This morning I was reflecting on
what I wrote in yesterday’s commentary, and wondered about the project as
motivated, in large part, by a desire to deconstruct the dominant figure of
what my post-Marxist friends would call the neoliberal subject, and what was
sometimes called (back in the Reagan 80’s) the ‘hero’ of cowboy
Capitalism. There is that figure, and
then there is the system that attempts to produce his values by ‘guaranteeing’
that all students have the ‘equal opportunity’ to the education that will
enable them to ‘succeed’ in a market economy.
Of course, this is all ideology, and a depraved one at that, with the
biggest delusion happening with the total inversion of the very logic of cowboy
capitalism and its strong solitary figure.
Cowboys should be spared the insult of being drawn into the neoliberal
ideology. Cowboys are intense about
their work, but appear much more caring toward their animals, have their own
relatively deep relationship with Nature, and are part of a somewhat archaic tradition,
especially if we root their practice in shepherding. Not the cowboy, but the figure of the Wild
West, the sociopath (Billy the Kid) is the most apt hero of neoliberalism: the serial killer, whose insane
single-mindedness leads to a path of destruction. In our own time we experience the murder of
Nature, not to mention the death of the future for millions of children whose
dreams are foreclosed by war. The figure
of the single-minded power hungry captain of industry is the degenerated form of
the modern subject and his will to power.
Even more degenerated is the version of that figure who sits in
relatively inconsequential seats of bureaucratic power, administrating the
dictates of the neoliberal agenda in schooling (pre-higher ed), which is
nothing more than an attempt to control education and stifle the free theater
of learning. It is this figure of the banal sociopath – the one who kills through
administrative strangulation – that I had always ready-to-hand insofar as I was
writing always in close proximity of an embodiment of such a figure.
It is with that reflection in mind
that I turn to the writing from 9/28/04, BL
221-222. It is difficult material to
understand and demands a close reading.
The meditation begins by stepping back and insisting that the
deconstruction of the “man of singular purpose” is beyond the scope of romantic
idealism. Indeed, if this figure is
described as a sociopath then the best strategy would be to watch carefully and
monitor his movements, but avoid any direct contact with him. (In my case, the real life impersonations of
this sociopath have been women, but that is an aside.) The strategy implies that we take the Gandhian
approach and set up a parallel community, the proverbial “change we want to see
in the world.” But it would be naïve to
suppose this can happen without diligent awareness of the imminent threat (and
thus one needs to understand and operate under the same logic as the neoliberal
surveillance state).
The alternative community is precisely
what the sage organizes, but in the writing from 9/28/04 there is a presumption
that the pathology of instrumental reasoning can not only be warded off but
thwarted by the example offered with the community. This would be, of course, the endgame of
justice for the Gandhian alternative community.
On 9/28 (BL 221) the learning
community’s radical hospitality is said to be waiting upon the arrival of the
“man of singular purpose” with “the stillness and quite of ‘humble
patience’…” Now the radicality of the
community’s hospitality is only ever an expression of the open region: this is the ethos of the dwelling that Heidegger says we learn from Heraclitus’
fragment 119 that is usually (and misleadingly) translated as “a man’s
character is his fate.” Ethos (‘character’) is determined by daimon (‘spirit’ or even ‘god’). Heidegger reads the legend told by Aristotle
as revealing the relationship between character and spirit as one of dwelling
in close proximity of the ‘gods’ (the divine).
My own reading of Heidegger and Heraclitus is that place (e.g., the place near the figure where “the gods too are
present”, Heraclitus) is ‘holy’ or ‘sacred’ in the sense that it determines who we are. The question Where are we? (Donde Estamos?) is a question that
arises when we are gathered onto the holy and sacred location.
The gathering of the learning
community happens when we are gathered onto the open region. “To dwell within
this region is to be the learner, the hero of peace and freedom…” (BL 222)
To be gathered onto this holy and sacred place is described as in-dwelling, which is a way of
emphasizing the force of place over
those who are gathered. Gathering is
always a happening to, an event of
interpellation where the subject is called into a new set of relations
(natural, spiritual, social, etc.). In
turn, the learning community is gathered into being by an in-dwelling where “we
find ‘the real nature of the spontaneity of thinking.” [The line is a quotation
from the ‘Teacher’ in Heidegger’s dialogic “Conversations On A Country
Path.” The ‘Teacher’ responds to the
‘Scholar’s’ reciting of a ‘few lines’ from a friend’s poem titled “In-dwelling.” The ‘Scholar’ suggest the word ‘in-dwelling’
for the name for the ‘releasement’ happening in the steadfast reception “of the
regioning of that-which-regions.” What
is quite fascinating is the claim that the
real nature of the spontaneity of
thinking is found the passivity of the reception of the regioning that
releases. For me this shifts (consistently)
our orientation toward the source of improvisation from the ‘strong poet’
(Rorty) to the ‘sacred place’ (‘holy time and space’…kairos). Perhaps the ‘strong
poet’ is the one who can endure most the reception of the regioning? But such strength, I would conjecture, is
always held inter-subjectively, communally, in congregation. The strength of antrhopoetikos is a shared power.
3.0 (Saturday, Portland, ME). I want to make two brief comments. One in response to today's OPM and the 2.0 commentary, and another in response to something I read this morning. First, in response to today from 20/10 years ago. "LEARN" is much less concerned about the "man of singular purpose," although that doesn't mean I'm endorsing the neo-liberal subject, who, anyway, lacks much of a will at all is more or less subjected to the flux of the market place, bossed around by consumerism. At least, that's how I see it. And rugged individualism doesn't resonate with my philosophical learner, although I'm not contrasting that figure with what could be considered Thourean. That category, like so many, are ones I more or less adopted without much thought. Or, rather, I should say that I've never been into conspicuous consumption. I once got into trouble with my students when I said, "I like my stuff," in response a critique of capitalism one of them made. They didn't appreciate my honesty, nor did they really understand what I was saying. My point was that I'm into, maybe, 4 things: music, outdoorsy sports, yardwork/landscaping, reading/writing. I also love to eat and drink coffee, watch sports, movies and go to museums. Traveling too. So, when I say "I like my stuff," I meant: I appreciate well made hedge clippers, skis, mountain bikes, etc. I appreciate the craftsmanship and I the performance of well made objects. What does this have to do with this project or my current one? Well, a few things: first, the figure of the student of philosophy who is the hero of "LEARN" is a hero within the formal educational setting. He/She/They are place on a pedestal above, say, the DJ or the climber or whomever else. In fact, there's a sense in which anyone who is doing anything at a high level has taken up the place of solitude and focused intensely on honing their craft. So the learner is an existential modality, and the one I am focusing on is the liberal arts student who is taking an intro to philosophy course. All that to say, they spend lots of time by themselves, alone with a book. They aren't a rugged individual, but they do (or should) have a singular purpose, i.e, studying! And while that time of solitude is balanced by the time they spend with their peers in discussion, I don't privilege one over the other, and the learning community is not held out as the culmination of learning. In that way "LEARN" is different from "Being and Learning," although the OPM project does emphasize 'the learner' as a singular figure. But two thirds of "LEARN" is focused on the singular learner, on their singularity and the solitude of study.
ReplyDelete3.0b - The second comment I wanted to make is inspired by something I read in Nick Hornby's collection of book review essays "Hose-Keeping vs. The Dirt." Hornby is the author of "High Fidelity," the book, along with most of Tom Perrotta's writing, that has inspired "Caldwell '84," which I'm determined to write, but which I realize is a lot harder than I thought. I'm not sure why I thought the writing of fiction would be "easier" than writing philosophical prose?! Anyway, in one of the essays Hornby is commenting on Bob Dylan's autobiography, "Chronicles." I never experienced the Dylan mystique. He doesn't land in the same place as Coltrane, or Miles, or Jerry. But I like lots of Dylan's music, and loved when he toured with the Dead in the summer of '87. And the '86 show from RFK, when he played a few tunes with the Dead, was one of my all-timers. Anyway, Hornby says about Dylan: "'Chronicles' ends up managing to inform without damaging the mystique, which is some feat. In fact, after reading the book, you end up realizing that Dylan isn't willfully obtuse or artful in any way -- it's just who he is and how his mind works." Ok, let me be clear: I'm not comparing myself to Dylan, not directly. I don't write lyrics, and can't play guitar and harmonica at the same time. However, sometimes, like when I'm editing, but not when I'm writing, I have waves of doubt about the style of my prose. I actually promised myself before I started writing "LEARN" -- and before it had that title -- that I would write a book that my mom could read. My mom is an avid reader, so that promise wasn't intended as a general comment about the minds of 87 year olds. It was intended to mean: I want this book to be readable, something an avid reader who's never read Heidegger could pick up and read and do something with. But I only kept that promise in the Preface and Intro. Once I got into part 1 it didn't take long before I was doing my thing with the dictionary and the thesaurus, not to mention riffing on Arendt, Heidegger, Benjamin, and Blanchot. Once I got on a roll, and this beloved project wasn't helping at all, the promise was broken. And now as I go through the edits I have these moments when I'm really unsure of the style, not so much the substance. There are few things here and there that I'm not always confident about, but I'm excited that I deployed the dialectic. And I like how the piece uses what Foucault taught me are called "heraldic devices." I could probably write an essay just on that category, which is like one little but important moment. Anyway, when I read that in Hornby I thought, Yes, that's how it is. The way I write/think when I do philosophy is just the way I do it. It's who I am and how my thinking works. I have a voice, a style, and while it can sound like Heidegger, I'm not copying him. And I've only just recently, during the past year, realized my affinity with 20th/21st century French philosophy. Blanchot, Bachelard, and even Nancy. Again, I'm not copying them, and don't know them well enough to be an acolyte. It's just that at some point when I started to write for myself, as opposed to a journal or conference I was trying to please, I sounded, well obtuse. So thanks, again, for the inspiration Nick Hornby!
ReplyDelete