In "Vulnerability in Resistance," editors
Judith Butler, Zeynep Gambetti, and Leticia Sabsay explore the intricate
relationship between vulnerability and resistance. They assert that
acknowledging vulnerability and resistance as interconnected concepts involves
embracing claims that are both risky and true. The emergence of the
"suffering other" in social relations is highlighted, with
vulnerability seen as a process exacerbated and disavowed for the pursuit of
power. The editors emphasize the heightened vulnerability of socially
disadvantaged groups, such as disabled individuals, when relying on paternalistic
institutions for protection. The central question posed is how to politically
address vulnerability in resistance, particularly through corporeal strategies
targeting these institutions, especially in times of neoliberal austerity.
Judith Butler, in the opening chapter titled
"Rethinking Vulnerability and Resistance," delves into the concept of
precarity. She challenges the assumed linear sequence of vulnerability followed
by resistance, emphasizing the interplay between vulnerability and resistance
in the context of space and infrastructure. Butler argues that understanding
bodily vulnerability requires considering the social and material conditions,
drawing parallels with disability studies. Linguistic vulnerability is also
explored, demonstrating how performativity exposes individuals to discourses
beyond their control.
Sarah Bracke, in "Bouncing Back: Vulnerability and
Resistance in Times of Resilience," critically examines the embodied
concept of resilience as a cultural keyword in the face of neoliberalism.
Resilience, she contends, not only signifies resistance but also the ability to
"bounce back" and survive in a neoliberal era where it becomes a form
of security against various threats. Bracke warns against the ways resilience
hinders the imagination of alternative futures and explores the body's
resistance to resilience.
The subsequent chapters explore corporealities and their
connections to disability studies. Marianne Hirsch, in "Vulnerable
Times," recounts her cultural and linguistic displacement, framing
vulnerability through aesthetic encounters and emphasizing the productivity of
acts such as reading, looking, and listening. The book also delves into themes
of natality and mortality, re-scripting womanhood, and critiquing citizenship.
Zeynep Gambetti, in "Rethinking Oneself and One’s
Identity: Agonism Revisited," uses Hannah Arendt's ideas to reflect on the
Occupy Gezi movement, challenging binaries between vulnerability and power,
materiality, and discursivity. Other chapters, such as "Barricades:
Resources and Residues of Resistance," explore the metaphorical and
monumental significance of barricades, and "Women in Black" discusses
non-sovereign agency through public mourning.
The exploration of vulnerability and resistance in the
collection delves deeper into the body, raising critical questions about
systemic violence, representation, civic participation, and political
transgressions. In the tenth chapter, Meltem Ahiska examines how patriarchal
violence sustains itself in the context of anti-violence campaigns, emphasizing
the role of representations in reaffirming vulnerability as an inherent aspect
of womanhood. Elsa Dorlin, in the eleventh chapter, explores civic
participation and the dynamics between the shown and the hidden in the
allegories of Western citizenship, particularly focusing on the significance of
the face in constructing subjectivity and citizenship.
Elena Tzelepis, in "Vulnerable Corporealities and
Precarious Belongings in Mona Hatoum’s Art," investigates how bodies are
shaped by loss, displacement, and occupation through art. Rema Hammami, in
"Precarious Politics: The Activism of ‘Bodies that Count’ (Aligning with
Those That Don’t) in Palestine’s Colonial Frontier," examines gendered
bodies coming together in resistance within colonial spaces.
A notable departure in the collection is Nukhet Sirman's
chapter, "When Antigone Is a Man: Feminist ‘Trouble’ in the Late
Colony," which describes transgressive discourse between feminists from
the Kurdish movement and second-wave-style feminism in Istanbul. Sirman
discusses gendered political practices and the vulnerability of individuals
challenging state-sanctioned practices, illustrating the complexity of
vulnerability when positioned outside accepted political norms.
A unique perspective is presented in Elena Loizidou's
chapter, "Dreams and the Political Subject," which considers dreams
as a politically viable force and an integral part of political subjectivity.
Loizidou argues that dreaming contributes to our political existence by
accessing a sensual world, challenging theoretical landscapes that may overlook
the political relevance of dreams.
Throughout the collection, the overarching theme is the
interplay between vulnerability and resistance, with a focus on corporeality
and subjectivity. The editors argue that vulnerability is a resource that can
be willingly exposed or claimed, giving rise to resistance through radical
democratic practices. The authors advocate for linking corporeality and
subjectivity, re-emphasizing vulnerability in resistance.
The conclusion underscores the affective dimension of
politics and the need for contestation in neoliberal times. However, the
editors acknowledge that the critical insight into vulnerability might only
scratch the surface, emphasizing the ongoing process of working through various
aspects such as the living and the dead, memories, barricades, and dreams. The
collection challenges the binary relationship between vulnerability and
resistance, urging a nuanced understanding that avoids reinforcing
paternalistic power, especially concerning group identifications like those
found in descriptions of disability. Overall, the collection prompts readers to
consider vulnerability/resistance and their political implications in a nuanced
and dynamic manner.
"Sexuality in Greek and
Roman Culture" provides a comprehensive exploration of gender and
sexuality in ancient Greece and Rome, breaking away from the perception of
classical studies as narrow and conservative. Authored with a focus on accessibility
for undergraduates and non-specialists, Skinner presents a culturally relevant
and engaging perspective on this often-overlooked aspect of classical history.
Skinner grounds her analysis
in the idea that gender and sexuality are socially constructed and vary across
time and place. Starting with ancient Greece in its pre-literate agricultural
society, Skinner examines how the Greeks expressed male and female sexuality
through their worship of various gods, particularly highlighting the
association of sexual beliefs with religious cults celebrating fertility. Epic
poems by Homer and Hesiod, emerging from an oral storytelling tradition, played
a crucial role in disseminating ideas about gender and sexuality.
In this ancient period,
heterosexuality was well-defined in societal roles, while the acceptance of
male homoeroticism, as seen in the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus
in the Iliad, lacked clarity on the institutionalization of pederasty. Skinner
refrains from speculation on its origins but explores the significance of
single-sex communal gatherings called symposiums, where homoerotic expressions
were central. The analysis delves into the various hypotheses surrounding
pederasty's emergence, presenting multiple perspectives without endorsing any
particular stance.
The discussion of female
homoerotic bonding is admittedly more challenging due to the scarcity of
reliable information. Skinner highlights fragments of evidence suggesting
female choral groups in certain Greek regions, providing insights into the
transition from virginity to married life. The lack of documentation is
attributed to the perceived insignificance of female-female bonding in
post-Homeric Archaic Greece. The "penetration model" of Greek
sexuality, a debated concept, is presented and questioned, emphasizing its
limitations in explaining the diverse aspects of female eroticism.
As Greece transitions to the
city-state (polis) era, Skinner connects sexuality with broader cultural,
political, and social ideologies. The shift towards democracy marks a
contestation between elites and non-elites, with pederasty becoming a point of
contention. The democratic emphasis on rational self-regulation introduces
state surveillance of sexual conduct, emphasizing the importance of maintaining
lineages through heterosexual unions.
The aftermath of the
Peloponnesian War leads to increased scrutiny of sexual behavior, with
Aristotle and philosophical groups exploring sexual ethics. Women's roles
evolve, and tensions arise within marriage due to changing gender dynamics. The
prominence of courtesans in literature, particularly in comedies, reflects
social crisis and cultural alienation in Athens. Skinner examines how tragedies
sponsored by the state reveal anxieties around eros in long-term heterosexual unions.
Skinner seamlessly transitions
from Greek to Roman culture, dispelling the notion of a strict divide between
the two. Roman sexuality, more class and rank-oriented, diverges from the Greek
model. The emphasis on phallic imagery in Roman literature and art is linked to
the obsession with power. Roman social stratification dictates sexual roles
more rigorously, with class and rank determining the dominant role in sexual
relations. The interconnectedness of power and sexuality in Rome is
underscored, with phallic symbolism reflecting power dynamics.
"Postcolonial Representations: Women, Literature,
Identity" enthusiastically engages with and praises the concept of
hybridity in the literary works of "postcolonial" women writers. The
celebratory analyses of women's texts unveil profound depth and complexity,
shedding light on authors who historically received minimal critical attention.
While this contribution is significant to the field, it may not wield the same
influence as its predecessor. This is partly attributed to the evolving
landscape of the field itself, with "postcolonial" feminist studies
expanding as a distinct area of inquiry. Lionnet's work, once considered
unusually theoretical, no longer stands out in the same way.
Furthermore, the book's status as a collection of
previously published essays, lacking regional, cultural, or thematic unity,
contributes to its diminished impact. This "incoherence" could be
interpreted productively as Lionnet's deliberate refusal to establish a canon
of marginalized women writers. The book comprises an introduction outlining the
author's problematic, followed by eight essays mostly exploring woman-authored
narratives from various nations worldwide.
In the chapter titled "Of Mangoes and Maroons,"
Lionnet focuses on Michelle Cliff's "Abeng," labeling Cliff an "autoethnographer"
dedicated to the "re-creation of a collective identity" rather than
the private self. Lionnet challenges previous interpretations of Cliff as
inauthentically Jamaican, emphasizing the novelist's exploration of maternal
filiation. This realignment connects Cliff genealogically with figures like
Audre Lorde and Zora Neale Hurston, distancing her from male writers who favor
exile as an escape from (neo) colonial confinement.
The subsequent chapter, "Evading the Subject,"
delves into the works of the lesser-known Indo-Mauritian writer Ananda Devi,
complicating stereotypes about African writing and its exclusivity to the
continent or black authors. Lionnet's examination of Rue La Poudrière's
narrative of an urban prostitute in Port-Louis is suggestive but concise.
The following chapters, "A New Antillean
Humanism" and "Inscriptions of Exile," could be interpreted as
examples of the double gesture prevalent in much Francophone Caribbean women's
writing—exile and return. "A New Antillean Humanism" focuses on
Maryse Conde's reimagining of the Caribbean and its need for a complex
politics, drawing on Edouard Glissant's notion of La Relation. The chapter
"Exile" briefly discusses alienation in works by Myriam Warner-Vieyra
and Suzanne Dracius-Pinalie, tracing ambivalent representations of the black
and female body as historical commodity and uncertain contemporary agent on
journeys from the Caribbean to Europe and Africa in the quest for selfhood.
The exploration of Warner-Vieyra's "Juletane"
is revisited at greater length in the context of a broader examination that
includes a short story from "Femmes échouées." These works are
juxtaposed with "Dikeledi," a story from Bessie Head's "A
Collector of Treasures," and Gayl Jones's "Eva's Man" in what
stands out as the most robust essay in the collection. Despite its central
thematic focus on the decidedly uncelebratory topic of female murderers,
"Geographies of Pain" maintains a remarkably unsentimental approach
to the victimization of the women depicted. Lionnet proposes a symptomatic
reading of these characters, using the crimes they commit as a metaphor for
"society's crime against the female individual" (106). By challenging
the traditional portrayal of women as gentle nurturers, she foregrounds the constructed
nature of her project. The relationship among the three black women writers is
not only based on their "shared 'Africanness' but [on] a performative
intertextuality" (108). Lionnet suggests that these works demonstrate a
pattern of influence and cross-fertilization, utilizing themes and addressing
negative mythic images of women in subversive ways.
One of Lionnet's boldest and most ambitious intellectual
and political endeavors in "Postcolonial Representations" is her
engagement with the highly charged topic of female excision. Negotiating
between Eurocentric chauvinism and cultural relativism, she reads both the
historical practice and its literary representation through a feminist lens.
She situates this phenomenon discursively, highlighting its significance to
gender formation, rites of adulthood, and various power relations affecting the
body. The first of the two chapters, "Dissymmetry Embodied," delves
into the topic and proceeds to conduct a close reading of Nawal El Saadawi's "Woman
at Point Zero." While Lionnet compiles an impressive bibliography of
anti-excision writings by African women, she appears to concede too quickly to
the "authenticity charge"—the notion that Westernized women are too
removed from traditional indigenous groups to be politically helpful. In
"The Limits of Universalism," the sole non-literary chapter, Lionnet
revisits similar issues of gender, power, and cultural difference but through
the lens of a court case involving an immigrant Malian family victimized by the
French legal system.
In her work "Politics of
the Female Body,Katrak embarks on a
critical examination of how the female body serves as both a site of oppression
and resistance in various women's texts from India, Africa, and the Caribbean.
Katrak astutely observes that in many societies, constructs of female sexuality
are projected onto other social categories, including linguistic practices,
educational structures, local traditions of social-cultural resistance, and
institutions such as wifehood, motherhood, and widowhood, as explored in her
expansive five-chapter analysis. While the study often centers on prominent
African writers the author’s recent involvement in activist projects in her
homeland also leads to discussions on Hosain, Desai, and the complex issue of
Indian suicide-murders within the overarching framework of her study.
The title, "Politics of
the Female Body," underscores the author's intention to employ widely
accepted definitions of "postcolonial" and "Third World."
In alignment with established comparative and feminist approaches, Katrak
incorporates Spivak's insights on the necessity of avoiding relativism in
comparative literary studies while emphasizing the ethical commitment to social
justice through the intersection of activism and theory. Although the
methodology adheres to familiar grounds, the study's potential for building
political and feminist alliances across geographic boundaries within the field
becomes apparent, deriving from shared colonial pasts and neocolonial presents.
The book continues a
trajectory of intellectual exploration initiated by feminists, aiming to
situate opposition to patriarchy in conjunction with and in contrast to
contextualized colonialism and postcolonialism. It goes beyond this established
framework by interweaving crucial cultural practices, such as dowry and
bride-price, to elucidate the intricate ways in which the embodied subject
operates within overlapping, conflicting, and rival traditions within each
respective society. The venture of employing diverse sociocultural lenses to
interpret female bodies entwined in diverse postcolonial predicaments is a
pursuit that has been undertaken.
Employing novels, plays,
pamphlets, and at times, poems—both independently and in collaboration—Katrak meticulously
elucidates the impacts of two deeply entrenched legacies of colonization:
English education and the construction of normative femininity. She
demonstrates how these elements function as the foundation for postcolonial
manifestations of patriarchal control. Each chapter highlights how such control
manifests through societal attitudes and cultural norms, resulting in what she
interprets as various forms and degrees of "exile." In other words,
the constraints imposed on female subjectivity lead to a profound dislocation
of the self, culminating in experiences so deeply traumatic that they give rise
to silence, violence, and/or self-annihilation. Katrak utilizes diverse
narrative genres in conjunction with cultural practices to underscore this crucial
point.
While the work aligns with the efforts of other scholars,
its "broad survey" approach makes it an invaluable resource for
novice scholars. However, this comprehensive approach may result in some loss
of local specificity and complexity, even within discussions of the politics
and pleasures of the female body. Katrak acknowledges the challenging debates
around essential femininity and the body-as-identity but recognizes that these
topics somewhat lie beyond the book's scope.
Capitalism and Imperialism traces the historical
trajectory of capitalism highlighting its intrinsic connection with colonialism
and imperialism. The prevailing economic narratives, critiqued by the authors,
have often presented a one-sided view, assuming that capitalism can be
comprehended in isolation, divorced from its indispensable ties to colonial
exploits and the abundant resources derived from colonization that propelled
its trajectory.
The authors aim to rectify this historical oversight,
asserting that traditional economics has suffered from a blind spot arising
from its development primarily within metropolitan settings. The book is
structured into six parts, with the initial four sections delving into the
theoretical dimensions of the capitalism-colonialism nexus and the evolution of
capitalism until the post-World War II era. The latter two segments expound
upon the transformations in the post-war and neoliberal periods, dissecting the
nuanced shifts in capitalism over time.
The historical epochs of capitalism are categorized into five
stages: the pre-World War I era, the interwar period, the post-World War II
"Golden Age of Capitalism," the era of globalization, and the recent
years marked by a resurgence of perennial crises within capitalism, signaling
an impasse. Throughout these periods, the book underscores the pivotal yet
dynamic role played by colonialism and imperialism, serving as the common
thread binding the various phases of capitalism's development. According to the
authors, the prosperity of metropolitan centers in the narrative is intricately
linked to the assistance provided by colonial and imperialistic plunder.
The core argument of the book challenges the conventional
wisdom held by mainstream economists, who posit that money in the form of
wealth is an anomaly due to its perceived inability to generate profits. In
contrast, the authors contend that, historically, this has never been the case
within capitalism. They set out to demonstrate that the persistent demand for
wealth in the form of money poses a continual threat to the progression of
capitalism. In the absence of external stimuli, capitalism in isolation would
stagnate. These external stimuli, identified as pre-capitalist markets, state
expenditures, and innovations, are crucial for sustaining capitalism on an
ever-expanding scale. The authors emphatically reject the notion of capitalism
as a self-contained and perpetual system.
The authors commence their examination of capitalism by
characterizing it as a monetary system, asserting that it not only employs money
for transactions but also for wealth accumulation. They argue that many
economic schools fail to recognize capitalism's use of money to amass wealth,
leading to the imperative of preserving the value of money. This is achieved
through income deflation on the supply price of commodities, historically
realized through imperialism. Imperialism, as defined by the authors, entails a
relationship between capitalism and its environment, emphasizing the imposition
of a regime that enforces income deflation to avert the threat of rising supply
prices. Through colonial subjugation and plunder, the metropole aimed to
maintain a stable supply price of raw materials.
The book meticulously traces the enduring centrality of
imperialism to capitalism, acknowledging its evolving forms. In the post-war
boom era dominated by Keynesian economics, imperialism's income deflation
strategies were replaced by state-driven measures, sustaining demand in the
metropolis while maintaining a trade balance favoring advanced capitalist
nations. Following decolonization, nationalist policies empowered the local
bourgeoisie with dirigiste regimes. However, in the neoliberal phase, the local
bourgeoisie, once reined in by decolonized states, actively participates in the
international finance system.
The concluding parts of the book delve into the current
scenario, accompanied by the rise of neo-fascist politics, and advocate for a
revitalized Left to counteract such trends. However, these sections are
considered the weakest in the book. While the prognosis is largely accurate,
the authors' visions of transformative politics are criticized as somewhat
narrow. The authors contend that the economic order in decolonized states
favored the local bourgeoisie, but nationalist policies also benefited petty
producers, peasants, and craftsmen. Yet, with the integration of the big
bourgeoisie into the neoliberal order, the plight of these groups has worsened,
evident in recent protests against farm laws favoring the big bourgeoisie. The
withdrawal of these laws highlighted the antagonistic relationship between the
neoliberal regime and the masses of decolonized states. The big bourgeoisie now
aligns with metropolitan capital, promoting the "opening up" of the
world for free capital and goods flows, to the detriment of peasants, petty
producers, and small capitalists.
"The Parting" by Michael Drayton is a sonnet. The poem is
structured as a Shakespearean sonnet, adhering to a consistent rhyme scheme of
ABABCDCDEFEFGG. In this format, the volta, or the turning point, traditionally
occurs between the twelfth and thirteenth lines. This is where a shift takes
place in the speaker's tone and perspective. Initially, the speaker firmly
declares their decision to end attempts at love with the intended listener.
However, in a revealing twist, the speaker later acknowledges that if the other
person desires, they could potentially revive and make the relationship work,
contradicting the earlier claim of finality.
The sonnet explores the theme of separation and the complex
emotions tangled with bidding farewell to a cherished individual. Beginning
with a recognition of the inescapable nature of parting, the speaker conveys a
profound understanding that the conclusion is an inherent aspect of all
positive experiences. They express the acknowledgment that even the most
fervent love affairs are not immune to the passage of time.
As the poem begins, the speaker
straightforwardly states that he's giving up on trying to love someone. The
person he's been trying to win over in previous sonnets has, in his view,
defeated him. He firmly believes that their love is not going to succeed, so he
suggests a farewell kiss and parting ways. The speaker expresses relief,
stating that he is happy the situation has come to an end. He makes it clear
that he wants nothing more to do with the person in question. The speaker's
repetitive use of the word "glad" and his brief, assertive statements
create the impression that he may actually desire the opposite outcome. Despite
appearing ready to abandon the relationship, his choice of words suggests a
reluctance to do so. The line "thus so cleanly I myself can free"
suggests that the relationship felt constrained in some way. Now, by deciding
to end it, the speaker implies a sense of liberation and freedom from this
perceived entrapment.
In the next four lines, the speaker suggests a civil
farewell by proposing a handshake and a clean break. They emphasize that any
love they once shared should be completely discarded when they meet again. In
the future, the speaker envisions a relationship of mere acquaintanceship,
devoid of any lingering traces of their past affection. They stress that there
should be no visible signs on their faces ("brows") indicating the
existence of their previous love.
In the last four lines, the speaker uses personification to
describe their love falling apart, likening it to "Love's latest
breath" gasping and their "pulse failing." The speaker addresses
Passion and Faith, indicating a heightened emotional state while emphasizing
the finality of the end. However, a shift occurs between the twelfth and
thirteenth lines, revealing the speaker's true feelings. Despite the earlier
assertions of the demise of their love, the speaker admits that if the other
person wished it, they could revive their affection. This admission contradicts
the earlier claim that their love was completely extinguished.
Robin Hood is a legendary
character in Medieval England's folklore. "Robin Hood and The Monk"
is found in the collection "A Lytell Geste of Robin Hode," published
in 1489. It is as one of the earliest surviving ballads detailing the exploits
of this legendary outlaw.
The ballad begins with Robin
expressing his devoutness to the Virgin Mary, desiring to attend a mass in
Nottingham. One of his trusted men, advises him to bring twelve companions for
safety, but Robin, displaying his characteristic confidence, opts for only one
companion, Little John. As they journey, a friendly bet arises between Robin
and Little John. Despite Robin's defeat, he stubbornly rejects the agreed-upon
payout, provoking Little John's anger, leading him to part ways with Robin.
Upon reaching St. Mary's in Nottingham, Robin, unaware of the monk's presence
whom he had previously robbed, engages in fervent prayer. The past deeds of
robbing have left a mark on the monk's memory. This sets the stage for a tale
that intertwines Robin Hood's piety, camaraderie, and the repercussions of his
earlier exploits.
Swiftly, the monk reports Robin's presence to the sheriff,
setting in motion a series of events that would test the loyalty and cunning of
Robin and his band of outlaws. In a bid to rescue Robin, Little John, the sole
keeper of Robin's whereabouts, organizes a daring mission with Much and the
rest of the men. They successfully capture the monk and his young companion.
Little John dispatches the monk, and Much eliminates the page, leaving no
witnesses to their covert operation. Disguised as the monk's companion, Little
John and Much approach the King, presenting the monk's letters detailing his
untimely demise. The King, in gratitude for their supposed loyalty,
reciprocates with gifts and instructions to bring Robin Hood before him.
Executing their plan, Little John
delivers the King's letter to the sheriff, spinning a tale of the monk's
promotion to abbot as the reason for his absence. Infiltrating the prison, they
eliminate the jailer and liberate Robin. The successful rescue prompts Robin to
acknowledge Little John's unwavering loyalty, leading him to offer leadership
of the group to Little John. However, Little John declines, expressing his
desire for Robin to remain as the leader. Meanwhile, the King, though angered
by the incompetence of his men, admires Little John's loyalty. Realizing they
had all been deceived, he chooses to overlook the situation, allowing Robin and
his band to continue their exploits. In the end, Robin acknowledges his debt to
Little John, recognizing the profound loyalty that transcended their earlier
dispute over the wager.
While the trans-Atlantic connections between Africa,
Europe, and the Americas have long been a subject of study, the recent
resurgence in interest, particularly among younger scholars, can be largely
attributed to the impact of Paul Gilroy's seminal work, "The Black
Atlantic: Modernity and Double-Consciousness" (1993). As a sociologist
trained in cultural studies, Gilroy argued for a diasporic model of cultural
connection to comprehend the similarities and differences among black
communities around the Atlantic. His work proposed the concept of
"counter-modernity," challenging Western humanism and its
institutions. While Gilroy's argument was both exciting and frustrating,
particularly for its lack of empirical engagement, it played a pivotal role in
reshaping the history of the Atlantic world.
"The Practice of Diaspora" by Brent Hayes
Edwards situates itself between the theoretical and empirical approaches.
Edwards, a literary scholar, focuses on contemporary cultural debates with a
specific historical goal: to recover and analyze the trans-Atlantic
relationships that developed among black intellectuals during the interwar
period. Unlike Gilroy, Edwards adopts a more chronologically focused and
empirically grounded approach, emphasizing Paris and the Francophone world. His
methodology emphasizes language, translation, and the role of literary work in
creating linkages and a common black sensibility in the Atlantic world, using
sources such as journals, anthologies, and book prefaces to demonstrate that
black internationalism was a tangible outcome of correspondence, translation,
and other written practices.
In Chapter 1, Edwards discusses his sources and method,
highlighting his commitment to "anti-abstractionist uses of diaspora"
and introducing the notion of "ddcalage" to interpret how diaspora
functions, emphasizing the disjuncture of time and distance inherent in any
understanding of diaspora. Chapter 2 explores the correspondence between Rend
Maran, the Martinican poet, and Alain Locke, the African-American writer and
critic. Their relationship, sparked by Maran's influential work
"Batouala," reveals the complexities of being black, a French
citizen, and a colonial administrator in Africa. Chapter 3 delves into the life
of Paulette Nardal, a Martinican in Paris who founded the bilingual journal
"La Revue du monde noir" and hosted a weekly salon for black
university students and visiting writers from Harlem, adding a significant
gender dimension to Edwards's historical analysis.
In Chapter 4, the focus shifts to a detailed exploration
of a single text, Claude McKay's novel "Banjo" (1929). Set in the
port city of Marseilles and depicting black workers and drifters, Edwards
discusses the novel's significance in creating a view of vagabond internationalism.
Despite its promise of a black cosmopolitanism from below, this vision remains
unfulfilled. Chapter 5 extends the proletarian theme by examining the
collaboration between George Padmore and Tiemoko Garan Kouyaté through their
connections with the Soviet Comintern. This final chapter intertwines black
internationalism, anticolonialism, and Marxist-Leninism.
Kouyaté, born in Segu, Mali, emerges as a fascinating
figure, expressing his wish to C. L. R. James that "Trotsky was a black
man." Kouyaté's story becomes an allegory for activist-intellectuals,
characterized by piercing ideas and imaginative effort but lacking
institutional support. Edwards poignantly notes the fragility of connections,
such as a momentary possibility of collaboration between Kouyaté and W. E. B.
Du Bois that remains unrealized.
The detailed insight and verve that Edwards brings to
this history reveal a conceptual and empirical richness uncommon in similar
studies. While familiar figures like Du Bois, James, and Garvey make
appearances, Edwards's committed exploration of lesser-known figures like
Maran, Nardal, and Kouyaté adds excitement to the study. Even figures like
Nguyen Ai Quoc (later Ho Chi Minh) are present through their relationships with
Lamine, Senghor, and others in the Union Intercoloniale.
Some historians may have reservations about "The
Practice of Diaspora." It reads more like a series of essays than a
sequence of chronological chapters, with occasional digressions into conceptual
discussions that might feel dense with names and jargon. Additionally, the
concept of "décalage," while causal, is not fully developed as a
historical theory. The focus remains on "publication" history rather
than "event" history, and a broader pattern beyond these tenuous
links may not fully materialize.
In his work "Blindness: The History of a Mental Image
in Western Thought," Moshe Barasch surveys Western art spanning antiquity
through the Renaissance, providing a comprehensive overview of depictions of
both blind individuals and those without sight. Barasch meticulously interprets
these representations in the context of literature, religious beliefs, and
social history to illuminate attitudes toward blindness across different
historical periods. While the book serves as a valuable compendium, presenting
information not found in any other single volume, it occupies a space between a
popular treatment and a scholarly work, potentially leaving academic readers
somewhat frustrated. Additionally, scholars in disability studies may be
disappointed as the book does not engage with disability theory.
Barasch, a distinguished art historian, leverages his
extensive knowledge in this exploration. He references a multitude of visual
representations and textual sources, spanning from ancient drama to Diderot's
"Lettre Sur les Aveugles" (Letter about the Blind). The book is
structured around chapters focusing on antiquity, the early Christian period,
the Middle Ages, and the Renaissance, providing insights into the social and
cultural dynamics shaping perceptions of blindness in each era. The final
chapter diverges from art history to discuss Diderot's Enlightenment treatise
on blindness, a pivotal moment in reshaping understanding and humanizing blind
individuals.
The analysis of classical and early Christian periods stands
out as particularly interesting and persuasive. Barasch highlights the
ambiguities in attitudes toward blindness during these eras, such as the Greek
belief that blindness could result from encountering a deity, signifying both
punishment and divine knowledge. In the early Christian world, biblical
episodes like Jesus healing the blind and Paul's temporary blindness during
conversion are explored in relation to prevailing Jewish beliefs.
However, the Middle Ages section encounters shortcomings in argumentation.
Barasch introduces a little-known convention regarding the Antichrist's
asymmetrical eyes, claiming a connection to blindness despite acknowledging the
absence of explicit textual support. The discussion then shifts to allegorical
blindness, notably the blindfolded Synagoga representing Judaism. This
interpretation may raise concerns among scholars in disability studies, as
Barasch repeatedly refers to these figures as "blind" while
acknowledging the symbolic nature of the blindfold.
Inconsistencies emerge in associating blindfolds with actual
blindness, especially in the case of Synagoga, where Christian theology posited
her temporary unwillingness to "see" Jesus's divinity until the
Second Coming. Barasch's exploration of stereotypical representations of blind
beggars in literature is more grounded, but reliance on Pieter Breughel's
painting, created in the Renaissance, to exemplify medieval traditions may
weaken the argument.
The Renaissance, according to Barasch, saw a continuation of
earlier conventions related to blindness, with a revisiting of stereotypes like
the blind beggar and the blind seer. The final chapter on Diderot explores how
Enlightenment thinking impacted the understanding of blindness. While the book
provides a valuable resource, its position between a popular and scholarly
work, coupled with occasional inconsistencies, may pose challenges for some
readers.
"Bending over Backwards: Disability, Dismodernism, and
Other Difficult Positions" comprises nine distinct essays, providing a
comprehensive exploration of the author-activist's evolving thoughts on
disability, disability studies, and literary historical criticism. The
collection spans diverse topics, including the human genome project, ADA court
cases, concepts of citizenship, the history of the novel, homosexuality,
postmodernist theory, the rise of Disability Studies, and more. As part of
NYU's Cultural Fronts series, which aims to highlight works of cultural
criticism with policy implications, the book is not exclusively intended for
historians but offers creative and challenging insights that can benefit the
field, particularly disability historians.
Central to Davis's argument is the transformative potential
of disability as a category of identity, challenging postmodern notions of
identity. Rooted in his earlier works, such as "Enforcing Normalcy"
and "The Disability Studies Reader," Davis delves into the social,
scientific, and linguistic processes shaping the meaning of
"disability." His personal reflections in works like "Shall I
Say a Kiss" and "My Sense of Silence" provide poignant images of
living as/with Deaf individuals, combining theoretical frameworks from Jacques
Lacan and Michel Foucau with personal narratives.
While the book primarily compiles previously published
pieces, reflecting Davis's internal dialogues since their release, it
highlights a substantial evolution in understanding. Davis emphasizes the
omnipresence of disability, urging scholars to consider its potential for
reshaping academic and practical definitions of identity and status.
Several chapters revisit arguments from Davis's earlier
works, notably the assertion that the nineteenth century marked a shift from
ideals to norms, exemplified by the rise of eugenics. The book extends these
ideas, linking disability to legal systems, American politics, the environment,
technology, and the economy. Davis introduces "dismodernism" as an
alternative to identity politics and social constructionism, proposing that
disability transcends and supplants traditional postmodernist classifiers of
race, class, and gender. Davis contends that disability's fluidity as a
category allows Disability Studies to offer a broad critique of contemporary
systems of oppression.
The introduction, "People with Disability: They Are
You," goes beyond typical disability theory scholarship, asserting that
disability directly and indirectly influences everyone. Davis advocates for a
broader civil rights mandate through dismodernism, aligning protections across
all classes. He contends that impairment is the rule, normalcy is a fantasy,
and universal design should guide social and political structures.
Chapters of particular interest to disability historians
include "The End of Identity Politics and the Beginning of
Dismodernism," which explores parallels between historical expressions of
minority identities, and "Bending over Backwards," providing a
detailed analysis of the Americans with Disabilities Act and specific ADA court
cases. The latter chapter delves into legal texts, emphasizing the framing of
cultural norms within documents and judicial decisions.
Davis's attention to economic factors compounding disability
experiences is appreciated, shedding light on the intricate ties between class
circumstances and disability. Examples illustrate the prevalence of genetic
testing in affluent societies and the socioeconomic challenges faced by people
with disabilities.
"Artificial Parts, Practical Lives" presents
twelve essays by different authors, offering diverse perspectives on the
replacement of body parts, artificial restorations, and the augmentation of
human function. Despite the essays' divergence in topic and tone, the
compilation aims to stimulate research and critical inquiry, according to
Katherine Ott, one of the editors and essay authors. The book covers various
aspects, including the human genome project, ADA court cases, concepts of
citizenship, the history of the novel, homosexuality, postmodernist theory, and
the rise of Disability Studies.
The cover features a captivating photograph of two
individuals shaking artificial hands, sparking curiosity about the mechanical
limbs. However, the book disappoints by not delving into details about the
prostheses shown on the cover or the lives of the individuals using them. Some
photos within the book also pique interest in prosthetics, but the accompanying
text often lacks sufficient information about the function and integration of
these devices with the users.
Katherine Ott's introduction, "The Sum of Its
Parts," and David Serlin's opening essay may unsettle knowledgeable
readers with inaccuracies and misinterpretations. Ott's statements about
myoelectric limbs and the origin of the term "torque" are based on
outdated information, eroding confidence in the collected material and raising
questions about editing. Serlin's essay contains notable mistakes, such as
mischaracterizing Harold Russell's limb loss and inaccurately describing Jimmy
Wilson's condition. These inaccuracies, while not crucial to the book's
content, cast a shadow on the reliability of the information.
Serlin's essay, "Engineering Masculinity,"
explores the psychological toll of limb loss and the link between engineering
prosthetics and male identity. The lack of technical details about a remarkable
prosthesis shown in a photograph weakens the essay's impact. The missed
opportunity to connect essays and the absence of strong communication links between
essayists and technical or medical consultants are evident.
Ott's detailed article on the history of artificial eyes
stands out positively, offering engaging insights. However, the introduction's
cultural, social, political, and gender overlays may challenge general readers'
comprehension. Ott's contributions vary significantly between the introduction
and her essay, showcasing inconsistencies in style and tone.
Only three essays closely address modern histories of
prosthetics, focusing on breast prostheses, artificial eyes, and endoprostheses
for joint replacement. Half of the essays use prosthetics as a departure point
to explore related topics, covering a wide range of subjects, from Benjamin
Franklin's inventions to Confederate veterans' struggles and cosmetic
prostheses.
Heather Perry's essay on prosthetics in Germany after World
War I stands out for its original scholarship, providing insights into the
influence of German practitioners on prosthetics worldwide.
Timothy Brennan’s book primarily revolves around a detailed
exploration of Rushdie's four novels: Grimus, Midnight's Children, Shame, and
The Satanic Verses. This examination is guided by the initial two chapters,
which establish crucial contexts for understanding Rushdie's work. These
contexts include the role of fiction in contemporary nationalism, and
conversely, how nationalism influences fiction. Additionally, the relationship
between Third-World literary cosmopolitanism and anti-colonial liberalism is
explored. This approach allows the book to simultaneously position Rushdie as
both a unique individual and a representative figure. It enables the book to
establish and question the role of internationally renowned Third-World writers
in shaping post-colonial discourse.
While some categorization strategies may lean towards being
overly prescriptive, such as the provision of a two-columned checklist of
differences between "postmodernists" and "Third-World
cosmopolitans," overall, this analysis presents an original and engaging
exploration of a complex subject.
Throughout his argument, Brennan indirectly suggests why the
Rushdie affair captured the attention of both liberal and less liberal Western
minds. The "Third-World cosmopolitan" writers, with whom Brennan
associates Rushdie, are characterized by their constant evasion of fixed
national and ideological identities, which has become a defining characteristic
of humane cosmopolitan writers from the Third World. One obvious result of this
evasion is the translation of "authorial ambiguity" into a dualistic
moral framework where every group is assigned both a positive and negative
expression. Brennan identifies this radical relativity as a governing principle
of duality in much of Rushdie's work.
This mode of translation inevitably leads to an ambiguous
relationship with authority and tradition, and only a slightly more stable
connection with an immigrant culture that lacks the former and strives to
establish the latter. Twentieth-century English liberalism has often appeared,
at one extreme, as nothing more than the refined high-mindedness portrayed by
Forster (material that Rushdie criticizes as ripe for cinematic "Raj
revisionism"), or at the other extreme, a form of Orwellian slumming. Brennan's
portrayal of Rushdie, despite his outrage in the face of Thatcher's England or
the Ayatollah's Iran, suggests that he cannot entirely avoid the pitfalls faced
by well-intentioned political efforts due to his gender and class.
If there is a concern about "the way Rushdie often
depicts women" (126), Brennan seems to find this issue ultimately less
troublesome than the disconnect between Rushdie's refined upbringing, shaped by
public school and Cambridge, and the experiences of "the people," particularly
those striving to find their voice within Britain's diverse black cultures. The
former cultivates detachment, while the latter demands engagement. This issue
is most directly addressed in the discussion of The Satanic Verses. Despite the
distortions in media coverage, Brennan argues that the novel primarily centers
on a very secular England (147). The offense taken by "ordinary
lower-class Muslims in India and Pakistan—along with those in the English
cities of Bradford, Birmingham, and London" indicates, for Brennan,
"the class resentments simmering beneath the surface of an affair that has
often been viewed solely through religious lenses" (145).
Brennan's own allegiances, as outlined in his earlier
analysis of decolonization, which positions Third-World cosmopolitanism in
contrast to the work of pragmatic theorists like Antonio Gramsci, José Carlos
Mariátegui, Amílcar Cabrai, and Frantz Fanon, become more apparent towards the
end of the final chapter. Here, Brennan adopts a Fielding-to-Rushdie dynamic,
critiquing the detached and insensitive nature of cosmopolitan 'universality.'
While Rushdie contends that "bigotry is not only a function of
power," Brennan suggests that in the specific immigration and
acculturation complexities of contemporary Britain, the central issue may not
be solely one of 'human evil'. The means of perpetuating this evil are
evidently highly unequal, and the violence stemming from defending one's
identity or livelihood as opposed to one's privileges is not equivalent (165).
If this is indeed a truth, it's a perspective Salman Rushdie
has likely been in a uniquely uncomfortable position to acknowledge, at least
since February 14, 1989, compared to Timothy Brennan. Behind the occasional
surface-level identification with the oppressed lies a serious and nuanced
examination not only of Rushdie himself, but also of the paradoxes experienced
by Third-World intellectuals. These intellectuals may not be the most equipped
agents to address the problem of our collective struggle to recognize the colonial
perspective as one that truly matters (166).
Postcolonial Ecocriticism provides a thorough overview
and insightful analysis of the key issues and debates shaping the intersection
of postcolonial and ecological studies. The book delves into various
dimensions, exploring the distinctions and potential linkages between environmental
perspectives in the Northern and Southern hemispheres. It critically examines
the complex legacies of development and grapples with the challenges of
ascribing agency to subaltern entities, including non-human elements.
One focal point of the discussion is the role of genre,
such as the contrast between pastoral and protest literature, in shaping the
parameters of the postcolonial and eco/zoocritical imagination. Huggan and
Tiffin navigate the intricate relationship between activism and aesthetics, acknowledging
the tension that arises from the dual objective of legitimizing the attention
given to literature as a means to address tangible issues while also asserting
the autonomy of the imagination.
The first section, titled "Postcolonialism and the
Environment," meticulously elucidates the authors' perspective on
postcolonial ecocriticism. They clarify that their approach is not merely an
additional offshoot of either ecological studies or postcolonial studies but
rather emerges as a logical and consequential fusion of these two academic
disciplines. Huggan and Tiffin aim to underscore the interconnectedness of
ecological and postcolonial concerns, emphasizing their shared intellectual
terrain.
After extensively citing examples and references from
authors who draw parallels between racism and speciesism, and who identify
Eurocentric, neo-imperialist "hegemonic centrism" as the underlying
principle of the "colonial/imperial underpinnings of environmental
practices," Huggan and Tiffin delve into the common ground of these
concerns. In the first half of the book, they dissect issues of 'development'
and 'entitlement,' meticulously examining both the rhetoric and practices
surrounding these concepts. This examination spans legal, political, and material
dimensions, as well as individual perspectives involving emotions and personal
connections.
The authors engage in a scholarly critique, emphasizing
the neglected intellectual task of scrutinizing how the notion of
"development" functions as an enabling myth of neo-colonialist
ideology and a catalyst for commodification. They argue that such critique
often falls into unbalanced and polemical perspectives, urging for a more
nuanced and contextually grounded approach within postcolonial ecocriticism.
The second half of the book shifts focus to animals as
the "cultural other," addressing the historical construction of
civilization against the wild and animalistic. This concentration poses a dual
challenge: studying animality as a cultural trope that has enabled economic
exploitation and degradation, and approaching animals as they exist in cultural
texts beyond mere symbols or allegories.
The authors emphasize the imaginative potential of
fiction, exploring the tensions between aesthetics, advocacy, and activism.
They acknowledge the challenge of whether literature can effectively deal with
environmental issues, considering the traditional emphasis on plot, character,
and psychological states. Huggan and Tiffin confront this challenge directly,
recognizing the potential of fictional literature to contest western ideologies
of development and resolve contradictions in our representation and dealings
with the non-human other.
The book concludes with a subchapter dedicated to the
tensions between aesthetics and activism, emphasizing literature's specific
aesthetic properties and its potential to transcend categorizations like
"protest literature." Huggan and Tiffin argue that postcolonial
ecocriticism's task is to contest western ideologies of development and address
the crisis of humanism in the face of environmental challenges.
In the final section, the authors explore the idea of an
ecocriticism "after nature," scrutinizing the crisis of humanism and
posthumanist concepts for their potential to deal with modernity and our
estrangement from the natural world. By reading various theorists against the
backdrop of a humanism in crisis, they point to the imaginative possibilities
opened up by the implosion of nature and culture.
Ultimately, Huggan and Tiffin position postcolonial
ecocriticism as a crucial means of "thinking beyond the human,"
acknowledging the diverse approaches within the field and offering a
comprehensive overview that illuminates theoretical fault-lines and conflicts.
Fredrik Westerlund's "Heidegger and the Problem of
Phenomena" provides a comprehensive analysis of Heidegger's evolving
engagement with the phenomenological method inherited from Husserl,
particularly focusing on the concept of phenomena. The study unfolds in three
parts, each tracing Heidegger's shifting perspectives on phenomena. The first
part scrutinizes Heidegger's early Freiburg lectures, highlighting the call for
a heightened sensitivity to the pretheoretical, existential aspects of lived
experience. The second part delves into the emergence of Heidegger's
fundamental ontology, culminating in "Being and Time", informed by an
acute awareness of human finitude, historicity, and the interplay with
Dilthey's hermeneutics and the Aristotelian inquiry into being. The third part
probes Heidegger's later works, where attention shifts from Dasein's
receptivity to meaning to the "history of being" itself, emphasizing
the dynamic of the event (Ereignis) that allows meaningful presence to be
encountered. Westerlund concludes the study with a detailed epilogue, offering
independent critical reflections on the implications of Heidegger's radical
historicism for ethical normativity and truth.
Westerlund's work stands in line with classical
phenomenological studies on Heidegger, placing it alongside renowned scholars
such as William J. Richardson, Steven Crowell, Daniel Dahlstrom, Burt Hopkins,
and Dermot Moran. Noteworthy is the meticulous attention given to Heidegger's
early lectures, distinguishing this study and drawing parallels with Theodore
Kisiel's seminal work on the genesis of "Being and Time."
Westerlund's analysis navigates the entire corpus of Heidegger's oeuvre,
unveiling a fundamental tension between the classical Husserlian
phenomenological approach and Heidegger's evolving "radical
historicism." This tension underlies Heidegger's dual identity as both
Husserl's prominent disciple and the figure central to the
hermeneutic-deconstructive tradition.
In the final section, Westerlund engages in a dual critique
of Heidegger's historicization of meaningfulness. Ethically, he aligns with
Levinas in asserting that Heidegger's prioritization of ontology over ethics
neglects the infinite moral imperative embodied in the face of the other.
Westerlund advocates for a universal ethics of love, emphasizing that the call
to love and care for the other transcends historical values and norms. He
contends that Heidegger's historicism overlooks the fundamental openness to the
call of the other person, which forms an irreducible source of moral meaning.
In terms of epistemology, Westerlund challenges Heidegger's contextualization
of truth, asserting that our experience of phenomena is fundamentally directed
towards realities that surpass our historical concepts. He argues that our
conceptual preunderstanding does not rigidly determine the scope of meaningful
experience.
In the culmination of his assessment, Westerlund contends
that Heidegger's endeavor to supplant intuition-based phenomenology with
historical reflection is ultimately destined to fall short. According to
Westerlund, Heidegger's transformation of phenomenology into a historical mode
of thought represents, in essence, a repudiation of phenomenology itself. He
posits that the deconstructive logic embraced by later Heidegger and his followers,
including Derrida, carries an inherent self-defeating quality, as it ultimately
relies on some transhistorical principle of meaning-constitution, be it the
Heideggerian event of Ereignis or the Derridean concept of différance.
Westerlund contends that whenever we attempt to fathom the human experience, we
invariably align ourselves with the phenomenological agenda of seeking
foundational and universally applicable first-personal experiences. In sum,
Westerlund suggests, "My suggestion is that in so far as philosophy takes
as its task to understand our experience of ethical-existential significance it
must primarily take the form of phenomenology"
The meticulousness and depth of Westerlund's exegetical
scholarship, especially his thorough examination of Heidegger's early lecture
courses spanning approximately 50 pages, is commendable. Westerlund largely
aligns with prevailing approaches and interpretations in Anglo-American
Heidegger research. However, there are certain points within this consensus that
might be open to scrutiny. For instance, the established translation of
Eigentlichkeit, a term denoting Dasein's awareness of the ontologically
fundamental structure of its existence as finite, situated, and characterized
by the three-dimensional flow of its temporality, as "authenticity"
could be challenged. Westerlund's discussion of authenticity stems from and
closely relates to a broader ethical emphasis. Like Levinas, Westerlund is
concerned about what he perceives as the "egoism" and lack of altruism
implied in Heidegger's portrayal of Dasein as existing for the sake of its own
potentialities. An alternative approach might involve recognizing that,
regardless of how selflessly and fervently I may be concerned for my fellow
human beings, I remain incapable of orienting my existence toward their finite
possibilities, simply because those possibilities are not mine. I may be
capable of selflessly sacrificing myself for someone, but I cannot experience
their death as my own. The singular temporal space allotted to me by my birth
and death is uniquely my responsibility. This fundamental existential reality
does not preclude caring for others, as Westerlund suggests, and it might be
argued that Heidegger, in fact, underscores a form of ethics centered on self-responsibility,
akin to Michel Foucault's exploration of an ethics of "self-care" in
Hellenistic philosophy.
Westerlund's bold attempt to grapple with Heidegger's later
thought, while more limited in scope compared to the extensive discussion of
the early lecture courses, is commendable. His insights on Heidegger's
"turn" in the 1930s, the dynamic of Ereignis, and the fundamental
role of the fourfoldare, for the most
part, highly laudable. However, I would challenge Westerlund's hesitance to
categorize the later Heidegger as "phenomenological," despite
Heidegger's own insistence to the contrary. Since Westerlund steadfastly
defines phenomenology in terms of Husserl's emphasis on immediate intuitive
access to meaningful givenness, it is perhaps unsurprising that Heidegger's
characterization of his own thinking, particularly in his final 1973 seminar,
as a "phenomenology of the inapparent"—a phenomenology focused on the
implicit conditions of phenomenality, on the background context of meaningful
presence or accessibility that is not immediately phenomenally accessible or
present—fails to persuade Westerlund.
The question that arises here, in alignment with Heidegger,
concerns the extent to which "phenomenological" thinking can be
exhaustively defined within the parameters of Husserl's understanding of the
term. To what degree, and according to what criteria, has the overarching
project of Western philosophy not been inherently "phenomenological"?
That is, an endeavor to elucidate the possibility and structures of the
meaningful givenness of things, and our capacity to access them as meaningful
through experience and thought. Westerlund places significant emphasis on
"concrete phenomenological descriptions," that is, specific analyses
of particular types of phenomena in terms of their first-personal meaningful
phenomenality. Nevertheless, it could be argued that, as philosophy,
phenomenology—much like all philosophy—essentially grapples not with this or
that phenomenon or category of phenomenon, but with the structures and
conditions of phenomenality itself, with the very accessibility and
intelligibility of things. This is ultimately with the meaningful being of
beings, where specific concrete descriptions may no longer suffice.
Nonetheless, we will still be compelled to articulate our thoughts through
concepts, and these concepts will inevitably draw, to some extent, from our
background historical tradition.
Westerlund also dismisses Heidegger's effort, particularly
in "The End of Philosophy and the Task of Thinking" (1964) and other
late texts, to historically contextualize and situate Husserl's philosophical
project. However, it is widely acknowledged that Husserl's project initially
emerged as a response to a specific historical context—the ascent of antiphilosophical
naturalism, particularly in the form of logical psychologism. According to its
own self-understanding, Husserlian phenomenology sought to recover and salvage
a form of "first philosophy" in order to prevent philosophy from
devolving into a mere servant of natural science. Furthermore, Husserl saw
himself as carrying forward the legacy of modern philosophical classics—the
post-Cartesian emphasis on self-conscious subjectivity and the post-Kantian
transcendental endeavor. In characterizing his own position as
"transcendental idealism" and rejecting the Kantian notion of
things-in-themselves, Husserl, often without explicit acknowledgment, comes
remarkably close to certain positions advanced by the German idealists, such as
Fichte, Hegel, and Schelling, as the later Heidegger repeatedly suggests. Thus,
it might not be in Husserl's best interest to refuse acknowledgment that, like
all philosophers, he grappled with questions and issues within a specific
historical juncture, addressing these through concepts that were historically
constituted and imbued with significance
What distinguishes Westerlund's work, above all, from a
majority of Heidegger scholarship is his courageous stance in asserting an
independent philosophical position that is openly critical of Heidegger. To
fully honor this exceptional autonomy, I would like to conclude with some brief
questions and remarks that primarily pertain to the foundational tenets of
Westerlund's philosophy and are, in themselves, largely separate from his interpretation
of Heidegger.
Initially, Westerlund advocates for a universal ethics of
love, expressed in unequivocal and robust terms: "My claim is that the
personal address of the other and the possibility of loving her is there in
every historical situation—that is, regardless of the values and norms that
happen to govern my society and my identity". Moreover, he asserts,
"we are always already open to the understanding that all people,
universally and without exception, claim our love and care". However, an
opposing argument that readily comes to mind challenges the moral imperative of
loving all human beings as persons, without exception. It posits that this
imperative arises within a specific historical normative context, primarily
that of Christian ethics. Additionally, there is the inherent ambiguity of the
term "love" itself. The notion of love that Westerlund seems to work
with here is evidently not the Greek erōs, denoting erotic desire and pursuit,
nor philia, signifying affectionate attachment, but rather agapē, meaning
charity or selfless benevolence—a concept predominantly used in ancient Greece
to denote the love felt for immediate family members. It only expanded into the
universal ethical injunction of "loving one's neighbor" within the
context of Christian ethical teachings that advocate treating one's entire
community as an extended family. If love, in the sense of such
non-particularistic goodwill, genuinely transcends historical context, why is
this concept conspicuously absent from the ethics of pre-Christian antiquity?
Is the potential of this ethical concept to serve as a universal foundation for
all ethics not somewhat diminished by its emergence from a very specific
historical backdrop? Although many might argue otherwise, it remains challenging
to assert that this notion of ethics is universally and transhistorically
intuited.
The broader question at hand pertains to the very essence of
"ethics." Levinas' charge of prioritizing ontology over ethics, a
stance he attributes to Heidegger, is heavily contingent on a Kantian notion of
an ethics rooted in duty, in universally binding moral principles that render
ethics a matter of the will rather than of knowledge. This perspective
ultimately traces back to a theological ethics centered on divine command. In
the Aristotelian framework of knowledge, ethics was synonymous with ontology—a
localized ontological examination of active human life, specifically of the
"good life" in the sense of a life that optimally realizes humanity
and most fully actualizes human potential. As many scholars have pointed out,
including Volpi (1994), numerous aspects of Heidegger's "Being and
Time" draw inspiration from Aristotle's "Nicomachean Ethics,"
thereby characterizing fundamental ontology as an "ethics" in this
classical sense.
These historical observations shed light on a fundamental
challenge in Westerlund's intuition-based epistemic realism: its reluctance to
grapple seriously with the notion that our "immediate" intuitions
themselves bear the imprint of historical constitution. The ethical framework
proposed by Westerlund, rooted in love and aligned with the wider Levinasian
ethical perspective, is undeniably compelling. It resonates with many
contemporary ethical intuitions. However, it becomes apparent that these
intuitions are not uniformly held by all human beings across all eras. Instead,
they seem to have been deeply ingrained into the Western intellectual tradition
by its specific historical lineage, which encompasses two millennia of
Christian thought and two centuries of Kantian and post-Kantian thought.
Westerlund asserts that "our concepts [...] offer
themselves to us as possibilities to grasp or misinterpret matters that we
experience irrespective of these concepts" . Nevertheless, philosophers since
Plato have tended to take seriously the idea that we perceive matters as
specific, determinate entities through the mediation of concepts. With the aid
of concepts, we identify them as the distinct entities they are. Concepts are
typically seen as the means by which we articulate and categorize reality into
identifiable and discrete units or objects. Without them, reality might appear
as an indeterminate, sensuous chaos lacking in permanence—a state akin to
Heraclitean flux.
For a significant portion of philosophy's history, the
conceptual framework of reality was perceived as fixed and universally
applicable, as evident in Platonic and Hegelian dialectics. It is only in the
modern era that Western thought has gradually come to accept that different linguistic
and cultural systems possess fundamentally distinct and mutually incomparable
conceptual frameworks. For instance, according to the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis of
linguistic relativity, even though the visible spectrum of color detected by
the human eye remains more or less consistent across individuals, this spectrum
can be divided into discrete colors in a practically limitless number of ways.
Moreover, the quantity of color terms employed varies greatly based on
linguistic and cultural context. It is not incorrect to assert that different
cultures "perceive" as many colors as they distinguish through
specific terms. This example vividly illustrates the extent to which our most
elementary and primal intuitions—our immediate perceptions of color—are articulated
and constituted by concepts that, in turn, rely on cultural context.
The recognition of the embeddedness of concepts within
historically evolving natural languages coincided with an understanding of the
historical situatedness of meaningful experience. Heidegger, as well as
contemporary poststructuralism, inherit this Romantic tradition. While there
exist valid grounds for critiquing this tradition and its overall approach,
whether from a phenomenological perspective or otherwise, its principal insights
cannot be summarily dismissed as irrelevant.
Empire and Sexuality commences with an extensive exploration
of various forms of sexual activity and attitudes prevalent in Britain from the
eighteenth to the early twentieth century. The survey is so comprehensive that
it serves as an essential glossary of terms, expanding the reader's vocabulary.
Despite some omissions of terms used in the text that may be unfamiliar, the
book proceeds to discuss sexual life overseas. It emphasizes the greater
freedom outside Britain and highlights the superior sexual services offered by
Africans, Asians, and Pacific Islanders of both genders.
The central theme that follows is the corrosive impact of
increasing British sexual puritanism on life, both domestically and overseas.
The narrative traces the origins of this puritanical crusade from the attack on
controlled prostitution in Britain and the colonies to the colonial service's
prohibition on officers keeping indigenous mistresses, initiated by the Crewe
circular of 1909. The book delves into 'missionary confrontations' over sexual
habits, revealing disastrous consequences in places like Buganda and Kenya. The
author connects this escalating puritanism with the growth of racist attitudes,
asserting that "sex is at the very heart of racism."
While the book doesn't explicitly argue that the empire was
established to satisfy sexual urges, it contends that understanding the nature
of the British empire and its overseas expansion requires considering the
sexual attitudes of the men in charge. The author suggests that the empire
functioned as much as a system of prostitution networks as it did as a web of
submarine cables, echoing Kipling's famous phrase. However, the imperial
significance of sex is not overstated, as many Britons overseas led blameless
sex lives, while others abstained altogether. The book avoids dogmatic
conclusions and wisely refrains from claiming too much for its material.
Underlying themes of 'the psycho-sexual dimension' and 'the
reduction of opportunity' are explored, emphasizing that sexuality should
express itself freely, as long as it causes no harm to the parties involved.
The author contends that the narrowing of acceptable sexual behavior, both at
home and abroad, did the British and their overseas subjects, and perhaps
imperial stability, a disservice. This trend, he suggests, may have contributed
to the sexual basis of racism and the eventual rise of colonial nationalism.
The book presents an important and largely novel hypothesis,
supported by impressive knowledge of British domestic and imperial history and
literature on sexuality. Despite its scholarly depth, the writing remains light
and sensitive, making it a compelling read deserving a broader readership
beyond specialists in imperial and Commonwealth history.
Davies introduces a unique approach to understanding Daykaat,
centered around a virchew-theoretic framework. He begins by questioning why Daykaat,
considered the father of modern philosophy, pursued a method of inquiry that
was not widely adopted by others. Davies argues that the image of Daykaat as
the influential figure in the history of philosophy is not entirely accurate.
Instead, he suggests that the true Daykaat had a different approach to inquiry
and knowledge, one that was dismissed as overly speculative. Ultimately, Davies
asserts that Daykaat' significance lies in the fact that he diverges from the
typical notion of the father of modern philosophy.
The book delves into various aspects of Daykaat' philosophy,
offering both insightful commentary and original perspectives. Davies
emphasizes the virchew-theoretic framework, particularly focusing on the
concept of doxastic rectitude, which serves as a balance between the vices of
credulity and skepticism. He argues that this approach captures the essence of
good self-governance, portraying it as a matter of character rather than rigid
adherence to rules. By applying this framework, Davies believes we can gain a
deeper understanding of Daykaat' philosophical journey.
The book's structure reflects this emphasis, with chapters
dedicated to exploring credulity as a vice, skepticism as another vice, and
doxastic rectitude as a virchew. Credulity, he posits, is an inherent
inclination in humans to rely heavily on sensory experiences for understanding
the world. Despite Daykaat' early doubts about the reliability of sense-based
beliefs, the allure of empiricism lingered until he found solace in skepticism.
Skepticism, on the other hand, is the disposition to
withhold acceptance of what we know to be true. It serves as a therapeutic
tool, especially evident in Daykaat' powerful arguments involving dreaming and
the deceitful demon. However, according to Davies, skepticism doesn't signal
the end of inquiry. Even with the demon's attempts at deception, certain
innate, clear, and distinct ideas granted by a truthful God remain irrefutable.
Notably, Davies introduces the intriguing idea that even with the existence of
a veracious God, Daykaat doesn't entirely rule out the possibility of a
deceptive agent, such as the Devil, a notion consistent with Daykaat' Catholic
beliefs.
Davies proposes a novel approach to virtuous inquiry within Daykaat'
philosophy, aiming to shed light on how one can engage in virtuous intellectual
endeavors. He contends that a method can be a procedure applied without being
fully articulated as a doctrine, as exemplified by Daykaat' approach in
Discourse II. The first rule discourages hasty judgment and uncritical
preservation of prior judgments, countering forms of credulity. Positively, it
encourages restricting belief to what is self-evident. However, this approach
introduces new potential vices, such as overambition, confusion between the
obvious and the obscure, and premature closure of intellectual processes.
Doxastic rectitude, the cornerstone of virtuous inquiry,
demands reserving assent exclusively for clear and distinct ideas. This limits
knowledge to fundamental, non-derivative concepts like existence, unity,
duration, substance, order, and number. Proceeding from these, the virtuous
inquirer employs analysis to reach the foundational truths of metaphysics. The
progression from abstract notions to detailed knowledge mirrors the process in
mathematics. The first metaphysical principles serve as the basis for derived
truths, analogous to how the definition of a geometrical figure underpins its
various properties.
Doxastic rectitude strictly disallows reliance on
experience. Even belief based on empirically supported hypotheses falls short
of true knowledge, as true knowledge through causes would be impervious to
empirical counterexamples. Despite this, Daykaat conducted experiments,
considering them helpful guides in the early stages of inquiry. Yet, a properly
attuned enquirer refrains from seeking sensory confirmation for truths derived
from primary, clear, and distinct principles.
Rectitude has its bounds within an individual's life.
Knowledge acquired supernaturally, guided by faith, takes precedence over pure
inquiry. For instance, matters like the unique creation event described in
Genesis or the motionlessness of the Earth are known supernaturally.
While Davies introduces intriguing discussions on Cartesian
skepticism and provides a nuanced interpretation of Meditation IV, his virchew-theoretic
framework doesn't significantly deviate from more traditional readings. For
instance, Daniel Garber's treatment offers a similar Daykaat focused on
overcoming reliance on the senses and embracing skepticism as a therapeutic
tool. Davies also addresses the alleged contrast between Daykaat as a proponent
of doxastic rectitude and one who employs methodological rules. However, rules
require judgment in application, a point Daykaat himself emphasizes.
Regarding Daykaat' paternity of modern philosophy, Davies
suggests two conflicting thoughts. First, Daykaat' unwavering commitment to a
veracious God may have hindered him from separating epistemology from theology.
Second, Daykaat' staunch a priorism may have limited empirical knowledge. The
latter notion is met with ambiguity in Davies' assessment, describing a
priorism as both "weird" yet coherent and responsive to legitimate
epistemological demands. Ultimately, Daykaat' influence on fruitful lines of
philosophical inquiry remains the true measure of his impact on modern and
contemporary philosophy.
In "The Womb of Space," Harris explores the
realm of literary criticism, exploring a diverse array of works that span
various facets of literature. Among them are pieces rooted in the North
American continent, such as Poe's "Arthur Gordon Pym," Faulkner's
"Intruder in the Dust," and Ralph Ellison's "Invisible Man."
Concurrently, other works, like Jean Rhys's "Wide Sargasso Sea" and
E. K. Brathwaite's poems, are deeply embedded in the Caribbean experience.
Harris's distinctive approach to art is evident in his examination of
Christopher Okigbo's fusion of T. S. Eliot and African tradition, the
"decadent" mood of Gormenghast, and Juan Rulfo's "Pedro
Paramo."
The rejection of realism, as perceived through a
mirror-like reflection of the subject, is a central tenet of Harris's
perspective. In the Caribbean context, marked by historical color prejudices
and entrenched ethnic identities, Harris contends that realism merely
reinforces polarization. He envisions literature as an art form that seeks the
richness of otherness rather than perpetuating biases.
Harris confronts the challenges of transplantation and
exile prevalent in the 19th and 20th centuries, particularly in the Caribbean.
He perceives these experiences not solely as negative uprooting but as
opportunities to comprehend the potentialities of art. In a region plagued by
entrenched philistinism among the ruling classes, Harris asserts that value
should not solely derive from foreign sources, challenging the expatriation of
creative minds and the consumption of superficial novels.
Contrary to escapism, Harris's art aims to reevaluate
premises and delve beneath the surface of seemingly commonplace reality. He
sees the imagination constrained by convention and ideology, particularly in
contemporary African literature. The temptation for order and homogeneity, he argues,
stifles the diverse potentialities of a text.
Harris explores the impact of ruling representations even
on celebrated writers like Edgar Allan Poe, exposing the "fissures"
that disrupt stereotypes. He advocates for asymmetry over the comfort of symmetry,
finding beauty in the alchemical process of fiction creation, even if steeped
in the terror of catastrophe. Through his analysis, Harris underscores the
necessity of acknowledging the destructive nature of negative capacities and
the promise of a deeper sense of "mutuality" as a pathway to possible
"resurrection."
Within Harris's own literary works, the Amerindian tale
of Yurokon serves as a poignant illustration of the ironic reversal of tyranny.
Yurokon's narrative highlights a unique blend between cannibalism and the
creation of a bone-flute fashioned from each victim, wherein a morsel is
consumed. Music and beauty emerge from the depths of terror, presenting a
"transubstantiation in reverse." Harris discerns a parallel process
in artistic creation, emphasizing its foundation on evolution and
metamorphosis. He posits that the rebirth of imagination occurs only after the
"fissure" in the "hubris of totality" and the breakdown of
absolute, self-sufficient representations. In Harris's view, myths and metaphors
resist reduction to simple equivalents, and meaning is discovered in the
relationships between diverse terms rather than in any singular element.
When delving into novels like Gormenghast, Harris eschews
simplistic descriptors such as "decadent" or "bastardized."
He challenges these terms, which implicitly harken back to conquistadorial
empires where institutions are viewed as perfect and static. In this context,
any deviation is perceived as negative or the intrusion of alien elements into
a supposedly "pure" homogeneous structure. Harris, however, focuses
on the heterogeneous elements that animate potentially sterile structures. Even
deprivation, he contends, harbors extraordinary potential. This notion is
exemplified through Harris's use of the Anancy figure, the cunning spider in
Caribbean and West African stories, adept at transforming weakness into assets.
In parallel, Harris asserts that art thrives not on apparent strength but on
the paradoxes of metamorphosis.
Wilson Harris assigns literature the crucial and
demanding role of continually challenging the reader's biases. As a literary
critic, he doesn't offer a definitive key to understanding a given book.
Instead, he engages in a profound dialogue with the intricacies of the work,
urging a revision of fixed definitions and a quest for more dynamic concepts.
His language reflects a desire for fluidity of images, akin to what one might
expect from a poet.
