Shelley Tremain (ed)'s "Foucault and the Government of Disability" (Book Note)

Foucault and the Government of Disability offers a compelling exploration of Foucault's work, particularly his concepts of bio-power and governmentality, and their relevance to understanding disability experiences. Tremain adeptly introduces these concepts, highlighting how bio-power differs from traditional forms of power and operates through productive constraints, allowing individuals to act while simultaneously constraining them. She emphasizes the role of liberalism in perpetuating these normalizing strategies, framing them as a form of governmentality that shapes societal institutions, norms, and individual behaviors.

 

Through engaging chapters, the authors delve into the ways in which disabled individuals navigate and resist the effects of bio-power. They illustrate how disability becomes entwined with broader discourses, including legal and welfare systems, notions of citizenship, patriarchy, and colonialism. Importantly, the book sheds light on how violence can emerge not as a result of overt coercion, but rather as a consequence of the normalization of certain abilities and identities, which in turn define notions of humanity and citizenship.

Part I of the book delves into the multifaceted nature of epistemologies and ontologies, expanding beyond mere theoretical concepts to encompass lived experiences, practices, and subjectivities. Sullivan's examination of a center for paraplegics reveals how individuals are shaped by medical and moral discourses, striving to embody the ideal of the "self-caring para." Similarly, Yates explores power dynamics in a care service, where individuals navigate a complex web of expectations and prohibitions, experiencing both compliance and resistance.

 

These chapters highlight the pervasive influence of normalizing strategies, which extend beyond isolated incidents of "poor practice" to shape broader societal discourses. Erevelles' analysis of court scenarios spanning a century underscores the ongoing quest to define and categorize individuals as "free" and "autonomous" subjects, with implications for assigning culpability. The contested nature of the autism label further exemplifies how categories are constructed and perpetuated, influencing educational programs and societal perceptions.

 

Kumari Campbell's exploration delves into the dichotomy between the "free" and "autonomous" legal citizen and the marginalized "Other," whose existence challenges societal norms. Here, disability is positioned as supplementary to ability, reinforcing the binary opposition between normative and non-normative identities.

 

In Part II, titled 'Histories', the chapters elucidate the multifaceted nature of discourses surrounding disability, revealing their dynamic and evolving character. Carlson's exploration traces the transition from the nineteenth-century practice of institutionalizing individuals labeled as 'feebleminded' to the twentieth-century emphasis on measuring intelligence quotient (IQ). By highlighting the incoherence and consequences of such classification systems, Carlson challenges the notion of speaking on behalf of marginalized individuals.

 

Berger's historical analysis sheds light on the emergence of institutionalization during the Enlightenment era, noting its absence in earlier periods. Focusing on nineteenth-century institutions for deaf children in America, Berger underscores the intricate connections between architecture, scientific advancements, religious ideologies, and nationalistic discourses. These institutions served to produce compliant subjects deserving of charity, while some individuals resisted and continued to contribute to society in their own way.

 

Snigurowicz delves into the prohibition of exhibiting disabled individuals in nineteenth-century France, as medical discourse supplanted superstitious and religious beliefs. The shift from public spectacles to private spaces reflects the evolving legal and societal attitudes towards disability. Moreover, performers transitioned from showcasing their artistic talents to highlighting their self-made achievements, aligning with the emerging ethos of meritocracy.

 

n Part III, titled 'Governmentality', the analysis delves into the intricate relationship between individual autonomy and overarching societal practices, revealing that personal freedom is inherently intertwined with social dynamics. Waldschmidt explores the evolving landscape of human genetics, where new technologies and rationalities reframe individuals within categories of risk, posing potential threats to population security. The role of the genetic counselor shifts from offering advice to empowering individuals to make decisions within the context of perceived risks.

 

Simons and Masschelein shift the focus to education, advocating for inclusive practices that consider all stakeholders in a diverse democratic society. Rather than solely focusing on the inclusion of disabled children, they emphasize the importance of matching unique individuals with appropriate educational opportunities, with a strong emphasis on fostering participatory skills.

 

Drinkwater's examination of supported housing within the UK policy framework of Valuing People underscores the complex interplay between valuing individuals and subjectifying them within predetermined frameworks. Staff members, while ostensibly valuing the person, engage in practices that aim to shape behavior and integrate citizens into existing constitutional structures.

In Part IV, titled 'Ethics and Politics', authors offer critical perspectives on the exclusionary practices that persist in society despite legal requirements and successful lawsuits. Anderson's examination of American sports stadiums reveals how norms of normalcy and deviance are embedded in various aspects of stadium design and accessibility. Despite legal mandates, the physical layout, ticketing systems, and booking procedures perpetuate segregation between individuals perceived as normal and those deemed deviant.

 

Goggin and Newell explore the proliferation of telecommunications and media convergence, highlighting the persistent barriers to accessibility despite legal obligations. Instead of investing in comprehensive accessibility measures, successive laws have often favored superficial "add-on" technologies, further marginalizing disabled individuals.

 

Through these analyses, the workings of bio-power become evident, showcasing the subtle yet pervasive ways in which disabled people are excluded from mainstream society. Part IV also examines strategies of resistance and transgression in the face of oppressive norms and practices.

 

Allan proposes an ethical framework for inclusive education, emphasizing dialogue and self-reflection among both non-disabled and disabled students. Rather than fostering mere sympathy, the goal is to cultivate critical thinking skills and ethical awareness in all students.

 

In contrast, Morgan presents the fictional narrative of Gender DiMorph Utopia, which exposes the intricate interplay between intimate micro-practices and overarching societal structures. By challenging naturalizing theories that perpetuate patriarchal violence, the narrative seeks to amplify subjugated knowledges and disrupt dominant discourses, despite the risks of facing hostility and further marginalization.

 

In Part V, titled 'Disability and Governmentality in the Present', Peers offers a genealogical auto-ethnography that challenges the prevalent "supercrip" narrative. She recounts her experience of being trained to embody the image of an inspirational athlete, rejecting this docile subjectivity in favor of embracing the identity of the "revolting gimps" who resist societal norms. Peers argues against the notion that empowerment can be achieved through engagement with disciplinary practices, advocating instead for a radical reimagining of social change.

 

Similarly, McGuire draws parallels between the "war on autism" and the "war on terror" in the United States, highlighting the militaristic rhetoric and policies that frame disability advocacy as a threat. The militarization of disability discourse perpetuates a culture of fear and division, further marginalizing disabled individuals. McGuire's analysis underscores the dangers of adopting combative approaches to advocacy, which can inadvertently reinforce oppressive systems of power.

 

In the final two chapters, authors confront existential questions about the value of life and the ethics of assisted suicide for disabled individuals. Taylor explores the unrecognized violence and unexpected grief experienced by those with learning disabilities when their humanity is questioned. She calls for a suspension of universalizing judgments and a critical examination of the conditions that give rise to such debates. Kolarova interrogates the concept of a "good death" and its implications for disabled people, highlighting the underlying white supremacist rationality in the outsourcing of care services.

 

The book also engages with debates surrounding Foucault's work, particularly regarding the materiality of power and the body. Hughes critiques Foucault's perceived neglect of the material body in favor of a phenomenological approach that recognizes the body as both subject and object. He argues for an emancipatory conception of power in disability politics. Conversely, Allen contends that Foucault's work does address the body, emphasizing the social construction of both discourses and subjectivities. Goggin and Newell identify persistent forms of repressive power and challenge the notion that oppression lacks a central locus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Colin Barnes & Geof Mercer's "Exploring Disability" (Book Note)

 

"Exploring Disability," authored by Colin Barnes and Geof Mercer, presents a significant contribution to the advancement of the social model of disability, offering a revised edition that aligns with contemporary international discourse and policy initiatives. The book reframes the experience of disability not as an individual affliction but as a product of social relationships, reflecting global efforts to promote the rights of persons with disabilities, such as the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities and the European Disability Strategy 2010–2020.

 

With approximately one out of four EU citizens living with some form of disability, and nearly half of them being elderly, the book addresses a pressing societal issue. Despite increased attention to disability studies, there remains a need for further sociological discourse in this field. The second edition builds upon the foundations laid by its predecessor, published in 1999, to develop disability theory within a sociological framework. It traces the evolution of disability from a perceived personal tragedy to a socially constructed condition, providing an extensive review of pertinent literature in the field.

 

The book delves into the historical trajectory of disability in society and policy, with a particular focus on the British experience, while also drawing comparisons with the regulatory landscape and policies in the USA. The initial chapters (1–4) explore the historical development of disability in Western societies, emphasizing the role of grassroots movements and associations of people with disabilities in driving paradigm shifts. The analysis begins with Talcott Parsons' functionalist perspective on the "sick role," progresses to Erving Goffman's concept of "stigma," and culminates in a post-structuralist examination of illness narratives.

 

Throughout the text, Barnes and Mercer critically engage with key sociological theories and concepts to elucidate the complex dynamics of disability. They highlight the transformative impact of grassroots activism in challenging societal perceptions and advocating for systemic change. By contextualizing disability within broader sociological frameworks, the authors illuminate the multifaceted nature of disability as a social phenomenon shaped by historical, cultural, and political factors.

 

Moreover, the book offers insights into the regulatory landscape and policy developments surrounding disability, shedding light on the evolution of disability rights and inclusion efforts. By situating their analysis within both national and international contexts, Barnes and Mercer provide a comprehensive understanding of the complexities inherent in addressing disability within contemporary society.

 

The socio-historical perspective elucidated in "Exploring Disability" underscores the entrenched notion of disability as a "personal tragedy," perpetuated by a medical model that conflates impairment with disability. However, this perspective has been challenged by the emergence of the bio-psychosocial model of disability, which emphasizes the interaction between biological, psychological, and social factors. Central to this shift is the recognition of the exclusionary relationship between individuals with impairments and wider society.

 

The introduction of the social model of disability has catalyzed the development of diverse social theories, which illuminate structural barriers and personal experiences shaping disability. Moreover, there has been a resurgence of interest in the contributions of medical sociology and social sciences to the understanding of disability, further enriching the discourse on disability theory.

 

Chapter 5 delves into disability policy within the framework of welfare states, shedding light on the pervasive social inequalities experienced by individuals with disabilities. The chapter underscores the institutional discrimination prevalent in various spheres of life, including education, employment, housing, transportation, and leisure. These structural factors contribute to the marginalization and social exclusion of people with disabilities, perpetuating inequality and limiting their participation in society.

 

In Chapter 6, the authors critically analyze disability policies, highlighting the gap between formal political rhetoric and the realities of implementation. Despite efforts to address inequalities and promote deinstitutionalization through community care initiatives, the authors argue that recent policies often fall short in their approach and resource allocation. They critique the underlying ideology of "care," which they view as oppressive and objectifying, and emphasize the limitations of mainstream political discourse in achieving substantive change.

 

The focus shifts to the UK's policy landscape, where there has been a notable emphasis on the concept of independent living. Grassroots organizations have played a pivotal role in challenging paternalistic approaches and advocating for greater autonomy and self-determination for individuals with disabilities. Their activism has influenced mainstream political agendas and garnered attention from international organizations such as the World Bank and the United Nations, signaling a broader recognition of disability rights on the global stage.

 

In Chapter 8, the book explores the representation of disability in culture and media, examining how these narratives shape disability identity. Drawing on a cultural studies approach, the authors analyze iconic works such as the film "The Elephant Man," illustrating the power of media in perpetuating stereotypes and prejudice. They underscore the need for more nuanced representations that challenge existing biases and foster a more inclusive understanding of disability.

The last two chapters of "Exploring Disability" mark significant contributions in this second edition, addressing contemporary debates at the forefront of disability studies. Chapter 9 delves into the complex intersection of the right to life with ethical dilemmas surrounding euthanasia, eugenics, and advancements in biotechnology. Through critical analysis, the chapter exposes the limitations of these debates, which often reinforce the traditional narrative of disability as a personal tragedy, rather than advocating for meaningful political and social change towards a more inclusive society.

 

In contrast, Chapter 10 shifts the focus to a global perspective, examining the experiences of individuals with disabilities in developing countries, where poverty, inequality, and disability intersect within the broader context of capitalist industrialization and globalization. The chapter underscores the importance of grassroots movements and localized policy initiatives, rejecting standardized international interventions in favor of bottom-up approaches. It also emphasizes the emergence of a distinct globalized disability identity and culture.

 

"Exploring Disability" serves as a comprehensive guide to disability theories and approaches. The authors' active involvement in disability organizations and movements lends credibility to the scholarly discourse presented in the book. Their contributions have been instrumental in establishing disability studies as a recognized field of sociological inquiry, particularly within the UK, where they have played pivotal roles in institutions such as the Centre for Disability Studies at the University of Leeds and Disability Press, an independent publishing house dedicated to disability issues.

 

Central to the book is its sociological analysis of disability, which challenges prevailing notions of disability as merely an individual failing or personal tragedy. Instead, the authors advocate for a broader investigation encompassing meso and macro levels of analysis, emphasizing the social construction of disability. While the book offers valuable insights for students and researchers in disability studies, some areas could be further developed, particularly the economic dimensions of disability within the context of economic crises and austerity measures.

 

Moreover, the book predominantly focuses on the identity of people with disabilities without fully engaging with intersectional analyses that explore the interconnectedness of disability with other social categories such as gender, class, and ethnicity. While the British context is extensively examined in comparative historical perspective with experiences in the USA, a more nuanced consideration of disability within a European context would have enriched the narrative, offering insights into diverse approaches to disability policy and activism.

Lennard J Davis' "Enforcing Normalcy: Disability, Deafness and the Body" (Book Note)

 

 

In the preface of the book, Davis recounts a pivotal conversation with a colleague ahead of a disability session they were planning for the Marxist Scholars Conference in New York back in 1994. Reflecting on the noticeable preference for sessions focusing on culturally engaged topics like literature or the body at professional gatherings, Davis's colleague offered a sobering insight: "people don't come to sessions on disability. They think it is a specialized area and only the disabled come." This observation challenged assumptions about disability and underscored a critical point central to Davis's argument: the concept of disability isn't confined to those with impairments; rather, it permeates societal norms and perceptions, regulating the bodies of what are considered 'normal' individuals.

 

Davis elucidates this idea by delineating disability's manifestation through two primary modalities: function and appearance. In the functional realm, disability is often framed as the inability to perform certain tasks—walking, speaking, hearing, seeing, among others. However, Davis astutely notes the continuum of human capabilities and limitations, illustrating that while some deficiencies may not be perceived as disabilities in the conventional sense—such as struggles with mathematical functions—others, like difficulty walking due to a prosthetic limb or a club foot, are unequivocally labeled as disabilities. Thus, the construction of disability rests on the deconstruction of this continuum, highlighting society's tendency to categorize and label individuals based on perceived deviations from the norm.

 

Moreover, Davis delves into the power dynamics inherent in the perception of disability, elucidating how the gaze of the 'normal' population serves to visually define and confine those with disabilities. This gaze, laden with complex emotions ranging from horror to pity, serves not only to observe but also to control and limit the autonomy of disabled individuals, perpetuating societal attitudes and norms that marginalize and exclude. In essence, disability becomes a spectacle, subject to societal scrutiny and judgment, reinforcing entrenched power dynamics and attitudes towards difference.

 

Davis delves deeply into the multifaceted dimensions of disability, meticulously dissecting its manifestations through the lenses of function and appearance. Drawing from the insights of historians Theodore M. Porter and Daniel J. Kevles, Davis embarks on a critical examination of the origins and implications of the functional modality of disability in Chapter Two, aptly titled "Constructing Normalcy." Here, he traces the roots of this modality to the rise of statistical thinking in the nineteenth century, spearheaded by figures like Adolphe Quetelet, whose endeavors to quantify human differences inadvertently privileged the concept of the 'normal man.' This statistical movement, driven by moralizing and normalizing agendas, laid the groundwork for a society where deviations from the norm were stigmatized and marginalized.

 

In Chapter Six, titled "Visualizing the Disabled Body: The Classical Nude and the Fragmented Torso," Davis shifts his focus to the modality of appearance, drawing on examples from psychology and art history to illuminate the ways in which culture shapes perceptions of bodily integrity. He astutely observes that one of culture's primary functions is to cleave consciousness into dichotomous categories of good and bad, necessitating a splitting of the body along this axis to maintain a semblance of wholeness. These divisions, influenced by concrete social forces such as industrial production demands and the commodification of attractiveness, perpetuate societal norms that valorize certain bodily forms while marginalizing others. While Davis predominantly examines physical disabilities, he acknowledges the historical perception of mental illness as a fragmentation of the body's means of communication, reflective of the broader societal fragmentation of modernity.

 

Drawing from personal experience as a child of deaf parents, Davis brings a nuanced understanding to the distinctions between the deaf, the Deaf community, and moments of deafened experiences that punctuate everyday life. He unpacks the historical evolution of perceptions surrounding deafness, tracing its transition from a topic of intense academic debate during the Enlightenment to a cultural icon in the eighteenth century. Additionally, Davis explores the medicalization and professional scrutiny faced by the Deaf as a linguistic minority group during the imperialistic nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, highlighting the intersection of power dynamics and identity formation.

 

In Chapter Four, "Nationalism and Deafness," Davis delves into the eugenic campaigns of figures like Alexander Graham Bell, who sought to prevent the procreation of the deaf, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt's efforts to conceal his physical impairments resulting from polio. These examples underscore the intertwined nature of race, nation, and physical identity, revealing how the 'enabled' body becomes a symbol of national pride and identity. Through meticulous historical analysis and personal insights, Davis navigates the complex terrain of disability, shedding light on its societal construction and the enduring power dynamics that shape perceptions of difference.

Davis provocatively challenges the assumption of 'normality' embedded within the very information systems utilized by critical theorists. While progressive intellectuals have addressed issues like racism, sexism, and class bias, Davis argues that their practices of reading, writing, and thinking remain steeped in assumptions about ability and disability. In Chapter Five, "Deafness and Insight: Disability and Theory," Davis revisits debates from literary criticism, rejecting the false dichotomy between the written and spoken word. Instead, he positions sign language as an intermediary, challenging the historical construction of this dualism and emphasizing the need to recognize the history and geography of the senses.

 

Davis's "Enforcing Normalcy" offers a rich tapestry of insights for researchers and educators in disability studies, seamlessly integrating perspectives from postcolonialism, cultural studies, feminism, and Marxism. The book serves as a vital resource for teachers in gender/women's studies, ethnic/race studies, and multicultural courses, facilitating the inclusion of a mature disability perspective into curricula. While Davis's conjectures, such as the notion of Europe going 'deaf' during the eighteenth century, may await further historical documentation, the book presents a compelling argument for understanding the origins and enduring influence of Western standards of bodily 'normality.' Minor critiques aside, "Enforcing Normalcy" is a recommended read for anyone seeking to unravel the complexities of societal perceptions of disability and the power dynamics that underpin them.

 

 

 

 

 

Dan Goodley's "Disability Studies An Interdisciplinary Introduction" (Book Note)

 

Lennard Davis identifies a significant evolution within disability studies, marking the advent of a second wave that delves deeper into core questions while also asserting new insights into the field's fundamental truths. This wave mirrors a similar progression within the disability rights movement, identified by Paul Longmore as a shift from a focus on rights and access to broader concerns surrounding culture and community. In "Disability Studies: An Interdisciplinary Introduction," Dan Goodley navigates this transition, bridging foundational concepts with contemporary inquiries that shape the interdisciplinary approach to disability studies.

 

Despite its title, "Disability Studies" serves as both an introduction and an expansion of critical concepts, methodologies, and approaches within the discipline. The initial chapters (1-3) lay the groundwork by exploring definitions of disability, including various models, and unpacking debates within the field. Additionally, Goodley illuminates intersections between disability and other axes of identity, such as race, class, gender, and sex. Chapters 4-9 delve into core thematic areas of disability studies, examining society's role, individual experiences, psychological dimensions, discursive formations, cultural representations, and educational paradigms. Each chapter offers a nuanced analysis that enriches our understanding of disability's multifaceted nature.

 

Chapter 10 marks a pivotal shift towards Critical Disability Studies, pushing the boundaries of analysis into new territories. Here, Goodley propels discussions beyond traditional frameworks, exploring emergent themes and pressing issues within the field. While seasoned scholars may find early chapters to be a review of familiar terrain, they nonetheless serve as valuable refreshers for newcomers to the field. Moreover, the later chapters present innovative perspectives and insights that resonate with scholars at all levels of expertise, offering fresh perspectives and avenues for exploration.

Goodley adopts a distinctly global perspective in "Disability Studies: An Interdisciplinary Introduction," setting the stage for a nuanced exploration of disability issues while acknowledging his English base. This global positioning is particularly evident in his attention to Nordic "relational" approaches to disability, which emphasize the positive impact of services and professionals on the lives of disabled individuals. This perspective offers valuable insights often overlooked in North American disability discourse. Furthermore, Goodley's transdisciplinary approach underscores the interconnectedness of disability with various disciplines, spanning sociology, critical psychology, cultural studies, psychoanalysis, and education.

 

Throughout the text, Goodley employs various methods to foster reader engagement and interaction. "Thinking points" interspersed within each chapter serve as prompts for critical reflection, encouraging readers to contemplate important questions, explore practical applications, and draw connections to related issues. While these interruptions may disrupt the flow of reading, they enrich the text by inviting active engagement with the material. Moreover, Goodley's incorporation of web-based search suggestions encourages readers to venture beyond the text and explore real-world applications through technology, enhancing the reading experience and facilitating deeper understanding.

 

Tables are another effective tool utilized by Goodley to summarize key concepts and organize complex information for readers. These tables serve as valuable visual aids, offering clear delineations of important issues and facilitating comprehension. However, in instances where tables contrast approaches to disability as minority politics versus disability as social barriers, readers may benefit from further exploration of connections and overlaps between these models, enhancing their understanding of the broader landscape of disability discourse.

Chapters 4-9 delve into what Goodley terms "core analyses" of disability studies, focusing on the interplay of psyche, culture, and society. Goodley defines the "psyche" as the intricate entanglement of individuals within the social fabric, underscoring the inseparable connection between the self and the broader societal context. This framework provides a cohesive structure for the diverse range of topics covered in these chapters, each of which explores sociology, psychology, critical psychology, poststructuralism, psychoanalysis, and education in turn.

 

Of particular significance within these middle chapters is the exploration of psychology and its implications for the psychologization of disabled individuals—an area that Goodley argues has been underexplored and under-theorized in disability studies. While acknowledging the need for skepticism when approaching psychoanalytic perspectives, Goodley ventures into Lacanian possibilities within disability studies. He acknowledges the speculative and underdeveloped nature of these inquiries but suggests their potential in making sense of organizational prejudice and discrimination against disabled individuals. However, the text could benefit from more specific examples or applications to ground these discussions and provide practical insights into the intersection of psychologization and psychoanalysis with disability studies.

 

In the final two chapters, Goodley ventures into new territory at the intersection of disability studies and its transdisciplinary connections. By exploring an inclusive approach to disability in education, he highlights the convergence of disability studies and social justice, particularly within the realm of inclusive education. Critiquing neoliberal educational approaches and their detrimental effects on students with disabilities, Goodley proposes insights from critical pedagogy studies as a potential remedy. Drawing on Paulo Freire's concept of conscientization, he envisions a critical pedagogy of liberation that advocates for changes in school culture, broadening of curricula, and revision of the student-teacher partnership.

 

Goodley's final chapter in "Disability Studies: An Interdisciplinary Introduction" delves into critical disability studies, weaving together key themes explored throughout the book while envisioning avenues for future inquiry. Central to his analysis is the application of Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri's concept of Empire to disability contexts. Goodley elucidates Empire's promotion of a specific psychology and self-image—one characterized by traits like health, rationality, autonomy, and economic viability. Yet, for those who don't conform, Empire offers solutions aimed at "fixing" them. Understanding how Empire shapes perceptions of disability is crucial for resistance, according to Goodley.

 

Moreover, Goodley identifies potential sites of resistance in posthuman figures like cyborgs and hybrids. While these concepts have been explored within feminist studies, their application within disability studies remains largely untapped. Despite the historical trend of disability technology focusing on normalization and cure, Goodley advocates for exploring how technology can be harnessed to empower individuals with disabilities and facilitate resistance against oppressive systems. Through this exploration, Goodley prompts readers to reconsider the relationship between technology and disability, envisioning new possibilities for empowerment and liberation.

 

Tom Shakespeare's "Disability Rights Disability Wrongs" (Book Note)

 

Tom Shakespeare, a prominent figure in disability studies, is known for his controversial stance, largely due to his engagement with disciplines outside the field, such as genetics and bioethics. His involvement in these areas has drawn criticism from some quarters of disability studies, which often view genetics and bioethics as inherently antagonistic to disability rights. In his latest work, Shakespeare continues to challenge the status quo, dividing the book into three parts that cover a range of topics.

 

The first part offers a detailed critique of the social model of disability, a cornerstone of disability studies. This model posits that disability arises from societal barriers rather than inherent individual traits. Shakespeare presents alternative perspectives on how disability can be best understood, offering constructive proposals for reconceptualizing disability.

 

The second part delves into bioethical issues related to disability, including prenatal diagnosis, potential "cures" for disability, and questions surrounding autonomy at the end of life. This section is likely to be of particular interest to readers familiar with bioethics, as Shakespeare navigates complex ethical dilemmas surrounding disability.

 

In the final part, Shakespeare explores themes such as care, charity, intimacy, and the role of non-disabled individuals in the world of disability. These discussions shed light on the multifaceted nature of disability and the complex dynamics that shape interactions within disabled communities and between disabled and non-disabled individuals.

 

Shakespeare challenges the dominant perspective of the social model of disability, arguing that it redirects attention away from the bodily experiences of disabled individuals. He contends that while the social model rightly highlights societal barriers, it tends to overlook the significance of impairment in the lives of disabled people. Shakespeare asserts that the focus on social barriers can inadvertently lead to a neglect of individuals' bodily experiences, perpetuating a gaze fixated solely on the external environment.

 

Shakespeare argues that subscribing to the social model can create a gap in knowledge about the experiences of impairment, as it steers research away from understanding the lived realities of disabled individuals. By solely emphasizing social barriers, the model may inadvertently sideline the bodily experiences of disability, limiting our understanding of the multifaceted nature of disability. Shakespeare cautions against dismissing the importance of individuals' bodily experiences, stressing that acknowledging impairment does not equate to medicalizing disability. Instead, he advocates for a balanced approach that recognizes the significance of both social barriers and bodily experiences in shaping the lives of disabled people.

 

Moreover, Shakespeare highlights the limitations of the social model, particularly in its applicability to certain types of disabilities. While the model may resonate with some physical disabilities, it may inadequately address the complexities of other disabilities, such as severe learning disabilities or autism. Individuals with these disabilities may face inherent challenges in participating in community life, regardless of changes to the social environment. Shakespeare emphasizes the importance of recognizing the diverse experiences of disability and the need for tailored interventions that address both social barriers and individual impairments.

 

By acknowledging the limitations of the social model, Shakespeare advocates for a more nuanced understanding of disability that encompasses both social and individual dimensions. He emphasizes the importance of recognizing the bodily experiences of impairment while simultaneously advocating for the removal of societal barriers. Shakespeare's argument underscores the need for a holistic approach to disability that acknowledges the multifaceted nature of disability experiences and embraces diverse perspectives within the field. Through his critique, Shakespeare encourages scholars and practitioners to adopt a more inclusive and comprehensive framework for understanding and addressing disability.

 

 

In part two of his book, Tom Shakespeare critiques the impact of the social model on responses to bioethical issues within disability studies. He argues that the social model's emphasis on societal barriers can lead to dismissive attitudes towards medical interventions, particularly in the context of seeking a cure for disability. According to the social model, disabilities are primarily caused by environmental factors, rendering medical cures irrelevant or even offensive to some members of disability rights groups.

 

Shakespeare illustrates this point by referencing negative reactions towards Christopher Reeve's expressed desire to walk again and seek a cure for his paralysis. The social model's perspective may lead to skepticism or hostility towards individuals seeking medical interventions, viewing such aspirations as undermining the broader goals of disability rights advocacy.

 

Similarly, Shakespeare challenges the simplistic narrative often employed in discussions of autonomy at the end of life. While the social model may attribute desires for assisted suicide to societal discrimination and lack of support, Shakespeare suggests that this perspective oversimplifies complex ethical dilemmas. He emphasizes the importance of respecting individuals' autonomy and ensuring that their wishes are thoroughly considered and honored, regardless of whether they choose assisted suicide or not.

 

By highlighting these examples, Shakespeare underscores the need for a more nuanced approach to bioethical issues within disability studies. Rather than rigidly adhering to the social model's framework, he advocates for a broader consideration of individual experiences and preferences, particularly in sensitive matters such as end-of-life decisions. This nuanced perspective allows for greater respect for the autonomy and dignity of disabled individuals, ensuring that their voices and choices are valued and respected.

 

 

 

In the final part of the book, Tom Shakespeare shifts focus to practical themes central to disability studies and the daily lives of disabled individuals. These include charity, care, intimacy, and the involvement of non-disabled individuals in the realm of disability. Here, Shakespeare continues to critique the social model, highlighting its negative impact on these aspects of disability.

 

One example Shakespeare explores is the rejection of charity as a response to disability, motivated by the social model's emphasis on societal barriers. He acknowledges the historical context, noting that many charitable organizations historically patronized and excluded disabled individuals, perpetuating hostility towards them. However, Shakespeare also presents a more nuanced view, suggesting that charity could play a positive role in supporting disabled individuals if approached in a more sympathetic and inclusive manner.

 

Additionally, Shakespeare advocates for consideration of an ethic of care as a counterbalance to the overemphasis on rights-based approaches within disability studies. He argues that focusing solely on rights may overlook the importance of caring relationships and support networks in the lives of disabled individuals. By highlighting the significance of care, Shakespeare encourages a broader understanding of disability that encompasses both rights and interpersonal relationships.

 

Shakespeare's exploration of these practical themes underscores the complexity of disability experiences and the need for a multifaceted approach to disability studies. By challenging the limitations of the social model and advocating for a more inclusive perspective, Shakespeare invites readers to reconsider traditional assumptions and engage with the diverse realities of disability. Through his examination of charity, care, and intimacy, Shakespeare offers valuable insights into the ways in which disability is understood and addressed in society, ultimately contributing to a more holistic understanding of disability studies.

 

 

 

 

Abbie Farwell Brown's "Friends" (Summary)

 

Abbie Farwell Brown's "Friends," portrays nature, particularly the Sky, Wind, and Sun, as sources of solace and comfort for those willing to embrace them.

"Friends" is structured as a four-stanza poem, each stanza consisting of four lines or quatrains. Abbie Farwell Brown maintains a consistent rhyme scheme throughout the poem, following the pattern abab cdcd efef gaga. This deliberate choice in structure complements the straightforward syntax of the poem, lending it a sing-song quality akin to a song or a spoken parable.

 

The poem opens with the speaker finding solace and contentment in nature, relishing both joy and peace. Seeking respite, she retreats to a familiar spot beneath a tree, where she can bask in the protective embrace of the overarching sky. Here, she delights in the gentle caress of sunlight dappling through the foliage, creating intricate lace-like patterns upon her skin.

 

In the latter part of the poem, the speaker describes the subtle arrival of the Wind, which tenderly whispers sweet nothings in her ear, filling her surroundings with its comforting presence. Everywhere around her, the forces of nature stand ready to offer solace and companionship to those in need.

 

 

In the opening stanza, the speaker begins by expressing the simple joy derived from immersing oneself in nature. She emphasizes the pleasure of reclining and gazing upwards through the branches of a tree. Abbie Farwell Brown intentionally keeps these lines straightforward, avoiding grandiose statements about nature's qualities. Instead, Brown aims to evoke a sense of inspiration for readers to embrace the inherent goodness found in the natural world. Notably, the speaker refers to "the tree" rather than "a tree," suggesting a specific, perhaps personal, location or memory. Continuing, the speaker provides an emotive, personified description of the sky visible through the tree's foliage. Through careful observation, one can perceive the sky as akin to a benevolent, expansive smile. The shift to first-person narrative underscores the speaker's intimate connection to the experience she recounts—a moment she wishes to relive. The sky, depicted as nurturing and protective, bends over her, symbolizing a comforting, parental presence. This imagery directly aligns with the theme of seeking solace and solidarity in nature, as introduced in the preceding discussion.

 

In the second stanza, the speaker delves deeper into her description of the sky, moving beyond its mere blue expanse. She introduces the presence of the "Sunshine," which intermittently filters through the intricate "lace" of leaves. Abbie Farwell Brown's choice of the word "lace" enhances the scene's beauty, evoking the intricate patterns one would observe in such a setting. The speaker continues to emphasize the theme of comfort, likening the sporadic warmth of the sunlight on her face to receiving "kisses" from a nurturing figure, symbolized as her "Mother." This imagery evokes feelings of pleasure and security, reminiscent of the innocent joy and affection experienced in childhood. Brown portrays nature in a profoundly positive light, highlighting its capacity to evoke emotions of childlike happiness and contentment that may feel elusive in adulthood.

 

In Third Stanza , the speaker shifts her focus to another natural force at play in the sky above her: the Wind. Just like "Sunshine" and "sky," the Wind is capitalized, reinforcing Brown's persistent personification of these elements as independent entities with agency. The Wind is portrayed as it stealthily moves across the grass surrounding the speaker, almost as if it intends to surprise her with its gentle whispers. Brown's description of this encounter with the Wind is imbued with beauty and sensory imagery, inviting readers to easily envision the scene. The Wind is depicted as communicating with the speaker, sharing "pretty things" in its whispers. Continuing the personification, the speaker describes the Wind as it passes by on "careful wings," suggesting a sense of delicacy and grace in its movements. Despite its quiet presence, the speaker acknowledges its existence, yet she cannot visually perceive its passage.

 

In the final stanza, the speaker depicts the "Wind," "Sky," and "Sunshine" as steadfast companions, referring to them as "gentle Friends." These natural elements are portrayed as reliable presences that offer comfort and solace to those who seek them. While the poem does not explicitly state it, there is a suggestion that these elements represent a greater divine presence, perhaps symbolizing the presence of God. This divine presence is pervasive in nature, always felt even when not visibly apparent. The speaker emphasizes the reassuring nature of these companions, suggesting that their constant presence ensures that "A child should never feel a fear." In this interpretation, these "Friends," embodying the power of God, serve as sources of reassurance and guidance during times of uncertainty or distress.

 

 

The poem's themes are readily discernible due to its simplicity. One prominent theme is the appreciation for nature, depicted through the personification of the benevolent "Sky" and the gentle "kisses" bestowed by leaves. Nature is endowed with agency, suggesting a larger, divine power at play, interacting with the inhabitants of the world.

 

Additionally, the theme of comfort and solidarity emerges as central. The speaker utilizes nature as a metaphor to convey a message of solace to the listener, highlighting the comfort to be found in the fundamental elements of existence. Implicit in these references is the suggestion of an underlying divine presence acting through these natural forces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forman and Sowton (ed.), "Taking our Time: Feminist Perspectives on Temporality" (Book Note)

 

"Taking Our Time" presents an intriguing collection of essays and poems exploring the concept of time from a feminist perspective, drawing on various disciplines such as philosophy, sociology, history, and literature. The contributors collectively express skepticism toward "patriarchal time," characterized by its linearity and objectivity, which has traditionally excluded women's cyclical, subjective, and relative experiences of time.

 

Among the essays, Heide Gottner-Abendroth's contribution titled "Urania — Time and Space of the Stars: The Matriarchal Cosmos through the Lens of Modern Physics" stands out as one of the most insightful. Gottner-Abendroth meticulously explains the patriarchal concept of time and how it became widely accepted as a universal norm. She emphasizes that before the patriarchalization of time, it was deeply intertwined with women's experiences, even considered to be inherently female. In matriarchal societies, time was intricately linked to women's bodily processes related to fertility, such as menstruation cycles synchronizing with lunar phases and pregnancy cycles aligned with the mythical year from Easter to Yule.

 

Moreover, Gottner-Abendroth highlights the public recognition of women's "inner clock" evident in dance rituals and ceremonies aligned with celestial calendars like Stonehenge and Avebury. She asserts that matriarchal societies were pioneers in conducting precise astronomical observations and conceived of time not as a linear progression but as a spiraling cyclical movement intertwined with the rhythms of planets and stars.

 

However, the cyclical concept of time prevalent in matriarchal societies was dismantled by patriarchal warrior societies in antiquity. These patriarchal societies championed a rational-linear, historical concept of time, glorified through genealogical lists and succession narratives of ruling dynasties. The emergence of mathematical sciences further reinforced the metricalization of time, emphasizing precision and quantifiability over historical context and qualitative experiences.

 

The split between historical and metrical time persists today, with historical sciences often criticized for their perceived imprecision and lack of metricization. This division reflects broader societal attitudes towards knowledge production, where metrical time is prioritized as more rational and valuable compared to historical narratives.

"Taking Our Time" explores the pervasive influence of science and technology in imposing a quantifiable and artificial order upon life processes, particularly impacting women's experiences of time. The collection of essays seeks to challenge the notion that women's time can be neatly measured or quantified, highlighting the subjective, mystical, and timeless nature of their experiences.

 

In her essay titled "Unreliable Allies: Subjective and Objective Time in Childbirth," Meg Fox delves into the ways in which male-dominated obstetrics has reduced the profound and unique experience of childbirth to a mechanical process governed by objective clock-time. The medicalization of childbirth, with its emphasis on precise chronology and rigid protocols, diminishes the subjective and intuitive rhythm of labor, depriving women of agency and personal autonomy in the birthing process.

 

Fox emphasizes that childbirth is inherently subjective and timeless, transcending the confines of objective clock-time. The rhythmic contractions experienced by women during labor symbolize a connection to a deeper, more primal reality beyond the constraints of linear time. To interfere with this natural rhythm is to objectify labor and deny women their inherent power and agency in the birthing experience.

 

While Fox's critique of the medicalization of childbirth within orthodox medical practices is not novel, it remains a crucial issue within contemporary obstetrics. Since the 1960s, feminist literature has extensively documented the objectification of labor and the loss of women's control and creativity in childbirth. However, there is a growing awareness and shift within the medical community towards more woman-centered approaches to childbirth.

 

Responsible women are increasingly asserting their preferences for childbirth conditions that honor their autonomy and bodily autonomy. Hospitals and healthcare providers are responding to this demand by creating birthing rooms and centers that prioritize women's comfort and agency during labor and delivery. These changes reflect a recognition of the importance of allowing labor to unfold according to the inner rhythm of a woman's body, free from unnecessary medical intervention.

"Taking Our Time" offers a captivating exploration of the diverse perspectives of women on the concept of time. Through a collection of essays and poems, contributors challenge patriarchal notions of time, highlighting the subjective and cyclical experiences often overlooked in traditional, linear understandings of time.

 

Jerilyn Fisher's essay, "Teaching Time: Women's Responses to Adult Development," delves into the experiences of mature women returning to college, shedding light on their struggles with patriarchal assumptions about timing and progress in adult development. Fisher reveals how women often feel "off-time" or developmentally delayed when measured against male-biased standards of maturity. By validating women's personal sense of time, Fisher empowers them to reclaim agency over their life decisions and reject external pressures to conform to societal expectations.

 

However, Fisher's exploration of male-defined "maturational signposts" such as menstruation, motherhood, and menopause raises questions about the contradictory nature of separation and autonomy as both masculine goals and aspirations for women returning to college. While Fisher acknowledges the need for women to define maturity on their own terms, the ambiguity surrounding these concepts leaves room for further clarification.

 

Other contributors to "Taking Our Time" offer unique perspectives on women's experiences with time. Mary O'Brien reflects on childhood experiences of linear time, while Robbie Pfeuffer Kahn examines the impositions of linear time on pregnancy, birth, and lactation. Elizabeth Deeds Ermath provides a thought-provoking analysis of woman's time through literary works, revealing contradictions inherent in historical time as experienced by female characters in novels. Cheryl Walker explores the poetry of H.D. as a model for understanding women's changes in historical time, and Patricia Mills reexamines myths of Antigone, Circe, and Medea to trace the creation of the female self.

 

Marie-Luise Gaettens delves into the relationship between patriarchy, authority, and Nazism in German women's reexaminations of Nazi Germany, while Mair Verthuy and Irma Garcia uncover feminine temporal sensibilities in the writings of various authors, including Nin, Duras, Collette, and Woolf. Margaret Davis offers a personal account of her mother's studies of time and synchronicity, accompanied by intriguing personal experiences.

 

The book is interspersed with poems by various authors, adding depth and richness to the exploration of women's experiences with time. It opens with an introduction by Frieda Johles Forman and concludes with selections from the Agape Feminist Conference on "Women's Time" held in Italy in 198.

Zizek's "How did Marx Invent Symptom?" (Summary)

 

How Did Marx Invent the Symptom?

Lacan's statement that Karl Marx invented the notion of the symptom may seem like a provocative statement, but it's not merely a witty remark. Lacan suggests a pertinent theoretical foundation underlying this claim, particularly in how both Marx and Freud analyze phenomena such as commodities and dreams, respectively.

 

Marx's analysis of commodities aims to understand why labor assumes the form of value in a commodity. Similarly, Freud's analysis of dreams seeks to comprehend why latent thoughts take on the form of dreams. In both cases, the focus isn't on uncovering a hidden content behind the form but on understanding the inherent nature of the form itself.

 

Freud's interpretation of dreams has often been criticized for its supposed pansexualism, especially when the latent content of dreams doesn't seem overtly sexual. However, this criticism arises from a misunderstanding of Freud's approach. The latent content of a dream isn't necessarily sexual; it's a normal, preconscious thought that undergoes transformation into the dream's manifest content through mechanisms like displacement and condensation.

 

Freud's distinction between manifest content and latent dream thoughts is crucial here. The unconscious desire, which is the true subject matter of the dream, doesn't lie hidden behind the latent content but articulates itself through the dream's form. Thus, the dream's form, not its latent content, reveals the unconscious desire.

 

Freud's observations indicate that the form of a dream frequently serves to represent its concealed subject matter. This paradox underscores the notion that the unconscious desire expresses itself through the dream's disguise of its latent content.

Freud and Marx both undertake a dual approach in their analyses, emphasizing the importance of understanding both the form and the content of phenomena such as dreams and commodities.

 

Freud first challenges the idea that dreams are mere chaotic products of physiological processes, asserting that they carry meaning that needs interpretation. He then directs attention away from the hidden meaning of dreams to focus on the process of dream formation itself, which he terms the dream-work.

 

Similarly, Marx challenges the notion that the value of commodities is purely arbitrary, instead arguing that it is determined by labor time. He then criticizes classical political economy for fixating on the hidden meaning behind commodities, such as labor as the source of wealth, without considering why commodities assume their particular form.

 

In both cases, the focus shifts from uncovering hidden meanings to understanding the processes that give rise to these meanings. Marx, like Freud, emphasizes the importance of analyzing not only the essence concealed within the form but also the genesis of the form itself. This dual approach is essential for a comprehensive understanding of phenomena like dreams and commodities.

 

The unconscious of the commodity form

 

The Marxian analysis of the commodity-form, despite its economic origins, has had a profound impact across various disciplines because it provides a framework for understanding a wide range of phenomena beyond economics. It offers insights into what can be termed as the "fetishistic inversion" in society, which extends to areas like law, religion, and more.

 

Alfred Sohn-Rethel, influenced by the Frankfurt School, argues that the structure of the commodity-form reveals not only the workings of political economy but also sheds light on the historical development of abstract thinking and the division of intellectual and manual labor. He suggests that within the commodity-form lies a sort of blueprint for the Kantian transcendental subject, which consists of transcendental categories that underpin objective scientific knowledge.

 

Sohn-Rethel identifies a concept called "real abstraction," which operates within the social process of commodity exchange. This abstraction involves the separation of a commodity's exchange value from its physical properties and its reduction to a purely quantitative entity, facilitated by money. This concept anticipates the abstract thinking required for modern science and philosophy, showing how social practices like commodity exchange shape our cognitive frameworks.

 

Moreover, the idea of "real abstraction" challenges the traditional understanding of abstraction as a purely mental process. Instead, it suggests that abstraction is external to individual thought and is shaped by social practices and symbolic systems. This notion aligns with the psychoanalytic concept of the unconscious, which encompasses forms of thought that operate beyond conscious awareness.

 

Sohn-Rethel's philosophical endeavor presents a challenge to traditional philosophical reflection by revealing an external place where philosophical truths are already enacted. This confrontation exposes philosophy's inherent blindness to this external place, which it cannot acknowledge without undermining its own coherence.

 

Everyday consciousness, particularly during acts of exchange, also exhibits a form of blindness. Individuals engaged in exchange behave as "practical solipsists," overlooking the social dimension of their actions and reducing them to individual transactions. This blindness is necessary for the act of exchange to occur smoothly; if individuals were aware of the true nature of their actions, exchange itself would cease.

 

This split between practical and theoretical consciousness leads to a paradox: the non-knowledge of the reality of exchange is integral to its functioning. Social reality relies on participants' ignorance of its true logic. This dynamic illustrates the fundamental nature of ideology: it is not merely false consciousness but rather the reality itself that relies on a certain level of ignorance among its participants. In other words, ideology is the social reality whose existence depends on individuals not fully understanding it.

 

This concept resonates with the notion of the symptom, which can be understood as a phenomenon whose very existence implies a certain level of ignorance on the part of the subject. The subject can only "enjoy" or maintain the symptom as long as its logic remains elusive. The success of interpreting the symptom lies in its dissolution, revealing the underlying truth obscured by ignorance.

Marx's notion of the symptom emerges from his critique of bourgeois ideology, revealing inherent contradictions within its universal principles. Rather than mere imperfections to be overcome, these contradictions are constitutive of the ideology itself.

 

For instance, consider the concept of freedom. While it encompasses various freedoms such as speech and commerce, it also includes a paradoxical form: the worker's "freedom" to sell their labor. However, this act of selling labor actually leads to the worker's enslavement to capital, undermining the true essence of freedom.

 

Similarly, the idea of fair exchange in the market is challenged by the emergence of wage labor. While pre-capitalist societies may have achieved equivalent exchange, the universalization of commodity production brings about a new form of exchange: the labor force itself becomes a commodity. Despite the apparent equivalence in this exchange, the surplus value generated by labor is appropriated by capitalists, revealing exploitation within the system.

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Marx's critique extends to Hegelian philosophy, which conceives of society as a rational totality. Marx argues that any attempt to view society as rational must acknowledge its inherent irrationality, represented by the proletariat. The presence of this irrational element within the rational framework of society exposes the contradiction at its core.

 

 

Lacan attributes the discovery of the symptom not to Hippocrates, as traditionally thought, but to Marx. He suggests that Marx's understanding of the transition from feudalism to capitalism is where the concept of the symptom emerges. To grasp this transition, we need to understand Marx's idea of commodity fetishism.

 

Commodity fetishism refers to the way social relations among people take on the appearance of relations between things. For example, the value of a commodity seems to be an inherent property of the commodity itself, rather than a result of social relations between producers. This misrecognition occurs because people see the world through the lens of commodities and their exchange.

 

Marx's analogy between commodity fetishism and social relations between people sheds light on this phenomenon. Just as commodities seem to have inherent value, people's identities are shaped by their relations with others. Marx compares this to how a person's identity is formed through comparison with others, similar to Lacan's concept of the mirror stage.

 

In capitalist societies, commodity fetishism is prevalent, but social relations between people are supposedly free and equal. However, this appearance of equality masks underlying relations of domination and servitude. This discrepancy between appearance and reality is the symptom of capitalism.

 

In feudal societies, social relations between people were more transparent, while commodity fetishism was less developed because production was primarily for personal use, not for the market. But in capitalism, social relations are disguised as relations between commodities, revealing the underlying truth of exploitation and inequality. This discrepancy between appearance and reality is the symptom of capitalism.

 

Marx offers a more radical critique than many of his contemporaries who dismiss the concept of commodity fetishism as outdated. This concept remains relevant in understanding phenomena like totalitarianism. To illustrate this point, let's examine Umberto Eco's novel "The Name of the Rose," which presents a flawed thesis: that totalitarianism arises from a dogmatic adherence to official doctrine, lacking laughter or ironic detachment.

 

This thesis reflects an enlightened religious belief: an excessive focus on goodness can lead to evil, especially when enforced fanatically. But it overlooks a more unsettling reality: the possibility of an obsessive attachment to evil becoming an ethical stance, as seen in Mozart's "Don Giovanni," who chooses damnation over renouncing his evil deeds.

 

What's truly concerning about Eco's novel is its belief in the liberating power of laughter and irony against totalitarianism. However, in contemporary societies, both democratic and totalitarian, cynicism, laughter, and irony are integrated into the system. The ruling ideology isn't meant to be taken seriously; those who do are often marginalized figures. This challenges the notion of living in a post-ideological society and prompts us to define ideology more precisely.

 

At its core, ideology involves a fundamental naivete, as Marx noted with the phrase "they do not know it, but they are doing it." It signifies a misrecognition of social reality and its underlying conditions. The aim of ideological critique is to make this naivete conscious and dissolve it. However, contemporary society presents a challenge with the rise of cynical reason, as described by Peter Sloterdijk. In cynicism, individuals are fully aware of the gap between ideological masks and reality but still uphold the mask. This differs from classical cynicism, which challenges official culture through irony and sarcasm.

 

Cynical reason represents a kind of moral perversion where integrity is seen as dishonesty and morality as profligacy. It acknowledges the deception behind ideological universality but finds reasons to maintain it. Traditional ideological critique is ineffective against cynical reason because it already accounts for its own gaps and inconsistencies.

 

This shift to cynical reason might suggest a post-ideological world, as Adorno proposed. Totalitarian ideologies no longer claim truth but rely on manipulation and violence. However, this overlooks the enduring influence of ideological fantasy, which structures social reality itself. Cynical reason, despite its detachment, does not challenge this fundamental level of ideological construction.

 

To understand the role of fantasy in ideology, we need to reconsider Marx's idea that people "do not know it, but they are doing it." Traditionally, ideology was seen as a misrecognition of social reality, where individuals' actions didn't align with their understanding of the world. For instance, in commodity fetishism, people attribute inherent value to money, unaware that its value comes from social relations.

 

However, there's another layer to this illusion: individuals are aware of the social reality behind money but still act as if it possesses inherent value. They don't recognize that their actions are guided by an illusion, a fetishistic inversion. This unconscious illusion, which structures our relationship with reality, is what we call ideological fantasy.

 

In today's society, cynicism prevails, leading some to believe we're post-ideological because people no longer take ideologies seriously. However, ideological fantasy still shapes our social reality. Even if individuals distance themselves ironically from ideologies, they still act in accordance with them.

 

Sloterdijk's formula of cynical reason, "they know very well what they are doing, but still, they are doing it," reflects this. It suggests that individuals recognize the illusion in their actions but continue to follow it nonetheless. For example, they might acknowledge that their concept of freedom masks exploitation but still adhere to it.

Revisiting Marx's concept of commodity fetishism reveals its subversive power in highlighting the relationship between persons and things. Traditionally criticized by Althusserians as naive, Marx's idea suggests that in capitalist societies, individuals interact with commodities as if they have inherent value, despite knowing otherwise. This inversion, where things believe in their place instead of the subjects, is akin to a Lacanian proposition.

 

According to Lacan, belief is not solely an internal phenomenon but is embodied in practical actions. This externalization of belief can be seen in various cultural practices, such as Tibetan prayer wheels or canned laughter in television shows. In both cases, individuals delegate their emotional responses to external entities, fulfilling social duties through them.

 

The objective status of belief becomes evident in these examples, emphasizing the role of external factors in shaping our perceptions and behaviors. Ignoring this objective dimension of belief can lead to misunderstandings, as illustrated in the anecdote of the man who believed he was a grain of corn. Thus, acknowledging the externalization of belief is crucial for understanding how individuals engage with ideology.

The key takeaway here is that belief is not merely an internal state but is manifested in our social activities, supporting the fantasy that governs social reality. Using Kafka's work as an example, we can see that what appears as an exaggeration or distortion of reality is actually an expression of the underlying fantasy shaping social interactions.

 

In our society, certain beliefs, such as the power of bureaucracy or the authority of political figures, influence our behavior even though we may consciously acknowledge their limitations. This differs from the traditional approach to ideology, which focuses on analyzing the ideological form of society based on its social relations. Instead, an analytical approach should prioritize understanding the ideological fantasy operating within social reality itself.

 

Social reality is constructed ethically, based on a collective "as if" belief in certain ideas or institutions. Pascal's concept of Ideological State Apparatuses highlights this, suggesting that our internal reasoning is influenced by external symbolic networks, leading us to obey authority not because it is just, but because it is accepted. This underscores the external nature of belief, which is embodied in our social functioning.

 

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For Pascal, obedience to the law is not based on rational argumentation but on ideological ritual. This mirrors the Marxist notion of ideological conversion, where individuals, unable to believe in the historical mission of the working class due to bourgeois prejudices, must immerse themselves in revolutionary activities to foster belief. This process of external obedience ultimately leads to internal conviction.

 

The significance of Pascal's concept lies in the paradoxical nature of belief: individuals believe without consciously knowing it, and their final conversion is merely a formal acknowledgment of what they have already believed. This underscores the role of external customs as material supports for the unconscious. Films like "Another Country" sensitively depict this process of "believing without knowing it," particularly in the context of conversion to Communism.

 

The film "Another Country" explores the relationship between two Cambridge students, one being the Communist Judd (based on John Cornford) and the other, the wealthy Guy Bennett, who later becomes a Russian spy (based on Guy Burgess). Despite no sexual relationship between them, Guy's charm doesn't affect Judd, making him the focus of Guy's transference.

 

Set in the 1930s public school environment, the film exposes the facade of patriotism and the underlying atmosphere of enjoyment, particularly through a network of homosexual relationships. This atmosphere, filled with tension and enjoyment, attracted KGB recruiters, offering an escape from the pressure through renunciation.

 

Guy's conversion is depicted delicately in the film, leaving out the formal act but indicating its elements. His tension leads him to recognize the key to his situation lies in his relationship with Judd. Despite Guy's reproaches to Judd's inconsistencies and revealing the mechanism of transference, he remains trapped in it, as his accusations gain meaning only in the context of their relationship.

 

The tension reaches its peak as Guy realizes the gap between the mask and the truth, leading to his escape into belief in Communism and espionage, creating a radical gap between appearance and reality. The film ends with Guy already a believer, though unaware, as he muses on the possibility of Communism's truth.

 

Drawing on Kafka's work, the film highlights the gap between the bureaucratic "machine" and its internalization. Kafka's irrational bureaucracy represents the ideological state apparatus confronting subjects before identification occurs, emphasizing the role of ideological fantasy in shaping reality.

 

In Lacanian terms, reality is constructed to avoid confronting the Real of desire. The dream in the film serves to prolong sleep, but the encounter with the Real of desire is too terrifying, leading to awakening. This underscores the function of reality as a fantasy construction to mask the Real.

 

In essence, ideology isn't merely a dreamlike illusion we create to escape harsh reality. Instead, it's a fantasy construction that forms the basis of our perception of reality itself. It serves as a support for our understanding of social relations, masking some uncomfortable truths or contradictions within society.

 

Lacan's interpretation of Zhuang Zi's dream of being a butterfly highlights this idea. While awake, Zhuang Zi could question whether he was truly himself or the butterfly, but in the dream, this reflection wasn't possible. This asymmetry illustrates how the dream state, where our desires are expressed, offers a closer glimpse of reality than our waking state.

 

Similarly, ideology functions to shape our understanding of reality, even when faced with contradictory evidence. For example, in anti-Semitism, even if factual evidence contradicts the stereotype of Jews, the ideology may twist this contradiction to reinforce itself.

 

Contrary to Marxism, which emphasizes historical and class-based analysis of ideology, Lacanian theory focuses on the internal contradictions within ideology itself. It suggests that attempts to historicize or universalize certain phenomena, like the patriarchal family or concentration camps, can obscure the underlying truth that resurfaces across different historical contexts.

 

Marx's concept of surplus-value aligns with Lacan's idea of surplus-enjoyment, highlighting how capitalism's inherent contradictions lead to its own limits. This notion suggests that ideology, like capitalism, contains its own internal contradictions that shape our perception of reality.

The formula "the limit of capital is capital itself" can be interpreted in two ways. The traditional historicist-evolutionist interpretation views it as the dialectics between productive forces and relations of production. According to this view, capitalism develops productive forces until they outgrow existing social relations, leading to the need for revolutionary change.

 

However, Marx's analysis goes beyond this simplistic view. He distinguishes between formal and real subsumption of production under capitalism, showing that capitalism initially adapts existing production processes before reshaping them to fit its needs. Thus, it's not merely the relations of production constraining further development but the internal contradiction inherent in capitalism itself.

 

Unlike previous modes of production, capitalism is marked by a perpetual contradiction between social production and private appropriation, driving it towards constant development. This contradiction fuels capitalism's need for continuous revolutionizing of its conditions of existence. Surplus-enjoyment, akin to surplus-value in Marx's theory, emerges from this inherent imbalance, constituting the excess that sustains capitalism's dynamism.

 

Despite Marx's insights, his formulation in the Critique of Political Economy often lapses into a vulgar evolutionist dialectic, portraying socialism as the solution to capitalism's contradictions. However, history's irony lies in the emergence of "real socialism," which reproduces this evolutionary logic and fails to address the paradoxes of surplus-enjoyment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Derrida's"Structure, Sign and Play" (Summary)

 

 

Derrida's essay unfolds in two main sections: "The Structurality of Structure": This part delves into the dynamic interplay between structure and center, highlighting the contemporary challenge to traditional notions. Previously, structures were perceived as anchored and stabilized by a central presence. However, the questioning of this centrality exposes fundamental elements of thought—such as ideas, origins, God, and humanity—to uncertainty and instability.

Analysis of Levi-Straussian Structuralism: Here, Derrida scrutinizes Levi-Strauss's structuralism as emblematic of the complexities inherent in grappling with the relationship between structure and center. The essence of Derrida's critique can be encapsulated in a single sentence: Despite presenting itself as a process of decentering, Levi-Straussian structuralism unintentionally reasserts the center, albeit in a nuanced form—as the absence of a center once held. This distinction between mere absence of a center and the absence resulting from its loss is pivotal, generating perpetual tension within Levi-Strauss's framework. Ultimately, his discourse revolves around the very absence of the center it seeks to address, transforming absence into a mode of presence.

 

 

There may have been a significant development in the history of how we understand structure, an event occurred. Derrida is cautious about using such a loaded term. Nevertheless, let's consider this event as a turning point that involves both a rupture and a doubling-back. It's clear that the concept of structure, along with the word itself, has been fundamental to Western science and philosophy for a long time. These ideas have deep roots in ordinary language, which the overall structure of knowledge incorporates metaphorically. However, prior to the event I'm referring to, the essence of structure—what we might call the structurality of structure—was often marginalized or simplified. This happened because of a tendency to focus on establishing a central point or fixed origin, which diminished the complexity and richness of the concept.

The center of a structure serves a crucial role: it organizes and balances the elements within, ensuring coherence and preventing chaos. It acts as a focal point, allowing the structure's components to interact within its framework. However, this centralization also imposes limitations—it forbids certain changes or substitutions within the structure. Traditionally, the center was seen as both within and outside the structure, governing it while remaining distinct from it. This paradoxical nature creates a sense of coherence but also introduces contradictions.

 

The idea of a centered structure embodies this contradiction—it suggests stability and coherence while allowing for flexibility and movement. This concept provides a sense of security, shielding individuals from the uncertainties of change and maintaining a reassuring certainty. Anxiety arises when one feels caught up in the complexities of the structure, uncertain about their role in the larger scheme of things.

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From this central point, patterns of repetition, substitution, transformation, and interpretation emerge, rooted in a history of meaning. This historical context shapes how we understand and interact with the structure, influencing our perceptions of its origins and endpoints.

 

Before the conceptual rupture Derrida mentioned earlier, the history of structure was marked by a succession of substitutions of centers, each representing a different aspect of presence. These shifts in terminology, from eidos to God, for instance, all reflected an underlying emphasis on presence. However, the rupture occurred when the structurality of structure itself had to be acknowledged and repeated, indicating a fundamental shift in thinking. It became evident that the center could not be understood as a fixed, present entity, but rather as a function subject to displacement and substitution. This realization led to the understanding that there is no inherent center, but rather a multitude of sign-substitutions within a system of differences. This moment marked the invasion of language into the universal problematic, where everything became discourse, and the absence of a fixed center expanded the realm of signification infinitely.

 

The decentering of traditional structures and the recognition of the structurality of structure aren't tied to any single event, doctrine, or author. Instead, they're part of our current era's overall mindset, gradually emerging and influencing our thinking. However, if we were to highlight influential thinkers, we might point to Nietzsche's criticism of metaphysics, where he questioned concepts like truth and being and emphasized ideas like play and interpretation instead. Similarly, Freud's critique of self-presence and identity, along with Heidegger's dismantling of metaphysical notions, contribute to this decentering.

 

Yet, these critiques face a dilemma. While they aim to challenge traditional ideas, they're still inherently tied to them. For instance, when using the concept of the sign to criticize metaphysics, there's a paradox. While we argue against fixed meanings, the very term "sign" carries historical baggage—it's always been understood as a signifier pointing to a signified. So, even as we try to break free from metaphysical constraints, we're limited by the language and concepts rooted in that very tradition.

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Consider Levi-Strauss's attempt to transcend the sensible-intelligible dichotomy by focusing on signs. While his intention is valid, the concept of the sign itself remains entangled in the opposition between the two. Thus, while we need these concepts to critique metaphysics, using them also risks perpetuating the very ideas we seek to dismantle. It's a tricky balance—rejecting these concepts entirely could erase important differences, but holding onto them might reinforce the very structures we're trying to challenge.

There are two ways to blur the line between the sign (like a word) and what it represents: one is to break down the sign into its parts until it's fully understood, and the other is to question the whole system where this breakdown happens, especially the idea of separating what's sensible (like what we can perceive with our senses) from what's intelligible (like abstract ideas). The funny thing is, the first way, the breakdown, actually relies on the very separation it's trying to get rid of. This separation is part of the system itself.

 

This idea applies not just to signs, but to all the big concepts in metaphysics, like "structure." People have different ways of getting tangled up in this cycle, from being a bit naive to being super systematic. That's why there's so much disagreement among those who criticize these ideas. Even big thinkers like Nietzsche, Freud, and Heidegger were working within these ideas, and they sometimes ended up critiquing each other, like when Heidegger called Nietzsche the last "Platonist."

 

This same pattern plays out in the "human sciences," like ethnology, the study of different cultures. Ethnology really came into its own when European culture stopped seeing itself as the center of everything. This shift wasn't just about philosophy or science; it was also political, economic, and technical. It's no accident that as people started questioning this Euro-centric view, they also started criticizing the history of metaphysics. Both of these changes happened around the same time, in the same historical era.

 

Ethnology, like any science, operates within the realm of discourse, primarily using traditional European concepts, even as it tries to challenge them. This means that even when an ethnologist criticizes ethnocentrism, they're still influenced by its assumptions. This isn't something they can avoid—it's a fundamental aspect of the discipline. However, while everyone is subject to this influence, not all responses to it are equally valid. The quality of discourse might be judged by how critically it engages with this inherited framework.

 

Now, let's look at Levi-Strauss's work as an example. I'm choosing him not just because ethnology is important in the human sciences, but also because his ideas have had a big impact. His work reveals a tension between using and critiquing language in the human sciences.

 

One key aspect of Levi-Strauss's work is his exploration of the nature-culture dichotomy. This idea has been around since ancient times and pits "nature" against things like law, education, and society. In his book "The Elementary Structures of Kinship," Levi-Strauss starts with the idea that nature is universal and spontaneous, while culture depends on societal norms. But he quickly encounters a problem: incest taboos. These taboos are universal, which seems natural, but they're also based on social norms, which seems cultural. This tension challenges Levi-Strauss's initial framework.

 

Let's consider a fundamental aspect of human behavior: the prohibition of incest. Traditionally, it's seen as a universal taboo, blending characteristics of both nature and culture. However, when Levi-Strauss examines it, he challenges this assumption. By starting his analysis with incest, he questions the natural/cultural divide, suggesting it might not be as clear-cut as previously thought. This shifts our understanding of incest from a scandalous anomaly to something foundational, perhaps even predating our conceptualizations of nature and culture.

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This example illustrates how language contains its own critique. We can approach this critique in two ways: first, by systematically questioning the historical development of concepts like nature and culture. This isn't just a philological or philosophical endeavor—it's a bold step outside traditional philosophical bounds. Alternatively, we can retain these concepts for their practical utility while acknowledging their limitations. They become tools for deconstructing outdated frameworks, rather than absolute truths. Levi-Strauss opts for this approach, aiming to separate method from absolute truth, recognizing the value of these concepts as methodological tools rather than immutable realities. This self-critique within the language of human sciences allows for progress and evolution in our understanding of complex phenomena.

Levi-Strauss has a bit of a balancing act in his work. On one hand, he questions the idea of nature versus culture, saying it's more of a methodological tool than a true representation of reality. He argues that we should integrate culture back into nature and understand life within its physical and chemical context.

But on the other hand, in "The Savage Mind," Levi-Strauss talks about bricolage, which is like using whatever tools are at hand to get the job done. He says that bricolage is a form of critique, even suggesting that it's the very language of critique itself. It's about taking bits and pieces from different places and making them work together, even if they're not meant for the job.

 

In a way, Levi-Strauss contrasts this with the idea of an "engineer" who constructs everything from scratch. He says that the engineer is a myth, because no one creates language or ideas out of nothing. Everyone's discourse, whether they're engineers or scientists, is influenced by this bricolage.

 

Levi-Strauss also sees bricolage as a kind of storytelling. Just like how myths can be created from different elements, bricolage can lead to unexpected and creative results. So, in Levi-Strauss's view, bricolage isn't just about making do with what's available—it's also about crafting new narratives and ideas from these diverse elements.

Levi-Strauss's work goes beyond just studying myths—it also reflects on the nature of his own discourse about them, what he calls his "mythologicals." He challenges the idea of a central reference or origin, recognizing that myths don't have a single source or absolute unity.

 

For example, in "The Raw and the Cooked," he admits that the Bororo myth he uses as a reference isn't any more special than others—it's just one among many. He rejects the idea of a unified source for myths, arguing that their focus is always shifting and elusive. Instead of trying to center discourse on myths, he suggests that it should reflect the structure of myths themselves, embracing their complexity and fluidity.

 

Levi-Strauss sees mythological discourse as a kind of bricolage, where different elements come together in unexpected ways. He acknowledges that mythic analysis doesn't have a clear endpoint—it's an ongoing process of unraveling and recombining themes. In this sense, the study of myths is like looking at both reflected and broken rays of light, without a single focal point.

 

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Levi-Strauss's work challenges the idea of a fixed center in mythological discourse. He sees myths as resting on second-order codes, beyond the basic language codes. His approach to studying myths resembles a kind of mythological bricolage, where different myths are analyzed without assuming a central authority.

 

Levi-Strauss uses a musical metaphor to illustrate this, suggesting that myths, like music, don't have a central focus. They're like conductors guiding silent performers, with no real authorship. He argues that the absence of a fixed center makes the philosophical requirement of a center seem like a historical illusion.

 

However, this approach also raises questions about the quality of discourse on myths. Levi-Strauss acknowledges the risk of equating all mythological discourses and emphasizes the importance of posing the right questions. He criticizes the tendency to treat empirical observation and bricolage as contradictory, pointing out that his work often presents hypotheses based on limited information.

 

For Levi-Strauss, analyzing myths is like studying a language. Just as a linguist doesn't need to know every word in a language to understand its grammar, Levi-Strauss believes that studying a limited number of myths can reveal underlying patterns. He argues that new texts can enrich our understanding of myths but rejects the idea of needing a complete inventory of all myths. Instead, he focuses on outlining the syntax of mythological discourse, which can be refined as new information emerges.

 

Levi-Strauss explores the idea of totalization, suggesting that it can be seen as both useless and impossible. He argues that there are two ways to understand the limit of totalization. Totalization might seem impossible when we try to cover the infinite richness of a field with our finite understanding. However, it can also be seen as impossible because the nature of the field itself excludes totalization.

 

Levi-Strauss introduces the concept of "freeplay," which occurs in a field of infinite substitutions within a finite set. This field lacks a fixed center, allowing for endless substitutions. He describes this movement as "supplementation," where additional meanings are added to the signified. Levi-Strauss uses the term "supplementary" to explain how certain notions, like mana, function in symbolic thought.

 

He illustrates this with the example of the zero phoneme in linguistics, which contrasts with other phonemes by signifying absence. Similarly, notions like mana serve to oppose the absence of meaning, without carrying any specific meaning themselves. Levi-Strauss emphasizes the necessity of these supplementary elements in maintaining the relationship between signifier and signified.

 

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Levi-Strauss talks about the abundance of meanings in language, which arises from a sense of limitation or lack that needs to be filled. This idea ties into his concept of "freeplay," which he often illustrates using references to games like roulette. Freeplay refers to the interplay of different meanings and the absence of a fixed center.

 

Levi-Strauss's views on freeplay create tension with traditional views of history. He suggests that history has often been seen as a linear progression toward a specific end, but he challenges this notion. In his work, he focuses on the internal structure of systems, ignoring the historical context in which they develop. This approach, known as structuralism, emphasizes chance and discontinuity rather than continuous historical development.

 

Additionally, Levi-Strauss highlights the tension between freeplay and the idea of presence. Freeplay disrupts the notion of fixed presence by emphasizing the interplay between absence and presence. He suggests that presence and absence should be considered together, with freeplay being the starting point.

The structuralist idea of broken immediateness reflects a longing for a lost or unattainable presence, which can be seen as a negative, nostalgic aspect of freeplay thinking. On the other hand, there's a Nietzschean view that embraces freeplay as a joyful affirmation of the world without the need for truth or origin. This perspective sees the absence of a center not as a loss, but as an opportunity for exploration and creation without security or limitations.

 

There are two main ways to interpret interpretation, structure, sign, and freeplay. One approach seeks to uncover a truth or origin beyond freeplay and lives with the necessity of interpretation as a burden. The other approach, influenced by Nietzsche, embraces freeplay and seeks to move beyond human-centered perspectives, rejecting the idea of full presence and the comforting notion of a fixed foundation.

 

While these interpretations are fundamentally different and irreconcilable, they both contribute to the field of human sciences, even though they may seem contradictory. Instead of choosing between them, it's important to acknowledge their differences and try to understand the common ground between them. This requires grappling with a complex historical question, the conception of which is still unfolding and evolving.