A Unified Theory (A Non-Philosophical Theory of Nature book event)

A unified theory — though not a theory of everything. Not philosophy of, with all its implications of dominance and omnicompetence (a philosophy of religion, of law, of fashion are all equally plausible), nor even simply philosophy and — but a unified theory of philosophy and some science. What is the status of this “theory,” this strangely undefined entity that is not a philosophy (or is it a non-philosophy?) and that seems strangely comfortable asserting the dread philosophical omnicompetence, indeed in an exaggerated form that claims not simply to account for the facts adduced by some other discipline but to provide the means precisely of unifying them?

Anthony’s book gives us a unified theory of philosophical theology (a pre-packaged combination that I won’t quibble with, given that I live it every day) and ecology. It adopts the “stance” of ecology, which is a thinking from the Real guided by the ecosystem concept. Within this unified theory, we learn that philosophies have varying degrees of biodiversity. Badiou’s particular ecosystem, for example, has room for four primary species of truth-procedures, but is dominated by mathematics. Thoughts occupy niches and respond to their environment. Sometimes the claims are very concrete and empirical, and sometimes they seem more or less metaphorical. Sometimes we are at the very physical level of needing to eat in order to think — and sometimes it turns out that the scholarly literature on given figures represent narrow niches. Yet none of these claims, we are assured, are mere metaphors. It is not a metaphor to say that books of philosophy are dead thoughts that need to be consumed to produce living thoughts, any more than it’s a metaphor to say that human thought is situated within a wider ecosystem or that the academic publishing industry produces certain over-specialized populations with narrow niches.

In a unified theory, then, we are not dealing with mere metaphor. I grant this. What I would like to ask, however, is precisely what we’re saying when we say it’s not a mere metaphor. Read the rest of this entry »

On Heidegger’s Anti-Semitism

A couple days ago, I posted a confused series of tweets on the revelation of Heidegger’s anti-Semitism in the recently published “black notebooks.” It was exceptionally unwise to attempt to address this issue in that format, and so I thought I would try to post some more coherent reflections here.

I’m not one who is inclined to explain away Heidegger’s reactionary views in general. Even some of his greatest works, like The Origin of the Work of Art, clearly include proto-fascist elements. I’ve never been convinced that he joined the Nazi party out of mere conformism — it’s clear that he had very firm ideas about how to reform the German university and jumped at the chance that (he thought) the Nazis offered him to carry out those reforms.

What makes me suspicious about the furor surrounding the notebooks is the notion that they are a decisive revelation of some kind. The remarks in his notebooks may be uglier and less guarded than we would anticipate, but it cannot possibly be a surprise that a provincial Roman Catholic with reactionary views (including a distrust of the rootlessness of modern society), views that made him very comfortable with Nazi affiliation and unwilling to unambiguously renounce it later in life, would also be personally anti-Semitic.

There are of course very serious questions to ask about Heidegger’s politics in relation to his thought, but the most creative and influential interpreters of Heidegger’s works have always been asking those questions. Aside from people who are pure expositors, there is literally no one in the post-Heideggerian tradition who has taken over Heidegger’s views wholesale — indeed, it would be more accurate to view the post-Heideggerian tradition as a tradition of critiques of Heidegger than as a mere continuation of Heidegger’s project. I don’t think anyone can claim that Derrida, for instance, accidentally imbibed fascist principles in the course of his deconstruction of Heidegger’s project.

And here we come to the contemporary political stakes. I understand that journalism by its very nature seeks out newness and exaggerates its importance when it finds it. Even taking that into account, however, I can’t help but see the coverage of these notebooks as part of a broader trend in the English-speaking world of trying to use Heidegger’s disastrous political commitments as a way to discredit continental philosophy and literary theory. In short, the ongoing journalistic “controversy” over Heidegger’s politics is part of the broader culture war polemic against “postmodernism.” And the irony is that the culture warriors who have such an eagle eye for the Nazi influences of their opponents invariably advocate for nihilistic militarism and simplistic nationalism every chance they get — without offering us anything close to the creativity and fruitfulness of Heidegger’s radical reworking of phenomenology and innovative rereading of the history of philosophy.

How useful is Heidegger’s Origin of the Work of Art for art criticism? (Part 1)

van Gogh - Starry Night Over the RhoneThis week in my humanities course, we’re following up the music unit with a unit on visual art woven together with Heidegger’s Origin of the Work of Art. It’s spread over three days, and I pre-distributed some scans of paintings to them — day one is Van Gogh (for obvious reasons), day two is a mix of pre-modern and modern paintings (including a couple more or less totally abstract ones), and day three is Picasso.

In part I am doing this as an experiment to see how useful Heidegger’s theory is for the analysis of concrete artworks. One’s initial impression may not be promising, since it seems as though Heidegger is stuck at the level of the representational content of the work — his description of the Van Gogh painting at the beginning mentions nothing about more formal aspects aside from the abstraction of the background. Yet I think that the earth vs. world distinction and his claims for the way that the work reveals the strife between the two might open a space for more nuanced attention to the expressive content of the work on all levels. In Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhone, for instance, our discussion revealed the ways that his brushstrokes in the water and in the sky both contributed to a feeling of calm enclosure, as though the sky was almost a human-made dome. This shows a kind of momentary victory of world over earth, though the small couple in the lower right corner, standing as they are on uncertain footing, reminds us that the uncontrollable earth may surge forth at any moment.

van Gogh - Starry NightThe effect is just the opposite in another famous Van Gogh painting of a starry night, where the earth definitely has the upper hand over the small outpost of the human world. Here the swirling brushstrokes seem to present us with a natural world that has its own coherence and priorities that do not correspond to the ways we conceptually map it out — above all in the enigmatic plant that towers over the city. Our very perception of foreground and background is skewed, as the plant seems implicitly to be very close to us, and yet relates primarily to the swirling patterns of the sky.

The first painting uses a technique that is familiar from Cézanne, who often opens up a kind of “zone of indistinction” where individual brushstrokes belong to both foreground and background and thus begin to assert their own autonomy. Here portions of the waves could appear to be part of the masts of the ship. It seems that highlighting brushstrokes can reinforce the harmony of earth and world or else their strife — but I don’t want to suggest that the painterly technique is simply an indifferent tool that can be deployed at will. What I really want to consider are the implications of the fact that the artwork’s very materiality, which art as art always necessarily highlights, are a kind of upsurge of the earthly element. If a brushstroke calls attention to itself in seeming to refer at once to the ship’s mast and to the river’s waves, then it also calls attention to the earthly element in that the apparatus of the ship is a means of navigating the dangers of the waves.

One might see a similar priority of earth in the disproportionately thick brushstrokes in the sky of the first painting. Here we cannot help seeing paint, very emphatically — and in the squareness and the excesses around the edges, it can almost seem as though human beings have “bricked over” the sky. The nautical context highlights this, because it is most especially at sea that the stars — those brilliant balls of gas millions or billions of miles away — have been “re-purposed” by human beings as a navigational tool. Behind this bricked-over sky, though, in the very roughness of the surface of the painting, one can sense the unmediated earth vaguely threatening to break through, in parallel with the implicit though understated threat to the ambiguously positioned couple.

(I have ideas about how the other paintings I’ve chosen might play out in this scheme, but I don’t want to give it away in case one of my students is reading this. Hence I label this post Part 1, with the proviso that there may be no Part 2….)

Two questions on Heidegger translation conventions

  1. Dasein — the convention of leaving this term untranslated seems to be the single most consistent trait across all English translations of Heidegger. It does have the disadvantage that leaving foreign words untranslated can make them seem like mysterious occult terms, and it can also make it seem as though Heidegger virtually created this term. I wonder if translating Dasein as “the existing being” might have been a better idea, all things considered. It makes it clearer, for example, that Heidegger is using a common term in the region of “being” in a narrower terminological way. It’s admittedly clunky, but it’s also clunky to leave a German word constantly untranslated, particularly when you then also need to leave it in German in Heidegger’s quotes from previous philosophers who used the term more broadly.

  2. Germanic and Latinate synonyms — the convention of distinguishing a pair of Germanic and Latinate synonyms (zeitlich, temporale) by capitalizing the latter is probably the least bad option in many cases, but I wonder if enough of an effort was made to find and perhaps even coin synonyms. Obviously one wants to avoid the worst excesses of the first translation of the Contributions, but would “timely” and “temporal” be so hideous, for example? I’m at a disadvantage because I only really know philosophical German, but my understanding is that many of the terminological usages of “common” German words ring foreign for German readers as well.

These are small points, since anyone who wants to study Heidegger’s texts at a detailed level is going to need to read the German in any case. But what do you think?

Teaching Heidegger

My course over Being and Time is nearly complete. On our last remaining day, we will be reviewing the introduction as a way of reviewing the whole — this week, we finished the final chapter and did one last “review day” over the last two chapters. Overall, I think it went well. Though Being and Time hardly ends with a bang, there’s no substitute for working your way through a major work of philosophy in its entirety. I’m now hoping that I’ll be able to offer a “big book in philosophy”-style elective every couple years or so, both because I think students should have the opportunity to do that kind of intensive study and because it really benefits me as well — at this point, I’ve read Being and Time more thoroughly than I’ve ever read almost any single book before (including reading it all the way through in the original).

I could have probably tweaked the pacing somewhat. Most notably, I included “review days” after every second chapter, which worked well in Division One but was a little more artificial in Division Two — perhaps going by threes would have been better in that case. I may have also considered going a little more quickly in Division One, which is more intuitive and accessible, so that I could have slowed down a bit in Division Two. But in general, the concept of a “slow and steady” crawl through the whole thing was sound, and I think it could be duplicated even with more difficult works like the Phenomenology of Spirit.

Over the last few days, I’ve started to think of it almost as a language class, where there normally aren’t huge epiphanies — just a slow build. The students did get good enough at Heideggerese to make successful jokes, which is a crucial step. More than that, though, I think there’s a sense in which Heidegger is gradually teaching his reader how to read the book, and by the time you get to Division Two, that provides a crucial grounding for his more esoteric investigations of authenticity.

In many ways, my students replicated the history of Heidegger’s reception, finding Division One the most convincing and the discussion of authenticity the most fascinating. We were still working through questions surrounding authenticity during our discussions of the later chapters on temporality, which seem dry and dull by comparison. Thankfully, though, on our review day over the final two chapters, we were able to “buckle down” on the temporality issues in a way that advanced my understanding at the very least. It was far from the first time I walked out of class feeling I’d grasped something more firmly — while I always learn from my students, the kind of sustained and detailed attention we were giving to the text allowed for many more opportunities for that.

It’s the diagrams that stand out to me the most, though. I’m an inveterate underliner, but I normally don’t draw up diagrams or tables when I read a work of philosophy myself. In the classroom, though, it proved invaluable to chart the ways Heidegger’s concepts fit together, because that really showed how tightly argued the book is. I made several attempts to map out the whole project (up to the point we had reached), including one “review day” where I created a truly imposing diagram with arrows crossing over each other from multiple directions. Looking back, I regret not asking the students to take responsibility for drawing on the board sometimes, though they did often argue against my presentation and tell me what should go where. And of course, the fact that our most carefully constructed diagrams could be erased at any moment by the next group to use our classroom was a great metaphor for Being-toward-death.

Heidegger and Mad Men

In the fifth chapter of Division Two of Being and Time, Heidegger addresses the question of Dasein’s historicity and how it relates to the academic discipline of history. He argues that authentic historical study must not content itself with a cataloguing of past factual events or even with an “aesthetic” appreciation of weird historical life-worlds long since past, but that it must somehow connect with the whole existential situation facing the once-but-no-longer Dasein of that era. In other words, it must somehow get at the possibilities that Dasein faced in past historical moments and the stakes of those possibilities for the people who, after all, had their one life to live in that historical world.

In class, I contrasted this with a “historical tourism,” which marvels at the weirdness of past eras’ customs without ever really getting “inside” them and understanding them as something with the people of the past could take seriously and stake their lives on. One might also think of the kind of “contextualizing” history that excuses past racism and sexism as simple facts of that historical era — “Of course Kant was a racist, everyone was back then!” As a counter-example, I put forward Nietzsche’s Birth of Tragedy, where we get a palpable sense of Nietzsche’s investment in the history he’s recounting, his genuine outrage that it didn’t turn out another way — and his hope that we might be able to “repeat” what was most promising in that historical moment today. More recently, one might think of Zizek’s reckoning with the October Revolution and Stalinism.

On a less philosophical level, however, I think Mad Men may be the best popular example of the kind of authentic history Heidegger is calling for. Read the rest of this entry »

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Tool-Being-toward-Death: OOO’s misreading of Heidegger

One way to understand the OOO project is to say that other entities are more Dasein-like than we might have expected. They too disclose each other’s possibilities, even when Dasein isn’t there to intermediate the encounter. The notion that objects “withdraw” would then be parallel to Dasein’s Being-toward-death, its ownmost, non-relational (individuating) possibility of Being.

Unfortunately, this is the point where a major confusion seems to enter the picture. Heidegger’s “individuation” of Dasein through its authentic comportment of anticipatory resoluteness isn’t a “withdrawal” of Dasein into some inner kernel of Being. Anxiety, for instance, does not reveal to us the unmediated self, but reveals precisely the structure of “Being-in-the-world,” shorn of all concrete content. Dasein’s authentic individuation is not a state in which Dasein can “dwell,” but simply takes Dasein back to its readiness for relation so that it can enter into the possibilities and relations of its world in a new way. Indeed, there is no possibility of separating the withdrawal from the reentry — Heidegger is at pains to emphasize that Dasein never gets to pause, that it “has to be its own being.”

The trick here is that Dasein’s “ownmost possibility” is precisely the possibility of its own impossibility. Once that possibility is actualized, once Dasein has really and truly “withdrawn” from its relations — then there is no more Dasein. Read the rest of this entry »

In what respect is Being and Time incomplete?

As I near the end of my class on Being and Time, I am of course confronted with the fact that the book is “incomplete” — a fact that my students periodically bring up, as if anticipating that after all their hard work, they will simply be left hanging. It is the case that the actual ending of the existing published text is anti-climactic: “Is there a way which leads from primordial time to the meaning of Being? Does time itself manifest itself as the horizon of Being?”

Yet let’s imagine that he hadn’t sketched out the “full” outline in the introduction, and let’s imagine that he’d followed those concluding questions with a remark saying that these are the questions that he would address in some future sequel rather than in what was going to be supposedly “the same” book. In that case, I don’t think the existing published text called Being and Time would jump out as us as “unfinished.” (Sorry for all the scarequotes, but I’ve been immersed in Heidegger all semester.)

Division One in particular seems relatively autonomous. Though the analysis of anxiety is a strangely foreign body in the text, and though the question of authenticity remains outstanding, the Division as a whole seems to make a cogent argument against reductionism and to deliver some genuine ontological “payoff” in the concluding sections on reality and truth. Division Two, though it initially seems a bit more disjointed, does follow up on the question of authenticity and uses it to get at the problem of temporality — and thereby back to the everyday. Throughout, he makes his characteristic move of accounting for how the limited “common sense” position on various metaphysical questions arises out of the constitution of Dasein as Heidegger describes it, and he does a great deal of analysis of other philosophers’ positions (Descartes on space, Kant on everything from handedness to the meaning of selfhood, Hegel on time, etc.).

So in short, he has an ontologically-oriented analysis of Dasein, leading to temporality, with plenty of “destruction” of the philosophical tradition along the way. Essentially everything that we could reasonably expect after reading the introduction (prior to section 8) is present in the text as it stands. It doesn’t completely accomplish everything Heidegger hopes to accomplish, but no single work of any author ever does that. Certainly the book at least puts us in a much better position to at least pose the question of the meaning of Being — it’s a concrete and decisive step forward in Heidegger’s research.

We also have the historical fact that Heidegger did indeed work through basically all the “content” that we would expect from the “remainder” of Being and Time in Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics and the seminar Basic Concepts of Phenomenology. If Heidegger had been tormented by the sense that he had left a fragmentary torso of a book dangling in the wind, he could have finished it. The fact that he did not do so seems to me to indicate that it was complete enough for the man himself, so maybe we shouldn’t make a big deal about it being “incomplete.”

Harshing on Das Man

The two main passages on das Man (the “they”) in the first division of Being and Time (sections 27 and 34-38) present us with a jarring shift in tone. Though Heidegger repeatedly emphasizes that he’s not making any kind of evaluative judgment, it’s hard not to walk away from those passages believing that living in the “they” really, really sucks. A couple of my students emphasized that Heidegger does say that Being-with is an irreducible aspect of Dasein’s Being and even wanted to put a positive spin on it — for instance, isn’t it kind of cool that we can use “idle talk” as a way of expressing our simple desire to hang out with each other? Yet if Heidegger wanted to emphasize the good side of the “they,” he would have had to write these sections very differently.

One could chalk this up to Heidegger’s personal conservatism and distrust of bourgeois mass culture, etc., but I think there may be a reason internal to his project. He says over and over that his goal is not to carry out anything like a philosophical anthropology, but to cut straight to the question of the meaning of Being as such. His path requires him to start in everydayness, and everydayness does give him a lot of interesting and useful ontological clues (which he shows in the awkwardly placed sections in chapter 6 on reality and truth) — so that one might think look at that evidence along with his critiques of scientific reductionism and conclude that he was simply favoring everyday know-how over fancy book-learning. And so he has to highlight the aspects of everydayness that militate against any authentic disclosure of truth and enforce a kind of unreflective utilitarianism coupled with conformism for its own sake.

past dialectics and future destructions: Malabou’s plasticity

Catherine Malabou has rapidly elasticized possible futures for Continental Philosophy by reorienting our understanding of Hegelian thought around the notion of plasticity, “a capacity to receive form and a capacity to produce form.”

In her recent short work Plasticity at the Dusk of Writing: Dialectic, Destruction, Deconstruction, Malabou considers writing as a scene of plasticity and model of political and ethical action. Join InterCcECT for a reading group on these crepuscular illuminations of Derrida, Hegel, Heidegger, Freud, Levi-Strauss, and Levinas.

Thursday 17 October
3-5pm
Department of English conference room
UIC, 2028 University Hall
601 S Morgan St, 60607 (Blue Line: UIC Halsted)

Text available to Chicagoans upon request.

Mark your calendars now for our upcoming miniseminar with Joshua Kates, “Radical Empiricism Revisited,” at which we’ll explore the Kantian inflections of empiricism in Deleuze, Latour, and Luhmann as they oppose Derrida and early Foucault. Friday 22 November, 3-5pm, location TBA; paper to be pre-circulated.

What’s happening in theory this fall?  Send us your event proposals and announcements (interccect at gmail), check out our calendar for recommended events, and connect with us on  Facebook for frequent links and commentary.

Posted in blog posts, Deleuze, Derrida, Hegel, Heidegger, Interccect, Malabou. Comments Off
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