György Ligeti

The Time of Capital and the Messianicity of Time: Marx and Benjamin

From Anthropological Materialism

 

The Time of Capital and the Messianicity of Time: Marx with Benjamin

November 22, 2010

By 

In 1978, Giorgio Agamben wrote an intriguing commentary summing up his take on revolutionary critiques of capitalism.[1]“The original task of a genuine revolution […] is never merely to ‘change the world’, but also – and above all – to ‘change time’. Modern political thought has concentrated its attention on history, and has not elaborated a corresponding concept of time. Even historical materialism has until now neglected to elaborate a concept of time that compares with its concept of history.”[2]Taking my cue from Agamben’s plea, I will argue in my paper that it is in Marx himself that we can find grounds for a materialist theory of time. Marx never wrote a chapter on “the time of capital”; however, the concept of time-as-measure is crucial to his entire theory of the value in terms of materialized, “congealed” labour. Distilling from Marx’s ‘mature’ writings on the critique of political economy my paper confronts his implicit theory of the “time of capital’ with Walter Benjamin’s late writings on messianic time as outlined in his famous theses On the Concept of History (1940). Benjamin’s messianic inversion of historical materialism addresses Marxism’s most decisive points of critique: (1) the historicization of capitalism as a socially specific and historically contingent mode of production, and (2) the conceptualization of history as a process of dynamic social forces and their struggles. As we shall see, Benjamin’s criticism of vulgar-Marxist and historicist historiography lays bare the fundamental paradox of any concept of history based upon linearity, succession, and homogeneity. Benjamin’s deeply Marxian question is: how to conceive of a historical presence which, on the one hand, constitutes its own historical horizon (that is to say, a historically specific consciousness of its epoch) and, on the other hand, locates itself within a meta- or trans-historical trajectory extrinsic to this very horizon (that is to say, capitalism itself as one epoch within Weltgeschichte, preceded by Feudalism etc.). Or, to put in different terms: how to historicize capitalism’s own mode of historicization without relying on either a teleological or a meta-historical concept of history.[3]

1. Marx, or the Time of Capital

In Marx, we can detect at least two dimensions of temporality: a homogeneous, cyclical, and ultimately “time-less” time of capitalism and a disruptive, revolutionary opening-up of historical time. This duality is itself twofold: it can be addressed in terms of a historical process within time, that is to say, political struggles, social relations and dynamic productivity, as well as in terms of time itself as a repetitive time of capital. The same applies to the prognosticated end of capitalism: whereas for orthodox Marxism history was immanently driven by “objective” historical forces towards its communist telos (the classless society) withinhistory, or, rather, to end pre-history and to enter history proper, critical Marxism attempted an anti-teleological, utopian or messianic blast of the horizon of history itself. To unravel these two aspects of historical temporality, I propose to differentiate between two levels of presentation: firstly, on the level of capitalism as a social formation within history; secondly, on the categorical level of capital as the production of capitalism’s own historical time. The question, however, is: how do these two levels interact?As a starting point, I take the basic nexus of time and society. If the proverbial saying ‘time is money’ is to be taken literally, we have to examine the temporal structure of capital accumulation and labour-power in their mutual interdependency. Capital, as Marx claimed, “is not a thing, but rather a definite social relation of production, belonging to a definite historical formation of society, which is manifested in [presented by] a thing and lends this thing a specific social character.”[4] If capital is a historically specific relation of production, how can we conceive of the temporal structure of this relation? The movement of capital is defined as the self-valorization of value, the “substance” of which is formed by congealed, “abstract” human labour. If the latter consists of “condensed” labour time devoid of any specific quality or subjectivity, how can its temporality be measured? Is there a specific “time of capital” beyond or above chronometric time? As a preliminary hypothesis, I take my cue from Heinz Dieter Kittsteiner’s ‘Hegelian-Heideggerian’ definition of the “time of capital”: “The movement of the self-valorizing substance-subject temporalizes [zeitigt] the historical time of capital.”[5] In other words, the circular movement of capital produces an intrinsic “capital-time” which transcends the extrinsic chronometric time measured by weeks, days, and hours. As we shall later see, Moishe Postone’s path-breaking study Time, Labor, and Social Domination (1993) discovers a similar dimension of “capital-time”.The basic question of this paper hence is: How can capital as the “automatic subject” (Capital I, 255)[6]proceed in time while producing its own temporality? – And furthermore, to what extend can we think of time as a social relation? Unfolding this question, I will argue that a materialist subtraction of capitalism cannot merely rely on traditional concepts of temporality such as absolute Newtonian, relativist Aristotelian, or transcendental Kantian time. Since orthodox Marxism was constructed along a scientific-economist concept of time broadly based on Newtonian physics and Aristotelian ontology, it retrospectively might not be surprising that its revolutionary thought remained within the boundaries of an objectivist linear, evolutionist or historicist framework. Walter Benjamin’s late messianic Marxism might be one of the richest contributions to the question of how to blast open history without relying on a metaphysics of history – be it historicism’s implicit reference to a historical ‘God’s-eye view’ or a teleological belief in historical progress.

2. Benjamin, or the Messianicity of Time

In his thesis On the Concept of History, Benjamin rejected any utopian or evolutionist orientation towards futurity; instead, he called for a revolutionary “tiger’s leap into the past”[7] based on a messianic stasis or standstill of history.[8] Written in 1940, Benjamin’s theses were politically directed against vulgar-Marxism and its belief in historical progress that was irretrievably discredited after the Hitler-Stalin-Pact in 1939. For Benjamin, however, the political miscalculations made by Western European socialist and communist parties were not only derived from tactical or strategic failures but concerned their underlying historicist and progressive concepts of history. Consequently, Benjamin’s messianic Marxism tried to conceive of an alternative concept of history and temporality. He calls this alternative time Jetztzeit or Now-Time: a fulfilled or contracted time providing a model of messianic time as opposed to the repetitive, “homogenous and empty time” (GS I, 701) implied by vulgar-Marxist, historicist, or evolutionist historiography. In doing so, Benjamin enlists theology, or, more precisely, the Judaist and early Christian motif of messianic time, to blast open the historical horizon of capitalist modernity. But how are we to conceive of this theological allusion from a materialist point of view?In the 1940 draft version [Handexemplar] of On the Concept of History, Benjamin stated a stunning résumé summing up his political take on messianic thought, Marx, Marxism, and Social democracy.“In the idea of classless society, Marx secularized the idea of messianic time. And that was a good thing. It was only when the Social Democrats elevated this idea to an ‘ideal’ that the trouble began. […] Once the classless society had been defined as an infinite task, the empty and homogeneous time was transformed into an anteroom, so to speak, in which one could wait for the emergence of the revolutionary situation with more or less equanimity. In reality, there is not a moment that would not carry with it its revolutionary chance– provided only that it is defined in a specific way, namely as the chance for a completely new resolution of a completely new task. For the revolutionary thinker, the peculiar revolutionary chance offered by every historical moment gets its warrant from the political situation. But it is equally grounded, for this thinker, in the right of entry which the historical moment enjoys vis-a-vis a quite distinct chamber of the past, one which up to that point has been closed and locked. The entrance into this chamber coincides in a strict sense with political action, and it is by means of such entry that political action, however destructive, reveals itself as messianic.” (Thesis 17a)[9]As I will argue, the historical horizon of this “infinite task” is precisely the ‘spuriously infinite’ horizon of capitalist time. Against the latter, Benjamin proposes a messianic politics of urgency that is opposed to neo-Kantian idealism as well as to any secular or religious versions of Social Democracy. Consequently, Benjamin’s take on the messianic idea is neither to be confused with a theological version of Marxism nor with a Marxist adaptation of political theology; rather, he attempts to conceive of a different historical temporality suspending any linear and progressive concepts of futurity. Although Benjamin fully affirms a Marxian secularization of the idea of messianic time, he does not claim “an atheological heritage of the messianic”[10]. Paradoxically, for Benjamin profane history can only be truly historical insofar as it maintains standing in an antithetical, unresolvable, and undecidable relation to the messianic. For “[o]nly the Messiah himself completes all history, in the sense that he alone redeems, completes, creates its relation to the Messianic.” (GS II, 203) This inaccessible relation (or a-relation) is not directed toward a utopian future but accounts for a certain constellation short-circuiting past and present as Now-Time [Jetztzeit]. This a-synchronic actualization of the past corresponds to a “weak messianic power” (GS I, 694) of past generations striving for redemption. Thus, for Benjamin history is not based on the linear, irreversible flow of “homogeneous and empty time” but on a “conception of the present as now-time shot through with [punctuated by] splinters of messianic time.” (GS I, 704)In his interpretation of Benjamin, Slavoj Žižek stressed Benjamin’s attempt to retroactively redeem the potentialities of past failed revolutions and to actualize the still insisting – however weak – claims of the ‘undead’ of history.[11] That is why Benjamin, in contrast to the historicism of orthodox Marxism, had to invert the traditional understanding of historical dialectic suggesting a continuous, quasi-organic flow of events. Hence, Benjamin’s anti-progressive stance is not limited to an alternative historiography but aims at a new concept of history affecting the ontological status of the past happening. History is never completed or perfect but radically imperfect and open to its retroactive modification.[12] The task of the historiographer, therefore, ultimately coincides with the historical subject  – both exposed to their unfulfilled past without being contemplatively separated from it. Following this line of interpretation, Benjamin’s criticism of progress is not limited to a critique of social democratic ideology but points to the Realprozeß of capital-history itself; that is to say, “homogenous and empty time” is not only a question of false historiography but also a question of a never closed or accomplished ontology of capital-time. In capitalism progressivist ideology has ultimately become part of reality.

3. The Aporia of Time-as-Measure

Already in The Poverty of Philosophy (1847), we can find a preliminary outline of what later might be called a Marxian ‘theory of time’.“Time is everything, man is nothing; he is at the most the incarnation of time. Quality no longer matters. Quantity alone decides everything: hour for hour, day for day […].”[13]In capitalism, time appears as an alienating, negative principle systematically subordinating the human being under its laws. As a result of modern industry, man is abstracted from all of his generic faculties, abilities and potentialities and becomes the mere embodiment of an empty mechanical time. Marx’s ‘humanist’ critique of time in terms of a homogenous, quantitative and leveling principle can also be found in his later Grundrisse (1857) where he opposes the limiting forces of capitalism to the “absolute working out of creative potentialities” [“absolute Herausarbeiten seiner schöpferischen Anlagen“] (Grundrisse, 387).[14]His succinct résumé reads: “Economy of time, to this all economy ultimately reduces itself.” (Grundrisse, 89) If the economy of time becomes the organizing principle of the social order, any attempts to change the latter must also affect the constitution of time produced by a given society. Therefore, the difference between capitalism and communism is not only social but also temporal as Peter Osborne has shown. Dwelling on this Marxian opposition, he developed the following schema:„Sociallycapitalism                                              v.            communismwage labour                                         v.            free activityalienation                                               v.            appropriationvalue                                                         v.            wealthTemporallyquantitative                                          v.            qualitativehomogeneous empty                    v.            absolute movement of becoming“[15]As we shall see, Osborne’s instructive schema is subverted by the “mature” Marx of Capital. Already in theGrundrisse, Marx rejected a merely reductionist view of capital: “Capital is not a quantity simply, nor an operation simply; but both at the same time.” [”Das Kapital ist nicht einfache Quantität, noch einfache Operation: sondern beides zugleich.”] (Marx, Grundrisse, 519) The operation Marx is referring to consists of the self-movement of capital proceeding according to the basic formula “Money – Commodity – More-Money” (M-C-M’) as well as to the temporal operation which is implied by this movement. For the moment it is worth noting that Marx’s temporal opposition as presented by Osborne is echoed by Benjamin’s fundamental distinction between a “homogeneous and empty time” and a messianic Jetztzeit. In contrast to Benjamin and the earlier Marx, the later Marx, however, knows at least two temporal dimensions of capital. With the rise of capitalism, time becomes the expression of a social relation that is itself measured by time. Time, however, is not just a measure but expresses a social relation at once producing and limiting the creative potentialities of human productivity. In other words, the time of capital is both quantity and quality and therefore cannot be opposed symmetrically to the qualitative time of communism or free activityTo unravel this paradoxical temporality – time as measure (quantity) and time as a social relation (quality) – I will take a closer look at the temporal structure of the value and its substance.

4. Abstract Labour, or the Temporal Dimension of Value

According to Marx’s theory of the valuethe commodity is the materialization or crystallization of a certain social substance: “What is the common social substance of all commodities? It is Labour. [...] And I say not only Labour, but Social Labour.”[16] Two years later, in Capital I, he specifies this “social labour” in terms of its substance and measurement.“How, then, is the magnitude of this value to be measured? Plainly, by the quantity of the ‘value-creating substance’, the labour, contained in the article. The quantity of labour, however, is measured by its duration, and labour time in its turn finds its standard in weeks, days, and hours.” (Capital I, 129)[17]Philosophically speaking, Marx’s definition of the value as being measured by time follows the Aristotelian concept of time. In his Physics, Aristotle defines time as the measure of movement and vice versa,movement as the measure of time.“For time is just this – number of motion in respect of ‘before’ and ‘after’.” (219b1) “Not only do we measure the movement by the time, but also the time by the movement, because they define each other. The time marks the movement, since it is its number, and the movement the time. We describe the time as much or little, measuring it by the movement, just as we know the number by what is numbered, e.g. the number of the horses by one horse as the unit.” (220b15) “Hence if a thing is in time it will be measured by time. But time will measure what is moved and what is at rest, the one qua moved, the other qua at rest; for it will measure their motion and rest respectively.” (221b16)[18]Being in time thus is being measured by time. The expenditure of labour-power is in time; yet, this time is measured by labour’s expending movement. Following this reversible nexus, Marx transposes the Aristotelian structure of time to the social domain: to the “value-creating substance” which becomes the socio-temporal basic-unit allowing for the measurability (commensurability) and countability (quantity) of the value. This basic-unit, however, is itself “made” of time – of social or ‘abstract labour-time’ which is not measurable in time; rather, it is the crystal of the totality of all socially expended labour measured by time. Unlike in Aristotle, abstract labour time cannot be measured by its “movement” (here: expenditure) but only retroactively by its results. These results are expressed in the register of the value since capital is indifferent to the “material” quality, the use-value aspect of the commodity.[19] In short, from an Aristotelian perspective, abstract labour time is not “in time”.Nevertheless, value is determined by time, a specific time, or, as Marx put it, “[s]ocially necessary labour-time” (Capital I, 129). On the one hand, the latter implies an abstract measurement, since the very idea of a socially necessary time span is already an abstraction from the multitude of concrete labour-time; the standard of this measurement is the chronometrical time counted in “weeks, days, and hours.” On the other hand, it is abstract labour itself that produces the very standard allowing for quantifiable time-units. In other words, the category of abstract labour already implies a social mode of “time-as-measure” which is not merely a concept (e.g. absolute Newtonian time) applied to a given mode of production but the veryproduction of this standard qua abstract labour time-unit. This temporal unit is not fixed or predetermined but a historical variable resulting from what Marx called the “struggle for a normal working day”.“What is a working day? […] [T]he working day contains the full 24 hours, with the deduction of the few hours of rest without which labour-power is absolutely incapable of renewing its services. Hence, it is self-evident that the worker is nothing other than labour-power for the duration of his whole life, and that therefore all his disposable time is by nature and by right labour-time, to be devoted to the self-valorization of capital. […] It is not the normal maintenance of labour-power which determines the limits of the working day here, but rather the greatest possible daily expenditure of labour-power, no matter how diseased, compulsory and painful it may be, which determines the limits of the workers’ period of rest.” (Capital I,375f.)[20]Labour power, as the potentiality to create more value in a given time-period than necessary to reproduce it, is not a fixed parameter since its “greatest possible daily expenditure” historically changes. This change cannot be measured by an external standard of time but is itself the historically accelerating movement of this standard, the basic unit of which is the expenditure of abstract labour-time. Since there is no labour power as such – as generic quality or pure potentia [dynamis] – abstract labour is at once effect andprecondition of historically different levels of the productivity of labour power. Abstract labour is thus the bearer of an historical index that cannot be measured by chronometric time as external to the movement of the self-valorization of capital. Paradoxically, on the one hand, abstract labour remains ahistorical since it is the abstraction from all historically determined concrete labour and its temporal specification; on the other hand, the temporal ‘density’ of abstract labour retroactively changes the historical level of productivity. Yet, the level of productivity can only be determined when abstract labour is already presupposed as the condition of the possibility of quantifying concrete labour.In order to grasp the temporal peculiarity of the ‘auto-temporalizing’ movement of labour time as quantity (measurement) and quality (social relation), we firstly have to reject any essentialist, physiologist or empiricist interpretation of abstract labour as the “value creating substance”. Value is a social relation introducing a socio-temporal register that has a material objectivity [Gegenständlichkeit] but nonetheless cannot be reduced to the sensuous-empirical sphere. Marx’s term for this “sensuous-super-sensuous” [sinnlich-übersinnlich] (MEW 23, 85) “materiality” is the oxymoronic compound Wert-gegenständlichkeit, a term imperfectly translated as the “objectivity of the value”.[21]“In contrast to the coarsely sensuous Gegenständlichkeit [objectivity] of the embodiment of the commodity, not one atom of matter enters into the Wertgegenständlichkeit [”value-objectivity] of the commodity. We may twist and turn a single commodity as we wish; it remains impossible to grasp it as a thing possessing value. However, let us remember that commodities possess a Wertgegenständlichkeit only in so far as they are all expressions of an identical social unit, human labour, that their Wertgegenständlichkeit is therefore purely social. From this it follows self-evidently that it can only appear in the social relation between commodity and commodity.” (Capital I, 138f.)[22]Therefore, abstract labour or, more precisely abstract human labour, can neither be grasped in spatial terms of sensuous materiality (quanta of simple or average labour) nor in temporal terms of chronometric time (measured by weeks, days, and hours) but only as the purely social relation of all expended abstract labour providing, in the first place, the identical social unit that allows for the commensurability of all commodities. The register of abstract labour thus implies the temporal transformation of concrete labour-time (measured by chronometrical time) into abstract labour-time (implying the totality of all social relations in a given society). This socio-temporal transformation is at once a reductive abstraction from concrete labour-time as well as it designates a conversion always already presupposed by this abstraction.

5. The Historical Time of Capital

In light of the temporal paradox of abstract labour-time, I propose to differentiate between an intrinsic “time of capital” and an extrinsic measurement of time that is the chronometric time of concrete labour (measured by clocks). The attributes of these different modes of time are antithetical: whereas the time of capital is non-linear, contracted, and congealed in its crystallized aggregation status as money or commodity, chronometric time provides a linear, continuous, and homogenous time-scale which functions as the measurement of concrete labour. Following Moishe Postone, I call the former the “historical” or concrete and the latter the “abstract” dimension of capitalist time.[23] Given this terminology, we have to be aware that the two-fold character of abstract and concrete labour as mentioned on the level of the commodity form is not symmetrical to Postone’s distinction between abstract and historical time. Rather, their attributes of abstract and concrete form a chiasm: while historical time expresses the temporal dimension of abstract labour, abstract (chronometric) time functions as an absolute measurement of concrete labour.“Historical time, in this interpretation, is not an abstract continuum within which events take place and whose flow is apparently independent of human activity; rather, it is the movement of time, as opposed to the movement in time.”[24]In capitalist everyday life, however, the historical time of capital (“movement of time”) and the abstract time of chronometric measurement (“movement in time”) are intertwined – they depend on each other in a reciprocal manner which Postone calls a “treadmill effect.”[25] Whereas the historical time of capital is constituted by the historical standard of productivity in terms of more goods produced within a given time span, the abstract time seems without any traces of historicity. However, according to Postone, “the interaction of two dimensions of the commodity form involves a substantive redetermination of an abstract temporal constant.”[26] Consequently, within a given time span the increase in productivity results in shorter or “denser” units of abstract labour that retroactively re-constitute a new level of productivity. This new level of productivity or density in terms of abstract labour cannot be measured by abstract time.[27]Hence, the inner conjunction of historical and abstract time – its treadmill effect – resides in the fact that historical time expresses the movement of the entire abstract time scale or, in Postone’s words: “The entire abstract temporal axis, or frame of reference, is moved with each socially general increase in productivity; both the social labor hour and the base level of productivity are moved ‘forward in time.’”[28] Hence, historical time is a function of abstract time retroactively changing the parameter of this function. Without going further into this inextricable interaction of the two temporal dimensions of the commodity form (abstract and historical time), I follow Postone’s conclusion “[t]hat this paradox cannot be resolved within the framework of abstract Newtonian time.”[29] But how could this new “form of concrete temporality”[30]be conceived?In contrast to Postone, I argue that the temporal dimension of the value and thus the temporal structure of capital do not only transcend the framework of abstract Newtonian time but also the traditional Aristotelian concept of time. For Postone, historical time emerges from the permanent re-constitution of the historical level of productivity. “Hence, this movement of time is a function of the use value dimension of labour as it interacts with the value frame.”[31] In other words, historical time becomes a function of space. This is precisely the underlying idea of the Aristotelian concept of time as mentioned above: “Time is a measure of motion and of being moved” (Physics, 220b33). Analogously, in Postone’s definition of the historical level of productivity in capitalism, time functions as a relative measurement of spatial (commodities’) movements, that is to say: concrete being-in-time is being measured by abstract time. Consequently, the “concreteness” of concrete temporality is only achieved in spatial terms (i.e. more articles produced per unit of time). In this interpretation, time is thus a spatial modality expressing the spatial extension or movement of things. Ultimately, Postone’s attempt to rethink time in terms of a historical time remains within a traditional Aristotelian framework always already relying on the convertability and commensurability of space and time.

6. The “Spirit” of Capital

As I have argued, capital as ‘the self-valorization of value’ does not designate a static situation but a dynamic process in time (quantity) and of time (quality). If we call the latter dimension “historical time” (Postone), the question remains of how to conceive of it in non-Newtonian and non-Aristotelian terms. As other scholars have argued, the circulation of capital alludes to a cyclical time.[32] However, in contrast to a Nietzschean “eternal recurrence of the same,”[33] the circulation of capital is not repetitive in the strict sense; rather, it proceeds as a dynamic process directed to future circles of accumulation. Every circulation of capital needs the externalization of money turned into commodity and its reversal. Although capital seeks to minimize its time of circulation, it can never fully abolish the necessary metamorphosis of capital from one mode of its existence (money) into its other (commodity).[34] In doing so, the temporal index implied by capital circulation can never acquire a historical form proper since its cyclical movement lacks historical openness. Ultimately, the “historical” horizon of capital-time is closed: it is effectively “spurious infinity,” a process of endless regression. Nevertheless, the time of capital actually proceeds as progress necessarily oriented to future circulations of capital. As Kittsteiner has argued, capitalism’s historical time – its “historical” horizon in terms of a specific non-chronometric historicity – is the result of the revolving self-valorizing movement of capital.[35] At this point, I am coming back to my introductory question: how can we think of a “historical” time intrinsic to a social relation that is itself a historical formation? Or, in other words, how can we historicize capitalism if capital itself generates its own historical “arrow of time”?In addressing this paradox, I will avoid a Hegelian reading of the peculiar nature of capital-time. The self-deployment of capital never constitutes a purely self-referencing circle. Although Marx famously calls capital an “automatic subject,” this self-reflecting process is not structurally identical with the self-movement of the Hegelian Begriff. If we strictly read Marx’s capital as an identical subject-object reflecting itself in its externalized moments of its self-movement, we miss one crucial feature of capital-time: unlike the Hegelian Notion capital can never accomplish its circulation and return into itself.“This is why, although Marx’s Darstellung of the self-deployment of Capital is full of Hegelian references, the self-movement of Capital is far from the circular self-movement of the Hegelian Notion (or Spirit): the point of Marx is that this movement never catches up with itself, that it never recovers its credit, that its resolution is postponed forever, that the crisis is its innermost constituent […], which is why the movement is one of the ‘spurious infinity,’ forever reproducing itself.”[36]Žižek’s reference to an eternal postponement points toward a strange peculiarity of capital’s dialectic movement: in contrast to Hegel, the dialectic of capital does not fall into historical time; rather, it already ‘contains’ time – a capitalist “time differential” alluding to the Benjaminian idea of a “dialectical image”.[37]Reading Marx with Benjamin, within the dialectics of capital there already “lies” an abbreviated or contracted time ex-posed/post-poned to an eternal future as spurious infinity.

7. Capital-Time versus Jetztzeit

As I have argued the time of capital is twofold: it proceeds in “homogeneous and empty” time measured chronometrically while producing its own non-linear and contracted historical time of capital. But how could we conceive of the latter dimension of capital-time in terms of a dynamic social relation producing its own intrinsic temporality that reaches beyond temporal countability and spatial determinations like quanta of articles, goods, and commodities?With regard to the aporia of “time-as-measure”, one might think of an inverted version of Benjamin’sJetztzeit. In a polemical comment on Benjamin, Antonio Negri suggested a reading of Jetztzeit as capital’s own utopian temporality.“Capital presents itself not only as measure and as system but also as progress. This definition is essential for its internal as well as external legitimization. From this perspective political economy is entirely directed towards drawing the innovative element that history – in any case – produces inside the time of administration (that is, the time of accumulation as administration, the reversible and cyclical time of the eternal return). Jetzt-Zeit, innovative punctualness, utopia: capital considers them as its own. Progress is the eternal return lit up by the flash of a Jetzt-Zeit.”[38]Before challenging this stunning misreading, Negri’s intuition is not as wrong as it seems at first sight. If one reduces capital-time to the “reversible and cyclical time of the eternal return”, one cannot conceive of innovation, progress, or, as Benjamin put it, the “eternal recurrence of the new” – the Benjaminian definition of which is “fashion”[39]. One could stress Negri’s argument even further: Structurally not unlike Benjamin’s kairological Jetztzeit, the historical time of capitalism consists of contracted and congealed time forming always new relations between historically different base levels of productivity. Nevertheless, there remains a thin but crucial line of difference: While Benjamin’s Jetztzeit introduces a redemptive short-circuit between certain moments of the past (e.g. failed or unfulfilled revolutions) and the now of political acting irreducible to “homogeneous and empty time” of official historiography, the ‘perverse’ Jetztzeit of capital cannot escape its measurement by abstract time. Rather, the capitalist “now-time” always demands an endless repetition of its retroactive measurement – even though a final measurement is endlessly postponed. Against this form of spurious infinity, Benjamin insisted on a messianic cessation of all events [messianischen Stillstellung des Geschehens (GS I, 703)] breaking off this inner temporal dynamic of capital-time.In his comment on Negri, Cesare Casarino rightly criticized Negri for his “perverse reading”[40] of Benjamin; however, he finds a strong argument in Negri’s parallelization of Jetztzeit and capital time implicitly laying bare the radical break with capital-time as proposed by Benjamin.“What Negri finds so pernicious about the Jetztzeit is that it transcendentalizes the plane of immanence constituted by time as productivity. The time of the now is zero time, that is, the negation of the real time of production. The problem faced by Benjamin was real enough: bourgeois historicism sublates time into the history of progress. The solution he found to this problem, however, backfired: in attempting to escape the history of progress, the Jetztzeit ends up escaping time altogether. Benjamin’s “Messianic cessation of happening” in the end turns out to be precisely that negation of time as productivity which capital itself – whether in its bourgeois or in its socialist forms – at once yearns for and can never accomplish. Now we can see that if the Jetztzeit is so co-optable, that is so because it has cut itself loose from the productive flux of becoming: once separated from its life supply, it becomes easy enough to reduce it to the abstract unit of time as measure and to put it in the service of the time of death.” [41]If the Benjaminian “now” marks the irreducibly contingent encounter of the true image of the past and the revolutionary chance of the struggling, oppressed class – which is, even for the late Benjamin, the proletariat[42] – the idea of messianic time concerns the temporal structure of the political. Unlike Casarino’s and Negri’s reading, Benjamin’s Jetztzeit is not simply “zero time” or a “negation of time”; rather, messianic time “is not another time beyond and above the ‘normal’ historical time, but a kind of inner loop within this time”[43] – a Zeitdifferential (GS V, 1037), a time of an epistemologico-political operation unearthing a hidden potentiality of the past. This inner loop within time allowing for Jetztzeit – at a certain moment in the “now of recognizability” (GS V, 578) – is not co-optable by capital precisely because “it has cut itself loose from the productive flux of becoming” of capitalist time. Hence, Jetztzeit it is not representable by abstract time (time-as-measurement): it cannot be pinned down by the temporal-spatial register of the instant-point and linear-continuum. The task of the Benjaminian ”historical materialist” is to conceive of this inner loop within time, giving us time to free and retroactively redeem the contracted, congealed time encapsulated in capital-time. If the latter consists not only of condensed chronometric “empty and homogeneous time” but also expresses a non-linear time-function of congealed abstract human labour spatialized/reified in the form of the commodity, a materialist reading of messianic time is motivated by the temporal structure of capital itself. On the one hand, Benjamin’s messianic redemption of the past has to be strictly differentiated from a retroactive (and always postponed) measurement of abstract labour time. On the other hand, however, the kairologically punctualizing Jetztzeit and the chronologically condensed capital-time (abstract labour time “thrown” into time while temporalizing its own time) are not to be conceived as non-dialectical oppositions belonging to heterogeneous spheres.As Agamben has pointed out, the classic Greek distinction between chronos and kairos does not necessarily involve a categorical split between two radically different temporal orders. Even though the Greek understanding of kairos can be linked to the messianic idea in Judaism and to early Pauline Christianity, the specific temporal structure of the messianic cannot fully be understood in terms of antithetical attributes such as sequence-rupture, linear-curved, empty-full etc. Against a common understanding according to which “[k]airos and chronos are usually opposed to each other, as though they were qualitatively heterogeneous,”[44] Agamben argues that the kairos – the ‘right’ or ‘opportune’ moment indicating a time in between, a moment of an undetermined period of time in which something extraordinary happens – can also arise from chronological time. Moreover, the kairos, the instant in which the messianic “healing” happens, “is nothing else than seized chronos.”[45] Hence, the kairological time, the time of the “Event” is not of a different quality opposed to mere chronological or “vulgar” (Heidegger) time; rather, authentic messianic time is a contracted and “enacted” chronological time. This messianic seizure subtracts the “productive flux of becoming” as in Negri. It rather designates a deactivating or inoperative ‘operation’ that cannot be translated into productive time at all. This irreducible difference is precisely what differentiates Benjamin’sJetztzeit from the “now-time” of capital. For messianic time is nothing else than an inner loop of/within capital-time providing an “operational time”[46] to subtract human labour from capital-time – to deactivate capital-time and ultimately to bring the latter to an end. This (in)operative ending of capital-time in terms of a classless society, however, “is not the final goal of historical progress but its frequent miscarried, ultimately [endlich] achieved interruption.” (GS I, 1231)


[1] This article is an ongoing work based on two papers presented at the “Historical Materialism” conference, London (UK), Nov. 28, 2009, and at the “Spirit of Capital” conference, New York, New School, April 29, 2011. I would like to thank Kieran Aarons, Cinzia Arruzza, Ali Alizadeh, Frank Engster, Andrew McGettigan, Alison Hugill, Blair Ogden, Moishe Postone, Massimiliano Tomba, and Alberto Toscano for their comments and critical remarks to of earlier versions of this article.[2] Giorgio Agamben: “Time and History. Critique of the Instant and the Continuum”, transl. by Liz Heron, in Infancy and History. The Destruction of Experience. Verso, London; New York, 1993, p. 91.[3] In the Grundrisse, Marx highlights this methodological problem when he points at the teleological effect of linear historiography: “Die sogenannte historische Entwicklung beruht überhaupt darauf, daß die letzte Form die vergangnen als Stufen zu sich selbst betrachtet und, da sie selten und nur unter ganz bestimmten Bedingungen fähig ist, sich selbst zu kritisieren [...] sie immer einseitig auffaßt.“ (Marx, Karl: Grundrisse der Kritik der politischen Ökonomie. Rohentwurf 1857-1858, Berlin 1953, p. 26; henceforth references to this edition are abbreviated as “Grundrisse”.)[4] Cf. Marx, Capital, Vol. III: “[…] das Kapital ist kein Ding, sondern ein bestimmtes, gesellschaftliches, einer bestimmten historischen Gesellschaftsformation angehöriges Produktionsverhältnis, das sich an einem Ding darstellt und diesem Ding einen spezifischen gesellschaftlichen Charakter gibt.” (MEW 25, p. 822) If not otherwise indicated, all German references to Marx are taken from this edition: Karl Marx; Friedrich Engels: Werke, ed. by the Institut für Marxismus-Leninismus beim ZK der SED, Dietz, Berlin, 1956ff.; henceforth references to this edition are abbreviated as “MEW”.[5] Heinz Dieter Kittsteiner: Mit Marx für Heidegger – mit Heidegger für Marx, Fink, München, 2004, p. 120; translation mine.[6] If not otherwise indicated, all references to Marx’ Capital, Vol. I (4th edition, 1890) are taken from the Penguin edition, Karl Marx: Capital. Volume I. A Critique of Political Economy, transl. by Ben Fowkes, London et al., 1976, 1990.[7] Walter Benjamin, Walter: Über den Begriff der Geschichte, in: Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. I.2, ed. Rolf Tiedemann; Hermann Schweppenhäuser, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt a. M. 1974, p. 701; henceforth abbreviated GS, translation mine.[8] Benjamin’s idea of this messianic standstill is not to be mistaken for an eschatological or apocalyptic end of history. For Benjamin, messianic time does not designate the end of time but its Vollendung, fulfilment. In his commentary on St. Paul, Giorgio Agamben has convincingly argued that messianic time is the “time of the end” or, more precisely, the “time that time needs to end”. Hence, this messianic “time of the end” has to be strictly differentiated from a merely eschatological “end of time”. (See Giorgio Agamben: The Time That Remains: A Commentary on the Letter to the Romans, transl. by Patricia Dailey, Stanford Univ. Press, Stanford, 2005, pp. 62-68.)[9] Walter Benjamin: Selected Writings, ed. by Marcus Bollock; Michael W. Jennings, Vol. 4, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass., 1996ff, pp. 401-402; translation modified, cf. the German original, GS VII, 783f.[10] Jacques Derrida: Specters of Marx. The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning and the New International, transl. by Peggy Kamuf, Routledge, London; New York, 1994, p. 211.[11] Cf. Žižek: “[W]hat specifies his historical materialism – in contrast to the Marxist doxa according to which we must grasp events in the totality of their interconnections and their dialectical movement – is its capacity to arrest, to immobilize historical movement and to isolate the detail from its historical totality. In this very crystallization, this ‘congelation’ of the movement in a monad, which announces the moment of appropriation of the past: the monad is an actual moment which conceives itself as a repetition of past failed situations, as their retroactive ‘redemption’ through the success of its own exploit.” (Slavoj Žižek: The Sublime Object of Ideology, Verso, London 1989, p. 139.)[12] Cf. Benjamin: “What science has ‘determined’, remembrance can modify. Such remembrance [Eingedenken] can complete what is incomplete (happiness) and make incomplete what is complete (suffering). This is theology; but the experience of remembrance forbids us to grasp history in fundamentally atheological categories, however little we may [dürfen] try to write it in directly theological terms.” (Walter Benjamin: Arcades Project, transl. by Howard Eiland; Kevin McLaughlin, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass., 1999, p. 471, N 8,1.)[13] “Die Zeit ist alles, der Mensch ist nichts mehr, er ist höchstens noch die Verkörperung der Zeit. Es handelt sich nicht mehr um die Qualität. Die Quantität allein entscheidet alles: Stunde gegen Stunde, Tag gegen Tag […].” (MEW 4, 86.)[14] If not otherwise indicated, the English translation of the Grundrisse is taken from the Penguin edition, transl. Martin Nicolaus, London 1973.[15] Peter Osborne: “Marx and the Philosophy of Time”, Radical Philosophy, 147/ (January/February 2008), p. 17.[16]Karl Marx: Value, Price, Profit (1865), in: Karl Marx; Friedrich Engels: Gesamtausgabe (henceforth abbreviated MEGA), Vol. II, 4.1, ed. by the Institut für Marxismus-Leninismus beim ZK der KPdSU und der SED, Berlin 1988ff., pp. 405f.[17] “Wie nun die Größe seines Werts messen? Durch das Quantum der in ihm enthaltenen ‘wertbildenden Substanz’, der Arbeit. Die Quantität der Arbeit selbst mißt sich an ihrer Zeitdauer, und die Arbeitszeit besitzt wieder ihren Maßstab an bestimmten Zeitteilen, wie Stunde, Tag usw.” (MEW 23, 53)[18] English translation is taken from the edition Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes, Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1991.[19] By “material” I mean a material or immaterial commodity resulting from the expenditure of labour. The commodity-form of these results is not depending on their materiality or persistence in time. That is to say, a commodity which is not resulting in a stable object but is immediately consumed during the expenditure of labour (e.g. service industries) can nevertheless be a commodity in the strict sense of being one form of existence of capital. At this stage, I do not follow Marx’s distinction between “productive and non-productive labour” as stated in Resultate des unmittelbaren Produktionsprozesses (MEGA II, 4.1, pp. 108ff.; resp. pp. 115-116).[20] “‘Was ist ein Arbeitstag?’ […] Der Arbeitstag zählt täglich volle 24 Stunden nach Abzug der wenigen Ruhestunden, ohne welche die Arbeitskraft ihren erneuerten Dienst absolut versagt. Es versteht sich zunächst von selbst, daß der Arbeiter seinen ganzen Lebenstag durch nichts ist außer Arbeitskraft, daß daher alle seine disponible Zeit von Natur und Rechts wegen Arbeitszeit ist, also der Selbstverwertung des Kapitals angehört. […] Statt daß die normale Erhaltung der Arbeitskraft hier die Schranke des| Arbeitstags, bestimmt umgekehrt die größte täglich mögliche Verausgabung der Arbeitskraft, wie krankhaft gewaltsam und peinlich auch immer, die Schranke für die Rastzeit des Arbeiters.” (MEW 23, 280f.)[21] In post-structuralist terms, one could call the register of the value a sensuous-super-sensuous sphere introducing a third register “between” the register of the “real” (the site of ontology of capital as a social relation) and the register of the “imaginary” (the site of the critique of ideology). The “symbolic” register of the value could then be conceived of as “commodity language” (MEW 23, 66).[22] Translation modified. Cf. “Im graden Gegenteil zur sinnlich groben Gegenständlichkeit der Warenkörper geht kein Atom Naturstoff in ihre Wertgegenständlichkeit ein. Man mag daher eine einzelne Ware drehen und wenden, wie man will, sie bleibt unfaßbar als Wertding. Erinnern wir uns jedoch, daß die Waren nur Wertgegenständlichkeit besitzen, sofern sie Ausdrücke derselben gesellschaftlichen Einheit, menschlicher Arbeit, sind, daß ihre Wertgegenständlichkeit also rein gesellschaftlich ist, so versteht sich auch von selbst, daß sie nur im gesellschaftlichen Verhältnis von Ware zu Ware erscheinen kann.” (MEW 23, 62)[23] Cf. Postone, Moishe: Time, Labor and Social Domination. A Reinterpretation of Marx’s Critical Theory, Cambridge, Mass. 1993, pp. 291ff.[24] Postone, 1993, p. 294.[25] Postone, 1993, pp. 289ff.[26] Postone, 1993, p. 292.[27] Cf. Postone: “In Capital Marx roots capitalism’s historical dynamic ultimately in the double character of the commodity and, hence, capital. The treadmill dynamic that I have outlined is at the heart of this dynamic. It cannot be grasped if the category of surplus-value is understood only as a category of exploitation– as surplus-value – and not also as surplus-value– as the surplus of a temporal form of wealth. The temporality of this dynamic is not only abstract. Although changes in productivity, in the use-value dimension, do not change the amount of value produced per unit time, they do change the determination of what counts as a given unit of time. The unit of (abstract) time remains constant – and, yet, it is pushed forward, as it were, in (historical) time. The movement here is not the movement in (abstract) time, but the movement of time. Both abstract time and historical time are constituted historically as structures of domination.” (Moishe Postone: “Rethinking Marx’s Critical Theory“, in Moishe Postone et al. (eds.): History and Heteronomy. Critical Essays, Tokyo 2009, p. 42.)[28] Postone, 1993, p. 293.[29] Postone, 1993, p. 292.[30] Ibid.[31] Postone, 1993, p. 293.[32] Cf. Guy Debord’s distinction between the “cyclical time” of ancient and feudal societies and the “pseudocyclical time” of capitalism. (Guy Debord: The Society of the Spectacle, Chapter 6: Spectacular Time, translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith, Zone, 1994.)[33] Cf. Jean-François Lyotard, “Notes sur le retour et le Kapital”, in Pierre Boudot et al. (eds.): Nietzsche aujourd’hui. Vol. 1: Intensités, Paris 1973, pp. 141-157.[34] Although today’s stock market transactions are highly automatized by means of computer-to-computer communication, a minimal temporal delay between buying and selling yet remains. Latest up-to-date communication technology seeks to limit these delays toward the absolute speed of today’s light-wave cable technology: the speed of light. Nevertheless, the separate transactions of selling and buying, be it M-M, C-M, or M-C, can never be identical by definition. Without this necessary circulation (and its temporal delay – as minimal as it may be) the commodity-form cannot be maintained.[35] Cf. Heinz Dieter Kittsteiner, Mit Marx für Heidegger – mit Heidegger für Marx, Fink, München, 2004, p. 124.[36] Slavoj Žižek: The Parallax View, MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass. 2006, p. 51.[37] Benjamin’s idea of the “dialectical image” and its “time differential” could provide a model of how to conceive of the inner structure of capital-time and its dialectics: “On the dialectical image. In it lies [steckt] time. Already with Hegel, time enters into dialectic. But the Hegelian dialectic knows time solely as the properly historical, if not psychological, time of thinking. The time differential [Zeitdifferential] in which alone the dialectical image is real is still unknown to him. […] Real time enters the dialectical image not in natural magnitude – let alone psychologically – but in its smallest gestalt.” (Benjamin, Arcades Project, p, 867, Q°,21.) Reading Benjamin with Marx, the self-movement of capital could be conceived of as a dialectical image containing an abbreviated time the Marxian name of which would be “abstract labour time”.[38] Antonio Negri: “The Constitution of Time”, transl. by Matteo Mandarini, in Time for Revolution. Continuum, London, 2003, p. 108; modified translation is taken from Cesare Casarino: “Time Matters: Marx, Negri, Agamben, and the Corporeal”, in Cesare Casarino; Antonio Negri: In Praise of the Common: A Conversation on Philosophy and Politics Univ. of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 2008, p. 226.[39] Walter Benjamin: “Zentralpark”, in Gesammelte Schriften, ed. Hermann Schweppenhäuser; Rolf Tiedemann, Vol. I, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt a. M 1974, p. 677; translation mine.[40] Cesare Casarino: “Time Matters: Marx, Negri, Agamben, and the Corporeal”, in Cesare Casarino; Antonio Negri, 2008, p. 227.[41] Casarino, 2008, p. 229.[42] See Benjamin, Paralipomena to On the Concept of History, GS I, 1232.[43] Slavoj Žižek: The Puppet and the Dwarf: the Perverse Core of Christianity, MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass., 2003, p. 134.[44] Giorgio Agamben: The Time That Remains: A Commentary on the Letter to the Romans, transl. by Patricia Dailey, Stanford Univ. Press, Stanford, 2005, p. 68.[45] Agamben, 2005, p. 69.

oned on Twitter by Pierre Bourdieu, Alessandra Belo and kunisi, Hypothèses billets. Hypothèses billets said: Karl Marx, Walter Benjamin and the Spectre of the Messianic. Is there a Materialist Theory of Time? http://bit.ly/azgEtV [...]

[46] Agamben, 2005, pp. 65-68. Agamben borrows this term from the French linguist Gustave Guillaume (ibid, pp. 65-66.)

On Walter Benjamin’s Concept of History

 

From Philosophos

On Walter Benjamin’s Concept of History

by Alfredo Lucero-Montano

 

1. The reflection on history seems a constant theme in Walter Benjamin’s thought (1892-1940). From his early works to his last texts, this concern constitutes the conducting thread, which grants to his diverse work an underlying unity. For Benjamin, the fundamental question seems to be how to interweave “the theory of historiography with the theory of the real course of history,” how “history itself is referred to its ‘making’ — political praxis,” [Tiedemann 1983-84, 91] that is, how to generate a certain interrelationship between history and politics. This question refers us not to the nature of the historical process but to the way we acquired historical knowledge, not to historiography but to philosophy of history. Here the implicit issue is the construction of a new concept of history.

Benjamin draws his concept of history through three differentiated answers: In the first phase, On Language as Such and on the Language of Man (1916) and The Task of the Translator (1923), he propounds a theological paradigm of history. Later, in The Origin of German Tragic Drama(1928), he develops, concerning history, an aesthetics paradigm. And finally, starting from 1925-1926, which marks his Marxist turn, Benjamin steadily develops a political paradigm of history, which its clearer claim is The Arcades Project (1927-1940) and the theses “On the Concept of History” (1940).[1] This article only deals with Benjamin’s political paradigm, which is the synthesis of his historico-philosophical thought.

In thesis XVII, Benjamin distinguishes between a history, whose “procedure is additive: it musters a mass of data to fill the homogeneous, empty time,” and another by virtue of which “thinking suddenly comes to a stop in a constellation saturated with tensions, it gives that constellation a shock, by which thinking is crystallized as a monad.” [CH, thesis XVII, 396][2] Benjamin illustrates the relation between these the two models of history with the chess game between an automaton perfectly programmed to win, and a Turkish puppet moved by a little hunchback, cleverly camouflaged, which is an expert chess player. The puppet can win the chess game provided that it can make use of something underestimated by enlightened reason, namely, a political-theological reason, that is why the latter is represented by a little hunchback clown hidden to avoid hurting the sensitivity of his contemporary fellowmen. To put it another way, Benjamin’s analysis of history draws a distinction between two philosophies of history: on the one hand, a philosophy of history that refers to historicism (Enlightenment’s idea of progress), and on the other hand, an “interruptive” philosophy of history (political messianism).

For Benjamin, the notion of the past turns into the keystone of all conception of history. We could think that the future might dissolve the priority of the present. But the future is really such, as a new radical possibility, when it becomes something else than just the continuity of the present. It seems that the future assumes the breakdown of the present, but the breakdown of the present is only a matter between the present and the past. “In order for a part of the past to be touched by the present instant, there must be no continuity between them.”[AP, 470, N7,7][3] Benjamin’s concern is to dissipate the illusion of continuity in history, and that it is possible only if the past and the present are polarized, that is, if the past puts in critical condition the present. This is Benjamin’s view of history as interruption of time, or in his own words, as “dialectics at a standstill.” [Ibid., 463, N3,1]

Benjamin breaks, then, with the classical model of the philosophy of history, namely, the theory of progress. Philosophy of history’s idea of progress is a unilinear, homogeneous and continuous process capable of self-fulfillment. The telos of history is precisely this self-fulfillment. This immanent progress we could call humanity, absolute spirit or communist realm of freedom. But all these abstractions reveal is that for all modern philosophies of history what really counts are not the details of everyday life, but the history of events, not the individual destiny, but the history of the species. In other words, what constitutes the heart of these philosophies is not the historical subject, the man of flesh and blood, but the subject of history — the ultima ratio of history. The everyday life and the transient, the grief and the misery, are just temporaries — all that has no historical interest.

Thus Benjamin does not stop with an ideal model of progress that would identify the historical process with the endless process of history to self-realization. What Benjamin does not accept is the belief in progress as a kind of indefinite self-realization that determines almost automatically the evolution of mankind. Moreover, Benjamin splits up himself from this kind of history:

The concept of mankind’s historical progress cannot be sundered from the concept of its progression through a homogeneous, empty time. A critique of the concept of such a progression must underlie any criticism of the concept of progress itself. [CH, thesis XIII, 394-5]

2. In contrast to those philosophies of history, that usurp and devour the concept of utopia reducing it to a mere continuity of the present, Benjamin suggests the image of his Angelus Novus (the “Angel of History”). The nature of that image force us to assess all the details, for all of them are loaded with meaning.[4] The story goes like this:

There is a picture by Klee called Angelus Novus. It shows an angel who seems about to move away from something he stares at.[5] His eyes are wide, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how the angel of history must look. His face is turned toward the past. Where a chain of events appears before ushe sees one single catastrophe, which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it at his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise and has got caught in his wings; it is so strong that the angel can no longer close them. This storm drives him irresistibly into the future, to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows toward the sky. What we call progress is this storm. [Ibid., thesis IX, 392]

Two details call our attention: the eyes and the wings. The angel has his gaze turned back, toward the past. It is a gaze of horror, shaken, frightened by what he sees. What does he see? It is pertinent to stress that the angel does not see in history what we see. While he sees a catastrophe, a pile of debris that grows incessantly, what we see is a chain of events, with its logic and its explanation. The angel is set to fly for he has his wings opened. But here it is significant, that he would like to stop but can’t. In front of such misery, he would like to help; moreover, he would like to resuscitate the dead and to rebuild the many ruins. But he can’t. The power of a stormy wind (progress), which comes from Paradise, does not let him close his wings but propels him forward, toward the future, a future that the angel turns his back on.

If we follow Benjamin’s hermeneutic pathway, we discover a double view of history, the angel’s and ours: What seems for us to be the logic of events, for the angel is pure catastrophe. Benjamin illustrates, then, the existence of two conflicting philosophies of history: the one, symbolized by the angel, and the other, symbolized by the storm. On the one hand, the storm, which is wind and spirit, refers to a conception of history as power and dominion. Thus enlightened man — the one fallen and expelled from Paradise — has hoped to gain with his own forces the happiness that he had once in Paradise by means of progress. On the other hand, the angel of history, as a good angel that he is, unveils his significance in a biblical mode. According to the Bible, there is only the past that paradoxically is what is before us, and the future is what we are turned away from, what is hidden behind our back. Nevertheless, Benjamin does not want to take comfort from this theological interpretation of history; and that is why his angel cannot find consolation by raising the dead or repairing the ruins. He also does not find consolation in the philosophy of history we take for granted, because he understands that so many sacrifices, past and present, cannot be understood as the price of the future. For the angel of history, the future is other, namely, the hopes brought from Paradise and maintained by tradition. But Benjamin does not think that an apparent tradition (the ideology of progress), which establishes continuity (historicism), can fulfill those unsatisfied hopes:

It may be that the continuity of tradition is mere semblance. But then precisely the persistence of this semblance provides it with continuity. [AP, 486, N19,1]

Benjamin claims for an authentic tradition, for he believes that all those hopes of happiness must pass on to philosophy — an irruptive philosophy. In this respect he writes: “It is the inherent tendency of dialectical experience to dissipate the semblance of eternal sameness, and even of repetition in history.”[Ibid., 473, N9,5] If philosophy takes charge, it is not to mechanically reproduce the same old answers, but to actualize and illuminate new questions.

Benjamin’s specific point of view is to seek the future in the past. But, what is meant when he puts the hope in the past? Maybe the key is in Benjamin’s claim about his angel of history “who preferred to free men by taking from them, rather than make them happy by giving to them.” [Benjamin 1931, 456] Opposite to the philosophies of history whose abstract issues promise the happiness of men, Benjamin stresses the power of liberation of those who can have reasons for hope. The reasons and hopes of the oppressed who claimed their rights not settled — the past and present suffering and injustice — is not the last word. In this Benjaminian circle, the possibility of history is at stake.

Benjamin opposes to the teleological principle that rationally determines the course of history the memory of men that relates liberation with the grasping of those voices of the past that claim justice. For Benjamin, liberation lies on receiving a gift — anamnesis — from those of the past — and the present — that have nothing. According to Benjamin “only for the sake of the hopeless ones have we been given hope.”[Benjamin 1919-22, 356]

However, if happiness is liberation from chains, can we be happy remembering the chains of our ancestors? Can we be happy remembering the frustrated hopes of our ancestors? Is not this a condemnation to unhappiness? No. Hope does not arise from satisfied men but from unsatisfied ones. Only if the present generation makes the hopes of the past generations its own hopes, can it break the present, and hope something different from what already it is. In Benjamin’s words:

There is a secret agreement between past generations and the present one. Then our coming was expected on earth. Then, like every generation that preceded us, we have been endowed with a weak messianic power, a power on which the past has a claim. [CH, thesis II, 390]

Benjamin’s language seems to us unintelligible and unacceptable, if we take a theological reading of it. Let us consider, to understand that thesis, Tiedemann’s gloss on it: “Succeeding generations cannot simply ratify the fact that what has been lost (the loser’s own praxis) has been lost for all time, and that the dead have no more access to any praxis, for another praxis is within reach,” [Tiedemann 1983-84, 79] that is, our own praxis “on which the past has a claim.” However, according to Mate, there is a philosophical translation, in ethical code, of Benjamin’s theological reflections:

While the cause of the oppressed does not prevail, the victors of yesteryear would continue to produce victims, new victims. That entails the acknowledgment of solidarity between generations; the noble causes of the past generations make it possible to overcome the injustices that are committed against us. And they will not die again in vain if their cause would triumph in posterity. [Mate 1991, 215]

Benjamin, like his Angelus Novus, does not forget the face of the past. It is true that the angel’s face seems terrified by what he sees, but at the same time he is trying to say that today those who lightheartedly speak of happiness do so because they do not dare to see the past. The modern victors see the past as the price of history we have to pay and leave it behind; the angel of history sees with horror the past, but wants to take charge of it. That is the difference.

3. In Benjamin’s view, the past that really matters — the liberating past — is the one that is not present. For the theories of progress, the past assumes the cost of the future; for historicism, the past is the substance of ideology that legitimates the present, and facilitates the reproduction of the past, that is, the relations of domination and power. But Benjamin grants the past a new meaning. He seeks for that past capable of shaking the actual structures, capable of stopping the trade of present happiness for past suffering, capable of stopping the reproduction of past misery and injustice. It is a special past, which must reveal a new dimension of history. He describes the nature of the past as follows:

The true image of the past flits by. The past can be seized only as an image that flashes up at the moment of its recognizability, and is never seen again. [...] For it is an irretrievable image of the past which threatens to disappear in any present that does not recognize itself as intended in that image. [CH, thesis V, 390-1]

The past that Benjamin is interested in is that, as hitherto, unknown side of reality that could rise in the light of the present. We can discover this hidden past in the debris of history. Benjamin is not looking for what is most valuable: his gaze is fixed on the debris, on the insignificant. The pay off is an unknown light to discover the present. Here we must assume an emergent link between the historical subject who seeks to know the past, and the object of his attention, which tries to make itself present: “knowledge comes only in lightning flashes.” [AP, 456, N1,1] There is a convergence between the instance of the object of knowledge (the past) and the momentum of the subject of knowledge (the present). In order to avoid mere tautology or reconstruction, as conventional historiography does, and to have the possibility to reach the unknown, the subject must be an unsatisfied man, a subject unsatisfied about what he knows of the present, because it throws him into a loss of his dignity and freedom, and consequently, to an alienated condition.

The relation established by Benjamin between the past and the present is really original. Whereas historicism goes from the present to the past, Benjamin comes to the present from the past. The change of direction is dialectical:

For while the relation of the present to the past is a purely temporal, continuous one, the relation of what-has-been to the now is dialectical: is not progression but image, suddenly emergent. [Ibid., 462, N2a,3]

Past makes its present appearance as an assault, interrupting the nowadays. Time is stopped, as the French revolutionaries wanted “to make the day stand still,” [CH, thesis XV, 395] the same first day of the Revolution, shooting on clock tower faces which strike the time that was not their time. The revolution irrupts in the relationship within which subject and object, present and past, meet in a historical perception:

Formerly it was thought that a fixed point had been found in ‘what has been,’ and one saw the present engaged in tentatively concentrating the forces of knowledge on this ground. Now this relation is to be overturned, and what has been is to become the dialectical reversal — the flash of awakened consciousness. [AP., 388, K1,2]

According to Benjamin, the historical consciousness must start with an awakening. This image of awakening is an inversion:

The new, dialectical method of doing history presents itself as the art of experiencing the present as waking world, a world to which that dream we name the past refers in truth [...]. Awakening is namely the dialectical, Copernican turn of remembrance. [Ibid., 389, K1,3]

The image of awakening refers, then, to a dialectical inversion, a qualitative metamorphosis of consciousness: In the extreme limits of sleep, what seemed to belong to the realm of dreams is transformed into the real, while what we have taken as reality retrospectively turns out to be merely dream-like imagery. This is an essential moment of consciousness: What has been lived as reality loses its veil, and reveals itself as an illusion — awakening is a metaphor for demystification. For Benjamin, then, the historical consciousness of what-has-been “has the structure of awakening” [Ibid., 389, K1,2] — political awakening. In this threshold of consciousness, precisely, “politics attains primacy over history.” [Ibid., 388-9, K1,2]

4. Benjamin understands historical intelligibility not as the establishment of a causal connection between two events, but as the clash of a moment of the past and a moment of the present “in which time takes a stand and has become to a standstill.” [CH, thesis XVI, 396] From this sudden clash does not rise any new scientific paradigm committed to discover the laws of history, but one based on a hermeneutic model which offers an interpretation of events; one that enlightens its meaning. From the clash between these events — not in a continuous sequence — arises, then, a new figure of thought, where the present enriches the past, and awakes the forgotten or repressed meaning within it, as the past recovers, in the very core of the present, a new actuality(remembrance). This clash of the present and the past functions according to the metaphor model, where the coincidence of two signifiers belonging to different semantic frameworks raises an absolutely new third signifier. Here present and past are not absorbed in a common concept; on the contrary, from their conjunction rises a new reality. This new reality takes the form of a “dialectical image.”

In Benjamin’s thought the concept of “dialectical image” is loaded with historico-philosophical implications. But what is the logic of the “dialectical image” in Benjamin’s political paradigm of history? This logic does not form a discursive system, but an instantaneous flash where the past is illuminated precisely at the moment of its disappearance into the present:

Every present day is determined by the images that are synchronic with it: each “now” is the now of a particular recognizability. In it, truth is charged to the bursting point with time. (This point of explosion, and nothing else, is the death of the intentio, which thus coincides with the birth of authentic historical time, the time of truth.) It is not that what is past casts its light on what is present, or what is present its light on what is past; rather, image is that wherein what has been comes together in a flash with the now to form a constellation. [AP, 462-3, N3,1]

On the one hand, the dialectical image illuminates truth as historically fleeting: “The dialectical image is an image that emerges suddenly, in a flash. What has been is to be held fast — as an image flashing up in the now of its recognizability.” [Ibid., 473, N9,7] This fleeting image “is not a process of exposure which destroys the secret, but a revelation which does justice to it.” [Benjamin 1928, 31] For “truth [...] is bound to a nucleus of time lying hidden within the knower and the known alike.” [AP, 463, N3,2] Hence, truth is not a philosophical construction, but an immediate grasp of a dialectical image. The cognitive experience provided by it is a historical perception. This perception within a charged force field of past and present produces political electricity in “lightning flashes,” that is, generates a tension-filled constellation within this “nucleus of time” that becomes politically charged, dialectically polarized:

Every dialectically presented historical circumstance polarizes itself and becomes a force field in which the confrontation between its fore-history and after-history is played out. [Ibid., 470,N7a,1]

On the other hand, the political nature of the articulation of these two moments of the past and the present is clearly showed in thesis VI: “Articulating the past historically [...] means appropriating a memory as it flashes up in a moment of danger.” This danger, writes Benjamin, “threatens both the content of the tradition and those who inherit it.”[CH, thesis VI, 391] Benjamin understands by “those who inherit it,” the oppressed of history, those that are suddenly aware — through a historical consciousness-raising shock — of their “tradition,” the meaning of their hope, which is in danger of being forgotten. Here the awareness of danger has an ambiguous meaning: either “the spark of hope” is about to become extinguished or “the awareness that they are about to make the continuum of history explode.” [Ibid., thesis XV, 395] However, the consciousness-raising shock is linked to political praxis; by virtue of which the subject of tradition recognizes the sign of “a revolutionary chance in the fight for the oppressed past.”[Ibid., thesis XVII, 396] This means that there is a chance to introduce a revolutionary change into the present.

From this point on, history is constructed in a politically explosive “constellation of past and present,” as a “lightning flash” of truth. Thus hope is now historically “actual” in the sense that it is realizable — “time filled full by now-time (Jetztzeit).” Past and present overlap in a political possibility; they remain disconnected until political action explodes the continuum of history and blasts humanity out of it like “the tiger’s leap into the past [....] The same leap in the open air of history is the dialectical leap Marx understood as revolution.”[Ibid., thesis XIV, 395] Political action is, then, the link between the past and the present. This link is possible because the history of the individual recapitulates that of mankind, as the “now-time, which, as a model of Messianic time, comprises the entire history of mankind in a tremendous abbreviation.” [Ibid., thesis XVIII, 396] The truth of history is verified by the historical subject’s experience. It is the unfulfilled potential for happiness of our own recollected past that give us insight into the possibility of the present. In other words, our experience of the past is the condition of our insight into the present historical time, as one that does not exhaust the potential of reality:

The idea of happiness is indissolubly bound up with the idea of redemption. The same applies to the idea of the past, which is the concern of history. The past carries with it a secret index by which it is referred to redemption. [Ibid., thesis II, 389-90]

The subject of knowledge establishes the substance of the relation between the past and the present when he “grasps the constellation into which his own era has entered, along with a very specific earlier one. Thus, he establishes a conception o f the present as now-time shot through with splinters of messianic time.”[Ibid., thesis XVIII A, 397] The Messianic time must be understood as a break in the course of history — the “time of the now” or interrupting time — and not its culmination, as a potential present that charges dialectical images in the consciousness of man with explosive power — in the political sense. At this point, Benjamin’s political paradigm of history turns into his political philosophy of history.

 

Footnotes

1. See Stephane Moses, El Angel de la Historia, trans. Alicia Martorell (Madrid: Ctedra, 1997).

2. Hereafter the references in the text to “On the Concept of History” (CH) and to The Arcades Project (AP) are given by its abbreviation.

3. The references given in letters and numbers adopt the German editor’s, Rolf Tiedemann, referencing form to The Arcades Project.

4. In particular I draw heavily on the work by Reyes Mate, La Razon de los Vencidos (Barcelona: Anthropos, 1991), 204-208.

5. The reference is to Paul Klee’s ink-wash drawing Angelus Novus (1920), which Benjamin owned for a time.

 

Bibliography

Benjamin, Walter. (1919-1922) “Goethe’s Elective Affinities.” In Selected Writings, Vol. 1. Ed. Marcus Bullock and Michael W. Jennings. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996.

___. (1928) The Origin of German Tragic Drama. Trans. John Osborne. New York: Verso, 1998.

___. (1931) “Karl Kraus.” In Selected Writings, Vol. 2. Ed. Michael W. Jennings, Howard Eiland and Gary Smith. Trans. Rodney Livingstone et al. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999.

___. (1940) “On the Concept of History.” In Selected Writings, Vol. 4. Ed. Howard Eiland and Michael W. Jennings. Trans. Edmund Jephcott et al. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003.

___. (1927-1940) The Arcades Project. Trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999.

Mate, Reyes. La Razon de los Vencidos. Barcelona: Anthropos, 1991.

Moses, Stephane. El Angel de la Historia. Trans. Alicia Martorell. Madrid: Ctedra, 1997.

Christian Thorne – “To the Political Ontologists”

Thanks to D.R. for passing this along!  From Christian Thorne

To the Political Ontologists

The political ontologists have their work cut out for them. Let’s say you believe that the entire world is made out of fire: Your elms and alders are fed by the sky’s titanic cinder; your belly is a metabolic furnace; your lungs draw in the pyric aether; the air that hugs the earth is a slow flame—a blanket of chafing-dish Sterno—shirring exposed bumpers and cast iron fences; water itself is a mingling of fire air with burning air. The cosmos is ablaze. The question is: How are you going to derive a political program from this insight, and in what sense could that program be a politics of fire? How, that is, are you going to get from your ontology to your political proposals? For if fire is not just a political good, but is in fact the very stuff of existence, the world’s primal and universal substance, then it need be neither produced nor safeguarded. No merely human arrangement—no parliament, no international treaty, no tax policy—could dislodge it from its primacy. It will no longer make sense to describe yourself as a partisan of fire, since you cannot be said to defend something that was never in danger, and you cannot be said to promote something that is everywhere already present. Your ontology, in other words, has already precluded the possibility that fire is a choice or that it is available only in certain political frameworks. This is the fate of all political ontologies: The philosophy of all-being ends up canceling the politics to which it is only superficially attached. The –ology swallows its adjective.

The task, then, when reading the radical ontologists—the Spinozists, the Left Heideggerians, the speculative realists—is to figure out how they think they can get politics back into their systems; to determine by which particular awkwardness they will make room for politics amidst the spissitudes of being. In its structure, this problem repeats an old theological question, which the political ontologists have merely dressed in lay clothes—the question, that is, of whether we are needed by God or the gods. If you have given in to the pressure to subscribe to an ontology, then this is the first question you should ask: Whatever is at the center of your ontology—does it need you? Does Becoming need you? Is Being incomplete without you? Has the cosmic fire deputized you? And if you decide that, no, the fire does not need you—if, that is, you resist the temptation to appoint yourself that astounding entity upon which even the Absolute depends—then you will have yourself already concluded that there is nothing exactly to be gained from getting your ontology right, and you will be free to think about other and more interesting things.

If, on the other hand, you are determined to ontologize, and determined additionally that your ontology yield a politics, there are, roughly speaking, three ways you can make this happen.

First, you could determine that even though fire is the primal stuff of the universe, it is nonetheless unevenly distributed across it; or that the cosmos’s seemingly discrete objects embody fire to greater and lesser degrees. The heavy-gauge universalism of your ontology will prevent you from saying outright that water isn’t fire, but you might conclude all the same that it isn’tvery good fire. This, in turn, would allow you to start drawing up league tables, the way that eighteenth-century vitalists, convinced that the whole world was alive, nonetheless distinguished between vita maxima and vita minima. And if you possess ontological rankings of this kind, you should be able to set some political priorities on their basis, finding ways to reward the objects (and people? and groups?) that carry their fiery qualities close to the surface, corona-like, and, equally, to punish those objects and people who burn but slowly and in secret. You might even decide that it is your vocation to help the world’s minimally fiery things—trout ponds, shale—become more like its maximally fiery things—volcanoes, oil-drum barbecue pits. The pyro-Hegelian takes it upon himself to convert the world to fire one timber-framed building at a time.

Alternately—and herewith a second possibility—you can proclaim that the cosmos is made of fire, but then attribute to humanity an appalling power not to know this. “Power” is the important word here, since the worry would have to be that human ignorance on this point could become so profound that it would damage or dampen the world-flame itself. Perhaps you have concluded that fire is not like an ordinary object. We know in some approximate and unconsidered way what it is; we are around it every day, walking in its noontide light, enlisting it to pop our corn, conjuring it from our very pockets with a roll of the thumb or knuckly pivot. And yet we don’t really understand the blaze; we certainly do not grasp its primacy or fathom the ways we are called upon to be its Tenders. You might even have discovered that we are the only beings, the only guttering flames in a universe of flame, capable of defying the fire, proofing the world against it, rebuilding the burning earth in gypsum and asbestos, perversely retarding what we have been given to accelerate. This argument expresses clear misgivings about humanity; it doesn’t trust us to keep the fire stoked; and to that extent it partakes of the anti-humanism that is all but obligatory among political ontologists. And yet it shares with humanism the latter’s sense that human beings are singular, a species apart, the only beings in existence capable of living at odds with the cosmos, capable, that is, of some fundamental ontological misalignment, and this to a degree that could actually abrogate an ontology’s most basic guarantees. From a rigorously anti-humanist perspective, this position could easily seem like a lapse—the residue of the very anthropocentrism that one is pledged to overcome—but it is in fact the most obvious opening for an anti-humanist politics (as opposed, say, to an anti-humanist credo), since you really only get a politics once the creedal guarantees have been lifted. If human beings are capable of forgetting the fire, someone will have to call to remind them. Someone, indeed, will have to ward off the ontological catastrophe—the impossible-but-somehow-still-really-happening nihilation of the fire—the Dousing.

That said, a non-catastrophic version of this last position is also possible, though its politics will be accordingly duller. Maybe duller is even a good thing. Such, at any rate, is the third pathway to a political ontology: You might consider arguments about being politically germane even if you don’t think that humanity’s metaphysical obtuseness can rend the very tissue of existence. You don’t have to say that we are damaging the cosmic fire; it will be enough to say that we are our damaging ourselves, though having said that, you are going to have to stop trying to out-anti-humanize your peers. Your position will now be that not knowing the truth about the fire-world deforms our policies; that if we mistake the cosmos for something other than flame, we are likely to attempt impossible feats—its cooling; its petrification—and will then grow resentful when these inevitably fail. You might, in the same vein, determine that there are entire institutions dedicated to broadcasting the false ontologies that underwrite such doomed projects, doctrines of air and doxologies of stone, and you might think it best if such institutions were dismantled. If it’s politics we’re talking about, you might even have plans for their dismantling. Even so, you will have concluded by this point that the problem is in its essentials one of belief—the problem is simply that some people believe in water—in which case, ontology isn’t actually at issue, since nothing can happen ontologically; the fire will crackle on regardless of what we think of it, indifferent to our denials and our elemental philandering. You have thus gotten the politics you asked for, but only having in a certain sense bracketed the ontology or placed it beyond political review. And your political program will accordingly be rather modest: a new framework of conviction—a clarification—an illumination.

Still, even a modest politics sometimes shows its teeth. William Connolly, in a book published in 2011, says that the world-fire is burning hotter than it has ever burnt; the problem is, though, that some “territories … resist” the flame. What we don’t want to miss is the basically militarized language of that claim: “resisting territories” suggests backwaters full of ontological rednecks; Protestant Austrian provinces; the Pyrenees under Napoleon; Anbar. Connolly’s notion is that these districts will need to be enlightened and perhaps even pacified, whereupon political ontology outs itself as just another program of philosophical modernization, a mopping up operation, the People of the Fire’s concluding offensive against the People of the Ice. Don’t fight it, Connolly, in this way, too, an irenicist, instructs the existentially retrograde. Let it burn.

The all-important point, then, is that there is absolutely no reason to get hung up on the word “fire,” in the sense that there is no more sophisticated concept you can put in its place that will make these problems go away: not Being, not Becoming, not Contingency, not Life, not Matter, not Living Matter. Go ahead: Choose your ontological term or totem and mad-lib it back into the last six paragraphs.  Nothing else about them will change.

• • •

Anyone wanting to read Connolly’s World of Becoming, or Jane Bennett’sVibrant Matter, its companion piece, also from 2011, now has some questions they can ask. The two books share a program:

-to survey theories of chaos, complexity; to repeat the pronouncements of Belgian chemists who declare the end of determinism; and then to resurrect under the cover of this new science a much older intellectual program—a variously Aristotelian, Paracelsian, and hermetic strain in early modern natural philosophy, which once posited and will now posit again a living cosmos a-go-go with active forces, a universe whose intricate assemblages of self-organizing systems will frustrate any attempt to reduce them back to a few teachable formulas;

-or, indeed, to trade in “science” altogether in favor of what used to be called “natural history,” the very name of which strips nature of its pretense to permanence and pattern and nameable laws and finds instead a universe existing wholly in time, as fully exposed to contingency, mutation, and the event as any human invention, with alligators and river valleys and planets now occupying the same ontological horizon as two-field crop rotation and the Lombard Leagues;

-to recklessly anthropomorphize this historical cosmos, to the point where that entirely humanist device, which everywhere it looks sees only persons, tips over into its opposite, as humanity begins divesting itself of its specialness, giving away its privileges and distinguishing features one by one, and so produces a cosmos full of more or less human things, active, volatile, underway—a universe enlivened and maybe even cartoonish, precisely animated, staffed by singing toasters and jitterbugging hedge clippers.

I wouldn’t blame anyone for finding this last idea rather winning, though one problem should be noted right way, which is that Connolly, in particular, despite getting a lot of credit for bringing the findings of the natural sciences into political theory—and despite repeating in A World of Becoming his earlier admonition to radical philosophers for failing to keep up with neurobiology and chemistry and such—really only quotes science when it repeats the platitudes of the old humanities. The biologist Stuart Kauffman has, Connolly notes, “identified real creativity” in the history of the cosmos or of nature. Other research has identified “degrees of real agency” in a “variety of natural-social processes.” The last generation of neuroscience has helped specify the “complexity of experience,” the lethal and Leavisite vagueness of which phrase should be enough to put us on our guard. It turns out that the people who will save the world are still the old aesthetes; it’s just that their banalities can now borrow the authority of Nobel Laureates (always, in Connolly, named as such). Of one scientific finding Connolly notes: “Mystics have known this for centuries, but the neuroscience evidence is nice to have too.” That will tell you pretty much everything you need to know about the role of science in the new vitalism, which is that it gets adduced only to ratify already held positions. This is interdisciplinarity as narcissistic mirror.

But we can grant Connolly his fake science—or rather, his fake deployment of real science. The position he and Bennett share—that the cosmos is full of living matter in a constant state of becoming—isn’t wrong just because it’s warmed over Ovid. What really needs explaining is just which problems the political philosophers think this neuro-metamorphism is going to solve. More to the point, one wonders which problems a vitalist considers still unsolved. If Bennett and Connolly are right, then is there anything left for politics to do? Has Becoming bequeathed us any tasks? Won’t Living Matter get by just fine without us? And if there is no political business yet to be undertaken, then in what conceivable sense is this a political philosophy and not an anti-political one?

The real dilemma is this: There are those three options for getting a politics back into ontology—you can devise an ontological hierarchy; you can combat ontological Vergessenheit; or you can promote ontological enlightenment. Bennett and Connolly don’t like two of these, and the third one—the one they opt for—ends up canceling the ontology they mean to advocate. I’ll explain.

Option #1: Hierarchy could work. Bennett and Connolly could try to distinguish between more and less dynamic patches of the universe—or between more and less animate versions of matter—but they don’t want to do that. The entire point of their philosophical program is a metaphysical leveling; witness that defense of anthropomorphism. Bennett, indeed, uses the word “hierarchical” only as an insult, the way that liberals and anarchists and post-structuralists have long been accustomed to doing. Having only just worked out that all of matter has the characteristics of life, she is not about to proclaim that some life forms are more important than others. Her thinking discloses a problem here, if only because it reminds one of how difficult is has been for the neo-vitalists to figure out when to propose hierarchies and when to level them, since each seems to come with political consequences that most readers will find unpalatable. Bennett herself worries that a philosophy of life might remove certain protections historically afforded humans and thus expose them to “unnecessary suffering.” She positions herself as another trans- or post-humanist, but she doesn’t want to give up on Kant and the never really enforced guarantees of a Kantian humanism; she thinks she can go over to Spinoza and Nietzsche and still arrive at a roughly Left-Kantian endpoint. “Vital materialism would … set up a kind of safety net for those humans who are now … routinely made to suffer.” That idea—which sounds rather like the Heidegger of the “Letter on Humanism”—is, of course, wrong. Bennett is right to fret. A vitalist anti-humanism is indeed rather cavalier about persons, as her immediate predecessors and philosophical mentors make amply clear. The hierarchies it erects are the old ones: Michael Hardt and Toni Negri think it is a good thing that entire populations of peasants and tribals were wiped out because their extermination increased the vital energies of the system as a whole. And if vitalism’s hierarchies produce “unnecessary suffering,” well, then so do its levelings: Deleuze and Guattari think that French-occupied Africa was an “open social field” where black people showed how sexually liberated they were by fantasizing about “being beaten by a white man.”

Option #2: They could follow the Heideggerian path, which would require them to show that humanity is a species with weird powers—that humans (and humans alone) can fundamentally distort the universe’s most basic feature orhypokeinomon. That would certainly do the political trick. Vitalism would doubtless take on an urgency if it could make the case that human beings were capable of dematerializing vibrant matter—or of making it less vibrant—or of pouring sugar into the gas tank of Becoming. But Bennett and Connolly are not going to follow this path either, for the simple reason that they don’t believe anything of the sort. Their books are designed in large part to attest the opposite—that humanity has no superpowers, no special role to play nor even to refuse to play. Early on, Bennett praises Spinoza for “rejecting the idea that man ‘disturbs rather than follows Nature’s order.’” We’ll want to note that Spinoza’s claim has no normative force; it’s a statement of fact. We don’t need to be talked out of disturbing nature’s order, because we already don’t. The same grammatical mood obtains when Bennett quotes a modern student of Spinoza: “human beings do not form a separate imperium unto themselves.” We “do not”—the claim in its ontological form means could not—stand apart and so await no homecoming or reunion.

Those sentences sound entirely settled, but there are other passages in Vibrant Matter when you can watch in real time as such claims visibly neutralize the political programs they are being called upon to motivate. Here’s Bennett: “My hunch is that the image of dead or thoroughly instrumentalized matter feeds human hubris and our earth-destroying fantasies of conquest and consumption.” On a quick read you might think that this is nothing more than a little junk Heideggerianism—that techno-thinking turns the world into a lumberyard, &c. But on closer inspection, the sentence sounds nothing like Heidegger and is, indeed, entirely puzzling. For if it is “hubris” to think that human beings could “conquer and consume” the world—not hubris to do it, but hubris only to thinkit, hubris only in the form of “fantasy”—then in what danger is the earth of actually being destroyed? How could mere imagination have world-negating effects and still remain imagination? Bennett’s position seems to be that I have to recognize that consuming the world is impossible, because if I don’t, I might end up consuming the world. Her argument only gains political traction by crediting the fantasy that she is putatively out to dispel. Or there’s this: Bennett doesn’t like it when a philosopher, in this instance Hannah Arendt, “positions human intentionality as the most important of all agential factors, the bearer on an exceptional kind of power.” Her book’s great unanswered question, in this light, is whether she can account for ecological calamity, which is perhaps her central preoccupation, without some notion of human agency as potent and malign, if only in the sense that human beings have the capacity to destroy entire ecosystems and striped bass don’t. The incoherence that underlies the new vitalism can thus be telegraphed in two complementary questions: If human beings don’t actually possess exceptional power, then why is it important to convince them to adopt a language that attributes to them less of it? But if they do possess such power, then on what grounds do I tell them that their language is wrong?

Option #3: Enlightenment it is, then. What remains, I mean, for both Connolly and Bennett, is the simple idea that most people subscribe to a false ontology and are accordingly in need of re-education. Connolly describes himself and his fellow vitalists as “seers”—he also calls them “those exquisitely sensitive to the world”—and he more then once quotes Nietzsche referring to everyone else, the non-seers, the foggy-eyed, as “apes.” I don’t much like being called an orangutan and know others who will like it even less, but at least this rendering of Bennett/Connolly has the possible merit of making the object-world genuinely autonomous and so getting the cosmos out from under the coercions of thought.Our thinking might affect us, but it cannot affect the universe. But there is a difficulty even here—the most injurious of political ontology’s several problems, I think—which is that via this observation philosophy returns magnetically to its proper object—or non-object—which is thought, and we realize with a start that the only thing that is actually up for grabs in these new realist philosophies of the object is in fact our thinking personhood. This is really quite remarkable. Bennett says that the task facing contemporary philosophy is to “shift from epistemology to ontology,” but she herself undertakes the dead opposite. She has precisely misnamed her procedure: “We are vital materiality,” she writes, “and we are surrounded by it, though we do not always see it that way. The ethical task at hand here is to cultivate the ability to discern nonhuman vitality, to become perceptually open to it.” There is nothing about her ontology that Bennett feels she needs to work out; it is entirely given. The philosopher’s commission is instead to devise the  moralized epistemology that will vindicate this ontology, and which will, in its students, produce “dispositions” or “moods” or, as Connolly has it, a “working upon the self” or the “cultivation of a capacity” or a “sensibility” or maybe even just another intellectual “stance.” Connolly and Bennett have lots of language for describing mindsets and almost no language for describing objects. Their arguments take shape almost entirely on the terrain of Geist. They really just want to get the subjectivity right.

There are various ways one might bring this betrayal of the object into view, in addition to quoting Bennett and Connolly’s plain statements on the matter. Among the great self-defeating deficiencies of these books are the fully pragmatist argumentative procedures adopted by their authors, who adduce no arguments in favor of their  chosen ontology. Bennett points out that her position is really just an “experiment” with different ways of “narrating”; an “experiment with an idea”; a “thought experiment,” Connolly says. “What would happen to our thinking about nature if…” The post-structuralism that both philosophers think they’ve put behind them thus survives intact. But such play with discourse is, of course, entirely inconsistent with a robust philosophy of objects, premised as it is on the idea that the object exerts no pressure on the language we use to describe it, which indeed we elect at will. The mind, as convinced of its freedom as it ever was, chooses a philosophical idiom just to see what it can do.

This problem—the problem, I mean of an object-philosophy that can’t stop talking about the subject—then redoubles itself in two ways:

- The problem is redoubled, first, in the blank epiphanies of Bennett’s prose style, and especially when she makes like Novalis on the streets of Baltimore, putting in front of readers an assemblage of objects the author encountered beneath a highway underpass so that we can imagine ourselves beside her watching them pulsate. The problem is that she literally tells us nothing about these items except that she heard them chime. One begins to say that she chose four particular objects—a glove, pollen, a dead rat, and a bottle cap—except that formulation is already misleading, since lacking further description, these four objects really aren’t particular at all. They are sham specificities, for which any other four objects could have served just as well. She could have changed any or all of them—could have improvised any Borgesian quartet—and she would have written that page in exactly the same manner. You can suggest your own, like this:

-a sock, some leaves, a lame squirrel, and a soda can

-a castoff T-shirt, a fallen tree limb, a hungry kitten, and an empty Cheetos bag

-a bowler hat, a beehive, a grimy parasol, and Idi Amin

These aren’t objects; these are slots; and Bennett’s procedure is to that extent entirely abstract. This is what it means to say that materialism, too, is just another philosophy of the subject. It does no more or less than any other intellectual system, maintaining the word “object” only as a vacancy onto which to project its good intentions.

-The problem is redoubled, second, in the nakedly religious idiom in which these two books solemnize their arguments. That idiom, indeed, is really just pragmatism in cassock and cope. The final page of Bennett’s book prints a “Nicene Creed for would-be vital materialists.” Connolly’s book begins by offering its readers “glad tidings.” Nor does the latter build arguments or gather evidence; he “confesses” a “philosophy/faith,” which is also a “faith/conviction,” which is also a “philosophy/creed.” Bennett and Connolly hold vespers for the teeming world. Eager young materialists, turning to these books to help round out their still developing views, must be at least somewhat alarmed to discover that our relationship to matter is actually one of “faith” or “conviction.” A philosophical account of the object is replaced by a pledge—a deferral—a promise, by definition tentative, offered in a mood of expectancy, to take the object on trust. Nor is this in any way a gotcha point. Connolly is completely open about his (Deleuzian) aim “to restore belief in the world.” It’s just that no sooner is this aim uttered than the world undergoes the fate of anything in which we believe, since if you name your belief as belief, then you are conceding that your position is optional and to some considerable degree unfounded and that you do not, in that sense, believe it at all.

It’s not difficult, at any rate, to show that Connolly for one does not believe in his own book. The stated purpose of A World of Becoming is to show us how to “affirm” that condition. That’s really all that’s left for us to do, once one has determined that Becoming will go on becoming even without our help and even if we work against it. Connolly’s writing, it should be said, is generally short on case studies or named examples of emergent conjunctures, leaving readers to guess what exactly they are being asked to affirm. For many chapters on end, one gets the impression that the only important way in which the world is currently becoming is that more people from Somalia are moving to the Netherlands, and that the phrase “people who resist Becoming” is really just Connolly’s idiosyncratically metaphysical synonym for “racists.” But near the end of the book, three concrete examples do appear, all at once—three Acts of Becoming—two completed, one still in train: the 2003 invasion of Iraq; the 2008 financial collapse; and global warming. All three, if regarded from the middle distance, seem to confirm the vitalist position in that they have been transformative and destabilizing and will for the foreseeable future produce unpredictable and ramifying consequences. What is surprising—but then really, no, finally not the least bit surprising—is that Connolly uses a word in regard to these three cases that a Nietzschean committed to boundless affirmation shouldn’t be able to so much as write: “warning.” Melting icecaps are not to be affirmed—that’s Connolly’s own view of the matter. Mass foreclosure is not to be affirmed. Quite the contrary: If you know that the cosmos is capable of shifting suddenly, then you might be able to get the word out. The responsibility borne by philosophers shifts from affirmation to its opposite: Vitalists must caution others about what rushes on. The philosopher of Becoming thus asks us to celebrate transformation only until he runs up against the first change he doesn’t like.

This is tough to take in. Lots of things are missing from political ontology: politics, objects, an intelligible metaphilosophy. But surely one had the right to expect from a theorist of systemic and irreversible change, one with politics on his mind, some reminder of the possibility of revolution, some evocation, since evocations remain needful, of the joy of that mutation, the elation reserved for those moments when Event overtakes Circumstance. But in Connolly, where one might have glimpsed the grinning disbelief of experience unaccounted for, one finds only the bombed out cafés of Diyala, hence fear, hence the old determination to fight the future. The philosopher of fire grabs the extinguisher. The philosopher of water walks in with a mop.

Thanks to Jason Josephson and everyone in the critical theory group at Williams College.

Commune War Machine

From Moment of Insurrection

The commune war machine

*

‘The war machine is that nomad invention that in fact has war not as its primary object but as its second-order, supplementary or synthetic objective, in the sense that it is determined in such a way as to destroy the state-form and city-form with which it collides.’ The commune war machine returns into being at the moment of insurrection — the martial swarming of that site ruptured by the potential generalization of the event and its emergent universalism — and is consistently threatened by appropriation into the apparatuses of state by strength of structural violence and institutional unification. War is the means of promoting the centrifugal force of dispersal against the centripetal force of unification. Civil war is the motor of the commune war machine. The more generalized insurgence there is, the less unification there is, and the best enemy of the state is war. The assemblage of Communization (community-in-movement), Exodus (instituent flight) and Partisanship (insurrectionary-singularities) constitute the major flows of the commune war machine.

*

The commune comes into its power through the mutual aid and autonomy of a community-in-movement. As the communizing civil war machine reaches for the common, through the dynamic of economic and subjective production, it evades concentration and attacks through dispersal. This dispersal of power, the fluidity that evades institutional crystallization and electrifies popular energies – is war on the state. Such community against state, where everyday life is deployed as an arena for insurrectionary action, necessitates the transcendence of communitarian flows into a commune war machine. The general force remains as the dispersal logic, as well as the mutual aid and autonomy of the community, and its discontinuousness. The process of communization/dispersal is territorialized, creating nodes that bind but do not unite; parallel to this, the nodes are dissolved in a multitude of initiatives of attack and defense.

*

Exodus is the collective flight, a multiple desertion from the institutions that codify social relations and regulate biopolitical life. The intensity of this flight constitutes a war-machine in itself, which seeks to recompose itself into the community-in-movement. The commune war machine will inevitably lay siege to the various camps from where the state of emergency is the norm. A vision for the subjective liberation of bare life interned must coincide with this mass escape. Exodus joins the space-time of the movement and ensures its dispersion by creating lines of flight, not just trajectories of removal from the metropolis – but also the reorganization of society irreconcilably divided from the apparatus of control. Operating as a plural energy it assists the social war machine by thwarting the re-conquest of hierarchal structures and configures a rearguard battle against the forces of command. A break from centralized power is a multidimensional exodus that must be in itself militarily efficient in its flight.

*

The communard is a partisan war machine. One whose commonality flow through the commune war machine as armed joy and enmity. The partisan is not a vanguard but one who leads without leading. There is no purpose within the community-in-movement for vanguardist dispositions because the forms of action are part of everyday life, which deserve no specialization. Rather, the partisan war machine is the social relations of the multitude which forms organization based on collective decision making and the obligatory rotation of duty, but in a militarized state or, adapted to cope with violent assault. It is in these moments of insurrection and confrontation the community structures begin to mobilize the partisan war machine as characterized by rhizome. The logic of dispersal prioritizes no single form of action and has no central command; this is where the partisan war machine operates as a multiplicity of channels and forms of intercommunication and action. The partisan is not a permanent body but a transient group of plural singularities who are capable of sabotage and armed struggle to disrupt and bloc the flows of empire. This should not be taken as objective criteria but as a potentiality of new subjectivities – singularities beyond governmentality; whatever-they-may-(re)becoming.

 

PART X: THE DESTRUCTION OF HUMANISM – A HISTORY

We take pause - reading the critics of the destroyers.  Americans. Blah. Continental or get the fuck out!  COGTFO!

In  “Philosophy as a Kind of Writing” Richard Rorty levels a two-pronged critique of Derrida, essentially stemming from his charge that Derrida is writing in a non-Kantian, dialectical tradition.  Rorty argues that the aim of this philosophy as a kind of writing is an “attempt to shatter the Kantians’ ingenuous image of themselves as accurately representing how things really are” (Rorty 93).  Rorty, with his interesting background and thorough understanding of both the analytical and continental philosophical traditions, resorts to what is inherently an updated analytical argument against Derrida’s philosophical project.  Rorty divides Derrida’s theoretical trajectory into two distinct modes of thought.  The first is an approach which is ostensibly constructive and idealistic in nature – that which agrees to the philosophical convention of attempting to ascertain and evaluate the relationship between sign and signifier.  The second is the deconstructive approach, or that which attempts to liberate its discourse from the conventions of philosophy and utilize a playful approach which feels no need to be justified by the linguistic tools available to those who engage in “philosophizing.”  This second approach, the approach Rorty seems to suggest is tolerable within his own philosophical schema, attempts to show “how things might look if we did not have Kantian philosophy built into the fabric of our intellectual life, as his [Derrida’s] predecessors suggested how things might look if we did not have religion built into the fabric of our moral life” (Rorty 98). 

In critiquing the constructive aspects of Derrida’s thinking, Rorty claims that by attempting to deconstruct the totalizing foundation itself – that which is entirely at the level of language – Derrida actually ends up re-affirming, through a sort of negation, the belief that language can indeed have a direct correlation to the physical world.  This critique is inimical to Rorty’s own theoretical position in regards to language in that it disavows the potential for one intellectual episteme to supplant another (something which Rorty would argue forms the basis of how we CAN use language).  Derrida attempts to completely destabilize and problematize the role of language to such an extreme that he seems to posit that because there is no outside to language there can never be a refashioning of the way in which we relate to it (even if we acknowledge that the correlation between sign and signifier isn’t necessarily clear).  This is at direct odds with Rorty, in the sense that he claims that this approach by Derrida is actually an attempt to argue that language itself is not even a system of representation.  Rorty would argue that it indeed is, and qualify its use against the knowledge that signs do not correspond ideally to their referents, but it is nonetheless the only tool we possess to make meaning (no matter how faulty).  By attempting to problematize language’s role as a system of representation, Rorty claims that Derrida is attempting to “cosmologize or eternalize the present” (Rorty 105).  This is a problematic approach for Rorty because Derrida seems to be articulating a desire to be epiphanical about the appearance of thought – that which eludes the stricture of linguistic convention and historico-philosophical trappings.

HELLA <3 TO THE YOUTH

Mad props and solidarity to the youth in NYC, Seattle, Cleveland (stay strong), and of course, Oakland.  Special hugs to those swept up in Oakland – the loved ones and the unknowns.

GNRLSTRK

Any field of contestation which lays bare the inherent hostis between forms-of-life is a field worth engaging upon.  Lifting the veil of pacification and making civil war apparent.  When forms-of-life, sharing a certain ethical predisposition or inclination, enter in unspoken pacts – aligned against all that is aligned against them – they engage in way which is unequivocally good.  Yes, good.  Here’s to the no-future of our future – to all the refusals of being which will be enacted upon the terrain of civil war tomorrow and infinite tomorrows.  Strike everywhere, refuse everything.  Happy May Day and good luck to all the down-as-fuck strikers!

PART IX: THE DESTRUCTION OF HUMANISM – A HISTORY

In “The Ends of Man” Derrida argues that the question “of man” has preoccupied the post-war French philosophical tradition in a myriad of ways.  He problematizes this preoccupation by saying that almost all treatments of the “of man” question are essentially misreadings, particularly of Hegel, Husserl, and Heidegger.  He situates chief among the post-war generation of misreadings the work of Sartre, as he reductively argues that the “major concept, the theme of the last analysis, the irreducible horizon and origin is what was then called ‘human-reality’” (115).  Derrida claims that this concern for the new “human-reality” is merely a substitute for the “notion of man” and is beholden to the same metaphysical trappings that came along with earlier philosophical inquiries into the “notion of man.”  This rearticulation of metaphysical inquiry proves problematic for Derrida precisely because just as the earlier metaphysical work on the “notion of man” or the “meaning of man” share with the newer signifier “human-reality” the necessity of a suspension of “all the presuppositions which have always constituted the concept of the unity of man” (115).  He claims that all such positions non-critically leave the “history of the concept of man unexamined” (116).  Thus, whereas Derrida seems to be arguing for a position which questions the historico-temporality of the concept of man, the way in which it, as a contemporary philosophical concept, unit, or measure, has historically been determined and arrived at.  He claims that the work of those engaged in fundamental misreading, such as Sartre, starts with the naïve presupposition that “everything occurs as if the sign ‘man’ had no origin, no historical, cultural or linguistic limit” (116).

Derrida goes on then to say that in terms of understanding or critiquing the relevance of humanistic inquiry in this epoch where even the notion of man or individual has been thoroughly destabilized if not out-rightly dismissed, that the project of metaphysics needs to be abandoned.  At this point in his argument Derrida introduces the notion of the “relève” of man – or the reconstitution of the sublation within Hegel’s Aufheben, which now in addition to “lifting” also “relays.”  He claims the first type of “end man” within the metaphysical tradition within humanism, is the “relève” or sublation of the “superior man” (135).  The “superior man” is that who “is abandoned to his distress in a last movement of pity” (135).  The second type of “end man” is the Nietzschean “superman” (Ubermensch) – or namely that which “awakens and leaves, without turning back to what he leaves behind him” (136).  Thus, the crises of breaking humanism from metaphysics is precisely at this juncture, between these two ends.  Derrida is adamant in moving away from a humanism contextualized in and by a metaphysical approach.  Derrida’s program to engage in a radical departure from the metaphysical structuring of humanism lies in his conception of a “radical trembling [that] can only come from the outside” (134).  He claims that phenomenological renderings to the humanism question are those which do not entirely move away from the “foundations” which presuppose conceptions of “man” but rather complicate them by “repeating what is implicit in the founding concepts and the original problematic” (134) – this is extremely problematic for Derrida.  He claims that only when one decides to “change terrain, in a discontinuous and irruptive fashion” (135) can affirm a radical break from metaphysical, anthropological, and phenomenological trappings.  This is the plurality of difference – the plurality of the outside – and it is wholly a shift in style.

STUPID SWERVE

 

BPWR-BPWR-BPWR

Tiqqun, like Foucault before them, argue that biopower forms a more effective form of policing through its ability to produce forms of control which are almost entirely preventative.  They argue that biopower has supplanted the modern state’s literal need for police institutions precisely because all institutions and the apparatuses they form are already inherently policing institutions.  It is in this way that they argue that “[…] in a manner largely independent of national States, these sub-institutional practices give birth to the two super-institutional poles of Empire:  the police becomes Biopower, and publicity is transformed into the Spectacle.  From this point on, the State does not disappear, it is simply demoted beneath a transterritorial set of autonomous practices: Spectacle, Biopower” (Tiqqun 118).  It becomes apparent that the affective network of apparatuses which exert control on bodies and psychologies, coalesce into the “super-institutional” locus of biopower’s control.  Thus, when all the myriad of ways in which power turns the political, or the economic subject in orthodox-Marxian language, into biopolitical beings/bodies begin to form a rhizome of affirmative power relations which become amalgamated to a point where individually isolating the comprising components becomes impossible, one sees the way in which Biopower functions as one of the “super-institutional” poles of Empire.  Theorist Matthew G. Hannah argues that within the political context of the state, “The status of biopolitical beings [is] precisely in the measure that they become legal subjects of rights, beings whose ‘life’ is to be fostered, protected and optimized for the sake of the ‘economy’, ‘society’ or ‘nation’” (Hannah 1043).  This biopolitical turn views the implicated bodies as integral to domination and control – not external to it. Tiqqun’s furthering of the discourse around biopower posits a historical rendering of the ontology of control.  They argue, somewhat ambiguously, that at one temporal point found its becoming precisely in its own alterity.  Yet, along the course of the developmental shift from the modern state into Empire, “Everything that had its source in the Outside […] is administered and therefore taken up in an integration that positively eliminates these exteriorities in order to allow them to recirculate” (Tiqqun 131).

sup pyongyang

LULZ FROM NEGRI WITH LOVE…ON LOVE

 

LULZLULZLULZLULZLULZLULZLULZLULZLULZLULZLULZLULZ

“When we engage in the production of subjectivity that is love, we are not merely creating new objects or even new subjects in the world.  Instead we are producing a new world, a new social life…Love is an ontological event in that it marks a rupture with what exists and the creation of the new”

-Commonwealth – Hardt and Negri

sup east bay