Notes on Honoré Daumier, Don Quixote (1868)

He’s instantly recognisable, though he has no face. He has no face because he doesn’t know who he is. He’s Don Quixote, famous for his confused identity.

In this blurred image, he really could be a knight-errant. His armour could be magnificent armour, his lance a sturdy lance, his shield a strong shield. His horse could even be a powerful warhorse. The line between reality and illusion is blurred. We’re seeing Don Quixote as he sees himself.

The landscape behind him stretches for miles. He’s far from home, and in a sense a knight-errant doesn’t have a home. And in this wilderness, where is Sancho Panza? Don Quixote has forgotten about him. He’s puffed up, forgetting how he relies on his servant. Don Quixote is essentially forgetful.

And that clear blue sky, the sun beating down from it. How Don Quixote suffers in that sun, from thirst, from hunger, from assailants who would surely benefit from the clear day, they can see this old man coming for miles. They don’t see Don Quixote as we see him in this picture. They see something quite different, the cold reality, the confused old man.

But in the distance, the sun reflecting off his makeshift armour a certain way, Don Quixote might look like this, easily mistaken for a knight. Although it seems that we’re right next to him, perhaps we’re seeing him as if in the distance, confused to see a knight-errant now, in the 17th century. From this distance, it’s still possible to believe his dream is true, that he really is a knight.

This is realism.” We’re glimpsing the moment the illusion seems true, how nature––the sun, the distance across the plains––can conspire to fool us, and lull us into dream.

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Kathy Acker on William Burroughs

As I prepare to talk about William S Burroughs at the end of the month, I’ve been re-reading Kathy Acker’s essay “William Burroughs’s Realism”. You can find her essay in Bodies of Work (Serpent’s Tail, 1997). The following is a one-page summary of her three-page essay:

Some American writers have criticised American society in cultured tones. But this doesn’t work because America isn’t cultured. American society is insane because it has a view of the world that doesn’t match up to the world and it cannot change its view. American society is unaware of anything other than itself.

Burroughs does not use cultured tones to criticise American society. He writes in a way that exhibits discontinuity, mutation, twisting of time so that it becomes space. It is a psychotic writing, but American reality is now psychotic, so it is a writing for America in our time.

Then Acker compares an extract from Burroughs’s The Soft Machine to a story that a friend told her. Both Burroughs’s text and her friend’s story are fictional. But then Acker writes: “What is fiction is that which will become actual.” This is what Burroughs does: he writes fiction that describes the future. “Writing that seemed radical when it appeared today looks like journalism. In other words: today in the United States, we are living in the worlds of Burroughs’s novels. Pray that the wild boys will help us escape.”

Burroughs wrote the future, but he also offered us a means of escape. He did this––in The Wild Boys and in all of his books––by using language opposed to the language of the media:

“The language of our media who dictate our political and social actualities is that of (false) continuity and (always partially false) fact: simple declarative sentences, as little use of ambiguity as possible, no dwelling within verbal sensuousness. Burroughs fights this post-bourgeois language with poetry: images, dangling clauses, all that lingers at the edge of the unsaid, that leads to and through dreams.”

We need this language of dreams because without it we will die. This is what Burroughs tells us, and what Acker tells us again here, at the end of her essay. Burroughs is a “mad journalist” because he describes reality but he also twists it so that we have a means of escape through dreams.

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Some thoughts on Michael Hardt

I’m getting back into some philosophy.  First thing to read: Michael Hardt’s An Apprenticeship in Philosophy: Gilles Deleuze (University of Minnesota Press, 1993).  It’s an old book and an important one, and I thought it deserved a re-read.

This is a book about Deleuze’s early work.  In the introduction to the book, Hardt explains that Deleuze’s anti-Hegelianism is a key element in Deleuze’s work.  When Deleuze was writing, Hegel was an important figure in Continental philosophy, and poststructuralist philosophers felt they had to oppose Hegel in order to reveal “alternative lineages” in philosophy. (x)  In other words, they wanted to show that it was possible to reject Hegel and still do philosophy.

Hardt suggests that Deleuze’s early attempts to escape Hegelianism were not entirely successful.  This is because despite all his efforts, Deleuze kept coming back to problems and concepts that belonged to Hegelian thought, and so he was never free of Hegel’s influence in this early work. “We find that Deleuze often poses his project not only in the traditional language of Hegelianism but also in terms of typical Hegelian problems – the determination of being, the unity of the One and the Multiple, and so on.” (xi

So Hardt writes: “If Hegelianism is the first problem of poststructuralism, then, anti-Hegelianism quickly presents itself as the second.” (xi)  The question is: How is it possible to be anti-Hegelian?  This might not seem a very pressing problem today, but Hardt appears to be suggesting that “this [Hegelian] cultural and philosophical paradigm was so tenacious” in Deleuze’s day that it seemed to many to be impossible to talk about philosophy without sounding Hegelian, and slipping into a Hegelian mode of thinking.

Towards the end of the introduction, Hardt discusses a trap one can easily fall into when trying to be anti-Hegelian.  We might call this the trap of “oppositions”.  If you are “anti-” something then it is common to think of your own position as opposed to the thing you are against.  When two things are opposed we define them in terms of one another, with one thing defined as in some way “not” the other.  This is useful for debate and discussion, because, since you define your position in terms of the thing you are against you have to offer a definition of that thing (say, “Hegelianism”) in order to describe your own position (“anti-Hegelianism”).  (So you say: I am anti-Hegelian because Hegelians believe x and I do not.)  Your opponent can then decide whether you have defined their own position adequately or not, and maybe suggest an alternative definition.  If you agree you might change the definition of your own opposed position accordingly.  Or you might abandon that position altogether, in light of the new definition (It turns out I’m not anti-Hegelian after all, since I agree that y).  This is how dialectic works: agreement is reached, even if it is an agreement to disagree, by a gradual redefinition of terms on both sides.

But Hardt suggests that Deleuze is not trying to reach an agreement with Hegelianism when he opposes it.  Instead he is trying to strike out in a new direction altogether.  His position is “antagonistic” to Hegelianism rather than “opposed” to it.  (xv) His “antagonism” to Hegel is “a total critique and rejection of the negative dialectical framework” of Hegelianism rather than an attempt to engage in a debate with Hegelianism.  This is because Deleuze wants “to achieve a real autonomy” in thought, a new direction free from the established Hegelian ways of thinking. (xi)  In effect, a Deleuzian should not care what a Hegelian thinks of his critique.  Rather than trying to change the mind of a Hegelian, Deleuze is trying to positively set out a new kind of philosophy free of Hegelianism.

I like Hardt’s view of Deleuze, if indeed I’ve presented it correctly, and I think this antagonistic aspect of Deleuze’s thinking is something I often lose sight of.  But I’m also not sure that Deleuze ever really managed to maintain this antagonism, which is why I still think that a great deal of overlap and agreement can be found between the Deleuzian and Hegelian positions.  As I re-read Hardt I’m going to try to reconsider my view of the relationship between Hegel and Deleuze, and I’ll blog about it if I find anything interesting.

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William S. Burroughs and Scientology

I’ve been reading Scientologist! William S. Burroughs and the ‘Weird Cult’ by David S. Wills.  (Beatdom Books, 2013)  It’s an excellent book, that describes in clear and engaging prose the development of William Burroughs’s ideas and beliefs, particularly his shifting attitude towards Scientology.

For me, it’s been interesting to learn just how seriously Burroughs took Scientology.  As Wills points out, Burroughs considered himself a sceptic who based his beliefs on facts.  But Wills also shows us that what Burroughs meant by “fact” was quite subjective.  A “fact” for Burroughs tended to be anything that he happened to believe in.  (p.26)  Burroughs believed in many of the theories and methods of Scientology, and so they were facts for him.  Of Scientology, Burroughs wrote to his friend Allen Ginsberg: “You see it works.” (p.66)

Scientology does seem to have worked very well for Burroughs, since not only was he able to mine the literature of Scientology for material for his “cut-ups” (a method of writing where pages are cut into pieces and rearranged to create new combinations of words), but also some concepts of Scientology, such as the “reactive mind”, became ideas so central to Burroughs’s writing that it is impossible to imagine what sort of books he might have gone on to write had he never learned of such concepts.  Brion Gysin joked that Burroughs was one of the few people to make more money out of Scientology than they made out of him. (p.122)

Perhaps the most interesting bit of Wills’s book is the final chapter, where he describes Burroughs’s break with Scientology.  We learn that however valuable he found some of the Church’s ideas and methods, he hated what he saw as the religious, controlling and organisational aspects of Scientology.  For Burroughs, the ideas of Scientology offered the promise of escape from systems of control, but this promise was negated by the fact that Scientology wanted to control its own members, by determining what they could read, who they could see, subjecting them to tests, and so on.  Interestingly, Burroughs believed that what he had gained from Scientology was a deeper understanding of methods of control, since in his view the means that Scientologists used to control their members were very similar to those used by governments and their agents. (p.148)

But Wills shows us that although Burroughs broke with Scientology he never gave up on its ideas altogether.  Towards the end of the book, Wills looks at how some of Burroughs’s later works contain ideas from Scientology.  For example:

“In [The Place of] Dead Roads, Burroughs’s alter ego, Kim, thinks about space travel as his ‘only purpose,’ and a means of escape.  He considers the necessities for leaving this planet – namely a change in biological form in order to adapt to the environment of space.  And what is the environment of space?  ‘SILENCE.’  Humans need to evolve in order to deal with silence.  It was from Scientology that Burroughs took the idea that silence is important, a method of avoiding triggering an engram.” (p.203)

That Scientology remained an obsession for Burroughs is something that is often overlooked, according to Wills.  (pp.4-5)  I’m glad I read Wills’s book, as I think it’s given me a deeper insight into Burroughs’s later work.

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Deleuze and Guattari: Creative versus Utopian Thinking

It’s been almost a year since I last posted here, and it feels like it’s about time I explained what happened with those three “projects” I described in my last post.   The projects were to be: a follow-up to the “Deleuze, Guattari and May’68″ paper I posted in 2011; an account of Hegel’s logic of the Concept; an examination of Hegel’s account of the state.  Today I’ll start by looking at what I did on the subject of Gilles Deleuze and May ’68, and I’ll discuss how I got on with the two Hegel-related projects in later posts.

My follow-up to the “Deleuze, Guattari and May’68” essay became a paper entitled “Deleuze and Guattari: Creative versus Utopian Thinking” which I presented at the London Conference in Critical Thought in June 2012.  You can read the paper here.

In the paper I compare what Deleuze and Guattari have to say about history and resistance to what William E. Leuchtenburg writes about the history of the New Deal in the USA and the creative approach to politics that we see in America at that time; I then look at some of the things that Henry Miller said about the individual’s search for meaning in life to illustrate how the problems that people face today in the USA, Europe and elsewhere are quite different to those that the New Deal was supposed to tackle, even if they evolved from those old problems.  In sum, the old problem was how to allow people to find work; the new problem (or rather, the old problem that we are hopefully slowly coming to recognise) is to allow people to find meaning in their lives.  For Miller, getting people into work is not enough; we also need to ensure that the work that people do does not make them mean and miserable.

I do feel that the conclusion of the paper is quite unsatisfying, as I don’t explain how the processes described by Miller could spark a creative political approach that would lead to anything but failure.  My next paper on this topic will look at Deleuze and Guattari’s Anti-Oedipus in more detail and show in what way Deleuze and Guattari claim to get further than Henry Miller, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and all the other writers who fail to escape the “neurotic impasse” in which they find themselves trapped.

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Hegel after Deleuze and Guattari

I’m currently working on three separate projects, each of which will appear on this blog in the not too distant future. One will be a follow-up to the “Deleuze, Guattari and May’68” paper I posted last year; another will be an account of Hegel’s logic of the Concept; the third will be an examination of Hegel’s account of civil society and the state.  (Though I won’t necessarily post them in that order.)

In the meantime I’ve decided to post my PhD thesis, which I completed fairly recently.  Here’s the link.

The title is “Hegel after Deleuze and Guattari: Freedom in Philosophy and the State” and it is an attempt to show how some of the criticisms of Hegel offered by Deleuze and Guattari can help us to work out what Hegel’s “immanent” approach to logic and philosophy should consist in.  Deleuze and Guattari argue that Hegel reduces contingency to necessity; I argue that the Hegelian approach can only be genuinely immanent and presuppositionless if it does not reduce contingency to necessity, and that Hegelian immanence recognises that contingent events determine what becomes necessary.  If a principle is “necessary” in the Hegelian sense of the term, this does not mean that it has been proven to have been (“always already”) true or good all along, but instead it means that it has in fact become true or good (“retroactively”, to use a Deleuzian term), given the previous development of our thoughtful activity (whether this activity is the act of thinking itself, performing ethical actions, or whatever), and this development is subject to contingency.  Contingent events become necessary, but were not always already necessary, and so contingency is not reduced to necessity, for Hegel.

One could divide the thesis into three parts, so if you don’t have the time or the inclination to read the whole thesis, you might want to read just one or two of these parts, according to what interests you.  Chapter 1 could be called the first part, which is about Deleuze and Guattari’s “schizoanalytic” approach to philosophy, according to which no concepts are eternal, but are instead created in order to solve problems specific to a singular “image of thought”; the second part would be Chapters 3 to 6 (plus Chapter 2 if you like, which serves as a short preface to Chapters 3 to 7) in which Hegel’s Science of Logic is discussed (Chapter 3 covers the logic of “being”; Chapters 4 and 5 cover “essence”; Chapter 6 covers the beginning of the logic of the “Concept”); the third part is Chapter 7, which covers Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, where Hegel discusses freedom, morality and ethical life.  In addition to these three parts, there is a long-ish conclusion to the thesis after Chapter 7.

If anyone does read the thesis, or part of it, I’d be really grateful for any comments, questions or criticisms.

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Deleuze, Guattari and May ’68

Here’s a paper I gave at the Deleuze Studies conference in Copenhagen last month.  It is basically a commentary on Deleuze and Guattari’s short paper entitled “May ’68 Did Not Take Place”.  I’ve used the translation of this text found in Two Regimes of Madness, ed. David Lapoujade, trans. Ames Hodges and Mike Taormina (Semiotext(e), 2007) pp.233-6.  I’ve only amended the translation found in Two Regimes in one place.  Other works referred to are:

Felix Guattari The Machinic Unconscious, trans. Taylor Adkins (Semiotext(e), 2011)

Gilles Deleuze, “What is the Creative Act?” in Two Regimes of Madness trans. Ames Hodges and Mike Taormina (Semiotext(e), 2007) pp.317-329

Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, What is Philosophy?  trans. Graham Burchell and Hugh Tomlinson (Verso, 1994)

Deleuze, Guattari and May ’68: “creative redeployments” as responses to crises

In this paper I will be discussing what Deleuze and Guattari’s essay entitled “May ’68 Did Not Take Place” tells us about their conception of creativity and of the state.  For Deleuze and Guattari, May ’68 did not take place because the “subjective redeployment on a collective level” that May ’68 demanded was not allowed to happen.  May ’68 is not merely an unrealised dream, however, for Deleuze and Guattari.  It is also an ongoing “crisis”, an event that persists today: May ’68 did not take place because it has not yet been resolved, it is not over, and the many changes and differences it has created are still indeterminate in that we do not know where they will lead.

The events of May ’68 revealed that the actual capacity of the state for subjective redeployment was not enough, and so there was something wrong with the political system as it existed.  I want to suggest that, from a Deleuzian point of view, this is still the case today: May ’68 still poses a challenge to established political power.

Deleuze and Guattari suggest that “creative redeployments” are required if the crisis of May ’68 is to be resolved.  I will explain in what follows what Deleuze and Guattari mean when they tell us that “there can only be a creative solution” to the crisis: for one thing, they mean that we cannot trust the state to correct itself, even in response to political protest.  Creativity is “resistance” for Deleuze and Guattari, as I will show in this paper.

In “May ’68 did not take place”, Deleuze and Guattari write that

“In historical phenomena such as the revolution of 1789, the Commune, the revolution of 1917, there is always one part of the event that is irreducible to any social determinism, or to causal chains.  Historians are not very fond of this aspect: they restore causality after the fact.”

That is to say, a historian considers any event to be fully determined: if a historian cannot clearly see a determining cause for a given event then she will try to discover one.  When looking back at history, we see all events as fully determined (even if we cannot work out the precise causes of any event we nevertheless assume that there are such causes).  Every event in a historical account has happened for a reason.  Deleuze and Guattari go on:

“Yet the event is itself a splitting off from, or a breaking with causality; it is a bifurcation, a deviation with respect to laws, an unstable condition which opens up a new field of the possible.”

When Deleuze and Guattari write of the event “itself” they are talking of the event as something present: for Deleuze and Guattari, events that are happening now are partly indeterminate.  An event is a point at which laws are allowed to change, where new laws are created.  This runs counter to the historical view that would claim that all events occur in accordance with existing causal laws (that they are fully determined by causes that precede them).  When we are faced with an event in the present we do not know where it will lead us: present events are much more confusing than historical ones as we cannot trace a causal path to the current event and beyond it.  But Deleuze and Guattari write:

“Ilya Prigogine spoke of such states [of bifurcation and deviation with respect to laws] in which, even in physics, the slightest differences persist rather than cancel themselves out, and where completely independent phenomena resonate with each other.  In this sense, an event can be turned around, repressed, co-opted, betrayed, but there is still something there that cannot be outdated.”

So: for Deleuze and Guattari, the differences present in an unstable condition “persist” and do not “cancel themselves out”.  So it is not just that we do not know what has determined the present event and so cannot work out what its consequences will be: the event really is indeterminate, because events only occur where there is a deviation from established laws.  Historians might want to say that they – the historians – are right because they see events clearly, once they have settled, while those present in an event are confused and cannot see it clearly; however, Deleuze and Guattari want to suggest that there is truth in this passing confusion, a real indeterminacy that historians (and historical thinkers) fail to preserve in their accounts.  As Deleuze and Guattari write:

“Only renegades would say: it’s outdated.  But even if the event is ancient, it can never be outdated: it is an opening onto the possible.”

It is this opening onto possibility that is not preserved by historians.  Where a historian sees a failure, she will tend to conclude that this failure was inevitable, that this or that set of factors made it happen that way.  But for Deleuze and Guattari, even an opening onto a possibility that was never realised will persist into the future.

“It passes as much into the interior of individuals as into the depths of society.”

By this, Deleuze and Guattari mean to say that such forgotten differences and lost opportunities are preserved in the unconscious of individuals and society, in the unconscious ways that people relate to themselves and to each other.  This is why a purely historical view of past events is dangerous: it misses those subtle changes in subjectivity and social organisation brought about not just by the monumental successes and failures of history, but also by the differences between these and the missed and forgotten opportunities that existed at the time.  In The Machinic Unconscious, Guattari writes of the unconscious as “something that we drag around with ourselves both in our gestures and daily objects, as well as on TV, that is part of the zeitgeist, and even, and perhaps especially, in our day-to-day problems.” (p.10)  If we ignore the things that events (and the differences that arise in these events) force us to “drag around” we do so at our peril.

But Deleuze and Guattari want to distinguish between historical events and “pure events”:

“And again, the historical phenomena that we are invoking were themselves accompanied by determinisms or causalities, even if they were of a different nature.”

That is to say, historical phenomena are partially determined, and we can explain a great deal by exploring their causes.  However,

“May ’68 is more of the order of a pure event, free of all normal, or normative causality.  Its history is a ‘series of amplified instabilities and fluctuations.’  There were a lot of agitations, gesticulations, slogans, idiocies, illusions in ’68, but this is not what counts.  What counts is what amounted to a visionary phenomenon, as if a society suddenly saw what was intolerable in it and also saw the possibility for something else.  It is a collective phenomenon in the form of: ‘Give me the possible, or else I’ll suffocate…’  The possible does not pre-exist, it is created by the event.  It is a question of life.  The event creates a new existence, it produces a new subjectivity (new relations with the body, with time, sexuality, the immediate surroundings, with culture, work…).”

So, “May ‘68” refers to something that interrupted “normal, or normative causality”.  That is to say, what defines May ’68 is the fact that it interrupted the normal flow of things.  This is what makes May ’68 a “pure event”: it came out of nowhere, so to speak.  We cannot explain it by appealing to normal causality.  Of course we can look at the conditions in which the students lived and against which they rebelled (no cooking in dormitories, rules about visitors and so on), and we can look at the conditions of the working classes in France at the time which the students wanted to change and which (eventually) led the workers to come out on strike, but none of this seems to adequately explain what happened.  As Deleuze and Guattari write:

“When a social mutation appears, it is not enough to draw the consequences or effects according to lines of economic or political causality.  Society must be capable of forming collective agencies of enunciation that match the new subjectivity, in such a way that it desires the mutation.  That’s what it is, a veritable redeployment.”

May ’68 is an event that is not to be explained by “economic or political causality” but by the attitudes of those who were involved.  However it happened, by whatever minute and repeated adjustments to the social causality in which we live, people began to think of themselves – their relation to themselves and to others – differently.  And it is this “subjective redeployment”, this all-too-difficult to explain and non-historical change, that is the only explanation we have for the event of May ’68.  So although this new subjectivity must have come about through a series of subtle adjustments, it nevertheless explodes onto the scene, since it has no determinate economic or political cause: the minor adjustments that have led to this new subjectivity are imperceptible.  People suddenly demand a society that would match their new subjectivity.

So what is a subjective redeployment?  Deleuze and Guattari give two examples which they compare to May ‘68:

“The American New Deal and the Japanese boom correspond to two very different examples of subjective redeployment, with all sorts of ambiguities and even reactionary structures, but also with enough initiative and creativity to provide a new social state capable of responding to the demands of the event.   Following ’68 in France, on the contrary, the authorities did not stop living with the idea that ‘things will settle down.’  And indeed, things did settle down, but under catastrophic conditions.  May ’68 was not the result of a crisis, nor was it a reaction to a crisis.  It is rather the opposite.  It is the current crisis, the impasses of the current crisis in France that stem directly from the inability of French society to assimilate May ’68.”

May ’68 differs from the “American New Deal” and the “Japanese boom” in an important way: in 1968 the government did not take the new attitudes of the people seriously, as something that society should cater for.  What Deleuze and Guattari are implying here is that the New Deal and the Japanese boom were two cases where there was an appetite for change which political leaders and leaders of industry were then able to put into effect: subjective redeployment was something that you could see in action in society.  But with May ’68 the slogans of the students were not taken seriously, as indicating a real change in the way people as a whole thought about themselves (or more precisely: the way that people unconsciously apprehended themselves).  So Deleuze and Guattari write:

“French society has shown a radical incapacity to create a subjective redeployment on the collective level, which is what ’68 demands; in light of this, how could it now trigger an economic redeployment that would satisfy the expectations of the ‘Left’?”  French society never came up with anything for the people: not at school nor at work.  Everything that was new has been marginalised or turned into a caricature.  Today we see the population of Longwy cling to their steel, the dairy farmers to their cows, etc.: what else could they do?  Every collective enunciation by a new existence, by a new collective subjectivity, was crushed in advance by the reaction against ’68, on the left almost as much as on the right.  Even by the ‘free radio stations’.  Each time the possible was closed off.”

Again, the demands of the students and workers were not taken seriously: this led to a “marginalisation” or “caricature” of the ideas that emerged in May ’68.  We might say, for example, that the May ’68 slogan “Be Reasonable… Demand the Impossible!” was taken as no more than a joke, with no serious demand behind it: it was not taken to be the expression of a new subjectivity that it in fact was.  Only the demands of the trades unions could be understood: these at least were reasonable in a recognisable sense, and the state was able to accommodate them according to the tried and tested means of negotiation.  Ultimately, though, most of those who were transformed in the event of May ’68 have since been accommodated by the state:

“The children of May ’68, you can run into them all over the place, even if they are not aware of who they are, and each country produces them in its own way.  Their situation is not great.  These are not young executives.  They are strangely indifferent, and for that very reason they are in the right frame of mind.  They have stopped being demanding or narcissistic, but they know perfectly well that there is nothing today that corresponds to their subjectivity, to their potential of energy.  They even know that all current reforms are rather directed against them.  They are determined to mind their own business as much as they can.  They keep it open, hang on to something possible…

“This is true of the entire world.  What we institutionalise in unemployment, in retirement, or in school, are controlled ‘situations of abandonment’, for which the disabled are the model.”

Because the subjective redeployments of these individuals are not recognised by society, the only way for them to survive and be in any way happy is to effectively drop out of society.  And society accommodates these people by caring for them even though they are prevented from succeeding because of their “irrational” beliefs: they are watched over and cared for when they are in school, when they are at work, when they are unemployed and when they retire, but their problems are interpreted as problems that the state is familiar with, since society has not recognised the “new subjectivity” of these individuals.  Society views these people as incapacitated by their irrational beliefs, as lacking potential.  Deleuze and Guattari conclude their essay by writing that:

“Europe has nothing to suggest, and France seems to no longer have any other ambition than to assume the leadership of an Americanised and over-armed Europe that would impose from above the necessary economic redeployment.  Yet the field of the possible lies elsewhere: along the East-West axis, in pacifism, insofar as it intends to break up relations of conflict, of over-armament, but also of complicity and distribution between the United States and the Soviet Union.  Along the North-South axis, in a new internationalism that no longer relies solely on an alliance with the Third-World, but on the phenomena of third-worldification of the rich countries themselves (for example, the evolution of metropolises, the decline of the inner-cities, the rise of a European third-world, such as Paul Virilio has theorised them).  There can only be a creative solution.  These are the creative redeployments that would contribute to a resolution of the current crisis and that would take over where a generalised May ’68, and amplified bifurcation or fluctuation, left off.”

So what is a “creative solution” to the crisis of May ’68?  We have seen that, for Deleuze and Guattari, an event is something that is uncaused, because it is itself a change to the laws of causation.  May ’68 is a “pure event”, because it cannot be explained by economic and political causality and can only be explained as a result of a change in subjectivity, which was itself a result of repeated minor differences that have gradually, imperceptibly shifted the subject’s relation to itself over time.  It is the sudden arrival of a “new subjectivity”, sudden because its causes are imperceptible.  But it is important to refer to May ’68 in the present tense: it is an event that is still going on, because this subjective redeployment has not been allowed to occur on a collective level, and so there is still a tension between the subject of May ’68 and the society to which she belongs.  “Subjective redeployment on a collective level” has not been allowed to occur because the state has not recognised the new subjectivity: political protest is not seen as evidence of a new subjectivity but merely as demands for more pay, better conditions and nothing much more.  In Deleuzian terms, the message of May ’68 is seen by the state as something to be “communicated” to the powers of the state so that the state can accommodate the demands.  For Deleuze, “communication is the transformation and propagation of information”. (“What is the Creative Act?” p.325)  The problem is that May ’68 has nothing to communicate: as we have seen, we do not know what “May ‘68” means, because it is a pure, present event and so is indeterminate.  If we take the message of May ’68 to be something communicable, then we take it to be something determinate and therefore take it to be something that it is not.  By treating the children of May ’68 as people who can be reasoned with by conventional means, the state is betraying these people by translating their demand for a new collective sense of subjectivity into demands for a better form of capitalism, for more of the same.

For Deleuze and Guattari, we still do not know where May ’68 will lead: we are dealing here not with a determinate historical event but with a present, indeterminate bifurcation.  But May ‘68 will only have an effect on the established order if the new subjectivity is translated into action that offers “resistance” rather than merely offering another opportunity for communication.  In What is Philosophy? Deleuze and Guattari tell us that “to create is to resist” and that does not mean coming up with a utopia opposed to the current state of affairs:

“Utopia is not a good concept because even when opposed to History it is still subject to it and lodged within it as an ideal or motivation.  But becoming is the concept itself.  It is born in History, and falls back into it, but is not of it.  In itself it has neither beginning nor end but only a milieu.  It is thus more geographical than historical.  Such are revolutions and societies of friends, societies of resistance, because to create is to resist: pure becomings, pure events on a plane of immanence.  What History grasps of the event is its effectuation in states of affairs or in lived experience, but the event in its becoming, in its specific consistency, in its self-positing as concept, escapes History.” (p.110)

Even utopian political programmes that purport to be opposed to the status quo in fact co-opt and betray the indeterminate idea of pure events such as May ’68, by claiming that they have a historical determinacy.  They oppose a false idealised version of the event to the status quo.  For May ’68 to succeed, the indeterminate force of the new subjectivity of the idea needs to be put to work in new and creative ways, rather than translated into a communicable ideal.  Only in this way can revolutionary change be effected without compromising the radical and indeterminate force of the new subjectivity of May ‘68.

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