Showing posts with label empty form of time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label empty form of time. Show all posts

28 Jul 2012

Time and Inquiry in Clifford Duffy's 'AsK'

posting by Corry Shores
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Time and Inquiry in Clifford Duffy's 'AsK'

See Clifford Duffy's 'AsK'

We are to ask ourselves what is a clock, a cock, adoodledoo? Yet we note the importance of this question really being a question, as the poem is titled 'ask,' and it has many question marks, and this question recurs in steady cycles. The affective impression is that questions themselves are under question when we ask 'what is a c(l)ock[adoodledoo]?'

Does the form of a question have something to do with the form of time, and what is the role of clock-like mechanisms in this formation?

The marquee-renewals make a cycle, like how every morning we hear cockadoodledoo from the cock at dawn. The hour hand will make 24 turns to relatively the same marking between each cockadoodledoo, and Duffy's marquee cycle will make something like 4320 cycles in that period. We know that time moves constantly forward, because it keeps moving in circles. The cycles create units of measure that allow us to put aside the continuous heterogeneous alteration through time to instead measure extending quantities of its flow. So is a c(l)ock[adoodledoo] merely a temporal homogenizer?

But why so much emphasis on the asking? What is it about asking that has something to do with time, clocks, cycles, and so forth?

The clock homogenizes. Yet what it homogenizes might be seen as a series of askings, of askings: 'what's next?' What's next, come next dawn? Another cockadoodledoo. But what is next every instant whatever? This is always for us primarily a yet-answered question. It is a sort of drama of the world's mutations.

What is the pure form of time? Putting aside time's actual passage, its form is the immanence of before and after which are in a relation of succession. They are immanent to one another, because time is always in passage from before to after, thus they cannot be structurally apart. So the c(l)ock[adoodledoo] tells us that time is passing, which means there is always a continuous flux of change. Yet the form of time, the before with after, does not change.

A question has a certain sort of temporality. Its answer comes after and is somehow brought into life through its question. When we ask a question, we have already evoked its answer, even though it is not yet explicit. The after is implicitly given with its before in the structure of the question.

So what then is a clock, a cock (adoodledoo), a Duffy marqueed poem? It is a constant reminder that each moment is an asking to be answered. The form of time and the form of a question share in common a bringing into implicit immanence the after with its before.

Clifford Duffy, 'asK'
http://recalltopoetry.blogspot.be/2012/07/ask.html

21 Feb 2012

Profit Off its Hinge: Aberrant Monied Time in Alliez' Capital Times


summary by Corry Shores

[I thank Clifford Duffy for introducing me to Alliez' incredible text.]

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Profit Off its Hinge
Aberrant Monied Time in Alliez'
Capital Times


What does Alliez' temporalization of money got to do with you?

We place our money in banks to gain interest. The bank does not pay us back in groceries. They give us money so we can shop at the supermarket. They give us back a number, which represents a certain amount of time that we do not have to worry about having enough money for food. Money in a way is time, not just because it takes time to make money, but also because the money we make creates the period of duration that we can satisfy our needs. Without a store of money, we would have to fight day-by-day for our food. Once we know this time-buying power of money, we might want money just for its own sake, which is why we invest it to make interest. But what then is our attitude toward time when we do this? We might be implicitly thinking that if we sacrifice one month's of satisfaction-time now, then next month we will have one month's satisfaction-time plus an extra percent. Then if we reinvest again even at the same percent, we will later earn an even greater duration of satisfaction-time (a larger amount of money), because we begin with a greater initial investment after having received our first gains in interest. So our continual investing is like seeing time as something infinitely expandable. We don't anticipate that next month we will acquire the same period of assured satisfaction-time (to have the same amount of money in the bank), because we expect interest to keep increasing our savings. So we don't think that time is a cycle where values remain the same. Rather, we feel as though time can be freed of cycles of redundancy and can shoot off in its own directions of expansion.


Brief Summary

Deleuze cites Alliez as showing an aberrant time freed from its hinges. Alliez draws from Aristotle and Marx when explaining this. Aristotle's chrematistics is a sort of pursuit of wealth rather than merely seeking the use-values of goods. In mere bartering, we exchange one commodity for another [perhaps we might symbolize this as C-C], and normally the use-value of both exchanged goods is relatively the same. Yet currency allows goods to be exchanged in more complex and sophisticated ways. For Marx, Commodity-Money-Commodity exchanges (C-M-C) are based on exchanging one good for another one with relatively the same value, by means of currency that mediates those values symbolically. But merchants who buy goods not for use-value but for resale-value -- aiming to earn a profit in that resale -- are making Money-Commodity-Money exchanges (M-C-M'), which is like Aristotle's chrematistics. The extra prime symbol in M' indicates the original monetary value plus the increase (or decrease) made in profit (or loss) through the exchange.

In bartering, the use-value of the obtained good is attained immediately. But C-M-C is really more like C-M/M-C, because there are two mediating steps: 1) the commodity-owner sells her labor/goods for money, and then 2) she uses that money to buy some other commodity or service. [Likewise we might make this distinction for merchants who treat their merchandise as having monetary value. They do not use the commodity, but rather it represents potential resale profit from a forthcoming sale. This we might represent as M-C/C-M': 1) a merchant buys the resellable commodity at one monetary value, and 2) the merchant resells that commodity to someone else at a profit.] So there is a succession implied in the temporally mediating power of money in C-M-C [and in the mediation of monetary resell value in M-C-M']; money is time in the sense that it creates an advantageous delay between transactions. And we can hold onto money knowing that it will satisfy our needs for some period of time. Thus money in this way mediates a certain sort of temporality. Note also how in [C-C] bartering and also in C-M-C exchanges, the use-value of the goods given will probably for the most part equal those of goods received. This is like a circular time where values and wealth always return rather than skyrocket. But in M-C-M', or better in just pure interest investment M-M', values do shoot-off exponentially. Interest investments create a monied time that is not circular in its movement but rather more like an exponential curve. Hence the investment made now is like the tangent to that curve; it is the intended rate of increase, and it is a straight line rather than a circular return to an original value. This current investment drains the present of its money (and thus of the temporal value of that money), while introducing into the present the anticipated but undetermined forthcoming return that implies a greater temporal value. So chrematistics in a way creates an empty form of time, where there is no actual (temporal) value present now, but instead there is the coincidence of a pure and empty 'before' and 'after'. Also, the rate of increase will be different after gaining returns, so the speeds of increase do not match before and after the investment. They do not 'rhyme' in a sense.
In the present moment of investment, with its tangential shooting-off course, there is thus also a rupture, break, or caesura in the curve of value-increase.


Points relative to Deleuze:

Deleuze needs elaborations of his articulation that "time is out of joint" in his 'third synthesis of time.' This third synthesis combines the following concepts: a pure and empty time, a time come loose from a circularizing hinge and instead flying straight off, and time that is a cut or caesura. Alliez' explanation of the implied temporality in Aristotle's chrematistics combines these temporal properties.



Deleuze refers to Alliez' Capital Times: Tales from the Conquest of Time (Les Temps Capitaux: Récits de la conquête du temps) at the beginning of his essay "On Four Poetic Formulas That Might Summarize the Kantian Philosophy" ("Sur quatre formules poétiques qui pourraient résumer la philosophie kantienne"). We quote Deleuze and give the footnote about Alliez:
As long as time remains on its hinges, it is subordinated to extensive movement [....] This characteristic of ancient philosophy has often been emphasized: the subordination of time to the circular movement of the world as the turning Door [....] [...] Time no doubt tends to free itself when the movement it measures itself becomes increasingly aberrant or derived [dérivé], marked by material, meteorological, and terrestrial contingencies; but this is a downward tendency that still depends on the adventures of movement. [Footnote 3: "Eric Alliez, in Capital Times: Tales from the Conquest of Time, trans. George van den Abbeele (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), has analyzed, in ancient thought, this tendency toward the emancipation of time when movement ceases to be circular: for instance, in the "chrematism" and time as a monetary movement in Aristotle."] (Deleuze 1997: 27bc; c.d; 187bc)

Tant que le temps reste dans ses gonds, il est subordonné au mouvement extensif [….] On a souvent souligné ce caractère de la philosophie antique : la subordination du temps au mouvement circulaire du monde comme Porte tournante. […] Sans doute y a-t-il une tendance du temps à s’émanciper, quand le mouvement qu’il mesure est lui-même de plus en plus aberrant, dérivé, marqué de contingences matérielles météorologiques et terrestres ; mais c’est une tendance vers le bas, qui dépend encore des aventures du mouvement. [Note 2. Eric Alliez a analysé, dans la pensée antique, cette tendance à l’émancipation du temps quand le mouvement cesse d’être circulaire : par exemple la « chrématistique » et le temps du mouvement monétaire chez Aristote (Les temps capitaux, Cerf).] (Deleuze 1993: 40bc; c.d)
Deleuze in fact wrote the forward to this book, and we quote from two different translations.
One might say that thought can only grasp time through several speeds [....] (Deleuze 2006: 372a)
It might be said that thought can grasp time only through a number of strides [....] (Deleuze 1996: xi/bc)
[...] on dirait que la pensée ne peut saisir le temps qu’à travers plusieurs allures (Deleuze 1991: 7b)

An aberrant time may be undone to become more rectilinear, independent, abstracted from other speeds, and sometimes it may trip or fall. (2006: 373a)
At the limit, an aberrant time undoes itself, becoming more and more linear, autonomous, abstracted from other strides, and sometimes falling and tripping. (1996: xii/a)
A la limite, un temps aberrant se défera pour devenir de plus en plus rectiligne, autonome, abstrait des autres allures et parfois chutant et trébuchant. (1991: 7d)
One would say that time falls ideally, like light in a way (intensive quantity or zero distance from the moment) [....] (2006: 373bc)
It could be said that time falls, a little the way light does, with an idealized fall (the intensive quantity or distance from the moment zero) [....] (1996: xii/b)
On dira du temps qu’il tombe, un peu comme la lumière, d’une chute idéelle (quantité intensive ou distance de l’instant à zéro) [….] (1991: 8ab)
Kantian time as [...] like a line that one can only see at first in fleeting bits and pieces revealing itself at the end. The pure line of time becomes independent.... Time shrugged off its dependency on any extensive movements [....] (2006: 374a)
Kantian time [...] as a line discovered at the end and of which a furtive segment here and there is at first only glimpsed. The pure line of time has become autonomous... Time has shaken off its dependency on all extensive movement [....] (1996: xiii/d)
[...] le temps kantien [...] comme une ligne qui se découvre à la fin et dont on n'avait d'abord aperçu que tel ou tel segment furtif. La pure ligne du temps devenu autonome... Le temps a secoué sa dépendance à l'égard de tout mouvement extensif [....] (1991: 8d)
We will look more closely at how Alliez' explanation of Aristotle's chrematism portrays a sort of unhinged, intensive, straightened time.


Eric Alliez
Capital Times: Tales from the Conquest of Time
Les Temps Capitaux: Récits de la conquête du temps

In the first chapter of his Capital Times, Alliez discusses an aberration in economic circulation.

Let’s first review what we discussed from Aristotle’s Politics.

Wealth is involved both in the art of household management (oikonomia) and in the art of money-making (chrematistics). But in chrematistics, we might treat money and exchange in a perverted way. For example, we might treat a shoe not as protection for our feet, but rather as a sellable item that can be exchanged for currency. Also, our natural inclination to acquire goods to sustain our family can instead become a drive to acquire money for its own sake. The worst sort of money-making is loaning on interest, because money is intended for exchange but is here used just for making money.

This corresponds to what we discussed in Marx's Das Kapital.

There are two types of money circuits: C-M-C (commodity-money-commodity) and M-C-M (money-commodity-money). In C-M-C, we are interested in the use-values of the commodities, because we exchange one thing we have (peasant sells corn) for money, which is then used to obtain another commodity that we need (peasant buys clothes). Like with Aristotle's example of the shoe, we here are treating the final commodity not as a means to make more money, but rather as an object with a use value. However, we could instead be interested solely in acquiring wealth for its own sake. To do this, we would enter into the M-C-M circuits. Here, we begin with money, and hopefully end up with more money (M-C-M'). [Marx writes: "where M' = M + ΔM = the original sum advanced, plus an increment. (Marx 1906: 168 / 1867: 112)] We use our money to buy some commodity, not for its use value, but for its exchange value, because we try then to sell it at a profit. Here capital begets capital. A shorted circuit of M-C-M is loaning money at interest. Here the middle stage of buying commodities is excluded, and so it is more like M-M'.

So perverted chrematistics is like M-C-M' and M-M', because it disregards the use-value of the commodity, and because it has the unending increase in exchange-value (continual monetary accumulation) as its driving purpose.

Alliez writes:
What about the system of this practice for the Aristotle of the Politics, for the Philosopher grappling with the "chrematistic" subversion of a mercantile economy that detaches wealth from property, wrenches money from its mediating condition, withdraws exchange from the law of equivalence to derive a profit from it - that substitutes interest for the social unit of need, the natural referent of the monetary sign? (Alliez 1996: 3cd)
Qu’en est-il du système de cette pratique pour l’Aristote de la Politique, pour le Philosophe aux prises avec la subversion « chrématistique » d’une économie mercantile qui détache la richesse de la propriété, arrache la monnaie de sa condition de médiation, soustrait l’échange à la loi de l’équivalence pour en tirer profit – qui substitue l’intérêt à l’unité sociale du besoin, référent naturel du signe monétaire ? (Alliez 1991: 31bc)
Alliez notes how for Aristotle, there is something unnatural about wealth-acquisition. Normal acquisition for our needs in household management is something that comes naturally [just like how a bird brings worms home to nesting young]. But endlessly acquiring surplus wealth for its own sake is not something that comes naturally but rather involves some learned and perfected craft (techne). (1996: 4a / 1991: 32b)

Alliez will introduce the dimension of time into these economic principles. Let's first recall what we learned from Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, Book 5. Here we noted how money is a way for disproportional goods to be exchanged, like when a builder of houses wants to exchange his own work, a built house, for something he needs, like the shoe that a shoemaker crafts. Money is a means to set proportional values so that the shoe can be considered to be 1/10000 the value of the house, for example. Now consider when a simple barter is made; let's say a peasant exchanges corn for clothes. Here, the sale and purchase (the giving of corn and taking of clothes, for the peasant, and the taking of corn and the giving of clothes, from the tailor) happen both in the same action, simultaneously. But if the peasant sells the corn to one person for cash, then takes that cash to the tailor the next day to buy the clothes, then the sale and purchase are successive rather than simultaneous. So money introduces successivity into economic transactions, or in other words, money is also a temporal medium in the cycles of exchange. As Alliez puts it,
As opposed to barter, monetary circulation splits the immediate identity of these two acts by introducing the antithesis of selling and buying, which appear as mutually indifferent, separate in space and time. The linkage C-M-C should really be written C-M/M-C. "And for future exchange [huper de tes mellouses allages]," writes Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics, "if we do not need a thing now [ei nun meden deitai], we shall have it if ever we do need it [ean deethei] - money is as it were our surety [egguetes]." (1996: 6d)
A la différence du troc, la circulation monétaire scinde l'identité immédiate de ces deux actes en y introduisant l'antithèse de la vente et de l'achat, qui se présentent comme réciproquement indifférents, séparés dans l'espace et le temps. L'enchaînement M-A-M doit en réalité être écrit M-A/A-M. « Pour les échanges à venir (huper de tes mellouses allages), écrit Aristote dans l'Éthique à Nicomaque, la monnaie nous sert en quelque sorte de garant (egguetes), et, si aucun besoin ne se fait sentir maintenant (ei nun meden deitai), nous l'aurons à notre disposition en cas de besoin (ean deethei). » (1991: 35c)
As we learned, the basis of M-C-M exchanges was that the intention of the process is to make profit, that is, for the second M to be of a greater quantity of monetary value than the initially invested first M, which was signified as M-C-M'. We also learned in Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics that money is a unitary measure of need or demand. A greater need or demand for a commodity is a factor that can increase its monetary worth. Consider two pairs of shoes, each requiring the same value of materials and labor to produce. If one has practical or stylistic features that are greater in demand (and if the supply is equal), the more desired or needed shoes will have a greater monetary value.

So chrematistics is in part based on monetizing need. Yet, Alliez notes from the Politics how Aristotle can be read as saying that a city should pursue its own gain rather than be concerned about the needs of other cities ("For a city ought to be a market, not indeed for others, but for herself" Politics 1327 a27-28)
It is as if money had never been a mere means of exchange, as if its function as "common measure" was legitimating in advance, behind the formal equality of the terms made commensurable, the inscription of an infinite debt turning virtually every exchange into a means of monetary production and appropriation and all money into money "with interest," into time-money, and turning all wealth that escapes its natural place, the oikos, into "progressive value, money that is forever burgeoning and growing, and, as such, capital." From there, every "economic exchange is turned into a "chrematistic" exchange. (1996: 8a.b)
Comme si, donc, l'argent n'avait jamais été un simple moyen d'échange, comme si sa fonction de « commune mesure » légitimait par avance, derrière l'égalité formelle des termes rendus commensurables, l'inscription | d'une dette infinie faisant virtuellement de tout échange un moyen de production et d'appropriation monétaires, de toute monnaie une monnaie « à intérêt », une monnaie-temps, de toute richesse échappant à son lieu naturel, l'oikos, une « valeur progressive, argent toujours bourgeonnant, poussant et comme tel capital »... De là à faire de tout échange « économique » un échange « chrématistique »... (1991: 37-38)
Now let's recall Hölderlin's concept of caesura from his analysis of the Sophocles' tragedies, which he says have something like a variation in their pace. There will be a transition point where the rhythm alters. This functions as a “counter-rhythmic rupture” (gegenrhythmische Unterbrechung), which he calls the caesura (Cäsur). (Hölderlin, 102a; V,196). Consider Oedipus Rex. Do you remember how it feels, as far as its pacing is concerned? Do you not recall a gradual building up, and then at the end, things falling apart rapidly? Gradually we learn about the curse, and slowly it becomes less and less deniable that Oedipus is the cause. When Oedipus comes to terms with this fact, he blinds himself and is exiled from Thebes, while Jocasta, his wife and mother, hangs herself. So there is a rush at the end. His moment of realization is the caesura, the counter-rhythmic rupture in the speeds of dramatic development. On the one hand, we might say that the beginning and the end do not 'rhyme', because the speeds are different. But they do not rhyme for another reason too. Normally in Greek tragedies we would expect the tragic character to die at the end, as a sort of justice. Consider first Aeschylus' Agamemnon. For the structure, we imagine the movement of a planet in the heavens. All the other stars make perfect circles, returning to where they were a year prior. The planets in a way veer off from these circular patterns and they make their own path through the sky. However, they eventually return to where they once were. This regularity and constancy is like the limitations the gods place on mortals. Agamemnon is the king, and to kill him is a moral and legal transgression. His wife Clytemnestra commits this transgression by murdering her husband to avenge him for having killing their daughter. It is not until after a long delay that their son Orestes returns to take vengeance on the death of his father by killing his mother. So like the planet that is continuously broken out of the circular paths of the stars, but nonetheless eventually returns to where it once was, the development of Greek tragedies normally involves a transgression that after a delay finds resolution, even though that resolving action will itself be an act of transgression (a murder), keeping the deviant cycles in motion. However, in the Oedipus tale, the tragic character does not die. So his story does not develop like how a planet returns to where it once was. He is rather more like a planet let loose from its orbit, left wandering, as Oedipus does in Oedipus at Colonus. So in this sense the end does not rhyme with the beginning, because the vengeance cycle is broken, and the story does not begin and end with a crime of some sort.

Now consider briefly the cycle of C-M-C. Here we have a beginning and end that rhymes, because the final C is supposed to have the same value as the first commodity. But M-C-M is really M-C-M', we noted, because the profit M' is meant to be larger than the initial investment M. And the M-M' profiting from interest is even less of a cycle; we might even say it is just a continuous deviation from the original values rather than a process of return, because it is just a matter of continual increase of money, which has been broken off from those cycles where the repeated purchase and sale of commodities was needed to increase profit. So M-M' breaks the cycle of return to original value.

It is also a break in the speed of increase. Consider how invested money that accumulates interest keeps reinvesting all of itself, and rises exponentially; for, the greater the investment, the more potential for return, with that greater return being reinvested for yet an even greater potential for return, and so on, like an upward curve whose rate if rising increases as it moves forward. The investment is made now, so the current surplus is emptied in the present, and it is done on account of anticipating a future gain. This gives us the future in the present, but not as the actual profits to come as given now; no in fact, the money has evacuated the present. Instead, it gives us an undetermined future in an empty present. It gives us all in immediacy 'before' with its 'after' in their pure and empty forms. This is the pure and empty form of time, the bare relation of before and after, given as an intention in the immediate present.
Interest is the effect of a disproportion establishing inequality in terms of a caesura by which the permanence of money no longer coincides with the social presence of need, or with the immanence of an end with each act of exchange, but with the différance of a power (and not of a consuming) obliged to ignore the "concrete time" of presence in order to drain the surplus formed by each sequence of chrematistic exchange. (1996: 10b)
Effet d'une démesure qui établit l'inégalité en fonction d'une césure d'après laquelle a permanence de la monnaie ne coïncide plus avec la présence sociale du besoin, avec l'immanence de la fin à chaque acte d'échange, mais avec la différance d'un pouvoir (et on d'une consommation) qui se doit d'ignorer le « temps concret » de la présence pour drainer le surplus formé en chaque séquence de l'échange chrématistique. (1991: 40c)
So in a way, there is a break in the current flow that in the same stroke places the future into the present, "a future that is banking on the current value / un futur s'escomptant en valeur actuelle". (1996: 12bc / 1991: 43bc)

We now tie together two of Alliez' ideas. The first is that the current investment in M-M' intends an increasing gain. The other idea is that money is temporalized in the sense that it allows us to be assured that for some amount of time in the future our wants, needs, and desires can be satisfied. If we have enough money to buy this month's groceries, we in a way have bought a month of satisfied need. If instead we have no money, we must face that need now or first thing tomorrow. So money in a way creates or 'buys' the time sitting ahead of us where our desires will be satisfied. If we hold this money now, then this extending future of satisfaction is implied in the current value, so the future here is virtually or implicitly given in the present. Investing the value is our intending a certain increase in this virtual future time. Consider how calculus can find the tangent to a curve with an increasing slope.


[Image credit sought. email me if known]

In physics this can represent instantaneous velocity. So it indicates how much the speed wants to change at that moment. Before it is slower, after it is faster, but in an exponential progress. As we see, the curve is not circular; it does not intend to return to where it started. In intends instead to continue increasing. So our current investment is something like this tangent. It is a break not only in the sense of being M-M' rather than C-M-C, but also in the sense that the before and after do not rhyme: the rise from before to after becomes sharper. But it is a straight line in the sense of a pure intensive quantity. No time has passed. The implied temporality is given immediately as a degree of intended and intensive variation- intended because the investor intends a certain increase, and intensive in the calculus sense of a degree or gradus of variation that is not an extensive magnitude. [for this calculus sort of intensive magnitude in instantaneous variation see Deleuze Cours 20/01/1981 ; 10/03/1981 ; and Spinoza et le problème de l'expression, Ch.12] Chrematistics, Alliez writes,
designates finally that depoliticizing (de-realizing) anticipation that can derive profit from exchange because it is inscribed above and before the monetary equivalence it develops, on the tangent of the space of comparison and on the curve of appropriation that it keeps inextricably enveloped. (1996: 13bc, emphasis mine)
Money is [....] Nothing but the all-powerfulness of exponentiality. (1996: 13d, emphasis mine)
désigne au final cette anticipation dépolitisante (dé-réalisante) qui peut tirer profit de l'échange parce qu'elle s'inscrit en amont de l'équivalence monétaire qu'elle développe, à la tangente de l'espace de comparaison et de la courbe d'appropriation qu'elle tient inextricablement enveloppés. (1991: 44cd, emphasis mine)
La monnaie n'est [....] Rien que la toute-puissance de l'exponentiation. (1991: 45b, emphasis mine)
Chrematistics is an aberration of the cyclical return of commodity value. It produces time not only as an empty form, as the form of an undetermined future given in a hollowed-out present, but it also produces time as a straight line, as the line of intention or intensity for that bought-temporality to try to extend further (to have a longer period of ensured sustained satisfaction). Time, then, comes out of its circular joint and becomes linear, by means of an empty form of time that is as well a cut in time.



Works:

Alliez, Eric. Gilles Deleuze (Foreward). Capital Times: Tales from the Conquest of Time. Transl. Georges Van Den Abbeele. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996.

Alliez, Eric. Gilles Deleuze (Préface). Les Temps Capitaux: Récits de la conquête du temps. Paris: Les éditions du cerf, 1991.

Deleuze, Gilles. "Preface: The Speeds of Time." In Two Regimes of Madness. Ed. David Lapoujade. Transl. Ames Hodges and Mike Taormina. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2006.

Deleuze, Gilles. "On Four Poetic Formulas That Might Summarize the Kantian Philosophy." In Essays Critical and Clinical. Transl. Daniel W. Smith & Michael A. Greco. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997.

Deleuze, Gilles. "Sur quatre formules poétiques qui pourraient résumer la philosophie kantienne." In Critique et Clinique. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 1993.

Hölderlin, Friedrich. Sämtliche Werke. Fünfter Band. Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer, 1952.

Hölderlin, Friedrich. Remarques sur Oedipe. Remarques sur Antigone. François Fédier, transl. Paris: Union générale is’éditions, 1965.

Hölderlin, Friedrich. Essays and Letters on Theory. Thomas Pfau, trans & ed. Albany NY: SUNY Press, 1988.


Marx, Karl. Das Kapital: Kritik der politischen Oekonomie. Erster Band. Buch 1: Der Produktionsprocess des Kapitals. Hamburg: Verlag von Otto Meissner, 1867.
PDF available online at:
http://www.archive.org/details/daskapitalkritik00marx

Marx, Karl.
Capital: A Critique of Political Economy. Ed. Frederick Engels. Transl. Samuel Moore & Edward Aveling. New York: The Modern Library, 1906.
PDF available online at:
http://www.archive.org/details/capital00marxgoog



3 Sept 2010

Heaven Vacated. Jean Beaufret. Summary of "Hölderlin et Sophocle", pp.16-26


by Corry Shores
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Heaven Vacated


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Summary of
Jean Beaufret
"Hölderlin et Sophocle"
pp.16-26



What's This Commentary Got to Do with You?

In our lives, dramatic unpredictable events happen which change the course of events in our lives, but also change us ourselves in a very profound way. What is that moment like? It is as though the normal flow of time evaporated. We are left without the ability to expect what is to come, or to make sense of what has happened. It is as if time is emptied of all its contents. We are purely in the moment. And the immediate moment is unfilled and undetermined, and unconnected with the past and future which now seem to originate from this middle-point, as though we now will understand the past in relation to this current moment, and as well we now will see all future events following from this moment too. Yet maybe these moments are not so rare. Perhaps it is more of a matter of degree. That is to say, the future and the past are always originating now, although maybe only more-or-less explicitly to our awareness. And this is because the immediate moment is one of unpredictable and undetermined variation, from which we secondarily define the past and future. What would make the immediate situation a state of pure variation would be if it were constituted by differences and paradox. So the more intensely we feel the difference which makes the immediate situation what it is, the less we are living in a pre-drawn line-of time. We instead are always shooting out intensively like the differential tangent on a continuously varying curve. This is time at the heart of time, upon its grounding bedrock. This means that we are not fundamentally ‘in’ time. We need not see ourselves as being determined by a past and as determining a future. We could see ourselves more primarily as being immediate difference on the inside, in contact immediately with the differences in the world. When we more clearly see how we are constituted by difference, we can better grasp the reasons for why we are continuously changing.


Brief Summary

Jean Beaufret discusses certain Kantian influences in Hölderlin’s Remarks on Oedipus and Antigone. Hölderlin identifies a rhythmic point in the stories where the pace shifts. This break he calls the cesura, and it happens when the seer Tiresias predicts a future that is not implied from the story’s beginning. Oedipus for example should not be blamed for his crimes, so his suffering might seem unjust. In a way, the gods abandon time itself, because they cease to make time have an internal consistency; the end will no longer ‘rhyme’ with the beginning. But humans too need not act as though their actions will bring about a correspondence with their past. They need not at all view time as a story-line laid-out in advance. Instead, humans can be at the heart of time, in the a priori conditions of time and space. When the gods abandon us by no longer determining a content to the progress of time, it is like them vacating the heavens, leaving behind them a vast vacuum, a pure emptiness of time and space.


Points Relative to Deleuze
[Under Ongoing Revision]

For Deleuze, our split-self is what explains the basis of time. And also, temporality in its rawest form is ‘rhythm’ for Deleuze, and in an even more basic form, time is void of all contents. Deleuze elaborates these ideas by looking at Hölderlin’s Remarks on Oedipus and Antigone, where he explains the disruptive rhythmic cesura when human-kind falls into an a priori pure and empty form of time. Oedipus Rex, for example, has two main parts, divided according to the pace of dramatic development unfolding in each section. The breaking point, the cesura, which balances the two unequally weighted sections, is the moment that Tiresias declares a past and future unknown to Oedipus. In fact, he declares Oedipus to be a person completely contrary to who Oedipus thought himself to been throughout his past. For all his life, Oedipus tried not to fulfill his prophesy of killing his father and marrying his mother. So in his mind, he absolutely is not such a person who would do these things. As it turns out, he in fact did do these things, but completely without knowing it.

1) So in the first place, we note that at the moment of the prophesy, Oedipus faces himself as a self completely foreign to himself. The next thing we note is that there is a lot of dramatic density and intensity at the beginning of the play. After the prophesy, it is a tortured gradual process of Oedipus self-unraveling. This means, at the point of the prophesy, we are experiencing a pure variation of speed. This makes it like an instantaneous change, which we see for example in physics’ instantaneous velocities. Before and after this moment we might regard their being extents of dramatic unfolding with their own general pace. But at the moment of change, in between these extents, is a quantity that indicates the tendency toward change. If we consider terms from the physics example, we could imagine this quantity as being like the relation between an infinitely small amount of time to an infinitely small amount of dramatic development. What we get is a value telling us the tendency toward changing in dramatic pace. But this tendency does not extend in space or time (it is based on vanishingly small values). It is non-extensive, and in fact, it would be intensive. The prophetic moment is an intensity, a piece of reality that is full of reality, but is not expressed explicitly in the actuality of the extending world birthed from these intensities. So in a sense, it is a pure quantitative variation, a pure difference, a difference without terms.


2) We normally consider rhythm as a regular pattern. But we could also think of it as being a feeling of change. A rhythm too steady would homogenize with itself. Our attention fades when a rhythmic pattern is too regular, like how we struggle to pay attention to every tick of a clock. So rhythm instead can be thought of as having a continuous variation. Rhythm could be the pure feeling of change. This then places the cesura at the heart of the dramatic rhythm of the tragedies.

We will see that for Deleuze, temporality in its rawest expression is a continuous quantitative variation in how things are given to us, that is, how they appear to us. In other words, the raw experience of the motion of time is an experience of rhythm, and at the heart of rhythm is an immediate break in our experience of the world and in our experience of ourselves.

3) The parts before and after the cesura do not ‘rhyme’. In Aeschylus’ tragedies, for example, it could be apparent to the characters that their actions will obviously bring tragic consequences. Oedipus story, however, does not fit this. He is punished even though he should not be held responsible for his crimes. And also, his tragic end is not the expected sort. Usually the characters suffer a painful death at the end of the story. Oedipus, however, goes on living. He wanders until eventually making a peaceful, painless, and glorious transition into the afterlife. So the beginning and the end do not rhyme, in his story. There is not the accordance like in Aeschylus where the initial crime finds its mete end. So at the cesura, it is like a poetic modulation. It is like writing a new poem in the middle, so that the next line does not rhyme, but seems like it should, because it caries-on from where the poem was previously developing. Deleuze regards this as the unbending of the circle of time into a line. We might find that this line is like the tangent line which could illustrate an instantaneous velocity, for example. It is a non-extending line of time. Not time as a linear continuity, like our historical time-lines. But time as a direction and tendency for development in that direction, expressed immediately and not over an extent of time. This would be time unraveling down upon its immediate a priori conditions, it being made of pure differential relations.

4) This pure form of time is empty. Beaufret makes this point very nicely. Normally in Greek tragedy, there is a fated path our lives follow, and it is dictated by the gods. But after Oedipus’ self-punishment, he is left to wander. So there is no longer a determinate content laid-out before him, at least not one that is clear in his moment of realization. And also, he had his own past pulled from underneath him like a rug. In that moment of disorientation, no past is clear to him, because at that moment when his own self becomes unclear, different pasts become equally believable and doubtable to him. So there is a complete suspension of the future and the past. And without future and past present to him, even the present loses its temporal meaning. We would not even say that he is in the present, because 'present' has little meaning without relation to past and future. Instead, we would say he is in pure immediacy. It is a non-temporal experience. Nonetheless, this experience demonstrates what lies at the heart of our experience of time. Hölderlin says that it brings us to the a priori conditions of space and time, their being pure and empty. It is not that time ceases to exist for Oedipus in his moment of realization, but rather that time is emptied of all its actual content. He experiences just the emptiness of time, what secondarily gets filled by actual events of change. Beaufret puts this very nicely. The gods reside in the heavens. When they ceased filling Oedipus’s life-time with fated content, it is like they vanished from the heavens. This leaves just the pure emptiness of the sky. This is like how he faces time not as filled by change or as flowing-by, but as the pure conditions of emptiness which allow secondarily for change to find its temporal relational ‘space’ of occurrence.




Jean Beaufret


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Summary of
"Hölderlin et Sophocle"
pp.16-26

A main theme in Sophocles' Oedipus is the gods’ turning their backs on humans. So it is not atheist in the sense of us not believing in god. Rather, it is godless, in the sense of the gods existing while yet also ceasing to involve themselves in dictating the events of our lives. Oedipus is not struck-down by the gods. Rather, he is condemned to wander the earth. (16) Normally a tragic character dies from his crimes. In Oedipus’ case, he somehow survived. His death is delayed. His destiny then is no longer imposed on him. However, the indeterminacy of his destiny makes it more profound, and also more like our modern sense of the tragic, which is not violent death as in the classic Greek, but more of an abandonment to an indeterminate fate, with no recourse to divine determination. (17)

In a way, this is a shortcoming in the gods ability to interfere in Oedipus’ human life. We are no longer bound into a line of development in our lives that leads to a fate predetermined by the gods. Rather, we live entirely in the moment, but for that reason we forget ourselves. The gods usually represent a justice in time. They normally punish grave crimes with a tragic painful death. But Oedipus does not end this way. So time for him is different now. And there is infidelity both in time and in humanity. Because there is no fated divine justice in Oedipus’s life-story, there is no cyclical return of restoration and atonement. Instead, the beginning and end do not correspond to each other; they do not ‘rhyme’. So time itself has a sort of infidelity with itself. The time-path of Oedipus’ life is now wandering and indeterminate in a way. It constantly verges from its beginning. [It in a sense is a continual process of becoming low-fi, to borrow a concept from Richard Pinhas.] The other infidelity is on Oedipus’ part. He can no longer restore his life-situation to how it began. So he too continually diverges from his origin. He lives now only in the moment, with no faithfulness to how time will progress in a way that produces justice. (18)

So we no longer think of time as having a back-side and a forward-side that could harmonize or ‘rhyme’. We instead live in the moment where we feel not a cycle but something more like an oscillation of a sort, like our ship is rocking in the sea as it sails-on.

By living in the moment, and thereby forgetting themselves, humans give birth to a new memory of themselves that is even more profound. They see themselves more authentically as being apart from the gods. (19)

We might here consider Kant’s distinction between the phenomenon and the neumenon, putting aside what he says about sensible cognitions being intellectual ones as well. Hölderlin reads Kant differently than does Fichte, Hegel, and Schelling. (20)

Recall how Hölderlin writes that the gods are nothing more than time. He also says that in the utmost form of suffering, there exists nothing but the conditions of time and space. These conditions are not like affections, which give us content. There is no content to a priori space and time. Kant calls them pure or empty forms of space and time. Before Oedipus, the gods determined the time spanning-out before a person’s life. The gods in a way are like the content to time. But when they depart from us, as if leaving the sky, do they not leave us with a pure void, an empty heaven, the pure form of space and time in all its vast emptiness and purity?

God is no longer “cette immense horloge de lumière qui mesure ce qu’elle manifeste et manifeste ce qu’elle mesure”. (21)

Before, the Homeric time of the gods prevailed. But with Oedipus, during such extraordinary moments of inner confusion when the gods become faithless to humans, we enter a time and space that is as empty as a desert. (22-23)

We then pose a question: so, there is this empty time which is more like an a priori “condition” for our temporal experiences; how then are we to comprehend it as having an end which does not “rhyme” with its beginning? Beaufret says that we must in the first place remain within the context of the tragedies, and consider their beginnings and ends, rather than jumping to conclusions regarding temporality in general.

At the beginning of his Remarks on Antigone, Hölderlin returns to this idea of the cesura. On the one hand, the cesura is what forces-together both sides of the tragedy, yet as a break, it as will is what places them over-against one another. The cesura is the balancing point, and it leans more either toward the end or the beginning, so to balance the ‘weight’ of the paces of dramatic development. Hence, each tragedy has a different “rhythm”. At this cesura point when the dramatic pace explodes, gods and men are forced together. (23)

We also saw divine prophetic intervention in Aeschylus’s Agamemnon. Cassandre foresees the murders and return of Orestes. But this prophesy does not serve as a cesura. What she says is something expected. [Oedipus’ crimes were unknown to him, so the consequences were for him unforeseeable. Agamemnon, however, when sacrificing his daughter, could know ahead of time that this would later bring grave consequences. As well, Agamemnon was rightfully reluctant to walk-upon the red carpet, which he knew would insult the gods.] In Aeschylus, the story in a way is finished even as soon as it begins; the telos or final end is set from the beginning. (24) Oedipus, on the contrary, begins nobly. His crimes were unintentional and unknowable. His later blind wandering does not at all rhyme with the beginning. It is like a note that does not fit, as if a new melody started playing, or a new poem began from the middle of another one. [A cesura is a break in the sense of a new time beginning immediately. But as the beginning, nothing fills it. Deleuze might have us see things as always this way. Each moment is a new beginning. We are ‘ever begun’ or ‘always initial’, rather than the more common motto, ‘always ever’. This 'always initial' is like the innocence of becoming; we are always initiates, ever having our first experience, which is the experience of the pure difference of immediacy.] The cesura breaks-apart what has happened ‘so far’ ('thus') from what shall happen ‘henceforth’, making a fundamental change in the path of development.

We might trace Hölderlin’s understanding of this sort of a radical break to Kant’s Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone. Here, becoming moral is not just an improvement, but a true revolution within us, a complete change of our heart [Herzenänderung]. In this case of a fundamental internal transformation, the beginning and end of someone’s life will not rhyme. (25) Here then we can see what is probably another Kantian influence on Hölderlin’s thinking. (26)




Beaufret, Jean. "Hölderlin et Sophocle," preface to Hölderlin: Remarques sur Oedipe. Remarques sur Antigone. Transl. François Fédier. Paris: Union générale d'éditions, 1965.


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2 Sept 2010

We Are the Transparent Mask Who Faces Us. Friedrich Nietzsche. The Birth of Tragedy. §9

by Corry Shores
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We Are the Transparent Mask Who Faces Us


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Friedrich Nietzsche
The Birth of Tragedy
§9


What’s this Section Got to do with You?

Sometimes we see injustice in the world, and it moves us to act. But because it requires a strong reaction, it means we must aggrandize ourselves so to meet the grave challenge. Our efforts make us bigger, in a sense. We are breaking out of those boundaries that normally keep us in. So in a sense we are striving toward a greatness that is almost universal, as if we want to become one with the being of the world. However, what is it that motivates us to act in the first place? We saw injustice, which means a greater power is overstepping its bounds and harming a lesser power. So we want to restore the situation back to when things stayed within their bounds. Hence on the one hand, we are striving toward breaking out of boundaries and for universality. While yet on the other hand, our motivation is restoring boundaries and individualities. Nietzsche construes these opposing forces as Apollinian and Dionysian. Often times in our lives, our actions are based on dualities of forces which are incompatible. And perhaps their incompatibility lends to the force of our actions.


Brief Summary

Nietzsche associates the “Apollinian” dimension of Greek tragedy with “individuation and just boundaries”. On the “Dionysian” side there is the titanic urge to break our human boundaries and transgress divine laws, disrupting the normal and stable order of things. Aeschylus’ Prometheus story shows how both Apollinian and Dionysian forces are found expressed in the same action of the hero. He is Apollinianly motivated by wanting to find justice for humanity, but he does so Dionysianly by transgressing boundaries.

Nietzsche considers the Prometheus story to have an “active” attitude. The hero performs the transgression, which consequently brings him great suffering. In contrast to this is Sophocles’ Oedipus. It has a “passive” attitude, because Oedipus passively receives his suffering.


Points Relative to Deleuze
[Under Ongoing Revision]

For Deleuze, we are internally different from ourselves, and this is based on a pure empty form of time. Our I is the formal unity of our conscious acts [their already belonging together], but our Self is our appearing to ourselves. We sense ourselves. In this way, our appearing-self is passive; it is sensed. And our self-appearings are in time. So insofar as we are appearances, we are in continuous variation, but insofar as we are the unity of our consciousness, we are unified and self-same. These two facets of ourselves are internal to us, but they are also different from each other. So they cannot occupy the same ‘space’ within us. In fact, there is no ‘space’ inside us. The way that our internal parts are divided is by taking different places in time. But it is not that our self-unity and our self-appearing are two temporally distinct moments within us. Perhaps these two different internal parts in a way want to push apart from one another. We might think of this pushing-apart as being what makes time what it is in its pure form. What makes pure a priori time ‘empty’ might not be that it has a lot of space in it, but rather that it has not yet extended out into an actual temporal extension. Rather, time in its pure form could just be the forces of difference that push things apart internally; and as internal, push them out to temporal successivity rather than into spatial relations. So, our most immediate experience is the experience of ourselves. Here we find ourselves being made of a fundamental difference, between unity of consciousness and self-appearings. This internal difference within ourselves is a tendency toward extending into time. But as a tendency, it is not yet temporal. It is more like the formal a priori conditions for time; it would be like our readiness to receive ourselves as temporal. And also, as formal and non-temporal, it is a pure and empty sort of time.



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Friedrich Nietzsche
The Birth of Tragedy
§9

Nietzsche speaks of the Apollinian side of Greek tragedy, the part that “looks simple, transparent, beautiful”. It seems we can even look into the souls of Sophocles’ characters, as if there were only a thin transparent mask covering them. Yet when we probe deeper in the myths underlying Sophocles’ heroes, we peer deeply into the horrors of nature. There is a seriousness in Greek cheerfulness.

For Sophocles, Oedipus is the greatest sufferer.
Sophocles conceived doomed Oedipus the greatest sufferer of the Greek stage, as a pattern of nobility, destined to error and misery despite his wisdom, yet exercising a beneficent influence upon his environment in virtue of his boundless grief.
Oedipus in a sense is noble and innocent. [His accidentally and unknowingly killing his father was a rightful act of self-defense. And his marrying the queen whom he later learns is his mother— this deed was part of his reward for lifting the sphinx’ hold over the road to Thebes.] Yet his noble actions crush a former state of things and create a new one.
The profound poet tells us that a man who is truly noble is incapable of sin; though every law, every natural order, indeed the entire canon of ethics, perish by his actions, those very actions will create a circle of higher consequences able to found a new world on the ruins of the old.
The Greeks, Nietzsche writes, delight in the outcome, where Oedipus, once ruler of Thebes and the one who would judge the man bringing curses on the city, at the end becomes the guilty accused, who must receive punishment from his own self.

In Oedipus at Colonus, Oedipus is now decrepit and broken from undergoing his profound suffering. [In the end, he makes an easy and glorified transition into the afterlife, which he actively chooses to undertake. In a way, his passive suffering leads to an pleasant active outcome. Hence there is a sort of cheerfulness again in the suffering.]
In "Oedipus at Colonus" we meet this same cheerfulness, but utterly transfigured. In contrast to the aged hero, stricken with excessive suffering and passively undergoing his many misfortunes, we have here a transcendent cheerfulness issuing from above and hinting that by his passive endurance the hero may yet gain a consummate energy of action. This activity (so different from his earlier conscious striving, which had resulted in pure passivity) will extend far beyond the limited experience of his own life. Thus the legal knot of the Oedipus fable, which had seemed to mortal eyes incapable of being disentangled, is slowly loosened. And we experience the most profound human joy as we witness this divine counterpart of dialectics.
Nietzsche notes that extreme unnaturalness, like Oedipus’ incest, is required in these tales when the normal order of life and time is broken.
If we examine Oedipus, the solver of riddles and liberator of his mother, in the light of this Parsee belief, we may conclude that wherever soothsaying and magical powers have broken the spell of present and future, the rigid law of individuation, the magic circle of nature, extreme unnaturalness—in this case incest—is the necessary antecedent; for how should man force nature to yield up her secrets but by successfully resisting her, that is to say, by unnatural acts? This is the recognition I find expressed in the terrible triad of Oedipean fates: the same man who solved the riddle of nature (the ambiguous Sphinx) must also, as murderer of his father and husband of his mother, break the consecrated tables of the natural order.
Nietzsche goes on to contrast (Sophocles’) Oedipus’ glory of passivity with the glory of action in Aeschylus’ Prometheus. In this tale “Man, raised to titanic proportions, conquers his own civilization and compels the gods to join forces with him, since by his autonomous wisdom he commands both their existence and the limitations of their sway.” We find a human longing for justice above the divine, in a fate binding both mortals and the gods, which seemingly takes the form of a righteous impiety. Greek artists, in fact, felt there to be a mutual dependency between themselves and the gods. Nietzsche writes that “titanic” artists could reach divine immortal heights so long as they suffer profoundly. We might contrast then Aeschylus’ great power of doing with Sophocles’ glorification of holy men.
The glorious power "to do," which is possessed by great genius, and for which even eternal suffering is not too high a price to pay—the artist's austere pride—is of the very essence of Aeschylean poetry, while Sophocles in his Oedipus intones a paean to the saint.
Yet even the glorious power of doing in Aeschylus hides something dark underneath. It could be that this Aryan (Indo-European) tragic story of Prometheus is related to the Semitic (Middle-Eastern) legend of the Fall. Ancient men knew that fire is necessary for civilization. But fire naturally comes from divine sources, thunderbolts from the heavens where gods reside. For men to use fire freely in everyday affairs, then, seems a crime, given its heavenly origin. “Thus this original philosophical problem poses at once an insoluble conflict between men and the gods, which lies like a huge boulder at the gateway to every culture. Man's highest good must be bought with a crime and paid for by the flood of grief and suffering which the offended divinities visit upon the human race in its noble ambition.” Here something good for humanity, fire, must be acquired by means of a crime against the gods. This is a bit unlike the Semitic story of the Fall. In this case, our crime against God is the result of our weaknesses. [Continuing from the last quote:]
An austere notion, this, which by the dignity it confers on crime presents a strange contrast to the Semitic myth of the Fall—a myth that exhibits curiosity, deception, suggestibility, concupiscence, in short a whole series of principally feminine frailties, as the root of all evil.
In the Aryan story, there is an “exalted notion of active sin as the properly Promethean virtue; this notion provides us with the ethical substratum of pessimistic tragedy, which comes to be seen as a justification of human ills, that is to say of human guilt as well as the suffering purchased by that guilt”.

[Recall how the Oedipus myth involves a passive suffering and hence is contrary to the Prometheus tale, which has an active theme. The Aryan myth is contrasted with the Semitic myth. The Prometheus story, which is Aryan, involves an actively committed crime against the gods. The Oedipus story has the passive theme, so as contrary to the Prometheus story, perhaps we can consider Sophocles’ Oedipus to be like the Semitic tale. Deleuze writes in “On the Four Formulas”: “Nietzsche, in a similar sense, considered it [Sophocles’ Oedipus] to be the most Semitic of the Greek tragedies.” p.28bc]

In the Aryan tale, man and god live in different independent realms, although they encroach upon one another. The hero wants to de-individual himself by striving toward becoming a universal world-being. But in doing so, he learns of the tension between the divine and human worlds, the barriers the gods place in our human affairs. This compels the hero to transgress the limits and to suffer profoundly. The Aryan story assigns this primordial crime to a man, and the Semitic tale assigns it to a woman.

So in the Prometheus myth, there is “the imperative necessity of hubris for the titanic individual”. Nietzsche says that this contains a pessimistic idea with a non-Apollinian character.
It is Apollo who tranquilizes the individual by drawing boundary lines, and who, by enjoining again and again the practice of self-knowledge, reminds him of the holy, universal norms.
Yet Dionysian forces eventually disrupt the Apollinian tendency toward stasis in Hellenistic culture. So the titanic urge of the hero to become Titan Atlas bonds Promethean and the Dionysian forces. Yet deep down, this urge toward universality is based in the Apollinian desire for just boundaries and individuality. Hence Aeschylean tragedies unite both the Apollinian and the Dionysian.
In this respect the Aeschylean Prometheus appears as a Dionysian mask, while in his deep hunger for justice Aeschylus reveals his paternal descent from Apollo, god of individuation and just boundaries. We may express the Janus face, at once Dionysian and Apollinian, of the Aeschylean Prometheus in the following formula: "All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both."
That is your world! A world indeed! — [Goethe's Faust, I, 409]


From the Kaufmann translation:[Originally on Nietzsche Channel. Try also here if that link does not work.]
The Birth of Tragedy
9
Everything that rises to the surface in the Apollinian portion of Greek tragedy (in the dialogue) looks simple, transparent, beautiful. In this sense the dialogue is a mirror of the Greek mind, whose nature manifests itself in dance, since in dance the maximum power is only potentially present, betraying itself in the suppleness and opulence of movement. The language of the Sophoclean heroes surprises us by its Apollinian determinacy and lucidity. It seems to us that we can fathom their innermost being, and we are somewhat surprised that we had such a short way to go. However, once we abstract from the character of the hero as it rises to the surface and becomes visible (a character at bottom no more than a luminous shape projected onto a dark wall, that is to say, appearance through and through) and instead penetrate into the myth which is projected in these luminous reflections, we suddenly come up against a phenomenon which is the exact opposite of a familiar optical one. After an energetic attempt to focus on the sun we have, by way of remedy almost, dark spots before our eyes when we turn away. Conversely, the luminous images of the Sophoclean heroes—those Apollinian masks—are the necessary productions of a deep look into the horror of nature; luminous spots, as it were, designed to cure an eye hurt by the ghastly night. Only in this way can we form an adequate notion of the seriousness of "Greek cheerfulness"; whereas we find that cheerfulness generally misinterpreted nowadays as a condition of undisturbed complacence.
Sophocles conceived doomed Oedipus the greatest sufferer of the Greek stage, as a pattern of nobility, destined to error and misery despite his wisdom, yet exercising a beneficent influence upon his environment in virtue of his boundless grief. The profound poet tells us that a man who is truly noble is incapable of sin; though every law, every natural order, indeed the entire canon of ethics, perish by his actions, those very actions will create a circle of higher consequences able to found a new world on the ruins of the old. This is the poet's message, insofar as he is at the same time a religious thinker. In his capacity as poet he presents us in the beginning with a complicated legal knot in the slow unraveling of which the judge brings about his own destruction. The typically Greek delight in this dialectical solution is so great that it imparts an element of triumphant cheerfulness to the work, and thus removes the sting lurking in the ghastly premises of the plot. In "Oedipus at Colonus" we meet this same cheerfulness, but utterly transfigured. In contrast to the aged hero, stricken with excessive suffering and passively undergoing his many misfortunes, we have here a transcendent cheerfulness issuing from above and hinting that by his passive endurance the hero may yet gain a consummate energy of action. This activity (so different from his earlier conscious striving, which had resulted in pure passivity) will extend far beyond the limited experience of his own life. Thus the legal knot of the Oedipus fable, which had seemed to mortal eyes incapable of being disentangled, is slowly loosened. And we experience the most profound human joy as we witness this divine counterpart of dialectics. If this explanation has done the poet justice, it may yet be asked whether it has exhausted the implications of the myth; and now we see that the poet's entire conception was nothing more nor less than the luminous afterimage which kind nature provides our eyes after a look into the abyss. Oedipus, his father's murderer, his mother's lover, solver of the Sphinx's riddle! What is the meaning of this triple fate? An ancient popular belief, especially strong in Persia, holds that a wise magus must be incestuously begotten. If we examine Oedipus, the solver of riddles and liberator of his mother, in the light of this Parsee belief, we may conclude that wherever soothsaying and magical powers have broken the spell of present and future, the rigid law of individuation, the magic circle of nature, extreme unnaturalness—in this case incest—is the necessary antecedent; for how should man force nature to yield up her secrets but by successfully resisting her, that is to say, by unnatural acts? This is the recognition I find expressed in the terrible triad of Oedipean fates: the same man who solved the riddle of nature (the ambiguous Sphinx) must also, as murderer of his father and husband of his mother, break the consecrated tables of the natural order. It is as though the myth whispered to us that wisdom, and especially Dionysian wisdom, is an unnatural crime, and that whoever, in pride of knowledge, hurls nature into the abyss of destruction, must himself experience nature's disintegration. "The edge of wisdom is turned against the wise man; wisdom is a crime committed on nature" [see Sophocles' Oedipus the King, 316–17]: such are the terrible words addressed to us by myth. Yet the Greek poet, like a sunbeam, touches the terrible and austere Memnon's Column of myth, which proceeds to give forth Sophoclean melodies!
Now I wish to contrast to the glory of passivity the glory of action, as it irradiates the Prometheus of Aeschylus. Young Goethe has revealed to us, in the bold words his Prometheus addresses to Zeus, what the thinker Aeschylus meant to say, but what, as poet, he merely gave us to divine in symbol:
"Here I sit, forming men
in my own image,
a race to be like me,
to suffer, to weep,
to delight and to rejoice,
and to defy you,
as I do!"
Man, raised to titanic proportions, conquers his own civilization and compels the gods to join forces with him, since by his autonomous wisdom he commands both their existence and the limitations of their sway. What appears most wonderful, however, in the Prometheus poem—ostensibly a hymn in praise of impiety—is its profound Aeschylean longing for justice. The immense suffering of the bold "individual," on the one hand, and on the other the extreme jeopardy of the gods, prefiguring a twilight of the gods—the two together pointing to a reconciliation, a merger of their universes of suffering—all this reminds one vividly of the central tenet of Aeschylean speculation in which Moira [fate], as eternal justice, is seen enthroned above men and gods alike. In considering the extraordinary boldness with which Aeschylus places the Olympian world on his scales of justice, we must remember that the profound Greek had an absolutely stable basis of metaphysical thought in his mystery cults and that he was free to discharge all his skeptical velleities on the Olympians. The Greek artist, especially, experienced in respect of these divinities an obscure sense of mutual dependency, a feeling which has been perfectly symbolized in the Prometheus of Aeschylus. The titanic artist was strong in his defiant belief that he could create men and, at the least, destroy Olympian gods; this he was able to do by virtue of his superior wisdom, which, to be sure, he must atone for by eternal suffering. The glorious power "to do," which is possessed by great genius, and for which even eternal suffering is not too high a price to pay—the artist's austere pride—is of the very essence of Aeschylean poetry, while Sophocles in his Oedipus intones a paean to the saint. But even Aeschylus' interpretation of the myth fails to exhaust its extraordinary depth of terror. Once again, we may see the artist's buoyancy and creative joy as a luminous cloud shape reflected upon the dark surface of a lake of sorrow. The legend of Prometheus is indigenous to the entire community of Aryan races and attests to their prevailing talent for profound and tragic vision. In fact, it is not improbable that this myth has the same characteristic importance for the Aryan mind as the myth of the Fall has for the Semitic, and that the two myths are related as brother and sister. The presupposition of the Prometheus myth is primitive man's belief in the supreme value of fire as the true palladium of every rising civilization. But for man to dispose of fire freely, and not receive it as a gift from heaven in the kindling thunderbolt and the warming sunlight, seemed a crime to thoughtful primitive man, a despoiling of divine nature. Thus this original philosophical problem poses at once an insoluble conflict between men and the gods, which lies like a huge boulder at the gateway to every culture. Man's highest good must be bought with a crime and paid for by the flood of grief and suffering which the offended divinities visit upon the human race in its noble ambition. An austere notion, this, which by the dignity it confers on crime presents a strange contrast to the Semitic myth of the Fall—a myth that exhibits curiosity, deception, suggestibility, concupiscence, in short a whole series of principally feminine frailties, as the root of all evil. What distinguishes the Aryan conception is an exalted notion of active sin as the properly Promethean virtue; this notion provides us with the ethical substratum of pessimistic tragedy, which comes to be seen as a justification of human ills, that is to say of human guilt as well as the suffering purchased by that guilt. The tragedy at the heart of things, which the thoughtful Aryan is not disposed to quibble away, the contrariety at the center of the universe, is seen by him as an interpenetration of several worlds, as for instance a divine and a human, each individually in the right but each, as it encroaches upon the other, having to suffer for its individuality. The individual, in the course of his heroic striving towards universality, de-individuation, and wishing himself to be the world being, comes up against that primordial contradiction and learns both to sin and to suffer. The Aryan nations assign to crime the male, the Semites to sin the female gender; and it is quite consistent with these notions that the original act of hubris should be attributed to a man, original sin to a woman. Incidentally, the chorus of wizards says:
"If that is so, we do not mind it:
With a thousand steps the women find it;
But though they rush, we do not care:
With one big jump the men get there."
[Goethe's Faust, I, 3982-85]
Once we have comprehended the substance of the Prometheus myth—the imperative necessity of hubris for the titanic individual—we must realize the non-Apollinian character of this pessimistic idea. It is Apollo who tranquilizes the individual by drawing boundary lines, and who, by enjoining again and again the practice of self-knowledge, reminds him of the holy, universal norms. But lest the Apollinian tendency freeze all form into Egyptian rigidity, and in attempting to prescribe its orbit to each particular wave inhibit the movement of the lake, the Dionysian flood tide periodically destroys all the little circles in which the Apollinian will would confine Hellenism. The swiftly rising Dionysian tide then shoulders all the small individual wave crests, even as Prometheus' brother, the Titan Atlas, shouldered the world. This titanic urge to be the Atlas of all individuals, to bear them on broad shoulders ever farther and higher, is the common bond between the Promethean and the Dionysian forces. In this respect the Aeschylean Prometheus appears as a Dionysian mask, while in his deep hunger for justice Aeschylus reveals his paternal descent from Apollo, god of individuation and just boundaries. We may express the Janus face, at once Dionysian and Apollinian, of the Aeschylean Prometheus in the following formula: "All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both."
That is your world! A world indeed! — [Goethe's Faust, I, 409]



Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Birth of Tragedy. in Basic Writings of Nietzsche. Transl. & Ed. Walter Kaufmann. New York: The Modern Library, 1966.

Available online at:
[Originally]
http://www.geocities.com/thenietzschechannel/bt.htm
If that link does not work, try:
http://nietzsche.holtof.com/Nietzsche_the_birth_of_tragedy/the_birth_of_tragedy.htm

Alternate translation by Ian Johnston at
http://records.viu.ca/~johnstoi/nietzsche/tragedy_all.htm


Deleuze, Gilles. Essays Critical and Clinical. Tranls. Daniel Smith and Michael Greco. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997.


Image sources
Double Mask Statue:
http://theartofhistory.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=163

Triple Mask:
http://beppyiram.blogspot.com/2010/07/disguise.html
Thanks Бέþþŷ Ïяåm


1 Sept 2010

Deranging Ourselves. Arthur Rimbaud. Letter To Georges Izambard. 13 May 1871. And Letter to Paul Demeny. 15 May 1871


by Corry Shores
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[The following is summarizes selected parts of the letter. I give my deepest thanks to the source of the image:
H. Lewandowski / www.histoire-image.org
Image credits given below.]




Deranging Ourselves

(Thanks H. Lewandowski / www.histoire-image.org)

Arthur Rimbaud
Letter To Georges Izambard
13 May 1871

&

Letter to Paul Demeny
15 May 1871


What’s this Letter Got to do with You?

We often think that we will fashion ourselves into the person we want to be. We see ourselves as having potential, or perhaps as being flabby, physically or mentally, and needing to be put in shape. So our ego or our I has a concept of who we want to be, and we then act upon ourselves to make ourselves according to our self-conceptions. Rimbaud wants to be a poet. But he does not associate with the ego that conceives himself as a poet. Rather, he relates himself to the unformed matter of his selfhood. For this reason, he more strongly feels himself to be other. So we too, when thinking we will undergo a pre-conceived change we too can see ourselves as being other to ourselves in this form/matter way.


Brief Summary

In the first letter, Rimbaud tells an old acquaintance that he is trying to become a poet. He feels himself to be like the matter which will receive the form of poet. The formal side is like the concept of who he will become, and his material side is like the disordered state he is in now (a state of derangement of all his senses). Hence he claims “I is an other” / “Je est un autre”.

In the second letter, he reiterates this point.


Points Relative to Deleuze
[Under Ongoing Revision]

Deleuze will locate the empty form of time at the basis of our selfhood, which is self-difference. It is not merely us changing through time. Rather, it is us being different from ourselves (our unity of self-consciousness being different from our self-appearings)– this self-difference goes hand-in-hand with the empty form of time, through which changes appear, including our own changes. So as a condition for us to change through time and to appear to ourselves, we need already to be internally distinguished as being both a) the pre-established unity of all our acts of consciousness to which we b) as appearances will appear. Our two main different self-expressions are internal to us, so they are not spatial. So as different, they cannot be different on the grounds that they occupy two different spatial places within us. Rather, they must be separated by temporal succession. So the grounds for our internal self-difference is successivity itself, or the form of succession, the formal relation that different internal things will take so that they may stand apart from each other. This is the empty a priori form of time. Thus at the heart of our selves, we are both pure difference and pure time.


Arthur Rimbaud
Letter To George Izambard
13 May 1871

Izambard has taken a teaching position at a university. Rimbaud on the one hand seems to congratulate him, but on the other he seems to criticize Izambard as well. This ambivalence extends also to what seems to be both a critique of Izambard’s poetic tastes, but also a criticism of his own tastes as well. “One day, I hope – many others hope the same thing – I will see objective poetry according to your principle, I will see it more sincerely than you would!” (303d)

Rimbaud explains that he wants to become a poet. So there is this idea already that he is unformed, in a way. He has not yet fully taken-on the form of a poet.
I want to be a poet, and I am working to make myself a seer: you will not understand this, and I don’t know how to explain it to you. It is a question of reaching the unknown by a derangement of all the senses. (303d)
Je veux être poète, et je travaille à me rendre voyant : vous ne comprenez pas du tout, et je ne saurais presque vous expliquer. Il s’agit d’arriver à l’inconnu par le dérèglement de tous les sens. (302d)
He goes on than to evoke an Aristotelian distinction between form and matter in order to describe how he is other to himself.
I is someone else. It is too bad for the wood which finds itself a violin (305a)
Je est un autre. Tant pis pour le bois que se trouve violon (304a)
We might look at part of Aristotle’s Metaphysics for context:
Therefore, as we say, generation would be impossible if nothing were already existent. It is clear, then, that some part must necessarily pre-exist; because the matter is a part, since it is matter which pre-exists in the product and becomes something. (Book VII, 1032b, from www.perseus.tufts)

Deleuze will contrast Rimbaud's form of self-division from the Kantian kind. For Rimbaud, he is like formless human matter that will one day find himself formed as a poet. He takes the perspective of the matter, and considers his I to be what provides the thoughts that form the raw matter of his self. Deleuze explains:
Aristotle tells us that there is matter and then there is form which informs [informe] matter. Matter is the copper, the bugle is the copper which has been poured into this form. Nothing could be more classical, and Rimbaud assimilates himself to a matter and says: thought forms me. (Cours Vincennes - 21/03/1978)
Aristote nous dit qu'il y a la matière et puis qu'il y a la forme qui informe la matière. La matière c'est le cuivre, le clairon c'est le cuivre qui a été coulé dans cette forme. C'est on ne peut plus classique, et Rimbaud s'assimile à une matière et dit : la pensée me forme. (Cours Vincennes - 21/03/1978)
Kant’s form of I is other is even more profound than Rimbaud’s. We will find that for Kant, it is not an I who is forming a self from raw self-matter. Kant’s I is just the unity of consciousness; it is found along with every concept we conceive, but the I itself is not however a concept. So Kant’s I is not a formative principle. And the self is not an object that is being formed by something. The self appears to consciousness. We sense ourselves. These appearances are in continual variation. We are constantly a divergence between our unity and our self-appearings. That is to say, below the unity of our consciousness there is a deeper internal self-differentiation.


Letter To Paul Demeny
15 May 1871

Rimbaud discusses with Paul Demeny the history of poetry and the evaluation of Romanticism. He then repeats his point from the previous letter. He goes on to elaborate on this idea that our I is there for the creation of our self-hood, as if it were a preexisting principle or concept that helps form ourselves from our raw self-matter.
For I is someone else. If brass wakes up a trumpet, it is not its fault. This is obvious to me: I am present at this birth of my thought: I watch it and listen to it: I draw a stroke of the bow: the symphony makes its stir in the depths, or comes on to the stage in a leap. (305d)
Car Je est un autre. Si le cuivre s'éveille clairon, il n'y a rien de sa faute. Cela m'est évident: j'assiste à l'éclosion de ma pensée: je la regarde, je l'écoute: je lance un coup d'archet: la symphonie fait son remuement dans les profondeurs, ou vient d'un bond sur la scène. (304d)

But the soul must be made monstrous: in the fashion of the comprachicos, if you will! [Editor's footnote: Comprachicos: kidnappers of children who mutilate them in order to exhibit them as monsters]. Imagine a man implanting and cultivating warts on his face.
I say one must be a seer, make oneself a seer.
The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, gigantic and rational derangement of all the senses. All forms of love, suffering, and madness. He searches himself. He exhausts all poisons in himself and keeps only their quintessences. Unspeakable torture where he needs all his faith, all his superhuman strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the one accursed – and the supreme Scholar! – Because he reaches the unknown! Since he cultivated his soul, rich already, more than any man! He reaches the unknown, and when, bewildered, he ends by losing the intelligence of his visions, he has seen them. (307c.d)
Mais il s’agit de faire l’âme monstrueuse : à l’instar des comprachicos, quoi ! Imaginez un homme s’implantant et se cultivant des verrues sur le visage.
Je dis qu’il faut être voyant, se faire voyant.
Le Poète se fait voyant par un long, immense et raisonné dérèglement de tous les sens. Toutes les formes d’amour, de souffrance, de folie ; il cherche lui-même, il épuise en lui tous les poisons, pour n’en garder que les quintessences. Ineffable torture où il a besoin de toute la foi, de toute la force surhumaine, où il devient entre tous le grand malade, le grand criminel, le grand maudit, - et le suprême Savant ! Car il arrive à l’inconnu ! Puisqu’il a cultivé son âme, déjà riche, plus qu’aucun ! Il arrive à l’inconnu, et quand, affolé, il finirait par perdre l’intelligence de ses visions, il les a vues ! (306c.d)




Aristotle. Aristotle in 23 Volumes, Vols.17, 18, translated by Hugh Tredennick. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press; London, William Heinemann Ltd. 1933, 1989.
Passage from: http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0052%3Abook%3D7%3Asection%3D1032b

Rimbaud, Arthur. Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters. Transl. Wallace Fowlie. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966.

Deleuze, Gilles. Cours Vincennes - 21/03/1978.
French: http://www.webdeleuze.com/php/texte.php?cle=59&groupe=Kant&langue=1
English: http://www.webdeleuze.com/php/texte.php?cle=67&groupe=Kant&langue=2


Image obtained very gratefully from
http://www.histoire-image.org/site/zoom/zoom.php?i=411&oe_zoom=129
Thanks H. Lewandowski
© Photo RMN - H. Lewandowski