Bolivia:entre amor y fantasía

Esta noche me agarro una nostalgia fuerte para Bolivia. Para la Bolivia de mi juventud, y para su música. No la música tradicional sino el rock, el híbrido. La escena musical en cual participé. Como espectador, es verdad, pero sin embargo fue parte de mi realidad, una parte que se queda, de una forma que poco entiendo, hasta ahora. Esa música, y estoy hablando específicamente de la época en cuando el rock boliviano salio de la valle de la sombra de heavy metal y nació un rock mas indígena y localizado. Indígena, pero todavía bajo el señal del imperialismo y el capitalismo. Nacido bajo el auspicio del reino de los muerte-vivientes.

Y que es la nostalgia sino una síntoma de la mala consciencia? Y yo, huyendo de Bolivia tras años y kilómetros de que tiemblo. Es simplemente que Bolivia amenaza a sus hijas? Pues, en Canadá la realidad es lo mismo. Bajo el signo del imperio todas las naciones practican el sacrificio de Moloch. Los faraones tiemblan las niñas, tiemblan lo nuevo, siempre. Lo que nació con Moisés no fue solamente otro israelita. Fue una generación híbrida; de un nuevo orden completamente. Pero híbrida; eso lo sabemos porque el infante fue criado por su madre bajo el autoridad de la princesa. La hibridad, aveces, genera lo nuevo. Por supuesto, tendrá que haber un sitio donde puede pasar un evento para tener un cambio verdadero. No es simplemente que una mezcla de productos o situaciones culturales resulta en la producción de un presente radicalizado. Cuando uno habla de nacimiento el alumbramiento de un mortinato es siempre una posibilidad. Especialmente en una cultura del aborto. Entienden, por favor, que hablo del aborto cultural, el aborto de la política, el aborto de la justicia. Pero, ni modo, no puedo administrar lo de que yo estoy culpable en las fuerzas del faraón. Siempre hay parteras, y los que huyen la responsabilidad del renacer son tan culpables como los soldados.

 Que son tus bendiciones, Bolivia? Bendiciones maldichos, que siempre son, te los agradezco. Pero siempre has sido mi penitencia, no mi refugio. Me identificaste como gringo, como agente estraño, y yo no me radicalice. No me permite identificar con tu pena y tu pasión. Yo se lo que llevo en mi alma. Ese amor primaria que me queda como presencia fantasmatica, o hasta como fantasmagoría. Y los que teman espantos son los que no han realizado la presencia de seres humanos, de seres vivientes. Eso también me regalaste Bolivia. Temor de los demonios. Es por eso, y solamente eso, que te he maldicho. Es por eso que llevo en mi corazón el deseo de venganza alado del amor. Tu no me dejaste vivir; me quede en tu presencia como fantasma, ahora te llevo igual. Yo se que no fue tu culpa. Si la culpa fuera tuya te pudiera perdonar. El culpable soy yo, culpable de no amarte fuerte. Culpable de tratarte como colonizador. Hasta hoy en día no he tratado tu memoria con el respecto que mereces. He menospreciado no solamente tu cultura, pero tus luchas. Y los he menospreciado precisamente por serte extranjero y extraño. Extranjero te fui por la naturaleza, ajeno por decisión. Tu decisión y mi decisión. Tu no me entendiste, y yo te menosprecie. Me hablaste con voz de superstición, me hablaste de satanás, de demonios, de los duendes. Condene la debilidad de tu mente, sin saber que llevaría tus demonios conmigo. Sin saber que tu espíritu, a la vez beneficente y maligno se quedaría atrapado en mi Psique. Mas que atrapado, porque es enteramente parte de la fabrica de mi ser. Que es este tumor, y yo soy el tumor. Este fantasma, y yo soy el espanto. No te puedo echar, no te puedo dejar. Tampoco no te puedo besar, no te puedo abrazar. Nos quedaremos, quizás siempre, en este lugar de los ajenos intimas. Te perdonare, quizás, y tu perdóname? Te suplico, lo que quiero es que me entiendas, deseo amarte. Deseo pasar de este lugar espiritual, y partir el pan con los seres vivientes. Los humanos no pueden vivir entre angeles y demonios. Somos carnales, seres materiales. Nuestro deseo, nuestro espíritu es el espíritu humano. Nunca fui tu dios, nunca fuiste mi demonio, ni tampoco mi ángel.

Vivientes. Hay veces que pienso que los que somos, realmente vivientes, es lo único que no fuimos. No te pido salvación. No te pido venganza. A la misma vez, si te los pido. Dame salvación. Dame venganza. Dame absolución. Te suplico, como a un cura. Pero no es la divinidad que busco, lo que busco, lo que no encuentro es la humanidad. Mas que eso, es la vida material. Basta con los espíritus, con almas desincorporados. Maldito tu espiritualidad. Tal como el mio. Yo se que es debido al protestantismo, no es solamente Boliviana. Es mi experiencia, de eso y nada mas hablo. No quiero decir que hay una esencia boliviana. Precisamente no quiero decir eso. Y he dicho que el español es mi penitencia y no mi refugio. Y porque? Los espíritus son los que inhabitan purgatorio, son los corporales que buscan refugio. Y la confianza de que saldré de purgatorio? Pues allí queda la clave de mi suplicación. El cura trabaja en signo de la cura. Solamente renacer. Amantes, enemigos, comadres, algo. Solamente quiero pasar, junto con todo lo que para mi es Bolivia, de la nostalgia y la fantasía  al amor y la comunión.

Education, truth and the labour of love.

Badiou and Plato: An Education by Truths, A.J. Bartlett, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2011 (ISBN: 9780748643752) vii+248 pp.

Every so often a book comes along that, in its utter relentlessness, forces its reader out of the complacency of his or her habits of thought. A.J. Bartlett’s latest offering, Badiou and Plato: An Education by Truths, stages just such an encounter. Written in a dense, elliptical style, Bartlett draws on categories from Alain Badiou’s Being and Event to present a vigorous and systematic reading of Plato’s body of work. With philosophical flair Bartlett shows that the question of education is at the heart of philosophy.

Readers of Badiou will immediately recognize the six categories Bartlett utilizes in his reading of Plato: state, site, event/intervention, fidelity, subject, and the generic or indiscernible. Those unfamiliar with Badiou’s mathematically charged lexicon will find it harder going. Badiou is committed to a philosophical language that spans the registers of mathematical formality and poetic diction, and this decision is taken up by Bartlett and reflected in his style. That being said the fact that Bartlett’s is an interventionist reading – directed at a particular textual corpus, namely, the writings of Plato – provides narrative depth and helps contextualize Badiou’s philosophical project. 

Bartlett’s thesis revolves around Badiou’s claim that “the only education is an education by truths.” (Badiou and Plato, 2) Bartlett argues that precisely such an education is staged across the breadth of the Platonic corpus and he discerns its form and trajectory using the aforementioned categories as a framework.  Each of the categories marks a link in what Badiou calls a “truth process.”(4) Unapologetically interventionist, in that they deploy categories created outside the Platonic texts, this reading does allow a dialectical trajectory to unfold from the texts themselves.  Badiou describes his own philosophy as a “contemporary Platonism” particularly in regard to a commitment to truth. For Bartlett this identification allows for a productive dialogic encounter with the two philosophers:

To reinsert Badiou’s concepts and categories back into Plato is, in a certain sense, to return them anew to whence they came: a return, moreover, whose form is dialogical rather than repetitious, productive rather than comparative, whereby, in speaking to the Platonic corpus, it once again speaks back. In this way the Platonic corpus avoids the fate Plato describes for what is written down – the inability to answer back – and instead resumes again as dialogue, as subject. (3, italics in the original)

The hope, Bartlett says, in deploying Badiou’s platonic categories back into the Platonic corpus is to draw a logical and implicative link between the axiomatic statement that “the only education is an education by truths” and a subsequent axiomatic that “thought is nothing other than the desire to finish with the exorbitant excess of the state.” (3)

Education names a site of contestation.  Badiou tells us that truths are what “force holes in knowledge.” (1)  Knowledge here refers to the circulating rule of opinion that is the order, rule and currency of the ‘state.’ For Badiou the “state of the situation” is defined as “that by means of which the structure of a situation is in turn counted as one… The state secures and completes the plenitude of the situation” (Being and Event, 522).  The role of the state towards knowledge is a managerial one; it is tasked with keeping out the dangerous and disruptive elements. In the final analysis this amounts to a security against the threat of the void. Truth is subtracted; it cannot be merely added to rule of opinion and so to The excessive character of the state.  For the sophists of Athens knowledge is predicated on interest and education revolves around exchange and investment. Education, in the sense described here, becomes an instrument of privilege and a tool of exclusion. It is this kind of education that Plato’s Socrates denounces as unworthy of the name.

Plato is nonetheless committed to education and the “lifelong task” of setting aright an education devoid of wisdom or truth. Bartlett describes the lack of truth Plato identifies in “state education” as constitutive of its form, and not an incidental effect of particular teachings. Yet, although the state dominates and misuses the name of education, education is still the site wherein its truth can come to be known. The struggle between Socrates and sophistic Athens arises precisely around Socrates’ refusal to submit to the dominion of state knowledge and his delineation of an education by truths.  In Plato’s texts Socrates is to be understood as the name of the event which ruptures the encyclopedia of Athenian knowledge.

 Bartlett suggests that Socrates’ oft-repeated claim to “know nothing” should not be dismissed as ironic posturing. Read alongside the charges against Socrates – that he corrupts the youth – it should be read both as openness to truth and a bitter indictment of Athens.  Bartlett reads the entire Platonic corpus as a re-staging of Socrates trial. This retrial finds that Socrates is indeed a corrupter, though what he corrupts is a corrupt state of affairs.  If this were to end simply with Socrates death it would be a despondent case indeed, however, “(f)or Plato, this retrial does not end in the execution of Socrates but in the Republic – a place where this corrupt state cannot be” (31).  Socratic education cannot be recognized by Athens because it does not lead directly to the polis, market, school, or stage. This is so because Socrates begins from a position of admitted ignorance, but with the avowed hope of coming to know what he did not know before. The Republic, says Bartlett, is the generic extension of what Socrates names in Athens:

That the Republic exists is the very idea of the subjective procedure; that it insists is the result of forcing the truth of this idea into the situation as the condition of its thought. The knowledge of this truth must be forced into existence by the subject. All that the subject has to hang on, so to speak, is the belief that it can be forced, such is why this Socratic procedure is fragile, limited, and under attack…The only education is that which addresses the generic ‘capacity for reason’ whose disavowal is the constitutive condition of the sophistic state. Surely the formalisation of this address is Plato’s singular and decisive in(ter)vention. What this Socratic taking place makes manifest is simply that the sophist cannot educate, that what one receives in exchange for one’s ‘callous cash payment’ is not an education but a calculated return one’s investment and a stake in the regime predicated on the conceited yet powerful knowledge of what – at all costs – must not be. In the Republic – the decided place of philosophy, constituted by a thoughtful, subjective transformation – a place where sophistry cannot be for all, it cannot be simply because it never was an ‘education by truths.’ (226)

The quotation above encapsulates precisely the book’s trajectory. What I have left out here is a detailed discussion of the fidelity to the event/intervention by which a subject is produced. Bartlett deals with this in considerable depth, reflecting on the Plato/Socrates relationship and Plato’s own interventionism. Following Badiou intervention “forms the kernel of any theory of time.” Intervention is time itself as the gap between two events. To intervene is therefore to take on the task of fidelity to an event and undertake the labour that, in the Republic at least, “is the collective production of justice of that which is for all and, as such, is the work of love.

In Badiou and Plato: An Education by Truths Bartlett has created a powerful text. There is here a reinvigoration of Plato studies, casting them not in a narrow academic sense but in a way that touches questions important to all; the questions of education and truth. At the very least they should give us pause at the varied ways in which our current forms of education serve the interests of power and pleasure. Read carefully they may spur a revolution in which education is wrested from the service of privilege and begins the work of love. 

Review: Third Person

              Roberto Esposito Third Person: Politics of life and philosophy of the impersonal (Translated by Zakiya Hanafi) Cambridge: Polity Press, 2012, 177 pages.

At the outset of Third Person Roberto Esposito forcefully asserts that the category of person occupies an almost unassailable position in contemporary discourse. From analytic to continental philosophies and Catholic to secular schools of thought the idea of the person holds sway as the definitive category of meaning. Esposito holds that the category of personhood, allegedly the qualification capable of bridging the gap between human being and citizen, is in fact guilty of creating the separation between the voluntary rational part and the purely biological part of human life.  Against the performative power of the person Esposito pursues a philosophical inquiry into the impersonal, as a category which can release us from the “exclusionary mechanism” of personhood into the originary unity of living being.

Esposito draws on the language of philosophy, bioethics, and law to make his case.  Bioethics seems to hinge on defining when a living being becomes a person or what kind of living can be considered a person. Yet whether the definition is slated to begin at conception or birth or somewhere in between, it is the entrance into personhood that secures its unquestionable value. The centrality of the person cuts across what Esposito calls the Catholic and secular schools of thought as well:

If a tacit point of tangency exists between the seemingly opposing conceptions of the Christian sacredness of life and the secular notion of its quality, it resides precisely in this assumed superiority of the personal over the impersonal: only a life that can provide the credentials of personhood can be considered sacred or qualitatively significant. (2)

Turning to the lexicon of law Esposito points to the belief that personhood has the conceptual, and subsequently practical, function of bridging the gap between the concept of human being and that of citizen. The contemporary discourse on human rights, he argues, is conceivable and viable only through the language of personhood. In legal discourse too “the category of person appears to be the only one that can unite human beings and citizens, body and soul, law and life.” (4)

But all is not as it seems.  Growing numbers of deaths from hunger, war, and epidemics stand as a testament against the effectiveness of “human rights.” How to respond to this divergence between principle and practice? One answer is that the concept of the person has simply not been fully affirmed, and has not taken “root at the heart of interhuman relations.” Esposito offers us a rather different perspective, wherein the ancient Roman separation between persona and homo remains firmly engrained in modern philosophical, political and legal conceptions.  To be human is not necessarily to be a person, and vice versa. One need only think of the status of corporations for a contemporary example of this logic. A person is therefore an artificial entity, the result of abstract categories which resulted in procedures of exclusion. Esposito argues that the process whereby the experience of personhood is defined by reducing others to the level of a thing is still very much at work today, and can be seen at work in the rise of twentieth century biopolitics as well as the liberal tradition.

 Drawing our attention to the work of the 19^th century physiologist Xavier Bichat, Esposito traces the lineage of biopolitics through linguistics and anthropology. Esposito argues that the mixing of new biological knowledge with politics and philosophy set in motion a biopolitical current which, under the guises of the hierarchical anthropology of the 1800s and later the racist anthropology of the early 1900s, appeared to crush the person-human dualism into a single biological referent with incredible and decisive violence.  This biological referent, articulated in terms of comparative zoology, sought to judge types of human species on the basis of “how closely or distantly they are related to animal species.” (7) The animal, held by Darwin to represent the origin of species, thus became a point of division and a mechanism of exclusion.

That the biopolitical currents produced a politics of exclusion and destruction in the Nazi regime, dubbed “thanatopolitics” by Esposito, could be read as an argument in favour of the personal.  Surely the performative space opened up by the separation of the person from the body affords some protection against the crushing politics of death which, after all, appeared to undo the distinction. Esposito, however, makes the case that appearances once again deceive. While conflict between cultures built around personhood and the ideological attempts to crush the person back into pure biology certainly exists, there are continuities as well as ruptures between the two perspectives.

Hearkening back to Roman law, Esposito points to the position of the slave who is not considered a person, but instead occupies a place somewhere between person and thing. More than this, the act of defining who is counted as a person depends on the act of excluding what does not, as Esposito says,

-not only in the general sense that the definition of the human-as-person emerges negatively out of that of the human-as-thing, but in a more meaningful sense that to experience personhood fully means to keep, or push, other living individuals to the edge of thingness. (10)

On this reading it becomes clear that the “animal” of the emergent biopolitics and later thanatopolitics of the late 1800 and early 1900s functions precisely to define the lines between person and thing.  The relationship between the two, Esposito is careful to note, exists at different levels. Under liberalism it is the individual (person) who is considered to own the body wherein it is implanted. Under Nazism, by contrast, ownership of the body is assigned to state sovereignty. What remains constant is the role of bodily life as a subordinate thing to the higher aims of the person who owns it. Even when the goal of the person is the maximization of individual freedom, as under liberalism, this freedom “comes by way of potential reduction of the body to an appropriated thing.” (13) On careful reading the bioethics developed as part of the liberal tradition reveals the ancient Roman distinction between persona and homo; not all human beings are persons and not all persons are human beings.  “Hence” Esposito relates,

the resulting gradation –or degradation –from full person to semi-person, non-person, and anti-person, represented respectively by the adult, the infant or disabled adult, the incurably ill, and the insane. Hence to each level of personalization – or depersonalization – there corresponds a different right to determination, and even preservation of one’s life. Here, too, in formulations that closely recall the sovereign power of the paterfamilias over his children and over anyone whose condition is a reified reproduction of that state, the personhood-deciding machine marks the final difference between what must live and what can legitimately be cast to death. (13)

Personhood, and the politico-legal machinery behind, thus threatens to overwhelm contemporary discourse, but this is not the end of the story. Esposito counsels the impersonal as a way to trace lines of resistance. The impersonal, while lying outside the horizon of the person, remains related to the person; this peculiar relationship allows the impersonal to function as an alteration to the personal, calling it into question and overturning prevailing meanings.  Esposito draws on the work of Simone Weil, Emmanuel Levinas, Maurice Blanchot, and Gilles Deleuze among others to sketch out the figures of the impersonal in twentieth-century philosophy.

Following Weil, Esposito establishes the third person as a figure of justice. Opposed to the privative, exclusive character of both Roman and modern law, the figure of the third person or the impersonal is a generalized term. As such it renders possible the thinking of a “common right” a term which appears nonsensical in the lexicon of privative law. The radical formulation here is that it is not the personal, but the impersonal that constitutes the sacred.

 Esposito traces this figure in from the non-person Emile Benveniste’s linguistic studies, the animal in the thought of Alexander Kojeve, the neuter in Blanchot’s writing, and the figure of the outside in the work of Michel Foucault. All of these come to a mighty crescendo in Deleuze’s “systematic destruction of the category of the person in all its possible expressions.” (142). In situating the philosophical horizon towards the impersonal event the category of the person becomes decentred, its boundaries opened to investigation and reinterpretation.  Couched in terms of our animality, what is at stake here is the possibility of being human in ways not coextensive with the person or thing, but rather as living persons, that is, coextensive with life itself.

Third Person recasts the nebulous history of biopolitics with insight and ingenuity. Weaving together the biological, anthropological, linguistic and philosophic filaments of its genesis, Esposito finds that both liberal traditions of personalism and the catastrophic biopolitics of the twentieth-century share a common focus in the centrality of personhood. Esposito goes as far as to suggest that the horrors of biopolitics, which began as a naïve and unprejudiced science, are attributable to the cult of the personal. The figure of the impersonal, then becomes the place of refuge, or rather resistance. The book ends with a sort of invitation to meditate upon the impersonal as a way of being open to the radically new. Whether or not the impersonal is successful in unseating the hegemony of the personal, or indeed whether it provides sufficient resources for the conception and practice of politics, is still very much an open question.  Regardless Third Person stands as an important reflection whose demanding rigor and sparkling insight prove very much worthwhile.