to this old tale is that markets are no longer thought natural. Instead, markets can be designed, often by market participants themselves. Thus moderating markets through incentives becomes a matter of auto-engineering of and by markets around the late 20th century.
- 19 Rachel Carson, Silent Spring (New York: Houghton Mifflin Co, 1962) and Barry Commoner Science and Survival (New York: Viking Books, 1967) are perhaps the two most prominent scientists to have jump-started the environmental movement with the blessings of science. By now, despite a few if noisy detractors, widespread anthropogenic environmental destruction is, as it is said, “scientific fact.” Over 2000 scientists worldwide contribute to the reports and recommendations produced by The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) on the environmental effects of industrialization at perhaps the most general environmental register. See Climate Change 2007 for its most recent report.
- 20 A pair of recent books authored by French philosophers suggests the philosophical ambit within with the environmental crisis is comprehended. On the one hand, Michel Serres’s The Natural Contract (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995) insists on the necessity of a contract with the Earth now that Humanity presses against it as does any mammoth natural force. Such a natural contract, presupposes a new metaphysics, according to which humanity cannot be reduced to individuals and Earth is not underfoot but whirling in empty space; both so comprehended by Science and Law. In some contrast, Luc Ferry’s The New Ecological Order (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995) fears the new metaphysics. Cleaving to modern ways, he believes “it will ultimately be by means of advancements in science and technology that we manage one day to resolve the questions raised by environmental ethics” (127). Nevertheless, neither doubt the path forward to be illuminated by a suitably reformulated techno-science.
- 21Lynn White, Jr., “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis,” Science Magazine, 155:3767, argued for anthropocentric singularity of Christianity and its attendant bequest of nature to man for fueling techno-science that has caused the ecological crisis. In this section I focus on the metaphysics of modern science. For a recent statement on how historians of science who raise their heads from the dusty archives deal with the metaphysics of modern science, see Lindberg, The Beginning of Western Science (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), ch.14. He agrees with E.A. Burtt, The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Science (New York: Doubleday, 1932), whose judgment of the presuppositions and implications of Newtonian mechanics has not been fundamentally challenged. Hannah Arendt, “The Conquest of Space and the Stature of Man” in Between Past and Future (New York: Random Books, 1993) offers a succinct sketch of the groundlessness presumed by techno-science.
- 22For a fuller account of the theological and philosophical debates that prepared this view from nowhere, see Amos Funkenstein, Theology and the Scientific Imagination, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986). It is he who names as secular theologians, “Galileo and Descartes, Liebniz and Newton, Hobbes and Vico” among others. I rely heavily on him (particularly part 5) and on Peter Dear, Discipline and Experience: The Mathematical Way in the Scientific Revolution (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995) to grasp the central lines in the mathematization of physis. Also consult Peter Dear’s textbook, Revolutionizing the Sciences (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001) cast as a pithy summary of the seismic changes between 1500 and 1800 in what was worth knowing and how it was known.
- 23See A. Mark Smith’s “Knowing things inside out: the scientific revolution from a Medieval Perspective,” The American Historical Review, 95:3 (1990) for an excellent summary on the reversal of the hierarchy between sense and reason in modern scientific thought. Also, consult Eamon Duffy, Science and the Secrets of Nature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994) for a persuasive account of scientific experiments as vexing nature in order to extract her secrets.
- 24To appreciate the brew of pride and charity that constitutes modern techno-science we need only to attend to Descartes. “…It is possible to reach knowledge that will be of much utility in this life… instead of the speculative philosophy now taught in the schools we can find a practical one, by which, knowing the nature and behavior of fire, water, air, stars, the heavens, and all the other bodies which surround us, as well as we now understand the different skills of our artisans, we can employ these entities for all the purposes for which they are suited, and so make ourselves masters and possessors of nature. This would not only be desirable in bringing about the invention of an infinity of devices to enable us to enjoy the fruits of agriculture and all the wealth of the earth without labor, but even more so in conserving health, the principal good and the basis of all other goods in life.” Rene Descartes, Discourse on Method (Indianapolis: Library of Liberal Arts Press, 1960), part six.
- 25The term construction refers to things – whether physical or symbolic – made. The mathematical roots of construction and constructivism are thoroughly explored with special note of Descartes in David Lachterman, The Ethics of Geometr (London: Routledge 1989). Funkenstein, Theology, especially chapter 5, describes well the philosophical shift from the contemplative ideal of knowing to the ideal of knowing-by-doing or made knowledge. A cursory glance at any scientific book should convince that “theoretical constructs” are a staple of the modern scientific enterprise. Those (so-called postmodern philosophers, historians and sociologists of science) who think they challenge techno-science by emphasizing that scientific knowledge is constructed only repeat in prose what Bacon, Gassendi, Galileo, Descartes, and Newton said in verse. Those who think they defend scientific knowledge by invoking, as the last trump card, its technical productions merely reconfirm the founding conceit of modern techno-science: that knowing and making are interchangeable.
- 26In this section I rely on the most extensive statement of Illich on critical technology, Tools for Conviviality (London: Marion Boyars, 1973). Note especially the Chapter 4, “Recovery” (84-99) calling for the demythologization of science, the rediscovery of language and the recovery of legal procedure. He supersedes this statement only in some respects with his later thinking: on systems; on the historicity of the instrument as a category; and the emphasis on the symbolic power of technology.
- 27Louis Dumont, Essays on Individualism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983), shows precisely the consequences of attempts to recover the past, whose signal dimension has been the relative embeddedness of the individual within the social whole. To insist on recovering that past today is thus to court a species of inhumanity the Western world has once already encountered in the mid 20th century.
- 28The chilling conclusion of this confusion is the dishonest sentimentalism fostered in industrial societies, to wit “that the values which industrial society destroys are precisely those which it cherishes” Ivan Illich, “Shadow Work” in Shadow Work (London: Marion Boyars, 1981), 99. Thus, the radical dependence on work promotes the cherished value of Freedom.
- 29“Vernacular comes from an Indo-Germanic root that implies ‘rootedness’ and ‘abode.’ Vernaculum as a Latin word was used for whatever was homebred, homespun, homegrown, homemade, as opposed to what was obtained in formal exchange. The child of one’s slave and of one’s wife, the donkey born of one’s own beast, were vernacular beings, as was the staple that came from the garden or the commons. If Karl Polanyi had adverted to this fact, he might have used the term in the meaning accepted by the ancient Romans: sustenance derived from reciprocity patterns imbedded in every aspect of life, as distinguished from sustenance that comes from exchange or from vertical distribution… We need a simple adjective to name those acts of competence, lust, or concern that we want to defend from measurement or manipulation by Chicago Boys and Socialist Commissars. The term must be broad enough to fit the preparation of food and the shaping of language, childbirth and recreation, without implying either a privatized activity akin to the housework of modern women, a hobby or an irrational and primitive procedure. Such an adjective is not at hand. But ‘vernacular’ might serve. By speaking about vernacular language and the possibility of its recuperation, I am trying to bring into awareness and discussion the existence of a vernacular mode of being, doing, and making that in a desirable future society might again expand in all aspects of life.” Ivan Illich, “The War against Subsistence” in Shadow Work, 57-58. The argument of this essay belies its title.
- 30For the following section, I gloss “Vernacular Values” and The War on Subsistence,” both in Illich, Shadow Work.
- 31A more comprehensive analysis of the themes in this section would include a selective survey on the historical and anthropological literature on vernacular ways and its destruction. As a first orientation to the extensive literature on the war on the vernacular, consult Ivan Illich, Gender, (Berkeley: Heyday Press, 1982). The works of Karl Polanyi, preeminently, The Great Transformation, (NY: Reinhart, 1944); but also the essays collected in Primitive, Archaic and Modern Economies, ed. George Dalton, (NY: Anchor Books, 1968) and those in Trade and Markets in Early Empires,eds. K. Polanyi, C. Arensberg, and H. Pearson (NY: The Free Press, 1957) clarify the historicity of commodity-intensive societies, made visible when nature and human action become widely priced as land and labor respectively. Marshall Sahlins in Stone Age Economics, (NY: Adline, 1972) and M.I. Finley in The Ancient Economy, (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1985) confirm that pre- modern societies, whether Aboriginal Australia or Western Antiquity, got on quite well without it. Jacques Le Goff, in Medieval Civilization, 400-1500 emphasizes the aim of the medieval “economy” as that of subsistence, of providing for necessities (London: Blackwell, 1988). The continuing modern war on subsistence and the resistance to it is well documented. Consult for example, E.P. Thompson, “The Moral Economy of the Crowd,” reprinted in The Essential E.P. Thompson, ed. Dorothy Thompson (NY: The New Press, 2000), and the essays collected in Customs in Common (New York: New York Press, 1993); Eric Wolf, Peasant Wars of the 20th Century (NY: Harper & Row 1969), Teodor Shanin, The Awkward Class (London: Cambridge, 1977) and Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos, Our Word is our Weapon (NY: Seven Stories Press, 2001). James Scott, in Seeing Like a State (Princeton: Yale University, 1999) argues that visionary plans to modernize society invariably fail and usually leave their beneficiaries worse off for the attention. Study the key terms collected in The Development Dictionary, ed. Wolfgang Sachs (NY: Zed Books, 1992) as commands that rally the troops to the war against subsistence.
- 32Peter Linebaugh, Ned Ludd, Queen Mab: Machine Breaking, Romanticism, and Several Commons 1811-12 (Oakland: PM Press/Retort, 2012).
- 33Consult the well-documented essay by Teodor Shanin, “Late Marx: Gods and Craftsmen” in Late Marx and the Russian Road, ed. T. Shanin (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1983), for a persuasive case that “…to Marx, a timely revolutionary victory could turn the Russian commune into a major ‘vehicle of social regeneration.’”
- 34This section is derived from Ivan Illich, “Research by People” in Shadow Work (London: Marion Boyars, 1981), and his unpublished manuscript titled The Wisdom of Leopold Kohr which makes reference to the common sense.
- 35This sentence from the OED weakly summarizes the following: “The senses perceive each other’s special objects incidentally; not because percipient sense is this or that special sense, but because all form a unity: this incidental perception takes place whenever sense is directed at one and the same moment to two disparate qualities in one and the same object, e.g., to the bitterness and the yellowness of bile…” De Anima, III, 425a 30-425b 1. And: “Further, there cannot be a special sense-organ for the common sensibles either, i.e, the objects which we perceive incidentally through this or that special sense, e.g, movement, rest, figure, magnitude, number & unity…. In the case of the common sensibles, there is already in us a common sensibility (or common sense) which enables us to perceive them non-incidentally; there is therefore no special sense required for their perception,” De Anima, III 425a 15-26.
- 36I do not fully explore here the transformation from a faculty into the “innate capacity” of any person to reason and judge correctly after Descartes. The judgment of Funkenstein in Theology, especially page 359, is instructive. He suggests that the “militant, missionary ideal” of education over the 17th and 18th centuries is related to “the shift in the connotation of the term ‘common sense.’” The connotations of the terms “le bon sens,” “gemeiner Menschenverstand,” and “common sense” after the 17th century imply the capacity to be educated; for all men to become philosophers. Indeed, the propagation of a method for thinking presupposes the commonsense as that which is in need of education. More recently, Sophia Rosenfeld, Common Sense: A Political History (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011) traces the twinned logics generated by the degradation of common sense from a faculty. On the one hand, it serves as a touchstone for the wisdom of people against elites; on the other, the mulishness of the masses needed re-education. For a conspectus of writers on the common sense consult, AN Foxe, The Common Sense from Heraclitus to Pierce (Turnbridge Press, 1962). It is however frustrating for the lack of a bibliography and a historically insensitive reading of the authors surveyed. In contrast, JL Beare, Greek Theories of Elementary Cognition from Alcemaeon to Aristotle (Clarendon Press, 1926); WR Bundy, The Theory of the Imagination in Classical and Medieval Thought (University of Illinois Press, 1927); David Summers, The Judgment of Sense (Cambridge University Press, 1987) are excellent treatments of the history of the common sense as faculty from Aristotle to the late Renaissance when read serially. See also E. Ruth Harvey, The Inward Wits: Psychological Theory in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance (London, 1975); and HA Wolfson, “The Internal Senses in Latin, Arabic and Hebrew Philosophical Texts,” Harvard Theological Review, 25 (1935).
- 37 Stanley Rosen, The Elusiveness of the Ordinary (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002) argues spiritedly for the commonsense foundations of thought. Such foundations support but cannot rise to heights reached by extraordinary thought, which by necessity, exceed its grasp. In the so-called “science wars” of recent decades, the issue was framed as that between the social constructivists and the realists. In the light of the foregoing distinction between concepts and constructs, it is clear that both parties to the debate agree that scientific knowledge is made, that is to say, constructed.
- 38 In much of his writings, Illich insists on elaborating conceptual distinctions built on the perception of autonomous human actions. Between Deschooling Society and The History of Homo Educandus he contrasts learning to education and schooling; in Medical Nemesis, between autonomous coping and healthcare; between Research by People and R&D. In some cases, he invents or gives new shades of meaning to terms to recover perceptions buried by constructs – for example, disvalue, shadow work, gender and vernacular. Let the triple, housing, dwelling, and habitation stand as a parallel example to transport, transit, and traffic used in the text above. A general case for the commonsensical Illich still awaits a careful exegesis of his texts.
- 39 I take some liberties with interpreting The Statesman, 283d-284e in Plato, Complete Works, ed. John M. Cooper (Hackett Publishing, 1997).The relevant distinction as described by the visitor reads as follows: “It is clear that we would divide the art of measurement, cutting it in two in just the way we said, posting as one part of it all sorts of expertise that measure the number, lengths, depths, breaths, and speeds of things in relation to what is opposed to them, and as the other, all those that measure in relation to what is in due measure, what is fitting, the right moment, what is as it ought to be-everything that removes itself from the extremes to the middle” (384e).
- 40 It is a weak recognition of this hierarchy that is reiterated in the widely accepted disjunction or discontinuity between “science” and “values.”
Comments
Illich had a major influence on me, trying to understand the differences in world outlooks between pre-industrialized/capitalist European organization of society. That led both to the esoteric later marx that Franklin Rosemont discusses in "Marx and the Iroquois" but also William Morris' work which influenced the impossibilist/libertarian tendancies in marxism.
The terrain of reproduction: Alisa Del Re’s “The sexualization of social relations”
In an era when the exploits of Silvio Berlusconi’s “private” life seem to have categorically obliterated any progress towards sexual equality achieved during the Italian feminist movement of the 70s, it is essential to remember what was once accomplished. Although second-wave feminism was already a well-established network of debates in the U.S. by 1970, Italian women influenced by workerist writings of the feminist ilk, most notably Mariarosa Dalla Costa and Selma James’s The Power of Women and the Subversion of the Community (1972), set out to initiate battles over issues such as abortion and divorce.1 Feminist currents both from within and independent of workerist movements then spread with a fierce momentum that would endure through the decade.
From the inadequate patriarchal rubric of the New Left, from the ashes of male-dominated workerist organizations such as Potere Operaio, and later Lotta Continua, women throughout Italy organized autonomously, on the basis of the inherent connection of reproduction and gender roles to class struggle.2 It was the problem of marginalization of women within these movements, along with the larger question of unpaid domestic labor, that directed many feminist inquiries. Silvia Federici has said, reflecting on her difficulty reconciling her experience as a woman with the rhetoric of these organizations, “I was unwilling to accept my identity as a woman after having for years pinned all my hopes on my ability to pass for a man.“3 An organized collectivity of women independent of the uniform assimilation to a male-driven class perspective became necessary, since women’s work was to this point largely confined to the domain of reproduction, but remained an equally essential yet categorically unique form of production in the greater sense.
Mariarosa Dalla Costa has described how, in the 1970s, Italian feminism largely took one of two positions: a kind of generalized, overall “self-awareness” or a workerist-driven feminism. The latter took shape as Lotta Femminista, which organized into a more substantial international movement. The focus of their attack, housework, was described in Federici’s Wages Against Housework as “the most subtle and mystified violence that capitalism has ever perpetrated against any section of the working class.”4 In 1972, Dalla Costa, Selma James, and others formed the International Wages for Housework Campaign around the notion that women held a significant power as producers of the labor force itself – and that through the refusal of this production, they engaged in a form of social subversion that could lead to “a radical transformation of society.”5
However, Federici has since acknowledged this kind of utopian thinking as damaging to the feminist movement:
One of the major shortcomings of the women’s movement has been its tendency to overemphasize the role of consciousness in the context of social change, as if enslavement were a mental condition and liberation could be achieved by an act of will. Presumably, if we wanted, we could stop being exploited by men and employers… revolutionize our day to day life. Undoubtedly some women already have the power to take these steps… But for millions these recommendations could only turn into an imputation of guilt, short of building the material conditions that would make them possible.6
In an interview accompanying the volume Futuro Anteriore, Alisa Del Re describes how she began her own path towards the analysis of women and work, initially as a political science student and research assistant to Antonio Negri in the late 1960s.7 Encounters with the methods of workers’ inquiry, and later the writings of Tronti and Marx, became points of reference that would inform Del Re’s involvement with Potere Operaio until its dissolution in 1973. Without officially crossing over to Autonomia Operaia like many of her comrades, Del Re remained in somewhat close proximity to the group, while beginning to address issues from a feminist perspective that was unique for this period, particularly regarding social services and the relationship between work and personal time.
Del Re reveals a subjectivity that informed her position on welfare programs – a position that, stemming in large part from her own need for subsidized childcare while navigating the workforce, would unintentionally oppose the views of Dalla Costa and others driving the Wages for Housework movement. While Wages for Housework sought compensation for domestic labor, Del Re argued for subsidized childcare and other such social programs so that a woman could have a life outside of working, both in and outside of the home – not because she disagreed with Wages for Housework, but because their demands did not apply to her own situation as a woman choosing to subsist within the workforce rather than in the home. She describes how her very position as a working woman assigned her to the margins of the workerist movement, while the women of Wages for Housework were demanding rights from within their imposed “terrain” – that of reproduction:
…the issue of wages was perhaps more “revolutionary” but from the political practice that Rosa [Dalla Costa] endorsed it was difficult to understand who was demanding these wages and when… maybe my issue was much more reformist even though it is true that we annoyed a few people when we occupied local government meetings, demanding the construction of nursery schools and proposing concrete forms of ‘liberation from housework.8
It is worth noting, however, that while the positions of Wages for Housework and Del Re were seemingly in opposition, they are perhaps better described as parallel streams of struggle, progress in both arenas constituting a necessary condition for women’s autonomy. In the first place, Wages for Housework recognized housework as work, and thus, the strategy of “getting a job” as a means of liberating women from dependence on men’s wages, as Federici would later reflect, alienated women who worked because their families need the added financial support “and not because they consider it a liberating experience, particularly since ‘having a job’ never frees you from housework.“9 Furthermore, Del Re’s view on the reclamation of personal time supported by state-funded child care provisions offers the only possibility of relief from what would otherwise be a near-24/7 work week, waged or not, for working-class women. Years after Wages for Housework, Federici recognizes the mutual dependence of these two conditions:
…as long as housework goes unpaid, there will be no incentives to provide the social services necessary to reduce our work, as proved by the fact that, despite a strong women’s movement, subsidized day care has been steadily reduced through the 70s. I should add that wages for housework never meant simply a paycheck. It also meant more social services and free social services.10
In a later piece entitled “Women and Welfare: Where is Jocasta?”, Del Re describes the labor of reproduction as “a specific relation between women and the State” that is separate from the labor market and that has been inadequately supported and studied.11 The welfare system, despite “its limitations on the quality of life,” she proposes, “liberat[es] the labor of reproduction from its dependence on another person’s salary,” in other words, the labor of production.12 Thus, Del Re proposes that since women control the means of reproduction, we “must find a way to present [our] bill” – by making “visible the labor of reproduction in its totality” and by underlining “its centrality with respect to production and the market.” As she has continued to assert, this begins with a reorganization of one’s time.13
Interestingly, situated upon this same imposed terrain were both the subjects and objects of a year-long research study regarding work and family, culminating in the publication of Le sexe du travail: structures familiales et système productif (Grenoble: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble, 1984). In an article for the journal Primo Maggio, Del Re examines this work with a favorable view on their investigations, as women researchers, into the sexual and social divisions of labor. Translated here, Del Re’s piece represents in itself an evolving vision of these divisions that does not, as she writes, “signal a marginality.”
In “Women and Welfare,” Del Re elegantly states the importance of the woman’s role as both subject and object:
It is crucial, therefore, that women’s lives – their existence, their nature, as well as their activities - become an integral part of philosophical and intellectual discourse, so that the acknowledgment of female subjectivity, constructed as it is in multiple symbolic and material loci, can reveal the partiality of a vision of the world that even today is considered universal.14
Like other projects of the workerist movement, Primo Maggio as a publication reveals conceptual layers ranging from historiographical record to scholarly periodical to political organization. As Primo Maggio’s Sergio Bologna writes in his review of Steve Wright’s Storming Heaven, the journal focused on maintaining a subject position “within a network of initiatives of self organisation at the level of political culture and formation ‘at the service of the movement.’”15 In an interview with Patrick Cuninghame, Bologna describes Primo Maggio’s search for new methodologies, in contrast to the efforts at party organization by Negri and Autonomia Organizzata:
Primo Maggio was not even a political elite. Rather, we had refused our role as a political elite to put ourselves instead in the role of that techno-scientific intelligentsia which excavated within the disciplines. So, we wanted to excavate within the historical disciplines to make history in another way. You read Primo Maggio and it is not a political journal, in the sense that it is a journal … for the transformation of historical methodology. In the sense of transformation also of historiographical language which has an enormous importance in political language.16
The idea of a “woman-science,” women (and sexual divisions of labor) as a topic of research by women researchers, is the product of this strategy, reconstructing a subject through its methodologies.
Anna Culbertson is a special collections librarian at San Diego State University, where she has taught courses on using primary sources to research feminism and gender roles.
- 1See Jacqueline Andall, “Abortion, politics and gender in Italy,” Parliamentary Affairs 47:2 (1994).
- 2Lotta Continua, in fact, aided in its own demise through its betrayal of female LC militants by sabotaging an abortion march in Rome in 1975. See especially Red Notes’ Italy 1977-8: Living with an Earthquake, chapter 19, and the Big Flame Women’s Group pamphlet Fighting for Feminism: the ‘Women Question’ in an Italian Revolutionary Group.
- 3Silvia Federici, “Putting Feminism Back on its Feet,” Social Text 9/10 (1984), 338.
- 4Silvia Federici, Wages Against Housework (Bristol: Power of Women Collective and Falling Wall Press, 1975), 2.
- 5Mariarosa Dalla Costa, “The Door to the Garden: Feminism and Operaismo,” reprinted on libcom.org.
- 6Federici, “Femnism,” 339.
- 7 “Interview with Alisa Del Re - 26th July 2000,” trans. Arianna Bove, Futuro anteriore. Dai ‘Quaderni rossi’ ai movimenti globali: ricchezze e limiti dell’operaismo italiano (Rome: DeriveApprodi, 2002).
- 8“Interview with Alisa Del Re.”
- 9Federici, “Feminism,” 340.
- 10Federici, “Feminism,” 341
- 11 Alisa Del Re, “Women and Welfare: Where is Jocasta?” trans. Maurizia Boscagli in Radical Thought in Italy: A Potential Politics, eds. Michael Hardt and Paolo Virno, (Minneapolis: U Minn. Press, 1996), 101-2.
- 12Del Re, “Women,” 108
- 13Del Re, “Women,” 110
- 14Del Re, “Women,” 101
- 15Sergio Bologna,“A Review of StormingHeaven: Class Composition and Struggle in Italian Autonomist Marxism,” Strategies: Journal of Theory, Culture and Politics, 16:2 (2003).
- 16Patrick Cuninghame, “For an Analysis of Autonomia: An Interview with Sergio Bologna.” Mexico City, June 1995.
Comments
The sexualization of social relations
From Primo Maggio, no. 23/24 (summer 1985)1
“Should work, then, have a sex? Absurd question. Everyone knows it has existed only in the masculine [form], in sectors where activity is carried out by men. No work elsewhere, and no women in work. What remains, of course, is to settle the question of a few million ‘actives’…”2 And so is introduced The Sex of Work (Familial Structures and the System of Production), pub. by PUG, 1984, by the authors themselves: a large group of researchers who found themselves over the course of the previous year in the most diverse spaces of debate: from the conference Women and the Working Class (Vincennes, December 1978); to their days at the Société Française de Sociologie on The Familial Institution and Women’s Work (Nantes, June 1980); to the conference of the Centre Lyonnais d’Etudes Féministes on Women and the Question of Work (Lyon, December 1980); and finally to the research seminar of the Unité de Recherche et d’Etudes Sociologiques, Division sociale et sexuelle du travail, on Women’s Work, Paid Work, Domestic Work (1980-81-82), resulting directly in the formation of this group.
Drawing upon their own intellectual and existential resources, their own claims to both feminism and a succession of the most institutional of initiatives, the group finally formed at the Tenth World Congress of Sociology (Mexico City, August 1982), expressing the desire to promote research centered on the simultaneous analysis, for both men and women, of the situation of work and family. This book represents the bulk of the communications presented in Mexico City and constitutes a first tangible, visible step of the experience of the group, a moment in its life.
Women, researchers, feminists, in an institutionalized group with a research topic both precise and isolated from the traditional scientific context, with the palpable need to find new methodologies, new avenues, of reconstructing the subjects in their entire form, the same subjects that in traditional science become chopped, mutilated, seen in quantity and without quality. And this in “science,” to impose a new “scientific” point of view that concerns women and their work, the sexuality of social relations as an “existent.” As a method, bringing scientists together from different disciplines and different “schools” (although here we limit ourselves to the social sciences) is nothing new: interdisciplinary research in the humanities has been fruitful in various fields. But the novelty lies in the fact that it is the woman-subject that is studying the woman-object. And the effect this produces is that it seems the very object of the research floods the limits traditionally imposed, reaching into current methodology, finding itself within strict definitions of use. The very definition of the field research requires different means of approximation, as if one were to turn on different lights rather than just one to identify the road ahead, the contours of the object to be studied. And sometimes it is right at the intersection of two distinct fields, in the area of existing sociological frameworks, that the object of examination is found. As Martine Chaudron says about her research, “The object – the social trajectories and the familiar strategies of reproduction, the one and the other sexed – has been constructed on the intersection of two fields, that of social mobility and that of the family; it [the object] can’t exist sociologically outside of the problem attempting to articulate and hold together the sexual and social divisions of work with social relations of sex and class.”
And this permanent preoccupation with identifying the relations between the sexes as social relations is important, in order to exit the fixity of roles, totally determined and hierarchical: “That which is important in the notion of social relations – defined by the antagonism of social groups – is the dynamic that it introduces.”
The form that attempts this mode of stating, of seeking, of pointing towards a sexualization of social relations that does not signal a marginality, but is in recognition of an existing injustice, to be changed, requires an adjustment to a new vision of reality, and to do this demands a difficult but necessary innovation of tools. And then the interest to depart from traditional methodologies that have always made the study of women subordinate.
For example, as well stated in the general introduction: “The dominant discourse on work continues to function as an implicit model: the male worker, neither too young nor too old, light-skinned, clearly. In short, the ideal type! All the rest are not specified. And so that the family remains the essential starting point of analysis for the professional activity of women; as if their work situation results solely of the obligation (real or symbolic, material or ideological) imposed upon them to take on the bulk of family responsibilities.” “Maternity renders suspect the professional qualities of women”: and then, to remove this suspicion, they must “act like a man,” or not have children socially. And this, only for women. Because however the worker conforms to the norms of work is as a non-parent. But the non-parent as an absolute, the privileged worker, is the father with a family to provide for, but without the responsibilities of a family. This burden is placed on the mother, so that it becomes non-compliant to the norm and – perfectly squaring the circle – justifies her professional stagnation, her non-career with the same motives by which it promotes “the man of the house.”
In economics, sociology and the other humanities, the social inferiority of women is due to the mechanisms of marginalization suffered by this sector of the population, most unarmed for the labor market. So women would constitute, as the young or the old, as immigrants or the handicapped, a marginal group, non-competitive. In other words: because of their family responsibilities, women face obstacles, and therefore require assistance in order to be able to work, given the parameters of work hours, vacation time, and pensions.
Conversely, when it comes to studying the work of men, there is no reference to their marital status, nor to the size of their family (number of children, etc.), nor even to the professional activities of their wives. Only women are enlisted to a family, only men to their posts in the work world; women are inactive and men are without family. So, a joint approach to the familial structure and the productive system that is not the superimposition of one sector on the other is sought.
It is by the denunciation of the invisibility of domestic work in sociological and economic analyses that feminists have introduced a decisive break. The analysis of domestic work and relations between the sexes has signified new approaches in respect to social relations and women’s work. We no longer consider the study of relations between the sexes as confined to the family, but rather, merge all the inter-dependencies between housework and professional work.
And all of this within a constant: the critical analysis of science constitutes the insufficiency of the various disciplines, their blind spots.
So these researchers contest research (and methods) based on the distinction between productive work and reproductive work, where the participation of women in “productive” work is not analyzed as such, but as a particular of a general, masculine model. And the overtaking occurs in the simultaneous analysis of production systems and family structures. The rejection of the production/reproduction dichotomy, and, to its contrary, the study of their interrelations, necessarily implicates the acceptance of key concepts, which I briefly define here from the text:
- The concept of reproduction, used in the text in opposition to production. It’s not, then, treated in the classical sense of social reproduction. Reproduction includes, apart from the production of children and more broadly of individuals, a set of activities, excluding the activity of the production of commodities. From this perspective the analysis of the family is inseparable from the study of other institutions that contribute to reproduction.
- The concept of work: a term that, in the broader sense, takes into account as much professional activity as that which is developed in the domestic sphere. From this perspective it becomes necessary to renew the analysis of production.
- The concept of family, as something that is not a closed space concerning the private sphere. It is necessary, therefore, to study it in terms of social relations and not of the rules between the sexes, in terms of the divisions of work rather than the divisions of labor.
It is from these base concepts, these general agreements, that the itineraries of each researcher become the heads of rams with which this group attempts to break down the social sciences building, little by little, at different levels. Already the critical reading of the statistics of social mobility (generally sexed in terms of the masculine model) is further enriched by qualitative methods (surveys, interviews, biographies, genealogies) of identifying the social trajectories of men and women.
The simultaneous study of production and reproduction necessarily involves the construction of new terrains, cutting across traditional disciplines. And again, all of the more secure concepts should be reconsidered: from, for example, the sexual division of work as a given, it is obvious that the concept of the social division of work itself should be called into question. “To state, as we do, that work has a sex and that therefore the division of work is also sexed, has effectively subversive virtues”.
And it does not end with the book, because this group continues to work together at an annual seminar (1984-85) called Production/Reproduction Workshop (presented at PIRTTEM). They continue the hard work of researching, defining a subject, woman, at full length; of removing the veil of invisibility, of renewing the ties between the visible and the hidden, between the important and the disregarded.
A short digression: already many passes have been made in an attempt to untie the Gordian knot of the relationship between production and reproduction, for example by studying “in continuum” the two phenomena, thus defeating the acquiescent acceptance of inequality, attributed to the natural order of things.
Is it not possible to venture further? Why not attempt to establish a completely new method of investigation, that has reproduction as its epicenter, its quality, in which commodities and their production result in some subordinate way, objects of an external strategy; and inside this grid interpret the struggles, find again the real subjects, interests, the same recent history of the development of capital and of its institutions? Is it too much to propose a scale of values, even in research, less subordinated to the values of the capitalist mode of production (and I insist that it is already a lot to have even changed the composition of the field of investigation by interweaving the problem of reproduction)?
A woman-science that articulates itself on (being directly from) an imposed and not chosen terrain, that is the terrain of reproduction – might that therefore be a subordinate science?
Two considerations:
- Even though it has been imposed as a mode of domination, even though it subsists as a form of exploitation, even though it has been devalued, unpaid, “naturally” attributed to our sex, reproduction, in the broader sense of the word, is in reality the central axis of a world of values to reconsider, placing them in the subordinate, directing all work for the production of commodities. It may be a consideration of plain common sense, but then plainly we speak of work time and free time, we speak of peace and ecology, from the old poor, we speak of the new poor, of unemployment, of famine.
- In the second place, if it is true of the world in which we live that this is not the case, that work for the sake of working seems to be the only form of social and personal realization, and the measurement of existing passes through the measurement of existence or at least of earning a wage, and, subsequently, the amount of that wage (“Marx was right, but that doesn’t suit me – and then, until when?”), it is not clear why, exactly, in a time in which salaries have the tendency to shrink and work to disappear, for both women and men, we can’t see a glimpse of a chance to change our point of view.
But I don’t want to cast aside other budding ideas that need the soil of collective debate to grow. In every case, the very existence of this group of women-feminists-researchers, of a new rigorous and effective style, requires the assumption of a new point of view, marking a point of no return.
All women, researchers, teachers, who work on a topic concerning women, and thus on an issue that directly concerns them, have often seen, at some time or another, their results affected by derision, or else by invisibility. Already the fact of “trying to remain in touch with our similarities in the world” (see Sottosopra [Upside Down], More Women Than Men) “by weaving a web of preferential relationships between women, where the experience associated with being a woman becomes stronger in mutual recognition by inventing ways to translate it into social reality,” is a mode of existing and creating the strength to impose their own ideas. When, then, this also serves to invent new tools with which to understand and analyze the reality that surrounds us, and from this perhaps the strength and courage to change it, we get the impression that something is moving in the right direction, that concrete possibilities reopen.
—Translated by Anna Culbertson
Alisa Del Re is associate professor at the Faculty of Political Science, University of Padova.
- 1I would like to thank Andrea Righi for his invaluable advice; any errors in translation are my sole responsibility. All notes are the translator’s.
- 2The authors of The Sex of Work use “actives” in this case to refer to the four out of ten workers that are women, and as such, are “lost” or not accounted for outside of the domestic sphere. The economic term “active population” refers to all persons legally able to perform work, and corresponds to a country’s labor supply.
Comments
Towards a socialist art of government: Michel Foucault’s “The mesh of power”
How surprising the events of May 1968 must have seemed to Michel Foucault is suggested by a remark made to his life-long partner Daniel Defert in January of that year, following his nomination for a faculty position at the University of Paris Nanterre. “Strange how these students speak of their relations with profs in terms of class war.”1 Interpretations of this remark will reveal a lot about one’s received image of the late philosopher. Among figures of the New Left he had earned a reputation as an anti-Marxist for disparaging public comments about Jean-Paul Sartre, and the apparent heresies of Les mots et les choses (1966).2 A younger generation of left-leaning intellectuals, activists, and agitators, exposed only to later portraits of the radical philosopher – the author of Discipline and Punish (1974), megaphone in hand, rubbing shoulders with Sartre and other ultra-gauchistes at protests in the streets of Paris – will probably find the confession disconcerting. Is it possible that he was taken off guard by the political sparks that would set alight le mouvement du 22 mars? He did, after all, arrive in Paris post festum, participating in some of the final rallies at the Sorbonne in late June.
I prefer to read the remark as a knowing reflection on the peculiarity of privileged Nanterre students, representing themselves as some revolutionary proletarian subject, locked in a battle with their professors as though the latter owned the means of production. As if to draw out the consequences of this contradiction, by 1969 Foucault began using the language of class struggle in political discussions, and publicly declaring the “retour à Marx” as the spirit of his age.3 Foucault’s political makeover occurred among a group of Trotskyist students at the University of Tunis where he was teaching philosophy in 1968. The young Tunisians inspired him to brush up on the classics of historical materialism from Marx’s own work to Rosa Luxemburg, in addition to popular figures of the New Left, including Che Guevara and the Black Panthers.4 Reflecting back on this year of strikes, course suspensions, occupations, arrests, imprisonments and torture in Tunisia, Foucault admired the moral energy and existential charge of his students’ Marxist identification more than its rigor or precision. Reversing his earlier position on the historical obsolescence of Marx, he had been convinced “that myth was necessary. A political ideology or a political perception of the world, of human relations and situations was absolutely necessary to begin the struggle.”5
These remarks immediately recall Sorel, rather than Marx; however, is it going too far to suggest that Foucault sought to capture the political imaginary of his day by spinning a new myth, an alternate “political perception of the world” with his conceptual unfolding of the term “power?”6 After all, Foucault’s key insight in this regard – power is productive rather than repressive; individuality is itself the product of a historical organization of power – is not some world-weary warning about the ruse of history. It is not to say that “power always wins.” In fact, it is a research agenda: try to historically validate the hypothesis according to which everywhere power has crushed someone in its gears, or menaced people with guns and overseers, it has done so precisely because that individual or group presented some essential threat to the exercise of that power. The oppressed, Foucault argues, also make use of an immense “network of power.” They are not passive victims of a historical process; in fact, power is historically contingent. The resistance of the oppressed has shaped the present organization of power. Revolution, according to this view, is a rare bird indeed.7
Such political reflections may be cynical, but they are not altogether foreign from the Marxist political tradition of thought. For instance, some of the above formulations are remarkably similar to the lessons Benjamin gleans from the history of the oppressed, including his idea of the “weak messianic power” of revolutionary possibility.2 Throughout Foucault’s career, he was attentive to the voices of the oppressed. His written work and its bibliographic sources are scandalous precisely to the extent that he gives less space to master thinkers – Bentham, Marx, Freud, Decartes, Smith, Machiavelli, Rousseau – than to long-forgotten voices unearthed from voluminous time spent in libraries. These were also Marx and Benjamin’s preferred methods. Foucault fondly referred to it as the “warm freemasonry of useless erudition.” Although he immersed himself in the heights of Western thought, he was far more likely to write a book about a late-19th century hermaphrodite like Herculine Barbin, than some more explicit exposition or commentary on the thought which constituted his ground. Detecting his intellectual influences demands careful reading.
Given that Foucault’s particularstar rose at the start of the mass media age, during France’s trente glorieuses, it is possible that he crafted ambivalent concepts and catchphrases with precisely this vastly expanded power of media outlets in mind. It would be a mistake to assume that he did not foresee the difficulties of philosophizing with a word that invokes the stuff of superstition. In stark contrast to the Frankfurt School and Situationist International, Foucault refrained from criticizing mass media technologies and considered them as mostly neutral instruments, which broadened the field of discursive possibilities. This was probably due to the fact that he was able to navigate and manipulate this media apparatus so deftly as a public intellectual, foreshadowing the rise of the much-loathed, television-ready nouveau philosophe. However, this too is a principled stance. Foucault’s methodology resists divisions between “high” and “low” cultural forms: Bentham is just as likely to betray his era’s paradigm of punishment as the plan for a Quaker prison in Pennsylvania or the mundane daily routine from a prison in the French provinces. With Machiavelli in mind, Foucault calls this “the local cynicism of power.”9
Foucault’s thought about power must first be situated within his conjuncture and our own if we want to articulate his conceptual problems and grasp their stakes. These contextual moves will help us unlearn the way his thought was received and reconstructed. To uncover the rational kernel of his sweeping historical argument will require de-emphasizing his descriptive language, which was often quite beautiful but has a tendency to distract. He often rhetorically distanced himself from his own neologisms, treating them as indexical placeholders for a thought rather than as rigorous theorizations. As a cipher for unlocking this admittedly particular reading of Foucault, I offer a translation of “Les mailles de pouvoir” – “The Mesh of Power” – which for reasons that still remain obscure is absent from all English-language editions of Foucault’s “collected works.”
Originally delivered in two installments at the Federal University of Bahia in 1976, Foucault’s words were recorded on cassette tapes, transcribed and published as a text, first appearing in Portugese, and translated back into French for publication in Dits et écrits– now delivered to you in English, via the Internet. The “mesh” of a net of power, the size or gauge of its holes, is a particularly apt metaphor in the Internet age, resonating with these new kinds of capture and slippage.10 The transmission of this purloined letter to you is itself the result of the development of technologies that have made it easier to circulate what Foucault once termed discours veridique, parrhesia, or truthful speech. Indeed, Foucault’s work from the late 1970s reaches us like a ticking time bomb from some forgotten past, threatening to explode a whole set of assumptions about the unity and disunity of his thought, revealing new insights and limitations.
Situating Foucault’s Intellectual Crisis and “The Mesh of Power”
The “political turn” of 1969 and the late “ethical turn” towards the “care of the self” are widely cited episodes in the intellectual history of Foucault. This periodization provides a neat tripartite division of his work into early, middle and late. In the secondary literature, these turns are noted, but their causes remain obscure. Few have attempted a reasoned and well-argued reconstruction of their significance, and most studies of the subject compensate for such lacunae with gossip and speculation.
These difficulties have only been compounded by problems of reception. French historian François Cusset considers the “American adventure with French Theory” to be a paradox of comparative intellectual history; although “Derrida, Foucault and Deleuze & co.” were embraced on this side of the Atlantic and packaged together “for what was seen as their anti-Marxism… they were banned from their home country under the charges of a perverse collusion with the worst of leftist Marxism.”11
For various reasons, the American reception of Foucault emerged as the hegemonic one, and his concepts have crystallized into so many political ontologies – “normativity” in queer theory, “biopolitics” and war in the works of Giorgio Agamben, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri – but none of these ontologies responds to our political-economic horizon of low or no-growth capitalism and its implications for state power, social institutions, and resistance struggles. Indeed, the period characterized by bubblenomics, ostensible erosions of state sovereignty and the diffuse resistance offered by alter-globo and anti-war multitudes, which once gave these Foucauldian assessments of the conjuncture a certain bite in the late 1990s and early 2000s, has now capsized into a situation of economic meltdown, consolidations of old-fashioned class power, sovereign debt crises, uneven reassertions of Euro-American military might and emergent struggles over austerity measures in the US and Europe alongside popular rebellions against authoritarian regimes in the Middle East.
The American heyday of French Theory now appears like a blip on the radar between the economic downturn, debt crisis, youth unemployment and Mideast uprisings of the 1970s, which was Foucault’s conjuncture, and the economic chain reaction set off by the American banks in 2008, political upheavals,youth unemployment and Arab Spring which constitutes our own. His political thought from this earlier period of economic crisis – especially his thought concerning neoliberalism as an emergent art of government for managing the crisis tendencies of capital – merit a careful reappraisal in light of the present conjuncture.
Most crucially for a reassessment of Foucault’s thought, all of his public lectures at the Collège de France have now been published.These lessons, which had previously circulated on bootleg cassettes within a limited milieu of connoisseurs, have now become a public record of Foucault’s intellectual trajectory from 1971 to his death in 1984. Although his will stipulated that there were to be “no posthumous publications” and Foucault admitted to being “allergic” to the recording devices cluttering his lectern, he understood their importance: “word always gets out,” he affirms in a lecture from 1976.12 Indeed, with these publications, his lessons are no longer subject to the demagoguery and occultation that so frequently accompanies arcana. The candid form of the lectures reveals a remarkable transitional period from 1976 to 1979 in which Foucault experienced a profound intellectual crisis and began a project of self-criticism, before turning to the more ethical concerns that would characterize his late period.
We may now be in the position to evaluate the intellectual significance of this moment, and venture a guess as to why the ever-prolific Foucault stopped publishing from 1976 to 1983.13 Does the thought that emerges from this period of intellectual crisis and self-criticism bring into focus the insights and limitations of Foucault’s earlier attempts to theorize power?Does his emphasis upon problems of statecraft, historical consciousness, and political economy during this period represent a departure from or a culmination of his earlier studies of the internal physiognomy of institutions such as the military, prisons, medicine and psychiatry?
No matter how many college freshmen have their minds blown by a virginal voyage through Foucault’s work, his problematic and its familiar constellation of sexy neologisms, “biopolitics,” “panopticism,” and “governmentality,” not to mention the dark atmospherics of a finely-meshed “network of power” in which “there is no outside,” have been in circulation for nearly thirty-five years.These terms have accreted a meaning that cannot be found in the original copy. This language and its many political valances – liberal, anarchist, radical – has gone in and out of fashion. The vintage of most “Theory people” can be ascertained from their preferred (or loathed) Foucauldian jargon. Perhaps with some distance from this period, we are now in a position to evaluate his remarkable and oscillating attempts to think politics without recourse to bourgeois conceptualizations of the state, law or rights.His old enemies – psychiatry, universities, prisons, humanism, rights discourse, and the remorseless compulsion to give an account of one’s sexuality – have continued to proliferate and expand alongside the growing popularity of his analyses of them.This paradoxical situation arouses the suspicion that these institutions of power are not threatened by the attempt to reawaken the historical memory of their entry into the world, dripping with blood and dirt.In the absence of the social movements that once contested these institutions, Foucault’s historical presentation up through the mid 1970s risks becoming a confessed critique, an advanced kind of agitation and propaganda for a struggle that experienced defeat and pyrrhic victories.
This conclusion may be premature, but Foucault admitted as much around the time that he delivered “Mesh of Power” to radical students in Brazil. While editing the final proofs of History of Sexuality, volume 1, Foucault publicly professed to his auditors, as students are called at the Collège de France, that he was suffering something of an intellectual crisis. In his first lecture of 1976, Foucault begins the course by questioning both the relevance and coherence of his intellectual project. He worries that his research agenda “had no continuity” and was “always falling into the same rut, the same themes, the same concepts,” ultimately fearing that “it’s all leading us nowhere.” Characterizing his genealogical method as an “insurrection of knowledges” against “scientific discourse embodied in the University” – and here the attack on his old mentor, Louis Althusser, is barely concealed – Foucault confronts the historicity of his own thought and the shifting cultural status of both the University and Marxism in France. He states that his work “was quite in keeping with a certain period; with the very limited period we have been living through for the last ten or fifteen years.” A certain number of “changes in the conjuncture” suggest to him that “perhaps the battle no longer looks quite the same.”14
Such sober assessments give one pause. Discipline and Punish had just been published the previous year to great acclaim following an intense period of activism around prisons in France. The activities of the Prison Information Group (Groupe d’information sur les prisons, GIP) brought about successful reforms of France’s sentencing practices and penal system by fomenting an unprecedented wave of prison strikes, forcing the apparatus to become more open and transparent. In autumn of 1971, twenty prisons across France simultaneously exploded into open revolt against their cages and masters.
The success of the GIP was due in large part to the fact that many of its agitators had themselves been imprisoned for political activities – thus the criminalization of revolutionary activity by the French state wound up politicizing crime.15 In a curiously Maoist adaptation of the tradition of worker’s inquiries, the GIP smuggled surveys to prisoners to discover weak points in the system and find out what demands they would make for their reform or abolition. Prisoners forced analogous reforms in the US, due to the resistance and litigation of members of the Nation of Islam who established an unprecedented jurisprudence pertaining to prisoner’s rights in the 1970s.16 During this era, French prisons permitted no visitors, unlike American prisons, and remained something of an information black hole. Foucault first visited a prison while in the US; he toured the Attica Correctional Facility following its uprising and repression.
Due to his growing popularity, Foucault’s public lectures had become so uncomfortable and over-crowded as to permit little exchange or contact with students.Politically, the heady days of post-68 French ultra-gauchisme and “new social movements” had begun to wane. The milieu with whom Foucault had organized and demonstrated in the early seventies began to dissolve. Some of these Maoist comrades became the nouveaux philosophes, celebrity academics preoccupied with totalitarianism or theological concerns, citing Foucault himself as their inspiration. The Stalinized Marxism of the French Communist Party (Partie communiste française, PCF) had also begun to decompose. The PCF had entered an alliance with François Mitterand’s new Socialist Party, (Partie socialiste, PS), signing a common programme in 1973. The PCF abandoned all references to the “dictatorship of the proletariat” and was forced to reevaluate the legacy of Lenin during the 1976 firestorm surrounding the French publication of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago, which detailed the abuses of the Soviet Union’s forced labor system.The alliance between the PCF and PS would propel Mitterrand into the presidency in 1981.All of this amounted to a tectonic shift in the intellectual and political terrain of the post-68 Left in France.
The conjuncture coming to a close in the mid-1970s had opened with the Algerian War of Independence in 1954, which did more to negate than construct a field of politics and intellectual activity in France – Sartre, de Beauvoir and Les temps modernes were exceptions in this regard. Reports of the brutality and torture of the gendarmes were a major blow to the tradition of la République and its supposedly universal values.17 Following the 1957 Battle of Algiers, 1958 coup d’etat and military junta in Algeria, the collapse of the Fourth Republic, and Charles de Gaulle’s return to the head of a much strengthened executive power, the non-Communist left was arguing that the Communist and Socialist parties had failed to use their moral and political high ground following the resistance to Nazi occupation to establish a clear direction and program. According to this view, they no longer represented the historical interests or consciousness of the French working class. Citing the astonishingly low union membership in France and the wildcat strikes of ‘53 and ‘55, André Giacometti writes that “[t]he bulk of the workers is unorganized, and the real life of the working-class takes place outside of their scope.”18 Spontaneity was, in keeping with long-standing political legacy of French radicalism, still the nation’s only revolutionary hope. Sartre and other members of the non-Communist left saw the party’s support of the Soviet Union’s intervention in Hungary and the party’s tacit endorsement of the Algerian War as evidence of either a conservative turn in the traditional French working class or a reformist and integrationist turn of its official political organs, or both. Many intellectuals of the non-Communist left no longer considered “the Party” to be a revolutionary subject. In this regard, Althusser was the exception.
The rapid expansion of the university system during the postwar economic and demographic boom, along with opposition to the Vietnam War, had established a new political actor that would become essential to the struggle in 1968: youth in general, and students in particular. An increasingly educated population created an historically unprecedented market for cultural journalism, which lent non-party intellectuals greater power and influence.The non-party Marxist tradition in France, as represented by the work of Socialisme ou Barbarie and the Situationist International, had reached the conclusion that revolutionary agitation would have to outflank established unions and parties if it was to galvanize the population.
Decolonization struggles and political breakthroughs in the Third World, above all China and Cuba, led to significant revisions of the theory of revolution.Regis Debray published Revolution in the Revolution in 1967, proposing foquismo– a viral theory of how an armed revolutionary vanguard could distribute hotbeds of discontent throughout a population, fomenting a general fever of insurrection – based on the Che Guevara’s experience of guerrilla warfare during the 1959 Cuban Revolution. Beneath the banner of a “revolution in everyday life” and a renewed emphasis upon the concept of alienation, Marxism became a theoretical home for new social movements. The events of May 1968 dovetailed these already existing political currents.
After May-June 1968, the revolution was no longer considered a matter of contesting the ownership of the means of production alone. State-managed capitalism was not a solution to the social problems identified by the new revolutionaries. The division of labor, and especially the authority structure of managers, union bosses, inspectors, and functionaries in place to keep workers in line had to be contested.
In the pages of Les temps modernes, Andre Gorz interpreted May ‘68 as demonstrating the revolutionary horizon in Western Europe, and blamed its failure on the PCF and CGT. Les temps modernes undertook an explicit critique of Leninism from 1969 to 1971 and attacked institutions from a radical democratic perspective, exhorting its readers to “destroy the University” as part of the struggle against the division of labor. Not only the abode of production, but also those superstructural apparatuses that reproduce racial and class divisions, create divisions of labor, support traditional roles for women, and prop up citizen/non-citizen distinctions had to be assaulted.19
The extra-parliamentary politics of the extreme Left of this period were announced by the 1969 text Vers la guerre civile (Towards Civil War), by individuals who would later found the Gauche prolétarienne. May ‘68 had, according to this view, “placed revolution and class struggle at the center of every strategy. Without playing the role of prophet: Revolution is France’s horizon from ‘70 to ’72”; the conditions of possibility for such a struggle were identified as the “the proletarianization of the mass movement.”20 Vers la guerre civile emphasizes the exemplary use of illegal direct action, the revolutionary potential of the lumpenproletariat, and the strategic importance of the division of labor for the maintenance of discipline and hierarchy. Armed struggle is invoked as the radical legacy of the French working class’s resistance to Nazi occupation.21
The text provided a programme for the Gauche prolétarienne (Proletarian Left, 1968-1973) which was considered “a greater threat to state security than any other left-wing group” by the head of the renseignements généraux (General Intelligence).22 With groupuscules scattered throughout France, theirs was a politics that combined voluntarism, radical democracy and spontaneity. The new figures of this revolution were the immigrant worker, ouvrier spécialisé, and prison inmate. Imprisonment, state repression, and union bureaucracies were the forces that had, in the terminology of this grouping, “proletarianized” the mass movement. The French state banned the sale of Gauche prolétarienne’s broadsheets in public spaces, which led to an engagement with intellectuals of the non-communist left. Daniel Defert joined and invited Foucault to participate in this group’s activities. Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Foucault and other public intellectuals were asked to continue distribution of the broadsheets on the assumption that the Republic would not arrest its lumières. Indeed, distribution continued unmolested. Foucault’s collaboration with Gauche prolétarienne eventually resulted in the founding of the Prison Information Group.
As history would have it, the warm afterglow of May ’68 in France turned out to be “a stillborn revolution – what should have been the turning point of its modern history that, as in 1848, failed to turn.”23 Reflecting on this period with his characteristic wit, Foucault’s 1976 course hinges on an inversion of Clauswitz’s famous aphorism that war is politics continued through other means, by tracing the genealogy of the view that “politics is a continuation of war by other means.”Although the theme immediately recalls the prevailing political language of a period of extreme left militancy, Foucault has deeper philosophical and historical problems in mind. In the discourses of the 17th and 18th century aristocracy and revolutionary bourgeoisie, he attempts to track the entry of race and class war into historical reflection, articulating the central paradox of the “theory of right” within which modern political struggles from the French Revolution to contemporary human rights discourse become intelligible. Rights talk always appeals to an imaginary history of ancient privileges which, Foucault suggests, erect a whole series of distinctively modern political oppositions between the individual and society.
Historical thought is thus politically useful to struggles over governmental priorities and reciprocal obligations only to the extent that it emphasizes one of two discursive paradigms. On the one hand, the conceptualization of politics as war privileges the moment of struggle, the moment of domination: “what is being put forward as a principle for the interpretation of society and its visible order is the confusion of violence, passions, hatreds, rages, resentments, and bitterness.”24 On the other hand, one may privilege the moment of universality and peace, the founding of cities and laws, according to which all history would be nothing other than praise of Rome. Foucault considers these to be the reactionary and liberal discourses of history – here “reactionary” in the strict sense of reaction to an ascendant bourgeois liberalism – reaching their highest philosophical articulations in Hegel and Kant respectively, a struggle for recognition or perpetual peace.25 This dilemma and its bloody 20th century history of national conflict and state racism is, according to Foucault, the reef upon which the concept of power as domination, repression, and war comes to grief.
Thus, Foucault returns to pre-Marxist theorists of class struggle – the Diggers, Henri de Boullainvilliers and Abbé Siyès – to show that the rhetoric of class war has certain genealogical affinities with pre-scientific and aristocratic theories of race. The later crystallization of scientific theories of race also have, as their immediate antecedent, certain 19th century pseudo-scientific racializations of lower classes.26 Instead of a “war-repression schema” Foucault calls for a theory of political power as essentially “productive,” that is as a set of techniques for regulating human populations and making bodily comportment more efficient. The lectures from 1976 culminate in an analysis of the concentration camps of Nazi Germany and the forced labor system of the USSR as productive deployments of the power to manage populations. It is an attempt to demonstrate the continuity of these politics with those of the Enlightenment project: what establishes their common ground and provides a grid of intelligibility for this history is not, as in the Frankfurt School, the “rational irrationality” of capitalism; it is rather the phenomenon of population, as the living substratum of capital accumulation and modern political power.
After a year-long sabbatical in 1977, during which time Bernard-HenriLévy and Andre Glucksmann take to the airwaves and television screens promoting their books La barbarie à visage humain (Barbarism with a Human Face, 1977) and Les maîtres penseurs (The Master Thinkers, 1977) with totalitarianism-mongering, Foucault’s lectures change course. This is also the year of Foucault’s reportage on the Iranian Revolution. He becomes increasingly circumspect regarding his earlier descriptive language. He explicitly abandons his claim that ours is a “disciplinary society” in 1978, arguing that power now operates through more subtle liberal techniques promoting freedom of various kinds.27 He abandons the words “biopolitics” and “biopower” after the 1979 course, and concludes that they were nothing other than an attempt to grasp “‘liberalism’… as a principle and method of the rationalization of the exercise of government, a rationalization which obeys – and this is what is specific about it – the internal rule of maximum economy.”28 Perhaps after cultural revolution and de-industrialization, the factory discipline no longer provided the blueprint for power in advanced capitalist societies.
Future French editions of Discipline and Punish will quietly remove the phrase “carceral archipelago,” no doubt because Foucault wished to distance himself from the gulagism of Glucksmann and Lévy. His lectures turn to an account of the historical emergence of the concept of raison d’état and political economic thought as practical and reflective schemas for the “art of government” in the 17th and 18th centuries. He returns to the classics of political economy in order to make a remarkable analysis of Quesnay’s Tableau économique, the transition from feudalism to capitalism, and the birth of neoliberalism. At times he seems to address himself directly to the nouveaux philosophes, confronting a caricature of his own thought on “security”: he criticizes right- and left-wing “state phobia” as eliding, “thanks to some play on words,” the difference between social security and concentration camps; “the requisite specificity of analysis is diluted.”29 The lectures then veer into an analysis of the various regimes of truth-telling among the early Christian desert fathers and conclude with an analysis of the practice of Parrhesia among the ancient Greeks, before Foucault’s project and life are suddenly cut short by AIDS in 1984. The above intellectual history suggests that, following his intellectual crisis and the closure of certain political horizons in France, Foucault refused to provide a unified political philosophy and turned to more explicitly “Marxist” themes when Marxism was being equated with barbarism and had became unfashionable for public intellectuals.
Foucault’s Concept of Power and its Relation to Marx
In the wake of the May ’68 uprising, the French ultra-left attempted to circumvent the Communist Party as the vehicle for the transformation of society, and sought to displace the state-capital nexus of classical political theory by proposing a radically expansive revolutionary subject. Foucault’s thought from the early 1970s attempts to capture these disparate and contradictory political currents with a concept of pouvoir, or “power,” which he claims to have developed out of the work of Bentham and Marx. This “power” posits the biological and social phenomenon of population and the physical movements of the human body not only as the economic substrate of production, but also the political ground of contention and neutralization. These kinds of knowledge, or general intellect – interventions in the collective social and biological metabolism, a Newtonian analytics of bodily comportment, movement and habitus – make possible wholly unprecedented kinds of political intervention, new forms of social engineering and control, that create a productive machine out of human multiplicity, a multiplicity previously wasted by political power.30 Foucault is trying to think about how a modern political field, different from absolutism, forms, takes shape, and allows for capital accumulation to take place, while undercutting worker militancy by providing the proletariat with “security” (Polizewissenschaft) – i.e., modest reforms that increase life expectancy, encourage family life, and so on. This thought implies that Marx abandoned the classical political economists’ formulations of the problem of population, only to rediscover the phenomenon of population as class struggle and labor-power.Although this political-economic conceptualization of “power” responds to Foucault’s particular conjuncture of renewed interest in Marx, and the demand made by new social movements for a more expansive model of the revolutionary subject, it is not reducible to such.
By conceiving of a properly capitalist political modernity in terms of the productive management of human populations and bodies, Foucault strategically returns to Marx in order to short circuit the tendency of bourgeois thought – and of many Marxists, for that matter! – to reify the “state apparatus” by conceiving of power in vulgar terms of property ownership, seizure of property and alienation.This is, according to Foucault, a profoundly anthropomorphic conceptualization of the political field. Political power ultimately appears as a conspiracy of interests which receive representation in the state apparatus; whereas power actually resides in the coordination, circulation, and productive employment of a multiplicity of forces without any “master plan” or inventor.The government of these forces is not provided by some central committee of the ruling class; it is provided by a non-subjective intentionality or abstract compulsion – the principle of “maximum economy,” the compulsion to work for someone else to reproduce your life – which provides the political field with a formal unity and principal of intelligibility.
Foucault also returns to Marx in order to neutralize the tendency of many fellow travelers on the Left to conceive of power in terms of suppression, which Foucault considered the political paradigm of an early modern transition to capitalism. He held that both tendencies of thought – power as ownership, power as suppression – ultimately affirmed the liberal model of society according to which “society is represented as a contractual association of isolated juridical subjects.” To claim such positions for Marx is to abandon his critique of classical political economy and merely “re-subscribes us to the bourgeois theory of power.” In the polemical judgement pronounced in “Mesh of Power,” these alternate conceptions of power “Rousseauify Marx,” as if the social form of capitalism were some contract-based free-association of individuals air-dropped from the heavens, forever abolishing man’s more perfect natural state.According to Foucault: “The individual is no doubt the fictitious atom of an ‘ideological’ representation of society; but he is also a reality fabricated by this specific technology of power that I have called ‘discipline.’”31
The above passage immediately recalls Marx’s language from the introduction to Grundrisse.32 Foucault is attempting to trace the genealogy of a social form in which commodity relations predominate by grasping the historical specificity of the isolated individuals of exchange. This transformation is not the inevitable outcome of the technological development of the forces of production. Instead, the moment of transition has to be understood as a contingent outcome of a new form of politics, which Foucault calls, again following Marx, “discipline.” The relevant passages in Discipline and Punish explicitly cite Marx’s discussion of “cooperation” in Capital, volume 1, and his exchanges with Engels about the origins of factory discipline in military discipline. Foucault asks how a tributary sovereign power to levy a tax – on produce, blood, trade, etc. – transitions to a productive economic power generative of surplus. The thread of this thought about the origins of capitalism proper – rather than the origins of mere market exchange – and its careful play on Marxist language can be followed through all of Foucault’s published works, though his citations and insinuations are rarely as obvious as they appear in “Mesh of Power” or Discipline and Punish.
Presented very schematically, consider:
1. His analyses of the confinement of paupers and the mad in the same workhouses inMadness and Civilization (1961).
2.His concern for the passage from an analysis of wealth to political economy in The Order of Things.
3. His analysis of the importance of discipline in the development of the forces of production in Discipline and Punish.33
4. His assertion that human life is the real material substrate of an expanding and productive deployment of political power in The History of Sexuality(1976).
5. His very explicit analyses of Physiocratic thought and the transition from feudalism to capitalism in Security, Territory, Population (1978).
6. Finally, his presentation of the problem of the political subject of neoliberalism, versus that of classical political economy in The Birth of Biopolitics (1979).
These are not merely incidental passages or asides. They are in fact quite crucial to understanding Foucault’s central historical claims; each of them returns us to Marx.
Perhaps generous minds will grant that Foucault was a careful reader of Marx, a scholar who appreciated the latter’s enormously significant historical account of the capitalist mode of production. But what would it mean to argue that Foucault’s thought expresses some essential underlying political and intellectual affinity for Marx’s project – one possibly even deserving of the moniker “Marxist”? There are many dangers to this kind of interpretation. It must be attentive to Foucault’s strong political cynicism. It requires a full reconstruction of Marx’s thought as well as Foucault’s, and there is no space for that discussion here. But this reading strategy faces other objections as well, considering his well known critique of the author-function. Wouldn’t calling his thought “Marxist,” even granting a bit of ironical distance from such a claim, be to engage in what Jacques Lacan termed “University Discourse,” the use of proper nouns, a chain of signifiers in place of actual thought or truth?34
Such an operation may be justifiable in Foucault’s own terms. Foucault makes the case in “What is an Author?” that certain founders of discourse, such as Marx and Freud, open up entirely new fields of inquiry, exploding the limits of what is sayable. Foucault considers their thought to be infinitely productive. New applications and transformations of such thought have the quality of “reactivations,” for the philosopher avails himself of a new zeitgeist only in order to clear the cobwebs away from old problems.35 Such claims are close to Sartre’s argument in the introduction to Critique of Dialectical Reason that Marx is the untranscendable horizon of our thought.
The wager of the following is that it is precisely in the spirit of a reactivation of Marx – rather than a faithful recitation of a dead letter, or some more thorough critical reconstruction – that Foucault pursued his historical analyses of power. Foucault’s resulting body of work is a testament to just how fruitful or fruitless such an approach may be. Ultimately, we must admit the possibility that his glib dismissals of Marx were facetious. To admit this possibility is to suggest that, by misunderstanding or rejecting Foucault, self-professed Marxists are taking the bait. They risk demonstrating that they haven’t understood something essential in their master’s discourse.
Although Foucault was under no illusion that he had supplanted Marx, he may have considered himself an inheritor of Marx’s project. I quote his words on the subject from a 1978 interview with a Japanese Marxist at length and without comment:
So long as we consider Marxism to be a unity [ensemble] of the forms of appearance of power connected, in one way or another, to the words of Marx [la parole de Marx], then to systematically examine each and every one of these forms of appearance is the least that a man living in the second half of the 20th century could do. Even today we are passively, scornfully, fearfully and interestedly submitting to this power, whereas it’s necessary to completely liberate ourselves from it. This must be systematically examined with the genuine sentiment that we are completely free in relation to Marx. Of course, to be free with regards to Marxism does not imply returning again to the source to show what Marx actually said, grasping his words [sa parole] in their purest state, and treating them like the one and only law. It certainly doesn’t mean demonstrating, for example, with the Althusserian method, how the gospel [la véritable parole] of the prophet Marx has been misinterpreted. These formal questions are unimportant. However, reconfirming the functional unity of the forms of appearance of power, which are connected to Marx’s own statements [la parole de Marx lui-même], strikes me as a worthy endeavor.36
Political Questions
Three crucial questions are raised by “Mesh of Power.” The first concerns Foucault’s curious claim that he derives his theory of power, at least in part, from the second volume of Capital. The second concerns “the problem of population” as the concept which gives Foucault’s disparate historical studies a thematic unity, despite his protests to the contrary;the problem of population returns us to the question of the transition from feudalism to capitalism and that of any uncertain contemporary transition out of capitalism.The third concerns his response to the question raised at the very end of the lecture by a female auditor, which will return us to the themes of Foucault’s historical conjuncture and the problem of his reception.
1. The question of Capital. Marx’s theory of the expanded reproduction of capital is important because he is attempting to describe the unity of disparate social processes. Although market society has anarchic qualities, there is a unity to the social form of production. Marx avoided the deadlocks of classical political economy with the concept of labor-power. Labour, as such, does not circulate on the market. The potential for labor –la force de travail, Arbeitskraft – is what circulates. Labor as force, as potential, as power is exchangeable according to abstract equivalence regardless of its particular uses because the market establishes a concrete minimum standard for its value: the labor necessary to reproduce labor as human life. Hence, “living labour.”
Although it is important to maintain a distinction between the two, Foucault unfolds “power,” as a category of thought, in a way analogous to Marx’s unfolding of the category of “capital” in his theory of expanded reproduction.“Capital” is invested in means of production, infrastructure, and the built environment just as “capital” is invested in living labour. Without either circuit, or department, “capital” cannot realize the value crystalized in commodities. This double movement is what differentiates capitalism from mere rent extraction; it is what historically and categorically distinguishes “relative” from “absolute” surplus value extraction. It is the source of capital’s periodic, and perhaps terminal, crisis tendencies.
For Foucault, “power” is a unity of both power and resistance. “Power” sustains and guarantees the life of human populations just as “power” is invested in the organization of a factory, the plan for a prison, or the organization of city streets according to a grid.The productive organization of human bodies and populations is a technology, he argues, just as important to the mode of production as the machines whose smooth operation it allows. He gave this term “power” a political significance outside the abode of production, as an alternative to representational theories of political power, but locates the origins of this “power” in the abode of production and in certain early modern military innovations. Accordingly, the divisions set up by the “power” Foucault describes are not reducible to those of class. In the lectures from ‘78 he argues that political technology of security distinguishes between “essential” and “non-essential” levels of the population in order to determine acceptable levels of risk. That is, Physiocratic reforms pertaining to grain shortages were not attempts to eliminate starvation. They were attempts to use market mechanisms to distribute scarcity within isolated pockets of the population, attempts to protect against mass hunger and scarcity which threatened political instability. The political transformations he isolates – pertaining to sanitation, housing, epidemic disease, insurance, mass immigration, welfare, and so on – emerge quite late in the 19th century, as a result of political reforms and exigencies that had only just begun in Marx’s time.
2. The question of population. Genealogy’s ability to juxtapose radically different conjunctures enables a thought about the transition from feudalism to capitalism which sheds light on the present moment in a way that other histories cannot. Theorizing the problem of population caused Foucault to revise his earlier claims about power; the concept of “security” represents a return to political economy and a more careful periodization of “discipline” as internal to a transition to a capitalist mode of production, after which discipline is in the service of more liberal arts of government. Foucault locates the epistemic and political break of modernity in the thought of the Physiocrats and their historical role within the French absolutist state. In an attempt to think the radically incommensurable, Foucault poses the following problem: within a largely backwards and populous region of Europe, in which a set of class relations particular to the French absolutist state forestalled the full transition to capitalism until the 19th century, a properly modern political economic theory of agricultural productivity emerges in the 18th century due to a succession of demographic crises which directly threatened monarchical power and created a remarkably polarized political field. However, this new art of economic government ‘remained imprisoned…within the forms of the administrative monarchy.’37 The population, according to Foucault, provides a unifying – if not entirely unified – field of practice for the transition from an analysis of wealth to political economy, from natural history to biology, from general grammar to philology.38
I would like to suggest that Foucault calls this new organization of power “security” because he is historically situated at the moment in which the rising post-war demand for housing credit in the United States required the structured financing of mortgage pools in the 1970s: the securitization of debt. Such developments enabled Foucault to venture the hypothesis that the utopian programme of neo-liberalism is not “a super market society, but an enterprise society. “Thus, he conceived of this new phase of capitalist development, inaugurating our own late capitalist era, in terms of a transformation in the management of political danger and market risk.39 In Foucault’s final analysis, neo-liberalism is not a reactivation of the practice of laissez faire, for the state must “intervene on society so that competitive mechanisms can play a regulative role at every moment and every point in society and by intervening in this way its objective will become possible… a general regulation of society by the market.”40
However, what does Foucault allow us to see about the birth of neoliberalism that prevailing accounts of the crisis of the 1970s in terms of financialization, deindustrialization, and the consolidation of class power fail to bring into view?In unequivocal terms, Foucault asserts: “Neo-liberalism is not Adam Smith; neo-liberalism is not market society; neo-liberalism is not the Gulag on the insidious scale of capitalism.”41 For the Marxist tradition, it was the discussion of “commodity fetishism” in Book I of Capital, volume 1,and the infamous “tendency of the rate of profit to fall” from volume 3, which prevented them from grasping the significance of this new form of governmental power. In an analysis of the Frankfurt School, which could be mobilized to criticize contemporary theorists of the grim arcana of “biopower” today, Foucault argues that it was Max Weber’s influence that displaced Marx’s problematic of the contradictory logic of capital in 20th century Germany. The problem of “the irrational rationality of capitalist society” would – in the wake of Nazism, political exile and the destruction unleashed by the second world war – motivate the Marxists of the Frankfurt School and the ordoliberals of the Freiburg School to criticize the irrational excesses of capitalism, rather than analyzing its forward march through internal contradictions and crises. Foucault concludes that, for both schools, Nazism represented “the epistemological and political ‘Road to Damascus’… the field of adversity that they would have to define and cross in order to reach their objective.” As for the political outcome: “history had it that in 1968 the last disciples of the Frankfurt School clashed with the police of a government inspired by the Freiburg School, thus finding themselves on opposite sides of the barricades.”42 Neo-liberalism and its proponents seem to have emerged – from the barricades and occupations in Berkeley, Paris or Frankfurt – the victor of this historic clash of forces.
In Foucault’s view, actually existing socialism represented a hypertrophied rationalization of existing arts of government.It had proposed strong economic and historical paradigms but failed to provide a “reasonable and calculable measure of the extent, modes and objectives of governmental action.”In the absence of a governmental art of its own, Foucault argues, socialism was forced by its historical struggles to connect up with liberalism, on the one hand – as a “corrective and a palliative to internal dangers” – or to a large administrative apparatus and police state, as in the Soviet Union, on the other.43
3. The question of hysterical discourse. Foucault refused hysterical discourse.He said it was simplistic, used by reactionaries, demagogues, and racists, and obscured the important historical questions. In confronting a caricature of his own thought, Foucault had to appeal to Marx. This moment in “Mesh of Power” epitomizes Foucault’s intellectual trajectory after the crisis of 1976. Returning to Marx was far more crucial during a reactionary period than during one of revolutionary upheaval.
Like Engels at the close of the 19th century, Foucault spent his final years contemplating early Christian movements and their practices of free love.44 Foucault’s response to talk of bathhouse closures in New York, San Francisco, and Montréal was a principled stance rather than the hysterics that characterized the mainstream gay movement’s responses. In an interview with Gai pied (Gay Foot) from 1982, Foucault did not require a theory of “heteronormativity” to oppose gay bathhouse closures. It was simply a matter of opposing this extension of police power on principle:
it is necessary to be intransigent, we cannot make a compromise between tolerance and intolerance, we cannot but be on the side of tolerance. It isn’t a matter of searching for an equilibrium between the persecutor and persecuted. We cannot give ourselves the objective of winning millimeter by millimeter. On this issue of the relation between police and sexual pleasure, it’s necessary to go the distance and take principled positions.45
A Socialist Art of Government
Foucault appropriately considered the “utopian dream” of neoliberalism to be an “enterprise society,” a society which treats human life and its risks as income streams. It encourages ownership and guarantees a minimum social safety net in order to prevent the formation of a class in open rebellion against their technocratic masters. Where these soft touches do not work, police power is deployed. Foucault identifies the ideological basis of this political economic system as a “culture of danger,” a dark glamor in which the risks of this system provide occasion for a moralizing discourse. This is the stuff of the 24-hour news cycle and Andy Warhol’s “superstars.” We are now observing this utopian dream come to grief on its own conditions of possibility: the defeat of class struggles of the 1970s and deindustrialization of the West have created a population problem internal to advanced capitalist states analogous to that of the surplus humanity in developing countries.46 This is the political horizon of the Occupy movement, and its professed solidarity with events in Tunis and Egypt is not merely hubris. The Left is once again caught in a tactical stranglehold, forced to defend the most modest of social safety nets – public universities, welfare, pensions etc. – against neoliberal shock therapy.
By returning to Marx’s problematic of the population as a central contradiction of capital, Foucault provides insights into our political moment. What happens to power when human life becomes superfluous to the mode of production? The lessons Foucault derives from the experience of the 1970s suggest that such questions will be decided by a struggle, but we need more than just struggle to challenge neoliberalism. We need a new art of government. The conclusion to the above mentioned lecture from 1979 is a challenge to the historical materialist tradition: “the importance of the text in socialism is commensurate with the lacuna constituted by the absence of a socialist art of government.”Foucault then asks, “What governmentality is possible as a strictly, intrinsically, and autonomously socialist governmentality?” Doubting that a socialist art of government can be found in the history of socialism or its texts, Foucault concludes: “It must be invented.”47
- 1Michel Foucault, “Chronology,” Dits et écrits I, 1954-1975, eds. Daniel Defert, François Ewald (Paris: Jacques Lagrange, 2001), 42. Translations from French are mine unless otherwise noted.
- 2Walter Benjamin, “On the Concept of History,” (1940).
Comments
Ugh. Had this whole thing formatted except 2 footnotes, and my netbook crashed. That's never happened to me in the 5 years of putting stuff in the library.
Comments