What Does It Mean To Claim The Polis is Natural?

Aristotle asserts that the “state is a creation of nature” (1253a1, 1254a25). On its face this claim seems in antagonism with the contention of most modern accounts (e.g. Hobbes, Rousseau) which privileges the natural role of the individual vis-a-vis the conventional institution of a coercive political authority.1 Is Aristotle then taking a clear stand against a modern conception that envisages the free individual who, only after the fact, leaves his state of nature and contracts with his fellow men, or is alternatively coerced, into joining a political society?

Aristotle grounds his contention that the polity is a natural institution by claiming it is the necessary end of the village, and even more primarily, the family.2 To say that the family is naturally instituted, is to say that no human could exist as human unless supplemented by the family, that it fulfills a natural requirement of humanity. Thus, whatever requirements the family aims to fulfill must somehow be still left wanting if the family finds its end in the polity.

One should not conclude that Aristotle’s declaration of the naturalness of the polity makes him out to be some kind of ahistorical creationist who thinks that the polis springs from the earth or from God like mushrooms or lightening bolts. Aristotle knows very well that the state is created by humans at a specific time and place, hence his reference to the “growth and origin” of the state (1252a24) as as the the beneficent man who first “founded the state” (1253a29), and the even clearer conversation with respect to the barbarians: “And he who by nature and not by mere accident is without a state, is either a bad man or above humanity.” (1253a2). Thus, in so far as a human exists without polity or hearth, he is either a beast (and hence sub-human) or a god (and hence supra-human), but he cannot be human because the essence of what it means to be human requires the hearth and polity as supplement. Now, what is it about the family and polity that makes them conditions of humanity a priori?

The first and temptingly exclusive rationale for the family is becomes humans in isolation are not self-sufficient, that is, they material existence is only possible with aid from the lives of their fellow humans.3 This is made dramatically self-evident in the case of the family.4 Since humans are born has fragmented and inherently incomplete selves, they begin life in absolute dependence and only gradually, through childhood, begin to attain relative autonomy. Thus the family provides the condition of plurality required for human existence and reproduction. The polity would thus be the necessary continuation of that logic, as families are inherently vulnerable and insufficient on their own account, and will require unity with a larger whole of families in the village and later polity if they have any hope of flourishing.

However, here it is important to note exactly what the polity is not. Aristotle most decisively contends, contra Freud, that the polity is not simply one big family.5 But if the polity does not merely serve the material and developmental needs of its constituents, like the family, then what can be the purpose of the polity, or rather, what is the end that it serves which the family does not and hence makes the polity necessary? For this, it is necessary to turn to how Aristotle distinguishes humans as a distinct form of life and think beyond a notion of material sufficiency. Aristotle defines humans both as political animals and rational animals, that is, animals capable of speech. The first claim merely restates our problem, since to say that nature instates the polity is the same as to say that humans are by nature political. However, with the second claim we get a conception of the human that projects beyond the family unit, and moreover beyond the circular life cycle and metabolism with nature that Arendt calls Labor. While most animals are capable of some audible noise to express various pleasures and pains, we most assuredly do not call these squeaks and squeals speech. Speech then points beyond the mere appetitive or beastly aspects of man. The fact that man’s essential attribute is his ability to reason and make speech, means not only must the family be natural to man, so as to satisfy his requirement to Labor, but also he must have some natural domain to realize his human capacity of speech, namely, the polis. If this account is right, we can follow Kant in locating to distinct springs of human action, namely, that of desire and that of reason. We also see how humans are caught in a liminal position between their desiring or beast-like capacities and their noumenal or god-like capacities

The discussion of slavery and the natural inequality that constitutes the household becomes necessary in establishing the household’s inability to satisfy both springs of human action. While the desiring satisfaction of wants is complete in the family, the requirements of speech are incapable of finding their end in the family since the family lacks the prerequisite for actualizing the human capacity of speech, viz. a plurality of subjects with equal natures.

 

1

A historcist impulse may wish to problematize any strict homology between a modern and classical conception of nature/convention. Still, given the primacy of the conflict between the laws of nature and those of human origin in the writing of Sophocles (e.g. Antigone), it seems fair to assume that “our” concept is operative in classical Greece.

2“And therefore, if the earlier forms of society are natural [viz. The family and village], so is the state, for it is the end of them, and the nature of a thing is its end. (1252b30)

3“There must be a union of those who cannot exist without each other” (1252a26); and “…the individual, when isolated, is not self-sufficing” (1253a26).

4“The family is the association established by nature for the supply of men’s everyday wants” (1252b13)

5 “governments [ruled by the householder and statesman] differ in kind” (1252a18)


On Repressive Embodiment and Beauvoir

In the Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir demonstrates the inability of the psychoanalytic paradigm to grapple with the total situation of woman’s oppression. Beauvoir groups psychoanalysis with a collection of overdetermined sciences (biology, historical materialism and history) which dictate the “destiny” of woman.  However, further reading of Beauvoir’s text reveals a deep indebtedness to Freudian analysis throughout the text.  Below I will analyze particularly revealing moments Freudian dependency during Beauvoir’s account of the formation of the pubescent girl.  In doing so I aim to reveal the primacy of the body in Beauvoir’s (and Freud’s) account of what makes a woman.  This focus on the body will reveal the problematic Cartesian foundation of Beauvoir’s feminism.

To to be sure, Beauvoir does not reduce woman to the outcome of her tortuous lebidinal developments as does the vulgar psychoanalyst.  By her constructivist account, becoming a woman is a matter bring her life in accord with the platonic ideal of femininity projected over her, and thereby repressing her will-to-freedom and the possibility of becoming a transcendent existent.  Still, however much the truth of femininity is produced by societal myth making, Beauvoir is clear that these myths gain their grip through the inherent immanence of the factic female body.  For Beauvoir, it is this corporeal reality that will explain both the genesis of patriarchy as well as account for the inertia sustaining its historical development.

In the second book of the Second Sex, Beauvoir produces a phenomenological account as to how one “becomes a woman” (301).  In the first section on childhood, Beauvoir follows Freud in making clear the primacy of the phallus in child development.  The penis will provide boys with an innate advantage in their march towards transcendence.  Unlike any anatomy possessed by girls, the penis exists in relation to the boy as “a small person who is at once himself and other than himself: they make of it, according to an expression already cited, an ‘alter ego’ usually more sly, more intelligent, and more clever than the individual” (306).  Thus, the boy, from the get-go, has the advantage of an object both interior to him—in the sense that it is mine—and exterior to him in the sense of a quasi-subjectivity with which he can establish a proto-recognative relationship.

Thus, there are definite advantages derived from sexual difference.  Beauvoir is clear that “Because he has an alter ego in whom he sees himself, the little boy can boldly assume an attitude of subjectivity; the very object into which he projects himself becomes a symbol of autonomy, of transcendence, of power…”  Meanwhile, what are girls left with for the parallel development of their will-to-power?  A doll.  Beauvoir parrots Freud’s contention that “a baby takes the place of the penis” and provides “the meaning of her playing with dolls” (Freud, 1920).  Unlike the penis for which serves as substitute, Beauvoir explains that the influence of this “passive object”  will lead her “to identify her whole person and to regard this [whole person] as an inert given object” (314).  The little girl makes do with her wholly external, dead plaything; she is never afforded the opportunity to “incarnate herself in any part of herself,” the facts of her body lack the recognative and objectifying potential afforded by the male’s phallus.

Unlike a girl for whom it can be said that “in a sense she has no sex organ” (306), the boy’s protuberance produces “opportunity for action”:

To the boys the urinary function seems like a free game, with the charm of all games that offer liberty of action; the penis can be manipulated, it gives opportunity for action…the stream can be directed at will and to a considerable distance, which gives boys the feeling of omnipotence. (308-309)

Observing the god-like spectacle of the boys’ urinatory will-to-power, Beauvoir recounts the common feminine response: “If I could ask one gift from Providence, it would be to have for once in my life the power of urinating like a man” (309).  Furthermore, Beauvoir affirms the truth of the castration complex, whereby “the little girl readily believes that all children are born with a penis but that later the parents cut off some of them to make girls…” (312).

Beauvoir differs from Freud then, not as to the inevitability of penis envy amongst girls, but rather the source of its longevity.  Beauvoir follows Adler in locating the phallic privilege associated with masculinity in social valorization and not any anatomical destiny.  Rather than any natural kismet, “it is in fact a destiny imposed upon her by her teachers and her society” (315).

To have a penis is no doubt a privilege, but it is one whose value naturally decreases when the child loses interest in its excretory functions and becomes socialized.  If its value is retained in             the child’s view beyond the age of eight or nine, it is because the penis has become the symbol of manhood, which is socially valued. (315)

The phallic advantage—and indeed all superiority of the male corpus—is then analagous to Beauvoir’s earlier statement in the case of muscular development.  In her sections on history and biology, Beauvoir maintains that the inequality of strength accorded to the sexes amounts to mere facts whose importance must be situated within the lived experience of the individual.  Once civilization progresses to a certain cultural and technological level, the advantages of superior strength become negligible or are eclipsed entirely; these biological facts cease to confer any relevant advantage.  The bodily difference between males and females provides the facts grounding the construction of gender.  To the extent to which the body’s limitations on women are socially and technologically enduring, women who wish to realize their human potential as a transcendental existent will face a double hurdle.  Such women will not only face the first burden of seeing through the ideological fog of femininity—to be a free existent she must also overcome the ontological fact of her pubescent, maternal and menopausal body.

In addition to the phallocentric account of the lives of children, Beauvoir inherits Freud’s narrative of the transition of young girls to womanhood.   In doing so she adopts the Freudian developmental scheme without caveat.  Successful development will depend on the girl’s progression from “oral, anal, and genital phases to adulthood” (414).  In his 1920 lecture on femininity, Freud explains the mystery of women by revealing the double wave of repression experienced by women during their genital phase as opposed to the experience of men:

Furthermore, a comparison with what happens with boys tells us that the development of a little girl into a normal woman is more difficult and more complicated, since it includes two extra tasks, to which there is nothing corresponding in the development of a man…In the course of time, therefore, a girl has to change her erotogenic zone and her object both of which a boy retains. (Freud 1920)

Beauvoir’s account follows with absolute parity.  The challenge for the young girl will play out through the “the opposition of the two organs: the clitoris and the vagina” (415).  In her clitoral or phallic stage, the young girl will be exhibit masculine aggressivity.  The girl’s primary erogenous zone is clitoral with pleasure deriving from the active stimulation of her atrophied penis.  With regard to object-lebido, she retains her mother as the object of her desire.  Thus, this clitoral or phallic stage is the proper ending for male development, but represents only an intermediary stage for females.  In order to leave this transitional period of boyish adolescence, the young girl must shift her erogenous orientation to center on the passive, receptive pleasure of the vagina, as well as change the direction of her libidinal energy to her father.

Affirming Freud’s conclusions regarding the biological destiny of women, Beauvoir asserts the dead futures available to woman: “in woman there is a choice of two systems, one of which perpetuates juvenile independence while the other consigns woman to man and childbearing” (417).  However, even this paltry freedom of choice turns out to be false freedom.  If the young girl clings to her phallic stage then she will become a lesbian and achieve only a junvenile illusion of independence.[1] By completing her development through the vaginal phase and achieving adulthood, the woman can now resign herself to a life of dependence, passivity and immanence.

Among the many curiosities of Beauvoir’s account of the sexual development of women is her choice to forgo the emancipatory route followed by the likes of Wittig and other future French feminists in locating lesbianism as the site of feminine liberation and autonomy.  Indeed, given the bleakness afforded by marriage and heterosexuality she goes on to describe, it is even more odd that Beauvoir follows Freud in regarding lesbian independence as an infantile flight.

Beauvoir fails to conceive of a lesbian vocation as a legitimate developmental alternative due to her initial conceptulationzation and assumptions regarding the nature of sexuality.  Like Freud, Beauvoir assumes the male as prototype or norm from which the feminine will suffer deviation.  In her chapter on sexual initiation, Beauvoir first recounts male sexuality:

For a man, the transition from childish sexuality to maturity is relatively simple…a man reaches out toward his partner, but he himself remains at the center of this activity, being, on the whole, the subject as opposed to objects that he perceives and instruments that he manipulates; he projects himself toward the other without losing his independence; the feminine flesh is for him a prey…(414-415)

Beauvoir then goes on to define “the act of love” as a heterosexual, penetrative act perpetrated by the male subject’s penetration into the female’s passive object:

The act of love is completed is completed in the [male] orgasm.  Coition has a definite physiological end and aim; in ejaculation the male rids himself of certain discomforting secretions; he obtains a complete relief, following upon sex excitement, which is unfailingly accompanied with pleasure…In any case, a definite act has been consummated, and the man’s body retains its integrity: his service to the species is combined with his personal enjoyment. (415)

Since coitus or “the act of love” is defined exclusively as heterosexual penetration, it is now clear why same-sex sexuality fails to qualify as an authentic erotic and loving relationship.  Since there is no possibility of penetration, all lesbian interactions are by definition pre-sexual acts.[2] According to Beauvoir, “homosexual caresses imply neither defloration nor penetration: they [merely] satisfy the clitoral eroticism of childhood without demanding new and disquieting changes” (387).  Rather than conceive same-sex couplings as legitimate relationships in which both authentic love and a real sex-act could possibly occur, Beauvoir regards such couplings as a flight from the embrace of real, that is to say heternomative, sexuality.

Still curious is why Beauvoir insists that all sex, or moreover all acts of love, must entail participation in the possibility of perpetuation of the species in order to qualify as authentic love-acts.  Perhaps this Catholic conception of sex is based on some notion that love qua self-transcendence requires one’s projection of oneself into future progeny?  If so, Beauvoir fails to imagine a different situation in which a heteronormative nuclear family is not a prerequisite for the rearing of children, nor does she foresee a possibility in which the facticity of social and technological life allow for reproduction without the heterosexual sex act.

In the foregoing I have argued that Beauvoir’s phenomenology of women rests on the centrality of the famale body as the essential and constitutive feature of what makes a woman.  Once all the cultural and ideological clouds have lifted, the flesh is all that remains to account for the genesis and maintenance of inequality between the sexes.  In her imaginative anthropology Beauvoir sets up her dialectic of recognition as follows:

I have already stated that when two human categories are together, each aspires to impose its sovereignty upon the other…If one of the two is in some way privileged, has some advantage, this one prevails over the other and undertakes to keep it in subjection.  It is therefore understandable that man would wish to dominate woman: but what advantage has enabled him to carry out his will? (69, my emphasis)

It is to be expected then that all human relationships will be defined—if not forever, then at least at the beginning and in their maturation—by subjection.  The only question is what advantage prefigured the outcome of this battle for men and women across diverse situations?  In the next page after the question’s formulation we get our answer:

In any case, however strong the women were, the bondage of reproduction was a terrible handicap in the struggle against a hostile world.  Pregnancy, childbirth and menstruation reduced their capacity for work and made then at times wholly dependent upon the men for protection and food (70).

To be clear, the problem is not that men and women both desire transcendence and the facts of biology pose specific limitations on each of them due to their sex.  Rather, the problem is that women are bodies, while men can be said to merely have them.  Men are only acknowledged as having bodies to the extent are built to perfectly enable exercise of their own freedom; the bodies of men never frustrate transcendence.  Thus, to the extent that the body represents a fact that traps the subject in an immanent spiral, men exist, and have in fact always existed, effectively without bodies.

Beauvoir follows Freud in assuming the bodies of men as a clean runaway allowing for the smooth take off towards transcendence.  Women, on the other hand, are measured against men, and it is determined that their flesh is laden with fetters, barriers and hurdles which frustrate any clean takeoff towards freedom.  Instead, woman finds herself grounded, trapped within her body, a mere “plaything of obscure forces” (71).

There are two key conclusions that need to be drawn given Beauvoir’s thesis of repressive embodiment.  The first relates the continuity Beauvoir’s existentialist feminism shares with the antecedent paradigm of liberal feminism.  Like for the liberal feminist John Stuart Mill, for example, the problem of female freedom is the problem of the fetter that restricts the normal [male] development towards freedom and becoming free, independent [male] subjects.  The solution for Mill is the liberalization of the juridical and cultural restricitons that inhibit women from realizing their potential, thereby enabling them to realize freedom the way men do.  To the extent that the transcendence of women is repressed by the facts of her body and the myths that stand above her, the solution lies in in the same liberalization prescription of that of Mill.  Sexism can be expected to whither away once the repressive force of social myths have been lifted, and technology (e.g. contraception) as well as cultural valorizations have evolved so as to liberate woman from the despotism of her body.

The second necessary conclusion is to recognize that Beauvoir’s departure is a Cartesian one.  All requirements for transcendence are contained within the cogito, while the body exists entirely outside the subject (res extensa). By situating the body as a repressive alien force, Beauvoir’s Cartesian dualism implies a “before”—some prior reality where women existed as pure geist prior to any corporeal attribution.  The normative content of Beauvoir’s philosophy lies in women’s return to this pre-sexed, pre-embodied life in which transcendence was unburdened by the facts of the body.

In the first paragraph of the introduction to her work, Beauvoir provocatively asks “Are there women, really?” (xv).  If the essence of woman is her capacity as a transcendent existent, she must exist essentially as a mind that subsequently undergoes embodiment.  But, can a woman really be without a body?  What would it mean to be a preembodied woman?  Alternatively, a more likely definition of what makes a woman is precisely her state as an existent trapped within a body.  An existent becomes a woman to the extent that her self becomes inexorably enmeshed by alien flesh and the consequent immanence it implies.  In this view, Beauvoir’s advocacy of the rejection of the repressive body and its concomitant sentence of immanence would result in the overcoming of woman itself.

For Beauvoir, the problem of woman is the problem of the body.


[1]“If the prehensile, possessive tendency remains especially strong in a woman, she, like Renee Vivien, will be oriented in the homosexual direction” (421)

[2] Presumably penetrative sex-acts aided by auxiliary means or with non-phallus body parts would not constitute authentic penetration for Beauvoir.

Four Moments of Phenomenological Experience

Thank you so much for all your feedback. I particularly found helpful Jose’s discussion on “reaching the object”

One of the problems I think Husserl has with ‘traditional’ two-place meaning is that while it starts with something objective, a mark or a sound, and reaches the subject, in a mental state, it never returns the subject to the referent of the name. At this point, many of his earlier criticisms of psychologism become operative.

Jose perspicuously captures Husserl’s project by showing how the objects are known and expressed through the experience of subjects, but that the process does not end with subjective perception. The problem with the putative understanding of sign-meaning is—as Jose aptly points out—that it never returns to the object itself and ends analysis at the level of subjectivity. Its is only by breaking through this barrier and extending experience and knowledge beyond the subject and finally to its referent that psychologism can be defeated. Rather then reducing the content of experience to its subjective meaning, Husserl wishes to highlight the objective side of meaning hitherto omitted from discourse.

In light of these observations I would like to reformulate my former tripartite distinction with what now appear to me to be 4 concrete moments within the unity of the phenomenological experience. The first such moment (a) consists in the sign, i.e. the physical sound-complex that initiates the process of cognition. Taking hold of the sign in consciousness propels one to the second moment (b) the indicative presentation. It is through the presentation of the sign the the object first shows forth and offers the first window into its “sense.” Through its particular mental states, the subject senses and perceives the various facts underlying the sign in all their empirical inexactness. While the psychologistic line of through would take leave of the phenomenal experience at this point, Husserl continues forward moving past the subjective side of meaning to now consider the objective side of the phenomenal encounter. The third moment constitutes the (c) meaningful expression, whereby the intention of the sign (with respect to its object) is now duly recognized. It is only at this stage that meaning (as it relates to the object) can be adequately conferred, and if the phenomenological unity is achieved, fulfilled by uniting sign and object through shared subjective-objective meaning. This last moment fulfills the meaning of the expression in representing the essence of its (d) object.

Four Moments of Phenomenological Experience

(a)                                 (b)                                               (c)                                   (d)

Sign →     indicative presentation     →    meaningful expression    →    object

[(I) → ] V (V)N                       →                         N(I)I

Second level represents Zilbermanian symbols of modal logic which basically conote the basic modalities of (V) hypothetical, (N) impearative, and (I) assertoric which roughly correlate to (V) sign, (N) meaning, (I) object.

Phenomenological Distinction of Expression

The points here made have long been observed in the special case of names. We distinguish, in the case of each name, between what it ‘shows forth’ (i.e. mental states) and what it means. And again between what it means (the sense or ‘content’ of its naming presentation) and what it names (the object of that presentation).  (Edmund Husserl, Logical Investigations, p.188, Investigation 1, Section 6)

Husserl aims at overcoming the “mistaken” notion that regards expressions only in terms of its sensible sign and meaning. Husserl offers the following tripartite distinction to overcome the shortcomings of the common understanding. In making sense of a name Husserl explains that we first distinguish “what it shows forth”, that is to say, the associations the name elicits from the subject’s particular psyche, and “what it means,” that is to say the definition or essential meaning of the name. From here Husserl goes further in distinguishing between “what it means (the sense or ‘content’ of its naming presentation,” i.e. once again its definition/essence/substance from “what it names (the object of that presentation),” in other words, from the actual real object to which this universal name is presently referring to.

Working through an example I thought of, I considered how to assess the meaning of an encounter I have with a cashier at Starbucks with a nametag reading Benvolio. Firstly, its meaning will yield in Associative quality as it brings about the memory of Romeo and Juliet and the character therein. Secondly, I am struck with the Essence (definition or substance) of Benvolio which literally means “good will.” Lastly, I recall the actual object before me—the dude at the cash register—whose goes by the name of Benvolio, which is different from my associations, and the essence of spirit of the word Benvolio.

In trying to think through an example that isn’t a ‘name’ or proper noun, the best I can come up with is some communicative expression pertaining to a bicycle, which the hearer must make sense of through drawing upon her personal psychology (e.g. thinking about her own bicycle growing up), and then working through the substance of bicycle (what it means to be a two-wheel vehicle), and the having insight into the precise object or state of affairs the speaker is intending to communicate.

Let me know if this sounds right. Also, after reading over what I wrote it seems clear to met that Husserl’s tripartite division pertains only to the “sense” or “meaning” of an expression, and is thereby in addition to its sensible sign, giving each expression 4 components (1 physical, 3 sensible).

Mode of ‘meaning’

Zilberman Modality

Associative

(V) Contingent

Essential

(N) Necessary

Objective

(I) Real

“Mad and Civ,” A Commentary, Part III (Ch. 3)

Cosmology of MadnessThis is the third section of the commentary, preceded by Part I and Part II

The need for confinement was driven by another force—the desire to avoid scandal. The Renaissance treated unreason and all matters social order with absolute transparency. The prevailing idea was that of openness, knowing that only sunlight could purge the dark recesses of evil. To this end, matters of justice privileged public confession no matter how heinous the crime. For Good to triumph, one’s offenses must be made manifest though a public catharsis.1

The Classical age reversed the publicity of the Renaissance in accordance with a new consensus that “there are aspects of evil that have such a power of contagion, such a force of scandal that any publicity multiplies them infinitely” (67). Due to the threat to social order some crimes must avoid confession at all costs and “must absolutely be thrust into oblivion” (Pontchartrain quoted on 67). This is most certainly the case among members of the clergy or other distinguished members of society whose example must persist as the paragon of well-tempered reason.

The imperative to avoid scandal was not the unequivocal stance of the Classical era. Starting in the 17th and 18th centuries the experience of unreason became disaggregated for the first time. In juxtaposition to the mindless priest hidden from public view existed a second class of madmen who were not only visible, but exalted to the level of spectacle. As recent as 1815 the hospital of Bethleham charged onlookers a penny to attend the weekly exhibition of its lunatics every Sunday (68). Unlike the immoral characters of unreason tucked away in the dark recesses of the asylum, this second class existed as monsters—“etymologically, beings or things to be shown” (70). Though made visible, these madmen were not free to roam the countryside as in the pre-confinement days of the Renaissance. With madness safely confined behind bars, reason no longer feared madness, as it no longer felt any relation to it (70). The complete subjugation of madness resignified its publicity. No longer iconoclastic, the organized exhibition of madness confirmed its status as wholly other.

The crucial distinction between the monsters manifesting madness in its purest form and the still dangerous class of unreasonables secluded in darkness is on the level of species. Unreason still constituted a grave threat to reason because its immoral subjects were still human. The freaks so fascinating to onlookers were completely unadulterated by human substance. No longer a beast within the psyche, madness now existed completely alien to its subject as pure animality. In short, confinement entailed two discrete operations: the avoidance of scandal by secluding immoral as unreasonable, and the glorification of madness-as-animality in the performance of spectacle.

In this regression of history’s rational, forward development, madness existed as a pre-human phenomenon reminiscent of Rousseau’s natural man. Unconditioned by human sensibilities, these brutes were comfortable on a “straw pallet” and “could not enjoy sleep without being soaked by the water that trickled from the mass of stone” (71). Asylums were complete with chains, locks and all manner of constraining devices, but the function of these objects was not of a punitive or corrective nature, but used to restrain the furious force of madman’s raging frenzy. In one hospital,

a madwoman subject to violent seizures was placed in a pigsty, feet and fists bound; when the crisis had passed she was tied to her bed, covered only by a blanked; when she was allowed to take a few steps, an iron bar was placed between her legs, attached by rings to her ankled and by a short chain to handcuffs (71-72).

The sheer ferocity of these inhuman creatures made them immune to any attempt at correction; only through disciplining and brutalizing could the beasts be effectively tamed and made docile.

Crucial to bear in mind was that the entirety of the measures used to exclude, constrain and exhibit madness lacked any medical purpose. To the contrary, the lunatic’s animality protected him from sickness as his beastly nature inured him to hunger, cold, and all variety of discomforts no human could expect to withstand. One doctor remarked in an admiration of “the constancy and the ease with which certain of the insane of both sexes bear the most rigorous and prolonged cold” such that “on certain days when the thermometer indicated 10, 11, and as many as 16 degrees below freezing, a madman in the hospital of Bicetre could not endure his wool blanket, and remained sitting on the icy floor of his cell…” (Pinel quoted on 74-75).

Humanity has struggled in its contradiction as “rational animal.” Curiously, the Western imagination considers animals separate from the wisdom of nature. The wild, unruly violence of animality exists in an anti-nature in opposition to nature’s sublime, rational order. So as with nature—the phenomenal realization of God’s thought—as is with God. Indeed, Christianity underwent a curious transformation from the time when madmen were permitted to roam freely and their subsequent confinement. As the new sensibility of the Classical age took increasing hold in the seventeenth century, gone went the Christian mysticism of Janeism and Pascal. Embrace of God no longer required sacrifice; good Christians no longer suspended their reason in a leap of faith. In a world where reason had finally matured (reaching its apotheosis in the thought of Hegel2) God revealed himself to be Truth and Reason in essence.

God-in-man’s-image often carried the appearance of madness, but behind God’s phenomenal expression lay eternal Truth. Notwithstanding the now developed opposition of God-as-Being and madness-as-non-being, madness still carried an important function. God chose to have his incarnation consort with the destitute and insane, and indeed Jesus appeared as a lunatic himself. Through his life and crucifixion, Jesus sanctified madness and death, revering nonbeing as holy. Indeed,“to respect madness is not to interpret its as the involuntary and inevitable accident of disease, but to recognize this lower limit of human truth, a limit not accidental but essential” (81). Just as the life of God’s son provides a paragon of Christian existence, the example of death and madness testify to the ultimate limit point of the Fall. Beyond the negative techniques of confinement, the captivity of madness fulfilled its positive role in the cultivation of new subjectivities. While the danger of immorality must be prevented from scandal, monsters serve an instructive demonstration, as they “showed men how close to animality their Fall could bring them; and at the same time how far divine mercy could extend when it consented to save man” (81).

Mode of Exclusion

Comparative Dimension Pre-History Embarkation Confinement Exhibition
Preoccupation Death (corporal) Death (psychic) Idleness Animality

Object

(Target)

Leper Madman as Vagabond Madman as unemployed

Madman as

animal

Temporal Middle Ages Renaissance (15th Century) Classical (Rise of Bourgeoisie) Classical (18th Century)
Religico-(scientifico)-juridical Status (God’s) Prisoner

Free Prisoner,

(Passenger par excellence)

Criminal Freak
Spatial Leprosarium Ship Reformatory Cage
Function Punishment Exile Correction Spectacle

1 “Until the seventeenth century, evil in all its most violent and most inhuman forms could not be dealt with and punished unless it was brought into the open. The light in which confession was made and punishment executed could alone balance the darkness from which evil issued. In order to pass through all the stages of its fulfillment, evil must necessarily incur public avowal and manifestation before reaching the conclusion which suppresses it.” (67)

2“But the fact that the world has become Christian, and that the order of God is revealed through the meanderings of history and the madness of men, now suffices to show that “Christ has become the highest point of our wisdom” (79).

“Mad and Civ” Commentary, Part II (Ch. 2)

This is Part II preceded by Part I

In chapter two Foucault proceeds to develop exclusion via confinement. Consistent with the exclusionary mode of embarkation, confinement exists as its counterpart:

The madman’s voyage is at once a rigorous division and an absolute Passage. In one sense, it simply develops, across a half-real, half-imaginary geography, the madman’s liminal position on the horizon of medieval concern—a position symbolized and made real at the same time by the madman’s privilege of being confined within the city gates: his exclusion must enclose him; if he cannot and must not have another prison than the threshold itself, he is kept at the point of passage. He is put in the interior of the exterior, and inversely. (11, Foucault’s emphasis)

When aboard the ship of fools—excluded by embarkation—the madman is confined in the exterior (the interior of the exterior). Meanwhile, when detained within the city walls—excluded by confinement—the madman exists within the interior but remains secluded (the exterior of the interior). The crucial requirement is that the madman made abnormal and excluded from the normal population. The two approaches differ with respect to whether the madman is to be returned to his liminal position—performing physically and spatially his symbolic meaning of existing in between states of grounded reason, i.e. perpetually adrift—or whether he can be enclosed within a carefully controlled quarters.

Like their predecessors the leprosariums, Foucault asserts that “from the very start, one thing is clear: the Hoptial General is not a medical establishment” (40). The institutions set out to confine the mad were “semijuridical structures” (40). Replete with “stakes, irons, prisons and dungeons,” these institutions of intervention were clearly unconcerned with taking care of the ill and decidedly committed to the correction of disobedience. Existing outside the bounds of state authority, the directors of these institutions enjoyed absolute sovereignty over their complex. These institutions of public welfare were charged with the establishment of religion and public order.. Those confined included “those condemned by common law, young men who disturbed their families’ peace or who squandered their goods, people without profession, and the insane” (45).

In accounting for the development that “almost overnight” (45) confined over 1 percent of the population (in the case of Paris) Foucault continues his pattern of denying the real. By the “real,” I mean the empirical, real-world problems of state and society and their resolutions by pragmatist, realist decision makers. In his discussion of leprosy Foucault dismisses rationales of medical quarantine and epidemiology in the imprisoning of lepers. Again, in explaining the embarkation of madmen he dismisses superficial concerns of banishing nuisances and social burdens as the rationale for exiling the mad. Once again, the problem that needs to be solved, the requirements that need to be met, are not those of real, material existence, but those pertaining to the psyche. As the Great Confinement is coextensive with the burgeoning bourgeoisie, it would seem obvious (obvious at least since Marx) that confinement resulted from a necessity to discipline labor during this period of great social transformation. As a counterpart to the enclosure movement that transformed peasants into proletarians, structures of confinement are clearly needed to absorb the population in excess of the needs of capital.

While dutifully acknowledging the needs of controlling the surplus population, Foucault takes as his organizing principle not the requirements of political economy, but rather the development of a new “sensibility” within the Western conscience.

There must have formed, silently and doubtless over the course of many years, a social sensibility, common to European culture, that suddenly began to manifest itself in the second half of the seventeenth century; it was this sensibility that suddenly isolated the category destined to populate the places of confinement…But what is for us merely an undifferentiated sensibility must have been, for those living in the classical age, a clearly articulated perception. (45)

For Marx, the classical era is indisputably characterized by the change in the mode of production, however for Foucault, the determining force is the mode of perception.1 The Enlightenment—which exists as superstructure for Marx, an ideological apparatus justifying the capitalist mode of production—serves as Foucault’s principal impetus, necessitating a segregated homeland for the mad to enable the sublime purification of Reason.

Further complicating the problem, Foucault does not deny the causative importance played by the needs of capitalist development. Rather, Foucault affirms that confinement resulted in reaction to economic crisis.2 Foucault make reference to the Church’s action to interfere with the labor’s collective organizing, accusing the workers’ secret gathering as that of sorcery (48). Notwithstanding the role of political economy in terms of efficient causation, Foucault’s history privileges the discourse deployed by Church and state aiming to discipline labor. While the discourse deployed by the Church and state could be regarded as epiphenomena at the time, Foucault privileges this discursive formation to offer a revaluation of history situated within his own temporal and political perspective. The immature structures of knowledge and power born under these economic conditions will come to play a hegemonic role in the ordering of social life under modernity.

This new perception take the reproduction of material life as its subject. The sensitivity to poverty is revealed by the royal edict establishing the Hopital General which charged it the task of preventing “mendicancy and idleness as the source of all disorders” (47). An ethos of work becomes the paramount virtue of the era. Not work with respect to a particular aim or concrete goal, but work for the sake of work. It is idleness that is the enemy of the Church, state and the Enlightenment. The classical age marks the first time madness is linked to idleness. The threat posed by the madman is no longer his adrift state of groundless, his lack of obedience to reason. The madman now challenges bourgeois transcendence in his self-alienation outside the confines of the bourgeois ethic, in short, his refusal to observe transcendence as labor (58).3

The marriage between church and state during the Classical era cannot be overstated. It was a fusion of the two that encapsulated the protestant-bourgeois ideal: “the dream of a city where moral obligation was jointed to civil law” (46). There is little doubt that if Foucault was to place Anglo-Saxon at the center of his history, rather than his native French, he would have quickly made mention of Separatist, Puritan leader John Winthrop’s “City Upon A Hill”. In the self-embarkation of the Puritan separatists they shared the vision of a juridical-religious complex based on a covenant with God. Winthrop chose the metaphor of a “city upon a hill” to symbolize the city’s absolute legibility in bearing witness to God. The madmen in their confinement were subjected to this protestant-bourgeois normative project: “a moral city for those who sought, from the start, to avoid it…a sort of sovereignty of good, in which intimidation alone prevails and the only recompense of virtue…is to escape punishment” (61).

The imperative to labor brought about crucial new techniques in the governing of populations. In answer to the requirements posed by poverty, the state first ushered a modern notion of police, i.e. “the totality of measures which make work possible and necessary for all those who could not live without it” (46). Purely negative measures of exclusion now are outmoded with the development of confinement. A new relationship between then the state and the life of its subjects emerges: “The unemployed person was no longer driven away or punished, he was taken in charge, at the expense of the nation but at the cost of his individual liberty” (48). An implicit social contract is made between the state and its subject. Guaranteed the right to food and shelter—in short, life—the subject trades his individual liberty and submits to physical and moral subjection. Biopolitics is born.

1“But what is for us merely an undifferentiated sensibility must have been, for those living in the classical age, a clearly articulated perception. It is this mode of perception which must investigate in order to discover the form of sensibility to madness in an epoch we are accustomed to define by the privileges of Reason” (45).

2“Throughout Europe, confinement had the same meaning, at least if we consider its origin. It constituted one of the answers the seventeenth century gave to an economic crisis that affected the entire Western world…”

3“…it is no longer because the madman comes from the world of the irrational and bears its stigmata; rather, it is because he crosses the frontiers of bourgeois order of his own accord, and alienates himself outside the sacred limits of its ethic.” (58)

“Madness and Civilization,” A Commentary (Part 1: Preface and Ch.1)

This is a working paper I am posting with the aim of garnering criticism of my interpretation (improper omissions, ungrounded claims, etc) as well as to help those who, like me, are plodding their way through this great and difficult text.  –ct

In his preface, Foucault gives a preview of his project in full. In conducting an archeology of madness Foucault wishes to uncover the origin of our current state of affairs in which madness is safely circumscribed within psychopathology; the strict separation between the medicalized mentally ill and their sane counterparts already effected. In order to trace the origin of this schism, Foucault explains “we must try to return, in history, to that zero point in the course of madness at which madness is an undifferentiated experience, a not yet divided experience of division itself” (ix).

Methodologically we must proceed cautiously, following a characteristically poststructuralist inclination to tread lightly upon history. We must “speak of that initial dispute [between madness and reason] without assuming a victory, or the right to a victory”. In this first of Foucault’s many transformative works revisioning history, we are told to take leave of the Historian’s value-free faith in reason, which by its own logic does the work determining cause and effect. Our study is guided “by neither the teleology of truth nor the rational sequence of causes” (xi). Further, we are instructed to do without the methods of psychoanalysis and psychiatry, which together constitute a “monologue of reason about madness” (xi) takes the schism as already effected (x). The fully medicalized discourse of psychiatry is the end of a long exchange between reason and madness. The dawn of psychiatry marks the silence of this stammering dialogue. The aim of Foucault’s history will be to locate and discover the origin of that silence (xi).

***

Foucault’s history of madness begins, or is rather preceded, with the curiosity of leprosy. Leprosy disappeared from Europe at the end of the Middle Ages,1 leaving as many as 19,000 leprosariums utterly vacant throughout all of Christendom. The question of how to make use of this physical infrastructure of confinement was of great practical concern to institutions of the state and church. However the seclusion of the lepers served much less an epidemiological requirement, and much more a spiritual requirement. The leper’s existence was “a constant manifestation of God, since it was a sign of both His anger and His grace” (6). The leper existed as a sign made meaningful through religious ritual. Through a process of exclusion the leper was “inscribed within a sacred circle”. As living manifestation of God’s punishment, the lepers were held in “inverse exaltation” (6), a hell on earth diametrically opposed to the salvation afforded by God. Furthermore, by an enacting this rite of exclusion, the lepers “accomplish their salvation in and by their very exclusion” (7). The lepers achieve salvation not through good works, but through their confinement in opposition to God. This “sacred distance” between leper and priest, Evil and God, is necessary not only in identifying the leper, but more so, to define a good, Christian, Godly subjectivity to which it exists in opposition. The to the physical infrastructure of the laprosarium was not the only relic that would endure following the disappearance of leprosy; the socio-psychic requirement that necessitated confinement would also persist. In satisfying this requirement, the social ritual applied to leprosy would also persist and be applied to madness, namely, “social exclusion but spiritual reintegration” (7).

***

The rituals that arose in reaction to the leper would continue in new forms throughout and after the rebirth of Europe. Underlying such rites was a spiritual disquiet, a fear always needing to be kept at bay; excluded, controlled, ridiculed. This fear is of nihilism—a world without meaning, devoid of God and consumed by nothingness. As Foucault’s history will make plain, the maintenance of this antagonism between nonbeing and Being, evil and Good, madness and Reason will be of crucial ontological importance to the European subject. This great anxiety supplies the energy pushing the dialectic of madness forward.. 2Each new epoch engenders new requirements resolved only by a further act of turning upon the same anxiety (16). This operation of torsion—like a screw which with each twist becomes more forcibly lodged in its object—increases in its power over time becoming less and less a physical rite to be performed, and increasingly an operation of the unconscious.3

Exclusion results from a necessity to solve the socio-psychic requirements of the European subject. The fear of death—when life is decays into nothingness—occupies central concern. The leper is “as a living man, the very presence of death” (294, note IV); his exclusion establishes a legible boundary: between living souls, those allowed within the church walls, and dead souls, the lepers forced to take communion outside the church walls. By cathecting the leper with death, the souls of Europe can rest easy knowing they are among the living, as they are defined in opposition to the dead, excluded lepers.

While the lepers disappear, the great anxiety remains and needs a new object to invest its energy. Again obviating the threat posed by the existential threat of death, death is made “an object of derision by giving it an everyday tamed form, by constantly renewing it in the spectacle of life, by scattering it throughout the vices, the difficulties, and the absurdities of all men” (16). Madmen are chosen as the new embodiment of death whose ridicule is necessary to confirm the vitality and meaning of us good Europeans. Madness is elevated to the cardinal vice. Bosch’s painting, depicting, among other things, sins of heresy, lust, gluttony, and above all foolishness, affirms that “the absolute privilege of Folly is to rule over whatever is bad in man” (24). (Already in Bosch we see the theme of prodigality, which will be integral to the next mode of exclusion.) The writings of Cervantes and Shakespeare testify to the centrality of madness, with Folly’s responsibility in restoring the order of reason. Whether appearing at the denouement or provide the aporia driving forward the narrative, the literary imagination of the Renaissance necessitates Folly to play as chimera, which once unmasked, induces a sigh of resolution, restoring cosmos.

The dawn of the Renaissance is christened by the ubiquitous narratives and stories of a ship of fools. Madmen existed as vagabonds, roaming from town to town as residents forcibly chased them outside the limits of the city like vermin. The wandering continued until the insane were entrusted to merchants or pilgrims, embarking them as mindless cargo aboard their vessel. However, unlike the pilgrims and nautical traders who have clear purpose and destination, the madman has no such rational voyage. He is the passenger par excellence, a prisoner held in suspension between two countries, having no country of the spirit to call his own. Literally ungrounded, the madman is home, in that dangerous in-between place of uncertainty after the journey has begun, but before ever reaching any resolution. Once again, with the exclusion of the madman comes his spiritual reintegration. As madmen join the sea in search of their reason, the water acts as a purifying force that baptizes drifting souls.

1For a very brief discussion of the contingent factors leading to this disappearance see page 6 of Madness

2In my reading Foucault follows Marx’s understanding of dialectics where by a ‘resolution’ offers only the problem reframed on a greater scale (i.e. generates new requirements in need of further resolution). Thus, the problem undergoes a spiral-like expansion.

3“…if we are willing to admit that what was formerly a visible fortress of order has now become the castle of our conscience” (11)

Resource: Organized Labor Outreach NYC

In an attempt to do outreach to labor unions for the upcoming Left Forum I was unable to find any comprehensive listing of emails to contact of active organizers and communicatino reps for organized Labor in New York City.  Here is a spreadsheet I started to put together that could be useful for others.  If anyone would like to do further update work (or knows of a better compelte list out there!) let me know and I’ll add you as a collaborator to update my primitive listing.

You can view it here: http://spreadsheets.google.com/pub?key=pDy98zCyzBrSbGgg8STptYA

“Economist” Fact Check: Supermajority

In this latest example of the corporate media’s excellence in journalism,a recent piece in The Economist warns  President Obama against expressing outrage regarding the excesses at AIG and other finance executives, as that will weaken his already low support from Congress and hurt his chances of getting further bailout funds.  It is an excellent example of how the new logic of a ‘supermajority’ necessary to pass any legislation is imposing substantial barriers in addressing the economic crisis.

Getting money from Congress has not been easy, either for Mr Obama or for George Bush. Mr Obama’s stimulus package only went through with a wafer-thin majority; both rounds of TARP funding for the banks have been extremely difficult to procure (the first tranche of TARP was turned down by Congress, initially).  (Economist 3/17/09, “Sound and Fury Over AIG”)

Actually, Obama had no trouble securing a majority of votes from Congress in the passage of the stimulus bill.  The final vote in the House was 246-183, over 57 percent approval.  And as to the “wafer-thin majority” in the embattled Senate the final vote was a tight 60-38, 61 percent of the body in approval.  As to the initial “extremely difficult to procure” TARP funding, the final House vote was 263-171 and 74-25 in the Senate   In light of the corporate media’s imposition of such onerous demands of a supermajority, it is hard to imagine FDR ever mustering the legilsative support to pull the country out of the Great Depression.

“Business Week” Looks to Arendt

http://www.businessweek.com/managing/content/mar2009/ca20090319_591214.htm

Business Week contributor Shoshana Zuboff  says the actions of individuals on Wall Street and subprime mortgage lenders exemplify Arendt’s “banality of evil”.

While  the article is interesting in exploring the problems of agency in capitalism, it misses any structural/systematic features of the current crisis.  Since economic crises occur frequently (major one every 40 years, with short-wave, business cycle crises every 5-7), and lack the Holocaust’s singular quality,  the author would have faired better if she had invoked a different theorist than Arendt, namely Marx.  Then we could begin to analyze the institution of an entire social structure of norms where a failure to empathize and utter disregard of “the other” is not an event specific to the decisions of a few financial executives in 2008, but a social imperative underlying all economic activity.  Such an analysis would undoubtedly require less introspection among wall streeters, and necessitate a deeper rethinking of economic and social organization.

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